Something about it.

One of the many things that I have come to realize this past week, is that I really, truly, enjoy, almost need a keyboard to aid in writing. There is just something about it that is comforting, almost reassuring. It helps. Hearing the clicking of the keys and feeling the compression’s of them is like the brick and mortar being laid down to create a pathway on which to travel.

Growing up I always could see the appeal in a favorite pen/pencil or type writer. Growing up in the part of the word where I did and in a time when the personal computer was becoming a very common thing, and technology many leaps ahead, the majority of my peers did not understand why some people would still want to continue to use a typewriter. It was an antiquated relic. To me however, I completely got it. It is a very textile and visceral way to write things out. It makes sense to me that it would be cathartic.

Drats! One more thing to save up for, once all these medical bills from this year, are paid for. A laptop, so that I can actually write more than at one time of the day as well as being able to experience the click clacking of the keys.

Novel Text

So as I have said previously (see Drowning), I do not like e-mail. The same is true for texts. There are various reasons for this. 1.) I see them as highly impersonal. I find it exceedingly difficult to convey the feeling and inflection in a text, as there can be a million interpretations using the same five words (Yes, I  am aware of emojis, *rolls eyes in exasperation*).  2.) For me personally, it is also easier to call and talk with someone than to try to send them a “quick” message. *Scoffs* I do not think that the majority of texts are quick, as I have to decipher what the thought process and context in which a message was sent.
*EXHALES*

So now you are up to speed on that I can move forward with what I initially had to say.
I just received a text (in response to a text or verbal conversation) and I was so infuriated that I found myself spewing a responding text and it became the length of a novel – for a text. Oh dear.  I kept thinking as my fingers are burning up my phone that perhaps I should not send it, as incensed as I was but then I also thought, maybe this will FINALLY get through to this person. As they have not actually listened in regards to the matter being discussed this past month and I quite frankly have had enough.
I don’t know. I’m probably just a weird, and horrible person.

I was cleaning.

I did not get a post up yesterday. I DID however; get so much accomplished it is AWESOME. *Cue, Everything is awesome song*

I have been drowning in house work. Every time I start to make any kind of progress, there are four or five steps back. I love my family, but sometimes I struggle with trying to love or accept the messes that they make. So my husband and I decided that we would be cleaning this weekend as I have not been able to get a handle on them by myself. It was great to have help. Then my Sister by marriage calls and asks if her, my Mom by marriage and my Dad could come over to help out. As I am writing this, I can completely see from a reader’s point of view, and didn’t know what I myself have been through the past few months and that having trouble keeping a tidy house might be construed as lazy or incompetent. I really do not think that is it.

Anyway, it was extremely helpful to have five adults being able to allow us to get things done, with one to three adults watching the three kids at any given time. *Deep sigh* Let’s just say I (and those helping me) were able to get more done yesterday than has been done in a couple of months. Some of it was basic, like helping us get *almost* caught up on laundry (as in folded, hung, put away), while some of it was more in-depth like helping me get the laundry basket of miscellaneous items sorted and put away or gone. I feel a bit more like I can breathe. But I am going to cut this post off here as I have more that I would like to accomplish and if my husband keeps watching the kids I can continue to clean and organize things.

A Few of My Favorite Things.

I feel that I have been fairly negative in a few of the entries over the past week, though writing it out actually did help me think some things out and have a better outlook on things. But after the emotionally draining day and night that I had I just do not need to delve into those waters, so I decided to compile a list of a few things that I love.

  • I love rain. I love the smell of rain, all the different sounds, ways that it can look, and feel too.
  • I love babies, what is not to love?  With all the hope and innocence and potential that they hold, they truly are a wonder.
  • I love swinging. There is not another feeling quite like the freedom that you can have when swinging. As if you could just reach out and touch the clouds.
  • I love making one of a kind event invitations and Name Meanings. I really enjoy seeing the look on people’s faces or hearing about how much they liked what I made and put care into creating.
  • I love reading a good book. I especially love it when it’s an audio book and the narrator is spot on with the voices, and nuances of a character. I also love it when I actually get to read with my own eyes and not feel guilty about taking the time to do so.
  • I love planning parties. My what I could do if I had the time and budget for some of the ideas I have had. Wow. I will say that I have struggled at times when I have had to plan, decorate, host and prepare all the details great and small without help.
  • I love music and singing. I love the thoughts, memories and feelings that it can evoke. I love that my boys want me to sing them songs at bedtime.
  • I love good food. The flavors coming to life on my taste buds, ummm, so good.
  • I love hugs. There is something so wonderfully comforting about a sincere hug.
  • I love in when someone strokes or plays with my hair. It used to be one of my favorite things in the world. Unless you count the bi-annual hair cut I get, no one has really done it in years.
  •  I love having dreams. I love that I have them every night and can recall them, if not always in great detail, outlines of them.
  • I love writing in cursive. Even as a little girl it have always been my favorite and I have felt that cursive writing is a lost art.
  • I love dressing up. I love wearing formal and dressy attire. I have a classic feminine look that has been grossly underutilized, due to budget, sewing skills and occupation.
  • I love helping people.
  • I love walking.

I could go on and on and on (like the song that never ends) but then you would most decidedly not love my list. Hahahaha

Can you keep a secret?

Shhhh…

This blog is my own. No one that I (at least that I am aware of) have I met or that I know in person, knows of this blogs existence. My husband is aware I am working on a project, but I believe he thinks I am writing a book or a series of short stories. I struggled for a few days when I was deciding on what my outlet would be, if I should tell him, If it would be wrong not to. After all, secrets can destroy a marriage and I have always believed that honesty is the best policy.  But I think what I have come to realize that there are a few things that one may not need to be transparent about. If you are not being dishonest, malicious or hurtful /harmful with it then perhaps it isn’t “bad.” Some secrets can actually be good. Like a surprise party or an encouraging note sent to you from an anonymous friend, or whither or not you have a bowel movement when you go to the bathroom. Not the type of secret I would want or need to know. Thank you very much.

A little mystery in life is good.

It is this unknown that sparks excitement within us. That gives us a tiny shiver, up our spine. The adrenaline rush that awakens us. Like when we fall in love or ride a roller coaster.

In this case a secret has been beneficial both mentally and emotionally. I can tell even in the past few days that this has been good not only for me, but for my family as well. This one little thing for myself has been extremely cathartic. Maybe not right this moment as I am fighting to keep my eyes open and fingers moving to type this out, lol, *smiles* …but overall it’s quite wonderful.

Jelly Bomb

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. She came out of the lavatory and noted the unmistakable sound – of silence. Panic and dread settled over her as she quickly checked the living room, nothing. She went to the dining room and checked under the table that they would often pretend was a secret hide out, nothing. She turned and looked in the kitchen and opened the pantry door, nothing. Then she turned around once more and that is when she saw it…. Grape jelly smeared all over the counters, dishwasher, oven, and fridge, but no jar of jelly.
She walked back through the living room and her heart sank and the breath was knocked out of her, as she took in what looked like a shrapnel bomb, full of jelly that had gone off. All over the long hallway with what had been, that very morning, a brand new oversized economy jar of grape jelly, now empty but for the bottom quarter-of-an-inch. Part of the way down the hall, the floor looked like someone had installed plum carpeting and the walls and doors was a monotone Jackson Pollock mural that reached over six feet high.
WHAT?!? This was done by tiny humans that were only two and a half feet tall! How on earth did these two toddlers manage to create such a battlefield of destruction in just a handful of minutes was beyond her. Then she heard the laughter of her two little destructive prodigies behind the bedroom door and as it opened, things just got worse. There was jelly on the bed, jelly on the dresser, jelly on a bedroom wall, and the two little boys looked as if they had put purple war paint on all over their little bodies.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the hours of cleaning ahead of her. It was then she realized that while it was exasperating to try to clean up such a mess, her boys had been blessed with the rare gifts of curiosity, cooperation and genuine friendship in each other. Realizations like this? Well, it was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

 

 

 

Opening Line