Save the TaTas!

This morning, I woke up and read through my facebook, like ya do.  I saw the article about Angelina Jolie coming forward to discuss her double mastectomy.  All I could think was, 'That sucks, but I'm glad that she had it done and that she is healing and that she's coming forward to try to raise awareness.'  It was on the morning news shows, cause, well, tits are a big deal, you know.

And then I didn't think anything else of it.  Apparently, there are corners of the internet that did.

Take a look at this.  You may want to throw things and punch people in the face.  I know I did.

Yeah.  That's right.  There are people out there in Internet Land that are shaming Angelina Jolie for making this massively painful health decision.  Do you really think it's easy to decide to lop off your boobs?  I mean, do you think that people WANT to go out and have double mastectomies?  I mean, except for the people who are crying that she did it for attention.

Jolie tested positive for the breast cancer gene.  Her mother died of ovarian cancer when she was in her 50's.  This mother did what was best for her family and was tested, and it came back positive.  Only one in 500 women carry the gene, but she does.  She was also told that she had a terrifying 87% chance of developing breast cancer.  87%.  87%!  Those are not good odds.

So she had the radical double mastectomy.  She's already had her reconstructive surgery.  She is healing, physically and emotionally.  And best of all, she now only has a 5% chance of developing breast cancer.

I am amazed--as I usually am when it comes to this woman--at her strength through this.  She made a heartbreaking decision after terrifying news.  She had this major surgery, and she was able to complete it without anyone knowing about it.  Not a single damn tabloid.  Good for her.

In this article, she talks about her medical choice.  It's beautifully written, and I have to be honest, it made me cry a little.  

The people who are talking shit about Jolie need to be slapped.  That makes me furious.  Instead of being joyful that she caught it before it was too late and that she is using her celebrity status to raise awareness for this horrible disease.  1 in 8 women will have invasive breast cancer at some point in her life, and 1 in 36 will die of it.  Jolie is calling more attention to it, particularly to the importance of early screening if you are at high risk.

Good for her.  I wish her a speedy recovery.  I am so happy she caught this early, and that she will be around for her children.

And to leave you all with a more amusing take on this...thanks, Wil Wheaton.

Obama is a Muslim?!? NO WAY!

Obama is not a Muslim.  Let's say that again, shall we...

Obama. Is. Not. A. Muslim.

Ok, now that we got that out in the open.

IF Obama WERE a Muslim (which he isn't) why would it matter?  I know that I didn't vote on him based on his religious views!  And frankly, if you are voting for someone based solely on their religious views, then you're doing it wrong.  It doesn't matter if he's a Muslim or a Christian or a damn Pastafarian.  We voted for him based on the politics, right?  We voted for him based on what we thought he could do for the country.  I voted for him because out of the options presented, he was the lesser of two evils.

I don't like everything Obama has done.  There have been moments where I've been intensely frustrated and upset with the current political climate, from the President down.  But when I talk about being unhappy with the President, I talk about being unhappy because of his Politics.  Not because he's black or because he has gray hair or because his kids have a dog instead of a cat.  It's because of the Politics.

I'm getting pretty tired of all this.  I don't care if people don't like the guy, really I don't.  And I don't mind debating that.  But man...the personal attacks have got to stop!

I know there are a lot of people who go on about, 'If we don't like Obama, we're called racists!!!!'  No.  If you don't like Obama for bullshit reasons, or if you come straight out and say that you don't like him because he's black...THEN you are a racist.  If you don't like Obama because you think he's a Muslim or because you don't think he was really born in the US or any of the other shit reasons...what would you call yourself?

I had an argument on facebook tonight (yeah, I know, I need to not waste my time with that) that made me see red.  The person was going on about how Obama was a Muslim, and how he was bringing Islam to the US and outlawing all other religions.  All I could do was gape at my screen and try not to scream.

If you are going to make accusations like that, you'd best be prepared to back them up.  If you are going to claim that Christians in the Military are being kicked out because they pray in public, then I want to see some evidence of that.  And something from a hardcore conservative website isn't going to cut it.  Sorry.  You'd feel the same if I did it with a hardcore liberal website.

Yeah.  That's just really frustrating for me.  Like I said--don't like the guy, that's fine.  But this crap is not ok.

Journeys

When you are a child, you are often very selfish.  You think about yourself and you are concerned about yourself.  If you are a rare kid, you wonder about the health of your parents and your family and your friends.  But most kids are concerned with themselves.  They don't worry about money, they don't worry about how food appears in the fridge.

As you grow older, you start to worry about more of the people in your life.  You might find yourself fretting over the health of your parents or how they are going to afford to send you to that summer camp that you want.  You're still pretty selfish, and your view of the world is fairly narrow.

As a young adult, most people begin to worry about the greater world around them.  They might weep over starving children in Africa.  Or worse, starving children in the United States.  They might worry about the health of their family and friends.  They worry about money, now that they have to earn their own.  Once you get married, you add another person to worry about.  You wonder if they'll get sick or get injured or die and leave you alone.

And then, you have kids.  And your world goes all topsy-turvey, upside down.  I worry about my extended family, but it's kind of a peripheral concern.  I worry about my husband leaving me and my son, because we love him, and we'd be lost without him.  I worry about dying and leaving my child and my husband all alone.  But more than anything, the idea of my child getting sick or hurt or, god forbid, dying sends me into a full-blown panic moment.  In just over a year, he has become the center of my universe.

Everything else, all of the social issues that I used to rant about, all the things that used to be so important to me...just...aren't.  I know that 'they' say that parents should keep their hobbies, and I do still have them, but Roland is always going to come first.  I'm not going to hare off to a convention on a whim and $50 in my pocket, with a prayer that I can figure out how to pay rent when I get home.  I'm not going to up and quit a job just 'cause I don't like it anymore and I want something different.  My priorities have all changed and my prescriptive on life has all changed.

But I think that it's a good change, and I welcome it with open arms.  Parenthood isn't for everyone, and I respect that choice.  But it has made me a better person and it has made me feel like a more complete person.  For all the stress and the tears and the anxiety, this journey has been absolutely worth it.

Momma Bear Rage

Ok.  I think we all know that I'm pretty liberal on a lot of different topics.

I read an article today on Mr. Conservative that a friend had posted.  Nasty, Weird and Sexist Liberal Cracks about Women.  I was pretty upset about some of them, to be entirely honest.

I should put it out there that people on both sides of the coin say some pretty horrible things.  There are hardcore liberals and hardcore conservatives that are cruel and completely out of line in the things that they say.  This is not confined to just one side, and there are days where I am ashamed of humanity...didn't these peoples parents teach them better than this?

The one that really got to me was a quote by Larry Flynt, talking about Sarah Palin.

“(Palin) did a disservice to every woman in America. She knew from the first month of pregnancy that kid was going to be Down’s Syndrome. It’s brain dead. A virtual vegetable. She carries it to all these different political events against abortion, she did it just because she didn’t want to say she’d had an abortion. How long is it going to live? Another 12, 15 years? Doesn’t even know it’s in this world. So what kind of compassionate conservative is she? I don’t think anybody will want her near the White House.” — Larry Flyn

 I don't like Sarah Palin.  I don't agree with her politics and every time I've seen an interview with her, she annoys the hell out of me.  I just...don't like her.  But it's her politics that I don't like.  This goes way, way beyond that and way beyond acceptable.

First, let's look at the fact that no one knows in the first month of pregnancy that their child will have Down's Syndrome.  Yes, maternal age is a factor, but it's not the only one.  There is no way of knowing about the disability until later on in the pregnancy.  Some tests can be run between 11 and 13 weeks, but definitive results often come later than that.

Second, children with Down's Syndrome oftentimes live full and happy lives.  They can regularly live into their 50's and 60's.  Trig is a little boy.  He's not an 'it' and he's not brain dead and he's not a vegetable.  He is a sweet little boy who just happens to have an extra chromosome.  Unfortunately, he's got a famous political family.

Larry Flynt is an asshole.  That's a horrible thing to say.  You know what, I'm sure he'd never say that about someone else's child.  He wouldn't go up to a mother on the street with her child with Down's Syndrome and say, 'Hey!  How old is it?  You know it's not going to live to be an adult, right?'  You know why?  Because that is a horrible thing to say to a parent and is likely to get you kicked or stabbed.  He said it because he hates Palin because they are on different sides of the political spectrum.

That is not ok.  I don't care who you are or what your politics are or how much they may differ, it is not ok to attack someone on a personal level when you disagree with their politics.  Is Palin so politically perfect that you can't find something about her policies and her political beliefs that you can disagree with and attack?  Are you so pathetic that you have to resort to attacking her family--not just her family, her very young, disabled son?

Once again, I don't like Sarah Palin.  I would never vote for her, and politically I think she's pretty terrible.  But as a mother, I respect the hell out of her and her husband.  They made the decision to keep their son despite his disability.  Down's Syndrome is not easy to live with.  The degree of disability varies wildly from children who are able to function at normal levels to children who are never able to talk or walk.  No one knows how severe it will be, and it's a lot more than the 18 years that most parents sign up for with their children.  I can't even imagine how hard it would be...or how fulfilling.

And her family made the choice to keep the baby.  Many don't.  There are many people who abort fetuses with Down's Syndrome.  I may not respect the woman when it comes to politics, but as a mother, I understand.  I spent much of my pregnancy with Roland worrying about something going wrong.  I wouldn't have loved him any less, though.  But still, this is a hard decision to make.

What Larry Flynt probably doesn't bother to think about is the fact that any parent who receives this diagnosis spends hours agonizing over the decision.  The internet is full of information and it's easy to find out all about the disability that your child will be born with--the good and the bad.  Parents know that their child has a shortened life span.  They understand the possibility that their child may never be like a 'normal' baby.  You really think they don't get that?  Hell, Flynt has kids of his own...you think he'd understand.

This is disgusting, people.  This shit has to stop.  Attack the politics.  Attack the policies.  Hell, attack the personality.  Stop attacking the family.  This goes for the First Lady, Sasha and Malia, AND the Palin kids.  Don't call Bristol a whore, don't call Trig a vegetable.  It's not hard.

As a mother--hell, as a human being--I am horrified that we treat one another this way.  I know that when you sign up for politics you are signing up for a certain level of scrutiny.  The same applies for your family.  And it's expected that there will be a certain level of questioning and scrutiny and maybe even a few casual jokes flying around.  But this is unacceptable.

In 20 years, Trig Palin is going to read this shit online.  He's going to see things that were said about him and his family, and he's going to understand these things.  And you should be ashamed of yourself.

See this?  This is a sweet little boy who loves his daddy, who has a disability but isn't defined by it, who has a beautiful smile and is very obviously not a vegetable.  This is pulled off Sarah Palin's official facebook page.

So if you want to attack a politician, attack the politician.  Leave their damn families out of it.  This is not me defending Sarah Palin.  This is me, as a mother, feeling an insane amount of Momma Bear rage for a sweet little boy who could be ANYONE'S little boy who is being cruelly mocked.  You may not like the woman, and that is your right.  But at the very least, she deserves your respect for making a difficult choice.  It might not be the choice you made, but it was her choice.

Oh, and for the people who are pro-choice and are angry that she choose to keep Trig...isn't that the definition of choice?  The Palin family made the CHOICE to keep the baby that they knew would have life long disabilities.  Good for them.  From that sweet picture, I think they probably made the right one.

The Day I counter-protested the WBC

In 2001, when I was a Freshman in college, I found myself in an interesting place.  You see, I'm a painfully shy person, and 12 years ago it was even worse.  I had a hard time meeting people.  At my Freshman Orientation, I met Adrienne, who was one of my closest friends while I was living in Missoula.  She was crazy and quirky and bouncy and totally geeky and we just kind of clicked.  I think the fact that I was quiet and she was outspoken worked out well.

She's the one who first got me into gaming, but that's a completely different story that involves guys in cloaks and prowling campus late at night.

We weren't roommates the first semester, but it didn't take us long to make plans to change that after Christmas break.  One of the things that Adrienne was involved in, and drug me to, was the Lambda association on campus.  It was a little awkward for me at first, because I was the only straight girl there, and I got some flack from some of the other kids.  The scoffing and unbelieving stare of, 'Well, you're straight, why are YOU here' was pretty hurtful at the time, but that's fine.  I get it.

Anyway.

We received word that the WBC was going to be coming to Missoula to protest.  They were 'celebrating' the anniversary of the death of Matthew Shepard and they picked UofM because the school supports their Lambda group fully.  Ya know.  Like you should.

Originally, they had planned on protesting ON campus.  They attempted to reserve space on the quad.  Unfortunately for them, policy states that campus groups have first dibs on space.  So the entire campus was reserved for the day for the Lambda alliance, and the WBC was forced to hold their protest on the corner across from the law school.

The Lambda group furiously prepared for the event.  I spent much of the week making signs (oh my god the GLITTER) and getting geared up.  There was an air of excitement and an air of fear.  For me, this was the first time I'd ever heard of the Westboro Baptist Church.  I was nervous and excited and horrified at it all.

On a frosty cold morning, not quite a month after the 9-11 attacks, the Westboro Baptist Church came to attack us with their hateful words and fear mongering, and we attacked them back.  We were there by five in the morning with hot cocoa and bundled up in scarves and hats and many layers.  By the time we arrived, the counter protest area was flooded with people.  Lambda kids, their friends and families, professors, ROTC kids, Forestry kids, local Missoulians and people who had traveled, just to offer us their support.  We quickly handed out all of the signs and we waited for them.

There weren't very many of them, just a small handful, and Fred wasn't even there.  I remember being shocked at their signs--I didn't understand how anyone could say that or believe that.  To our credit, we were fairly peaceful (although there was apparently some eggs thrown--naughty!)  There was laughter and tears and waving our lovely glittery signs in the air.

The Lesbian Brigade had been formed for this occasion   A group of people doing various tricks and acts--we had people dressed like clowns and people doing handstands--paraded through our group, cheering the crowd.  One of the news interviews with Shirley Roper-Phelps shows the Brigade parading behind her, and two of the girls pausing for a deep, intimate kiss.  It was a stunning picture and I wish I could find it.

It was even better when we discovered that most of the girls weren't gay or bi-sexual.  They were just supportive.

The protest was pretty pathetic, to be entirely honest.  The signs were hurtful and the jeers were horrible, but we far, far outnumbered them.  And while the WBC had nothing to offer us but hate and bigotry, our crowd was full of love and laughter and joy.  There was a table full of cookies and muffins and cocoa and coffee, and everyone felt like a big family.

It was absolutely beautiful.

That was the beginning of a beautiful day for me at the University of Montana.

The country was still reeling from 9-11.  I was still trying to process what had happened, myself.  We were still healing.  And on that frosty, beautiful fall day, we came together as a community in peace and tolerance.  The day was spent with peace rallies and discussions and an overwhelming feeling of love.  There was food and there was live music.  There was a candlelit vigil in the library in honor of the victims of hate crimes.

It was the best day I had while I was in school that first year.  Seeing everyone come together like that was nothing short of stunning.  Seeing the community respond to the WBC with the ferocity they displayed was surprising, but wonderful.  The reason that we were there that day was a frustrating and upsetting one, but the turn-out was better than anyone expected.

I can safely say that I think the WBC are horrible people.  They do and say terrible, awful things, and I don't understand how they can sleep at night.  It's easy to want to respond to them with hate and frustration and fists...unfortunately, that doesn't work.  They feed off it.  This reaction, this peaceful counter protest to show them how wrong they are, and how many more people we have, is the best thing.

RAWR means "I Love You" in dinosaur

This past weekend, we loaded up the van with Roland, my brother Cole and his girlfriend Nicky.  Colin had his regional conference in Bozeman, so we decided to make the trip down there with him and spend some time shopping and hanging out while he was getting his church on.

On the trip up, we stopped at a beautiful scenic viewing area between Helena and Great Falls.  Roland got loaded up in the BabyHawk (oh my god, have I mentioned how awesome this thing is?  We're still adjusting, but I think it's amazing...) and we went to climb up a few flights of stairs.  It's a beautiful stop looking out over the river.  Unfortunately, it was windy and a little chilly, so we didn't stay for very long.

Not long after our first little stop, my poor baby had a bit of an explosion in his car seat.  We have decided that on long car rides, he needs to drink juice or water instead of milk and avoid sugar.  Of course, for breakfast his uncle gave him a few powdered doughnuts and he was sucking down milk the whole trip.  This combined in a pretty gross explosion.  Poor baby was pretty upset, but we got stopped and got him cleaned up and changed.  After puking, he seemed much happier...figures.

After the few dawdles on the way up, we barely made it to Bozeman in time for Colin to get in to register for his conference.  We dropped him off and got checked into our hotel.  We stayed at our normal haunt, the Lewis and Clark Hotel.  It's fairly inexpensive (we paid $85 a night) and the people there have always been incredibly friendly.  It's right next to the Co-op, just a few blocks from campus, the rooms are spacious and clean with fridges and microwaves, and they have homemade banana bread and muffins for breakfast.  It's not super fancy and they only have a hot tub (no pool) but we've had nothing but good luck with them.

Friday night, we ordered Mackenzie River pizza--mmmm, so delicious--and Chas came over to hang out for awhile.  I was fairly exhausted from the long drive, so Roland and I hung out in the hotel room while the other kids went wandering.  Picked Colin up from his conference at 9 and handed over baby duty (lucky jerk, the baby fell asleep almost immediately) and then passed out.

Saturday was another full day.  We discovered that the Museum of the Rockies had a free admission day, in honor of Astronomy.  We wanted to try to time it so Colin could join us, but really, we couldn't miss out on free day.

Roland absolutely adored it.

First off, there were a ton of people.  We wanted to see a show in their brand new theater, but the line was huge so we didn't even bother.  The crowds were thick and kind of obnoxious.  It didn't take long for me to hit my people limit.

We did things backwards this time around and started off with the dinosaurs.  He was pretty excited by the different moving machines at the very beginning, and then wasn't terribly thrilled for the next few rooms...until we got into the room with the giant dinosaurs.  His eyes got wide and he leaned way forward in his stroller and started growling and roaring and squealing with glee.  So we pulled him out, got his baby leash hooked on, and then him roam.  He would wander up to the exhibit, stare up, and go 'RAWR!'  I think he was pretty impressed by the giant things that had big sharp teeth.

We didn't spend much time in the Native American section or in the Early American History section.  While they're both parts that are really neat, I've personally seen them many, many times, and I didn't think it was something Roland would be hugely interested in.

After that, we stopped in the Rain forest Experience.  This was pretty neat, and something I've never seen at the museum before.  It was a big maze they had set up that had different trivia questions about the rain forest to help guide you through.  Along the way was different sensory exhibits that were aimed at children.  Roland was particularly fond of the rain maker.  

At one point near the end of the exhibit was a set of monkey bars.  Uncle Cole lifted him up so he could grab the bar and then let him go (sticking close enough that he could grab Roland as soon as he let go.)  I didn't think that Roland would stand for that for very long, but he hung there for a good 45 seconds before letting go with a big goofy grin.  We did it again and got video of it.

Have I mentioned how my child loves to climb?  I'm going to have problems with this one, I think.

We headed up to the third floor for the Explore Yellowstone Children's section.  I had never been in this part of the museum, and I don't think I even realized that they had this up there!  This was hands down my favorite part of the museum.  It was filled with kid friendly activities aimed at children under 8.  There was a geyser that you could set off, a small frontier kitchen complete with tons of fake food and dishes, different outfits for dress up, fishing poles and fishes, a tent and fire pit, and a little play area with soft mats for toddlers.  At the front of the room, they had a bunch of small backpacks hanging up, with a green ranger vest and binoculars in each one.  Very, very fun stuff for little ones, and I think we will be spending a lot of time here next time we hit the museum.

Our only problem in the children's section was, once again, too many people.  By the time we left, the room was brimming with littles and their parents.  That and Roland took a small tumble down a few steps.  Poor kid was awfully upset, but that was in part due to him being sleepy and hungry and just generally grumpy.

We headed down to the gift shop and hunted for something to bring home for the boy child.  We probably spent...oh...half an hour trying to decide on what dinosaur to bring home.  I would give him two and tell him to pick one.  He would grab one...and then the other...and then throw them both in the basket.  He thought this was great fun.  We ended up with a soft T-Rex and a book on dinosaurs that RAWR's.  I figured that would make him happy, and every time he plays with his dinosaur, he starts growling.  Score one for mom.

We met back up with Cole and Nicky and headed back to the hotel.  At this point, I had a fairly cranky child.  We snacked a bit and attempted to nap for several hours.  Of course, he was too wound up and excited for that to work.  Poor momma could have really used one too!

Colin bugged out of his conference a bit early, and we hooked up with Chas and Sammy for dinner at the Montana Ale Works.  If you haven't eaten here before, it's an absolute must!  The food is amazing, the drinks are delicious, the food comes quickly, and the people are all incredibly friendly.  I had the rib-eye which was...exactly what I needed.  Roland was a little cranky because it was late and there were a lot of people, but all things considered, he was pretty darn good.

Oh, the best part about the Ale Works?  Desert.  Their creme brulee is to die for.  It's almost too much for one person, so it's best to share, but yeah...definitely not to be missed.

This morning, Colin had a few last meetings and church.  I was going to try to join him for church, but between being incredibly sore from driving and running around and not feeling well, it wasn't a very good idea.  We got packed and loaded and snagged him, grabbing food on our way out of town.  We didn't get to see Chas this morning because I was trying to get out well ahead of the bad weather.

Luckily, though we ran into some pretty thick snow, it wasn't anything too terrible, and it wasn't overly windy.

All in all, it was an excellent albeit exhausting weekend.  Our van handled amazingly well in the mountains (aside from in the wind, but that isn't anything new) and we got nearly 18 miles to the gallon.  For a 20 year old mini-van, I think we're doing pretty good!

I can't wait to take Roland back to the museum.  I'm thrilled that he's acquired our love for museums, and it's something I can't wait to share with him as he grows up.

Best part of the weekend?  After we got home from the museum and we were cuddling in bed, he decided he was going to attack me.  By pouncing on me and gnawing on my stomach and saying, 'RAWR' over and over again.  It was pretty damn cute!

Crippled

Here's the thing about depression, or at least my particular brand of it.  It comes and it goes without any real warning.  There are days where I will be just fine and then it will just hit me.  The painful, crippling apathy.  The heavy heart.  The frustration with my life and everyone around me.  The overwhelming anxiety and fear of the future.  The anxiety almost always revolves around money.

When it hits, it hits hard.  Sometimes I can rock the St. John's Wort and that takes the edge off the anxiety.  Other times, it doesn't do anything for me.

Sometimes, it is so hard for me to function.  I want to curl up in a ball in bed and read or watch tv and just escape the world.

And then a little boy starts poking at me, and I remember that I have responsibilities and duties.  I drag my ass out of bed and I force myself to move.  For him.  Because I have to take care of him and love him and give him the best life that I can.

It is so hard some days.  So very hard.

It's even worse when I walk around the house and see dirty dishes that need to be washed and laundry that needs to be folded and cleaning to be done and sewing to be done.  Because then not only do I feel depressed, but I feel guilty.  I let myself feel guilty for not doing more, when some days, getting out of bed and feeding the child and changing him is about the best that I can do.

The internet is easy.  It doesn't take too many spoons for me to sit here and read facebook and G+ and wander around.  It's easy to slip away into another world when I'm like this.

Depression is a bitch.  It's crippling and it's horrible.

I do the best I can, although it's never enough.  I am never going to have an immaculate home, even when it's just me and Colin and Roland, our house is not going to be spotless.  There will be messes.  There will be clutter.  Because when I only have so many spoons in the day, my focus is on my son and my schoolwork and my husband and my writing.  Everything else just has to wait.

It is incredibly hard to remember that I have limitations.  My depression isn't as bad as it could be, and I am grateful for that.  I am mostly able to function on a day to day basis without medication.  But it's bad enough.

On days like this, all I can do is keep pushing through.  Find the little joys in my family and the things that I love and hope that will be enough.

Be Amazing

The fact that my husband and I are planning on moving back to Missoula sometimes brings up mixed feelings for me.  On one hand, it's an amazing place to live.  It's absolutely beautiful.  There is just something about living in the mountains that brings me a sense of peace...although, I'll never live UP a goddamn mountain again.  I have some amazing friends there.  It's a good city and I love it.

On the other hand, there are times where I have difficulties divorcing the person I am today from the person I was 12 years ago.

Of course a person is going to change in a decade, but it's hard for me to remember that other people have changed just as much as I have.  And the person I am today is completely different from the girl I was when I first went to college.

Have you seen those Weight Watcher commercials?  The one where there are two people, both crying, one fat and one thin(ner)?  They're the same people, basically talking about how amazing their life is after Weight Watchers.  Ok, well, I hate those commercials, but that is kind of how I feel some days.  If I could talk to myself 10 or 15 or 20 years ago, I would give myself some advice.

First-People are cruel.  They'll make fun of you, they'll tease you, they'll treat you like shit. Their cruelty is not your fault.  And the things they say are not necessarily true.  Don't let the cruelty get to you, which I know is easier said than done.  Just remember that you are beautiful and you are amazing and you are perfect just the way you are.

Don't give up your dreams.  No matter how silly they might be, don't give up.  Keep working for the things that you love, the things that make you happy.  Don't let snide comments deter you, even when those comments come from the people that you love.  Yes, they should support you in what you do, but sometimes that doesn't happen.  Sometimes you just have to support yourself.

You are worthwhile.  Your stories and your life is just as important as everyone else's.  Don't let anyone tell you that your problems and dreams and concerns aren't as important as theirs.  You deserve to have friends that will treat you well.  You deserve to have friends that let you share the spotlight, even if it's just letting you have an open ear every down and then so that you can vent your frustrations.

You are beautiful.  You are amazing.

Live life to the fullest.  Live each day like it might be your last.  Tell your friends that you love them often.  Hold on to the good ones, because they are so hard to find.

Be amazing.

I'm excited to go back to Missoula, again.  It really is a city that draws you in.  No matter how far away I've been, my heart has always been there.  My priorities are a little different this time around--school and family are going to take top billing.  There are people that I can't wait to see and spend time with, though.

It's going to be a good move for us.

Find Joy

Today was a difficult day for a lot of people.

I woke up from a nap with the baby to see the news.  They were being cautious in their reporting.  Suspected bombs.  Suspected terror event.  The President gave a speech and it was the same thing.

It doesn't matter who did it.  It was still an act of terrorism.  I know when we say the dreaded t-word we think Middle East, but that's not always the case.  It's disingenuous to pretend it's anything else.

More than 140 people are injured.  3 are dead.

How is that anything but an act of terrorism?

Today was a difficult day for a lot of people.  People are dead.  Families are waiting to see if their loved ones will recover from their injuries.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I am raising a child in a world like this.  Where terrible people do senseless, terrible things.  Where we are inundated with news and video and a constant stream of information.  We've sat with the news channel on most of the day, listening to the same information over and over...watching the same horrific videos over and over.

When 9-11 happened, I didn't have a working tv in my dorm room.  I didn't spend time watching the news coverage on tv.  I didn't obsess over the news that was coming out on the internet.  It's probably a blessing that I didn't.

There are terrible things that happen in our world every day.  Sometimes, it's almost impossible for us to bear.  And we should know about these things, because it's important for us to be aware of what is happening in our world.  But we shouldn't obsess over them.

Today was a difficult day for many people.  It was a difficult day for me, too.  But all I could do when I watched the news was hug my son and kiss his head and tell myself that I will try to make the world a better place for him.

It was a difficult day, but there were beautiful things that happened.

When the bombs went off, people in the crowds ran towards them to help one another.

The city banded together, and the world has shown their support and love.

Even in times of darkness, there are always bright glimmers.

My own personal glimmer, as always, comes in the form of my son.  He makes everything better.

Tonight was Spaghetti night.  He giggled and made a mess and was completely joyful.  The sadness didn't diminish his light whatsoever.  It didn't change him or make him less.

You can't look at this picture and not see some joy there.  On days like today, we all have to find our own source of joy.  We should do that every day, but especially when things are difficult.  During the hard times, the joy is sometimes all we have.

Just Write

If you love to write, or if you are a writer, or if you want to be a writer...you should read this

Number 22 is my favorite.

I always say to myself that I want to be a writer when I grow up.  That I would just love to make an impact on peoples lives.  I've been saying it now for years.

I think that I have finally realized that if I want to be a writer?  I need to actually write.  I might have the talent and the capability (and I might not, I'm willing to admit that as a possibility) but I'll never unlock that talent if I don't actually write.  No one is perfect right out the gate.

Last month, someone posted an amazing link in one of my G+ communities.  It was a link to the magic spreadsheet.  The idea behind the spreadsheet is that you have to write every day.  When you hit 250 words in the day--not too much, but enough to make you sit down in front of your computer or notebook and write--then you earn a point.  Points are cumulative, and you get more points if you write more.  If you miss a day, your chain resets to zero and you have to start all over again.

The goal is to teach you how to write every day.  Even on rough days when you're busy and stressed and frustrated, you can still bang out 250 words of something.  It doesn't matter if it's blog posts or poetry or fiction or non-fiction...all that matters is that you are creating something.  I'm on day 20, with over 20,000 words written.  That is just crazy...

So that is what I'm doing.  I'm blogging a lot--don't tell me you didn't notice--and trying to get through some creative writing.  While the blog posts might not be all that inspiring or beautiful, at least it is getting something out on paper.

Read those pieces of advice.  And then read them again.  And again.  Look at those pictures and absorb that advice until you can recite it in your sleep.  It's all good advice.  It's useful for every writer, not just the baby writers like me.

And you know what?  I am a writer.  Because I write.  I might not be a published writer, and I might never make a difference, but I am still a writer.

I got this

Tonight, I sat down and waded through my school stuff.  Yes, this is the kind of thing that an adviser should help me with, but really, I'd rather do it on my own.

As of right now, provided my History class transfers from UMUC...I have 13 classes (plus secondary licensure classes) before I graduate with my English Teaching degree.  That means that I could absolutely be finished with my degree in two years.

This idea is slightly terrifying, to be entirely honest.

I didn't do well my first time in college.  I didn't have a major, and I was too busy socializing to go to class.  I had a hard time focusing, because I didn't feel like I had any purpose.  After a year, I was on academic suspension.  Years later, when I got my shit together and I wanted to go back to school, I couldn't.  I had student loans in default that had to be dealt with, and then I had to jump through the hoops to be readmitted.

I started back in the fall of 2010, after 8 years away.  I left UofM at that point with a 2.13 GPA.

Now, after several years of taking part-time classes (and a year away) I have a 3.18.  I've had A's and B's in every class...mostly A's, aside from Math and Biology.  I have rocked school hardcore.  This time, I have a purpose and I have a goal in mind.

It's still a little terrifying.

In a few years, I could actually be entering the work force as a "real" adult, with a legitimate degree and everything.  I feel called to teaching, and I think I would do well with it.

If I decide to double major in Teaching and Creative Writing, I have three years left.  At this point, this will likely be what I do.  Even though it means taking two years of a foreign language, it would probably be good for me.

So that is where I stand right now.  I can't wait to get back to classes in the fall.  I have two more classes to take to satisfy my general education requirements, and then it's the race to the finish line.  This will mean a lot of literature classes and a lot of writing classes.  I think I can handle this.

No.  Strike that.  I know that I can handle this.

What Dreams May Come

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a baby doctor. I wanted to help all the little babies in the world. I had these huge dreams of being a wonderful doctor that saved lives and made people better. In time, that changed to being a Veterinarian. I loved animals, and I figured it would be the perfect job for me. I remember telling a teacher of mine that once. Rather than encouraging me to follow my dreams and shoot for the stars, she launched into a lecture about how much WORK Vet school was. About how few people ever get accepted into school. About how long I would be in school. In short - she completely discouraged me. I felt a little heart-broken. Looking back, I think she was telling me I was smart/dedicated/good enough to be a Veterinarian.

Then there was the year I auditioned for Mrs. Clause for the Christmas play. She got to sing a solo. I've always loved music more then anything, and I jumped at the chance to audition. I remember sitting with my dad, and we practiced that damn song over and over and over again. When it came time for the actual audition, I choked. We didn't have a piano at home and so while I could sing the song perfectly, I had no idea what the piano part was supposed to be. When I fumbled, the other girls auditioning laughed at me.

I didn't bother putting myself in a position where anyone could really hear me sing for another 7 years. In 8th grade, some of the girls in my class decided to sing Tears in Heaven for the spring concert. Somehow, I convinced them to let me shoo-wop in the background along with them. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Being on the stage, even being in the background, was amazing.

The following year, I asked our new music teacher if I could sing a solo for the Christmas concert. He was willing enough (we always had a shortage of people who wanted to perform) and I scurried about picking out my music. My mom asked me, several times, if I was sure I wanted to do it. Later, she told me that she was worried I would fail dramatically.

The concert came, and even without a mic I nailed that rendition of Rockin' around the Christmas tree. People were stunned, and multiple people came up to me after the concert, 'I had NO IDEA you could sing!' From that point forward, I performed whenever I could. Concerts, church...I always wanted to sing the National Anthem, but I was always intimidated by that song (oh, and I just KNEW that I would sing it when certain crushes of mine were in the crowd and I'd fail fantastically.)

I had this idea in my mind that I could be a singer. I could be famous, I could actually DO it for a living. I was encouraged by people telling me how amazing they thought I was. I embarked on creating an internet name for myself. I recorded songs, I had a website, I had a fan club, I had several interviews in various online magazines...it wasn't much, but it made me feel special. It made me feel like I was actually good at something. I won contests. I was...not great, but I was GOOD. I had talent.

My freshman year of college, there was a concert in Spokane. My parents ended up driving me there to it. The night before we took off to the concert (I was already in my dorm room, they were in a hotel) I spent the entire night making a demo cd. I had a free 8-track recorder I'd downloaded and a cheap ass microphone, a guitar, and a lot of excitement. I still have that cd, somewhere. It wasn't good...hell, a lot of it sucked...but I put a lot of heart and soul into it.

At the concert, I was able to make my way to the front of the stage, and the groups manager was out visiting with people. I handed him my demo cd, and I was THRILLED. I'm sure he never listened to it (I later discovered that they're not able to, or allowed to as a general rule) but I was over the moon. I was excited about it all, I was going to make a go of it. Hell, at one point, I was seriously considering Coyote Ugly'ing it and moving to New York City to make my life as a musician.

I auditioned for the campus choir. I knew without a doubt that they would welcome me with open arms, that I would find a home in the music department. They didn't. Sight reading has never been my strong point, without an accompaniment...and I pretty much bombed the audition.

I was discouraged and frustrated. Not long after, I started dating my ex. And while he never discouraged me...he also...made it clear, at points, that he didn't think I had a snowballs chance in hell.

So I gave up. I just quit. I stopped recording, I stopped singing, I stopped playing guitar. And like any tool that goes unused, my voice went away. I'm not a bad singer these days, but I'm no where near as good as I was.

Since then, I have not been able to recapture that excitement. There is nothing that I throw myself into the way I threw myself into that. Oh, there are things that I've been good at and things that I've enjoyed...but there has been a distinct lack of follow through. Look at my writing for example. I enjoy it, very much. Hell, people tell me I'm good at it. I'm still too damn afraid to do much more then think about how awesome it would be if I someday were good enough to say, publish a novel.

I have this fear that someone is going to read my novel - what I've got so far, anyway - and laugh at me. Tell me it's terrible, and tell me I shouldn't even bother. I think part of me wants to keep it to myself...that way I can at least pretend it doesn't totally suck.

At MisCon, there is a writers workshop. It would be enough for me to send about the first 2 chapters of my novel, along with a $15.00 fee. They'll all be published in an anthology. And there is a crew of professional authors who are going to be at MisCon who will be work shopping and critiquing with us. One of them will pick a manuscript to line edit. All in all, it should be a fabulous experience.

And...I am terrified. I am terrified of going in there and talking to the author who gets my piece and being given a look. I'm terrified that this one last thing that I am ok at might be taken away from me. I want so badly to do this, but I am scared. So many hopes and dreams have been dashed before this that I just want to cling to this last one, and hope that it will be my THING.

Everyone has something they are really good at. All their others friends look to them for advice on that one thing. I...don't have a 'thing.' I don't have anything. And part of me feels...empty? Less? Because I don't have anything.

So yeah. That's my dilemma, and something I've been thinking about a lot. Do I tell him yes, I want in on the writers workshop, and risk being totally discouraged...or do I just stay the course? From the outside this is an easy choice. From inside my head, not so much.

A snippet of the crazy

Today, for the most part, was a pretty fantastic day.

On Tuesday, we start our Cam/Anarch game. This would be awesome, except for the fact that I was convinced to storytell for the game. EEEP! I have never run a game in the Camarilla. I've never even been an aVST (well, except for Colin's Forsaken game, but that was mostly cause it was in my living room.) Needless to say - I'm a bit terrified by all of it. I don't know the rules as well as I should, and I am worried my stories will all be boring. Good thing I know my players, and I know they'll make their own plot.

Anyway, I got a lot of work done on the game today. News articles, some information about Missoula in the World of Darkness, some plot ideas, and IC justification for game on Tuesday. I don't really feel much better about it...I'm still nervous as hell. Oh well, I'm sure it will be ok, right?

Tomorrow, Colin has an interview at St. Pat's for a position that would be PERFECT for him. Chaplain. Wait, a job where he gets to use his master's degree? NO WAY! YES WAY! It's a phone interview, the first step, and hopefully it will go well. Keep your fingers and toes crossed.

I start training tomorrow afternoon as well. I head down for a few hours of NextGen training. NextGen is the program we'll be using for all of the data entry and chart imaging. While I've never used it, I've seen it in use...it's not hard. Then again, after working in two different hospitals that had VASTLY different systems...they are all similar enough that I can figure it out. I've got two hands, a good brain, and an innate understanding of how medical records stuff WORKS. If I were more passionate about it, I could totally make this my life's work. Alas, I am not...English however, that I am passionate about.

Game tonight was awesome. Pathfinder is always fun. It's like DnD, but better. I totally approve of better.

So that is pretty much what is going on with me. How about you?

Who says you can't go back?

I've spent a lot of time over the past few weeks really thinking back about the past.

When Colin and I decided we were moving back to Missoula, I was thrilled. I called everyone and sent them messages on Facebook, and I started getting ready to go home. I didn't grow up here, but it has always been 'home' for me. Eventually, that initial euphoria started to fade and was replaced by fear.

It had been almost 8 years since I had left...and I'd only been back to visit a few times. And then, of course, I started to worry about the social structure.

You see, in the long long ago, in the before times...Adrienne and I met 'The Guys.' We met them LARP'ing. We went from LARP'ing with them to table top gaming with them to just generally hanging out. And then she started dating her husband and I started dating my ex. For the most part - it was really awesome.

And then the ex went to a convention, and cheated. Even though I was upset and unhappy, I stuck with the relationship. See, I was afraid that if I left, I would never find someone else who wanted me. I had this ridiculous romanticized ideal of love that said that since he was my first, we would eventually get married. And have children. And live the picture-perfect cookie-cutter life. So I stayed. Even being a little unhappy was better than being totally alone, right?

After a trip to Colorado, I had a brilliant idea. We'd move to Colorado! It would make everything all better. We'd have a new start and a new life and I would finally be able to forget the past. And it had the added benefit of getting me out of Montana and satisfying my silly roamer blood.

No one tried overly hard to talk us out of it. I think they all knew that I was set on it. I told him then, 'I'm going, even if you don't come with me.' He did, and I figured it would all be ok. I thought it would fix the issues I had with trusting him and that it would fix the issues he had with commitment.

Yeah...I was very, very wrong.

Needless to say, things in Colorado didn't go quite the way I had expected them to. We made some friends (some of them are still very dear to my heart, and will be my friends forever.) Things were great, at first. I don't really know when they started going south, but they did. We both lost all contact with our friends in Montana...to the point where we'd talk to them MAYBE once a year. Maybe. Hell, I totally lost contact with my parents. I would go for months without talking to my mom. Sure, I had freedom...but I was horribly lonely.

The break up was inevitable. I'll go into that later...but it was a long time coming. I realize now that we were both using each other. I didn't have a car and I was terrified of being alone. So I stayed until I just couldn't stay anymore. I'm not proud of it...but I stayed until I found someone else who showed me and told me that they were willing to be in a relationship with me...and that they were willing to love me.

I visited Missoula once after the break up. It wasn't bad, but I kept waiting for things to be awkward. I talked about the break up in passing, but I tried not to dwell on it. At that point, even a year later, everything was still pretty difficult for me to talk about without crying.

Fast Forward to current day. We were preparing for the move, and I started freaking out. What if everyone was as different as I am, and we didn't get along anymore? What if they were all disgusted by the choices I've made in my life and didn't want to associate with me? What if they all blamed me for taking their good buddy away, and wouldn't give my husband a chance? What if the person they expected to return was the person I was 10 years ago - not the person I am today? In short - I was terrified. Colin did a very good job reassuring me...he just kept reminding me that everyone in Missoula had been nothing but excited when we said we were coming back. And that even if everyone else didn't want to associate with me, our roommates still would.

It was still kind of a scary thing. Returning to a place after being gone for so many years. But the first night we were in town, we went to the New Years party...and it really was like coming home. There were a few new faces and a lot of old ones...and everyone was friendly and welcoming. We're still adjusting, but I think it's going really well.

Long story short...it's been amazing coming home. It isn't the same as it was when I was 19, but I didn't really expect it to be. I am a very different person, but we all are. On one hand, it makes me sad that I left and missed so many memories with my friends - my chosen family. On the other hand, at least now I have a massive repertoire of stories that no one here has heard yet.

And while Colin isn't my ex...and won't ever take his place...I think he's been accepted as well. At least no one has kicked him yet. :)