Mama Needs Money [RANT]

People keep telling me I should write a book. This usually follows a story about my early years. Instead of writing such a book, perhaps I should see how many people would wisely pay me not to share my experiences with them. How much would you pay for me to stop talking endlessly about cats, childhood trauma, and how I became addicted to chocolate?

But why would I possibly need money? Possibly to fund my corset, chocolate, cat, and fabric addictions? Maybe? 

In actuality, the first issue is an age-old one. As a mother, I was offered the opportunity to stay home with my children instead of outsourcing their care to others. My husband felt that the pay wouldn’t be enough to offset childcare if I worked in an office or a bookstore or a library. And I wasn’t sure I’d want to miss their little faces for forty hours or more a week.

However, the constant need to advocate for extracurricular activities for my kids is exhausting. Yes, I have many random skill sets, but I didn’t pursue teaching as a career because I lack some of the required facets of a good teacher—unlimited energy and patience, for instance. This means I get to hear how bored they are despite my best efforts to entertain. Besides, as their mother, they don’t always give me the same attention they give to someone else who is sharing knowledge with them. 

I want my children to learn and have fun. One of them definitely does better with a definite and consistent schedule repeated every day. This is my second summer trying to execute such a schedule. Thanks to advice from a group of like-minded mothers of faith, they are responding better to my attempts to keep their math skills sharp. What was that secret? Play board games with them and let them do the math, checking for accuracy, of course. They haven’t been as cooperative as I try to give them some life skills like cleaning, organizing, and resisting the urge to hoard.

On top of that, they frequently complain that they want to see their friends. So I try to make that happen. But guess where their friends are? In camps. Most camps seem to average about $300 to $400 per child for a week. That can really cut into the budget, so we stuck with the one camp that charges about $150 per child per week, but that leaves us flailing for the rest of the summer.

On top of that, a kitchen mishap has resulted in me needing to replace some cookbooks and magazines. I ended up photographing the recipes I like or still need to try from the magazines because I bought them so long ago, that people willing to part with them were charging upwards of $50. I may need to up the dosage on my heart medicine to recover from that sticker shock, but a couple of the books were reasonably priced, so I am convincing myself that it is okay to buy them or ask for them for my birthday.

In short, I technically have a very small cash stream. I finally have two paid subscribers on substack, so I will be able to afford those cookbooks by the end of the year. I also get the occasional interested party who wants to buy some of my up-cycled journals or other crafts, so feel free to send an inquiry if you need a gift for an upcoming birthday or other event. After all, it is never too early to plan for Christmas in July. (It might be too late depending on how extreme you want to get though, so choose carefully.)

Final Words: Finally Found [PREACHY]

Somehow, I have decided to fall into the weeds of my digital archives. In so doing, I found some writings that seem to be mostly finished aside from finesse. Some of them might boost my productivity on Substack. Others clearly want to be shared here. So I present an edited and updated mini-post that I buried in some dark recess of my hard drive until now:

One of the podcasts I listen to, challenged me to write my Final words in six sentences. I don’t even remember when this happened at this point. As I mulled it over, looking for perfection though I know I won’t find that in myself, the following wanted to be written. My self esteem isn’t that good or you would have so much more to read from me each week. But why on earth would that be the focus of my final statement to a world in need of hope and guidance?

Shouldn’t those final words be about gratitude? Final words give one last chance to leave the world better than we found it after all. So here we go, my final words should they be needed anytime soon.

1. No matter what happens, don’t forget that you are loved by me, by our Savior Jesus Christ, and by your Father in Heaven.

2. Keep striving to be the good in this world. 

3. Furthermore, try to be grateful for all that you have, both blessings and trials.

4. You need both the good and the bad times to make you into the best possible version of yourself.

5. And remember that you are never alone because Heavenly Father sent us here to care for and strengthen each other.

6. When you doubt any of this, be strong and turn to Heavenly Father in prayer.

This Is Why I Care [RANT]

Some people may have read my last post and are now waiting for my breakdown and the reign of terror. But bad experiences, terrible decisions, and the cruelty of others aren’t all life taught me.

I don’t remember my grandmother very well since she passed away the year I turned four. Yet I have always feel loved when I think of her. My mother assured me that though my grandmother’s cancer had spread to her bones, she refused to miss a moment with me. She relayed that even the intense pain of trying to hold me wasn’t a deterrent. My grandmother wouldn’t let my mother take me from her, even when she heard a snap that sounded like weakened bones giving way. Sometimes, love overrides the pain. 

While many of the people who claimed to try to help me as a child probably did more harm than good by making promises and never following through, a couple of educators truly saw and celebrated me. For some, they showed this by writing a letter requesting I be put in a reading class that would challenge me. One worded it more as an admonition for my enthusiasm making less motivated readers feel bad about themselves and I still got placed back in redial reading the next year. Others gave me outdated reading textbooks from higher grade levels. I devoured all of these words ravenously. 

One teacher in particular took it upon herself to champion me. She didn’t limit the encouragement to just her class. She encouraged my interest in other areas of learning, pointing our with excitement how those interests related to each other. She may have also clothed me for a couple of years. I had a hobo not-chic hand-me-down style that no one else bothered to try to correct politely. (You know other kids weren’t kind—most of the time). 

And she wasn’t the only bonus mom who tried to fill in where my own exhausted mother couldn’t find the time. If you really know me, you know I was the least needy of her children. Some have observed that I essentially raised myself in some areas. In other arenas, I may have been raised more like a boy. Thus you get treated to the weirdness that I call personality.

So despite all my complaints, I have to confess, that I want to be kind. I want to care. I will not randomly decide I hate you because your beliefs or appearance different than mine. And I state certain things all the time, but I shall try to summarize a few here:

I don’t care who you love as long as you respect my assurances that I want to be your friend but I don’t need to be just like you or make out with you to do that.

I am not staring because I am judging you. Sometimes, I am just looking your way because your smile or your eyes are beautiful. At other times, I am looking at the art that someone painstakingly applied to your skin while you exhibited the patience of a saint. 

On a similar note, I may be counting your piercings or contemplating how one tiny hole became large enough to stick a finger through. I am socially awkward not judging you.

If I am asking you questions about your beliefs, I am not about to attack. I want to understand. Honestly, I have bolstered my own faith on more than one occasion where I asked awkward questions about another’s faith. Not because I found their faith wanting but because what they said about their faith sparked a testimony of my own. 

In short, this world we live in needs more love. Let’s assume the best of each other. Sometimes, the person who cut you off just wasn’t paying attention. And even if they were darting in and out of traffic like they mistake the highway for a racetrack, maybe it is best to try to avoid that particular person instead of deciding to drag race them… 

Maybe You’ll Hear Me? [RANT]

We’ve all had those one-sided conversations where the person clicks their tongue or offers an unconvincing “uh-huh” to your viewpoint before launching back into theirs. You know they did’t listen to a word you said. Eventually, you even question why you bother opening your mouth. I seem to be having them more and more frequently. When did the concept of a conversation being an exchange of ideas die an ignoble death?

Judging from how some of my conversation partners launch into lecturing me like a small child who needs educated while repeating concepts I already expressed, I fear that a lack of respect is the actual issue. Perhaps, they haven’t quite caught onto the fact that I have lived more than four decades already and I kind of skipped over being an actual bonafide child despite my excessively large collection of stuffed animals and other random toys.

So let me give you some perspective for those who hear I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and assume I grew up in an idealized little world where everything went my way. They seem to think I was loved and coddled and sheltered from the big bad world. But I assure you that big bad wolf has taken a few bites out of me. I turn some of my life experiences into a bit of a comedy routine because if I don’t laugh, I might be horrified and break down or cry.

My first few years of life were lived with an alcoholic. When not drinking, some people are sweet and kind and thoughtful. But if they get enough alcohol in them, inhibitions and intelligence leave the room and anything seems appropriate. Hurting animals. Encouraging the children to help assure the adage of “if I can’t have you, no one can.” Putting things through windows regardless of who or what may be on the other side. So my feelings on the Word of Wisdom are based in experience as to why such counsel would be good.

We lived in a cabin with no running water or indoor plumbing for a summer. So if you mistook me for a wilting flower, that also isn’t true. I have roughed it. Old lady me can probably do it again if necessary. Maybe don’t sell me short…

From there we eventually moved on to living on the tracks. Yes, we were so poor, we couldn’t afford to live on the wrong side of the tracks. Indeed, we paid the railroad monthly rent to assure them they had no liability should we or our property fall in front of an oncoming train. We had outdoor cats, so you can imagine I have some experience with traumatic loss.

Compliments of children having the ability to be just as cruel as adults, I was bullied for well over a decade. Before you think that one kid just needed some major help, I assure you it wasn’t just by one kid. I have the scars internal and external to prove I was bullied by a fair number of peers. Somewhere a spring pictures still reveals bruises I tried to hide because boys thought beating on me was better than therapy. I also have memories of adults joining in by asking me what I was doing to incite this. Um, honestly, I was usually just reading my book. Sorry that angered people. Some things never change.

In all of this, did it ever occur to me to assuage my own pain in a similar manner? No. I would rather help people than hurt them. Did I ignore the pain of people who made it clear they hated me? No. In fact, I would usually let them vent until they realized who was showing them compassion and wander off, stunned, “Did you see who I was talking to?” The people they turned to usually weren’t as keen to listen and certainly didn’t care. So why did I? Because someone needs to who or the whole purpose of humanity dissolves.

So if I keep telling you to look for the good, you should rest assured that it can be found. But, honestly, sometimes it has to start with us. Look for ways to help not hurt. Hurting other people never truly brings the peace you are seeking. Helping them brings so much more than peace. Try it out without expectations of being rewarded. Expectation is what ruins it.

How do I know?

Because my number one bully asked me for forgiveness eight years after graduation. For those doing math, that was eighteen years after he started torturing me to forget that parts of his life weren’t ideal. And he isn’t the only one who has felt the need to apologize. Some even apologize with more frequency. If I say I forgive you, please let me and then be better to me, yourself, and this whole world.

Things I Shouldn’t Say? [PREACHY]

If you know me, you know the filter between my brain and my wagging tongue frequently fails to work. This results in the treat of random songs floating out of my mouth, blunt words dropping like anvils though I try to be diplomatic, and the rare clamping down of mouth over tongue that leads to awkward silence because some power greater than my mortal mind prompts me, just in time, not to drop that truth bomb. 

Lately, I’ve been struggling with people telling me that I am not a Christian and then proceeding to inform me of what exactly the religion I am baptized into believes though they haven’t studied the teachings of said religion for as long as I have. This weighs heavy on my heart. If you see my beliefs this way, how do you see me?

Let’s take a step back in time to a couple of decades ago. My roommate came home from trip with his fiancée and proceeded to tell me about some “Mormons” he annoyed at the wedding he attended. (Yes. My roommate was male. Quelle horreur! Another opportunity for people to tell me I was unchristian and not following my faith. Still boggles my mind that I grew up living with my two brothers and no one questioned that, but I live with a guy I think of as a brother and the assumptions abound. Anyway, the culmination of his conversation with his future “Mormon” relatives was that they could drink champagne if they wanted and make all the excuses they wanted, but he knew me and knew that I went to church almost every day. (We had activities every day. We were very social creatures and didn’t exactly blend with the skimpily clad drunks stumbling down High Street.) And my friend, who apparently listened to my random ramblings and respected me, chose to believe me when I shared my beliefs. He disagreed, often strenuously, but he accepted me for who I am and was willing to defend my beliefs to others.

But can I call people out for judging me right after they accuse me of judging them? Probably not. Just because I express an opinion that disagrees with you, particularly if you didn’t press your opposing view prior to me sharing mine, doesn’t mean I am judging you. What happened to the world where we could talk to each other and agree to disagree?

For instance, I have been told I can not love both “Star Wars” and “Star Trek” and yet I do. I also love “Doctor Who” and “Defiance” and “Firefly” and really need to watch more “Babylon Five” and “Farscape” because I liked what I saw, but feel like I need to see more to declare myself a fan.

Hope you are all enjoying this major day for nerds to celebrate what makes our world a little brighter even though it seems to be burning down around us. What makes you want to be better and influence the world for good?

So Much to Ketchup [RANT]

It’s been a while. Has it been forever? I keep typing up some thoughts with the intent to share. Then they never make it out into the world. Could be a sign of something. Maybe exhaustion from this the long winter? Bear with me if you want a peek at my last few weeks.

~

I’ve been trying to catch up on other writers’ work. A couple of the pieces I read, reminded me that I have the right to exist and that sometimes sharing our challenges helps us make it through them. Friends who see me in person know I have challenges. So do my faithful readers. But I was also reminded that, despite my shortcomings, I have value and it is okay if not everyone gets that. They will just miss out on me and the wonder that I am. And the treats that I shower people with because it is selfish and unwise to eat that many sweet yummies alone.

~

No one asked because they have heard about my crafty little projects before, but I wanted to include a photo of last week’s product. These are two inches wide by three inches tall and contain fifty pages. I’ve been giving them out in gift bags whenever people come over to celebrate my babies. I also make them in 3x4, 3.5x7, 5x7, 7x10, and 8.5x11. Sometimes, I cover them in fabric instead of using the image already on the cardboard. 

With Valentine’s Day and small children, the week passed too quickly for every activity I needed to participate in. I ended up swapping my Valentine’s Day volunteer session for one on the blustery first Saturday of the month. My family was excited by this as it meant we could have lunch together as a family. Then the texts and phone calls started from another volunteer. Looks like I get to try to resolve an internet issue this week, so people can access the records they want to see when they visit us at the center.

Blah. Blah. Blah. That is what my husband mumbles whenever I talk about any of my random responsibilities, so on to the fun stuff. I got blood work drawn on Friday the 13th. I found this an amusing time to schedule a stabbing, which goes to show I may not be entirely mentally well. While waiting to be seen, I talked to another person who had to have fasting labs but couldn’t get an appointment until 11:40. I really hope someone cancelled an earlier appointment and she got seen much sooner. I was out by 8:15 and it wasn’t too busy, so it could have happened.

Since I bled quickly and made my escape, I was able to bring happiness to my dear child who decided the Thursday before a four day weekend was a good day to forget her backpack. Luckily, the teachers at the elementary school were living their own potential horror as they met with parents for Parent Teacher Conferences, so I was able to pop in, grab her bag, see her teacher, and even get a hug. I attribute the hug to how absolutely lovable my sweet babies are. 

As one can imagine, the rest of the weekend included participating in church. Someday, I will convince my children that it is wonderful to listen to other people share experiences with faith and wise counsel.

Hope you all got reminded how greatly you are loved on Valentine's Day. Of course, that is my wish for my beloved friends and family every day. 

~

More snow fell after church this weekend, so my kids have been receiving full chariot service. Walking facing away from traffic on a major road makes me nervous enough when the sidewalk is clear. If we have to walk in the bike lane, it won’t be safe. People have insisted on blowing past the bus with its stop sign out and passing in that lane. Anyway, this week has been as busy as any other but not exciting enough to type about. Stay safe out there, my friends.

Snow Way I Can Do All This [RANT]

Despite the poem I shared on Substack on Sunday, I find myself struggling to make time for God or much of anything really. Are all the mamas feeling like these piles of ice and snow are piled on top of them or is it just me?

I shall try to keep my words brief because we all need to get back in the fray and catch up on January. In my effort to do that, I worked on more of those little journals that I make. I have to grow some confidence and rent a space at a craft fair to get these beauties into the hands of appreciative buyers. 

I also started a top secret mission. I am slowly sneaking garbage out of the hoard of my baby trash dragons into an actual trash can. Even the mama trash dragon, who upcycles paper into lovely journals, has some limits on what is salvageable. Honestly, that might have prompted me to fall down the upcycle rabbit hole again.

Meanwhile, due to an insatiable need to tell everyone that editors have value to writers, I am unofficially editing two of my friends’ contributions to the written word. One has even been letting me know when poems go live, so I can get to them quickly. Anyway, the book I just read needed one editor to catch the easy fixes and another to dig in and convince the writer to fill the plot holes. I am fairly certain my Goodreads followers are questioning why I keep reading when I am clearly aggravated by typos and misused words, but I don’t always push through. I opted to not finish a couple of books already this year, but I have spent too much time on this topic. Please point out my typos to me. I eventually catch them and wonder why no one took the opportunity to correct me.

Maybe that is because so many people think they should tell me I am wrong about such things as my own preferences. I definitely won’t get started on that one. Because I want to reassure you about something important:

I resisted the temptation of my inner redneck today. A cashier at the grocery store was dressed as a cow. A very adorable cow. I giggled to myself, but I did not sneak up on her and tip her over. Overcoming my childhood programming one opportunity at a time over here. 

Hopefully, the huge piles of ice melt enough to not make me feel concerned as I walk my tiny humans to and from the bus in the middle of the road… Stay strong mamas. I’m sending positive energy your way.