Posts Tagged TMI

A new day, a new gig, a happier me.

Things are looking up; my mood is lightening a little more each day, and the sunshine and warmth that’s been poking around these parts lately has had more than a little to do with that. For a stretch of days last week and the beginning of this week, it has been sunny and in the 70s, and that is RIGHT up my alley. I’ve had the opportunity to prepare garden beds and plant flowers. The physical work, time outside, and thoughts of beautiful gladioli, dahlias, cosmos, and yarrow bursting open some time in the future all swirl together to make my step a bit more sprightly.

When I haven’t been playing in the dirt, John and I have taken Braden here and there to various parks and playgrounds around our area. I have really missed doing that, and so has Braden. It’s not that you can’t do that kind of stuff when it’s cold – that’s what jackets and hats are for, after all – but my kiddo happens to have a serious HATE relationship with his face getting cold.

And I wasn’t too keen on seeing how he’d feel about a ski mask, so yeah.

swing

But for days recently, we’ve been riding down slides and pumping our legs on the swings, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me a gagillion times more giddy than a glass of red wine.

I do not forsake thee, red wine. I just place you aside for a short time. We shall join again, I promise thee.

Monday night, I was able to hang out with some lovely blogging ladies at the UBP IRL in Nashville, snarf some red wine and cheese, and have my husband and kiddo not far away from me. That was pretty freakin’ nice, too.

And I’ve just started a new writing gig, to which I was referred by the always lovely Sarah (Imaginary Binky).

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It’s helping me find my “big girl” journalistic voice, which is kind of cool, in a challenging and frustrating way (can you say, “Lotus has to learn how to get a point across without droning on and on and on for eons?). Yeah, you could say I’m not the Queen of Brevity. And then you could say it again, scream it, and finish by stamping it on my forehead.

So I’ve been setting things up and writing my very first articles as Nashville Parenting Examiner. I’ll be writing a lot of locally flavored items, as well as many general parenting pieces. I’m planning on writing about events and activities that will be of interest to people in this area, and also publish a regular spattering of opinion pieces that anyone can get their head into. In addition, I’ll be hosting giveaways there, and giving general information that is helpful for all parents.

On top of all that, I’m planning on spotlighting Parent Bloggers I know and love (could this be you?) that I’ve built relationships with during my time on this website. Groovy, right? I think so. :-) I’ll be counting on page views and subscriptions to keep me afloat, so anyone subscribing, visiting, and commenting? Will make my day.

The RSS feed is http://www.examiner.com/RSS-6205-Nashville-Parenting-Examiner

The related Twitter account is nashvilleparent

So, warmth, sun, fun, productivity, accomplishments… laughter, mirth, time with family… I’m seeing good things. It’s feeling pretty good.

Why, I’ve been so inspired by happiness lately that I even shaved my legs for the first time in over a month, trimmed the ole’ 70s bush and frolicked in the sheets with my husband. And while you may think, “UH 1) TMI and 2) So?” it’s a big deal here, considering that the last time that happened we conceived a baby. Yeah. Read the archives a little and do the math. You’ll see that it’s been an awfully evil long time.

Psychologically crippling fears resist logic and desire and can put you in places you don’t want to be for even a second. And then they keep you there for indefinite amounts of time. You even start feeling that the pain that’s being caused you and your most beloved is all your fault; you should just wake up, break out, get better, damnit.

It just can’t be forced.  Something’s gotta give, one way or another.

It’s giving. Finally, it is caving in and crumbling away.  Bit by bit.

And as it falls off of my shoulders, I’m feeling that shine again, the one that comes from inside. Not the same shine as before, from the same girl as before, but that’s okay.

Every day of this adult life, I’m learning. I’m always in process; this is a journey. The waiting for the completion of who I am and where I’m going is pointless.  I am ever changing.  It is time I accept that and who I am right now, ready to welcome the next change, whatever the moments that pass may hold.

Just be, right?

I’m workin’ on it. :-)

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I guess I should go look up ole’ Baldie.

When I posted about how Braden ventured to improve the (obviously) drab paintjob in our new rental home yesterday, I got a RESOUNDING response in comments:

“BUY THE FRIGGIN’ MR. CLEAN MAGIC ERASER.  REALLY.  BUY IT OR WE’LL RAPE YOU WITH A BROOM HANDLE, YOU IDIOT!”

Okay, so I added that last thingie.  But just mostly because I’m kind of tired and out of it.  Ok, okay.  It’s because I’m deranged and psychotic.

A couple of you asked me if it came off the wall okay, and I laughed, because I took the time to photograph it, but I haven’t even considered cleaning it.  If you could see how much of our crap is sitting in heaps and piles all over the place, you’d understand that it’s soooo not on the top of my list of things I even give half a flying turd about.

Oh, that and the fact that I’m a pretty crappy cleaningthingstypeperson. 

In fact, I’m much better at things like playing in the yard…
Extra Luck?

…and relaxing in the bath tub.
If Only All Time... Relaxing

These talents take much practice to perfect.  I hone my skills carefully and I refuse to let the perfection I have so carefully developed dull from lack of repetition.

Just sayin.

So, back to the marks on the wall thing.

I do have to mention that Mr. Lady told me to spray hair spray on it and wipe it off.  This did a couple of things for me: reminded me of how practically anything she says makes me laugh (even if she means it) and reminded me that I have no idea where half of my stuff is anymore. 

What box is the hairspray in?  Who the hell knows, people!  It’s probably in the pile of boxes in the garage that are mingling with pieces of upside-down furniture, randomly draped curtains and scattered clothes-hangers.  For all I know, it is procreating with the garden hose.  God help us.

Speaking of, I better find the box with the clean underwear in it or wash the ones I’m currently wearing one of these days.

And NO.  There’s no such thing as TMI at Sarcastic Mom’s Place.

Once I get my unmentionables washed and weave my way through the garage to the car, I’ll look up ole’ Baldie and give him a go, reporting back to all of you on how it went.

And I’ll even buy the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser and see if it takes the marks off the wall.


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