frog pillow

Okay so I am trying to teach myself how to sew. My mom sent me some of her scrap fabric and an old pattern for animal pillows. It took me ALL DAY to sew this frog but I did it and to my amazement it turned out right! I didn't have any pillow stuffing around so I just stuffed it with newspaper being that it was just a practice thing anyway. Taison loves his new frog and I feel like I am one step closer to sewing my own garments! YAY!

And this is me SOOOOOOOO happy that my frog turned out LOL

Have a great night!

A good day!

Today was a good day. Woke up at 8am and went to my annual gyno appt. I love my doc and we had a great talk about breastfeeding. He said I am in perfect health and that I am O.K. to get pregnant again whenever I am ready. WOOHOO! Then came home and took a nap with my little man. We got up and I worked out to the 1st vid on Jillian Michaels 30 day shred(I almost died...it was awesome!). Then we packed up and went swimming with hubby at the HUGE indoor pool here for the 1st time. Taison loved it and threw a MAJOR tantrum when it was time to leave. Now we are home, showered, warm, and hanging out until bedtime.

Thursday, January 22, 2009 naptime experience

Calm, quiet, listening to the heated air blow through the vents in the hall, sun splashed onto my walls in the wild geometric shapes of the blinds or reflections of CDs strewn about. I can see runners outside leisurely jogging down the road toward the trails, snuggled up in their PT-gear sweatsuits or decked out in expensive winter jogging attire, soaking in what is left of the afternoon sun. Kids playing across the street on the old wooden playground equipment. Swinging on swings that I know from experience creak, their mothers huddled together discussing when and where the next big sale will be. Eating homemade meatball soup that is so hot it almost burns the tongue with chunks of toasted, crusty, oatmeal bread dipped into the perimeter of my bowl that soaks up the tomato and beef broth. What seems like millions of tiny fingerprints and smudges line the lower 2/3rd's of the screen door. Autographed by a toddler. Silence except for the tap-tapping of the keys and space bar on the keyboard as Taison...is taking a nap.

From the book Mothers Need Time-outs Too

What gives you goosebumps? Certain musical moments give me goosebumps e.g., songs that evoke a memory, certain voices, and certain riffs.

What could you chatter about incessantly? At the moment--Great Danes. I want one so bad!

What do you want to learn more about? Myself

What or who do you want to feel more connected to? Myself

What do you do that simply feels right? Breastfeed and co-sleep, eat right and exercise, and always try to learn something new everyday.

Guilty feelings rant(bad grammer, misspellings and all)

My feelings of guilt have been growing steadily for the past few months. As Taison get older I am finding myself wanting to get out and do things more often. He is not an infant anymore and I am pretty comfortable leaving him with Daddy for a few hours. At times I feel great...inspired to go out and conquer the world lol. All I really want to do is go kayaking for the first time, go hiking, mountain bike, or buy rollerskates and skate outside. I have been on a road to self-discovery and have never felt this close to being happy but there is something that is keeping me from letting go completely. GUILT! Guilt from what I think my parents and family think about my decisions, Guilt from what I think society thinks I should be doing. Guilt from what I think my husband or his family thinks I should be doing. Guilt from me about what I have internalized about what I SHOULD be doing at this point--which is this--going back to work! Of course another income would help out but we are not hurting. It would put that dream of home ownership a lot closer at this point and I would not have to feel so guiltiy about spending money on things like my hair or makeup. But I would totally sacrifice my happiness. It is a choice between finally living the life I want, being "outdoorsy", cooking, spending time with my family, watching my son grow, being active, having plenty of time to really soak up and learn from my classes, with plenty of time for reflection and healing my broken pieces OR working a full time job and trying to fit the rest of that in there somewhere. I worked from 14-23 and never had time for a quater of that stuff. Every day was centered around what time I had to go to work and what time I got off. Then I would throw in eating, sleeping, and socializing and that was about it. I was SOOOOO depressed and seriously would sit at my desk most days trying to figure out how to escape the viscious cycle of the day to day. It was maddening! I do think that I would like to work again at some point after I finish college and can do what I would like to do--or at least be on that path--but for now I feel like this COULD be MY time. These have the potential to be some of the best years of my life I think. But what about my husband. Shouldn't he be able to do the same thing?! I'm sure he would love to galavant around doing whatever he wanted and having loads of fun and "me" time too. But by me not working the financial burden falls on him. Who is to say that I should not go to work and let him stay home? It makes me feel so guilty! Plus, these things take money;kayaking, buying roller skates, hiking gear, shoes, sportsbras, books. None of these things are necessities that apply to my "job" of raising our little guy and "keeping house". I feel so guilty even thinking of purchasing them. It feels so wasteful. On the other side, its ME. I am not a waste so why should I feel guilty about buying something that would aid in my heppiness. If I need a new sportsbra so that my boobs aren't flopping around while running then I deserve it dammit. UGH!

I know what the correct answer is in order to live MY life with no regrets. The problem is that the correct answer for me just does not seem to match society's answer. It is sad!

words of the day with random picture

To sum up the day: happy, productive, accomplished.

I am so reluctant to use the word happy...Hmmm...

My Franklin Soft-Spike

Around the time that I was 13 or 14 I received a very important gift. This gift would be with me for the next 12 years. I do not remember who gave me this gift but I am forever grateful. I was given a Franklin Soft Spike volleyball;neon green and pink so that it could easily be seen at dusk, Franklin Soft-Spike branded in thick black letters across the front, Made in China across the back in small print. It felt soft in my hands; some sort of synthetic durable cloth outer layer and it had more give to it then other volleyballs so it was easier on the forearms. However, this also seemed to give it less force when hit which never ceased to annoy me. I presume that because of the cloth outer layer and it's pliability it would make a sound like a dull thud when hit. The sounds of the ball making contact with anything seemed muffled.
The ball that sits in front of me now is dirty, worn, used, aged. The cloth has shifted and is no longer even close to being lined up with the air needle hole. The fabric is almost like worn suede now to the touch but is completely intact--well made. When I hold it up to my nose it smells of old clothes, not a bad smell, just an old smell. When I look at this ball I am reminded of several times in the last 12 years.
My first memory was around the age of 14 or 15. My mom had bought me a volleyball net(as I was an avid player at school) and we had set it up near the edge of our property. We lived on seven acres in the country so this was pretty far from the house. My mother and I did not get along at all and by that time in my childhood/adolescence I was already severely depressed, abusing OTC meds, contemplating suicide, cutting, binge eating and crying myself to sleep most nights. My home felt like my prison and no one knew that I was doing or feeling any of the above. Almost every weekend that I remember I would take my Franklin Soft-Spike volleyball out to that net and serve and serve and serve. I would be out there for hours--sometimes it would get dark on me. I would hit that ball as hard as I possibly could over and over and over, crying, audibly cursing my mother, my life, God, everything. I remember doing this until I got my first job at Wendy's where I had to work weekends.
My next memory comes from Terre Haute, Indiana at my Dad's house. I have a little half-sister that is eight years younger than I am and she looked up to me. She knew I played volleyball so she told me that she wanted to play too. I think that I was about 16 or 17 by this time. So every time I would drive over to visit my Dad from then on I would bring my Franklin Soft-Spike volleyball and I would work with my sister on basic skills outside;bumping, setting, rolls. Those were good memories. I don't know if I had anything to do with it but she is currently 17 and still plays volleyball for her high school and other leagues year round.
My memories with my volleyball are hit and miss after that. Every time I would move to a new place I would pack up my ball and think about how it had helped me so much in the beginning and the great times I had with my sister.
Now that I have a son my Franklin Soft-Spike volleyball resides in his toy box. He has no idea how old it is or how much it means to me. To him it is just another ball. A few weeks ago my husband, son and I were outside playing with my volleyball, laughing and having a great time. I realized just how far I have come since receiving that gift.

Today I was on a mission

Today started out like any other. I made a few phone calls and ran to the store to get a few things. Little did I know that I would go on a baking rampage that would last into the night. It all started with my husband wanting english muffins, bagels and hamburger buns from the store.

#1 I am sick of perusing ingredients lists for eggs (my son is allergic), high fructose corn syrup, partially hydrogenated oils, and the rest of the 90 million ingredients I find on the bread items.

#2 I am sick of getting raped cost-wise for bread items, especially if I pay the extra to get the "healthier" kinds.

#3 I am perfectly capable of making these things myself and I had all the ingredients.

So I set out on my mission. First stop-whole wheat bagels...this was my first batch ever and they turned out pretty good.

Next stop-whole wheat hamburger buns. Again, a first for me. I accidentally made them a little small but I can fix that next time. They tasted right though. Woohoo! 2 for 2 so far!

Last stop-homemade bread. I tried a new recipe today for yogurt wheat bread and well, I think that the yogurt cooled the water down too much before the yeast hit so it didn't rise correctly. I will have to try this one again but here is my cute little 1/2 loaf lol. It is so dense inside I don't think we are going to get through it so it was my big dud for the day.

And that was my day.

2003-my 1st apartment w/ Kisha

Kisha Gordon
2002-2007

In December of 2002 I packed up everything I owned and moved to Florida. I had just turned 19. In February of 2003 I got my first apartment. I lived in Lighthouse Bay Apartments on the South side of Jacksonville. Total Freedom. I was working at T-mobile, had no furniture and did not know my way around the city. I wanted a friend, someone I knew for sure that I could trust, someone that would love me unconditionally. I wanted a dog. I wanted a purebred, first a boxer, then maybe a pug but as I was still just getting on my feet I couldn't afford a purebred so I decided to adopt. I got on trusty map quest and went to nearby humane societies. I started going to the one on Beach Blvd next to Wal-mart regularly. I was hunting for purebred boxers. One day I was walking the aisles and playing/talking with the dogs on the other side of the fence when I stumbled across a little puppy named Jelly. I knew she was the one from the moment I saw her. She was a five month old American Staffordshire Terrier mix, brindle, but it was her beautiful head, eyes and expression that melted me. She seemed to like me too. It was so hard to leave her that day. I planned and thought about adopting her for the next three weeks. I was soooo nervous that someone else was going to get her. Finally, when I was ready I put a hold on her, faxed the needed documents to the shelter , arrived the next day, paid $85 dollars and she was all mine--my first dog. She rode in my lap on the way home all curled up. I named her Kisha. We were partners and we did EVERYTHING together and I took her EVERYWHERE. I won't go into detail about our remaining days together because that is another story . I loved her for always being there for me in all the ways I needed her to be. I will always love you Kisha--R.I.P.

My first diary

A book I was reading today got me thinking about diaries/journals. When I actually thought about it I was blown away at how many different things I had used in my lifetime to record my thoughts or things that were happening to me at the time. Here is my list and I'm sure it is not limited to blogs, collages, journals, random tablets, tape recorders, unsent emails and letters, side notes in books or highlighted areas, poetry, song writing or recording, buried items, time capsules, napkins,envelopes, letters with boyfriends, friends or family, scrapbooks, pictures, old keep-sakes, short stories, art, my high school planner and one small diary with a locket.

I barely remember my very first diary except for a couple distinct details. I remember it was locked by a clasp and had gold rimmed pink pages inside, I cannot remember if it was dated or if I had written the dates in. I remember the pages were lined and the clasp was faded fake gold with a button that if slid over or up popped the clasp open. The diary was small, probably 3X5" and 1"thick. I have no idea how, why, or when it came to me or even who got it for me. Although I remember trying to "write regularly" in it between the years of about 3rd to 6th grade, maybe. I am wondering who got me this diary and why. Maybe someone thought I needed it or maybe someone just thought that every girl should have one. I think I am going to ask my Mom tomorrow. The most important thing that my first diary gave me with it's little fake locket was a sense of possession. I never felt safe enough to write anything truly secret inside for I knew my mother was a snoop and that my brother would have a field day with it but there was something special about that "locked"clasp--however easily "unlock-able" it was--that makes me want another, more adult like, truly unlock-able one just for the same feeling of secrecy and security. Even just to look inside made me feel secret where I could sit in my room as a little girl and have my private thoughts. That was priceless lol. Now that I am looking back I wish that I had written every single dull moment in that diary or somewhere because now I know that there are so many things that were never recorded and are lost forever; albeit what I ate for dinner every night or verification of my childhood dramas.

What was your first diary/journal experience?

my thoughts on stress-induced cleaning

Tonight I was reminded of when I was younger and could not have cared less that my room was a complete pigsty when my friends came over. I didn't care and I know they didn't really care and even if they noticed we would just joke about it and move on. I never felt like less of a person or anything because of it. So what has changed between then and now? Why is it that when I know someone is coming over I stress about what the house looks/smells like and what they will think? When did unkempt living quarters became a negative reflection on me?! And more so why does it feel like it is all my fault when there are two other people living here with me.

It became very clear that I have set up standards for myself on what it means to be a successful wife/mother and one of those standards is having an impeccably clean house any time I have company! I mean NO germs and NOTHING out of place lol. Sometimes I even worry that my son thinks that the house is too messy! This is totally unrealistic and I am putting a stop to it now! Perfection is unattainable and I am only hurting myself. I have a toddler and there is no way that my house is going to be perfect at all times.

So this got me thinking about what I remember about mine and other peoples houses as a child. My mom is a total perfectionist and was a cleaning, neat freak. However, when I look back I remember growing up in a house that we were renovating ourselves. I remember walking on plywood floors for what seemed like years until we could afford the new flooring and our bathroom had to be from the stone ages lol and areas of the house would be gutted and left that way for months until they could finish the work on them. All of this was going on and it didn't bother me at all and in my eyes had nothing to do with either one of my parents. My aunt and her family were on the other end of the spectrum and NEVER cleaned, EVER. Their house was a wreck. ALL the clothes were on the floor ALL over the house, dirty dishes stacked up(like if you wanted to use a fork you had to wash one) and I LOVED it there. They had a beautiful house on a beautiful piece of land and they were so happy as a family. As I look back I envy them for not letting other people set their standards for them--at least in that department.

Soooo, I think that I am going to try something for awhile. My goal is to keep my house "clean" but it can totally be a "mess". The point is to let it be how my family and I are comfortable with it being, not what I think other's think it should be.

Feeling pretty chipper today. Kiddo took an early nap which means early bedtime for me too :), got a great workout in, had a great 40 minute walk with my son this morning, lost another percentage of bodyfat, coloring in my anatomy book, going to the zoo tomorrow, following my meal plan w/o any issues, getting plenty of water today, feel strong, hubby should be home any minute...all in all having a great day!