Friday, March 17, 2017

The Case for a Temporary Bubble

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

order ~ cloistered ~ chairs ~ zip ~ great

They were submitted by: http://shannonbutler.org

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Self care can look extremely different for different folks, and that’s fine. We all need to focus on ourselves every now and then, but there’s really no “right” way to do that as long as you feel better about yourself and your station in life after you have done it. There’s nothing wrong with sharing what self care looks like for you as long as you don’t insist it will definitely be of use to someone else, so with that in mind, here are my instructions for creating a blanket fort for escaping adulthood and being lazy for awhile. There really is no specific order to do this, but I’ve managed to get this into steps for added convenience.

Step 1: get rid of your children. No, seriously. Children love forts because, obviously, forts are great, and despite the fact that you love your children, this fort is not for farts and hotdogs. This is *your* effing fort, and you do not need a bag of elbows in your guts the entire time you are trying to enjoy your Netflix binge nor do you need the entire mood to be pleasecouldyounottalkfor30secondsofyourlifewhendoesitend. If you don’t have kids, will you please take mine for a couple months? I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason people ever really scoff at a woman who says she doesn’t want kids—we simply want to force her to share in our collective stress and inability to shower without interruption. My kid is 11, and he still *needs* to tell me something the cat just did while I’m taking a piss.

Step 2: Buy 3 bottles of wine or get whatever you like to drink in an amount that is probably way more than you actually need because fuck it. And also buy snacks. If you’re going to drink, you need snacks. It goes hand in hand. And this is a blanket fort so fuck your diet. No dieting or calorie counting is allowed. That means YES GET THOSE SEA SALT CARAMEL CHOCOLATES AT WALGREENS THAT YOU LOVE AND KNOW WILL GO STRAIGHT TO YOUR ALREADY THICK THIGHS. Thick thighs save lives. Never forget.

Step 3: Unplug. Social media is a suckfest most days. It is drama on top of passive aggressive drama, and right now it is also full of news you probably don’t really want to read. If you aren’t going to let your children ruin your fort time, then, by god, do not let Tabitha from elementary school with the I-need-to-speak-to-the-manager haircut and #MAGA tshirt and her sharing false news that any idiot could see is a lie with a quick look on Snopes ruin your blanket fort either. That bitch is not worth it, trust me. Tabitha is living in her own personal hell as it is. Let it go. Fuck you, Tabitha. You’re terrible and you know it.

Step 4: Gather every single blanket and pillow in your house. You might want to plan ahead and wash some of these things beforehand because you do not want to be stuck in a fort with a blanket full of your child’s chili farts or anything sticky. I’m an adult. You’re an adult. And we can probably admit that we should wash our bed linens more than we do, and we both know that if you aren’t messing up the sheets with sex, you’re smuggling your children’s candy in bed at night. Sour tropical gummy worms in bed is life.

Step 5: I’m going to suggest 5 table chairs, but you can probably get by with less if you want to half ass this. The more chairs, the more creative you can get with this thing, and there’s really no reason to make a blanket fort unless you’re going to put your fucking blood, sweat, and tears into it. If you post pictures of your blanket fort on social media and you half assed it, just know that I will congratulate you with a hefty amount of side eye. Yes, I will judge you. We’ll all judge you. No one ruins a good blanket fort without consequences. If you never do anything else right in this world, let it be this blanket fort. As a wise man named Ron Swanson once said, “never half-ass two things, whole-ass one thing.” This is your thing to whole-ass.

Step 6: get in your comfiest clothes whatever that means for you. I like to sit around the house dressed to the nines for no reason other than I feel more like a human being and less like a reptile wearing human skin while I binge Netflix. So whatever floats your boat, do it. Put on a full face, have a messy bun, wear your godawful sweats that make you look like you’re wearing a diaper and have never gotten laid…whatever it is, just do it. Just be warm and cozy even if it means zipping yourself into your favorite hoodie in the middle of summer and cranking the A/C down as low as it will go. This is the one thing in life you are not doing for the Instagram likes and Facebook comments. Let’s face it—if you are to the point of needing a blanket fort to relax, you’re probably already a hot mess anyway. I know from experience. So it really isn’t going to matter if you dress well to do it. The point is to *feel* good.

Step 7: Use your largest sheets or blankets to make the outside of your fort. Weigh them down with books, that load of paperwork on your counter that you look at every single night and have sworn 5000 times you will go through the next morning, or your crushing self doubt and social anxiety. Spread it out far enough to give you plenty of room inside but still feeling like you have cloistered yourself inside a bubble. Remember, the ultimate goal is to forget the rest of humanity ever existed. Once you have the outer shell of your bubble situated, grab whatever blankets and pillows are left over and make a fluffy bed your cat would happily pee on.

Step 8: Grab your booze and snacks and whatever streaming device you need and proceed to relax. Please, though, remember step 3 and don’t drunk post on Facebook between episodes of your 4th actual run of Parks and Rec.

Also, if you have a snuggly puppy in your house like I do, be sure to bring him/her in with you. Here’s the snuggly pup that I would be bringing with me. Our new addition, Rost:









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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/03/hello-from-land-of-orange-use-your-words.html

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2017/03/honey-mustard-chicken-uyw-march.html

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

On the Border http://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2017/03/library-crimes.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

Simply Shannon http://shannonbutler.org

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/03/use-your-words-leprechauns-mischief.html

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Angrivated Mom http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

Friday, March 10, 2017

Dinner Date

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

Describe your perfect meal? Who cooks? Where is it? With whom do you eat?

It was submitted by: http://thelieberfamily.com

I took a little freedom with this prompt and wrote a little fiction. I did include my perfect meal (the eggplant, btw), but I don't think I would call any of these other circumstances perfect by any means. Anyway, I just wanted to stretch my fiction wings and see what I could do with this prompt. Thanks for reading. 

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I met him on Tindr.

As much as I want to say that should have been the first red flag, I guess a lot of people must have success with that app, right? I mean, too many people use it still for it to all be bad. Maybe the right phrase here is that I should have been less naïve about how wrongly this could go. I should have packed some mace or had a plan to let my friends know where I would be and what time I would be home. Am I victim-blaming myself? Ugh. A little, but that’s so ingrained in who we are as people, isn’t it? If we admit the victim is never at fault in things like this, then we also have to admit we have no control over whether we will ever be a victim, and who the hell wants that? Apparently not the majority of the world.

Anyway, like I said, we met on Tindr, Adam and I. That’s probably not his real name now that I think about it, but either way, that’s all I know, so it’s what I’ll go with. He messaged me first, and I thought his pictures were great. He had a few of him and his dog that, of course, melted my heart. I was more excited about that dog than anything at first if you want to know the truth. Too many dates in my life have gone wrong, but I’ve never met a doggo that wasn’t love at first sight.

We matched or whatever, but I didn’t send a message at first. I didn’t want to seem too eager, and his profile didn’t give me enough to really construct something I could feel good about. Maybe that’s the beauty of Tindr, though. There’s not a whole lot of information to go on when you are looking at profiles. It’s not like some of these other sites where a person has already constructed this quirky outline of who they are that’s almost always a couple thousand words of bullshit that never turn out to be true in any shape or form. It might be who they wish they were, but it’s never who they really are. Not in my experience.

I can’t remember what exactly he said in his first message, but he was pretty chill, and that first day he did let me know that he wasn’t looking for an easy hook-up. He did want to be able to actually meet someone in person which so rarely happened on actual dating site, so his desire ranged somewhere between nameless one-night-stand and committed relationship. We talked for a few days, flirted shamelessly, and swapped numbers. I wanted to go out for drinks right after that (roughly a week or so after we first connected), but after asking twice and getting shot down (he was tired, he was busy, etc etc), I figured he either wasn’t really interested or wanted to ask himself, so I backed off a bit to see how it would go.

He didn’t take it well. When do they ever?

I woke up to a string of messages after I didn’t return his missed call the night before. He called me rude and asked me why I had wasted his time when he specifically told me he wanted someone who would actually meet him, blah blah blah. If at any time there was a red flag, that was truly it, so why was I so stupid? I fell right for it. I felt horribly that I had ignored him on purpose because I knew I was trying to manipulate the situation to my favor or at least manipulate it to preserve my own feelings while trying to sniff out the truth, and it had backfired on me so fucking spectacularly that I didn’t really stop to think in the moment that this reaction was so far out of proportion over just a missed phone call.

I messaged him a long apology by text. I lied. Obviously. But, I still apologized telling him I hadn’t felt well but that I should have just text and let him know that. I didn’t get an apology in return of course, but I was relieved at the time that he seemed to take my excuse as truth and calmed down enough to continue our conversations. We didn’t talk on the phone that night, and he was a little standoffish, but the next day it was like it never happened. He asked me, finally, if I wanted to have dinner with him. I accepted thinking we could meet at one of the little cafes downtown for something light that night, but no. No, he had other plans. He wanted to cook for me, he said. At his house. Way outside of town. Because of course. Of course he did. And of course I agreed like an idiot.

We had already discussed our favorite foods—mine being eggplant parmesan and his being steak (of course it was! Of course!). So he wanted to cook both. Apparently, I have just never had a steak cooked the right way regardless of the fact that I don’t really eat much meat especially beef and pork. You know, that kind of guy. I started getting a little more hesitant then, but I figured I would go through with it. I mean, maybe he was just really proud of his steak skills? That’s what I thought at the time anyway.

That’s not what I think now.

Have you ever seen that subreddit called Let’s Not Meet? Or read one of those craigslist horror stories? This is kinda like that. I got to his house a little early. I knocked, but no one answered. I could smell the grill, though, so I walked around back and found him carving up some kind of animal that was definitely not a cow and throwing pieces on the grill. He was wearing a poncho, had the entire back porch covered in a plastic tarp. He had a lot of tools out there…things I have never even seen before. I screamed. Loudly. He jumped and dropped whatever he was working on yelling at me, “what the fuck are you doing here so early?!”

I froze mid-scream in a panic and watched in horror as he grinned broadly and picked up the cleaver he had been using on the not-cow, “you have been a bad, bad girl. Come over here and get your punishment.”

I ran. I ran faster than I think I have ever run in my life. I heard him jump over the railing of his porch, but thank fucking god, I have a keyless entry car these days because I was in the car with the doors locked and had it cranked before he caught up to me. I threw the car in reverse while he banged on the window with the butt of the cleaver. The window cracked just a little and splintered, but it never actually broke before I could pull off down the street. I called 911 as soon as I got to the end of his street and gave them the address and told them what I saw. The woman dispatcher seemed horrified, but maybe that’s just because I was so horrified. Maybe I read into it? Maybe I was so panicked she couldn’t help but pick up on some of my feelings about it. Either way, she said she would send someone to his house while I drove to the station to make a statement. I did what was asked of me. I gave my statement, showed the texts, and our Tindr messages. I answered all the questions I could and ended up knowing the two officers who were talking to me thought I was being absolutely hysterical and had completely misread the situation….until the officers who responded to the scene called back in.

The house wasn’t Adam’s or whoever he was. It was empty or appeared to be and didn’t have a current lease according to the owner who hadn’t rented it out or even had a question about it in over 6 months. There wasn’t anything at all in the house except a duffle bag with some more tools, another poncho, another tarp, and a handful of driver’s licenses from other women. He was nowhere to be found. No car, no trace, nothing except the bloody tarp in the back, the tools, and the meat which has yet to be identified.

The police have the picture I saved as his contact photo, but his Tindr profile was deleted. I’m guessing all the licenses will come back to missing women and maybe being early for once saved my life… I haven’t been sleeping well—I keep having nightmares that he comes looking for me which I guess might actually not be that far from the realm of possibilities. But at least I didn’t eat anyone. 

Silver linings, y’all.

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Here's the rest of the submissions this week!

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/03/ill-take-half-secret-subject-swap.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

The Lieber Family Blog http://thelieberfamily.com

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

Never Ever Give Up Hope http://batteredhope.blogspot.com

Simply Shannon http://shannonbutler.org

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/03/march-secret-subject-swap-pay-it-forward.html

Friday, February 10, 2017

#Resist

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: unsavory, nettlesome, homeless, skip town, repercussions, tackling

They were submitted by: http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

Behold the saga that is my life this year so far, ya'll... 

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2016 was unsavory. Nettlesome. A horrorshow. For so many of us, it was utter shit.

The election cycle was absolutely exhausting; we lost so many inspirational artists—actors, musicians, public figures, activists; and we had numerous deadly shootings by domestic terrorists and police officers ripping new wounds in already hurting communities.

I saw so many posts towards the end of the year willing for it to all be over, for 2017 to bring on better tidings. But, I knew better.

All 2017 was bringing us was Trump, and I knew with every fiber of my being that nothing good was going to come of that.

Since those last two digits switched signaling the end of the year, I lost one of my best friends, my fur baby. I had 10 years with my Great Dane, Cap. I got lucky—Danes live 6-8 years on average—to have him as long as I did, but it hasn’t been easy letting go. I don’t know if I have gone even a couple days without crying because my brain is so used to him being there. I see him out of the corner of my eye, hear him snoring, wonder if he wants to share my Pop-Tart before realizing it’s all over, and he’s gone. It kills me every time, and I devolve into a blubbering mess wailing for her baby.

I also left my retail job to work in a childcare center. I was told I would be working with toddlers ages 2ish to 4. I was supposed to be teaching these kids the alphabet, numbers, colors, shapes, how to write letters, and basic math. That was my goal at least for the older ones, and it’s not something I am a stranger to doing by any means. But once I actually started, it was nothing at all what the owner described to me. My first day I was thrown into a room with literally 20 kids ranging in ages from 2 to 10 while my coworker sat on her phone in the next room. There was zero control, the coworker eventually got up and hit one of the kids before sitting back down to get on her phone, and the kids went absolutely crazy. I have never in my life even in a damn Chuck E. Cheese seen children act that way. My first day I broke up 4 fist fights. 4. The second day I worked I literally had to carry a child, a 6-7 years old, 13 times from going near the door. She didn’t just want to be near the door; she knew she wasn’t supposed to be there, refused to move, and laughed when I would ask her to go back to the room where the kids were supposed to be. Every now and then the coworker would look up and scream at her, but for the most part, I had zero help. That same day two different children climbed the 3 foot partition between the rooms multiple times, jumped from crib to crib in their shoes, one ripped his finger open, and there were more fights. In other words, some of these children shouldn’t be in a daycare, and some of the workers shouldn’t be there either. There was no soap in the bathrooms, no juice for the kids, no cups to give them water, no napkins to wipe their noses… I really didn’t know what the hell I was getting into. 4 days in, though, and I had already bonded with a lot of them. I literally had 4 butts occupying space in my lap and more piled beside me every day I worked--the kids wanted that connection and attention, and that's what I wanted when I took the job. I couldn’t move without someone wanting a hug or a zerbert (a raspberry kiss), or to be picked up, so I wanted to try to stick it out and be there for them. Unfortunately, it just didn’t work out that way. I walked out on Monday afternoon after a mother got in my face screaming at me and threatening to kick my ass because her child was told she would be put in time out if she didn’t behave. I had already been told this mother was an issue, but apparently money means more than the safety of employees. Not only that, the entire time this was going on, the owner was aware of the situation and was too busy to come do anything about it and my coworker was too busy on Facebook. I have never in my life walked out of a job before, but I am absolutely not going to work somewhere that values money over the health and safety of both the children going and my own damn self. When you have a grown ass woman screaming that she’s going to fuck a woman up in front of that many children, what are the children going to act like?

So here I am. Jobless. Nearly motivationless. My anxiety is in overdrive already, and I feel those depression feelings creeping in. Tough times are triggers, and even though I can roll with the punches like Fiona Gallagher, everyone has a breaking point. This week, my mom tries to help me out and get me a job interview with an after school program because I really would love to work with kids, and the day after I discuss it with the owner and director, the owner gets arrested for allegations of child molestation and sexual battery. Innocent until proven guilty and all that, but what the fuck? The allegations stem from a family accusation as he really doesn’t have anything to do with the day to day processes of the center itself, but it will still have a lasting effect on the business no matter whether he turns out to be innocent or not. It's a terrible thing to have happened altogether, but my brain cannot even fathom how I got from where I was at the end of the year to this point this fast.

And then we have Trump as president. I’ll be the first to say I am terrified. Really, terrified doesn’t cover it especially after the recent leaks concerning his behavior and the wording of an anti-LGBT executive order that (fortunately and for now) didn’t come to pass. It let me know that his administration has its sights set on people like me just as we feared, and it doesn’t look good. And that’s just one aspect of a presidency that has literally left the country shaken. Muslim bans, the imminent repeal of health insurance that so many people can’t afford any other way (and this is coming from someone who still cant afford it), and the appointment of so many inexperienced or demonstrably prejudiced white people to his cabinet has left us all shaken. I’m angry; I’m afraid; and, I’m fed the fuck up. I’m tackling the issues every day on social media, signing petitions, making calls, sending emails, starting my own petitions, and eventually I will be able to march myself even if I have to travel to do it, but it doesn’t feel like enough. No matter how many calls were made to senators here in Georgia, both still voted to confirm Betsey DeVos who has no business as the Secretary of Education. Sometimes I wonder what the hell it’s all for, what the point of the fight is… Sometimes I want to pack up and skip town despite the family repercussions that would be involved if I did. There’s a part of me that knows if I didn’t have my son, I would be visiting friends all over the country, sleeping on couches despite my social anxiety, basically homeless, because no where feels like home these days, and I really don’t know what to do with myself.

But…

Whenever I go to bed feeling absolutely defeated, I almost always wake up inspired by the news of a strong woman leading our resistance or by the words of a friend on facebook who is prepared to battle for us all even if it means risking everything.

She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.

Those words have given me life this week, and so I’ll pick up the words I use as weapons and continue the fight for my own self and for everyone who needs me by their side.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:


Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/02/use-your-words-sometimes-gyro.html

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

On the Border http://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2017/02/i-do.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/02/stable-layne-pt-5-feb-2017-useyourwords.html

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/02/use-your-words-pork-belly.html

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

Friday, February 3, 2017

Mini-Me

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 14 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

What is something you thought you would never do- yet you did and loved?

It was submitted by: http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

This is kinda cheesy and cliche but it's true, so oh well. Deal with it. haha.

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If you had spoken to younger me any time in my life before I developed a rounded belly full with child, I would have told you that I never wanted kids. Ever. I was adamant about it.

I had reasons. Most were pretty solid. I grew up in a harsh environment and had a short temper like my dad. I was terrified that I would end up being like him, raise a kid in the hell that I grew up in with him. I remember saying those things to people. It was a risk, and in my youth when it was less controlled I felt it too much a risk to ever think it was a good idea. And really, I was still too fucked up from it all even by my early 20s to think I would ever grow out of it or get over it. There hadn’t been a person yet to suggest counseling or help to get over that part of my life, being raped at a young age. And when a friend of mine was murdered not long after my 21st birthday, the whole of it sent me in a booze spiral following almost identically in my father’s addictive footsteps. I drowned myself in it—not binge drinking occasionally but drinking myself to sleep every day, waking up with hangovers more days than not, drinking over eating…. By then, kids no longer even crossed my mind. I was too cut off from anything real to even consider it.

It interfered with work, with going to school, with every aspect of my life. I made shitty decisions and hid and lost what little of myself I had been able to get to know. I honestly can’t say if I simply got tired of living that way or if it was one event or another that happened during those months that finally tipped me over the edge, but I finally went to a doctor for antidepressants. I won’t say they were a miracle by any means, but my drinking slowed down enough to allow me to be a little more functional. I met my ex-husband right about then, and as much as I joke about alcohol having a lot to do with our relationship, I stabilized a lot more being with him. I stopped drinking regularly but not altogether, found a better job with better pay and a stabilized schedule, and we ended up getting married. Something else I said I’d never do. I was vulnerable, though, and it saved me even if it didn’t last.

It was about a year into our marriage that I found out I was pregnant. Several months before that, I had to have my gallbladder removed, and despite being on birth control, my cycle hadn’t stabilized, so I decided to stop taking the pill to see if things would even out. I know, I know…but we DID use back up protection. I was 24, then, so not entirely stupid, just stupid enough to take myself off the pill on my own. I started getting sick every day and having terrible pains like cramps but sharper and lower. When I found out, I cried. Hard. It wasn’t what I wanted; I was terrified. He was terrified. We were a mess.

It took a few days for the shock of it to wear off enough for the two of us to actually get excited, but I can’t tell you I loved being pregnant. That’s not what this little story is about at all. I didn’t have an easy time of it. I puked all day every day for 6 months and working around people didn’t help that at all. The smell of stale cigarette smoke or an unbathed hillbilly would leave me sick for hours. My pubic bone separated early from being on my feet all day making me have to give up work early on medical leave, and I had vertigo in the later months. The little shit also liked to push into my ribs every time I was in the car til I couldn’t breathe from the pain. Delivery wasn’t any easier considering he almost killed me (literally). The delivery nurses didn’t put the contraction monitor on my belly correctly and dosed me with too much pitocin and wouldn’t believe me that I was having contractions. I went from 0 to 10 on the pain scale way too fast and too early, my cervix wouldn’t dilate on one side, and my epidural didn’t work for anything but my legs and giving me the shakes. My heart went crazy during my emergency c-section, and after it was all done, I couldn’t even hold my baby from the shakes I still had. I didn’t even understand how bad things were until the doctor came in the room and said, “I thought we were going to lose you there for a minute.”

So pregnancy and delivery didn’t really do anything for my hesitance on being a mom. That might be the greatest understatement of all time considering I refuse to physically have another child even though there are times I can’t think of anything else besides having another baby in my life (not that I like to admit that out loud). I’m too afraid I might die in labor.

Getting home and settled and into the swing of things helped. I didn’t connect with him right off, but I can tell you that my heart calmed down all on its own without drugs in the o.r. when I heard him cry the first time. The bond was there; I just didn’t know how to bring it out at first. I remember laying in bed with him one morning when he was a few weeks old, staring at his little face after I fed him, and wondering what the fuck I had gotten myself into. I said, “I love you” in a sing songy kind of way, and he lit up with the most perfect smile I had ever seen. It was over for me then, and I fell head over hills for the kid.

I won’t say the being a mom part has been all that easy either. It has definitely seen its share of strikes and gutterballs, but I wouldn’t trade the boy for anything in the world even when I have been my most frustrated. It might be cliché to say, but it’s the absolute truth. My relationship with him is different than anything I’ve ever known. Im his mom but also his friend, his biggest champion and his teacher (in every sense of the word since I homeschool him). We have open discussions on every issue under the sun, and I refuse to keep him in the dark about current events. We call each other on our bullshit, but he also respects that Im his mom, and if I make a rule, it’s for a reason, a reason that I make sure to explain. I’m not an authoritarian. We figure this whole thing out together, and that works for us. And there’s really nothing like seeing your kid love all the movies and music and cartoons and foods that you did as a kid (except The Labyrinth…god, I almost disowned him over that). I’ve given him half my DNA, carried him for 9 months, almost gave my life for his and would if it ever came to it, but sharing those things that I loved and watching him discover them for himself is like giving him a part of my soul for his own. He’ll always remember those times we shared watching Ghostbusters or Star Wars or TMNT, and for all of my days, I’ll remember the way his eyes lit up the first time he heard Darth Vader say his iconic line.

It hasn’t been a fake Pinterest sort of motherhood for me, but yes I love it. And if the opportunity arises for me to foster or adopt, I may do it again one day. Even on days when my csection scar flares up and reminds me of the worst of it, I still wonder why I was so resistant to the idea to begin with, and I call that a win.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/02/secret-subject-swap-let-me-count-ways.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2017/02/buffalo-cups-and-sss.html

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

The Lieber Family Blog http://www.thelieberfamily.com/2017/02/senior-moments.html

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

Simply Shannon http://shannonbutler.org

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/02/february-secret-subject-swap-and-action.html

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

The Angrivated Mom http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com

When I Grow Up http://kimberlyyavorski.com/whenigrowup/what-to-do-with-all-the-stuff/

Friday, January 13, 2017

Coffee and Healing

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: Bitter ~ Rejuvenate ~ Winter ~ Sleep ~ Quiet ~ Dark

They were submitted by: http://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/

Just to let everyone know, this isn't 100% autobiographical. I've never officially come out to family, and I haven't dated a woman seriously in a long time. My mental health issues are not nearly to this level either, but it's not hard to channel these feelings and put myself in place of this narrator. 

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Even with sweetener and cream, the coffee leaves a bitter taste on her tongue that makes her feel both alive and comforted in a way that nothing else can accomplish. Just the smell of her favorite brews wafting through the house relax her anxiety better than any pill has ever managed to do, better than all the years of therapy, all the hospital stays. Sometimes she thinks there must be something to that whole aromatherapy business--give her a hot mug of coffee even on the worst of days, and at least for a little while she transcends all the muck and stress and turmoil her brain puts her through. Her frazzled nerves are stilled, and she feels almost completely rejuvenated, whole. With a mug in hand, she’s not broken but slightly bent, still good to go if a little worse for wear.

This winter has been especially dark, darker than the unwanted swirl of grounds often left at the bottom of her mug. She’s been withdrawn, quiet. She hasn’t had good sleep in a couple months now worried about the future, about how she will get along in this new political climate. She’s lost touch with family after coming out, said goodbye to friends who, for reasons she will never understand, decided to back hatred this election. She watched in horror as person after person she thought she knew backed a candidate that expressed a desire to destroy her freedom to exist. It was too much, and her depression raised its ugly head after years of her being able to beat it back with medication and self-care. Those friends she didn’t feel she had to cut out of her life completely, she lost touch with because of her mental health issues, the she started alienating herself from a lot of her acquaintances and social media sites. She just couldn’t take the hatred anymore. If she didn’t take out time for herself, it was going to destroy her, and she had worked too long to beat back those demons to give up so easily.

So now she sits alone in her reading nook in front of the needs-to-be-cleaned bay window not really reading, not really doing anything but staring into space and drinking coffee. On good days, she showers and does a little yoga, gets the basics of the house clean, snuggles the cat and cooks meals for the week. On bad days, she just sits and worries about the next 4 years and the aftermath of them, how far the country will be set back when racism and xenophobia and homophobia are more acceptable than minding your own fucking business. On her worst days, she panics and screams and cries and smashes dirty dishes and cries some more and wallows in her emotions.

She knows she needs to do more, to get out there, and get back to life (whatever life is…), and she will. She has done it before, and she’ll do it again. But as inauguration day approaches faster and faster, she just doesn’t have it in her to fight right now. She’s too exhausted, too raw, and no matter how often she tries to see the good in the world, she circles right back to how backwards things seem to be moving, so she hides in her cocoon, her “bubble” as so many people would snarkily call it, and tries to exist in this new world where every bit of forward momentum she has felt in the last 8 years slowly crumbles around her.

Maybe tomorrow she will feel more like herself or maybe the next day. Whatever day it is, she refuses to let hate win in the long-term. She might be sitting here alone drinking her coffee this morning fighting nothing more than the tears that threatening to roll, but she won’t sit idly by while the country she loves is torn to shreds forever.

Soon, she thinks, and snuggles back into her throw watching the truck across the street park next to the huge Trump sign in his yard. Maybe she should start with destroying that shit.

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Here are the rest of the participants. Check them out and enjoy!

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/01/grey-hairs-and-antacids-use-your-words.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/2017/01/13/uyw/

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2017/01/chicken-cordon-blu-and-uyw.html

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/

On the Border http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2017/01/chicken-cordon-blu-and-uyw.html

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/01/use-your-words-face-off.html

Climaxed http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com


Friday, January 6, 2017

Birthday Research with the King

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

Imagine it’s 1977. It’s January 8, Elvis Presley’s birthday. You have been chosen to have a dinner with him. Tell us all about your encounter!

It was submitted by: http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/

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It’s actually pretty interesting that I got this prompt considering the ongoing novel I have been working on (and have stalled on) in my very limited amount of spare time has Elvis as a main focus. I wouldn’t exactly say he’s a character but more or less a plot tool. Of sorts. It’s complicated.

That’s not to say I’m exactly an Elvis fan.

He’s sort of hailed as the King of Rock, but he’d pretty much been influenced by others before him who didn’t have the privilege of being white and handsome. He didn’t know how to play the guitar all that well and many of his hit songs were either covers or written by someone else. He was, maybe, one of the first big pop music stars—he was a good looking, hip-gyrating frontman with a good voice who made it easy on the media to have a controversy without risking too much by covering the many, many, many minority artists who were actually creating music. Yes, he had a great sense of timing and rhythm, and yes, he was a pop culture influence, but overall, he profited off the pioneering work that other artists did. I don’t think that it was necessarily intentional, but it’s all too common a story.

Even outside of all that, I’ve never been much of a fan. The music doesn’t appeal and Elvis’ larger than life personality was not really my thing. He always said he was destined for great things, and I suppose he achieved that, but he was never really my cup of tea.

That being said, by January 1977, Elvis was pretty near the end of his road. He died in August of that same year, a heart attack caused by his lifestyle choices and a host of physical ailments. Between a fatty diet and an addiction to numerous prescription pain medications, it’s honestly surprising he lived as long as he did. So at that point, if the pills hadn’t made him completely incoherent, sitting down to dinner would be fascinating research for my book. I’d want to know everything he would tell me while studying his mannerisms and how he moved even when he was seated. Describing those things in book form without having seen more than a few youtube videos is difficult, and it’s something I really want to nail. The details draw you into a story more than anything sometimes. I mean, I guess that’s a matter of opinion. When I meet a fellow reader who, unlike me, isn’t a fan of Stephen King, it’s typically because his attention to meandering detail drives them mad more than anything else. But, for me, the details are important, and these details, to make the entire storyline something you’re willing to buy into for a time, can make or break the effort.

I want to ask questions about who he was in 1965 and ’66 and ’67. I want to know what changed him, what moved him, what made him sigh. I need to know how it felt being on that stage and if he ever felt like some sort of divine totem and why people still idolize him even now like he’s some sort of god. What I really want to know is what other people see in Elvis that I don’t quite get and how it is that this man captivated so many people for so damn long.

It wasn’t the sheer enormity of his talent for fuck’s sake.

Pop stars now have that same ability to charm and captivate, but not to the same degree, and that’s what I feel like I’m missing. Maybe it has more to do with modern society. I mean, we’ve seen it all at this point considering some of our biggest celebrities these days gained fame by being recorded having sex with other shitty people. Maybe we’re too desensitized to get swept up in someone the way people did over Elvis. Maybe we’re too critical and self-absorbed. But, being there, having that dinner could possibly answer that for me. 

So without further ado, here’s the first chapter to my book. Just in case you’re interested:

*********

We all have our Idols.

I reckon that's the best way to explain what happened Tuesday at 4:15 p.m. More so, it explains what has happened in the aftermath of what I've since named "Elvis' Return To The Building." It's Friday as I stand here in the cool of the night waitin’ in the line with the rest of them—I mean the whole damn town just about--for the Big Show. Three days have passed since Elvis graced us with his presence, and I'm still pretty clueless ‘bout what’s goin’ on ‘round here, but judging by how fast this line's movin' towards the entrance doors, I imagine I'll figure a few things out pretty soon. 

I have to say I don’t have a real good feelin’ ‘bout any of it, though. 

Here's what I know so far.

Every single radio station, television stations, pages on the internet that do live feeds....every media outlet possible broadcast The Return. I happened to be at work. I own a bar and keep a television on for the daytime patrons, The Regulars. The Regulars consist of two guys, Frank and Percy, who I ain’t likely to get rid of no time soon. We had the T.V. on Three's Company--the episodes when Suzanne Somers was still on. Frank and Percy were down at one end of the bar arguing over whether Jack's friend, Larry, was really a gay. That’s the way they talk or the way Frank talks. Percy don’t say much. By much, I mean he don’t say nothin’ at all and hasn’t since ‘fore I knew him. Now, I ain’t exactly educated, but you won’t hear me arguing with a mute ‘bout whether or not some fictional character on a long-gone television show is some kind of homosexual. And you surely won’t hear me refer to him as “a gay.” My mama raised me better than that. But, that’s Frank, and Percy’s just along for the ride it seems. 

Anyhow, the TV screen went black in the middle of a closeup of Somers and her school-girlish pigtails. She’s what you might call the essence of every dumb blonde joke, that Chrissy Snow. I was lookin’ at the screen thinkin’ how that schoolgirl thing she had goin’ on ain’t as appealin’ as it was meant to be not to me at least when "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" began to play. In the middle of the slideshow of schoolgirl types that was playin’ in my head, I thought, What is this bullshit? just before the screen showed a young Elvis descending onto a stage from the heavens. And when I say young Elvis, I mean 50s Elvis not bloated and sad 70s Elvis…not back from the dead, skeletonized, zombie Elvis either. This was the real thing if seein’ is believin’ as they say. The Elvis much of the country fell in love with way back when. 

"What the fuck s'wrong with the TV, Mack?"

"Can't be the TV, Frank," I'd replied. "Just bought the damn thing. Cost me 600 bucks down at Wal-Mart. Maybe it's the cable or the channel itself." I grabbed the remote and changed the station but every channel I flipped to played the same thing. I had flipped full circle and come back the original channel when the screen started to close in on Elvis while the music simultaneously quieted down.

"Aw, horseshit," I had yelled down the bar to Percy and Frank. "You guys into Elvis?"

"Naw, Mack, not since I was a kid. You?"

"Nope." I'd powered the thing off by then and walked over to the satellite radio hookup I had over behind the bar. I kept it on Sirius’s Classic Vinyl channel playing all the greats from Rock ‘n Roll history (no Elvis). Everyone seemed to like it just fine when we weren't in the mood for daytime television bullshit. But, as soon as I pushed the power button, Elvis' undeniable voice blasted through the speakers.

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

I'd heard no applause. But, of course, Elvis continued on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I've got a whole lotta shakin' up to do tonight. I'm here to give you some news that may be hard to stomach at first. The King is back, folks. Ever since I was a kid, I knew God had something special in store for me. When I passed on to the heavens above, He asked me for a personal concert then told me how I was his son and that I'd return one day to this world to fulfill his plan. I'm here, folks, to do just that. The gospel foretold of this day. I am the King, as always, but I have returned to my people, my fans as Christ. I know there will be doubts, but as I have always said, truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away.”

The station went to silence then. Nothing I did to the radio or the T.V. would work. Every channel was static. In the thick quiet of the bar, I poured us all a shot of my best scotch. TV, radio, even the Internet from what I hear...none of it has worked since.

This line's movin' slower than I first thought or maybe my nerves is just gettin’ the best of me now. I’m a bit antsy—that kind where you pop every knuckle in your hand 15 times just to have something to do with yourself. I have no fucking idea what's going to happen, pardon my language. But, sitting at home tonight wasn't an option. That thing that looks like Elvis and is calling itself the messiah made that much pretty clear the second time we saw it. That was Wednesday morning at about 10:30. We were all waiting for it, really. With nothing else to entertain us, the stories had already gotten pretty wild. Of course, the crazies were already out in full force, too. The gossips, the newspaper, every customer, every whispered word held stories of what could be going on. It was really Elvis after a lot of plastic surgery. This is the one people who were sure he'd never died, The Elvis Spotters, were always going on about. Then there were The Invaders. These people were sure it was aliens. Jesus Freaks were divided. Some said God would never pick such a loose hipped rock star to represent Jesus, Lord and Savior. The real nasty ones referred to him more as a drug-fueled, egomaniacal demon sent to take the first born of every man in the county, but that’s a bit much, ain’t it? The other Freaks thought it was a comforting, modern image...and smart of God to use such a recognizable, trusted face. The Conspiracy Theorists decided it was a government experiment and then The Desperate Housewives with their Elvis memorabilia in the form of Russell Stover collectible tins and Ty Beanie Babies were ready to be led like sheep to a slaughter. Everyone else, which was just me, Frank, and Percy far as I could tell, just sort of waited on some answers.

Strange world we live in.

So, Wednesday at 10:30 in the a.m. Every television, radio, computer, even mp3 players and intercom systems announced another speech when they simultaneously began to play Elvis' version of Amazing Grace. Wasn’t a single one of them things on when it happened. Not in the bar anyway. But it happened anyway. We were all on the edge of our proverbial seats, though, right where that...thing...wanted us. And we all hung on every word. I know I did. Frank and Percy had their eyes glued to the television set from their end of the bar, too. We were caught up in the power of it, but who wouldn’t be?

He didn’t descend from the sky this time, but he did his routine of playing to the audience—that’d be us and whoever else was watchin’. He was wearin’ a leather suit like he did in the 1968 Comeback Special, but this one was white instead of black. His shirt was black and the tie was white with just a hint of twinkling sequins—that familiar Elvis flamboyance was there but slight. He took a knee at each end of the stage, waving and blowing kisses like an ass finally stopping in the middle and raising both arms making his suit jacket stretch and pull at the buttons. Behind him, a line of gentlemen stepped out from the shadows. Some I knew right off and some I didn’t.

“Mack, who the fuck are they?”

“Shut your loud mouth, Frank. We ain’t never gonna find out if you talk through the whole thing.”

Elvis let his arms down then and stood to take the microphone.

"Thank you for more of your time, ladies and gentlemen. I'll be brief so we can all get on with our day and prepare. As some of you may have figured out, it's time for my next big comeback tour. We're callin' this one The Judgement. We've got a lot of dates and stops to make to fit all you folks in. I won’t leave a single soul in my flock behind, don’t ya’ll worry. That’s why I ain't doing this tour alone. I've got some good ol' boys to help me out. My apostles. Let me introduce you. This here's Peter, one of my original disciples. You might be more familiar with him as Bobby Fuller. That there is Andrew. Some people call him Dimebag but Darrell seems more appropriate, don't it, son? That's James the Greater. His name here was Rhett Forrester. James the Lesser was, well, not too well known as Jaco Pastorius. Then, there's my dear John who was named Joe Strummer for some time. My man down towards the end of the stage there is Philip better known as Peter Tosh. This guy here is John Bonham to you all but I've known him as Bartholomew. Next to Bartholomew is Matthew. He lived here in the Rolling Stones as Brian Jones. That guy down near Philip who's got his back turned is Thomas. Turn on around, son, and let them get a look at their beloved Jim Morrison. He's a little shy or he likes to play it anyhow. On this side of Thomas, there's Thaddeus. He looks so much like his daddy, that Jeff Buckley. The kid jerkin' 'round in the middle there is Simon. You probably know the name Woody Guthrie even if you don't recognize him. And then back here behind everyone hiding out is Judas. Come on out and show them your face, Kurt. Kurt Cobain to those who might know the face. Come on, now. They aren't going to stone you... That's everybody, ain't it? Yeah, so anyway, folks, you'll be getting a list of tour dates in the mail. We all expect you to be at one of these dates. It's free. Get on a bus or drive your car. Walk. It don't matter none. We'll take care of it. Just come to the show. If we have to come looking for you, you've ruined any chance you've got at salvation. We just don't have long enough for that. I expect you'll have your mail today. The first date is Friday. Now, I've been getting some bad publicity--you got to expect that. But, I also expect to see ya'll there all the same."

And that was that. The screen went black again and I poured shot after shot until I ran out of scotch.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:



Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/01/secret-subject-swap-coming-clean.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/2017/01/06/happy-new-year/

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2017/01/ranch-cheesy-potato-bake-and-sss.html

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

The Lieber Family Blog http://www.thelieberfamily.com/2017/01/a-collection-of-cat-stories-and-food.html

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/01/january-secret-subject-swap-embrace.html

Simply Shannon http://shannonbutler.org

Never Ever Give Up Hope http://batteredhope.blogspot.com

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-game-of-life-jan-2017.html

A Little Piece of Peace http://little-piece-of-peace.blogspot.com

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

Friday, December 16, 2016

Self Reflection

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: Matt Damon, diamond in the rough, bonus, coffee, predicament, potatoes. They were submitted by: http://theberghamchronicles.blogspot.com

uh...I didn't really intend this to be about me especially given I wrote it in 3rd person. I had the first sentence, and I thought I might write around it...maybe spin it into some fiction. But once I got started, it just sort of evolved from there until it's pretty much a self reflection. Hope you enjoy anyway. xo
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All throughout her life, every partner she ever had would probably be considered a diamond in the rough. Think Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting. She doesn’t want someone who has their shit together, maybe because she doesn’t have her shit together despite all outward appearances. But also maybe because she wants someone to grow with knowing she needs someone who has that same drive to be the absolute best version of themselves, who understands you get one shot at life, and you might as well live it to the very fullest. She wants someone who understands money is a necessity, but the amount of money in your pocket isn’t proportionate to the fullness of your life, that success isn’t defined by your career, your wallet, or the number of people who add you on Facebook.

One of the best feelings in the world, she knows, is when someone picks up on her little idiosyncracies—like how she takes her coffee, like the fact that she drinks coffee both in the morning to wake up and at night to wind down. She wants someone to know that she likes to buy bonus sizes so she *really* gets her money’s worth even if it’s just an extra 10%. Anyone who loves her should know she still loves cartoons but she’s passionate about topics that matter, that she needs her space but loves to have her hair played with, and that no matter what boss bitch image she projects outwardly, her heart is pretty fucking fragile. And they should probably also know the way to win her over any time they fight is to apologize with carbs…specifically potatoes and candy. Not simultaneously, of course.

She doesn’t want love to be a predicament, and she really doesn’t understand the current culture’s obsession with drama, reality tv, and side chicks. A relationship, she knows, isn’t easy. It’s work, it’s compromise, it’s fucking tough, but it should never break her. If it’s love, real love, she shouldn’t think of it as a situation she’s gotten herself into. She’s not hard to please, and she’s not high maintenance, but she expects her partner to really give things 100%, for the two to tackle everything 50/50 and to be able to hide from adulting in blanket fort if their stress level demands it.

In a nutshell, she knows she’s a little quirky with her mostly black clothes and nostalgia obsession. She’s Lisa Frank on an emo day, a hypnotic mix of a Purple Pizzazz and Onyx. She’s an old soul who is perfectly content with her vinyl records and for real books (oh the feel of the paper) who stays pretty chill until you bring up politics and social issues. She can be contradictory and complicated but not impossible, and she knows it. She demands attention without being histrionic, and she needs someone willing to talk to her about everything they think and feel and read and do.

And she thinks, “fuck anyone who doesn’t like it.” Not because she’s THAT “edgy” but because she doesn’t know how to be someone other than herself, and all she wants is for that to be good enough.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:



Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2016/12/use-your-words-work-of-angels.html

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2016/12/christmas-with-pearl-and-william-uyw.html