Alive Day!

Happy Alive Day to my husband, J.R.


May we all remember that our freedoms are not free, but come with great sacrifice. Hold these freedoms near and dear, and never forget how precious they are.

Iraq - Over for Some, but Not Over for All

For many families in this fine country, today is a happy day. Our troops are coming home from Iraq.

Operation Iraqi Freedom has been controversial. Whether you agree with the war or not and whether you believe we have won or lost does not matter. What matters is that for many of our families this war will never be over.

Our family is one of thousands that will forever be changed because of this war.

This upcoming Monday, December 19, marks my husband's fifth Alive Day. This day marks the day in which our lives were forever changed, and he lived to tell the tale.

J.R. was injured by a roadside bomb. His hand was blown off. Too graphic for you? Good. That's what war is - graphic.

This event sent us down a dark path. A path that thousands have traveled before us, and thousands will travel after us. We are not alone in our struggles, and while there is comfort in connecting with other Wounded Families, it does not always make the path any easier to walk. In fact, there were times when the darkness was all encompassing and walking the path blind was entirely impossible. When that happened, we crawled; groping our way uphill.

While our marriage has not always been as beautiful as the pictures in the many news articles have led you to believe, we dug deep and crawled home together.

Even after five years there are difficult moments. There are days when I just want to hold my husband's hand. Or nights when I wish he could find peace and sleep calmly.

I tell you of these struggles not because I want your sympathy, or your pity. I tell you of these struggles because I want you to remember - no, I NEED you to remember - that the war will never be over. Not for my family. Not for the families of many.

So the next time you see a Veteran, thank them for serving.

Lies!

This image is from an excerpt of The 7 Dumbest Things Students Do When Cramming For Exams. I believe it to be false.

Highlighters are a fantastic tool for studying. I know this because there are a handful of highlighters sitting on my table right now, and clearly, I'm a genius.


Looks like the study nest of a master-mind, eh?

So Dear Luke Mckinney - please retract your statement about my highlighted notes looking like My Little Pony in Drag.

Clearly, they look more like Lisa Frank threw up on my data set.

December - The Blurry Month

Dear December,

I have decided you are a lying, cheating, trick playing month, and we are no longer friends. Why, you ask? Because there is simply no way that your days have 24 hours.

Today is December 6th. Where did the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th go? They are nothing but a blur - proof that your days go by on fast forward.

Is this a test? Are you laughing at me as I flail around miserably in a pathetic attempt to complete everything? Finals are killing me, and don't even get me started on Christmas. I once again haven't done any Christmas shopping yet. I know you're secretly laughing as I begin to panic about not having time to enter stores until two days before Christmas. It's not funny.

With everything going on in my world, plus the news that yet another loved one in my life passed away in the morning hours of today, I have decided that you, December, are just not working out for me. I will be hibernating through the rest of this month.

January - I expect a better performance from you.

Love,

Josie

Comfort

A Parable of Immortality

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch until at last she hangs
like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says,
" There she goes! "

Gone where?

Gone from my sight . . . that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the place of destination.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment
when someone at my side says,
" There she goes! "
there are other eyes watching her coming . . .
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout . . .

" Here she comes! "

~Henry Van Dyke

Sick

Sometimes, even at the age of 25, you want your Mom to come take care of you and make you feel better when you're sicker than sick.

Nobody can make ice water in a thermos, with a straw, taste so refreshing.

Nobody can rub your back and take away the aches like she can.

Nobody can tolerate Chicken Run on repeat, over, and over, and over, like she can.

Yes, even at 25, there is no replacing my Mom. Now if only we didn't live so far apart....

We Will Always Have the Memories

Two weeks of bad news.

It started with the news that a competitor from the Lumberjack community passed away suddenly. He left behind a wife and two young children. While I didn't know David well, my husband and his family did - and seeing your loved ones deal with emotional pain is misery.

David's death was followed by my Great Grandmother's passing on Thanksgiving day. She was 93. She lived a full life, her mind was still very sharp, and she stayed pretty active for someone aged 93. She hadn't been sick, or in pain. Her body just said, "time is up." I don't believe she suffered in her passing and she was surrounded by loved ones when she went.

Her funeral was today. I wasn't able to attend because of the distance, but I hope my family knows they were in my thoughts today.

And finally, the news I have been struggling with the most, my friend's mother passed away today after a lengthy battle with cancer. I did not know her well, but I hurt for my friends who are dealing with the loss of their mother/mother-in-law. Last week I had a lengthy discussion with my girl friend about the process of death and how the family was dealing. The entire conversation I was weeping in my rocking chair, all with the hopes that she would not hear this on her end of the line. The idea of loosing my own mother was painful, but putting myself in the position of the Mother saying goodbye to her children was unbearable.

I can only hope that there is peace to be found in knowing that her battle is over and she's no longer in pain. In the mean time, my phone is readily available and my ears are open. If that's not enough, the wine fridge is stocked and my home has plenty of spare beds.

While the passing of these three people has been emotional, it has been a solid reminder that we are lucky to have the time we have. I may grumble about my homework, the fever I've been running all day, or the dishes in the sink, but I have a lot to be thankful for....

Especially that adorable little boy who is fast asleep, butt in the air, dreaming the night away.

Cleaning!

Tonight I cleaned with the help of my husband. Let me clarify... my husband cleaned while I drank wine. I'm classy like that.

Here's how my contribution to the cleaning effort panned out:

1. Drink half a glass of wine.

2. Do some dishes.

3. Finish glass of wine. Pour second glass

4. Pretend to do some more dishes, really - just stand there and splash in the water. Sip on wine

5. Dance like an idiot in the corner. Pray nobody is watching.

6. Update Facebook status.

7. Drnnk more of that redddd stuff.

7. Mop the baby. Kiss the floors.

8. Give thanks to the Gods that possessed your husband to clean.

Now if only the laundry would be put away....

Dear Dish Fairy

Every night I go to bed in hopes that the Dish Fairy will visit my house and I will awake to a sparkling kitchen. Somehow, the Dish Fairy always passes over our house. In fact, not only does the Dish Fairy pass over the house, but the dishes are like rabbits wildly reproducing during the wee hours of the night.

Is there like a special Mezuzah that you need to put out to encourage the Dish Fairy to stop at your house? Do I need to nail a sponge to the trim of my front door to signal the Dish Fairy in?

Just in case my sponge at the front door doesn't encourage the Dish Fairy to stop, I wrote the Dish Fairy a love note:

Dear Dish Fairy,

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
Be the house you wash tonight.

My sink is full,
my cupboards bare,
And Brody has no fork to share.

So please do stop,
I'll love you so,
Cause Mama's hands can wash no more!

You do this because..... ?

Deer season - still a mystery to me. Why do people get so excited for this?

First, you have to wake up before the sun comes up. Enough said.

Second, you have to put so many layers on that you look like this:



Yes, this may be a fashion statement, but probably not one you want people remembering you ever wore. Just saying.

Third, you have to walk. Really far. Up hills. In the cold. Probably in snow.

Fourth, you have to be quiet. Like, really quiet. Have you met me? Not.gonna.happen.

And finally, IF you kill Bambi you then have to gut it and drag it to your wife who will grit her teeth and smile while silently thinking "*!@#&$@ there goes my Saturday. Looks like I'll be canning and freezing meat!"

Now don't forget, if you kill a deer you will have to have your picture taken with your kill so you can show all your friends on Facebook and Twitter how manly you are. This means that awful outfit you're wearing will forever being immortalized on film and I will laugh at you. True story.

I can think of a few more productive ways to use my time rather than sitting half way up a tree being quiet. This morning I've done two loads of laundry, fed the baby, made a batch of chocolate chip cookies, showered, cleaned the kitchen, and worked on homework. Oh, and it's only 9:30.

JR sat in a tree. He's returned home to nap because this hunting business is exhausting.

I should have been born a man.

Change is Good

Yesterday, I had some "me" time. It was the first time in a while that I've had the opportunity to do something all by myself and for myself. Like many girls, I spent my time gossiping while spending copious amounts of money on the most important accessory a girl has: my hair.

I haven't had my haircut since the beginning of July. July, people! My blonde outgrowth was turning into trendy ombre and my layered bob was long enough to pull back into a pony tail.

As I was sitting in the chair deciding what to do with my locks, a rush of courage came over me and I made the bold decision to chop it all off. Why not? You only live once, and hair grows back.

Not only did I chop it all, but I colored it dark brown.

And this is why it's important to make time for yourself more than twice a year. Drastic things happen when you don't have "me time" in small, frequent chunks.

My hair is now fashioned in a trendy pixie type cut with super long sweeping bangs. It's... different. I keep catching glimpses of myself in the mirror and wondering who that strange person is in my house.

I'm pretty sure the husband isn't a fan. This morning he told me someone chopped all my hair off in the middle of the night and that the back of my head "looks like a ducks butt." So very charming. He's a keeper.

Brody still thinks I'm fabulous. He didn't even give me a surprised "who the heck are you?" face. He was just happy to see that I was home and available for snuggle time. I think I'll keep em.

The Very Hungry Germ Catcher

Here is a picture of our summer garden.



Tonight's dinner has made me realize that I need to double the size of this baby next year.

My 15 month old son ate two cups of pasta, a quarter cup of broccoli, and two ego waffles. Don't forget the giant cup of milk he washed it all down with.

If a 15 month old can consume more food than I can, what on earth am I going to do when he reaches 14?

And so I've decided, next summer the garden expands and I spend even more time slaving away in the kitchen canning and freezing the harvest. Either that or I win a million dollars so I can afford to buy all of the wholesome foods I believe in feeding my child.

In other news.....

Daycare is sending home the plague with my child, and my very hungry germ catcher seems to find it sweet to share with me.

It all started the weekend of Halloween. Brody came home running a fever and had a snotty nose. I snuggled him up like any loving Mom and let him sneeze, snot, and cough all over me. He felt fine after a day or so. A few days later I noticed I was really tired, but that's normal when you're trying to be Super Mom, right?

Thursday morning came around and I woke up with what I thought were canker sores in my mouth. By Friday morning my mouth was COVERED in blisters. Painful. Then they started showing up on my hands. Could it be, do I have hand, foot, and mouth disease?

According to the Dr. I saw that just wasn't possible. The blisters were TOTALLY different and the dots on my hands were from dry skin. Never mind the spots on my feet that were starting to develop and looked just like the spots on my hands. Adults just simply do not get blisters with hand foot and mouth.

WRONG!

By the end of the weekend my body was covered in blisters. My mouth, my hands, my feet - even my ankles, elbows, shoulders were developing dots. A trip to urgent care the morning of my birthday would confirm - hand, foot, and mouth.

Turns out, Brody's daycare was having an outbreak of the virus and my little germ catcher was nice enough to pass it on to me. While he never developed the blisters, I was lucky to be the one random adult that developed them. Apparently when adults do develop blisters, they spread all over the body and don't stay contained to the hands, feet, and mouth. Oh, and hot water makes them worse just in case you ever need to know.

It was a lovely way to spend my 25th birthday. Sitting in urgent care with blisters covering my body.

So there you have it. Teaching your children how to share is dangerous to your health, but oh so worth all of the hugs and kisses they so lovingly give you.

UW-Stout Tegrity Failure

UW-Stout has been a fantastic institution for higher education since I began my quest of learning in 2007. They rent out textbooks to their students - a huge cost savings. They have an amazing laptop program that ensures all students have a functioning laptop. They even have classes that include distant students via webcam!

After I became pregnant with Brody, I really began to question how I was going to finish my degree. Completing this degree has been a goal of mine that I have been chipping away at. How could I stop when I was so close to the reward? At the same time, how was I going to balance being the best Mom I could be and still achieve this goal?

Then I learned about the hybrid classes that Stout was going to offer. Online recordings of every course I needed in order to finish my degree in Professional Communications and Emerging Media. I would be able to complete my coursework while still being Super Mom, Wife of the Century, and Employee of the Year.

It sounded like a dream come true.

It's been a nightmare.

The Tegrity recordings are beyond flawed. Half the time, the recordings don't post so the online students are left with a tiny outline of what the in class students did for the day. We have been left to drag ourselves through homework that has had little to no explanation from a teacher.

Then, when things were "on track," I spent a weekend completely booted out of all of my courses. No access to them. It was like they didn't even exist. Did I mention it was the weekend? Nobody answers e-mail on the weekend. Why would tech support be available on Friday night? I'm sure they had much more important things to do like eat vodka soaked gummy bears in their parents basement.

Recently, we have been facing a new bump in the road. The recordings have become choppy. It's like talking to someone on a satellite phone who is in the middle of Iraq. Sure, every other syllable comes through, but you spend most of your time cursing at the connection and wondering what the heck they're trying to communicate! Perhaps this will more clearly demonstrate how I feel about choppy recordings:


Tonight, I am facing the reality that I have once again been booted out of all of my classes. Nothing is available. I'm looking at a pile full of homework and will have to rely completely on myself, my text book, and a very rough outline of what was covered in the class for the day.

I've had to rely on my course books so heavily this semester that I'm seriously wondering why I'm paying hundreds of dollars to complete a course when I could have purchased a book off Amazon.com for $30 and received the same education. I give this institution money trusting that they will provide me with teachers who can in turn provide lectures that will guide my education and help me be as prepared as possible for a job when I graduate.

Do not think that this is a matter of teachers not providing the information. I am watching all of my professors struggle to maintain their current work load while also trying to prepare material for the online students so that we can keep up with our coursework. Unfortunately, the material isn't the same. They do not have the time to create notes that talk about every detail from the class, and I don't expect them to have that added burden. This takes up precious time that could be used for grading and feedback - something I have had very little of this entire semester.

This is not an education. This is a self taught struggle that is unacceptable for an institution of higher learning. I'm facing the reality of having to pay for a babysitter on Tuesday's and Thursday's so that I can now attend the physical classroom setting because the Tegrity system is so unreliable. Who is going to cover the added cost of my sitter? My funds are stretched thin with the three days a week my child is already in daycare.

I'm willing to sacrifice my sleep, my time with my family, and my sanity, all so I can obtain a degree that will ultimately allow me to provide a better life for my child. I'm not willing to sacrifice the quality of that education. I really expected more from you, Stout.

Answer the Phone!

I have a new annoyance in my life... trying to schedule a hair appointment.

The salon my hair stylist moved to is relatively small and just getting up and running. The inside is modern and relaxing and it's a quiet salon with just a few stylist. It's an Aveda salon, so it's not cheap to get a cut and color. While I love that it's small, it has it's disadvantages - like the fact that they don't have a receptionist.

I've tried to call and schedule and appointment a number of times now, but I'm always taken to the voicemail system. I'm sorry, I'm suppose to leave you a message so that we can play phone tag to set up an appointment? Or so that you can call me back when it's convenient for you, which will inevitably be during nap time. I think if you wake up my napping child that should automatically provide me with a free hair cut.

Not only is it exceptionally annoying to not be able to schedule an appointment, but when I'm getting my hair cut and colored I don't care for my stylist to be running back and forth answering a ringing phone. I want all of her attention on my head so that I can get in and out as quickly as possible.

As I was grumbling to a friend about this, she mentioned that I can't forget the cost of a receptionist and pointed out that this would, without a doubt, increase the cost of my appointment. Fine. Add another 5 bucks on. If that means I can schedule an appointment and talk to a person when I have time, I'm OK with that.

So what do you think.. am I being unnecessarily grumpy (or snobby?), or should the salon have a receptionist?

Trick or Treat

Happy Halloween!

I'm probably the meanest Mom of all time, but I'm not taking Brody trick or treating. The idea of hauling him in and out of a car so I can carry him up to a house, ring the doorbell, and yell "Trick or treat," seems miserable when he wont understand what the heck we are doing. We can save that for next year.

We did still have the opportunity to dress him up and attend a Halloween party at a friend's home this weekend. We don't socialize very often and this was a great opportunity for us to catch up with old friends. And when I say "we" got to catch up with old friends, I mean JR got to catch up. I chased a monkey around, and I had a good time doing it.

Groceries

I sent the husband to the grocery store with a list of items I needed.

Yes, I know, this is already sounding like a train wreck.

My list started off with just a few simple things that I needed in order to finish off my corn chowder. Red/yellow/orange bell peppers, milk, and green onions.

Oh, and while I'm thinking about it....

I need yeast so I can make a fresh batch of bread, we're out of chocolate chips, the eggs are low, I could use a bag of carrots, and some thyme.

And that was just my rough draft.

Yes, I had a rough draft of my grocery list. (Hi, I'm Josie. I'm addicted to writing beautiful lists.)

The final copy looked something like this....

2% milk
Eggs
colby jack cheese
pepperjack cheese

yeast (the red jar. Red Star - Active Dry Yeast)
chocolate chips

red/yellow peppers (3)
onions
green onions
carrots
thyme

Now note, these items have been grouped to the section of the store they belong too. I even included specific details about what kind of yeast I needed. The plan was fool proof!

Then the phone calls started coming in. The first three were no big deal. Then J.R. got to the produce section.

"They don't have green onions."

"Did you check by the carrots and celery? They're usually refrigerated."

"I'm looking at all the onions right now. There are red onions, yellow onions, white onions... no green ones. Aren't they called something else?"

"Yes, a scallion."

"If they're a scallion then why are you calling them green onions? Doesn't matter, they don't have them..."

"Right, but did you check the fridges?... and scallion-schmallion. It's a cultural preference to say green onion."

(I muttered something under my breath about high class snobs and their fancy words for green onions.. pretty sure J.R. missed that completely in his frantic search of the produce section)

"They don't have green onions!"

"Screw the green onions! Forget them!"

I'm going to the store tomorrow. I'm pretty sure they'll have green onions.

He made it back from the store and managed to get everything on my list - with the exception of my green onions, of course. He did well, and I'm grateful that he picked the items up for me. In addition to my needed items, he bought a huge bag of cheese curds and an additional block of smokey cheddar cheese. And instead of just purchasing one bag of chocolate chips, he purchased six.

Cookies, anyone?

Life Lessons

Today, J.R. was up and out the door before the sun even bothered to make an appearance. He was taking his portable Lucas Sawmill to Southern Minnesota to work on job. I tried to call him once at 8 am when Brody and I rolled out of bed, but my WiFi calling on my cell phone wasn't cooperating and a very impatient little boy was demanding breakfast.

After breakfast Brody and I spent the morning playing peek-a-boo and coloring. Well, I was coloring... Brody was eating the crayons and making horrible faces.

Life lesson #92: Crayons taste like shit.

After a number of Crayons had their tips bitten off I simply told Brody that "it's OK, some lessons take a little longer to learn than others," and with that the box of Crayons returned to the safety of the desk drawer.

Before long it was time for lunch. Lunch blended into nap time, nap time to snack time, snack time to dinner, and poof! The day was over.

I no more than got Brody all snuggled into bed when my cell phone rang.

"Hey hun, how was your day sawing?" I asked the hubs.

"Ugh, I'm so sorry. I was thirty miles from cell phone service and I just didn't have any signal all day...."

He was frantically spitting out an apology when I stopped him....

"ummm, I didn't call you all day. I was fine. Brody was fine. We never called you. It didn't matter that you were out of cell phone service."

"Oh.................. you didn't?"

"Nope. Not once."

Life Lesson #121: It's always good to make your spouse feel important and loved.

And with that I reminded myself, "it's OK, some lessons take a little longer to learn than others."

Take My Survey!

I'm working on a research project for my Structure of English course at the UW-Stout.

I would really appreciate your participation in my project. Help me out, take my survey.

It will take you less than 4 minutes.

I will love you forever.

Take my survey!

All Caught Up

I am sitting in the library for the first time this semester. It seems in the hustle and bustle of my life, I have forgotten just how satisfying time in the library can be.

I always sit on the 5th floor. At UW-Stout, the 5th floor is the quiet floor.

Ahhhh, quiet. Enjoy it with me for just a moment.

I like to sit in the same desk next to the windows where the sun shines in. I sit here not just because I love sunshine, but because I'm fairly confident if I don't absorb the heat from the sun I will turn into a human Popsicle and die in the library.

I don't want to be a Popsicle.

Today I noticed they have placed a plant up here for us quiet lovers to enjoy. I believe they did this not for our well being or to clean the air, but just to prove that it's not really THAT cold up here. It's probably some plant that is hardy to zone arctic. Sneaky bastards.

Now the fifth floor is not a very popular floor. There are always a few stragglers up here that are frantically cramming through assignments. It would be interesting to take a pole of the GPA that the students on the fifth floor have. I'd like to think that all the really smart, hardworking students hang out up here, like some type of club.

Then I realize that the people in the corner are making out. I'm going to tell myself that they are doing research on PDA and how people react to it and just sink a little lower in my desk.

So while I sit in the library, soaking up the sun and the quiet, I realized for the first time in the entire semester, I'm ahead on all of my projects. Thank you, daycare While I'm finally able to slow down and not frantically cram through assignments, Brody is one building over having a blast with a bunch of other one year olds. On Monday he painted a pumpkin! The best part was how proud he was when I came home, picked up the pumpkin, and told him it was beautiful. I'm pretty sure he is the next Picasso, but I'll let you be the judge of that.

Daycare!

When did daycare get to be such a hostile topic to discuss?!

There are a number of groups people fit into with their daycare view. First, we have the "Daycare is the only way your child will learn anything" group. This group believes that stay at home mom's are completely incapable of educating their children and preparing them for the world. Children that stay at home will be damaged forever because they wont know how to socialize with other kids. They are never going to be exposed to germs so someday, when they're in the "real world," they're going to contract a cold and die.

Then you have the "daycare is the devil - kids belong at home with their parents" group. This group believes that sending your children to daycare is equivalent to saying that you don't love them. This only teaches children that parents aren't important and family bonding will never happen.

The third, and final, group "daycare is so expensive and I can't believe anyone would pay someone else to raise their child." The members of this group are mostly single and child free. They make me laugh.

My response? I'm a college student pulling a 3.9 cumulative GPA after five years of college. If that doesn't qualify me to teach my child the itsy bitsy spider and how to wash his hands, the world is surely in trouble. Brody has been home, with just me and no other children, for 15 months. He shares toys well, doesn't hit, doesn't bite, and is generally a fun child to spend time with. He loves other people and willingly goes to anyone - something I'm not sure is so fantastic. I believe a slight hesitance to go to other people is OK for a child.

I have loved having Brody home with me. I've been very lucky that I have had him with me for 15 months. I was there for the first time he rolled over, first time he crawled, first steps, first words, and every other first. I've had oodles of time to play with him and I always make sure to get a fair share of hugs and kisses in everyday. I know my son loves me from the huge grin he has every time I walk in the door from work. That grin is priceless.

I also know that I cannot continue functioning at the pace I have been going forever. Brody is a boy on the move and he takes a lot of energy to keep up with. I've been feeling very guilty the last few weeks as I've plopped him down on the couch and turned the TV to Nick Jr, begging for just twenty more minutes of quiet time so I can frantically scratch one more assignment off the never ending homework list.

So today, Brody started his new routine of going to daycare every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Yes, it's expensive. Even the student rate at $66 for three full days makes me question if this is the right decision. Surely, I could suck it up and keep him home and get everything done and save my family a lot of money, but the cost of my health and sanity are equally important.

I dropped Brody off at 7:30 this morning. The minute we walked in the door he ran over to give the fish tank a kiss. He then started playing with all of the toys. He wouldn't even sit still so I could take his jacket off. We snapped a picture before I left for the day. He didn't even realize, or care, that I was leaving. He just wanted to play with the big yellow truck.

I know a number of friends have been making bets as to whether or not there would be tears from me on the first day of daycare. I can honestly say there have no been tears. There was a feeling of relief when I came home and had a quiet house. I don't have to worry about trying to multitask my way through all of my obligations and can feel satisfied that Brody is getting the attention he needs and wont be spending a day enchanted by cartoons.

So while everyone is busy giving me their opinions about how I'm scarring my child for life, I'm busy making the best decisions I can for my life and family. In the end, my family's happiness is the only thing that matters.

Just Ten More Minutes...

Today started off on the wrong foot.

It started at 4:30. No day should start at 4:30 in the morning. Not unless you are getting paid a boat load of money to read a teleprompter on the news.

There was a flat tire on the car, a frustrated husband, and a crying baby. It's called life, and it's sloppy sometimes. Still, not exactly the things I wanted to wake up to.

I decided I was going to hold off on downing a pot of coffee. The baby would totally go back to sleep for a nice long nap - right?

The baby didn't go back to sleep.

Instead we stayed up and partied and ate pancakes until Brody fell asleep in his highchair - little fists clenching wads of syrup covered goodness. That peaceful image lasted all of 20 minutes.

Since then, it has been "lets see what I can climb to scare the shit out of Mom!"

The bookcase.
The back of the couch.
The coffee table/end table.
The window sills.

.... Oh to be one and have no fear.

At 10:45 Brody finally closed his eyes for what I thought would be his normal solid hour and a half nap. I laid down on the couch, turned on trash E! TV for the first time in a week, and I closed my eyes. 11:09 and Brody was wide awake.

Since then we've had lunch. I've cursed at the husband's inability to make a schedule. I've cried over some article about a woman who got pregnant, found out she had brain cancer, and died to save the baby. I've pulled Brody off the bookcase twice.

While I may want to pull my hair out today, I am constantly reminding myself that this is the last week of trying to do it all. There's only 5 days, 18 hours, 27 minutes, and 8...7... 6... 5... seconds until Brody starts daycare!

Until then, cheers! Life is sloppy!

The Power of Opinions

Two weeks ago when I began researching ways to teach Brody how to sleep through the night, I stumbled upon some fantastic parenting websites. I admit - I have been sucked in and reading articles non stop instead of doing homework. It's like the articles directly speak to me....

Why Stay-at-home-Moms Shouldn't Feel Guilty About Day Care

Why a Mommy Salary Makes Sense

Why Your Child Should Be Reading by SIX MONTHS! DON'T FALL BEHIND!

What has intrigued me more are not the actual articles, but the reactions TO the articles. Not only do people passionately agree with the article, but they even more passionately disagree with the article. It reinforces the idea that raising a child is a complicated business, and if you're going to succeed in this business of Mommyhood, then you better toughen up your skin!

It starts when your pregnant. Random strangers walk up to you and start conversations that go something like this....

"When is the baby due? Is it a boy or a girl? Do you have a name picked out? Are you excited? How much weight have you gained? Are you going to breastfeed?..."

You somewhat politely try to respond as you tear their hands from your belly when it suddenly hits you - a total stranger is asking you about your weight and your boobs.

Resist the urge to go into a hormone fueled rant about how you were just trying to purchase some God damn chocolate and it's none of their God damn business how many pounds you put on because you look beautiful no matter what and the Dr. said it was ok that you gained 10 pounds in a month.

Whew, I feel better now that I got that off my chest.

It's not just that they are asking about your bosoms, but they then feel the need to give their opinion on breastfeeding.

"It's the most natural thing in the world. Bottles are way more convenient. It's so healthy. You're crazy to nurse. You'll lose so much weight."

The opinions can become suffocating as they make you second guess everything you're planning on doing when the baby arrives.

Lucky for me, I already knew what kind of a Mom I wanted to be and I wasn't willing to let the opinions of others change my mind.

I tried very hard to breastfeed Brody when he was born. We went through six weeks of hell. Turns out he was tongue tied severely enough that it was preventing him from transferring milk. It took me six weeks of trying to nurse, visiting the hospital's Lactation Consultant THREE times, seeing my counties breastfeeding expert, and having a home visit from the county nurse to figure out why Brody wasn't eating.

I spent six weeks listening to the world around me telling me to quit trying to nurse and just give him a bottle. Six weeks of being told that nursing isn't that big of a deal and babies that get formula are just as healthy. Over and over and over I heard this.

But it wasn't as simple as just giving him a bottle and everything will be better. He couldn't drink milk from my breast, he couldn't drink milk from a bottle nipple, and he was a hungry baby.

By the time we got his tongue clipped at six weeks (another controversial subject that I had to hear about from the world), my breasts had been through hell and back. My Dr. said he never seen a woman with nipples that were so torn apart. They were hamburger. Brody had developed horrible nursing habits from spending the first six weeks of his life trying anything to get milk into his tummy. It was pretty clear that my breasts needed a break from my child in order heal, so I began to pump my milk.

For those that have never been around a woman using a breast pump - it's a lengthy process. I pumped 6-7 times a day. For most women it takes about twenty minutes each time. I was special. Brody had spent so much time nursing that he had over stimulated my body and my milk production went crazy. I could have EASILY fed twins and still had milk to spare. My morning pumping session would take an hour. The other 6 sessions would take 30 minutes.

It's not just that you have to find time to sit down and pump while keeping a newborn happy, but you then have you wash all of your equipment after each use. Add ten minutes to the routine for cleaning. Then you have to store the milk. Add five minutes. Then add in the time it takes to thaw the frozen milk, warm the bottle, and feed the child. Add in the time it takes to wash bottles.

My day started to look something like this....

1. Pump
2. Wash parts, store milk
3. Make bottle
4. Feed baby
5. Change baby
   
6. Wash bottles
7. 20 minutes of free time - do laundry, take shower, keep baby happy
   
8. Repeat from Step 1

The world really started to tell me that I was a crazy person. I kept hearing over and over that I should just give him formula. I'd respond that formula is costly. They'd respond "that's what WIC is for."

That was humiliating. Being told to go into the WIC program so that I could afford to purchase powdered milk for my child when I was producing more milk than he could ever drink in a day.

I viewed my milk as liquid gold. Nectar from the Gods. I was giving my child a healthy start and I was proud of that.

When my maternity leave was over I returned to work and had to figure out how to maintain a pumping schedule with a professional schedule. It was my return to work that really made me hear societies views of my parenting style.

"How long do you plan on pumping? Why don't you just buy formula? Don't you want your time back? There are a lot of babies that are formula fed and they're just fine. Don't you think you're being a little extreme?"

Christmas came around and when I politely excused myself from a party so that I could pump a person I just met exclaimed very loudly that my baby was six months old and it was disgusting that I was still breastfeeding - even it the breast milk was coming from a bottle.

It had been my intention from Day 1 that I would nurse Brody until he was a year. I didn't understand why people were so upset that I was spending my time playing Dairy Cow in order to feed my child. Was my pumping habit interrupting their day? No. Did they have to watch me pump? No. Did they have to watch my child so I could pump? No.

So why did they care so damn much?

As I traveled home for Christmas I developed mastitis. The infection hit me hard. It was painful and my body felt like it had the worst flu ever. I kept pumping throughout the infection and again, people thought I was crazy.

The infection killed my amazing milk supply. I went from storing 20-30 oz of milk in my freezer a day, to barely producing enough to feed my child for the day. I was disappointed, but in a way this was ok. I had already filled on small chest freezer full of milk, and part of our large chest freezer as well. I was running out of room.

Then in the spring my husband and I went on a wonderful belated honeymoon to Vail, CO. It was a free trip that our friends helped us win so that we could take the honeymoon we never got due to his injury in Iraq. The second day of the trip I fell snowboarding and snapped my wrist in half.

Pumping with a broken wrist doesn't work. I had to stop.

I was disappointed that I had to stop and I knew I didn't have enough frozen stock to get Brody to a year. I was, however, very proud of myself for sticking to my belief that I was doing the best possible thing for my child and NOT listening to the world around me.

Brody made it to nine months with just my milk, and I'm VERY proud of that. I worked hard for that milk! He has been a very healthy child and at the age of 14 months has only had the need for antibiotics once to treat an ear infection.

For those that are opposed to breastfeeding, they tell me he's been healthy because I'm a horrible Mom who keeps my child secluded in our house and away from children in daycare where he belongs.

I've learned to shrug my shoulders and say, yup - you might be correct. All I know is that if the decisions I have made as a parent produce a healthy and happy child then I must be doing something right. So go ahead society, keep on telling me how wrong I am. My skin is tough.

Dear President Obama, I want a Unicorn...

Stuck working a crappy job that doesn't pay very much?

Want to get a higher education but don't think you can afford it?

Do you want housing that is affordable for you and your family?

Well it's your lucky day!

The government will solve your problems. They'll put money in your checking account. They'll pay for your college education. They'll put a roof over your head and ensure you can put food on the table for your family.

You see, the government has this great program - perhaps you've heard of it. It's this little thing called the military. It's pretty awesome. You get to wear a super snazzy uniform, you'll finally lose the ten pounds you've been "working" at for months, and you'll be serving your country!

Do I sound grumpy?

Good. I'd hate to lose my conservative edge.

The Sound of Silence

Do you hear that.... ?










That is silence.

That is the sound of Mama having the house to herself all.night.long.

Oh the things I can do. Take a bubble bath. Watch E! without being hassled by the husband ("That stuff rots your brain!"). Drink a glass of wine without being interrupted. Do a pile of homework that needs my undivided attention.

Wait, homework?!

Oh yeah, welcome back to reality. There is a whole pile of homework to do.

At least I can enjoy the silence.

Single Parent

I have been a single Mom this week while my husband is off playing working at The Great Portable Sawmill Shootout taking place at the Paul Bunyan Show in Cambridge, OH. I have a great fantasy that this is a weekend of hunky men carrying heavy lumber while wearing partially unbuttoned flannel shirts.

Then I remember I watched JR pack his bag.

There was no flannel involved.

From the pictures I've seen, I have come to realize that this event is a large gathering of men who have an obsession with lumber and really big machines that make really big piles of sawdust. I'm sure conversations about how a sawmill can be modified for more power are common, followed by grunting. Tim Taylor would be proud.

I can almost hear the conversations happening around the mills in my mind....

"Oh man, did you see that Woodmizer sink it's blade into the oak? It was beautiful. Like a hot knife sliding through butter..."

"Now that right there is a beautiful piece of lumber. I can't even find a knot in it."

Yawn.

I'll go back to my visions of flannel.

So while J.R. has been off playing Lumberjack, a favorite hobby of his, I've been running the house. Kind of.

I determined that it was past time for Brody to learn how to sleep in his crib, on his own, for a whole night. He got into this nasty habit of having to sleep with us in our bed right about the time I snapped my wrist in half in Colorado this spring. (Sidenote - if you can't chew gum and walk at the same time, you probably shouldn't snowboard. I tried explaining this to J.R., but he dragged me up the mountain anyway. )

Every night around 3 am Brody wakes up screaming. It's not nightmares. It's not because he's hungry. It's not because he wants a dry diaper. He just simply wants to take up an entire queen sized bed and torture his parents.

After all sorts of reading online I've determined the best way to teach Brody that he needs to sleep in his own bed is to let him scream it out.

I'm not a huge fan of letting my kid scream himself to sleep, but I want my bed back. Also, I can't believe I'm going to admit this, I kinda like snuggling with my husband at night. Having Brody laying horizontally across the bed with his head on my chest and his feet in J.R.'s face - it interrupts that whole snuggling business.

So being the completely awesome wife I am, I decided this was a great week to start teaching Brody how to sleep on his own because J.R. would be gone and instead of BOTH of us getting no sleep, just one of us would be getting no sleep. I think this act of selflessness deserves a present from Tiffany & Co.

The first night I put Brody to bed at 8:30 - a huge improvement from his normal 10 pm bedtime. Ten minutes of fussing and lights out. He slept until 7:45 the next morning.

I awoke one overly proud parent. All night! He slept ALL NIGHT! All I needed to do was put him to sleep earlier and keep his sleep area dark and quiet. Easy peasy.

The next night we followed the same bedtime routine. Lights out by 8:25. Life is good.

Then 2 am came, and so did the screaming. I went to Brody, gave him a kiss on the forehead, laid him back down, told him that I loved him and quietly explained that night time is very boring and we need to sleep. In our own bed.

Repeat at 2:30.

Repeat at 3.

Repeat at 3:30.

Repeat at 4.

At 4:30 I break down and give Brody a small bottle. I rubbed his back until he FINALLY went to sleep.

I went back to sleep on the couch but kept having nightmares that I died on the couch while J.R. was away and that Brody was trapped in his crib, screaming and hungry, for 2 days until somebody found us. Twisted. This is why you don't let your son scream himself to sleep. Feelings of guilt screw with your mind.

I was a zombie the next day, but we survived.

Last night was almost a success. He started waking up around 5 am and with a little encouragement from me, he stayed in his crib until 6:30 when he decided we should wake up and watch the sun rise. No biggie, it was a beautiful morning and I got some pretty fantastic snuggles out of it.

Tonight he was in bed by 8. He's really getting the hang of our new bed time routine and didn't even fuss when I put him in his crib. I'm crossing my fingers that we make it through the night with no interruptions.

On top of very little sleep, I have still been trying to keep up with all of the other responsibilities I have. My kitchen is clean. Kind of. My floors are clean. Kind of. And the laundry is done. Kind of.

While my house might not be in the best shape ever, at least I managed to complete all of my homework and get it turned in.

I'm pretty proud of how well Brody and I did this week on our own. It's not easy being responsible for a very busy one year old 24 hours a day, especially when you don't get a lot of sleep and have a lot of other responsibilities that demand your attention as well. It will be nice to have J.R. home tomorrow afternoon to help with Brody so that I can have a break from multitasking.

As for tonight, I'm praying for a little bit of sleep so I can be rested for the return of my favorite Lumberjack tomorrow.

Say Cheese!!!

Simplicity for the win!

Simplicity Vs. Interrupted

My house, the snake pit, sits nestled into a hill side. It is surrounded by corn fields and even though the neighbors house is less than a quarter mile away, I can't see them and they can't see me. I like it this way.

When we were looking at houses we knew we could only purchase a house that had high speed Internet access. We were fortunate enough to find this "gem" of a house that met our need of feeling secluded while still being modern enough for us to connect to the outside world. I do enjoy my cable TV and my Internet is blazing fast. There is just one small problem with the location of our home: We don't have cell phone reception.

At first this was a problem. Correction, a crisis. A crisis of epic proportions. I LIVE for gossiping on the phone and how was I going to have an instant alert that a new e-mail had arrived?

We got a land line. Yeah, one of those big clunky things that has big buttons on it and doesn't conveniently fit into your back pocket. I know, I thought they were extinct too.

The first year was really hard. I would stand in all sorts of crazy positions around the property just so I could send and receive a text message. Sometimes, I would drive down the road 50 feet so I could use my cell phone. I felt so disconnected from the world. Never mind that I had facebook and knew what all of my friends were doing at any point of the day. It just wasn't the same as picking up my phone for gossip time - and using the land line to call long distance is expensive! Oh cell phone minutes, how I missed you and your lack of differentiation between long distance and local calling.

Then I discovered something amazing. Quiet can be a good thing.

I've adjusted to not having cell phone service and I actually enjoy it. I don't have to feel as though I need to be instantly connected and always available for everyone in the world. I can walk outside to the garden and never once be interrupted with a phone call or a text message. I'm able to really enjoy family moments now that I'm not rushing around trying to communicate with the rest of the world.

Because I rarely use my cell phone, I haven't upgraded my phone since 2007. My phone is just shy of it's 5th birthday. It's taped together. Literally. There are four pieces of duct tape that are holding my phone together. The screen is so scratched that you can barely see what you're doing, and people constantly complain that they can't hear me when I'm on my cell phone.

I'm pretty proud of my taped together phone. I feel like the smart consumer who is saving loads of money by keeping the same product forever and ever. But as more and more people started to complain that they couldn't hear me, I knew it was time to look into purchasing a new phone.

Smart consumer feeling went bye-bye.

Did you know today's phones not only make telephone calls, but they can cook you dinner?!

OK, perhaps a phone making dinner is a slight exaggeration, but I just about fell over when the nice man at the T-Mobile booth patiently started showing me everything new phones could do.

Then, the unthinkable happened. He showed me the most amazing button EVER.

Apparently, you can make and receive calls on your cell phone through you home wireless network. At no extra cost. You probably knew this because you live in the modern world with your shiny, non taped together phone. Please excuse my shock and awe. I live under a rock.

I instantly wanted to abandon my simple life free from interruptions so I could once again be connected to the world.

Then I heard the price tag.

Even with my upgrade it was still going to cost me 200 bucks, after a 100 dollar mail in rebate. While the good American in me wanted to whip out a credit card and get that instant gratification of owning new technology, I reminded myself that I don't own a credit card and that diapers beat new phone every time.

I've had a few days to mull it over and I'm not certain I want a phone that I can make calls through my wireless network with. Do I really NEED to be so connected to the outside world? My land line phone number is very protected, and only the most important people to us have the number. Like the e-mail address you send junk mail to, my cell phone collects the unwanted phone calls from the VA, or Walgreen's, or the drunk dial from a friend in the middle of the night.

And yes, I know, I don't HAVE to enable the wireless calling, but lets be realistic - it will always be enabled when I'm at home. Cell phones are like Facebook, addicting and impossible to turn off.

So I face a major decision: Purchase the phone, move back into the real world, and be permanently connected to everyone in it, OR keep the taped together phone and enjoy the simplicity, UNinterrupted.

Home Snake Invasion

It started in the middle of a blizzard.

Temperatures were plummeting to 40 below, six foot snowdrifts made the roads impassable, and our drafty 1908 farm house was frigid. Putting wood in the stove was an hourly chore that kept me running to the basement. On one of my many trips to the basement I discovered a horrible secret our home had been hiding from us.

I had just finished filling the stove with wood. Upon glancing down I saw him. Stretched out across the floor, head raised high, and beady little eyes staring me down. I paused in a moment of disbelief.

Surely, this was a joke that J.R. was playing on me, right?

And then it happened, with a flutter of his tongue in and out of his mouth, he moved. MOVED!
I was face to face with a living, breathing, three foot long snake.



I screamed like a prepubescent teen girl who just ran into Justin Beiber and bolted from the basement. J.R. was no where to be found so like the responsible home owner I am, I geared up for snake battle.

One needs a number of accessories for battle with a snake:

1. Big rubber boots covered in flowers. Check.


2. Thick leather gloves to save you from any bites. Check.


3. A giant garbage can to put the snake into. Check.


4. Guts...... Check?

I headed to the basement, prepared for battle, when wait! Did you hear that? My knight in shining armor had returned from saving the neighbors, and now he could save me!

I met JR in the driveway and started screaming that there was a snake in the basement. Clearly, he thought, being snowed in for five hours was morphing his wife into the female Jack Torrance. He would have to restrain me before anything bad happened. There was simply no way a living snake was in the basement.

Boy was he surprised.

J.R. saved me from playing snake wrangler. He also wore big rubber boots.

After we found our snake a new home with the UW Stout Biology department, we just kept thinking; this doesn't happen in Wisconsin, in the middle of a blizzard. Snakes don't just slither into your house in February. No, snakes slither into your house in the fall before it freezes. Could it be that this snake had been living in our home for months unknown to us?

Looking back, there hadn't been any mice in the house since the fall. In fact, not one mouse had been caught in the traps and there had been no signs of mice in the kitchen. For a 1908 farm house, with a partial rock foundation, not having mice is unheard of.

We chalked the whole experience up to random chance, but for a long time I couldn't walk in the basement without shoes and the site of electrical cords gave me the heebie-jeebies. Winter passed with no more snakes, and gradually I relaxed in the house.

Just when I got comfortable walking around with no shoes, it happened again.

This time we had just returned from a week long family vacation. We entered a home that had the unmistakable smell of something dead. Probably a mouse that fell into a bin in the basement, right? After searching high and low we realized the smell was coming from under the fridge. "Bravely," we rolled the fridge from the wall and discovered the source of the horrible smell.

Another snake. Same size, same type as the one from the winter. It is our belief that the snake was slithering up and down the hole that the plumbing for the ice maker goes through. In his effort to get back down the hole, the snake crawled into the uncovered electrical outlet and electrocuted itself. I was very thankful it didn't burn the house down in the processing of committing snake suicide. I made J.R. clean it up.

Once again, I was back to wearing my shoes in the house and obsessed with looking at the floor around the fridge. Two days hadn't passed when my vigilance paid off. While making breakfast I glanced down and saw it. The unmistakable back inches of a snake, slithering under the fridge.

Same size. Same type.

I've never seen J.R. get out of bed so quickly.

By the time we got our snake armor on and pulled the fridge out, the snake was gone. That was in the spring. We still haven't found that snake.

If you have lost count, that's THREE large snakes. In.our.HOME.

We started doing our research. We believe they are Western Fox Snakes. A female lays between 10-20 eggs in the early spring. Three snakes is bad. Twenty more? No thank you. Begin Operation Bye-Bye Snakes.

We doubled our rodent poison stations.

We searched our foundation for possible entry spots.

And then we went to town with a teeny tiny inspection camera. We drilled holes in our walls and plunged the camera into the guts of our home looking for any signs of snakes. We couldn't find anything. We saw no nest or signs of snake skin, so we were clear, right?

Summer passed with no signs of them. And then yesterday, it happened.

I glanced into the mudroom and realized that the shoe lace I thought I was looking at was moving. I grabbed the mason jar sitting on my counter, found a leather glove, and swiftly scooped the moving shoelace into the jar. (I'm giving myself a gold star for bravery and I would really like to know when J.R. is going to stumble upon a snake. Why is it always ME finding them?



My worst nightmare has come true. Somewhere, in the guts of my house, there are snake eggs and they are hatching. If one snake laid 10-20 eggs, we are looking at 10-20 baby snakes hatching in the house. Remember, we've seen THREE adult snakes. If three snakes laid 10-20 eggs a piece we are looking at 30-60 baby snakes. Doing the math just causes a panic attack.

This is my home. I have a child that spends the entire day playing on the floor. The floor that has snakes slithering over it. I'm suppose to provide a safe space for my child and I'm feeling very helpless in this situation. Even the exterminators have very few answers other than to say "an established den of snakes is the most challenging pest control situation to deal with. They must physically be removed from the den." Great. Sign me up for snake removal duty.

I've been pouring over google for answers in an OCD type manner. I need answers. I need methods to solve the situation. I need new snake wrangling boots.

I need a mongoose!

While I can't find many positives in having snakes in our home, it is great motivation for finishing my degree. When I have a big kid job and a big kid salary, we can afford a NEW home. One with a solid foundation not made from rock, and is more suitable for having small children running around. So Winterm, here I come. I'll be loading up the credits and getting myself closer to a salary that can really provide for my family.

In the mean time, you can just call me the Snake Wrangler.

How to Communicate... with your Spouse

It's 10 AM. You've been up with the baby since 7 AM. You've fed both you and your child breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, changed two dirty diapers (what the heck are you feeding that child!), completed your homework, and solved world hunger.

Your spouse is still sleeping.

On the couch.

In the middle of the living room.

They are totally interfering with your efforts to provide clean drinking water to nations an ocean away.

You communicate your frustration in the following manner:

A - You kiss your spouse on the forehead, gently rousing them from their blissful slumber. You explain that their sleeping on the couch greatly interferes with your efforts to feed the Olson Twins, and you ask then to kindly move to the bed upstairs to continue their slumber.

B - You throw a pillow at your spouses head and tell them the sun came up hours ago and there are things to be done... like changing dirty diapers, washing bottles, and saving the stink bug from extinction.

C - You say nothing. Place the child in a safe spot with their favorite cartoon. You take your frustrations out on your treadmill, hoping that your spouse hears every.single.thud. of your feet slamming into belt. For safe measure, you blare the Glee soundtrack and sing along. Correction - belt along because you totally sound just like Lea Michele. Mention nothing of your jealousy that they are sleeping late into the day while you are busy promoting world peace. When you see your spouse awake, say nothing. Slam lots of cupboard doors to make sure they know you're extra irritated.

If you answered...

A - You're probably a newly wed. Your romantic love makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

B - Congratulations! Young love is wearing off and you are entering the phase of marriage where you can show your true personality.

C - You're probably a student going to school for Professional Communication. You clearly have a strong grip on ways to communicate effectively, and you're sure to land a high paying job right after college. Keep practicing the silent treatment. I hear it solves work place drama better than speaking actual words out of your mouth.

Multitasking

My son has an obsession with the bathroom. Particularly, the bath tub. Say the word "bath" in front of my child and you better be prepared to follow up with tub time. He loves trying to catch the water as it comes pouring from the faucet, but recently he has discovered how to blow bubbles in the tub water. He's still working on sorting out the whole "don't drink the tub water after the soap has been added." I'm sure in time he'll sort that all out, but until then, I'm going to keep laughing at the horrible faces he makes after drinking the soapy water. I'm aware that my reaction puts me in the category of "Evil Mom."

While I do enjoy the funny faces he makes out of disgust, the simple fact that my son can take such enjoyment in splashing water, blowing bubbles, and swimming in the tub is enough to remind me that it's the little things in life that count.

After a particularly long day, I decided to take a lesson from my son and enjoy the simple pleasures of a bath. I informed my husband that he was in charge and locked myself in the bathroom with high anticipation of quiet. Scorching hot water, lavender bubble bath, a big glass of sangria, and a fresh bottle of nail polish meant I was ready to relax. I threw in a rubber ducky just for kicks.

Simplicity for the win!

One deep sigh as I sank into the water when the quiet was broken by a man rambling on and on about smart things - like Plato and the solar system. Back to reality. I'm a college student... with a one year old, and a job, and a dog, and a husband, and laundry, and floors that need to be cleaned! I don't have time to be taking a bath and enjoying a glass of wine, but my tired body just needed twenty minutes to relax.

The only solution I could find was to create the ultimate multitasking environment that would allow me to relax while becoming a genius at the same time. It's like the obnoxious commercial that tells you you can go to school in your pajamas. From the comfort of your own home. In your fluffy slippers. With your hair and makeup done...... Right.

While I sat in the tub, painting my nails, drinking my wine juice (I would never drink in class), and listening to my lecture, I realized that the most important thing I can do in my future career is realize that the people I will be writing for live lives just like mine - overwhelmingly busy with very little free time to use reading my prose. To be a successful communicator, I will need to find the most effective way to communicate information that allows my readers to fulfill their needs while the hustle and bustle of life continues around them.

And here I thought bath time was just for relaxtion.

Introductions

I recently read an article about the percentage of college freshman who change their major. Why anyone would find that 50% of college students change their major in the course of their college career shocking, is beyond me. With the exception of my best friend who has ALWAYS known she has wanted to be a Doctor (she's in Podiatry school - someday she will be able to repair my feet that I've damaged wearing heels every.single.day. #winning!), nobody I know has actually grown up to be an astronaut like they dreamed at the age of 5.

Most high schools students start feeling the pressure to decide what they want to do professionally, and where they want to attend college, around their junior year. I was 15 starting my Junior year. My main concerns dealt more with picking the best flavor combination of chapstick and lipgloss (I recommend strawberry lipsmackers with a pineapple gloss over it), than it did picking a career.

At 17 I began my education as a music education major. I made it a semester. Young love interfered and I ran off and got hitched at 19. Our marriage became an extreme test of stubborn love thanks to Operation Iraqi Freedom, and we dealt with more challenging moments in our first year of marriage than most people deal with in 50 years of committed bliss. That, however, is another story. You can read about that here.

THIS story is about my current life as a new mother, a college student, and a wife of a wounded warrior. Simplicity, Interrupted seeks to investigate the new ways we communicate with each other, especially in the intimate family setting. How have new technologies changed the way we interact with our children, our spouses, and our friends? Why are these changes important? And perhaps my biggest wonder: How have these new technologies simplified my life?