Dental Drama and Dagen Tales

So Padre did the Post holiday flower Pick Up from Sam's Club and this is a sample of what we got......

 These pics were taken yesterday. I Can Not believe how beautiful some of them were! Some turned out to not have the 'spark' in them and it could have been how I arranged them for Madre. I stuffed a bunch of them, yellow, white, the salmon colored into a very compressed vase.

 

They were  beautiful but didn't have space to branch out like this other bouquet. Another surprise: The colored Daisies turned out to be so sweet. I broke them down into various colors and put them in the larger milk vases on top of the hearth and they have stayed strong too. My roses are just barely bowing their heads. -the Daises are up and at 'em.

 

Goes to show you shouldn't judge a flower. So I've interspersed some pics of the beauties throughout J's hilarious dental experience....

J: Bad news, mom.

Me: (on the other end of the telephone line. fully aware that he'd just been to the dentist and that the news was along those lines.)

 oh? what is the bad news?

J: I have a cavity.

Me: that's not fun. (totally saw it coming)

(I recollect all the moments I reminded him of the importance of flossing. That a person would be much better off getting out of a cozy bed, and putting in that two minutes of brushing and flossing rather than have the Dr. stick a needle in your gum- which is numbed with some yucky tasting gel on a huge Q-tip, but doesn't bring any sort of real relief.

Then have them drill a deeper hole into your cavity filled tooth -which is stationed next to nerves. In this moment of J's desperate news, I feel bad that I made it seem like such a horrible thing to happen becaues now I will have to listen to his desperateness 'til it is filled.And backtrack the horribleness.)

(These red ones literally look like velvet.)

J: I'M 9 YEARS OLD AND HAVE A CAVITY!

Me: Well, maybe this is a good thing- you can see what having a cavity filled is like and you'll realize that you don't want to have it happen again. And that it isn't THAT bad. Just relax your muscles as they shake your cheek and it slips right in. (and I think I AM 9 years old and have a slew of woes.

J: You think this is a GOOD thing? You WANT me to suffer? Shake my what?

Me: Nooo..... I am saying it is just an experience that you will be able to have that, once it is over, you'll realize it wasn't as bad as you thought. The grab your cheek, gently, and shake it as the needle goes in so you don't even realize it's happening. I will be there to distract you, too.

J: They stick a needle in your gum. How is that not as bad as you think?????

 

 

I couldn't get a good focus on these pink taffy roses. But their centers were 3 roses in one, and like I said, looked like taffy. Laffy Taffy.Which made me want to eat them.

 

I think back on all the needles I've had to endure and the places they had to go and I close my eyes and think that this is simply the beginning of a life full a needles in the gum.

 

Not fun.

 

But, luckily, we are slowly prepared for the more difficult needles to come along- and you realize that, yes, you can endure it. And you learn to relax so it doesn't hurt as bad as it could.

And there are all the other things that off set the bad. For instance, every so often I will get an ear full of J's adventures with his buds. And, oh, my. Either he has a really good impression of all the characters, or they simply are charachters. Usually he shares these stories with me at pillow time and I get laughing so hard I can't get calmed back down.

Life; it doesn't get much better than this.

VALENTINE'S DAY 2013

 

FEBRUARY 14th. Yes, we love you Anne Frank and vintage lady holding our beloved beverage:

Coca-Cola!!

I feel so sorry for those of you out there that have only one person to mug on today.

 

Kidding.

Yes, I'd love to have a man give me some perfume, chocolates, jewelry, a bunch of money.

 Actually, I love home-made Valentine's the best. Cause it's from the heart!! And if I correctly recall V-day, when married became one of those holidays that actually starts to morph into birthday-like attention because as you age: It's Not a Big Deal.

 

But I like to make it a big deal for the tinies. And for J.

 

J. got his Valentine stuff already, amongst his stuff: a package in the mail!!!!!

 

I loved receiving packages in the mail as a kid.And this came to him as a surprise from his Utah Grandma.

Which is doubly special.

 

 

The best part of life is being with the lovies: your babies and the other grand babies.

 

So.....

 

 The other day as I had my nephew Kay- Dub drawn up next to me real close so he could hear  a story about my first real love- my dog, Scamper.

 

(vintage K.W.)

 

Who died.

 

Because he had to go to the farm to live due to Padre's strict no pet policy. He'd let us get one. Because we were really good at cajolling and begging and then we'd get the dog, not do our part of the bargain, or Padre would see that they ruined the yard. He did say we could have the stuffed kind.

Which, really, now that I am older, is so much easier to take care of.

 

 And they are so cute.

 

 This story about Scamper CAPTIVATED K. because he loves dogs, lives on a farm,

 

AND

knows Padre

 

 AND

 

can't believe

 

 he'd have such a strict pet policy.

 

BUT he could identify with Padre's "pet peeve" with their excrement in the yard, cause his own mom had a problem with his dog, Indigo Blue's poop on the porch.

 

Fertilizer on the porch doesn't work that well I tried to explain to him.

 

 I reassured him that his dog wouldn't die a car death or any death- 

 

please, Lord, makes this be true,

 

because he has fence around his farm house.

 

So I told him the love story of and how  that dog was even loved by a cousin named Jared. Who picked up Scamper, after he'd been hit by a car, from the highway and carried him to Aunt Annette.

Who was the mom of the farm.

 

Oh! This pic reminds me of my own mom. Thanks Aunt 'Nette for being the surrogate mom to Scamper and having to take his body in such a state. Sorry if this post makes you cry.

 

 

Immediately K and J wanted to know if there were pics of the dog (after he'd been hit by the car). Then they needed to see pics of Jared and Aunt Annette.

 

 Of the farm.

 

 Where Scamper was buried.

 

Dang. Didn't have any pictures of the burial plot. And, no, I don't think I could find the plot if I walked in the field, as it wasn't their farm anymore and I was sure the little stick had been plowed over. But the day cousin Jared took The Torment and I out to where our dog rested was emblazoned in my memory. It was a really windy day and a cold spring wind whipped past my face. It was a sacred moment when Jared pointed to the dirt that covered our dog.

 

Scamper's death was the single worst funeral/death I've ever endured!

I'm sure everyone can testify to the love of a pet being so strong that it evokes more emotion than a relatives.  

 

 

(Here is a vintage tin that my ancestors kept all their extra buttons..... )

 

 

So,, in the middle of me telling this story,  J. decided to try his hand at asking Padre for a dog. Literally, right there in the middle of the story.  

 

Nope.

 

Thank you, Padre.

 

But..... he got a stuffed dog in his package!

 

 

 

 

 

 It had a lot of candy in it, too.

 

 Thanks, J''s Gma! He loved opening it. With a nail file. He couldn't wait to go get his knife so he used my nail file from my purse.

 boys.

 

However, the stuffed dog goes to show: 

 The Lord answers your prayers in different ways than you expect. But He always answers them.

 

 

Where was I??

 

Oh, single, and why you should be jealous.

 

 

 

 

Because sweet single people think of you. I got a card from an older lady who I think is amazing. She's one of my little guardian angels..

Isn't that nice? This woman is a petite white haired grandma that is so sweet. has a wicked sense of humor, looks adorable in pink, has a giggle that makes you giggle, loves to iron,and  has had romantic history that has made me weep.

 

And she has never cried. Not even over her own story. She attributes this to simply being given a "gift" of faith to know all would be okay. But not to cry even through pain?
 

She's mentally and physically tough. Heck, it's making me cry just blogging about her.

 

She wrote her story and it's better than any World War II movie/love story you have ever heard seen.

 

Seriously.

 

If she sent her story to a publisher, it would be in Barnes and Noble before the Ides of March. But it's too sacred to tell, or share with anyone but those near. Thanks, sweet, Eva, for honoring me with a Valentine. I feel very undeserving of all your worries and kindnesses. But you have come to my mind in some of my darkest moments and helped me through. As have your loved ones. Why are you so amazing? I am so glad I read your book. Wow. I can't wait until you are re-united with your sweethearts. But am selfish and don't want you to go anywhere.

 So stay here.

 

J's first Valentine to me. It has random letters on it. But he put stickers on it and it's adorable.

 

 

 

 

Vday Decor and Wal- Mart

 

While searcing for ways to display doiliesm because my grandmothers made a million and they are so rare I need to do something with them...  I ran across the cutest mantle decoration!

 

 

 The lady who had decorated the space, it was actually a hutch-like opening  where a TV should go, had all of her doilies plastered to the back wall of the space, brought out her milk colored vases and put light peach roses with dark peach tips in them and strung white button garland around the doilies and above the whole cute thing and tied  white books with with ribbons and put sea shells in fun jars.

 

It made me think I could pull it off something similar with my idea of romance.

 

Taping the doilies to that back of the hutch. wouldn't fly here,  or look that great for that matter.  But  the woman's decor got me stirring crazy creativity ideas  and this is my rendition of what I saw.  

 

 There is somethint about buttons that symbolize holding things together,

 

The couple in the wedding picture is Padre and Mom. I'm sure Padre will get roses or flower tomorrow and I can put some in the vases. I requested the peach colors and he looked at me in surprise. Yup. Vday is almost here... You better get on it. Or maybe it was a look of: You think I'm getting you flowers?

 

Oh, well. If he doesn't, I will go after Vday when they are all on sale and buy some.

 

Don't you love the vintage Gone With the Wind?

 

I (mom)  has an even OLDER version.

It makes me want to take classes on restoring books......

 

Well, I will have to try out the ideas I saw online about what to do with your doilies when there is no more space on furniture to display them!

We spent Abe's Bday with familly. Which I thought was very much an Abish thing to do because he loved his kids, family.

 

I'd wanted to pull out books we have on him and talk a bit about him to J. other than say: "Hey! It's Abe's Bday!" Cause all he cares about is that fact that HIS bday is coming up.

 

I was able to find a cheap hot wheels car and a chocolate trout fiish at Wal-Mart to give him for Vday.

 

The trip to W.M. happened right at 5.

 

The. Worst. Time. To Go.

 

But it was necessary and so I did what I could and I tried to impliment my tactic for learning to love dishes to love going to W.M. I tell you what, there has to be some way to make the experience at W.M. better.

 

I've found that if I talk to the cashier, and earnestly try to have a sincere conversation with him/her it makes the trip a little bit easier. You feel good empathizing with the worker- who has to STAY at W.M. while all you had to do was shop, pay, and leave.

The folks who work at W.M. really have to have nerves of steel. And a tough back.

 

One woman I know has worked there for many years. And when I see grandmothers stacking the shelves, it is really humbling.

 

Next time I will not go right at dinner time. And I'm going to find out when the best time is to go to that place. Regardless, it's a good work out because most often the items I need are on totally opposite ends of the store. They know this and that's why the milk is in the VERY back of the store.

 

The time for J. to "jump up" is nearing. He's gonna be so happy to go to school!

Another day. I better tell him it's Ash Wed. as well and what the heck it is.

There are some really great holidays in February!

 

 

 

 

 

Padre's Positive Perspective

When I told Padre about Jaden's fear of working for four cents an hour over in China, Padre nodded his head and said: "He'll be working over there but it won't be for four cents."

 

I will counter Padre's pessimism with a positive:

 

"The Future is As Bright as Your Faith.!" TS Monson

The Math Wall

This is the formal term that an adult coined forr me to describe when a kid hits the point where math suddenly gets really hard to comprehend. And that kid decides to fake it until someone really smart uncovers the fact that you've been faking it. And that kid is J.

 

As a runner I could identify with it in terms of the point where you hit the wall in running that you have to break through and once you do that,  apparently you can run til you die. Usually I hit this wall in the 400 on the last turn. All the excitement of the gun going off and your adrenaline shooting you out of the blocks suddenly turns to blahness. Your legs turn into tar. You feel really far away from all the hoots and hollers of the crowd cheering you on.

 

You feel like  you are out in no man's land with no water or air to breath. Life suddenly just feels meaningless.

Then some fellow runners catch up to you, you realize you are not alone but in a race and they are passing you unless you can somehow get over this wall!

 

The Doors song comes to mind... Break on Through to the Other Side. But your side is hurting like heck and you imagine soldiers in training climbing some wall in their obstacle course and it looks perty darn near impossible as they clumsily try to climb tires and such with a ruck sack on their back.

 

So, mathematically speaking, if we can get J. past this Wall of Math that he has apparently encountered- he'll be able to comprehend and work math problems on a chalk board like Einstein. Or at least that's the hope.

 

It has caused him a lot of consternation and acting that he is understanding.But being the smart parent I am, I could tell he was faking it from a mile away.  

 

 I could identify with the struggle he is facing with math.  And I told him we'd tackle his math wall just like we do with sports.

 Practice.

 

 Do it over and over. Each day. Hit it hard and work through it until it becomes like second nature to dribble,  twirl and bank in a left handed lay up.

 

He didn't like the sounds of  repetitively doing left handed math problems at all. Once a math problem is done once; he wants to be done with it. Period. No fancy footwork, just get the problem done and never do it again. Ever.

 

Unfortunately I had to break it to him that these left handed mathmatical terms were going to pop up more in his life and have to be built upon, like a house, in order to do even more fancy footworkin'' math. And if he couldn't get the basics of the housebuilding math, well then his house wouldn't come together like it should. And at the rate he is going, it may look pretty Dr. Suess-ish with wings and towers here and there ready to topple over with the first gust of wind. 

So we are at this "wall".

 

 For a parent, teacher, or whoever is trying to help a kid up and over this wall it's like trying to move molasses up and over a hill on a hot day in July. Literally they turn into this blob sitting up to the table. Rather than sitting it's more of a blanket thrown onto a couch; their little body is in the chair, but more dead weight all over the chair. Moving this mass of a child all over the table where the piece of paper is that contains the math wall problems is harder than you'd think.

And carryin a wounded soldier outta the jungle under intense enemy fire seems easier than getting this kid to complete a math problem. 

 

Kids that hit the math wall also encounter the other problems. Pencils that break with the least amount of pressure. Or pencil sharpeners that break the lead off right as it is getting to the perfect point. So the little sharpener boy has to start all over- to his delight.

Just getting the kid to put the tip of lead to the paper is a monumental effort. All the kid wants is to get done and get to his pal's house so they can cause some sort of crazyiness. But, the kid is mathmatically challenged and so they can't do addition, subtraction or whatever to tell that if they would just start, work through the problems, they'd be done in half the time it took them to whine, lay all over the furniture, moan about the pencil problems and otherwise waste time. 

 

You can't explain this is clear enough terms however until they finish their last problem and the piece of paper they started out with is smudged and wadded up to look like a writer's first draft ready to be tossed into the trash bin.

 

Several days of this and not only can your mathmatically challenged child countdown til Friday, but you are looking forward to it with the same zeal that you had in school.

Luckily, this week, we saw some improvement. Lightbulb moments took place after a zillion times of showing him how to manever himself up and over this wall.

 

Why am I writing about this at such an earlly hour in the morning, on a weekend, when I could be sleeping? Because I just remembered something he said one night this week.

 

Sleep was getting closer and closer for each of us as we pillow talked. I'd been asking him about his day. Seeing how things were going in his little life that is currently full of Idaho history, ball games, girls that cause consternation, and other ins and outs of being a kid.

 

He shared some stories that included school, sports and the girl problems.. But then he came clean; poured out his inner most fear.  

 

J: "Everything is good except math. I feel safe and fine and then there is math."

 

Me: Math makes you feel 'unsafe'?

 

It was late and I was drifting but I thought it interesting math would cause this sort of a feeling but I was too tired to get into it.

 

J: "Yeh, I'll probably end up in China, making ........ (I can't remember what he said he'd be making) earning four cents an hour."

 

This was said just as we fell off the cliff of sleep.  It registered in my brain . made me laugh and smile to myself but I just now remembered it as I came out of sleep this morning and it has me intermittently chuckling.

 

So here I am in, early morning in and out of sleep- hurting in a new place, fumbling for the switch on my heating pad as I picture J. working in China earning four cents an hour.

 

Working in another country at age 9, would make you feel unsafe.Especially if your income was a mere four cents an hour.

 

I had to go into his room and give him a kiss. My hands felt around the bed in the darkness until I found him curled up at the foot of the bed. precariously close to falling  off the right edge.. I scooched him away from it, knowing I was taking him away from a warmed up wad of space so I  rearranged his quilt, grabbed the minky blanket that mom made for him as a kid and tucked him in safely on all sides. Then I kissed his cheek. Which is still soft

 

We' ve got a lot of walls to climb.

I heart washing dishes

Lots of thoughts today.

 

 

 

 First of all; I am washing dishes.

 

I heard some story somewhere, prob at church, of a man that told his granddaughter that he LOVED washing dishes. This was untrue, as he actually hated it. But the more he told himself this lie, the more the lie became true.

 

 

(have I posted on this before? if so, take note and we will add repetitive thinking to side effects)

 

I actually do love washing dishes. Sometimes I can forget that I love them, especially if they have had time to really build up. Four days worth of love build up.

And this is when the 'ol negative thoughts creep in about your important duty- that of dish washer, floor washer,. Mess cleanwe-upper; toilet bowl cleaner:  i.e.

 

 The Hand that Rocks The Cradle!

 

 Being down on those front lines, doing the grunt work can make you feel like you are getting walked all over, unappreciated. Over qualified. Heck, 'they' can make you think your work is simply mundane.

 

(aww. don't we love that my pics are uploading again and you I can post more?)

 

It takes some positive affirmations to shove those thoughts out and remind yourself that you are the tip of the sword- nothing happens unless you start. I mean how can the minnions eat breakfast if there aren't clean dishes??

 

Exactly.

 

 You, with your mundane routine, are what makes this world go round.

So.... Facing my crucial and important task; I begin.

(That's always the hardest. To begin. But Madre always puts it in perspective. Once she said just grab whatever piece of clothing at the the top of the basket, fold it, and you will find that you are at the bottom of the basket.

 

Isn't she brillaint? Start at the top..

 

So I grab the black stool and put it in front of the sink.

I sit on my black stool, keeping my posture so as to keep my back from wigging out before the job is done.

I clean out the sink with disinfectant, turn the water on- a notch hotter than scalding hot and it falls into my (Madre's) white sink, add suds and then dip my hands into the Yellowstone thermal hot pot temperature water until my hands are numb and commence to wash what I love;

dishes.

 

(As important as decorating for holidays. You can't tell but this is a wad of heart garland around twig tree from Christmas. But the real gem is the vintage Ricks College T-shirt in the background.  my aunt gave it to the Torment years ago.  I wonder what it's worth? I'm glad Madre kept some of our baby clothes. And you should too. Because some day they may end up in a blog.)

..........................

Pretending that every piece of silverware were a creation of art, to be held gently and cleaned thoroughly as if the Prince of Peace Himself were to walk in and have lunch with you and then present the Virgin Mary with one of your spoons, is in and of itself, a great feat and Grammy worthy.

 

But that is how I have to go about slowly cleaning under my circumstances.

 

Why?

Because when your hands feel like club size apples it is takes longer and the job is a more concerted effort.  Being able to even do the job is a miracle, and taking your time to do it right and feel that it is the most important job in the world, worthy of celestial beings applause, amps your self worth.

 

AND

*Washing dishes gives you time to listen to the hum of the fridge.

*Take note of the heater kicking on and off.

* Most importantly;

Havce a conversation with Padre ,telling him of your big gun medication side effect woes.

Which goes like this:

Cell phone in pocket: beep

Me- remove yellow gloves from hands, read text: "Maybe you shouldn't be on that drug."

Me-  Roll eyes, replace yellow gloves back on hands while recalling the months of decision making, praying, reading medical material, talking to patients, reading patients testimonials of side effects and personally weighing the risks. And recalling the moment when it felt right. Then going in that direction- knowing it was right and unless something took me in a different direction, then that was my plan.

Me- Remove gloves, grab cell phone and tell Padre essentially what I just told you.

I hit send and think of my conversation with Dar- yes, Dar. The bearded male nurse who infused me with the drug that I studied so much and pondered over. I have never heard this name. Was it a Viking Ancestral name?

Short for Derrel and sounded cooler?

Star Wars junkies who named him "Darth" and then went with Dar as a knickname?

 Nope.

Dar:" My parents were hippies. No story to it. Just Dar."

Dar and I talked about furthering research, science etc. while he placed my I.V. and handed me a big binder to read about my med.  I thought of those who will come behind me and if what I go through is helpful. I look at the other people in the Infusion Room. The older lady who is on a bed. The really skinny gal who still has taken time to put on her make-up, do her hair and wear something stylish.

I went for comfy. But I did have make-up on. Remembering these faces from my time being infused helps put life back in perspective. But the nauseau is really making me doubt my decision.



So I text this to Padre, too. And resume washing dishes.

Cell phone: beep.

Me- Remove gloves again, grab cell from pocket from the Maternity pants that are soooo comfortable during this time on prednisone that I could weep tears of gratitude. My stomach gets so sensitive and I've found this to be an answer. However, having prednisone redistrubute fat cells to your trunk opens you up for the: Are you expecting? question. Maternity pants can only induce more certainty.

"
Padre: "Well, that's a positive outlook, but don't dive off the bank unneccessarily!

Feeling the nausaue rise in me, I think how frivolous it must seem to allow Dar to put in potent meds, the size of a  Nestle's cocoa packet through a drip line over an hour and again doubt my decision. Man that little packet packed a punch!

But the one lady on You Tube said her first month sucked. But after the second infusion she felt awesome..... I gotta hold onto that initial feeling of it being right.

ugh..... but going through with a decision and knowing there will be the side effects looks a lot different after the fact. So, I continue to wash, slowly, methodically.

The KEY to loving dishe washing while sick, is taking breaks.

 So you take one in Padre's chair.

Hold your hands up in the air so the blood flows back down.

You see your clever typewriter and take its picture and recall all the Valentine's you made the previous days before and avert your attention to the lover's month.

 ( one of the craft piles son pulled out in my bedroom to help make his Tee-Pee for school cause it's Idaho History year. I love the rock amongst the chaos.)

This break gives me time to think back on the day frenzy of the previous evening finishing a project.

Dish washing can help you Recall the idiotic things you said to your child before they left for school.

--Recap:
Child hands mother glasses suggessting she clean them as he scarfs down oatmeal.

Mother: Jaden, what do I look like? (in my polka dotted fleece bathrobe, well, a clown. Or Heffner. )

J: Can you just clean them? (he has .09 seconds before the bus leaves.

Mother: I will this time. But you gotta take care of your stuff. (See book I'm reading below to help save J. from becoming entitled.)

Mother: This [cleaning his glasses] is something you could do right before you go to bed. (Pillow time is when he asks me to do this easy chore as well.)

Child: I know. I know.  And he rushes out the door with a Tee-Pee.

Mother to self: What kid is going to become overly entitled by their mom cleaning their glasses for them?

Dishes also help you....

Watch what takes place outside of your window.

Water to pool in your feet.

Since you need to pace yourself,

This means you get to go over to your neighbor's. So your dishes can air dry and you can get some exercise, move that water retained everywhere around your body and get a gulp of fresh air.

 And tell someone, besides Padre,  you don't feel well.

Unfortunately, the snow is melting. And I can see all the spots in the driveway where Jaden used the shovel/spade thing to chop up the ice. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

(can you see the white marks? The drive is riddled with them)

 It is to SCRAPE the ice. Young boys like to drive sharp objects into hard things and thus there are little bird like dents ALL over the driveway.

This money making job backfired.

I have no idea how much it costs to resurface a drive. Def. not what he earned to shovel, and remove the ice from.

*****

It took the whole day to accomplish the dishes. The only time left over was to take in J's game.

I am going to go clean his glasses right now. A kid is entitled to have his mom do sweet stuff for him, to make life just that much easier.

Stress and Sweat

I am reading a book. Well, actually they are "Affirmations"- so I don't have to read, read. But read a line and then close my eyes and say it over and over until I am not sweating it.

 

Because that is what the baby of the book: Don't Sweat the Small Stuff and it's All Small Stuff.The author basically had never been on prednisone. Stuff that makes you sweat, no matter what you are reading. And makes you feel guilty because of all those deodorant commercials you saw growing up about the bad things that can happen if you let them see you sweat.

 

Which could cost you a job interview, a dance with some hot guy (hot as in good looking, not under the pressure of forest fire heat and wearing a lot of fireman gear.)  and it your sleeveless dress shows that you used a deodorant that left a stain and that you are just dripping onto his arms.

 

Again, these people were not thinking in prednisone terms.

 

Back to the book that doesn't make me stop sweating but does give me some nuggets of wisdom.

 

When you are recouping or under the duress of the worst flu season to hit the hemisphere, it's good to not be too far into Tolstoy. It just would make you sweat trying to understand.

 

One liners are easier to digest in the midst of, well, duress.

 

 One night or day or moment, I can't recall do to the duress of bodily infliction, it said something to the effect: "I feel joyful about financial matters in my life"

 

This made me laugh. I tried to close my eyes, find the Monk in me and ohm the words in my head:" I feel joyful about financial matters in my life."

 

Repeated three times.

 

This made me laugh. I could not be in more of a position to frolic through fields of gold about my finances.

 

So the book works. My stress was alleviated by the good laugh. I can't wait to see what the next affirmation will be.

 

Finishing

Groan- outloud.

 

 Sigh that you have finally faced yourself in the mirror. Or done something you didn't want to do..

 

The one thing I love about writing, is that I can make whatever endings, I can make it up and that's how it is.

 

Life is NOT like that. Thank goodness. Too many happy endings and no problems would get old, eh?

 

The pics I am showing are of 'unfinished business'. Projects that have piled up and sooner or later came upon my lap like an ignored puppy dog.

They ask: Are you going to finish me??

 

Thankfullly I could tell them, no. That I had to finish my closet clean up, inventory project I started at Christmas. And my hands hurt..

 

 So, no.

 

But they are unfinished. And  the thing about unfinished items is they stay that way til you get to them. They can outlast marriages.

Illnesses.

Childhood years.

 

And still be waiting for you for when you are ready to look at and tackle them again.

 

Sigh.

 

 

 

 The Eagle will probably get finished as J hits the age that he can get his Eagle in Scouts. But it actually is for me. It coincides with a scripture that talks about eagles mounting up, above the clouds- to soar above their problems.

 

I am doing it differently than other stitches. In that it is only stitched one way, the complete x is not finished I'd seen a woman do several of hers this way and they came off looking like paintings.

 

X-stitching isn't in style anymore in home decore necessarily. But I believe in it when it come to giving you something to do. Something to get your mind off of things. And something to challenge yourself with when you need a challenge. Changning out needles or counting out different colors can be hard.

 

My problem is that I have started many projects. Not just sticthing. Closet cleaning will show you that!

 

 

It all started with me trying to find a particular pattern so that I could get Jaden making one of the animals alonside the edges of this Indian one. Another project that I thought would be cool in J's room. But til then he can do an Elk, right?

I've even inherited this project of my Gma's.

It's easy, but I ran up against a color matching problem and let that stop me. How lame is that?

The boy seems to be hollering: Finish me! She (your gma) doesn't have much time left!

Quite being a perfectionist/procrastinator and finish me!

 

However, it is nice to know that eve she has some unfinished cross stitching business!

 

Here are three that I started that are super cute, but they are linen. Which means twice as much counting and squinting.

No thanks.

 

So I opted to start on one that was festive.

It is a mailbox with Santa's bag next to it.

"Dear Santa", it begins.

"I can explain."