Intentional

Linking up with my Friday peeps today at Five Minute Friday.

The theme?

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This should be a post about how every day I am practicing intentionality in my parenting.

But instead I would rather talk about my cats.

For the past few days, I have been under the weather.

Note: This phrase bothers me. What does it mean? Is the weather a big blanket? Is it the boss of me? Do I need to ask it to move over?

Anyhow. I have had this weird sickness that keeps rotating slowly through all of my body systems like a wrecking ball. And whoa, now I’ve got Miley Cyrus in this post which really proves the point that I am a bit woozy.

 

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I have had a lot of time to ponder things.

In my job, couches, and blankets, and weather-related idioms are common. I write, and therefore sitting down is kind of part of the deal.

But, the trouble here is that my brain has been wrapped in the funk of sickness, and my writing has been sort of like this:

Article 1 on my desktop:

Children hard and parents don’t like them.

Different article:

Once there was a woman. And.

Another attempt at any other article, take your pick:

It was a dark and stormy night. And?

 

And so on. When I am well, and all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed*, writing from home still doesn’t have a solid structure to it. Most days I get up, work out, read a little bible because I need the Lord after working out, drink forty cups of coffee, and then boom, I sit and write. And write some more. Plus, more writing. Then, I really mix it up and I re-read what I wrote, hate it, edit, and then write some more.

Mix this all up with fun household chores and me saying, “Do you need to go outside?” to my dog about five million times, and you get the idea.

The past few days? With the sickness? I get up.

Yes, that’s all. Sometimes I drink one cup of coffee, but since one of those systems that has been affected by this horrible bug is my digestive one… coffee tends to bounce around in there and cause problems.

I have never felt the sting of wasted time more acutely than when I started writing “for real” with my first book, Bottled. Every day was in my head, just me and my words, and found out something rather daunting: I am totally lazy. I am just not very good at a structured schedule.

This is fine and all, because I allowed inspiration to drive me, so writing at 11 pm while both boys are smushed up against me, mouth-breathing, in one bed because they had a bad dream, together, simultanously, and I have no boundaries? That was a writing thing.

Also, writing a blog post while I cook dinner that is brilliant and funny and is all just in my head? Also a thing. And I mean the blog post, not the dinner. The dinner was mediocre at best.

Writing an article that is due tomorrow, tomorrow? Totally a thing.

When I got sick, the deadlines didn’t offer me some Tylenol and left me totally alone. Also, I had no inspiration because I am sick, dude. My inspiration was shoved up under the weather, along with most of my excretory system. This was unpleasant.

And so, I give you this:cute-melted-animals-9-58beb620da23d__700.jpg

This is not actually my cat. This is some preshus cuddums I found on the internets. I wasn’t able to use a picture of any of my cats being totally lazy. They’re all sleeping upstairs and I’m too tired to walk up there.

So, did you know? Cats embrace laziness.

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They don’t care. If they need a nap – they find an impossible location and it’s ON.

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What have I learned from this? What is the furry take-away?

Dude. If you are sick, be sick. Rest. Email your editors ask for an extra day. Drink hot tea and sleep in cute, furry poses that make people squeal, “Ohhh! Preshus!” and lunge for their cameras so they can post you on the instagrams.

No. No, I don’t suggest the pictures part. Me and my wack-job bodily functions have not been all that photogenic lately.

Intentionality is intentionality, even when your intention is to do absolutely nothing but drink clear fluids for three days. It’s ok.

But.

This illness has made me miss the days when I actually had the brain capacity to write.I won’t waste that. My intention is to make those days count. It’s a great reminder.  Perhaps that’s why we get the flu – to remind us about how, once, we were well, and how grateful we were for those days, when we could walk down the hall in a straight line without feeling like we’re floating, in a dead fish kind of way.

So I woke up this morning and I felt… better. Like, not totally over the weather, but just…next to it. Like, the weather and I were giving a side hug. And thus, this post. It’s not a Pulitzer, but I’ll take it. A woman who writes about cats on a regular basis is not a Pulitzer woman. She’s just funny, sometimes, and writes things that hopefully make people smile.

And that has always been my intention.

Oh, and also this. The best explanation of intention that I know.

Quotes-to-Help-Overcome-Addiction-Intention-POSTER.png*Note: this phrase also bothers me. What does it mean? 

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Breathing Lessons

Linking up with my favorite people today over at Five Minute Fridays.

Today’s theme?

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There are some basic truths about me that you should know.

  1. I am never aware of who is playing in the Super Bowl. I am in it for the chips and queso.
  2. It bugs me when I wake up and the theme from Caillou is in my head. It also bugs me that this happens regularly.
  3. I like long walks on the beach.
  4. I live in Kansas. The beach thing is tough.
  5. I do not snore.

I am a delicate flower, people. I don’t belch and I don’t tell crude jokes, and I don’t snore.

I DON’T.

This post is a bit of an argument with the husband because he has informed me that I DO snore, and THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.

I have had a cold for the past few days, and yes, I am a bit… phlegmy.

I bet you are wondering why you even STARTED reading this today?

Ok. Stay with me. I admit it. I might snore. Let’s face it, about three days ago my nose decided to go on strike, along with my lungs, so snoring is the new sleeping.

But it’s a temporary thing.

Breathing is not to be taken for granted, y’all. We only get so many breaths on this side of the shore. Being sick, lacking in sleep, arguing grumpily with my husband over snoring and the sharing (or lack thereof) of the covers… that is just the most in life we can be. We are IN it, with it’s dreary sore throats and spats and tiresome acts.

Perhaps it’s just the Sudafed talking, but I think that’s why we get colds – to make us stop and remember just exactly what not having a cold is like.

So, I’m grateful for this cold. And the snoring. And for breathing for another day.

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Common

Hooking up with my happy place – Five Minute Friday.

The theme today?

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Ok, it’s totally obvious that I could go for the higher ground here. “Common.” Like in:

Common ground.

or

Common Cause.

or

Common sense.

or even, if you are me, talking to my kids EVERY the morning,

“COMMON! We’re late!” (har har har. Clever momsie)

But, as I have already established: I VERY OFTEN AVOID THE HIGHER GROUND, PEOPLE. I AM A LOW GROUND KINDA GIRL.

So, today we’re gonna talk about:

THE BLEEPING COMMON COLD.

My husband is sick. And before I say ONE more word, I would like to provide a quick disclaimer:

I really do love my husband. And, pretty sure, he loves me too. We’re married, you know. So, that means, we’re in it for the long haul. We’re on the same team. We are in it to win it. I don’t know how many more cliches I can throw at you before I am penalized, so I’ll just end here: I asked him, “How often can I throw snark your way on my blog?” And he was all, “Darling, I love you . I know you must write your feelings, because feelings, and airing them for thousands, is really important to you. I am here for you. I am your snark-ee. I believe in you, my dove. Besides, I totally deserve it, every time.”

Disclaimer to the disclaimer: MMmmkay. That’s not exactly what he said.

Ok, so back to this:

My husband is sick.

Oh holy kleenex, get a grip, man.

He has a cold. And this is what he does: He puts on this huge hoodie and pulls the hood up all over his poor smushy cold face, which kinda looks like this:article-2110001-1205B578000005DC-592_306x423.png

Yes. It’s a dog. In a hoodie. Very, very close in its likeness to the hubster, I promise.

He kinda slump-walks around, with his hood all pulled down, and sadness just seems to follow him, like a germy, despairing cloud. He flops down. He sighs. I follow him with hand sanitizer and I have been known to surreptitiously spray the couch with Lysol as soon as he gets up. He turned, when he heard the spraying sound, but since he is SO VERY SICK he turned all slowwwwwwwly. Kinda Vincent Price style. Therefore I had plenty of time to hide the Lysol can behind my back and offer him some soup. He kind of squinted at me, like the cold was causing an onset of sudden blindness, which totally makes sense. Whenever I get a cold I lose my eyesight as well.

But somehow I still manage to walk around the whole house and do laundry. Also cook. And go to the store. And clean the bathrooms. While blind.

I do these things, WHILE I AM SICK AT THE SAME TIME.

Anyhow, the husband has now realized he left his water glass outside in his car. I know this because he has just croak-whispered to me,

“Cup… in car… must have water…” And then he curled up in a germy fetal ball on the kitchen floor. One of the kids stepped over him without even a comment. And guys? I so would have offered to get him the cup. I LIVE for getting the cup.

Like, seriously. Marriage law #345 = YOU GO GET THE CUP.

However. I had my hand stuck up inside a whole chicken. I realize this takes the blog for a hard veer, but I was making chicken soup for my plague husband. This involves getting really, really personal with a chicken. Like, you and that chicken are going to really get to know each other, and the clean up afterwards is rather extensive. It’s all so gross.

And so, as the husband was gasping his last breaths to me, I slowly turned, all Vincent Price, with a chicken-hand. And I gestured:

“Hold on just a few minutes, dear. I have a chicken-hand.” And as I gestured, the little floppy chicken wings seemed to actually point at him.

It was clear to both me and husband that the chicken was on my side.

Because, also? I was kinda sick of the sick husband. Just a little. I had grown weary of him sounding like Johnny Cash whenever he spoke, and how he seemed to be dying all the time. I get sickness, I do. But there is another law of marriage:

Marriage Law 346: IF YOU ARE A GROWNUP YOU GET ONE DAY OF BEING REALLY SICK. AFTER THAT YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN. I HAVE CHILDREN TO FEED.

Soooo. The visual of me with a chicken ON my hand startled the husband enough that he actually went out to the car to get the blessed cup. And, when he came back, he had donned his sunglasses. Which made him look kind of like this, minus the mustache. Unabomber-sketch.png

And that’s when I started referring to the husband as “Ted” for the rest of the afternoon.

I know. The snark is strong in this one.

The common cold. It will not break this marriage, to be sure. But it will give me lots of material to blog about. Thank you, Ted, for that.

 

*Final disclaimer: No husbands were harmed in the making of this post. They were brought soup with saltines, and cuddled with on the couch, and they got to watch football for hours on end, and there was ice cream. And I know I used the “they” like I have multiple husband and holy matrimony, ain’t nobody got time for that.

And also, I have a cold now, so there’s that.

 

 

It Ain’t Over ‘Till the Sick Momsie Sings

Things have been a little sickly over here.

I’ve been a bit, uh, under the weather. This is code for: Y’all. This is bad. I haven’t showered in over five years and when I cough I sound like a seal ate a bullfrog and then it  got a side of the plague.

Aches. Pains. Chills. Hacking cough. No sleep (due to cough and, also, due to resentment at husband because he has slept peacefully through me practically DYING, so I just stare at him and snot-wheeze and get bitter. By the time morning comes, I am an old, dried up lemon of bitterness and phlegm. Lovely.)

So, basically, what has been lurching about here lately has been the little girl from The Ring, only with a load of laundry under her arm.

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Poor dear. She really needs to say hello to Mr. Comb.

Oh, and on top of ALL of this, along with the constant requests for food (EVERY night. Every NIGHT my parasitic family wants to be fed. If I had KNOWN that FEEDING them CONSTANTLY would be part of the deal, I would have… Well. Ok. I would have not changed anything because I also eat. But sometimes it’s nice to vent a bit, eh?)

Sorry, on top of ALL of these constant badgering about being a responsible adult, I have been asked to read and review this book:

:

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Ah, Universe. *knocks Universe in the shoulder with fist* Ya big lug. I get what You’re doing here.

So, as I slowly , Ring-girl creep back to normalcy (this, as we all know, is a relative term used only because “nutball” is already taken) I am reading Alison’s book and taking notes, and guys! I am super interested in what this book has to say about women, our health, and nutrition! And you KNOW I don’t use the ! lightly!

First of all, she uses the word “vagina” like 57 million times. As one who has always used the terms “lady bits” or “fine china” for this part of my anatomy, I am finally paying attention, and, also, deciding it’s time to act like a responsible adult.

VAGINA.

There. I said it. Completely out of context and all, and I’m sure my dad is now hiding under his desk at the office, but heck! I am an adult! I will shout “vagina” from the rooftops if I need to!

Nope. Not gonna do that. Our roof is waaaayy too slanted and I just don’t want to have to explain all of this to the neighbors.

It’s hard. The adulting thing. But since I managed to keep my family alive this week while I was sad, pale, sickly Ring girl, I think I have earned my Adult Merit Badge. On to some more reading!

See you Friday for the full review.

Also, I leave you with this, because I have to:

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I told you I had earned the Adult Merit Badge. I didn’t say I would have to ACT like it all the time, OK?

Seriously – this book has a lot to say about really crucial health topics for women like:

  • nutrition and mental health – what are the links?
  • hormones – I don’t have to hate them, do I?
  • sex and well, hormones and aging and all of that “gettting older business” – Help!
  • medicine  – do we over-prescribe? What are the alternatives?
  • how can I be more “in charge” of my health?

 

And on and on.  Stay tuned for a more in depth review on Friday!

If you are interested in ordering a copy of Alison Buehler’s book, click here.

Also, here is a short book trailer. Enjoy!