♫ Guitar Tapping=Deep Breath on Life

Guitar tapping, is my new oooozfra-ba music. Im telling you, it is absolutely impossible to stay angry, upset, or frustrated when you listen to it. I should be more specific. Thanks to the massive amount of information my {coolest} boss {ever} has, he showed me that a lot of metal bands actually do it. So that kind of tapping, might actually inhance the above moods.

I highly recommend listening to Erik Mongrain. He puts an entire different twist on the guitar. Listen to the one below, and then I want you to go to youtube and check him out. It’s the most amazing sound!

Amazing Guitarist
Uploaded by Wolverine

Yours Truly,
Nomz

♫ Be careful when walking in those shoes!

Ever feel like you’re floating above yourself? You know, like you’re just looking in on your own life, wishing you had a little more control over your own actions, or the rest of the world? That’s me, often.

There are times I look at my friends lives and think I could live them better. Not in a judgmental way, but in a "here, let me be the puppeteer for a minute and fix everything for you.". Like if I do it for you, it will hurt you less, or be easier for you. Then I have to step back and say "Nomz, you cant even live your own life right, maybe we shouldn’t screw up their life too, eh?".

Im not lacking in life experience, but im far from experienced enough to handle all of your lives. Im sorry if I’ve stepped on any toes by thinking otherwise. I think there’s a big difference between "opinion" and "advice". Advice, tends to make it sound like I could do it better. My apologies.

That being said...

Im asking you to do the same. Not just for me, just in general. Every time you want to reach out and help somebody with your words, consider that maybe your advice is a bit more hurtful than helpful. Telling a new mom that if she does something a certain way, the baby will sleep better, eat better, and be a better baby, is all wrong. Arguing with someone when they tell you that they dislike something by saying "oh, just try it one more time, you’ll love it", is pushy and character crushing (guilty, sorry sis, I will try to convince you that you like stuffing every single Thanksgiving until you agree). Telling your best friend that their breakup with their soul mate is exactly like the one you had, is heart breaking. Telling somebody that the path they’re taking with their life is not only different than yours, but wrong, is a high cast judgment that will make them feel mosquito-size. And then squashed.

It goes back to that ol’ adage that you cant walk in my shoes until you’ve walked miles in yours. Or something like that. If we were all to live out our lives the same, not only would life be dull, all uniqueness and character would be lost.

This blog is not meant to make you feel guilty, for my sake or someone else. If it does though, you know that you’ve cast some judgments, or strong advice, when you probably shouldn’t have. Im far from innocent myself, im just hoping that we can all take a fresh look at our conversations, the way we love and support those that we care for most.

Yours Truly,
Nomz

PS. I really really want your opinions at all times, God knows I cant get through this life alone. I just have enough burdens without hearing how I could have done it better. And...again, apologies, for all the toe stepping. Im learning. ;)

I Wish I Were In Never Never Land

Have you surfed the net lately? Notice anything particularly odd about today’s young girls? They’re all 13 going on 21! So, I’m wondering, Who sent out the memo to today’s generation to grow up as quickly as possible?

Don’t get me wrong, when I was 13 I snuck makeup, stuffed my bra and otherwise tried to act more mature than I was. But, it ended there. I didn’t have a Myspace account (it didn’t even exist then. Boy, does that make me feel old!) with pictures of me in a cleavage bearing tee and underwear. Nor, did I walk around with an attitude of someone who’d lost their innocence and was proud of it. So, what’s with the about-face? My generation (I’m on the tail end of Generation X) and the one after me are only a few years apart. Break that down into modern day language: I’m traditional/conservative/prude and they’re modern/empowered/sexually free.

Wha??

My heart goes out to these girls who have been pressured into skipping their formative years. It seems to be that the parents have dropped the ball. A little girl needs to be cherished and taught about her inner beauty before she should be allowed to express her outer and superficial beauty. In my opinion, the order of things has been slightly scrambled.

(Enter Dr. Sazaran)

When girls aren’t reinforced in their homes, they choose the world to fill that void. My parents were so strong in their actions toward me- I was reminded on a constant basis how proud of me they were. I grew up knowing that they thought be to be beautiful, smart, strong and integritas. Only after my self esteem (and understanding of boundaries) were established was I able to take that step toward “womanhood”. But, not a moment before.

My message to girls aged 12-16: Be who you are on the inside! If you don’t love yourself for your non-temporal qualities, you will be lost when your beauty fades. Find a strong woman who does not need to wear her sexuality on her sleeve and learn from her. There is so much more to being a woman than bearing all and leaving little for the imagination. And, please! Don’t grow up too fast; we’ve lost enough of our innocence, there will be nothing left if you abandon it.

My message to women whom girls look up to: Don’t drop the ball!! Be strong enough to think not only of yourselves, but of the little girls who want to grow up and be like you. Take a stand and go against the flow. It is so much better to impact a girl’s self esteem in a positive way, than to be remembered by the way your hips sway.

My message to parents: To those of you who have diligently taught your girls that inner beauty is more valuable than cup size, Bravo! Keep on keepin’ on. For all others, please begin to realize the damage that Hollywood and other artificial influences have on your children. Don’t expose them to mature content beyond their comprehension, or explain to them the truth about morality and self image.

Proverbs 31:30

“Charm and grace are deceptive, and beauty is vain [because it is not lasting], but a woman who reverently and worshipfully fears the Lord, she shall be praised!”

-Sazaran

♫ Disclaimer: I have OCD.

And a therapist. Probably another secret most of you don’t know...I have a therapist. A result of a failed attempt at marriage counseling, that turned out to be so lovely that I cant get enough of her. Everyone should have one. I also think everyone has a bit of OCD. Read this list, tell me Im wrong.

She tells me I {probably} have OCD, which is close enough to officially. Let me explain, to protect myself from offending you when I start playing with your stuff.

#1. Magnets on the fridge must be either perfectly aligned or misaligned in a way that it looks obvious they were done so.
#2. The food on my plate, cannot touch. I will use three different plates, or take three different trips, if I have to. Thanksgiving, is a royal pain in the @$$
#3. My sheets are clean. They get washed once a week. If I tend to sleep over often, I’ll probably clean yours.
#4. My kitchen has to be clean, or I cant sleep. Like, dishes done, and the countertops and cupboards Lysol’d.
#5. I hate it when people play with doors. You know...open, close, open, close. Kids are particularly bad about this, but everyone does it. LEAVE THE DOOR ALONE. It’s TIRED.
#7. I am compulsive when Im stressed out. I either eat compulsively, shop compulsively, or drive compulsively. Which tends to make me a fun companion, but also a pain...because I cant sit still.
#8. My CD’s are arranged by genre, and are usually alphabetized.
#9. I have a massive personal bubble. My love-ly co-workers love to invade just to watch me cringe and fidget. Not a hugger. Sorry.
#10. When Im stressed out, bored, or not pre-occupied, I will clean. Your house if needed. {This is the part that you shouldn’t get offended. It’s not that your house is dirty, it’s that I must keep moving.}
#11. I will probably arrange your clutter when I run out of my own.
#12. I carry those cute little hand sanitizers with me, everywhere. My poor kids think it’s lotion and already cant get enough of it.
#13. If I use something in the morning to fix my hair, I will *panic*, all day long, thinking I forgot to unplug it.
#14. All my canned goods, are categorized by a. fruits, veggies, or soup, and b. must all face out.
#15. Pssst. Apparently OCD people have higher sexual tendencies. Im not admitting to anything, Im just sayin...
#16. Im sounding a bit freak-like and high maintenance so I am stopping this list.

The good news is, your life will be a little cleaner with me around. I am actually probably one of the lowest maintenance girls you’ll ever meet. Im a girl that loves to be outdoors. Im not afraid to get dirty, in fact, prefer it. I am just particular about certain things. You probably wont notice most of this when Im around, all Im asking is that you don’t be offended when I start scrubbing your walls. Or organizing your cabinets. Or arranging your fridge magnets.

Yours Truly,
Nomz

♫ Oh for the love of Towels!

Finding myself reaching too far, expecting too much, again. I hate it. I get in this slump, where I don’t like myself, and I expect everyone around me to fix it. Compliment me more, cook for me often, help me find direction, hug me tighter, tell me again...that you wont let me go or leave my side, even though I heard it another way five minutes ago. It’s a problem. It’s called "needy". And I hate this slump. It’s not only impossible to just jump out of, it takes a toll on everyone around me, and it’s the most unsatisfying emotion. Like, no matter how much everyone around me is doing everything right, I cant get happy.

I thought maybe I was over being that way. But no, it’s showing its ugly face again.

Have you ever gotten out of the shower just to realize you decided to clean the towel you wanted to use, and had to walk soaking wet across the room? That’s this feeling. This mood. This being. Uncomfortable, exposed, and hard to please. I mean really, once you get the towel, you’re still a grumpy over having to make the walk, plus you’re already half dry, so what’s the point? I keep begging everyone to be a towel, and then I complain because you’re hanging in the wrong place, or youre still damp, or you’re not soft enough.

Ugh.

So. I apologize. To all those that have to put up with "needy nomz". Im almost done. I promise. This stupid inner girl that likes to bare her ugly emotional garbage, will disappear again soon. In the mean time, feel free to leave me be, tell me to air dry. Hang in there {Ha!}, needy is almost through.

I must say that I do love that I have such an array of you. You "towels". I've got my tough ones that help me get up and brush it off...we'll call it, exfoliate my issues away. I've got the big fluffy pink girly ones that are forcing me to reach the inner girl. I've got my towels that I spend all day with (ew). There's a reason I leave you behind at the end of the day, it's nice that y'all come back all clean every morning! I've got my best towels that hang there waiting for me to use them whenever needed. I've got this new one that I cant get enough of..that is awesome at making life seem so much better, even for only for a few days at a time. Oooh and there's these two itty bitty ones that are so crazy colored that Im rarely left out there lonely or cold or sad. I've got the comfortable towels. The ones that have been around longer than me, and even though there's times I'd love to toss them out, I just cant part with them.

For the most part, y'all do your own laundry. You come back refreshed, ready for me to use you some more. I hope, that every now and then, I hang in there for you too.


Yours Truly,
{Needy} Nomz

♫ Zipperhead

My Zip. My baby. My spaz. My crazy.

This dog has played a big role in my life for four years. She was given to me as a surprise, a big ol’ ball of fluff that has been nonstop since. There are days I wanna kill her, and days she’s my crying pillow. She hugs my little girls like nobody can. She’s the best babysitter I could ask for. But, like a small part of me, she’s all country. Since I left Kayce, she has been miserable. Town life is not for her. She’s doing her best to be my best friend in spite of the rapid change of lifestyle, but the adjustment has been hard. She looks at me with those "puss in boots eyes" begging me to take her somewhere she can fun for miles. It’s those pleading eyes, that have convinced me to make an extremely difficult decision. Im letting Zip go. I refuse to let her go anywhere but to a good home with lots of little girls hugs. Or gramma hugs. Or something. I am scared to death to tell my girls. They love her so much. It’s just not fair to zip to ask her to stay. As the tears roll down my face, I pray that the right home comes along, that she finds a place she can perform her deer-like prance of a run, pigeons to catch, rabbits to chase, a pickup bed to cling to, and a little girl to cuddle with.

You know, it seems as I am still at this crossroads in life, I have to say goodbye to the last part of that life. As much as I love this dog, she was given to me by a part of me that im trying to say goodbye too. This is more painful than I ever would have expected.

Zipperhead, you’ve been a better friend to me than most. I will miss you pretty girl.



Anybody interested, she is listed here:

Zip

And...a song, that fits I think:

Fall-Clay Walker

Oh, look, there you go again
Puttin' on that smile again
Even though I know you've had a bad day
Doin' this and doin' that
Always puttin' yourself last
A whole lotta give and not enough take
But you can only be strong so long before you break

So fall
Go on and fall apart
Fall into these arms of mine
I'll catch you
Everytime you fall
Go on and lose it all
Every doubt, every fear,
Every worry, every tear,
I'm right here
Baby, fall

Forget about the world tonight
All that's wrong and all that's right
Lay your head on my shoulder, and let it fade away
And if you wanna let go, hunny, its okay

Fall
Go on and fall apart
Fall into these arms of mine
I'll catch you
Everytime you fall
Go on and lose it all
Every doubt, every fear,
Every worry, every tear,
I'm right here
Baby fall

Hold on, hold on,
Hold on to me

Fall
Go on and fall apart
Fall into these arms of mine
I'll catch you
Everytime you fall
Go on and lose it all
Every doubt, every fear,
Every worry, every tear,
I'm right here
Baby fall

The Things We Tell Our Kids

Rase and I were reminiscing, this weekend, ‘bout our childhood and the stories our parents used to tell us. Not stories of dragons and damsels-in-distress, but about little while lies that made us feel better about a sad situation or explained the unexplainable.

Remember being a five year old, with a new pretty balloon in hand? I would always choose pink or red. And my mom would tie the end into a little slip-knot to strap to my wrist. My loyal balloon would then follow me, loyally, wherever I chose to travel. But, every once in a while, that knot would come a little too lose and my treasure would slip joyously away- to float off on its own little adventure. Watching it float off into oblivion my little heart would just break (I was and am to this day and very sentimental person). So, to make me feel better about the balloon, my dad would tell me that it was on its way to heaven, to go play with the “baby angels”. Since they didn’t have balloons up there in Heaven, mine would be a special treat for them. Aww, how nice of me! I truly did believe it and it truly did help my little breaking heart to mend faster. Until the next balloon.

Broccoli were “baby trees”- which I gleefully ate like a scary, ravaging giant.

Upon turning up my nose at chicken fingers, a hamburger or a turkey sandwhich I was informed, “Sarah, that chicken (cow, turkey, etc.) died just for you.” Guilt

Anyway, that got me to thinking- what little fibs am I going to tell my kids? What about what other parents? What might they tell their kids? Stories must be as different as the freckle count for any family. So, let me know! I wanna hear your silly stories about growing up and which ones you have made up or passed along to your offspring. :)

**Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I was raised in a very stable family, where no matter what happened in your relationship, you "stayed" for the long run. The word "divorce" was never talked about and no one in our long family line had every used the "D" word out loud...we don’t do "that"...ever...

Well, after 17 years of my own marriage, I wonder about my own mental health, and of course, that of my mother, sisters, aunts, cousins, etc. I’ve seen the struggles of relatives and friends staying in marriages for the children, for their church and for their families...and I’ve seen and experienced the nasty results of divorce, which are tough, dramatic and life changing...but in the long run, they bring such happiness, peace and love to those involved. I believe in God’s rule ...till death do us part..., but we all end up dying sooner (emotionally and mentally) inside, by staying on for the long run.

I’ve been strong, I’ve taken the verbal abuse, the mental abuse, I’ve taken the blame for everything wrong in our world, his life, his job and our marriage. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I have finally realized that being married to a true alcoholic and an abuser is NOT my penance or my cross to bear.

But, every time I threaten the "D" word (and I do have the papers typed up already!), he comes full circle for 2 or 3 days and "tries" to be a better husband. He has quit drinking, but he is still a very depressed and angry person. He won’t get help...he is on anti-depressants and thinks he is fine. Even our friends see how he talks to me in public and have pitty on me. Since I don’t want to fight or be angry like him, I clam up into my own little world.

I have found peace and solitude and happiness, outside my little world, in the arms and care of my friends, some are my wonderful close girlfriends and some are close guy friends. My sanity is important to me because I don’t want to age mentally from his constant abuse. The meaner he is...the faster I run, call, text and Facebook my friends...what do I do? Do I stay or do I go? Isn’t it all about ME? Or at least about ME and GOD? Not him.

My motto has always been, "It’s my life, It’s now or never" (I’m sure you heard those words in a Bon Jovi song), but I’ve never acted on the words, even though they are strong and banging around non-stop in my head.

Is it wrong to want more emotionally than I have? Is it wrong to want true love? Is it wrong to desire a partner that goes to Church with me every week? Is it wrong to want a best friend and a passionate lover for a husband? I dream, every night of a romantic, story tale life...I have so much to give emotionally, but my husband does not see it in his fog of depression, anger and alcoholism.

I have one foot out the door..."should I stay or should I go"?

-Guest Blogger: "Lost In Love"

We shall call this day, “Loverly Nomz” Day.

I just wanted to share how great she is in every way. When I first met Nomz, I was a little leery. Not sure why, she just came off as a confident woman (I might also be that I replaced her, when she went on maternity leave). But, over the last three-ish years of working with her and getting to know her- I must say, she is that gem of a human being that God created to give the world just a little more sparkle. Here are some little flashes of light I would like to point out:


*She’s a trucker. I’m not talkin’ about the dirty, slightly-off ones. I’m talking about, in life, in general. Things don’t slow her down; they don’t intimidate her either. I want to be like that.

*Even when things aren’t the easiest for her, she always smiles. And is always nice; I just don’t know how she does it.

*She’s my own personal pediatrician. I call her before I call my own doctor. For one, she remembers my name. And secondly, her experience and advice haven’t failed me yet. And, she’s free. I like free.

*Her legs are fantastic. Don’t take this the wrong way- we’ve, many times, made the decision to swap boobies for legs. I’d much rather give mine up to have hers.

*Everyone likes her. Everyone. She just has a way with people- they can’t help but like her.

*On those days when you feel like a thick, heavy fog has moved in an taken residence in your brain, affecting your thoughts and your mood- she picks up on it and works her skilz to bring out the sunshine.

*If you haven’t been reading this blog, or that song that she posted, do it. You’ll be pleasantly surprised at the talent that oozes from those fingertips.

*Her children adore her and so they should; she is a wonderful mama. Definitely a mama I want to be like.

*Change doesn’t scare her; in fact, she embraces it. Even when it’s me, trying to get her to buy pretty, metallic pointy-toed shoes. She’ll try anything once. Right, Nomz?? *wink*


There are oh so many more qualities that this lady has, but I’m not sure our blog is big enough to fit all her praises into. Also, I wanted to give *you* an opportunity to share the wonderful way Nomz has touched your life. Bring it on… enjoy, Nomz. :)

We love ya!

O.B.A.M.A.

Yeah... admit it. ;)

♫ For the Shoes!

I was told recently, that I need to develop the unhealthy fetish of the shoes. Im surrounded by these people. The co-workers are having this intriguing minor competition, and I was appalled that the two I love the most have 40ish (not so appalling), but others in their department had upwards of a hundred or more. My sister has a budget for the things. My best friend has an jealousy-worthy amount, and my Sazaran has more heels than anybody I know, and pulls them off no matter what they’re matched with! Ah, and my lovely shoe-budgeted sister already has my three year old accessorizing.

Ladies, do help this girl understand.

I have 11 pairs. I counted for above mentioned competition. And didn’t really realize that was a low amount of shoes until I peeped my head outta my cubical-ed tomboy life and realized how alone I am in this. So...these girls are on a mission. A mission to put Nomz in heels. And boots. And...God knows what else.

A quick poll ladies and gents. How many shoes do you own? Once I start this dear fetish, where do I start? Is this one of those things where you must sacrifice comfort for style? What is your favorite style {and for my sake, please include a definition of said style, as I probably will not read it as English}? Last question: WHERE DO I PUT THEM? Im having a heckova time organizing 11 pairs.

Do help a girl out. Ah, and if you want to include a pic of your favorite earth stompers, I would very much enjoy that as well.

Slightly distressed,
Nomz

I Do Believe In Miracles

Here's a little snippit of the stuff that's been floating around in my head for the last 24 hours.

Malachi hasn't been feeling very well- in fact, we had to take him to the ER on Sunday because he couldn't keep anything down and we feared dehydration. To make a really exhausting story short, the pediatrician we took him to today, says that he has infection in both ears. "Definitely puss" was the literal diagnosis.

Anyway, before our visit to the doctor today, I spent a good amount of time in prayer for my little boy last night. As always, I pray for a miracle; just because I have never been one to rely on a doctor- after all, as I have recently experienced, they are not perfect. But The Great Physician, Himself, is.

So, that led me to thinking about miracles. I've seen them with my own eyes and have heard stories about miracels. Though they're not the norm, they certainly hold conviction with me (with the exception of the Virgin Mary on a slice of toast). I'll be straight forward here: I believe in the healing power of Jesus Christ and the blood that He shed on the cross for our sins. But, I also believe that our healing- via miracle nor not- can also come through a doctor.

The question I have long asked and cried has been, "Why???"

When I was about 10ish, I had warts that covered my entire right hand. I do remember counting about 21 at one point, but it could have been more. I also remember praying and praying and begging for a miracle. I prayed to one day wake up and see that they had just disappeared. My plea for such became strongest when I would have to visit the doctor and have them "frozen". Nevertheless, they did not go away. Until a friend of my mom's recommended a specialist. Rather than using the dreaded freezing routine, she pulled out African Bug Guts and dabbed a little bit of the juice on each wart. They were gone in one week. I'm not kidding.

So, I guess, my question (in addition to "Why???") is "Why not a miracle?"

Sadly, I don't have the answer. But, do feel that God cannot be contained to a box and is not a drive through Mircale-bucks, if you will. And because He is God, He knows what it takes to make a miracle. If miracles happened each time we needed one, would we have faith? Patience? Endurance? Perseverence? Medical advances?

I do believe in miracels. But, what's more, I believe in the providence and compassion of my Savior. I know that He is by my side, keeping me and sustaining me in anything I experience or face in life. Whatever method he chooses to make me, or my little boy, whole- I will accept. Because ultimately, I know I am His. And He takes care of His own.

**He was a waste of my red heels**

Once upon a year or so ago, I was momentarily single (long story, happy ending) and on the receiving end of an invitation to dinner. On the opposite end of the invite was a guy I'd met only once before, a friend-of-a-friend whose acquaintance I'd made while helping said friend move. We shall call him "M"; everyone say, hello to M. (Hi, M! Now go sit down, this isn't your story.)

Upon hearing of my newly bestowed single-dom, M asked if I'd like to join him for dinner. Pros and cons were heavily weighed in preparation for accepting this proposition—the major con being that, on the single occasion we'd met, M didn't seem so good at that "humor" bit. True story: I don't do well without witty banter. I'm a big fan of verbal tennis; either you're on the other side of the net and participating in the exchange, or I'm taking my racket & leaving you to stand there on the court all alone. The end.
Conversely, the pros—being as I am an eternal optimist—included (1) the possibility that M had fallen into a puddle of humor & wit sometime between that very moment and the last time we met, and therefore may have become awesome as a result; (2) the pure fact it was a date, and I haven't exactly done many of those; and (3) there would be steak involved.
Thus, I accepted.

I wore glossy red heels with my jeans. M's only preparations, apparently, seemed to involve rolling around in fail.

The first indicant things were off to a bad start? He knocked on my garage door when he arrived. Not the large, aluminum door that rolls up to facilitate parking, mind you; the actual door next to it through which things that are not cars enter (see: me, other garage visitors, sometimes the lawn mower)... which looks nothing like a front door. Especially in comparison to, oh, I don't know, maybe the part of the house with an enclosed porch, a house number and an actual front door in it.
From there, things proceeded to tumble effortlessly downhill. During the course of our ten-minute drive to dinner, I quickly realized M had successfully evaded the humor & wit puddle, and was just as dull and conversation-inept as he'd ever been. Not only that, but his idea of holding open the door for me upon our arrival at the restaurant consisted of him giving the door an extra-hard push while he barreled through like a man on a mission.
Oh, yes. You know you've snagged a winner when he lets gravity hold the door for you.

And it only kept getting better after we'd sat down inside.

Not only did he complain about the fact sweet tea wasn't served when we placed our drink order, he carried his displeasure straight into the main event; the bread was too "thick and dough-y," the steak "wasn't cooked exactly right," the butter was "weird," his sweet-tea-stand-in, lemonade, was "too sour."
My heels were both shocked and alarmed that I would subject them to such nonsense, and requested we travel home. I silenced them by consuming my steak with a vengeance (and taking it for a leisurely swim in A-1), enjoying my icy cold water and doing that awkward under-the-table-foot-tapping dance that only can be performed in desperate situations.

Prior to the date of epic fail, the friend through whom I'd met M had mentioned that she and her new-ish boyfriend were going bowling later that night, and if things went well with M, that we should join them. Despite the utter lack of "well" that was occurring—and to make the evening worthy of wearing my red heels out, if nothing else—I mentioned this invitation to M post-dinner, who enthusiastically accepted.
And so off we set toward the bowling alley, with my new BFF gravity kindly holding the door for me, yet again. Thanks, yo.

If dinner (and the lack of conversation, the failure to hold open doors, the fact he sucked at maintaining an interesting conversation AND his inability to play verbal tennis) hadn't already sealed M's fate, bowling tied it up nicely.
It wasn't just that he made me pay for both of our games—which, admittedly, I offered to do just to be nice, never thinking he'd commit a First Date Sin and actually take me up on it—it was also that he (1) offered to buy me M&Ms when I bemoaned the bowling alley's lack of quarter machines, then whined because I wanted the plain kind, not peanut; (2) expressed his excitement about the two strikes and one spare he bowled by throwing horns (because he's obviously so punk rock or similar); and, the final straw, he (3) talked with my friend's boyfriend about playing another game, then didn't even offer to chip in when the purchasing of said game ensued.

You know it's a bad date when you text your ex during it just to tell them how bad it is.
Oh yes, I did. (He still likes to bring it up to this day. It's like one of his Top Ten Best Life Moments.)
In the end—after being driven home, and forced to hold M's gigantic drink from the bowling alley the entire way because he didn't have a cup holder—I felt I owed my red heels a redeeming night out. You know, to compensate for wasting their glossy glamour on a boy who didn't even own a verbal tennis racquet, let alone know how to find the court.
The one redeeming value in this entire evening of fail? I managed to pack years worth of bad dates into one epic evening.
That's straight-up productivity right there; and I did it all in heels.

~A

♫ Life is like Duct Tape on a Trampoline

Once upon a time there was a girl. A girl that lived in a lot of houses across paradise, taking in new siblings, new surroundings, new schools, new friends, new foster siblings, new experiences. Steps of life. A past with no regrets. It’s fun to look back sometimes at some of the trials and think "man, if I made it through that, this is nothing!".

I read this blog the other day that said "people don’t want to hear about you. If you want to be successful, don’t talk about yourself." Well Im sorry readers, but lately, I’ve had bloggers-block, and this is what you get. Take it or leave it.

Things I remember as tribulations, that I actually survived:

#1. Special Olympics. Ok, don’t get me wrong, I LOVED those kids. I say kids, and I shouldn’t. Most of them were older than me. Helping autistic, paralyzed, or somehow handicapped people by teaching them to dance (if you’ve never danced with a handsome guy in a wheelchair, do it. Once the awkward wears off, it’s a life experience you’ll never forget), teaching them to bowl, and teaching them to ski. I learned more life lessons from them, probably than from anyone. Things like, no matter how hard life gets, someone else always has it harder. Things like, no matter where you go in life, friendships built are forever, but only stay as strong as you make them. My heart warms every time I think of them. I miss them. I miss the challenges they provided, the frustrations, and the laughs. You can learn a lot from somebody, especially those you assume know less.

#2. Foster Siblings. Ugh. When I lived in the most beautiful town in Wyoming, my parents decided it’d be a fun adventure to start taking in foster kids. You know, a temporary home for "troubled kids". Lordy. I wont mention names, but in a 1200 ft square house with an already family of five, adding one to two more people my age (you know, the grumpy early teen, early hormone stage of life) to the house, is torture for everyone involved. As in...my bed got lit on fire. We got in physical fights. Screaming competitions. One of them got arrested. One of them had the gall to get in my cop daddy’s face, etc. It wasn’t an all bad experience. I still have three foster sisters that I talk to regularly and miss sorely. Lesson learned? EVALUATE the people that sleep have an opportunity to sleep in your bed CAREFULLY! Seriously. Life lesson right there. That, and no matter how bad people seem, they could potentially turn out pretty dang cool. To quote one of my favorite people "even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while."

#3. Getting duct taped to my sister. Not even kidding. My mom thought it was the most creative, excellent, punishment ever. Back off folks, she wasn’t cruel and unusual about it. But it was torture. If the sisters were fighting, they got taped. Until we agreed to touch noses and get along. Creative? Yes. Excellent? No. Quite disturbing. At least I thought so. But everyone I tell that to, says they’re stealing the idea and using it on their kids. I blame my unusually large personal bubble on the duct tape. Especially, the duct tape and trampoline. In the summer. With shorts on. Life Lesson? Put the stubbornness aside and touch noses already. Amazing how that lesson right there can work absolute miracles in today’s day and age, relationship wise. Touch your beloved on the nose next time she’s screaming at you. She’ll love you for it.

#4. Chased by a grizzly bear. Also not kidding. Hunting with my daddy for the first time, the most amazing trip. The scenery unbeatable, the company unstoppable, the conversations heart melting, the smells enchanting, and of course the hunt, adrenaline-inducing. There is something luring about the smell of a bloody elk though, that brings the most feared animal by this mostly tough chick a running. And we were stalked. Ferociously. Thank God for big guns, tough men, and fast horses. Life lesson? Keep God, big guns, tough men, and fast horses, with you, everywhere you go. Or at least readily available.

A glimpse really, in to my horrible childhood. Ha. Of course Im kidding. I rarely had it rough, and Im glad for the times it was. It showed me that I’ll live through things that seem life threatening at the moment, only to go on, write about it, make people laugh about it, and come out a stronger person.

Love,
Nomz

The Potter's Son

THE POTTER’S SON


I walked into this potter’s shop with rows and rows of pots. All dried and cracked with malformed shapes, and funny little spots.“What are these that look like junk and occupy your shelf?” “Why, these”, said he, “are the finest works for special use and helps. For kings and queens, have need of them, and princes and for lords; So costly are these special pots, so scratched, and marked, and scored.”



“But who would want these twisted forms, these odd and worthless things? They have no look of promise, for princes or for kings. They leak as one can plainly see, they’re cracked, and dried, and frail. And who would make such worthless pots or offer them for sale?” “Oh these”, said he, “are not for sale; I keep them for but One. He finds their worth as more than gold, as gifts unto His Son.



He has this way of taking pots and broken things from strife and turns them all around again, and fills them with His life. He sees them not as you or I, all broken, young, or old. But when He’s finished with these pots, they cost much more than gold. And then you’ll see them here and there with purpose and with plan, these broken pots with malformed shapes rejected by each man.



They have again a second chance, or more, these vessels of disgrace. For the glory of the Potter’s Son has prepared for them a place. And now you’ll see them here and there as vessels fit for kings; And loving much, the Potter’s Son there’s just one song they sing. They know too well from where they’ve come and with eternal thanks These broken pots, with stately walks, all praise Him in their ranks.



“But who could hope in such as these that sit on dusty shelves, When light, or love, or touch, or warmth, is not within ourselves? The One who works such works as these would He have time for me?”“ Oh Yes! The Potter’s Son is full of grace, and love, as you shall see. He alone can fix your dreams and shattered parts of life. The Potters Son, He has a name, His name is Jesus Christ.”


I'd love to take credit for this poem. But, I can't. My dad wrote it- after being awoken from a dream in the early morning hours, a few years ago. No matter how many times I read it, it always melt my heart and makes me so grateful for belonging to such a graceful Saviour.

♫ Help! Im looking for my future! Has anyone seen it???

Im on what you could call, the "Van Wilder Plan". Ever seen the movie? Dont. It was a killer to my name. Seriously. Nobody knew that "imoan backwards" until somebody pointed out that Naomi can be spelled both ways. Like Hannah. Only less cool.

Anyway. For those of you that dont know what I mean, I am on the "Van Wilder Plan" because college has been "in progress" for about, oh, seven years. I have four different almost degrees. And now, I am going back for more. I am going back for something different.

The degrees in progress now:

#1. Equine Training and Management with a understudy of Business Management.
#2. Photography
#3. General Studies

I am going back for one of the following:

#1. Computer Science with a focus in Computer Forensics
#2. Marketing
#3. Animal Science/Business Management
#4. Journalism
#5. Photography

See why I've stopped going for the last three years? Yeah, you thought it had something to do with me getting on the fast train of life, settling down and having babies all too soon. No...it was mostly me getting exhausted of putting a lot of money in to a future that I wasnt going to ever accomplish while staying on that zig-zag of a path. I am going back. This summer. And finishing. My problem, is that I want to do all five, and find a way, to put them all to use. Your suggestions, votes, and opinions, are appreciated.

In the mean time, lucky for us, college is not the only thing on the radar, or the only thing that we get to do in life.

I thrive on the city life, and good ol' Wyoming isnt doing it for me. And I hate the wind. It stirs up this creature inside me that likes to eat at my job, my kids, my friends, my appetite,and my mood for days on end. Bad news for a socialite.

But at the same time, I get these withdrawls for everything country. My horses, my dogs, the mountain air, the smell of campfires.

So, I need help in finding a way to find me and my girls paradise somewhere in between. With a job that supports our little food sucking family of three (these girls can EAT!), that combines five different degrees.

You see why Im stuck?

Ah. And there's always that...relationship...thing. For those of you that havent found out, figured out, or know the difference, I am now a single mom. And, though enjoying my singleness (which is now a word), eventually, I will want to settle down Im sure.

Oh the future is terrifying. I am now making decisions for not one strong headed, strong willed, independent girl...but three. We're fighters, survivers, pedal-to-the-medal kinda girls, that have this life in front of them that is unknown. Amazing how your perspective changes when you have to make a call that will affect so many more people than just yourself.

Within the next year, all of these goals will either be accomplished, or on a path to be so. Your help is surely appreciated. Where oh where is my paradise?



With love,
Nomz