Miracles at Work

Tonight I slipped on a pair of comfy, fluffy, woolen socks to keep my feet warm. As I slid my frozen little feet into these snugly things, I thought of the person who so thoughtfully and cheerfully gave them to me. She is a nice, wonderful, amazing lady that attends church with me, and we recently found out we shared birthdays (folks, this is a rarity! She is the first person in my entire life that I've meant that was born on 11/15 as well). My family loves this lady. And I so love the fact that she even extended a gift to me for my birthday. It kind of made me feel awful for not taking the same consideration for her.

And then it made me think of the sometimes random acts of kindness in my life by such people. And I wonder if they know the immense impact they have on people like me with such display of generosity and love. Because I desperately needed a pair of woolen socks...well, not desperately but I had very recently thought of purchasing some woolen socks for myself, knowing how my feet and toes ache with the slightest twinge of cold. But being "poh" most of my wages go to making sure lil man has his needs met before I try to spend money on my frivolous desires. And really these desires aren't a huge priority....just things that would be nice to have. And sometimes I just don't get around to going out and buying myself woolen socks, or perfume, or a ticket to the premier of Breaking Dawn. 

There is a girl at work (my boss's daughter, actually) who committed a random act of kindness towards me as well. She gave me the yummiest smelling hand lotion. And beforehand, I had just been thinking I need some hand lotion; I never got around to getting my hand lotion because I was so distracted taking care of other issues with lil man and daycare. It was a nice surprise. And I consider it a small work of miracle in my humble life.

And then my sister in law and brother, knowing how much of a die-hard Twilight fan I am (well, not die-hard but I keep up), purchased a ticket for me to the premier of Breaking Dawn, made me a T-shirt, and even paid for movie snacks and Twilight cups for me.

Or another co-worker giving me the best quick meal, one pot/pan recipe that has been a hit with my son! She only shared a recipe but that week, it had been so very difficult for lil man to eat. And when I tried her recipe out and I saw lil man wolf down his meal, ah how ever so grateful the song in my heart! Another work of miracle.

And then there is my mother. And I will cry while I write this paragraph because this woman has been undoubtedly generous to me. I mean, it might be biased..I am her daughter, after all. But I certainly do not have money to be spending on lil shiny, sparkly trinkets; and my mother has a way of "gifting" me with an earring here, or a necklace there, or a ring this month. Or a bottle of nice, sweet-smelling perfume. Last year she gave me a make-up kit so that I could give myself a little make-over after being a complete hopeless wreck for months.

Yeah, so I'm feeling grateful for all the little, subtle works of miracles in my life. Perhaps it's all the holiday cheer going around. Whatever it is, it feels good. It feels good to feel that Christmas Spirit which I was definitely lacking last year. A cup of cheer to growth, my friends!!!

A Nice Cup of Insomnia

He felt her warmth disappear. He stirred in bed not wanting to wake but knowing perhaps he should this time. She had been especially distant today. Well, this whole week actually, and he had found her secret stash a few days ago. He hadn't known what to do; didn't know how to approach her. He knew and felt that she was drowning but being who he was, he just couldn't understand how she could let herself get so down and sad. The sadness that was consuming her was slowly slithering its way into his heart. He sprung out of bed when he heard a loud thump coming from their bathroom. He pushed the door open and found her lying on the ground on her side, vomiting. 

"What the hell, Sarah!" he rushed to her side and propped her up in his arms, fumbling for the trash can. He felt her shaking in his arms. "What are you doing!?" his head spun around as he took note of the bottle of pills, poured out on the counter top. He shook his head, looking away from the spewing in utter agony. 

"I'm a baby killer. I'm a worthless piece of shitake mushroom," he heard her hoarsely whisper and he rolled his eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about? Because you had a couple miscarriages? So what, Sarah? We have Luke. We made Luke!! Isn't that enough? That's just like you. Always wanting more, wanting things you just can't have!" he was almost yelling. He couldn't help it. This was beyond what he felt capable of handling. 

"John...I'm a woman. This is my job. To bring babies into this world. Babies, John. And I barely brought Luke into this world..." she began and then had to vomit more.

"This is such bullshit, Sarah. So you're going to bring Luke here and abandon him? That's worse than being a damn baby killer," he felt the disgust rise in his throat.

"So you do admit it. I am a baby killer," she said sadly. Her chin flopped onto her chest and her head rolled around flippantly. She felt the dizzying, sickening effects and wished she'd taken the whole bottle. She looked up and blonde was perched on the counter, shaking his head disdainfully, anger flashing in his eyes. Ha! She was was excellent at taking another's life but so very unsuccessful at terminating her own. More vomit. 

John remained kneeling on the floor on one knee, supporting his wife with his arms and other leg; on the inside, he was wondering very seriously what he could do. What he was supposed to do. How he would deal with this. Dozens of thoughts flew around in him mind but one thought kept resurfacing, and it was a thought he couldn't risk spending too much time on: I can't do this anymore. Oh yes, there had been several of these episodes. And it seemed it was only getting worse. The self destruction and now to add to that was the alcohol. He just didn't know if he could take the drama anymore. She may have been literally trying to die herself, but little by little, he felt she was stabbing him and gradually killing him inadvertently.  

Happy Turkey Day!!!!!

Well it's that time of the year again. Although all year long we should be able to adopt an attitude of gratitude, Thanksgiving is a time that I like to really dedicate to thinking of all the things and people in my life that make a big difference. There are the obvious things, of course. My son-my miracle baby. My family- no matter where they are, they never fail to lend me support in all aspects-spiritual, mental, emotional, physical...they gots it all covered ya'll. My closest, nearest and dearest friends, who add boisterous laughter, giggles, cries, and crazy talk to my life. Life is good. Life is really good. Those are all the big stuff...the major, most important things.

But this week I've been thinking of all the little things I'm grateful for...the little things we tend to take for granted. Here are just a few...(and keep in my mind, I am a woman who likes to be comfortable =] )

1. Shoes- well, of course! Hello! But seriously. This year has been meager in the shoe department. And I was thinking of this as I put my shoes on my feet on Monday. I remember a time in my life, when I bought a new shoe every week...if not every day. These days not so much so it leaves me feeling grateful for my sister in law who gifted me two pairs of shoes since most of my shoe money now goes to keeping shoes on lil man's feet which grow an inch every day it seems! My kid is going to have clown feet. I'm sure of that!

2. My current job- my boss is the best. Working for someone who is family oriented is the best. It is a blessing to work with people who are understanding. It is a family-owned, family-operated business, and I love to see how close and wonderful my boss's family is. They are the sweetest, kindest people.

3. Ramen noodles and peanut butter jelly sandwiches-- these are childhood favorites. These simple foods are entwined with so many favorite childhood memories. And I'm grateful that lil man loves them, too. So it's like I'm passing on childhood memories. Sharing legacy, keeping it alive even if it is just noodles and a sandwich.

4. All thrift stores, Goodwills, and Plato's Closets in San Antonio. Without them, I would be looking like the poor, frumpy old lady I'm growing into. They don't always have my pants size (the height can be a real issue sometimes) but I always am lucky to find a great top or two, or three, or four that isn't too worn or torn for  the right price with the right colored tag!! Score! One man's trash is another man's treasure--Oh, how I could go off on so many tangents on that phrase...but I wont...for now.

5. Turkey--that ugly, offensive looking bird sure does look GLORIOUS on the Thanksgiving table. I truly honor the bird and it's sacrifice to lend itself to such a fantastic holiday. Of all the holiday spread, you, Mr. Turkey are definitely the cherry on top. (although this year a big contender will be the parrot fish I've been dreaming of the last couple of days!)

6. Health--with the recent health insurance dilemma I was faced with, I cannot be more grateful that lil man has been healthy, free of any serious illness or injury. I have been on edge and thank Heavenly Father for keeping an eye on my miracle no matter what seems to be happening around him. He is such a strong little boy.

7. Air conditioning--is it me, or is it still unusually hot for this time of the year...even though it is TEXAS. South Texas. Or is it just me that always feels so stuffy and like I'm suffocating on hot air? We, at our humble dwelling, have yet to turn on the heater and let it kick in...does it even work, this heater?

8.  Young people that look older than me. I've recently turned an age that is that much closer to 30 and sometimes it's nice to feel like you fit in (as far as looks) with a bunch of young whipper snappers. Oy! Did I just use that term?

9. Fellow insomniac friends who can answer my late night/morning calls when I need to vent, cry, or just laugh because I didn't feel like I've laughed enough for the day. I appreciate their endurance through my blabbering and blithering and babbling. Who knew there were so many others like me, teetering on the brink of madness due to lack of sleep. Lack of sleep due to an array of troubles, ailments, or motherhood.

10. I drove by a kiddy park the other day, and happened to look up at the trees and greenery and wild flowers around the park...and I feel so grateful for such a beautiful earth. The vibrant colors. The varying terrains. The mountain chains. The trees and flowers. The many wonders of our planet. The vastness of the ocean. We should take better care of our home...we really should. The way it all works together...is just magic. We should respect this magic more....

And this is all I have time for tonight. Perhaps I'll share more tomorrow. Perhaps I won't. But I am in a thankful mood for everything. I have been blessed with more than I've blogged about in this post. I mean, I think it would take me a good long while to be able to list all the things I'm thankful for because there is just too many things. Life is good...Life is really pretty darn good. Happy Thanksgiving, my friends and readers. Be safe. Be smart. Be thankful. And don't stuff your faces too much....I know I won't...well, I'll try not to...oh, whatever! I'm gonna overdo it! BAM! What can I say! I love FOOD!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL!

Charity Never Faileth

My mother told me of an experience she had I think maybe last month. I think I have blogged about this sort of experience before but you all know I love to revisit things like this...things pertaining to humans and human nature. My mother and father took a trip up to Dallas to visit some family and score some fresh saltwater fish. I think they make this trip to Dallas and sometimes Missouri several times throughout the year. You know, they just can't resist the saltwater fish. So on the way back down to good old San Antone, my parents stop at a gas station for potty relief, gas, and snacks. My mother is the queen of budgeting. She budgets down to the last penny and will bargain like a mafia hustler. She does magic when it comes to bargaining and getting her money's worth. She is calculating and recounting their expenses for their trip and is feeling a little satisfaction at getting everything she wanted and having plenty left over. She starts thinking of things she could splurge a little on especially since she has extra and my son (her first grandson) crosses her mind several times and the idea of spoiling him with a little toy is getting more and more appealing to her. (Like the boy needs more spoiling)

As she is contemplating her opportunity to splurge, she is suddenly prompted to look up and to look across the parking lot. As she does this, she catches sight of an old, rather tattered looking man sitting on the curb with a very worn suitcase, dirty shoes, and weathered face. He holds no signs that implore for help. He is just sitting there, looking across the parking lot as if waiting for reprieve. And as my mother retells the events of that experience, I can picture such a man with such a life. My mother says she looks down at the twenty dollar bill she is holding in her hands, and I know that her heart is moved by compassion. She doesn't know this man's story. He could be a drug addict. An alcoholic. He could very well deserve the hardships he's facing right then and there. But having been familiar with poverty herself, knowing hunger, and knowing this man has family somewhere, my mother cannot ignore the Spirit within that is moving her to show this man some sign of hope. To show him that regardless of anyone's story, we all need love and hope. When she approaches to offer her token of hope and compassion, she finds he does have family. He is facing hardships. He is a veteran. He has a story. My mother may never meet him again. She may never know what his future outcome will be, but she made a connection. Human connection. And it's the kind of story that can move mountains. It's the kind of action that can change lives. I truly believe this.

And all this stemmed from my mother hearing our law enforcement tell us to NOT give our money to panhandlers. I think she just dislikes people telling her what to do with her hard earned money. And I have to agree. It is now going to be a crime to express compassion? To be charitable? Compassion has no limits. True compassion does not discriminate. Perhaps there is reason for the "law" to try and ban such things but I, as a Christian, cannot see someone in need and ignore it. I, as a mother, cannot think of someone's son sitting on the side of the road, feeling like he's at the end of his rope and not offer encouragement. I cannot, with all my blessings, all that I have to be grateful for, be spiteful to another regardless of his/her life choices. Even if they are "scamming" me, which at times I am very aware. But I am responsible for my own personal choices. They will be held for their deceit but I hope that in the end, I would have touched them somehow with one act of kindness. 

Challenges

So I posted this blog in the spring: Demons. Essentially, it was about a near encounter with a person that I don't trust, a person that makes my stomach turn. Too much pain connected with her. Too many bad memories. Not anything personal against her (really); I just don't react the right way around her. Like I literally (no joke or figure of speech) feel my heart rate increase; my blood pressure rises, and I can feel all my hairs stand on edge. It's like my body is warning me of danger. It could be just because her presence reminds me of that horrible night. It's been five years and her presence is the only one that makes my body feel like it's still in shock. Do I need to see someone for this? I feel like she's a bad omen.

Well I've almost run into her twice this month. Really? Does it have to be this month? Is the universe/fate/destiny or whatever it is trying to tell me something? Ugh. It was super close the other night. The night I went to see Breaking Dawn...she was in the same theater...not right in front of me but I had a clear view of her. Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe.....Sabrina. Just breathe. And I almost exploded in violence when my brother told me to calm down. I think some expletives had escaped me. Aye! I need to just face her and let my body react as it will and learn how to finally control whatever it is that is making me react this way.  

Hesitant to post this...

Sarah felt herself jump out of a fitful slumber. Her eyes opened to a darkness that engulfed all her senses. She squinted, waiting for her exhausted eyes to adjust although she still wouldn't be able to see much as she was practically blind. She readjusted her pillow, desiring to slip back into sleep. But she felt a weight pressing down on her and her mind sparked to life as she realized something had jerked her out of her sleep. She propped herself up on her elbows and listened. She felt all her hairs standing on edge. There was nothing at first and then all of sudden her ears made out a loud pounding on her door. Her eyebrows furrowed as she concentrated her impaired vision on her digital alarm clock. It was 2:13am.

"What the hell!" she muttered. Who could it be at this crazy hour? She shook her husband laying next to her. "John, there's someone at the door," she mumbled urgently when he popped up from his pillow. He jumped out of bed and went to his closet for the shotgun. She got out of bed and fumbled around on the night table for her glasses.

"What time is it?" he turned to her, squinting. He turned back around to take a look at the alarm clock. "Son of a biscuit! Who could it be at this hour?" he motioned for her to stay back. She rolled her eyes and slipped a sweater over her pajama shirt. She watched him approach the door from their bedroom. He peeked through the peephole and muttered something under his breathe. He opened the door.

She recognized the voice at the door and with alarm, stepped out from behind the bedroom door and quickly approached the door in time to hear the worst words ever.

"I dropped him off like 20 minutes ago. He sent me a text, saying he would take care of himself..." she didn't hear the rest of the girl's words. She felt her heart drop a million miles to hell as she quickly scanned the living room. No one. She felt her heartbeat in her ears as she raced down the short hallway that led to his room which now seemed like the longest hall in the world. Her body hit the door before she could turn the knob all the way, and she burst into the room when she could finally coordinate the door and the knob. There was no one in the bed which was pushed up in the top right corner of the room away from the window. She spun to her left and her heart stopped completely. She saw feet, dangling from the closet. At that moment, everything felt surreal and out of body.

She felt herself being propelled towards the closet. A small gasp escaped her as his face came into view and she felt herself float away from the scene. She felt herself go in auto mode. Her arms reached upward and her fingers wrapped around the belt that entrapped him. She pulled, feeling the tears coming but not allowing a single one to spill. Her mind had emptied and all she could think about was what was next. She tugged with all her strength and could feel herself almost lose control when the belt would not budge. She pulled even more with an urgency she'd never experienced before. And she was praying to God he was playing a prank on her. In her heart, though, she knew this was not a game, but she couldn't face that thought just yet.

Just as she was about to yell at someone to help her, John rushed over and pulled the whole bar down out of the closet, helping her ease his body down to the carpeted floor. There were scratches all along his shoulders, around his neck, and she noted that the tip of his nose was bluish. Inside she was wailing. Outside she was stone.

"Call the police," she said in an auto-tone-like voice, looking at John with eyes reeling in shock.

"Sarah!!! Do something!! Help him!!" her head snapped upwards. It was like the volume was suddenly turned up. His girlfriend was pacing the room, crying hysterically.

"Help or get out..." she bent over his body and began CPR. She let the steps in her mind repeat over and over again. She could still hear Anna, crying and whimpering. In her mind she was praying.

"Please, please, please! Not Daniel! He's too young. This is unfair!! Pleeeaaasse!" she went from rescue breathing to chest compressions. She looked up for a second when Anna's brother walked in the room, yelling. Then Anna's friend walked in mouth agape and crying.

"Help me!" she pointed to Anna's friend, shouting as she felt an exhaustion drain her energy. Her voice sounded foreign and far away. Anna's friend dropped to her knees and together they did CPR while Anna ran in and out of the room on her cell phone, crying to someone. Anna's brother began making a ruckus.

"Get him the hell out of here and her too!" she cried hoarsely at John in between rescue breathing. He ushered them to the living room nervously. Nothing was working. But she knew nothing would work. His lips were turning gray. And the smell from his mouth was foul. She had to stop this. Seven cycles means seven minutes. Her arms were shaking. Her lips were cracked. And her spirits had dropped substantially. One tear escaped as she felt all composure wash from her body. She stood and ran out of the room and out of her apartment. The air outside was cold and bitter. She hadn't realized how much she had sweated until the cold wind bit at the drops of sweat and pricked her skin. She dropped to the floor as she heard the ambulance pull up in front of their apartment. The paramedics raced up the stairs. She pointed inside and nodded her head before they even asked her anything.

She paced. And paced. And found she couldn't cry. This was still too unreal to her. The police arrived. Then the medical examiner. She walked in when she saw the medical examiner pass by. She wanted to walk into the room. They didn't let her. Instead the detective interviewed her. She recounted the events of the night.

"So you did CPR on your brother?" she nodded, hearing the surprise in his voice. He asked a few more questions and then he said some words that punched her in the face.

"This was a cry for help..." he said sadly and she lost it. She backed away from the detective as if he was offering her a poisoned apple. She walked to the other side of the room and collapsed on the floor. And wailed into the floor, feeling she had fallen far from the grace of God and plummeted straight to Satan's gates. At that moment, she wished for a belt for her own neck. John kneeled down beside her and took her in his arms and rocked her as she shuddered in her uncontrolled sobs.

"THIS ISN'T REAL!! THIS ISN'T HAPPENING!" she was whispering but her soul was shouting. Her mouth fell open in quiet, gasping lamentation. WHY...WHY...WHY.

100th Post!!!

 Well, well, well, folks. This is my 100th blog post for this particular blog! I mulled and humphed and mused all weekend, all day today, and now all night into the next morning, wondering what in the world could I possibly post about. I had some ideas: post a survey, or post another snippet of my story I've been letting you all have a sneak peek at every now and then, or post a great picture and have you, my loyal, dedicated readers use your creative writing skills to come up with some great stories. Maybe even do one of those you tell a little here, he tells a little there, and she tells a little here type stories<--sorry, it slips my mind what those are called. I'm not going to rack my mind, trying to think of what it is (actually I am but while I move forward...later I'll possibly remember and be like OH YEAH). Alas, the final decision. I decided to describe my home, my heritage, and my place of birth. People ALWAYS ask me and when I say Pohnpei, Micronesia, nine times out of ten, I get these blank, vacant stares always accompanied by a not so reassured smile with the blink, blink and crickets chirping. That occurs for like a milisecond before one gives up and finally inquires what and where that might be.

So Pohnpei, Micronesia. Well to give you an idea, this map might be useful. I usually tell people South Pacific, near the Phillipines...you know, near Guam. Actually Guam is a part of Micronesia...which Micronesia is a chain of very tiny islands that include the Caroline Islands and the Marshall Islands. Micronesia's history is abundant, rich, and complex. There are so many different groups of indigenous people, all influenced greatly by a vast array of outsiders. I know that my neck of the woods was discovered by the Spaniards in the 1400's probably around the same time Columbus found America. After the Spaniards, then whalers and merchants of Europe and the Dutch, then the Germans took over and just as World War II came about, the Japanese populated our streets and homes; all not only brought their weapons of war but left their mark on the people especially the Japanese. And you can see the traces of these influences in the language, the food, and the culture of the people.

 This is the famous view of Sokehs Rock. A rock that I once hiked up with my family in the summer of 2000 or so. It is the highest point on the island, I believe. That summer when we climbed the rock, I couldn't help but feel the history around me even amidst the lush jungle greenery. I imagined living in the past, climbing that rock and looking out over the horizon to discover the sight of large, billowing sails of merchant ships heading into the reef. My brother and mother did our family history and traced our ancestors all the way back to a chief's daughter. A chief's daughter who married one of those whalers/merchants who then was disowned due to the dishonest acts of her new husband. I guess merchant also meant sneak, a lie, and thief...in other words...a PIRATE! (Insert Beethoven's 5th here or something from Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack whichever floats your boat...har har har....).

These were the people back in the day

This is kinda how my peeps look these days

We are a fun-loving people who love to eat. The picture below...parrot fish!!! I craved this when I was pregnant with Isaac, and I still would love to get my hands on some more. I'll pick saltwater fish any day above this muddy freshwater fish they have here in the USA. I love to watch parrot fish fry and crackle in oil. I don't know what it is about the oil, the heat, and the blue hue of this fish, but it mesmerizes me to watch the chemistry. And then the aroma is just mouthwatering. Is anyone else hungry? 

Sashimi- my fave growing up!

And then there is the sakau. Some other Polynesian islands have a different name for this...I think they call it Kava? To my understanding, this drink is pounded from a special pepper root. I'm not sure of the process but I know that a couple guys will sit around a large, flat stone that is made especially for the pounding of this root. They gather the root which at first looks almost like corn husks (from my vantage which is far) but as the men pound, it gradually becomes moist, soft and almost pulp-like. I don't know how that happens but it happens and it takes FOREVER! But it's a big deal when it occurs. And people gather because they know when they hear those stones pounding out that 2/2 rhythm, the party is ON. Sakau, I will say is like their alcoholic beverage. I don't know that it us truly a liquor or alcohol per se, but I know that when people drink it, they want to sing, shout, tell stories, laugh boisterously, and TRY to dance. It's a hoot to watch someone try to dance after a couple sips of this nasty concoction. I hear after drinking this, your legs become numb, your mind becomes slow, and although coherent, you look like a stumbling lunatic. But having never partaken of this, I'll leave it to those who partook to demonstrate that. 

And then the floral. My favorite flowers abound here. Hibiscus. The prettiest flower that can adorn my face, my hair, my crown. All around the island, there is GREEN. All around there is moisture and humidity. And salt. The sun can be abrasive. The saltwater can be abrasive. But the people, the food, the culture, the laid back atmosphere...yes, paradise and dream vacation. Well for me that is. My people may tease me that I'm more American than I am a Pohnpeian. But deep inside, my heart belongs to the ocean and the blue horizon. Which is why I call this blog Over the Horizon. Because I am here, but my eyes forever gaze over the horizon, taking me back to my roots and birth place. 

Honor Our Veterans

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

Weight Loss Criminal

So at the beginning of October, I entered a weight loss competition at work along with five other co-workers. We all put up $20 to go in the pot. Winner takes all. First weigh in was October 1st. The last weigh in was to take place on December 9th. We all started out with great enthusiasm in the first two weeks. After those initial couple of weeks, some of us began to slack<--mostly ME! This past week I've tried to be more diligent not  only because I would like to win the pot, but reaching that plateau and struggling with the same 10 pounds was frustrating me, and I had to do something about it. I've lost major weight before...dangit, I can do it again! AND possessing the rebellious nature that I do, I wanted to challenge my doctor's orders not to run and not to sign on for a half marathon. However, after running 3 miles every other night, my knees really began to protest and I began experiencing excruciating pain. So the struggle with the three pounds I kept gaining and losing continued much to my dismay and frustration.

Anyway, the POINT of this blog is to express my utter shock to the news that someone swiped $80.00 from the prized pot. What the shitake mushroom!! Who would do this? Why would someone do this? I know that the probability of me losing the $20 I put up was more likely to happen judging by my unsuccessful weight loss efforts anyway; I didn't think I'd lose it in this fashion, though. If I didn't get to enjoy and reap the rewards, at least someone else who gave the event as much effort as I did, if not more, could enjoy my contribution. I hope whoever did this had good reason (psssh GOOD reason!). I hope they were on the brink of starvation while we the competitors were starving ourselves anyway to win the jackpot. I hope their souls were on the line where Satan had asked for $80.00 and it saved them. I hope that they were in desperate, dire need.

Now to decide what we do. We the competitors. Our high spirits have been stripped as we each ponder the incredulousness of this crime against us. We are deflated and feeling betrayed, violated, and taken aback. Someone came up with the idea of using the remaining money to purchase pizza for all who've been burglarized.

Old People go blah blah blah....BLAH...

Well, well, well. It is November yet again..yet another year. My birthday is fast approaching, and it's going to come and go quickly, and another year will zip by and before you know it, I'm fifty years old. Folks, I will be twenty-seven pretty shortly here and that is so CLOSE to the big three-oh. I remember (barely!) when that age seemed so old and ancient. And now that I'm getting up there in age, I'm disliking the me that thought this age was decrepit. How rude! Honestly though, I don't feel a day over twenty years-old. Aside from the knees going brittle and stiff, the leg pains, mild back pains here and there, weak bladder, fine lines, dryer skin, thinning, graying hair...yeah, not a day over twenty!! And as I'm proofreading this (because I proofread every 10 seconds into each entry), I've realized my memory might be failing slightly because if I recollect correctly, I will actually be twenty-eight!!!! GET OUT! I doubted for a second, re-did the math, and yes, twenty-eight is the final number.

My early twenties were a blur. From the year 20 and forward, I was a crazy mess. Barely hanging on in college, reckless, partying too much, and oblivious to anyone else's needs yet such a pathetic people pleaser. I was not a person of my own. Made decisions on misguided whim and based my happiness on THINGS. I got married at 22. And it was a bittersweet time. I reveled in what I thought was love...and maybe it was but I was so vulnerable and naive, it could have been anything. Like the old adage or phrase: looking for love in all the wrong places. We were young; we were dazzling. We were careless; we were wasteful. We made decisions that risked our lives. And ultimately, my influence was of consequence to myself and my family. But that didn't stop me. I became worse. I truly believed God hated me and had no use of me whatsoever. I had lowered my standards and accepted a lifestyle I thought I had already decided against. I was still consumed with myself but not even what was best for me...just what was easy, fun, and pleasurable. But then at age 24, my miracle arrived. Beforehand, we had struggled to get pregnant and experienced a devastating miscarriage. It wrecked my mind even more (because after Dallace's passing, I was quite looney). We tried again and we got pregnant after 6 grueling months of trying. About a year later, we wanted to try again. No such luck. I had 5 consecutive miscarriages and all of them did something to my heart, my mind, and my soul. I think I kind of shut down. I quite working and stayed home and consumed myself with Isaac. And I was filled with anger, resentment, and so much pain and guilt. I felt absolutely worthless and inadequate. I literally hated and loathed myself. And that is the truth. I gained 70 pounds and stopped hanging out with friends. Barely saw my own family. Basically, became a reclusive stay at home mom.

Right around 26 years-old, my EX decided he wanted out. He decided that I was of no worth either. And he was done and there was nothing I could say or do to make him change his mind. He checked out but left me my one saving grace...lil man. And here I am. Twenty-seven. Lost 50 pounds. I am writing again. It seems I am moving back to the times before I started making unwise choices. I am back at my old work place. I am bunking with a brother. I am going to church again and praying more than I've ever prayed in my life. It feels like I'm moving back home. To heal. To grow. To strengthen. To re-do.

So this year I have been even more active in church. Even accepted a calling to work with the young women in our congregation ages 12-18 kind of like a mentor but more. Working with these young girls has made me realize how wrong my perception of myself used to be. The worth of every person truly is great. EVERY person. Not just the people we like. Or the people we surround ourselves with. Or the people who are good to us. Every single human being that exists, did exist, will ever exist are all important. Yes, that sounds corny but it's such a simple truth that all of us forget...ALL the time.

Anywho...like an old person, I've been reflective and thoughtful on these matters.

Happy Halloween to a sickly welcome for November

So this year Isaac got to pick out his costume. In September we looked online and I had him point to the one he wanted. This is what he picked initially. 

He wanted to be Brewster from that Disney show Chuggington. He loves Chuggington as much as he loves Thomas the Tank Engine. So that was the plan until I, the horrible mother, waited until almost the last minute to try and invest/find one. Plus, as the financial situation worsened for me due to the poor choices of another, I found it impossible for me to afford the costume he desired. Fortunately, as we shopped for another costume choice, Isaac fell in love with this costume.

 Yup, he was Mario from Super Mario Brothers. And he chose it. Once he chose it, I couldn't sway him with any other costume. He declined Thomas (gasp!!). He declined Spiderman and Iron Man. He declined them all and kept saying MARIOOOO!!! I was surprised but maybe he'd watched us play Mario Cart a million times. Or maybe his dad plays the game. Or maybe it was the mustache. Because he enjoyed wearing it. Whatever it was, lil man wanted to be Mario. So Mario he was. He trick or treated at his daycare the Thursday before Halloween and he had a great time handing out candy but not so much getting candy. Then, Friday we went to the church's trunk or treat, chilli/pie cook  off. I have never seen so many crockpots of chilli in my life!! It was amazing. And the pies..mmmm mmmm mmmmm. My mom made some jalapeno cornbread...that was gone in minutes. Someone made alligator gumbo and that was excellent; I took whoever's word because I couldn't get past the alligator enough to even attempt to try a taste. Isaac scored a bucket full of yummy candy. We did not go trick or treating last night, though. I felt he had enough candy and after a stressful day, we just spent the evening with Grandma Sue and Grandpa Sepir, who might I add, spoiled him with a remote control Thomas the Tank Engine toy and a new handheld Buzz Lightyear video game. He's their first grandkid...what can I say. I love it though. I never had grandparents, growing up so it's fascinating for me to see the special bond they have and watch how Isaac adores those two. He tells them anything and everything. And both are so sensitive to his every need. It makes my tear up a little to think about it. They made pasta, garlic bread, and cucumber salad. I always love my mom's food. Her food always brings my Spirit back up after a rough day. 

Well a rough day turns into a rough night or early morning. We go to sleep at our usual hour. But in the middle of the night (more like around 3am), I wake up to Isaac's whimpering and open my eyes just in time to see him turn to me and hurl all over me and my flowery pillow. And I have always disliked the smell of vomit so my stomach hurls and swirls the instant I smell it on my person. I hold my breathe as I sprint the short distance to the bathroom, dump all the trash out of the little green trash can, and jump back towards lil man, planning to have him puke in the can. No such thing. He continues to hurl all over my bed and on the carpet as he shimmies his way towards the can. By the time the trash bin is under his chin, he's practically done, and all that the can is getting is a concoction of saliva and runny vomit stuff. All the glorious chunks and debris are on the bed and carpet. I lead him to the bathroom and dance around him, looking for signs of more vomit to come. None. So I arm myself with my disinfectant spray, Bounty paper towels, and scrubbing sponge. Isaac is brushing his teeth and I am cleaning up the aftermath. He is looking better although he is pale and worn looking, so we climb back into bed together with towels spread over the patches of wetness where I had scrubbed and sprayed. This whole entire routine repeats about 4 times after this. We end up sleeping on the floor at lil man's request. I guess he was tired of climbing in and out of bed or he wasn't liking the towels now spread on most of the bed. 

I have not had a wink of sleep by this time. I threw up once (the smell of vomit was overpowering my will power). I've changed my clothes four times now along with Isaac. I've been up, watching lil man like a hawk, suspicious of his "restful" sleep. At any moment he will bomb us again and this time this momma will be ready. But slowly exhaustion's grip tightens on me, and I'm asleep at 8:30. At 8:45, Isaac is waking me up with more vomit, more whimpering, and I'm feeling sorry for the little dude. How he hates to vomit. He'll even try to hold it in. EW...no, son just vomit. Let it out, baby boy. And now we both have a stomach virus. And I'm thinking someone poisoned our candy. I throw them out. 

And it is now 11:45, I've still not slept. I'm writing this entry as he sleeps to vent, unwind, and feel better about the whole situation. I called into work earlier knowing the way I look, smell, and feel was atrocious. And now before my lil one wakes up again, I'm going to catch some zzzz's so that the dark circles under my eyes can go away (not really, they'll never go away but I can attempt), and I can have enough energy for the next battle with ickiness, gross, spewing liquid, and I'm sure explosive diarrhea will follow.