Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

August is the Sunday of Summer


I've been hearing this sentiment crop up all over as summer enters its final stretch. These days Margaret is deep into field hockey practice for high school (gulp) and I'm in limbo-land before the paperback of Rare Bird comes out.

Some attribute this quotation to Ellen Degeneres because of a recent tweet, but not in our house!

You see, Jack made this statement at least 5 years ago, and I blogged about it and other random things the kids were talking about, including Margaret's antipathy for things that started with the letter C.  Note: In posts pre-accident, I referred to Jack as Jake and Margaret as Molly.

Check out that old post to get a glimpse of our family's life.

I hope you are having a great Sunday of the Summer!

Thursday, February 19, 2015

5 More Days!



In less than a week I'll be in Armenia, as part of a World Vision "Vision Trip."

We received our itinerary yesterday, and I'm both excited and apprehensive about what's ahead. Most of our time will be spent meeting families in their homes and seeing needs first-hand. The trip is in the winter so that we will be able to witness the harsh conditions so many Armenians endure during the coldest months.

I'll be meeting real people with real stories, and sharing those stories with you here and on Facebook.

In my experience, once you see something and know something, you can't go back to a place of unknowing. This is usually good, but rarely easy. For example, in my life, I've gained the unsought knowledge of how fleeting life is. I have seen what our family hoped for be stripped away in seconds, and I simply can't go back to a my prior place of unawareness.

When I travel places where life is much different than my own, I also gain perspective or knowing. It is often humbling and sometimes overwhelming, especially when needs are so great. It's daunting. I'm grateful there are organizations like World Vision who are working in big and small ways to alleviate suffering around the globe. And the beautiful thing is we are invited to share in that.

It is my greatest hope that my heart will be open to the people I meet and that as I share my experience, more children will be sponsored through World Vision.

Jack's 16th (gulp) birthday with be shortly after I return from the trip. For many of you, Jack's story is what drew you to this blog for the first time. Wouldn't it be wonderful if children get sponsored as a result of this blog, right in time for his birthday?

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

The Dream

The first winter after we lost Jack, my friend Courtney shared a dream with me. If you have read Rare Bird or followed this blog for a while, you remember how she and other friends experienced signs, visions, and dreams regarding Jack during those first few months. I was no longer surprised, so I just took it in.

I was disappointed that this dream didn't have to do with Jack, but with me.


In it, Courtney saw me walking beside a creek. Not THE creek in the woods behind our neighbors' house, but a different one, on a bright day. I had bare feet and I walked in about an inch of water that saturated the grass beside the creek. Then, I lay down face-first in the grass, getting wet all over. People walking with me tried to tell me to get up, saying that I didn't need to get myself wet, telling me I might become muddy. But I stayed on the ground, wet but not muddy, and continued to splash the crystal clear water. Before long, another woman whom Courtney knew, in pain and also grieving, traced my footsteps, following me.


Courtney and I both interpreted this dream to mean that I was letting myself feel my grief, and while that might have seemed too messy or uncomfortable for others who so wanted to spare me pain, it was something I was going to do anyway. And there were others, even people I didn't know, who came behind me, observing.


I didn't realize at that point that my grief journey would be a public one, first through this blog, and eventually a book. I didn't have any sort of mission to demystify grief, or to peel back the curtain as to what survival could look like. I just wanted to get through the holidays without giving up. I wanted to shake the cobwebs of shock and horror out of my head, and write from my heart. I wanted write about my fierce longing for Jack, a longing that grew out of great love.


I don't know if I will write about grief forever.


There are other things to be discussed, of course. Light topics such as fleece-lined tights (yay!) and the making and eating of scones. Heavier topics such as our failure to live better, as lights in the darkness, even when we know better.  


I never planned to lose Jack. I never planned to write about grief. In my first years of  blogging, when people asked me what kind of writer I was, I  would answer, "A Life Blogger" because I wasn't sure if my writing was more about my kids, decorating, my faith, or candy corn.


And even in writing so much about death, I guess that's what I still am. I write about LIFE. And I hope I can do justice to those dear ones who come after me, watching.



Sunday, January 19, 2014

Frozen


My shoulder started hurting for no good reason around Thanksgiving. I guess it's because I'm getting old. I told my friend Jane that I was babying it a bit because I was afraid I'd torn something, and she said, "Don't baby it! That's the worst thing you could do. You might end up with a Frozen Shoulder." She gave me exercises, which of course I didn't do.

Poop.

So, this week I finally dragged myself to a doctor and found out I have....a Frozen Shoulder! Yippee! Right after giving me a shot in the shoulder and referring me to a physical therapist who would then recommend the exact same exercises Jane told me about two months ago, the doc sat down for some chit chat.

"What do you do for a living?"

I recently quit my job managing a small Christian bookstore, so I tried out something new:

"I'm a writer."

I've never said that before. It sounded strange, maybe a little bit of a stretch, but it felt good, too. I hadn't anticipated the next question, even though it was an obvious one.

"So, have you written any books?"

"Well, yes, my first book is coming out in September." Now, THAT felt great to say!

But why oh why wasn't I ready for the next question? I know I need to get used to speaking about my book. I need to not be embarrassed or ashamed about the subject matter. I need to believe that there is a reason I've been given the chance to tell my story, and that it can't help anyone if I don't share it.

Deep breath: "Well, it's a memoir about losing my son."

"Oh, I'm sorry. But I sure won't be reading it. I don't DO tragedy."

The doctor's words did not offend me. He was on the spot, in that little exam room. He had plunged into something uncomfortable and scary, when all he wanted was a few seconds of small talk. And his thoughts were not so very different from ones that I have voiced before. I mean, who wants to DO tragedy, if they can help it?

I remember that when Jack was born almost 15 years ago, I abruptly stopped watching some of my favorite shows, most notably Law and Order SVU. I just couldn't take the depravity of the world and the way it made me feel so vulnerable, especially since I had a little one to take care of now. No longer fascinated by the dark side of the human experience, I wanted to shield us from it any way I could, and covering my eyes and ears seemed like a viable option. I had to seriously limit the Oprah book club books I read, too.

I understand that the doctor doesn't want to read my book. I totally get it.

Then today, at my first physical therapy appointment, the therapist asked me how many kids I have. I had already cried when it felt like she was breaking my arm, and more tears trickled out when I said, "I used to have 2, but now I have 1." It's not what I expected to say when asked this question, as if Jack had ceased to exist in a "poof!" but it's what came out. Usually I just say "2" and leave it at that, but she and I will be seeing each other 3 times a week for a while, and I didn't want to make her feel even more awkward later with follow-up questions if I had led her to believe I had two healthy kids at home with me.

It's interesting, because in the next months, I'm going to have to figure out how to talk about what I write about. I'll have to get out behind the screen and actually talk to people. I'll be attending conferences and meeting people, and eventually promoting my book. Not only am I a horrible sales person, "Umm, you, uh, wouldn't want to buy some Girl Scout cookies, would you?" I am also reluctant to put people on the spot and make them uncomfortable.

They are such natural questions, "What do you blog about? What's your book about? How many kids do you have?" but they freak me out. The last blog conference I went to, I brought a stack of business cards that I was too chicken to give out, when people asked what I blogged about, I said, "Uh, Life," and when I wasn't hiding in my room, I tried to stick very close to people who already knew my story.

I'm thinking my honest yet awkward answers to the doctor and the physical therapist were important baby steps for me.

Do you have any suggestions? Is there a way to know if someone just wants a quick, pleasant interaction versus the truth? Do I use the same gauges I use in determining whether someone really wants to know how I'm doing or is just asking to ask?

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

The Sweet Surprise

Six or seven years ago, I was thinking of going back to work part-time after being home with the kids. But I was lost. I didn't know where to start. I knew I didn't want to teach English full-time like I had before Jack was born, because I didn't think I could handle the intense workload and also be able to parent Jack and Margaret. Plus, my confidence was shot. I used to be a pretty good teacher, but what if I didn't know how to do anything anymore?

It was easy to forget what I had done in the past and also discount any wisdom and experience that came from almost a decade of volunteering in the community and stumbling my way through parenting.

This was around the time the term "Sweet Spot" started being thrown around a lot. At first I thought it was something racy, which I guess it could be but there is no way I'm googling it, but then I found out it refers to the place on a racquet or a bat that produces the best results. I tried to think about it in terms of what I liked and what I could do fairly well, and scribbled a list called,

"What is my Sweet Spot?"

I found that list again when I was packing for our move this past August. This is what it says:

-Teaching a group
-Organizing (parties, projects, events)
-Writing and speaking
-Problem solving in classes and meetings
-Making people laugh
-Bringing people together

At the time I was disappointed that my list was so short, and that it didn't contain anything like "XYZ computer language" that would impress a boss. Instead of specifics, my list was more like, "Okay, if I'm going to try figure out how to manage home and work, what sorts of things would I enjoy doing and be able to do fairly well?"

It would be another year before I found a part-time job as the manager of a small, Christian bookstore. It didn't check off my entire list, but it turned out to be a lovely, fulfilling job for almost 5 years. Right around that same time, I started blogging, even though I didn't really even know what a blog was.

Looking back on that list today, I see how blogging has fulfilled more items on that list than a paying job did. It nurtured my writing and ignited in me a passion I didn't even know I had. I can see how it has brought people together in friendship and support. True, I thought I'd be the one bringing people together, never that people would be coming together to support my hurting heart after a tragedy, but that is what has happened. Hopefully, I've made you laugh sometimes. I'm pretty sure I've made you cry, even though we all know that was never my intention.

Your support has helped me feel brave enough to keep showing up, to keep writing, and even to try to write a book at a time when I've never been more personally rocked or depleted.

I just want to thank you that. For being community. For caring.

In thinking about the words "Sweet Spot" again today, I realize that you, my friends, have made this place, this blog, into a sweet spot. It's a sweet space to laugh, cry, be real, and give and get support, and that comes from you, not anything inside of me.

I could never have guessed that when I wrote that list so long ago.

Have you thought about what your "sweet spot" may be?




Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The Power of Words

Last week I got three very nasty comments from an anonymous commenter who attacked my character big-time. I've taken them down because I don't want to get in a peeing match here, and because they made my sister cry. Peeing matches are never worth it. I will say the commenter called me hurtful names, by far the kindest of which was "glutton."

So last night I found myself eating an enormous bowl of ice cream and chasing it down with Oreos. I don't even really like Oreos. I had been eating non-stop all day, but when I put Margaret to bed I went back to the kitchen looking for something, anything, that would fill me up. "What's going on? Am I getting my period?" I wondered. Nope.

And then it dawned on me. The words, which I tried not to let sink in, were somehow getting inside me. I had been called a glutton, which at first seemed utterly laughable, but now I was acting like one. I think she meant it in a figurative sense, but try telling that to a stomach full of Twizzlers. And glutton was by far the most innocuous thing she had said about me. What about the others? Were those hateful words seeping into me, making me doubt my worth, as the commenter hoped?

Maybe.

It made me think about words.

And how when a teenage boy carelessly labels a girl a slut on Facebook or through the rumor mill, the girl starts to see "slut" when she looks at herself in the mirror. "Why not act like one," she wonders,  "if everyone already thinks I am one anyway?" What about other words?

Lazy. Stupid. Ugly. Despised. Unreliable. Incompetent. Worthless.

What about Bad Mother? (Sometimes we call ourselves names, too.)

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." Martin Luther King, jr.

I don't have much to write today, but I want to leave you with a few words to put in your pocket and pull out when you need them:

Beloved. Beautiful. Smart. Worthy. Wonderfully Made. Cherished. Capable. Kind.

 


Monday, November 5, 2012

Big News

Sooooo, I have some exciting news to share with you:

I'm writing a book.

A book!

You may think that my light-ish number of posts recently would be a direct result of the fact that I've been typing away in my laundry room/office writing said book. Truth is, as soon as I decided to write a book, fear set in, as did a lovely case of the shingles all over my scalp. This rendered me incapable of writing anything much more detailed than a grocery list or an occasional non-pithy Facebook status update. And then the storm came. Oh my.

Tim said to me tonight, in that most helpful way he has, "I was reading your blog and I think it's time for a more substantial blog post. You know, not like 'I did this today, or I went there.'" Humph.

Here's the thing: I will not let fear make my decisions. I will not let fear make my decisions. I will not let fear make my decisions. Yeah, I typed that three times. It has also been on a hot pink notecard on my fridge for the past 7 years during which, unfortunately, I've let fear make a lot of my decisions.

I did not want to wait another day before telling you, my friends, about this brand new thing. Even though typing it here scares the heck out of me. Thank you so much for the encouragement you have given me and will give me.

You help make me feel stronger than I am.

I hope I'll make you proud.

Oh, and if you want to know what I did today, or where I went, I saw the movie "Argo." Wow. Best thing I've seen in years! That update was for you, Tim:

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Weird? Well, Life is Weird.


When it comes to An Inch of Gray, several good friends have asked, although not using these exact words, if it feels weird “getting popular” on the back of my dead son. I, too, have thought about that, but my answer is, um, NO.

Not at all.

There are several reasons I don't find it weird:

1. With my healthy (and perhaps delusional) sense of self-esteem, I believe that if any of my amazing readers and I had run into each other, say, at the Dollar Store or in Target before the accident happened-- blog or no blog-- we would have hit it off.

The circumstances through which many of us were brought together are not ideal (!) but the community we’ve formed is real and significant and important. I also know that while one year ago I wasn’t looking for "popularity,” true friendships have been born out of this tragedy, even among people so far flung we won’t get to meet until, well, you know.

2. Jack would love it! He was proud of me and proud of my writing, even though he didn’t think I was very funny, and he didn’t want me to write anything personal or embarrassing about him on the blog. As a preschooler, he also thought I should run for president someday. He changed his mind about that.

Remember how my sister’s eulogy of Jack said one of the things she learned from him was to “Share Others’ Joy?” Well, while I’m not experiencing gobs of joy right now, it's clear I do gain something very significant from writing this blog, interacting with readers, and seeing something special at work here. I think Jack would be very happy about that as well as getting to see the list of readers in the sidebar grow.

Through writing, I’m able to process important feelings, which helps keep me from having too many meltdowns like the one I had at McDonalds on Saturday. Picture a crying woman waiting for her chicken sandwich. She takes a step forward, at which time her Large Diet Coke flies through the air, spews over the feet and legs of 5-6 customers and crashes to the floor. Follow this with frantic mopping with one measly napkin, copious amounts of weeping, and finally an ungraceful stagger to the car. What kid wouldn't want his/her mom to have a positive outlet to keep the wailing at bay?

3. I felt called to grow through writing and blogging long before the accident, but I wasn’t sure what form that would take. Last August, I shared with Jack at the kitchen table that, out of fear, I had turned down the chance to sell my painted furniture in a friend's store on a permanent basis. I was pretty bummed. I lamented that the woman who had accepted the job had surpassed me in blog readers in 2 short weeks when I’d been blogging for 4 years! Not really sharing others’ joy? I know.

“Aww, Mom, why are you telling me this? That’s really kind of depressing,” he said. I told him I didn’t want him to let fear of failure, or even fear of success, make his decisions for him. I wanted him to learn from my (many) mistakes. So one year ago, I was hoping to accept new challenges and grow through writing almost exclusively about chalk paint, dumpster diving, and decorating, and that would have been lovely. Oh so lovely. I was convinced that was the next step.

But that is not the direction life, or this blog, has headed.

So now, instead of letting fear make my decisions about my writing, or worrying that there’s something odd or unseemly about the way it has spread, I embrace it with a grateful heart.

Grateful that this blog was already in place because I can’t fathom having had the energy or gumption to start one after the accident, and grateful that I had already witnessed first-hand how love and support could flow through the blog world.

Grateful that through Twitter and Facebook and blogs, news of our loss and Jack's impact has spread far beyond our little town.

Grateful for friends, new and old, met and unmet, praying for us and rooting for us as a family, even though it might be painful to do at times.

Grateful that so many people have been willing to open themselves up to what they read here and ponder the hard questions in life and delight in the mysteries too.

Grateful and humbled that somehow through a mom's simple words on a screen, our story-- our most unwelcome, shitty, yet ultimately hopeful story-- could somehow help someone else, even just a little bit, even while it is helping us.

Grateful.

Thank you!

THANK YOU for your willingness to be in this with us.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Missing

I know you haven't heard from me this week. I've started a few posts, but have not finished any. You see, when I wrote a quick little post last week, to which many, many people (THANK YOU! THANK YOU!) have so generously responded by donating money to Samaritan's Purse, I went through some "Young Jack" pictures to put with it.

Among others, I posted this one:





And after I hit "publish" I let myself really look at that tummy. And those hands. And those cheeks. And those lashes. And those feet. And the book. And the train catalog on the floor. And I realized it was too hard to find any words to describe...well...anything.

So I walked away from the keyboard for a little while. And I cooked chili. And I lost more games of Words with Friends on my phone. And I read a couple more books about heaven.

And then I went to the mailbox and found a Lego Magazine addressed to Jack, and a Lego kit that he paid for with his very own money, so that he could learn to design legos like a professional, and I realized that a mom, even a mom who loves writing, and loves her son, didn't have a single word to share.


At least for a little while.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Margaret Non-Update and What Happened to "Anna See?"





For almost 4 years, this blog was semi-anonymous. I lived with "Jake," "Molly" and "Tom" in an undisclosed town in an undisclosed state. From photos one could see that we lived in an area with deciduous trees, but that's about it.

The kids knew when I took pictures for the blog to step away from car license plates and cover up the name of their school on their uniform shirts because I was too lazy to learn how to Photoshop that stuff out. I tried to balance the desire to protect the kids' privacy while also telling funny stories about them that begged to be shared. I never mentioned my job and, thank the Lord, tried not to write about individual people who drove me to distraction and madness, unless you count "Tom," but he didn't seem to mind being fair game. I didn't put my blog on Facebook or actively seek readers among friends and family.

On September 8, 2011, as prayers, tweets, frantic phone messages and news reports flew around locally and across the country when Jack was missing in the water, "Anna See" and "Anna Donaldson" became one in the same.

People have asked me if I mind that the blog is no longer anonymous. Not really. I would not trade the loving support my family has received from so many people just to have stayed private. And for some reason, I think the blog will be able to reach and help more people if it is not anonymous. Real people. Real names. Real miracles. Real crap.

I also realize, after having the unthinkable happen to my son, that my desire to control and protect "No M-rated games! No personal info on the net! No sleepovers at x, y, and z's!" while prudent and well-intentioned, didn't protect our little family from tragedy in the end.

As a blogger whose kids were getting older, I was having to change my writing a bit anyway. You see, when I started, Jack was 8 and Margaret 6. In recent years you may have noticed that Margaret featured more prominently on the blog. Well, first of all, it's because that girl is MIGHTY entertaining. But also, as Jack got older and we shared experiences either poignant, tender, or difficult, he would say to me, "You're not going to blog about this, are you?" and I would have to say no.

I think a lot of "Mommy Bloggers" find it difficult to figure out what to write as their kids get older because while diapers, bodily functions and mom wanting to lock herself in the bathroom with a Diet Coke are pretty universal (at least I hope so!), as kids age, they are less likely to want their "big kid" selves shared in the blogosphere. A blogging mom also has to balance the fact that while she wouldn't want her kids to put anything about themselves online, she herself does so regularly.

Margaret was not there yet, seeking privacy over blogworthiness, but I believe she is now. I don't want to make her feel more vulnerable and exposed than she already does as the "girl whose brother died." Margaret just wanted a normal family life, and as normalcy eludes us right now, I don't want her to feel like I am sharing her bid'ness for everyone to see. I want to tread lightly as my spunky child does not like having attention drawn to herself right now. Go figure. I did say EVERYTHING has changed, didn't I?

I'm writing this today because I have not mentioned Margaret prominently in recent posts, and I know she is on your mind and in your hearts. Instead it's: "Jack, Jack, Jack." I write about him now because, well I must. I want you to know what he was like, and what his spirit IS like.

But I want to assure you that Tim and I are here for Margaret. We are parenting, we are reading the books, we are seeing a social worker to talk about how to parent at a time such as this, we are watching cooking shows and "Cupcake Wars," and yes, we are going to the mall. Margaret is smiling, laughing, and being Margaret. Please keep praying for all three of us, even when my posts mainly center around how I am feeling and my experience with grief.

The good news is that both of my kids loved to write, so perhaps there will be a "Molly/Margaret" blog in our future where she can share her experience with us. Of course I'm afraid I'll probably be the "fair game" in that one.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Trending Now

So I just logged on and saw that "Taco Bell Meat" was number 1 on the Yahoo "Trending Now" list that pops up on my homepage.

This is not something I want to see, because making a run for the border is one of my family's favorite activities. I do NOT intend to click the link and see what the holy heck is going on with Taco Bell's meat that would put it in the #1 spot.

Today's top ten listings range from from "Oprah's Half Sister" and "Oscar Nominations" to "Cloud Computing," whatever that is.

This made me wonder what other trends would be most unwelcome to me on "Trending Now"

Perhaps:

"Stirrup Pants"
"Un-sterile Stirrups"
"President Palin"
"Early Menopause"
"Lohan-Beiber Baby"
"Middle School Sex"
"Blogging/Weight Gain Link"

What "Trend" would YOU least like to see pop on your screen?

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Random Musings of a Lame-o Luddite

I am feeling scattered. I keep thinking I'll write a coherent post, but a couple of times lately I haven't even been able to successfully put my user name and password in to access my blog. Seriously. I keep screwing up.

I have so many passwords for so many things, all with slight variations, that I'm feeling overwhelmed and irritated by the whole concept. 2 work emails, 3 work programs with passwords, blog, blog email, personal email, craigslist, PTA, Lands End, and numerous on-line shopping sites.

I'll say "numerous" rather than "countless" because by golly they CAN be counted, I just don't care to. Have I told you how much I hate it when people say "countless" when it is not true? "We took COUNTLESS trips to Disney when I was a kid." Really? Well, maybe your Dad was Mr. Drummond or something (RIP Gary C.), but if you grew up in my house you would have been able to count how many times. Geez.

Yes, I'm irritable.

Tom and I tried to register for YouTube so we'd have more parental control of content, especially comments. It kept saying we already had an account associated with our email. By the time I'd tried the 10th configuration of my name, my emails, and other info, I couldn't even remember who I was anymore. We gave up. Sheesh. Now the kids are going to be able to read Nas-ty comments about that Justin Bieber guy because their mom can't figure out how to turn them off.

When my friend Kate emailed today to ask if I was excited about attending this huge blogging conference, BlogHer, in NYC in August, I was feeling more frustrated and intimidated than anything else. One of the registration emails (yes I needed a password to register) said to make sure to bring all the right power cords for your "many" electronic devices.

Eeek.

I'll pretty much have myself, my camera (good news on that front!*) and a cell phone. I'm afraid I'll be so out of the loop with all the texting and twittering and goodness knows what else going on that I won't know how to hook up with anyone. And by "hook up," I mean connect, not what we meant in college circa 1990, which had a lot of latitude in meaning anyway, at least on my campus. Seriously, if you are going to BlogHer, I am not looking for more than friendship-- promise!

But really, what are my blogging friends going to do? CALL ME? I don't even know if that's "done" anymore. And my phone has been stuck on silent for a few weeks, so I'll probably miss out even if I'm deemed worthy of a call. Maybe silent mode isn't the end of the world at BlogHer, but it did kind of suck a few weeks ago when my kids were at school with projectile diarrhea and I didn't hear about it in time to be of any help.

And to make matters worse, I pulled out my phone at a game the other day and my friend Amy said, "Oh my gosh! My MOM has that same phone." She seemed pretty amused so I said, trying to be funny, "How old is she, like EIGHTY?" "No, Eighty-Eight." Sheesh. Turns out she finds the phone helpful in her ASSISTED LIVING HOME because it's so basic.

At BlogHer, I pretty much pictured myself going to a few key-note addresses, tuning out all the techie and advertising info, meeting blogging friends in real life, and eating a lot. Maybe even reading a book. But now I'm guessing that's not how things go down with it being a BLOGGING convention and all.

Speaking of books, I bought the book "The Thirteenth Tale" at the thrift shop and started reading it last night. By page three it was seeming mighty familiar. Yep. I've read it before, and I don't mean back in 10th grade, more like last year. I'm not sure which is worse, that I couldn't remember having read it, or once I realized it, not really minding reading it twice because I don't remember what happened anyway.

So, I know I had too much iced tea today, and perhaps (cough cough) I'm rambling, so I'll just take my ranting, un-cool-phone-using, lame-o self off your hands now and say see you in a few!



An Inch of Gray News of Note:
The curse of the point and shoot camera has lifted. I went to Jake's baseball game last night and cockily threw the camera in my bag. I know, I know; this was a risky decision. Well, let me just say that a certain kid hit an awesome double that brought in 3 runs, effectively sealing a victory for his team. It was a glorious moment. I didn't actually take any pictures; I'm not that crazy.

There are just 4 days left on our second Well Raising Project! The website is all askew with weird fonts today, not sure why, but if you are considering making a donation to help us meet our goal, please check it out.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Master of My Domain...Name



A great big thank you to the person who donated this Victoria Hagan Target end table to my local thrift shop. SCORE at $7.50! Both Tom and my daughter said, "When are you going to spray paint it?" Guess they know me pretty well. For now, I'll enjoy it au naturel. The table, not me, you silly goose!


As I was snapping the pic of the new table, I started thinking about An Inch of Gray. I mean, what is it? A house blog? A "mom" blog? An online journal?

Sheesh. I'm wondering if my blog, like my life, just reflects a "jack of all trades, master of none" approach.

I LOVE house blogs, and for the very reason I love them, I know this doesn't qualify as one.

Many readers come over from one of my faves, Young House Love, and they must take one look and say, "What the heck?" After all, we read house blogs for eye candy and tips. We want to build an idea file. We want an escape. House blogs are like a glossy magazine, showing how life COULD be. People coming to my blog are more likely to read about PMS, flatulence, and my general anxiety, which are not really conducive to dreaming.

Also, the facts that I couldn't take a good photo if my life depended on it, and that the windowpane right behind my cool new table is covered with cardboard and painter's tape pretty much disqualify me from ever reaching house blog status.



Mommy blog? I don't know. As my kids get older and their lives get more complicated, they feature less prominently here. They know how to find my blog on the computer, and that scares me.

All of this is so typical for me, anyway. I've never really known where I fit in and can never seem to jump whole hog into anything. I probably never would have gotten married if an ex hadn't called me out on always trying to keep my options open.

This has been the case with friends, too. My dear friends from college start reminiscing and invariably I have no recollection of the event. I've already shared that I was "less festive" than they were in college, so to an extent they were sheltering me, but there's something else. They dove into very close friendships with a tight group of people, hanging out together and at select fraternities. I may have made this party, or that one, but I also might have been with the black turtleneck wearing English majors, complete with fake British accents, the InterVarsity Youth Groupies, my roommates, or more likely alone with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and my comfy pants. I was all over the place.

So those who love house blogs are probably wondering why the heck I write about getting my brows threaded or "celebrating intimacy" with my husband.

And the rest of you are probably wondering how many more times you'll have to look at my yellow lamp-- which the entire family HATES, by the way.

Maybe the blog is random and always will be, like me, and like this list that just burbled up in my head:

Current Fave TV Show: Modern Family
Book I'm Reading: Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide
Dinner Tonight: It's 6 pm already?
Next Movie to Watch: It's Complicated
Low Point in School: The Physical Fitness Test...always!
Night Owl or Early Bird: Night Owl
Current Self Esteem depleter: Seeing pics of parties on Facebook that I'm not invited to
Flaws: Diarrhea of the mouth, defensiveness, low blood sugar freak outs (and many more)
Greatest Hope: To Do Something Meaningful


I guess I don't know what this blog is, but I want you to know I'm sure grateful to you for reading!






Wednesday, February 24, 2010

She's Baaaaack!


Yay! Thank you so much for coming back. I’ve missed you! REALLY missed you.

Lest you think my week off from electronics yielded total communion with God, long, heartfelt discussions with my spouse, and family time around a roaring fire tossing a pig bladder back and forth a la Little House in the Big Woods, I thought I would update you on our week.

The kids did okay with the fast, but I’m not sure what they got out of it. I was NOT going for the whole "just follow some rules and you’ll be a better Christian thing;" I just wanted us to try something that would be hard for us, and to do it by relying on God.

Tom used the extra time to get more sleep and to catch up on Bible study. The kids and I did some complaining and a ton of reading. Jake read the first 4 books in the Lightning Thief series in the first ½ of the week. Molly said several times, "I HATE LENT!" Not really what we were going for. She pointed out she should get to choose if and what to give up instead of having something chosen by Mom and Dad. Duh. She was totally right.

Now she is planted on the couch for the day with a teeny tiny fever, because apparently missing 2 weeks of school for snow did not cut into her learning time enough. I know I could have doped her up and sent her anyway since she feels fine. I guess she’ll be able to recoup any lost TV time in the next few hours. And it’s supposed to snow again tonight. Excellent.

Some thoughts:

*Fasting from TV during the Winter Olympics kind of stinks. Reading about Shawn White’s gnarly moves in the newspaper is not the same as watching it. And that heart-racing feeling of "don't fall, don't fall!" during figure skating? Doesn't translate to the page.

*I am far too dependent on electronics. I had been checking Facebook 5-10 times a day in order to not miss any breaking news. It was the last thing I did before bed. Not sure about your experience, but I’ve yet to encounter breaking news on Facebook. Totally addicted.

*My dependence on electronics greatly cuts down on the time I spend reading, studying, praying, and paying attention to my kids. It's far too easy to avoid putting limits on myself and instead making what I'm doing on the computer look like "work," while at the same time acting like my kids are wasting their time on the Wii. I mean, hello, blogging is MY Wii, baby. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

* I have made very few attempts to connect with people in person over the past few months because I have the sense of being connected online. I love the blogging community. My online friends have enriched my life greatly, and I hope I enrich theirs, but I still need to cultivate face to face relationships. You see, because of my personality, it is far too easy for me avoid making the effort to connect and spend time with people.

* I love blogging and am quite fond of my DVR. They are not the problem. I just need to keep my priorities in order. I think God used this fast to show me how to slow down and not fill every waking moment with...something!
Last but not least:

*On the bow chicka wow wow front: The fast unfortunately coincided with cramps and bloating. Bummer. And the whole reclaiming the lost art of kissing thing? Not so much.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Parlez Vous le Spamais?


I only speak one language—English. I loved French in high school, but that’s mainly because my best friend and I gave each other French names and enjoyed eating crepes. I was a French minor in college, but one episode in Paris quieted this petite mademoiselle forever.

Studying in London for a semester, we hopped over to Paris for spring break. We had no idea where to stay, so we wandered the streets for a while at midnight (note to self: never let my kids do the same crap I did!) and walked into a small bar. My friends and I were chatting with a few creepy middle-aged men there (I know, I know!) when one girl said we didn’t have a place to stay for the night. Eeek.


The creepier of the two started describing his beautiful apartment to us and then calmly stated, “You are most welcome to stay in my apartment tonight as long as I can FEEL your friend.” Yes, he was pointing at me.

Should I have been flattered that I was the chosen one, creeped out beyond words, or just pissed at a girl named Jenny who actually had a flicker of disappointment cross her face when I declined the guy’s offer?

We ended up checking into a place called “Hotel California” and fortunately we were able to check out anytime we liked and we really could leave. The next day, when my friend Julie realized she’d left her shirt behind, she appointed me as the pay phone caller because I’d taken the most French. I tried to explain to the hotel desk clerk about the missing “chemise,” when the lady broke in with disdain—“Oh puh-leeeze Miss, you should just speak in zeee English.”

My French days were over.

A few years ago I took Spanish at the local community college and loved it but haven’t practiced at all.

I do hope my kids learn languages. Jake is an expert in Latin, which should help him, say, in Ancient Pompeii, and Molly thinks other languages sound weird. She does rock an awesome British accent that swings between high brow and Cockney.

I know that trying to communicate in another language is difficult and humbling, and I always show people the grace that the mean hotel lady in France did NOT show me.

Unless they are spammers. A comment on yesterday’s post:


Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "And the Earth Shook":


I want not concur on it. I think polite post. Specially the designation attracted me to study the unscathed story. Posted by Anonymous to An Inch of Gray at January 14, 2010 2:29 AM

Or am I being too mean? I mean, trying to spam in another language does take some level of skill.



Thursday, October 22, 2009

Social-Networking Butterfly? OR, If the Fleece Fits, Wear It


I know a lot of people have blogged about Facebook. In the months since I joined, Facebook has really cut into my blogging (and cooking, cleaning, paying attention to the kids) time but this is one of the first times I’ve felt like writing about it.

I recently realized that when I see my Facebook friends comment on dinner parties and other shindigs they’ve attended, I sort of feel left out. This is because I balance that lovely dichotomy of feeling like a complete nerdy misfit while also thinking that the entire world revolves around me .

So, if a neighbor puts pictures of a party on Facebook, or someone else writes about a Girls’ Night Out, I’m bummed about not being invited. I don’t think it’s at all tacky to put pictures like this up… I just have a wee bit of social envy. And it’s not as if I am dying to actually GO to these events—the fact that I’ve donned my fleece bathrobe by 6 pm four out of the last five nights might give you a clue that I’m a serious homebody. A homebody who wants to be asked.

I don’t know but this could stem from the fact that I was never invited to a boy/girl party in Junior High. I now consider that to have been divine providence, but at the time it felt downright cruel. New Year’s Eve 1985 didn’t help either. My mom drove me around looking for “THE party” at Tommy White’s. We just could not find the darn house! After several attempts, we had to give up. This is pre-pre-pre GPS and cell phone.

I lashed out at my mom, who just wanted to spend a quiet New Year’s at home in her bathrobe not carting her weeping daughter around the darkened suburbs. My best friend (and blog reader!) Lisa G. borrowed the phone to call periodically and update me on the rockin’est party of the year and to encourage me to keep trying. My pain was deep. I cried my 10th grade self to sleep right around midnight, bemoaning the misery that was my life. To this day I can't bear the idea of other people having fun while I'm not.

Sooooo, be it a bat mitzvah in Boise or a baptism in Bellingham, I want to be included.

When Tom surprised me on my 40th this month with dinner out with 8 friends, I didn’t put pictures up on Facebook. If any of them had been super-flattering of me I admit I would have reconsidered, but really I just didn’t want to leave someone out. Even if those some ones were people I hadn’t seen since 6th grade student government camp.

One option to rev up our social life would be to entertain more ourselves and be the instigators of fun social events. But that takes time, energy, and gumption, which seem to be in short supply at the See house these days.

And this weekend? We were kindly invited to an adults-only Halloween party for the first time EVER! We can’t make it for multiple reasons, one of which just might be the siren song of my blue fleece bathrobe, but I must admit it was awesome to be asked.

So I’m wondering… does Facebook make you feel more included or more left out?

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Brand New Look, Same Low Price!



Several of you have sent me dear compliments on my blog’s new look! Thank you so much! I just LOVE it, too. It seemed like the right time to make a change from the basic Blogger template, since I knew my subtitle was no longer accurate.


It said, “A 30-something At-Home Mom…” Well, in a few short months the “30-something” will no longer be true (yikes!), and now that I have new job, my time “At-Home” is greatly reduced. Not that At-Home moms are home all day anyway, but I know you know what I mean.

When I consider my new look I wonder—is it too pretty and pristine for me? The colors and style reflect the things I love, and even the way I try to decorate my house. But, I wonder, does it fail to capture the Gray Areas? The gray on my head, along with the gray areas of mothering, being married, or being a friend?

Ever since I became a mom I’ve tried to be transparent with others, according to my own experiences. That’s one of the reasons I love the blogging community so much and wish I’d known about it when my kids were tiny. Everyone needs to be able to be real with someone. Face to face, this is sometimes hard.

I was lucky to have a few friends and my sister when my kids were very young, to whom I could say things like, “About 3 weeks after your baby is born you are going to start hating your husband for a while,” or “Are you so tired you wish you could go to sleep and never wake up?” or “Do you ever get mad at your baby when she won’t stop crying?” I think letting others know of our struggles, through blogging or face to face, and being real about the gray areas in our lives, helps both us and them.

I think of the idea file I keep of the dream kitchen I hope to have one day. You know I’m a house junkie, right? My idea files are my House Porn. Every kitchen in my file has creamy off-white cabinets, carrera marble or black soapstone countertops, and stainless steel appliances.





Throw in a laughing model dishing up dinner for well-dressed friends or placing a nutritious after-school snack on the capacious breakfast bar for a well-dressed (barefoot, flowing white dress—preferably smocked) child and the picture is complete.

The file holds the ideals, yet I know if I ever do get my dream kitchen, there will still be a stack of papers on the counter, waiting to be dealt with. Dog hair will still be ever present, and the pile of shoes will still seem to copulate and multiply when I’m not looking. A mudroom area, deep storage doors and even a walk-in pantry (oooh, sigh!) could help with this, but real life is still real life.


So I guess my new blog look is an ideal. It’s a peaceful break from the clutter that is every day life, just as my magazine photos provide an escape and a fantasy for me. Most importantly to me, however, is that this pur-ty blog is a place where I can write openly about my days—and some days ARE better than others.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Take My Word for It


I was reading a popular blog a few days ago and was surprised to find out that several of her posts had been stolen by another blogger. We’re not talking about a similar turn of a phrase here. Nope. It was outright plagiarism down to the last word and idea. Only the names had been changed. Ick.

This got me thinking about bloggy plagiarism. I mean, most of us blog for ourselves as a creative outlet. Is there THAT much pressure to perform that someone needs to troll the Internet for someone else’s anecdotes on daily life?

I mean we’ve all seen renowned journalists throw away their careers under pressure to come up with the perfect story, the perfect quote, or the perfect source. We’ve seen military men pad their resumes and college presidents be exposed as frauds claiming to have degrees that they don’t.

But bloggers?

I would like to think that if blogging becomes so pressured for us to produce that we can’t even fashion posts about our own lives, with our own words, we would step back and evaluate whether we needed to refocus on living life instead of writing about it.

Later on that same day I was reading a post by a favorite new blogger when I saw that she mentioned hiding from her kids in her bathroom. She also remarked how after a hard day with her children, she was glad she wasn’t the subject of a Dateline special. I felt all weird inside.

These were my sentiments exactly! I’ve talked about this before-- how I spent a good portion of my kids’ toddlerhood holed up in my bathroom pounding a diet Pepsi and wishing away their childhoods.

And Dateline? How many times had I said this very thing? My next question was, would I ever be able to blog about these matters, or would I, too, be considered a plagiarizer? Why hadn’t I blogged about it BEFORE I read her blog?

Or, is the whole hiding in the bathroom thing a universal aspect of motherhood such as thinking soccer trophies are stupid or realizing that our kids can be annoying?

What about saggy boobs? If I refer to my breasts as looking like a marble in a tube sock will I be the only one? Lord, I hope not. And my fave new blog’s awesome blog title? Stretch Marks!!! I have stretch marks! Is that copying??

I must admit a crippling sense of responsibility in dealing with similar questions throughout my life. Upon first learning about plagiarism in grade school, my desire to cite all my sources bordered on the obsessive.

In fact, I remember worrying that if my writing sounded far too advanced, my teacher would not think it original. Not much of a risk there for my 9 year old self, but I was concerned.

I also recall writing a report on the giant tortoises of the Galapagos Islands. In one of the school encyclopedias I found this priceless nugget: the giant tortoise would urinate on her own eggs. I remember being titillated by this fact and eager to include it in my endangered species report (are they still endangered?).

However, when the time came to put pen to paper, I couldn’t find the page number in any of the encyclopedias, so I reluctantly left the fact off my report. To this day I’ve wonder whether the whole urination thing was a figment of my imagination. Never mind, just Googled it—it’s true.

In case you don’t think I was odd enough as a child, this was about the same time of life that I saved all of my movie ticket stubs.

Sentimental?

Nope. I wanted to have proof of my whereabouts should I, as the wayward child that I wasn’t, be accused of any heinous crime. “No, officer, I was not involved in that stick-up at the First American bank at 3:45 on Saturday; I was at the mall seeing ‘For the Love of Benji’ and I can PROVE it!”

But I digress. Some days I feel like blogging, so I do. Some days I’ve got nothing to say, so I don’t. Some days I probably shouldn’t blog, but I do anyway. Hello? A picture of the can of beans we ate for dinner last night? Sorry.

It would be easy to read the tippy-top blogs and feel insecure enough to want to be just like them. Maybe that’s what happened to the plagiarizer, whose blog, thank goodness, is no longer on the Internet.

I guess I just want to thank you for reading! Writing this blog is pure fun, and although I may lament not being as deep or as funny as some of my favorite bloggers, I don’t feel the need to be someone I’m not. Unless that person has perky breasts and no stretch marks, that is.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Friday Confession


I am a huge dork. My non-bloggy friends have seen many examples of this in everyday life and need no more proof. For my bloggy friends, in case you have even a shred of doubt that I’m a dork, this post is for you.

Okay, I’ve been doing this blog thing for about 11 months. When I started writing mine, I had never even read a blog. I soon started reading and enjoying other people’s blogs. Not wanting to navigate away from them and lose track of my new friends forever, I decided to save some of them to my “favorites.”

This is before I knew anything about RSS feeds and the “Blogs I follow” function. Actually, I still don’t know what an RSS feed is, but I hear it’s kind of cool.

Anyway, for a good while I would click on my favorites to check out these awesome blogs. I got discouraged when I realized that these women, whose writing I admired, desired, and perhaps even coveted, WEREN’T POSTING ANYTHING NEW.

What was going on? Had they dared to let family time and jobs interfere with their blogging responsibilities? Why were they still talking about the swimming pool when they should have been writing about carpools and soccer games?

It took me a teeny bit of time (precise days, weeks or months are not necessary to divulge here) before I realized that when I saved to “favorites,” I was just saving a particular blog entry instead of the front page of a blog. I kept going back to the same old blog entries I'd read before.

I’m glad to know you are much more productive than I thought you were. I am glad your priorities are much more in line with where I thought they should be—entertaining me-- for instance. And I’m glad to erase any doubt you may have harbored about my immense dork-dom.


Oh, and see those band-aids on Tom's face in this picture, the one in which I'm working a Farrah Fawcett hairdo? He's a dork, too, but that story will have to wait for another day.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Just Wondering

Did you ever start writing a blog because it was a creative outlet, kept you from watching too much tv, and helped you document your family’s life?

Did you then start to read a lot of other people’s hi-larious, riveting blogs, stay up too late, ignore your family, and get an icky feeling that your blog was really lame by comparison?

Did you start out writing for yourself not even knowing what comments were and then find yourself feeling a little twinge-y about the huge number of comments other people were getting?

Did you get really busy with kids, work or life and quit blogging as often as before and wonder if everyone would stop reading?

Did you remind yourself that this whole blogging thing was really supposed to be for you in the first place and that it shouldn’t ever make you feel crappy, un-creative, and “behind?”

Yeah, me neither.