So...I've been working a lot.  But I have also been doing THIS...and I have THIS too.

That second link is a year old...but it's still truth.  Especially the first post, winch, (speaking mysteriously because I want you to click the link and find out for yourselves) actually kind of led to the first THIS.  

Checking Up On YOU.

I actually checked out some blogs in my reader last night....I miss all the inspiration I find in blog land.  All the creativity, the kids growing up, the new places.  There's not much hope in the economy, (despite the "great strides SOME folks are talking about,)  There's not much hope in industry: no great break throughs. Things are fairly dim in the world too...don't you think?  I hear the "wars" are ending...despite the fact that my nephew, who was in one of those desert locales, says that soldiers were hit daily with multiple bombs...locals use each other and American's  for target practice.  Yeah, cause that's peaceful...

See, gloomy.

But blog land...isn't.  Even when bloggers are pouring their hearts out, there is still some hope that the next day might bring better.

Which is true.  

Don't you think?

Well, that is what I think.  But maybe it's because a lot of the blogs in my list are friends from three years ago when I first started blogging, or craft blogs, or craft store blogs, by people I want to be.

I love the whole scrap, craft, paper, paint, ink, and ephemera world.  Love the different and various styles.  Love the high art side of it, and the go-to-the-store and buy my pre-packaged supplies side of it.  I started a scrapbook/baby book when my first child was born almost 14 years ago.  The type where you buy the winnie the poo stickers and cut your pictures into stars, triangles, and circles.  I often look at those pages and think "What was I going for?"  Ha.  I look at pages from six months ago and think that.

Yet, I love to buy stuff, when I should be paying bills.  Love to buy little packages of buttons, rub-on's, cute new trifles I can stick to a page to make a book for myself and my family to enjoy.

I know some of you sew, or knit.  Or cook.  Or take pictures.  Or clean the house super well.

Women seem to have that thing that gives them a sense of accomplishment and connects with that moment in history...the women who have gone before.

And we have blogging too.  A diary of our lives.  I've seen even the most professional, theme oriented blog pause for a well needed rant or plea for prayer.  And I am glad.  It's more real then the news...more honest then anything on television.


And it always inspires me.

CNN or FOX never seem to do that.

I think my lap top likes to go for rides in the van.

 It wasn't working soI put it in the car to take to the local college (because they can check it for free)...but they are on Spring Break too, so I brought it back home.

 I just turned it on to check it... Working fine now. 

Either it is developing the personality of a golden retriever, or this might be the sign of a sad lap top free future.

revalation of the day...

I've had cleavage a long time.  But the wrinkles in my cleavage...that's new.

Who Will My Child Be

I have four kids.  Three beautiful, honest, funny, smart, brown eye'd boys.  And one adorable, smart, sassy, creative, pink princess.  I am very proud of them.  I'm so proud that when someone is praising their child (or grandchild) or friend's child, I'm get a little irritated and insulted that they don't simultaneously remember to praise mine.  I mean, COME ON PEOPLE!  When we go out in public strangers compliment my children. On a rare occasion when we go to a restaurant, the waitress -who knows what mischief four children in a public place can get into- takes a moment to tell me how awesome and well behaved my children are.  SO, THEREFORE,  OF COURSE and CONSEQUENTLY all peoples should know to praise my praise- worthy offspring. I tell my self when others are praising other kids and forgetting to add mine to the list that THIS does not take anything away from my prodigy. This isn't an insult.  That's what I tell SELF.  What self answers back isn't fit for family viewing.

(and you are asking yourself if this post has anything to do with the last post...and it does.  right here. starting now. )

My youngest son is the most like me emotionally.  When he was a baby he was a happy go lucky kid.  He was friendly.  He was brave.  He was HAPPY.  Nothing fazed him.  I could pass him around at a party and he would just smile. He was right on track for all his developmental markers. Walking, talking, recognition, cognitive: everything.

Then just after he turned two he became, "terrible."  But, more accurately, miserable.  He was so unhappy with everything, so prone to tantrums and anger, that I asked the doctor if he could be hurting and I didn't know it.  Headaches?  Migraines? A broken body part I missed?  Something must be the cause of this wretchedness.

I quickly noticed that if you handled the tantrum wrong, not only did it get worse, it lasted longer. Assuming that this behavior is a response to environment and stimulus, I took stock of other behavior.  What were his triggers, because in the midst of all that crying and throwing things there it was usually a response to something. Where before, I could pass him around the room and share his teddy bear cuteness, now I had to be careful of any kind of unexpected change in routine, including new people, over stimulation, new places, different expectations, and so on.

He was two.  Everything was new.

It could have been worse.  People struggle with much more difficult situations.  With kids who have serious problems, and poor parents at their wits end.  And I knew that.  I know that.  Our issues are mild. My son cried for almost two years straight, with temper tantrums of that have literately left scars on my other children. But he's ten now and all his siblings are still alive.  I'm not afraid to leave them alone in the house together either.

But we were/are blessed in three ways.


He can communicate.  He feels empathy.  And I remembered what it was like.

Who I Was

Memoir

THE PAST:   TESTIFY!

My parents were divorced when I was in second grade.  But I remember them being divorced in kindergarten.   To the child, and to the adult, it is the memory that causes the hurt.  Not the reality.  Until I was 10 years old I lived in the same town as two sets of grandparents, an uncle, and my dad & step mother-- literately surrounded by family.  I was in the same town as my Dad.  I saw him regularly but for some reason, I don't remember him being THERE.

I was a troubled kid.  A strange kid.  In today's world everything has a name, and I could have been labeled as ADD, or on the Autism/Asperger's spectrum.  I was angry, lonely, socially awkward and full of self loathing.  My memories of this start in third grade, but my mom could tell you stories about temper tantrums that would make you start looking up diagnosis and wondering how I survived.  One might say that the divorce and my Dad's re-marriage just amplified what was already inside of me.

I never did drugs, never got in trouble with the law, or with a principle of the school.  I was usually teacher's pet because I longed to please the grown-up's but I had few friends.  Usually no more than one at a time.  Sometimes none.

I wrote a Gothic play in Jr. High where I kill everyone and then kill myself.

I got an award for it.

Puberty came late for me...it started at fifteen, maybe, but I didn't have a period until I was sixteen.  The same summer I moved out of my Mom's home to live with my Dad and stepmother.  I was an emotional, dramatic, teenager.  Again, no drugs, no alcohol, I never skipped school.  The classes I failed, I legitimately failed.  I didn't chase boys.  But I hated who I was, felt like every hour of everyday I was just a piece of walking junk, wasted breath.  I wanted to die, wanted attention, and wanted...something.

My Mom said if I didn't like living with her I could go live with my Dad.

So I did.

Not that I expected this to improve the situation.  Not really.  It's like making one last stop to say goodby before saying goodby forever.  One last shot at hope before giving up on hope.  I believed in Hell, and I didn't want to go to hell.  But I didn't want to live either.  I was close.  My family doesn't know, how close, or maybe Mom and Dad just didn't know what to do to make it better...

So I moved back with my Dad and Step mom.  --When I had turned ten six years earlier my Mom packed up and took my brother and I to another state, so going back to Dad's meant going back home.  Dad and the step Mom even lived in the same house that Dad and my Mom had lived in, that I had lived in.--Again, I didn't think this move would be that much of an improvement.  In some ways it was worse. My Mom's not perfect but the problems were never her fault.  They were in me, and I took them with me.  I knew that then even if I couldn't vocalize it.

Moving back with my Dad returned me to the same neighborhood I had grown up in.  Riding on the bus to highs school I met a girl who I had known from first grade.  Turn's out we both liked the same music and the same stuff and had a drama class together.

(end part one- Coffee Break)

Header help...

Is there an easy way to move my header without shrinking the "body" of my blog?

Is your baby the Happiest?

( if you know an easy way to center my header without shrinking the body of the blog -no more wasted space on the sides- please tell me in the comments!)

Not My Sleeping Baby, but adorable just the same. 

There is a website a person can go to to get "certified" in sleep training.  I could  take that test, and likely pass it, but in reality I suck at getting my kids to bed and having them sleep at night.  As babies I mostly fed "on demand,"  and let them sleep when ever they wanted.  None of that waking babies up or feeding only after naps and not before!  Gads no.

 There are actually lots of books on getting your little nippers to sleep though the night.  Incedintly, for an infant to sleep through the night only means four or five consecutive hours.  Something I don't think first time Mommies and Daddies really know.  Shhhh.  Don't tell them.  Let them be surprized.  Let them be surpized that a full night's sleep is rarer than pink elephants or pigs with wings, and that in actuallity, normal sleep patterns for adluts don't ever again occur! 

WHY do you think grandparents get up at five and go to bed eight?  They are making up for lost sleep. 

So I was talking with some mom's about those times baby and toddler would wake up at 4:30 or 5 A.M.  What did Momma do?  Baby should not have been hungry, wasn't sick or poopy.  Did Mom get baby up?  Since this is common behavior, there are books out there that anticipate the problem and offer answers. As a Mom who likes to sleep I didn't need no silly book to tell me what to do. 

What do you do when your child or children wakes up at some God-awful early hour?

The crib is a safe place. A baby proof place.  If it's not, Mom and Dad are doing something wrong.  So, asuming that the crib is a safe place, then this Mom let baby cry.  And cry.  Until I was good and ready to get my fat flat bottom outta bed.  Or until other brothers and sisters do it for me.  Or Dad does.  Or the house catches on fire.

Again asuming crib is safe, and baby isn't sick, poopy, or starving to death.  They do go through times where they are hungry all the time.  Which is where the co-sleeping comes in.  I heard doctors are saying not to do that again.  Well piffle.  That's right. Piffle.  If you have a healthy baby and aren't on sleeping pills and feel that you have a safe situation, then  you go right ahead and co-sleep. 

We did.  Well. I did.  I made my husband sleep on the couch because the bed wasn't big enough for three.

All my kids survived.

But this must be why I'm kickin a 10 year old and an eight year old out of my bed every now and then.

So, what is your solution for the early riser?