Level 28

In honor of my 28^th birthday I want to write 28 things I’m grateful for and 28 things I want to accomplish.

I’m so incredibly thankful for my Dad and my stepmom. I don’t see them enough. I don’t do enough for them and I don’t thank them enough for the amazing example that they show myself and my brothers and sisters everyday on how to treat one another with laughter, adventure and love. I love my Dad and I look up to him and respect him in more ways than I can express. And my stepmom is one of the kindest and most genuine women I know and I thank her so much for treating me like her own daughter. When I was going through a hard time and didn’t talk to them for months, they accepted me right back into the family and love me as I am.
I really hope everyone isn’t getting sick of hearing this but I’m really thankful for the time I had with my mom. It wasn’t long enough but I’m so incredibly grateful that I was as close to her as I was. And I was lucky because I moved through my rebellious stage and times that I struggled personally where I didn’t talk to her and then she just accepted me back into her life without even a hesitation. I’m so happy I got the time I did because even though she wasn’t perfect, she taught me how to love unconditionally.
My brothers and sisters. I have 3 younger brothers and a younger sister on my mom’s side. And I have 2 younger sisters and 2 younger brothers on my Dad’s side. And I’m so incredibly grateful to have them all in my life and watch them grow up. I am happy that they are healthy and I love how incredible they are. Each one is special, talented, intelligent, driven, responsible, hardworking, loving, forgiving, beautiful, handsome and just plain cool. I brag about them like they are my own kids and I can’t wait to watch them grow up and become the amazing people I know that they are. Jacob, Zaina, Ethan, Malaika, Zachary, Dylan, Lauren, and Michael, I love you all to pieces!
I’m grateful for my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. For their wisdom, love and support every time I get to see them, even if it isn’t as often as I’d like.
I am so grateful to have my boyfriend in my life. I wont get to sappy here. But let’s just say that he’s an amazing man and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world that he’s interested in me like he is.
I have two jobs that are flexible, accommodating, happy to have me and are completely covering my bills and paying for opportunities to travel because a year ago I had no job and things did not look so bright.
I am extremely grateful that I was able to finish the first draft of a novel that I’ve been working on for an embarrassing length of time. It still needs a lot of work but I’m so proud of myself for getting this first big step done.
I’m grateful that I have friends that have been there for me during some incredibly difficult times. And no matter how long we go without talking or seeing each other, they will be there for me and me for them and I hope they know that. You know who you are.
I’m also really grateful for my health. I’ve cut back on drinking and because of that, I’ve gotten better sleep and all around feel happier. Although I need to get some work done on my teeth (who doesn’t), I am healthy and capable.
I’m really grateful for the amount of passion that I have. I know that it is this that has pushed me through a lot of hard times. I know it was my passion and stubbornness that helped me dry my tears and do things that were hard. And I know that it is that drive that will get me through anything I have to face in my life in the future.
I’m thankful my car works pretty well and is completely legal.
I’m happy I have my cat to love me and crawl on me in the morning.
I’m happy that I can afford to keep a roof over my head.
I’m grateful that the man that killed my mom got caught.
I’m happy that it’s finally the first day of fall and the hottest days are behind us. (knocks on wood)
I’m extremely grateful that I’m going to rome in less than a month and a half and that I’ll have a companion.
I’m grateful for the dancing world that I got to enter and learn from because it taught me a lot of things to live in the moment and helped me develop better balance.
I’m grateful that after finishing my first draft of my other story, I immediately got another idea for another story and was able to start working on it.
I’m grateful that I have the ability to grow and learn from my mistakes, even if it might take me longer than it should, I’m happy that I’m able to see my mistakes and move on from them eventually.
I’m grateful for the relationships that I’ve had. Even though they didn’t last, I learned something and they were not a waste.
I’m grateful for coffee and tacos. Because they really are amazing.
I’m grateful for Panera Bread and it’s magical abilities to allow my creative ideas to flow, even if they aren’t that good, it at least feels like I’m making progress.
I’m grateful for Masterclass and my friends that bought it for me because it has been instrumental in inspiring me to write and read again like I used to.
I’m grateful I have my laptop to write on.
I’m grateful that I have this blog with over 200 followers now!! Even if only one of you actually read my stuff, who reads it is out of my control and that is really freeing and frightening at the same time.
I’m grateful that I’ve lived long enough to meet the people I have, to do what I’ve done so far and to grow how I’ve grown because a lot of people never get that.
I’m grateful for the journal that a friend bought me because it’s really helped me contain my crazy.
I’m grateful for everything and everyone else because I ran out of things to say. 😊

28 Things that I will accomplish

I will publish my book. The one I’ve been working on forever. I don’t care if it isn’t the one to become successful. I will publish it and finish what I started.
I will publish 10 more books after that
And become a bestselling novelist. It’s a lofty goal. And I probably never thought it was possible and even now if it didn’t come true, I wouldn’t be terribly upset. But, nevertheless, it is the goal I’m chasing after.
I want to have kids. Ideally 4. But I’d be the happiest person on the planet with just one.
I want to get married. And because the universe likes to play games, I want a marriage like my Dad’s and Wanja’s NOT like my Mom’s and ex-stepfathers.
If I’m not writing, I want to read as many books as I can get my hands on.
I will get better at drawing. Not for any reason other than it’s fun and I like being able to see what I created.
I would like to get better at painting.
I want to get decent at cooking. Because cooking is actually pretty fun.
I want to learn to play the violin.
I will travel to Rome.
And to Tokyo
And to Cairo
And to Athens all hopefully with my traveling buddy.
I will pay off my student loans and my other debt
I will spend as much time with my family as possible because I know time with them is never promised.
I will continue to get better at dancing but not make it my entire life.
I will continue to write blogs that are beneficial to at least one other person and keep me honest.
I will continue to push myself to be everything I know that I can be but also learn to go easy on myself when I should be.
No matter how much I struggle I will continue to be the best person I can be and not hurt others.
And if I fail, I will have the humility to admit my faults and swallow my ego and apologize.
I will learn to control what I can in my life and let go of what I can’t.
I will become the best wife and mother that I can possibly be and hope that my faults are forgiven when they are revealed.
I will focus as much as I can on my goals but learn when to set them aside so that I can be there for the people that I love when they need me.
I will learn to enjoy stability and accept that it isn’t always boring.
Whatever I learn, I promise to teach to others to the best of my ability because my lessons and ideas are not just for me. As Werner said “there is something greater than our own personal growth”
I will not leave my keys in my car as often.
I will step into this next year with intention and take every single step after that with intention. Even if it’s the wrong one. I will know that I’m doing my best.

Horrible Writing

I found a writing contest recently where the goal is to write badly. This is actually a trick many creatives use to spark their creative thought. Being so obsessed with writing good often distracts us from being able to write at all. So, if you concentrate on writing badly then have a laugh at your terrible writing, you can recenter yourself and write well without stressing yourself. (Side note: it would be extremely amusing if my dancer friends and I spent the first 10 minutes of every night dancing as terribly as we could, but I digress) Below are four entries for the terrible writing contest that I have already submitted. And the link is below. Everyone try to write one. Or do whatever you stress over, do it bad. Write a terrible song. Dance as horribly as possible and record yourself. Tell a terrible joke. Draw a terrible picture. Bake the worst dessert you can think of. Trust me, it’s way more fun trying to be bad than trying so hard to be good all of the time.

I stared at the awkward teenage girl attempting to flirt with me and tried to make sense of what she was saying but I couldn’t focus for the protruding pimple on her left cheek seemed to be spreading before my eyes across her face from west to east, similar to the way the first emperor of china, Qin Shi Huang, united all of China in the third century BC, perhaps he should have taken lessons from her zit in longevity of life.
A frustrated granny smith apple faced the mirror and turned around, frowning at the huge bite that the human had taken out of it’s side without any concern for the audition it was about to try out for; there was simply no way the apple could beat the pear, banana and pineapple for the envied position of a logo for a huge company. (Get it? Someone please tell me they get it.)
Hanging plants don’t make much sense if you really think about them and yet on that day where all of the air smelled of lavender scented trash bags (a scent that hovers somewhere between lavender and trash seeping into plastic) and cat litter, it was the hanging petunias that would save my life.
Silvia, an undercover FBI agent, at a local restaurant, handed the bacon back to the cooks requesting that they make the bacon crispier, according to the customer, the bacon was limper than her husbands private parts, (only she didn’t say private parts), and this was very unlucky for the customer making the complaint as any food that was whined rudely over at THIS restaurant, mysteriously and magically fell dead, but only Silvia had been able to make the grim connection.

The link for the contest is posted below.

https://www.bulwer-lytton.com/submit

I’m going through your things today

Sam looked up from her notepad. The bus was slowing. And it was her stop. She’d been so engrossed with writing her latest short story that she had lost track of where they were in her neighborhood. She had to make a quick decision. Her stepmom’s car was in the driveway.

If she stuffed her notepad in her backpack; she ran the risk of her stepmom finding the notebook and throwing it away. Like she had with several other short stories. She was not a fan of Sam’s writing.

Normally, Sam would have given her notebook to her best friend to hold onto until the next morning and she would just keep writing at school the next day. However, it was Friday and she was in a frenzy of writing that she had to get down on paper or she would forget all of it. So, she came up with another idea. She’d leave her notebook behind the trash can, run inside, and then offer to take the trash out, retrieving her notebook and going back inside without her stepmom ever suspecting.

The bus’s brakes screeched to a halt. Sam gathered her things and rushed out, calling out a goodbye to her friend and set her plan into action. As she walked into the door, her stepmom sat on the couch watching tv. Without even looking up or saying hi, she motioned for Sam to come over to her. “I’m going through your things today.” Her stepmom, Karen, said. Sam handed the woman her backpack. The woman dug through, shifting books and pencils around, finding nothing and then handed the backpack back. “Go do your homework.” She said. Sam nodded and ran to her room.

A couple minutes later, she took a deep breath and shouted from the kitchen. “I’m going to take the trash out!” Her stepmom didn’t say anything. So, Sam ran outside with a half full bag of trash in her hand. The notebook was still there. Now she just had to get it back inside. She stuffed the notebook up her shirt and a little down her jeans to hold it in place, praying that it only barely showed against her underweight stomach and ran back inside.

Sam slowed her pace when passing the living room and then bolted quietly through the kitchen and down the hallway to her room. Her hand clasped the doorknob. “SAM!” Her stepmom called. The couch made a rustling as she got up and then the clickity clackity of Karen’s shoes echoed through the house. Sam had seconds before her stepmom rounded the corner. She couldn’t just throw the notebook into her room. That would risk her stepmom entering the room and finding the notebook laying on the floor in plain sight. She had to hide it somewhere. Sam turned around and took the last two steps to the bathroom. Out of sight she stuffed the notebook between two towels folded on the counter and then reached for her toothbrush acting as though she was about to squeeze some toothpaste onto the brush.

Karen poked her head into the bathroom. She glared at her and the toothbrush. “Didn’t you just take the trash out?” She asked. Sam nodded attempting to control her wide-eyed guilt. “Are you not going to wash your hands before doing that?” Karen questioned. Sam tried to hide her grin. “Oh sorry. I’ll do it now.” and sat down her toothbrush and bowed, turning the water on. “I don’t know why you don’t think of these things. You’re so nasty. This is why you end up sick all of the time!” Her stepmom yelled. Sam ignored her and washed her hands. When she finished, she rinsed them and turned off the water. “That wasn’t long enough, Sam! Wash them again.” She crowed. Sam sighed. Turned the water back on and began washing again. She glanced at her stepmom standing in the doorway, folding her arms ready to yell again. She was inches from her notebook. If she moved the towels or put her hand on them at all, the notebook’s location would be discovered.

“Don’t give me that look!” Karen shouted. Sam muttered an apology and continued to wash her hands for what felt like hours. When she’d finished, she reached for the toothbrush. “You don’t need to wash your teeth right now, Sam! Wait until after you eat!” She demanded. Sam sat the toothbrush back down. Another rule changed, since she’d been yelled at last week to brush her teeth everyday after school. “This is why your teeth are so yellow!” Her stepmother nagged. Cornered in the bathroom, Sam needed to find a way to redirect her stepmom’s attention, or she would find the notebook with her latest story. She had an idea.

“I got my report card today.” Sam said. Her stepmom’s eyebrows frowned and her fists balled. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier when I was going through your bag!?” Sam shrugged and squeezed by her, leading Karen to her room. “I forgot.” She said.

Safely in her room, Sam’s stepmom glared down at her report card studying the grades. She pulled out her history book as if she planned on studying for her history test tomorrow and placed it on her desk. Karen pointed at the report card. “Your English grade went down!” She yelled. She stared at the grade. “To a 94…” Sam said. “Still you can do better!” Karen said, tossing the grades onto her desk and leaving the room, slamming the door behind her. Sam paused. Listening to her footsteps. Her stepmoms shoes bounced off her heel with each step, through the hallway, past the bathroom, then louder on the tile and quieted as she settled back on the couch.

Sam quietly squeezed the door open, checked to make sure the coast was clear and retrieved the notebook, hiding it safely in her room to be written in over the weekend.

CLOSED

I was driving through the small town of Eufaula, OK a couple of years ago and I saw an old building on the side of the road. It looked like it had been a small house or business. It’s walls were so soaked with moisture and rot that the whole building was a deep dark brown and were caving in on themselves. But rotted houses and buildings are not unique in Oklahoma as the population has remained stagnant for decades due to little opportunity. What caught my eye was that on the front door of this decaying building was a brand-new black sign in red letters that proclaimed the building was CLOSED. My head snapped back in surprise.

Obviously that building was CLOSED. Who in their right mind would enter that building had the sign said OPEN? It wasn’t even really a structure and more like a rotten pile of wood that vaguely resembled a building. Like a spaceship in the clouds. Or Jesus on toast. It took me a few minutes to ponder this and what possible explanation someone might have for the sign on that building and by the time I realized that I needed to get a picture; I was already a couple miles away and didn’t want to turn around. I could stop on the way back, I told myself. But on the way back, I searched for the building and could not find it. Maybe I’d gotten the town it was in wrong, so I searched every town along highway 69 and I still didn’t find it. To this day, every time I make the drive between Missouri and Dallas, I search along the highway for this building and I have yet to find even the building without the sign. I would be satisfied with a pile of rotten wood with the sign sitting on top but highway 69 would offer no such satisfaction. But the image remains stuck in my brain, like a long lost story I will never understan

I didn’t ask for this.

I didn’t ask for this. To wake up everyday with this burden. I’m not supposed to complain. I’m supposed to be grateful for my role. I’m worshipped for what I bring. So much life and respect. But I don’t want it. I don’t even like the morning or noon or afternoon. I’ll never get to float in darkness of night. Instead I burn bright and hot, destroying everything that comes near me. But you can’t get to far away either or the cold will kill you. Always within my sight but no one can look me in the eyes. When I rise, you turn away and when I fall, you smile. I never wanted this. Circled by those that are intimidated and in awe of my power and yet, I feel so alone. I want to disappear. I want to be forgotten.

I want to be like the moon. The nights’ light and the days’ shadow. I want to quietly pull on the waves while families play. The moon reminds me that she is only a reflection of me but I don’t care. I want to see the night. I hate the day. I bring rushed goodbyes and tired eyes because I often come to early. I hate what I bring. I don’t understand why it must be me. Why can’t I be smaller and closer? I want to be landed on and embraced. I want to be loved not feared. I hate who I am.

-The Sun

Helen and the Melons

Another one of my goofy writing exercises. It inspired a story I’m working on but the story has changed so it is unlikely I will use this scene. Therefore, this is short story is just for fun. Thank you for reading!

“Hello Ma’am, My name is Mr. Robinson and I am at your house today to inform you that you are The Chosen One.” The tall man in black said. Helen put her hand on her chest. “But I can’t be the chosen one, I’m an 82 year old woman.” She said.

The tall man lowered his sunglasses. “We are just as surprised about it as you are but nevertheless, you are in fact the chosen one. And the world is now relying on you to save it.” He said. Helen leaned against the wall. Her hands shaking.

“Who is it dear?” Bob called from his maroon rocking chair that he never left. The tall man stepped into the doorway. “I am with the IRA sir and your wife is the chosen one.” Mr. Robinson said. “Chosen? Chosen for what?” Bob asked. “They hadn’t said yet.” Helen answered. “Ma’am, may I come in to explain the situation. We do not have much time.” The man said. Helen nodded and opened the doorway. “Of course, of course. Just take your shoes off. Would you like some tea?” She asked, walking to the kitchen with the man following. “Um no thank you.” He said, pulling his black shoes off and setting them against the wall. “Are you sure? I have way to much of it. The neighbor keeps bringing me tea and then I can’t drink all of it.” Helen said.

The man with the IRA, International Relationships with Aliens, sat at the small dining room table with its’ tablecloth covered in yellow flowers. “Okay, tea does sound nice.” He said. Helen smiled and poured him a cup of tea and then handed it to him before sitting down at the table across from him. “Oh do you want some strawberries, I have way to many of those as well.” She said standing. “No, no, I’m okay with the tea thank you. I need to explain to you how you’re the chosen one.” He said. “Oh yes, this chosen one business.” She sat back down.

“Helen, who is that?” Bob called from his chair. The guest looked at Bob. “As I said, I’m from the IRA. Your wife is the chosen one.” He said. Helen waved her hand in the air near the IRA agents’ face. “Oh don’t mind him. He’s senile. I love him but he’s senile.” She said. He turned back to the old lady. “Okay. Um, as I was saying. You are the chosen one. Currently we have a situation. We sent your grandson on a mission to save the planet from sure destruction from the future but he was changed into a four year old and is now demanding his grandmother and will not work with anyone until you bring him some cantaloupe and some honeydew melon, I believe is what he requested.” The man explained. Helen gasped. “Oh dear! But I don’t have any honeydew melon or cantaloupe! I only have strawberries!” She said with her hand over her mouth.

Mr. Robinson stared at her for at least 10 seconds. His eyebrows frowning. Slowly his left eyebrow raised as he became aware that she was serious. “Well. We could run to the store first before putting you on the alien space station to save him. But I don’t think that your ability to get honeydew melon and cantaloupe is really at the top of our concerns at the moment. We could probably have headquarters teleport us some….” He said. Helen shook her hand in the air again. “No no no no no that won’t do. He likes the fruit I get from the farmers market down the street. We must get that specifically.” She stood. Pausing with her right hand on the table. “Bob where did you leave my purse?” She asked her husband. Bob turned to look at her, unwillingly taking his eyes off the weather report. “I don’t know dear. Check by the bed.” He said.

The elderly woman moved down the hallway at the pace of an old dial up computer trying to download solitaire. The man’s shoulders slumped. “Ma’am, the government will be able to cover the cost of the honeydew melon and the cantaloupe.” He called after her. Again, she waved her hand at him. But this time behind her back. “Nonsense, deary, I have to have a purse. I’m not quite sure how being in space is going to affect my allergies and blood pressure, so I will need my medication. Besides we do not take handouts in this household.” She said. Her voice echoing as she rounded the corner into her bedroom.

Eventually, Helen and Mr. Robinson were sitting in the government IRA vehicle. “What is the address?” he asked, after pressing a button that caused at least a dozen screen navigational screens to surround him. Helen clutched her purse and stared at the screens. Her eyebrows furrowed. “I do not know. I just know that it’s by the Casey’s behind Mathew’s Elementary. The one Jacob went too for Kindergarten.” She said. The man paused, finger extended towards the screen and stared at it for a second. He sighed and pressed another button. All of the screens retracted. “Okay then. Just tell me how to get there.” He revved his engine. “Must you do that? I have neighbors.” Helen fussed. Mr. Robinson rolled his eyes. “Ma’am. Please just tell me to go left or right.” He said. “Oh. Turn right.” She said. The car lunged forward. “Goodness.” Helen gasped.

“We received a prophesy thirteen years ago that Aliens would be invading Earth and would leave devastation and death in their path and would almost completely wiping out all of humanity. But that there would be a single person that would be capable of beating them and that this person would need to have excellent strategy, empathy and the ability to shoot well in a first person shooter if we could find them. So to find the perfect candidate to help protect humanity. We created a free video game capable of challenging and assessing it’s users based off an algorithm. Your grandson bought this game and excelled incredibly. He was then recruited and trained to defeat the aliens. This mission was fulfilled two months ago when we sent him out. However, he was captured and turned to into a four year old who will not stop asking for snacks from his grandmother from our operatives attempting to rescue him. So here we are. We need you to infiltrate the enemies base and get to the cell where your grandson is being held then give him his snacks and convince him to come home with you. We have scientists working on a device that will transform him back to his correct age and then he will finish the mission and save the world.” The IRA agent triumphantly announced.

“Sounds lovely.” Said Helen. She squeezed the cantaloupe, testing for ripeness. “How long will it take us to get to him? I want to make sure the fruit is at the proper ripeness when we reach him.” She asked. The man stared at the elderly woman. “Um well we’ve got to stop by the base on Mars first to pick up the operative that will join us but it should only take about two days to reach the enemies base with the current technology.” He said. Helen smiled. “Okay, we will need a cantaloupe that will be at it’s ripest in two days then.” The woman squeezed five more melons before deciding and placing them in her carry basket. “Let’s go save my grandson.” She said.

5 Things I learned after My Mom Died

I needed her way more than I thought I did. I need people in general way more than I thought I did. And I’m learning that that isn’t a weakness. Accepting that I need people was a difficult thing for me to do. I wanted all of my life to be independent and self-sustaining and if I felt myself needing someone, I felt vulnerable and would back away. Hence, I found myself going after relationships that I could hold at arms length. But denying the need and going after things that could never fulfill it did not make the need go away. It just hurt me and caused me pain in other ways. So now I stand boldly and say I need you and I’m ok with you needing me. Because we are all stronger if we stand together.
People don’t listen to you no matter how honest you are. They still do what they want and make decisions on their own. But still be honest. Be as honest as you can to your loved ones and the people that you care about. Don’t beat around the bush. Even if you’re afraid that you might lose them with your honesty. Sometimes that’s all we can do for one another is to be honest and love them.
There is no such thing as destiny. No such thing as you will find your true love and everything you deserve. The universe owes you nothing. No matter how horrible your life was, you don’t deserve anything or anyone. The only thing that you can control is your choices. And some of those choices could take your life the next day. And then other times, you could make all of the right choices and still, tomorrow isn’t promised. All you have is right now and the hope that the next choice you make will keep you alive a little longer.
A lot of people really suck at helping people who are grieving. (Warning: irritated rant). No I’m not ok. Please stop asking me. And please stop saying “I can only imagine how you’re feeling.” It shouldn’t be that difficult, Karen. Imagine your mother getting murdered and the depth of sorrow and loss you would feel. There. Now you can imagine it. It’s really shitty isn’t it? Don’t tell me time will heal all wounds. Losing my Mom isn’t a wound. This isn’t a 16 year old boy telling me I’m ugly. Losing my Mom is like amputating my right leg. I lost something that will affect me and my siblings for the rest of our lives. And there will always be something missing at every family gathering and big event and everytime I wish I could call her and talk to her. Amputated legs don’t heal. You just learn to live without them. Don’t tell me life will go on. Don’t tell me to stay positive. I honestly shouldn’t have to explain why this makes me want to punch you in the throat. I appreciate your attempt to identify with me by mentioning how your 80 year old grandma died of cancer but it’s not the same. It’s not even close to being the same. And you know that so why even bother bringing it up? Thank you for saying that you’re here if I need you but I think you know that I wont ask for anything because what I really want is my Mom to be alive again. If there’s something you are willing to do and think you should do; then do it. Also stop telling me not to blame myself. I don’t blame myself. He is the one that pulled the trigger. But the truth is that I most likely would have been able to convince her to leave if I had talked to her face to face. Because I knew my mother and the relationship that we had. I’d actually been planning on going up there soon to get her away from him and talk to her. But everything happened so fast. But that understanding is different than blaming myself. For example, when Drogo is killed by the witch lady in Game of Thrones, nobody blames Dany. Dany loved her husband and didn’t want him to die. But she made choices and trusted the wrong person and that ultimately led to his death. But that is the truth of the story. And the truth of my Mom’s story is that she made choices that led to her being in the position where he could kill her. It isn’t her fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not my brother’s fault. It is no one’s fault apart from the person that killed her. And thinking about her story and what led up to it and what maybe could have changed the outcome is not blaming her or myself. And it honestly pisses me off when you shut down that dialogue with “stop blaming yourself.” If I am not allowed to discuss alternative outcomes then you are telling me that her death was inevitable and that there was nothing anyone could of done anywhere ever, which implies that other women in the same situation are just destined to be murdered and there is no way to help them. And that is ridiculous. We should be talking about what could have been done, because that is the only way to prevent it from happening to someone else.
A lot of people are really amazing at helping each other grieve. Several people have held me while I cried my heart out. One of my friends bought me a bunch of lessons on writing because he knows that writing is how I deal with things. Another friend that works at red river put two tables together with yellow balloons on the night of my mom’s dance memorial and dozens of people wore yellow that night while they danced because it was her favorite color even though most had never met her. My Dad drove an hour each way and talked to me for three hours Sunday night. My mom loved to garden and had actually planted the flowers outside of the funeral home that held her service. So at her funeral, they had a wheelbarrow of small plants outside and asked everyone to take one and plant it in her honor. And those were just a few of the ways that people show that they cared, so just know that I appreciate you all and everything that you’ve done for me and for her.

Staci Whiteley: A daughter’s words

I spoke at my Mom’s funeral on Tuesday. And it was extremely hard but I’ll forever be glad that I did. Here is what I said:

Hello everyone, thank you for coming to celebrate my mom. I am the oldest of her five kids. And if you heard about me from her, I promise I’m not nearly as smart as she gave me credit for. But I think that’s something that all five of us can agree on; myself, Jake, Ethan, Dylan and Lauren, Mom was exceptionally proud of us. I don’t think it’s possible to be more proud of us than she was.

My mom was the most stubborn and hard headed person I know, but you hadn’t seen 10% of that until you saw her defend one of us.

But while she had her moments where she had to get tough, I think we all remember her best for her unyielding positivity. She was always happy. Always ready to bust out into song to Jesus take the wheel or Shania Twain. And you couldn’t help but sing along.

Saying that she loved life is an understatement. She loved kayaking, singing, talking, traveling, motocycles, gardening, roller coasters, horses, country, city, shopping, skiing. In fact, it would be a much shorter list to say the things she didn’t enjoy or wouldn’t have tried. I honestly can’t even think of one thing. But I’m sure there were at least a few.

I’m going to miss talking to her the most though. She was the one I ran to when I was afraid everyone else would judge me. I always knew that she would love me no matter what I did. She was the best at just listening and consoling never trying to solve your problem or convince you that you shouldn’t feel a certain way. She was not only my mom, but my best friend. I love you mom.

Crayons

Author’s note: I wrote this last night while I was serving on the back of the paper I use to take orders. It’s really short and mostly just for fun. Thank you for reading!!

“BA BA!” I shouted. But mother wouldn’t listen. I shouted at father. Also, neglecting me. How could they not see the beautiful girl sitting high atop her chair three tables down from me? I threw my red crayon in her direction. Maybe she’d hear the noise and turn to me so I could just have a moment with her. But, I do not yet have the strength of my father and the crayon barely rolled past my mother. I stared at it as if my world was falling apart.

“Here you go sweetie.” Said the waitress as she handed me back my red crayon from the floor. YES!! MORE AMMO!! I SHALL TRY A NEW TACTIC! I threw the crayon at mother. It clanked against her plate of eggs and sausage. “What is it honey?” She asked. Mother knew. Mother always knew when I was trying to tell her something. Communicating it, however, was a different story. So far, we’d developed a satisfactory way of conversing. Angry cries meant I was hungry. Sad cries meant I needed my diaper changed and when I smiled, it meant that I wanted her to hold me close. But I had yet to come up with a cry that meant: the girl of my dreams is three tables down. Become friends with the parents so we can organize play dates! I sighed. My vocabulary wasn’t sophisticated enough for love. Mother leaned in and kissed me on the nose; unaware of my internal struggle.

I was going to lose her. I knew it. I stared down at my mashed potatoes, ready to bury my head in them, when I heard the sound of something small falling to the ground to my right. I turned.

A green crayon was rolling towards me. Almost two tables away. I looked up at the girl I’d been trying to gain the attention of; her big brown eyes were staring straight at me. She smiled. I smiled back. I went to wave with my left hand and realized I had one blue crayon left. I threw it at her. It rolled past my table again. We watched it as it came to a stop. Miles from her and her green crayon. But we smiled at each other. Then the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, was picked up by her father and carried out of the restaurant.

I Have Trust Issues

I’ve been hearing this a lot lately and I want to talk about it. I do not think I personally have trust issues but a lot of people struggle with it so I think it’s an important topic. How do you know if you have trust issues? Well here are some signs. You don’t believe anything anyone tells you and you jump to the worst possible situation as an explanation. There is a very thin line between healthy skepticism and having trust issues but in general; try to evaluate where your distrust is coming from. If it’s coming from the behavior of a person in your past then you need to work on separating what has happened with what is currently happening.

For example, let’s say a potential significant other that you have been interacting with for the past few weeks doesn’t respond to a message you sent them for three hours. When they finally do; they apologize and say they were working. Do you A) believe them or B) not believe them. If you chose B, why did you choose B? Is it because you had an ex say that for three weeks in a row and you found out later that he/she was cheating on you with their coworker? If you don’t believe the person currently in your life because of something that happened in your past without considering what you know about that person, then you might have trust issues.

But not believing something someone says does not necessarily mean that you have trust issues. I am in no way suggesting that you should blindly trust everyone. For example, if you chose B) do not believe, because two days ago they informed you that they’d lost their job; then you should definitely be skeptical of the excuse that they were working. But the point is that you evaluated their statement based on what you know about them, and that, my friends, is logic.

In general, I will pick A) believe them, because I don’t care enough about the promptness of their response to struggle with whether to trust them or not. But even if I did care; constant communication wouldn’t make me trust someone more or less. If he’s a two pump man, he could’ve cheated during the five minutes he didn’t respond. And if he didn’t respond for an hour, mathematically, he could’ve slept with 20 different women. And he’s responding every five minutes to keep you from guessing that he’s cheating. This thought process does nothing more than cause your head to spiral with worry and you have no reasonable way of verifying or disproving what he did within every five minutes. So my point is that no amount of communication or validation is going to help you with your trust issues; it just puts pressure on your partner to compensate for an issue you won’t deal with.

Now I know what you’re thinking: But I’ve been hurt in the past. They lied. They cheated. They stole. They took advantage. I get it. It’s happened to me too. It’s pretty much happened to everyone. You aren’t special because you got hurt. Everyone gets hurt at some point in their life and most people let it continue to negatively affect their current relationships for years after. You may think that putting up a wall protects you and keeps you from getting hurt but it’s doing way more harm than good. Not only does it fester and slowly chip at your positive view of the world, ultimately destroying your happiness but it also creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. Have you ever noticed how people who constantly talk about getting cheated on are always getting cheated on? Or what about the person that is always claiming to get abandoned? They seem to not have any real friends.

Think of the game I-spy that some of us played when we were kids. “I-spy something green.” Your mind automatically filters out everything in your eyesight that isn’t green. You focus only on the green objects; ignoring the colors of everything else to search for what you’re looking for and for a second, it feels like EVERYTHING IS GREEN! It’s the same thing with how we interpret human behavior. You will almost always see what you’re looking for. When you learn to trust, you won’t filter out the good and focus on the bad, you’ll see the whole beautiful picture and then you won’t see the bad as necessarily bad anymore just as part of the experience. It’s a long process, dedicating yourself to trusting and focusing on the here and now and evaluating the people in front of you based on their own merit instead of how someone else treated you, but I promise; it’s worth it.

Trust Issues: What They Are and How To Deal With Them