Respect The Creative Process

It takes a lot of time, effort, blood, sweat and tears to create; whether it's writing, jewelry, painting, sketching, etc. Respect the creator, please.  You can use their creations as inspiration, but don't violate them by copying work. And be really careful with your inspirations. 

I've had someone plagiarize my writing and it thoroughly pissed me off. She blatantly did it and went on to try and publish it. There are no totally new ideas, just offshoots of old ones, but I would never copy someone's work. Not in writing. Not in my jewelry business. Never. I may make things in the style of someone, but I give credit where credit is due. 

That's why if I use repurposed items in my creations, I say so. If I use unconventional materials, it's stated. 

It's a matter of respect. I respect the creative friends I've made. I like being able to bounce ideas off each other and finding out how to do new things. I also know I have a set of skills that are uniquely mine; my creative friends do too. And there has to be a trust between creatives, a trust built on respect. 

Come to think of it, respect is something sorely lacking in the world today. There's no respect for life, for cultures, for differences. I've become disheartened with this crazy world. I don't know what the answer is, but I think we can start with respect. 

Thanks for reading. Blessings, love and peace. Respect each other. 

Not Everything Is Better In Stereo

A Letter To My Boys

Mother's Day 2016

It's Mother's Day again and so far, it's been a weekend to remember. First, I got to spend yesterday morning with my boys at a pancake breakfast and car show/farmer's market. That made my heart sing. Then, we spent the afternoon doing little things around the house. The younger two helped their dad with the yard work. The older one helped me with dishes and laundry. But what comes next will ASTOUND you! (Okay, not really, but hey, I had to try!)

Last night, everybody was exhausted. One of my boys passed out while reading, one was asleep by 8:15, and the other one was watching television with me. My husband had gone to bed early. 

At 9 o'clock, I was tucking in my kids when one decided he had to go to the restroom. That's pretty normal around here. Bedtime equals potty/need a drink/need cupcakes for the school district....you know this drill if you're a parent. 

As soon as I got everybody in bed, someone else needed to use the facilities. As they flushed, I heard "UH OH!" and walked in to see water rising to the topic the toilet bowl. DAMN! And no plunger in the house. Ours bit the dust last week. (I have a houseful of kids, it happens.) 

I tried a couple of tricks to get the problem solved, after I mopped the floor...with bleach...and tossed the mop...Nothing. I told my husband I was headed to the store to get a plunger. (Woke him up to tell him. You're welcome, honey!)

All the way there, I cursed under my breath. I had on my pjs and no makeup, and never even looked at my hair. Wally World, here I come! 

I arrived and went straight to the plumbing section where I found the grand-daddy of all plungers! This sucker was HUGE, with a bizarre-looking handle, a little snake thingy that helps move clogs out of the way, and a price of about fourteen bucks. I'm in! I grabbed it, turned to walk away, and stopped. I went back and got another, less scary plunger, just in case. Armed with my two plungers, I was ready to go!

The whole time I was in there, I kept thinking about how I'm in my pjs and I NEVER do that. It drives me batty when people do that! I looked for the shortest checkout line--yeah, I know, on a Saturday night at 10 o'clock, in Wally World. (No, I wasn't drunk!) My checker was a sweetheart and told me to "Have a happy Mother's...have a better night!"

I came home and got to work clearing the problem. Success!!

This morning, I got up and looked in the mirror. My pjs were on inside out. Inside out. In-side freaking out!  That explained the weird smiles and looks last night. It also explained why my pockets didn't work...DOH!

Happy Mother's Day! 

His Story Is His Business

This morning, I went to do some shopping. My children are outgrowing their clothes again, as children do. As I approached the store entrance, I saw a nice looking, clean cut young man standing outside. He was quietly asking a lady if she had any change she could spare. I handed him a dollar as I walked past. He thanked me profusely. 

I did my shopping, but my mind kept flashing to this young man. Somebody's child. I wondered what his story was.  Something about his eyes cried out to me when I handle him the dollar. He was in pain. He had a story. And I didn't need to know it. I just needed to act. 

I paid for my purchase, stopped at the fast food place in the store, and purchased breakfast with coffee to go. I walked out and he was still there. 

I said, "Son, come here please." 

"Yes, ma'am?"

I handed him the bag and said, "You look hungry. Here's breakfast and a coffee and sugar."

His eyes filled with tears as he thanked me. I asked if I could tell him something. 

He nodded. 

"I don't know your story and I really don't need to know it. I will listen if you choose to share it. But whatever you're going through, it will pass. I just wanted to let you know that someone cares. I have a friend who was homeless for several years. He's married, with children and has a successful career now.  You will be okay."

"Thank you," he said. "I needed to hear that."

I smiled and went on my way. And I prayed for this young man. 

I'm publishing this on my blog to ask you to pray for the lost, the broken, the forgotten. We may not know his story, but we don't have to. "There but for the grace of God..."

Thank you for reading. Have a blessed day. 

Free Range Kid--Take Two

One of my boys has been nominated for the safety patrol at school. He's so excited about it and I'm proud of him! He made me even more proud when he told me about an incident at school yesterday. 

He has this "friend" whose parents are those "free range" types. The kid is aggressive, disrespectful, rude and obnoxious. But it's okay because lavender oil will fix that (insert eye roll here). I'm not saying it won't help, or that there aren't alternative methods of treatment. But this kid is off the chain!

Yesterday, this kid told my son that they needed to have a battle to see who's the toughest. 

My kiddo said, "No. I don't want to battle you or need to battle you. I'm on the safety patrol and we don't do that."

Yay for my kiddo! And for little free range? Leave my boys alone. You're a cute child who cannot control your impulses through no fault of your own. Don't drag mine into it. 

Thanks for reading!

Confessions Of A Not-So-Perfect Mom

I want you to sit down. Are you sitting? Now, what I'm going to tell you might be a shock, so prepare yourself. 

I'm not perfect. I know, I know, you can't believe it! It can't be true! Surely, I jest. But no, I am really a very imperfect person and an even more imperfect mother. There it is. I said it. Well, technically, I wrote it, but...

I threaten to take things away from my kids for "the rest of your life" and to strip their rooms of everything but beds and clothes; and I don't do it! I know nobody else out there has EVER done that!

I also don't always explain everything in a calm, controlled voice. I yell. Loudly. And with gusto. I don't always give my children choices or explain my choices. I use the phrase "because I'm your mother and I SAID SO" a lot. 

I don't tell my children how I understand they're feeling overwhelmed or frustrated and blah, blah, blah. I do sometimes, but not every time. 

I do tell my children they're being brats when they're being, you know, brats. I don't let them use their ADHD as an excuse. I don't always ignore behavior because they're tired or cranky. 

You see, I'm human. And I get tired of dealing with things, just like everybody else. And I think it's just as important that they know I'm human. I screw up, I get angry, I lose my cool. I also admit when I'm wrong. 

This morning, my oldest who's in the middle of preteen angst was being mouthy--not typical for him. He got

yelled at after talking didn't work. I took him to school and felt like an utter bitch. He was sullen, I was ready to cry. Fun times in preteen land--not!  

For the next hour, I went through the scenario over and over. All of a sudden, I looked at the counter and saw his morning dose of medicine. Crap! I forgot to give it to him. I never do that! 

I grabbed the medicine, drove over to the school to see the nurse and explain what happened. She called him to the office. He came in, surprised to see me.  I explained what I did and that he was right when he told me that morning that it seemed like he forgot something. He laughed and said it was okay. 

Then, he took his medicine, walked me to the office door, pulled me closer like he wanted to say something, and kissed me on the cheek. "I love you, Mom."

Huh, not so perfect, but close enough, I guess. Thanks for reading!

Delightful Surprise

This morning started out like most have lately with my prepubescent children: talking back, growling, fighting amongst themselves. One called me a mean mom, one refused to speak to me when I said no to a request, one was sullen when I asked him to get in the car to go to school. So, typical children on a typical day. 

I dropped them off, ran some errands, then went through the drive-through at a fast food place for coffee and a breakfast sandwich. As usual, I fed the family and forgot to eat. I pulled up to pay and found that the young lady in front of me had paid for my order. The cashier said "Your order was taken care of by the lady in front of you. She wants you to have a beautiful day." 

I've done this for others and had it done for me before, but this brought tears to me eyes. So, thank you to the young lady in the light blue car with Missouri plates. You made my day brighter. God bless. 

Thanks for reading.

Breaking Free

Emotional chains can tie you down. Insecurities, poor self esteem, and self-doubt can immobilize you. I know. This year is a continuation of breaking free of those chains. 

I'm working on a creative nonfiction piece right now. You'd think it would flow, but I have to remind myself to forget who will be reading it for now. I have to write it for myself first. 

And because I (like many creatives) have a plethora of interests, I've opened an online jewelry store and I'm selling my designs online. I'll also be adding jewelry boxes to the site over the summer. (The website is http://deescreations1.sello.com. My FB page is deescreations1)

These things are a part of my breaking-free quest. Go me! Thanks for reading. 

I'm Angry

THIS IS YOUR TRIGGER WARNING! The subject matter involves cancer, death, anger and tanning beds. If you can't handle it, don't read it. (P.S. I'm angry.)

A few years ago, my dad DIED from melanoma that metastasized. He'd made it through prostate cancer, had numerous skin cancers removed, and on and on. He lived in agony and was sick every day for the last few months of his life. He suffered so much. And guess what he had in his house that he got in far too much? Yep, a tanning bed. 

Much of his pain and suffering could have been avoided. All for the sake of looking good, he FUCKING DIED! I'm angry about that. Still. It was not "God's will" or "God's plan". It was because of a stupid mistake, even after he knew better. He could have prevented much of his--and frankly, our--suffering. Skin cancer isn't a joke. 

So, I'm angry. And I'm pretty sure that there will be people who will be angry with me for writing this. But as I think back on the many warnings my dad had and on the disregard of those warnings, I don't care if it makes someone angry or uncomfortable. I have a right to be angry. 

My boys will not get to grow up knowing him and learning from him. One of the biggest supporters of my craft is gone. I have beautiful memories. I have not-so-beautiful memories. Memories can't talk to you on the phone. Memories can't encourage you or give you a reality check when you need it. You can't hug a memory. Cancer sucks. Period. 

Thanks for reading. 

Chaos No More

Some of you are aware that I'm on a mission to declutter and organize my home. It has honestly gotten so out of control that I hate being in my house. Decluttering is a slow process, but it didn't get this way overnight. 

Growing up, I had a mom who kept very little clutter. She hated unorganized, chaotic spaces. My grandmothers--both paternal and maternal--were the opposite. They kept everything. And when they passed away, family had to clean it out. I followed in my grandmothers' footsteps. 

I have self-diagnosed ADD, and two of my three children have ADHD. So, focusing on anything is a struggle. Add to the equation that we all have trouble getting rid of anything, and you get chaos. 

I'm slowly but surely purging things that don't bring me joy. If I haven't used it in a year, why do I need it? If I hate doing it (crochet)why keep the yarns for it? I'm keeping my crochet hooks and a couple of skeins of yarn to teach anyone who asks how to do it. I'm keeping my sewing machine, because I do use it every now and again. But the rest, other than what I use for jewelry, is gone. 

Chaos is not my friend. It's not my children's friend. We need less stuff and more peace. Less to find a place for, and more space to enjoy our home. 

I have a few friends who are on this mission with me. We encourage and support each other, sometimes offering a swift (but kind) kick in the rear when necessary. I value their support and try to offer the same. And for those in the group that are on this quest, much love and respect. 

Thanks for reading. 

A Letter To My Prepubescent Child

Dear Child,

Yes, this letter is for you, the child who rolls your eyes and lets that "tone" creep into your voice; the one who tells me "no" when I tell you to do something, after I've asked you nicely before resorting to the "do it now" command. I'm going to impart some wisdom here. Pay attention, because I will NOT repeat myself. 

When you, my darling child, decide to behave like a little shit, you might want to remember a few things. 

First, I am your mother. I will be your mother for the rest of your life. You're ten/eleven years old now. You've got at least eight to ten more  years at home. That means you deal with me. Every. Single. Day. For. The. Next. Decade. Think about it. 

Second, although I'm more tolerant than my mother, I do have a breaking point. You have passed the point, my love. That is not wise. 

Third, you should understand that all of the electronics, toys, and other assorted crap you have, are privileges that can disappear faster than an unguarded birthday cake around yours truly. 

And finally, you will be a parent one day. And I sincerely hope I'm around then. If not, I will leave a detailed list of all of the bullshit you pulled for my grandchildren. Why? Because that's the way I roll, my sweet. And be warned, the apple does not fall too far from the tree. How do I know? Because you're just like...your dad! (You didn't think I'd say me, did you?!)

Love,

Mom

Winter Preparedness For Travelers

I've been reading about all these people stranded on highways during this winter storm. Instead of commenting on social media, because it turns into a free-for-all, I'm posting this on my blog. 

I am NOT an expert! These are things I've learned from reading, researching and asking questions. Do your own research and adjust for your needs. 

I read, follow, visit websites, own books on survival and preparedness. Because of that, I keep certain supplies in my vehicle at all times. There's no "crazy prepper mentality" here; just common sense. (And FYI, I don't believe that the majority of preppers are crazy.)

I had to evacuate our home in Virginia in 2003 due to a hurricane. I was frantically grabbing things that seemed important. I forgot a lot and took some things that made no sense. I was in panic mode. Lesson learned. 

I have a backpack purchased from a nearby surplus store. It's much like something you'd see military carry. This bag stays in my vehicle. In this bag, I have a multi-tool, manual can opener, fire starter, flashlight, extra clothing, first aid supplies, Chapstick (which is good for starting fires), sunscreen, bug spray, medicine (headache, allergy, stomach, and needed prescription medications), reflective blankets, disposable tooth brushes, antibacterial wipes, baby wipes, granola bars, and water. 

I also have a walking/hiking stick, rain gear, blankets (thin fleece blankets enclosed in zippered plastic bags), additional first aid supplies, puzzle books, cards, travel games, pens and paper. Those items are in permanent residence in my vehicle. 

My three boys have a backpack always at the ready in the front entry of our house. When we travel anywhere, they carry the bags with them. These bags contain basic first aid kits, flashlights, a change of clothes, a granola bar or trail mix and water, and a book or two. 

I'm going to ask that you do this right now. Get a backpack, duffle bag, old purse, box, ANYTHING you have and put basic supplies in it. Put it in your vehicle. It just might save your life. 

You CAN freeze to death in the middle of a busy city. You CAN die from dehydration ANY time. Snow is frozen water, but be aware that if you eat snow it can lower your core temperature. 

If you are traveling anywhere, keep your gas tank full. Pay attention to weather conditions. 

There are some great free resources out there regarding preparedness. Please use them. Don't be caught unprepared. 

As always, thank you for reading. Be blessed, be kind, and be safe. Peace and love. 

Holidays

Mamaw had all the family at her house for Christmas when we were growing up. She had five children, nine grandchildren, and later a plethora of great grandchildren. Her house was always full. Not everyone made it to every Christmas, but the doors were always open. We'd always enjoy ourselves, and I miss that. 

When Christmas rolls around now, I think of those times fondly. And yes, I miss her. But really, I'm at peace because she's still here in my heart, in my memories. And I share those memories with my children, who never got to meet her. I'm sure she's arranging celebrations with all the angels right now.

My dad loved Christmas. When we were children, he and Mom would stay up putting together Santa toys and getting things under the tree, only to be awakened too early the next morning to see the gifts left by Santa.  In my adult years, he decorated and went all out for Christmas. Normally, starting Thanksgiving when he'd invariably blow a fuse right while my stepmother was cooking. He's with his dad, his mom, his brother and sister, his great nieces, and many other loved ones. Probably trying to talk God into letting him string Christmas lights all over heaven. He's cancer-free and at peace. 

Grandma and Grandpa (maternal) are watching over their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren on Christmas morning, knowing the gift of learning was passed down to those they never got a chance to hold. 

I miss them all, but I feel a sense of peace, knowing they are watching over us. And that they are free of pain and suffering. And they're my angels, each and every one. 

Thanks for reading. Merry Christmas and God bless. And may you have peace in your heart and know you are loved. 

Random Acts of Kindness, Not Violence

My boys and I started making up small bags of food and drinks for the local homeless several years ago.  We'd see them standing with signs asking for help. We'd hand them a bag. So, we know they get something to eat that day. And each time, I say "God bless."

Be kind. Show compassion. Perform one act of kindness. You will be blessed as much as, or more than, those you help. It doesn't cost much. 

We bought a package of brown paper bags (can be used as a campfire starter--yes, many of our local homeless camp out). In those bags, we put a granola bar or cereal bar, a can of Vienna sausages or potted meat, a bottle of water or a small juice box, a plastic spoon to eat the canned meat, and a piece of candy. Each bag we make costs around $1 or so. It's a part of our tithing that directly helps those that are shunned or ignored. 

Blessings and Merry Christmas to each of you. May you be blessed with joy, peace and health. 

Sweet Potato Pie And Lumber

I had sweet potato pie for breakfast in memory of my Mamaw (who made the best ones ever) and Daddy (who loved sweet potato pie as much as me). 

Mamaw died February 2000 and yesterday would have been her 100th birthday. Daddy died November 8, 2010 and tomorrow will be rough for me and my family. I miss them both so much. 

Mamaw was the glue that held our family together. She knew everybody's secrets and never breathed a word to anyone. She taught me to bake biscuits from "scratch" and let me mess up her kitchen experimenting with recipes. 

Daddy was strict and overprotective of his girls, but it was out of love. It took me a long time to realize that. He taught me to love creating, both the process and the end product. He did woodworking and I still love the smell of sawdust and lumber. I can walk through the lumber aisle in Lowe's and be transported to his shop. I still have the first piece of furniture he made for me and hope to pass it on to my oldest son. 

Because of Dad, I can do basic troubleshooting on cars--except for changing a flat, which for some reason I never learned. 

My gift to my children is to teach them the things my mamaw and my dad taught me. And I tell them where every lesson was learned. My dad even started writing a few months before he died. He said I inspired him to do so. They both may be gone from this earthly existence, but they're always in my heart. Memories, both good and bad, are a gift. 

Walk The Walk

This post was inspired by an incident that happened a few weeks ago. A person I've known all my life posted a nasty little rant on social media about a young mother with bratty children she wasn't trying to control. This incident happened in a hospital waiting room. When several of us made comments that we wondered why she (the young mother) was in a hospital waiting room and perhaps offering help was a good idea, we were met with nasty comments and/or blocked from her account. This incident disappointed me, because it was so mean spirited. And the woman who posted it was someone I thought highly of. 

So, here is my perspective as the mom of a "brat", as she described these children she saw. The mom who has had to wrangle three active boys, alone much of the time, because we've always lived away from extended family. As I was thinking about all of this, an incident came to mind. Here it is:

My youngest boy has ALWAYS had meltdowns. Until he was diagnosed with ADHD, we did a lot of behavioral conditioning. Ignoring was the

hardest, but the most effective. I had all three with me in Walmart and my youngest started screaming. He wanted something and I said "No". He had screamed through most of the store and I was barely holding it together. My other two had their hands over their ears, begging me to give him what he wanted. I wouldn't give in. 

I received nasty looks and heard snide remarks as I made my way through the store. As I loaded the boys into the van, wrestling my youngest into his seatbelt, a woman approached me. She waited until I was done, put her hand on my arm and said, "Good job. You are a good mother and you did great!"

My eyes filled with tears as I thanked her. I don't know her and never saw her again, but she kept me going that day. Instead of being judgmental, she embodied the Christian spirit. Compassion. Love. Kindness. That's all it took to make one overwhelmed mother feel like going on instead of giving up. 

Thanks for reading and be blessed. 

September 11th, Honor The Fallen

9/11/2001 I was in Mississippi, my new husband was in training several states away. When I heard the news, like everyone else I was stunned. After hours of unsuccessful attempts to call my husband on base, I finally reached him. We were weeks away from a transfer to Norfolk, VA Navy Base. He was waiting to find out whether he needed to fly out or to stay until his scheduled transfer. 

I asked, "What can we do?" (Meaning those of us watching the repeated coverage of the attacks.) 

He said, "Go on with life. Don't feed the media frenzy, don't let it consume you." 

Today, on the 14th anniversary of this horrid tragedy, I will honor the memory of those who were killed, both during the attacks and during search and rescue. I will honor those brave men and women who fight to protect this country. I will NOT give in to the hate and fear of another religion because of a select group of people. I will honor those who lost their lives and their loved ones with my thoughts and prayers. 

Be blessed. 

A Prayer

This is a post I wrote last year. The sentiments still hold true, only the grade level has changed. 

My prayer the night before a new school year, which I posted on my social media accounts this morning: Teachers, remember that those children, no matter their ages or grade level, are somebody's baby. Treat them accordingly. 

Each year, as millions of us send our children to school for the first day of the new school year, we are letting go. And letting go, in this huge and often unfriendly world, is by far the most difficult thing to do. 

There's that sense of freedom, the "I have my life back." There is that panicked "where is the time going?!" And probably dozens more thoughts race through your head.  I know my thoughts have been all over the place. 

As I dropped of my oldest at (gulp) middle school for the first time, my eyes saw the baby I left with a sitter the first time, the preschooler, the kindergartener, and the Boy Scout who left for a week this summer. He's ready for this; I'm getting there.  Maybe. 

It doesn't get any easier to let go. I know now why my mom smiled an odd smile and sometimes got quiet as we stepped out of the car. She was holding back tears of joy, of pride and of longing to hold on for one more minute before we grew up a little more. 

My twins are in fourth grade this year. They're facing a whole new set of expectations. They, like their big brother, were excited, nervous, ready to go. They walked away, throwing up a hand to say bye and to give the principal a high five. I'd asked if I needed to walk in with them, since the youngest of the twins was a bit nervous. As expected, I got eye rolls and a "Mo-om!" 

My prayer today is that each one of my boys feels loved, safe and accepted.  And if I may, I'll pray the same for yours. 

God bless and thanks for reading.

My "Kryptonite"

I've spent the last few weeks...months...in a writing slump. I was not quite sure what was/is going on, but I think I have part of it figured out. 

The last few months have been crazy hectic. When I wasn't being pulled in fifty directions, I was too exhausted to move. Yes, I know I'm a parent and that's part of it. Yes, I know I'm lucky  that I'm a stay-at-home-mom (although, contrary to popular belief, that IS a full-time job). 

Here is my revelation. Are you ready? My inability to stop people-pleasing is my nemesis. Yep, it's the fly in the ointment. And then there's the guilt; I say "no" and that guilt gene kicks in. Let me tell you, that freaking guilt gene is relentless! It keeps hammering away until you're ready to agree to any and everything! 

If you're a parent, you know your children are fantastic, gifted even, at triggering that gene. And don't get me started on the spousal ability--sorry honey, intentional or not, it happens. 

Who has the ability to control this? The simple answer is, me. The more complex answer? Still me. I can continue to allow the busyness to take over or I can stop and breathe. It's a choice. 

I choose to breathe.