counting my blessings (#61-70)

picture found here.

61. Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches.

62. Juicy oranges (on sale at Wal-Mart).

63. Making dinners than remind me of home.

64. Coupons.

65. Quieting the negative voices.

66. Attending four zumba classes in a week.

67. Being reminded of God's love.

68. Petty (but funny) arguments with my husband.

69. Making up with my husband.

70. Feeling supported.

learning to be brave

picture found here.

I slept until seven this morning and then took my time getting ready. Instead of rushing out the door and then making a thirty minute commute to work, I enjoyed the house, took out the recycling, and then made my way from the house to McDonald's for an iced coffee and proceeded to drive five minutes to a day long conference.

Over the past week, I've attended two workplace conferences. Last week it was a two hour lunch conference, and this week, it was a day long event. Both spoke on balancing life with work and home. They also talked about communication and about contentment.

I enjoy these kind of events. There's something about bettering yourself that excites me. Even when I am familiar with the information. Maybe it's the break from my normal job duties. Or maybe sometimes I just need a reminder of how to navigate this thing called life.

And even though these events are tailored more for the work place, I walk away with more knowledge on my personal life. I leave with a feeling of wanting to change things. Something settles into the pit of my stomach and remains in place until I give it the time it deserves.

Today there was much talk about communication. We discussed how to listen and how to respond. We talked about taking time outs from arguments. But the topic that stuck out to me the most was that life is a series of choices. Sometimes we decide on those choices and sometimes we slide.

At 25 (26 in under three weeks), I've made many decisions. For example, I decided to get married. But I also feel like I have slid into some choices.

Over the past few months, I've struggled and wrestled with what I want out of my life. I've been frustrated with where I am and where I am not. I have wondered when things would change. I've prayed for this or that to happen. I've cried quite a few tears as well. But for most of the past few months, I didn't truly made the decision to do anything about it.

And then last week happened.

It coincided with the first conference. The one that lasted for just two hours. Nothing specific was said. There was not one moment of extreme clarity for me. But it reminded me that I can (and should) do better than I had been in the past.

And making those decisions? It's hard. My knees pop and crack during zumba. I feel ridiculous walking into the gym. I wonder if this is even worth it. But those decisions? They also inspire me. I feel stronger than I have in months. Even though so much of the situation is the same, I feel I am better prepared to handle it.

So right now I am deciding. Deciding to write. Deciding to believe positive feedback. Deciding to disregard the negative comments in my head. Deciding to determine what I want out of life. Deciding to go after my dreams.

What decisions are you making?

(title from "crystal ball" by pink)

inside your mystery

picture found here.

Since I started blogging in 2010, I've found a few that I consider my favorites. They are the blogs I look at and hope for an update. One of those blogs happens to hold a short story contest every month.

I've made a pact to enter the contest every month - even when I struggle with the prompt because at least then my my mind is working and creativity is flowing. And I also have made a pact with myself to share the entires here, but I will only share the entry after the winner has been announced.

The winner was announced on Sunday which means I can now present my take on the prompt. The title of the short story is "Moving On."

Moving On
It started with a knock on the door. It was me and the baby at home. Mama was “asleep” on the couch. That’s what I called it then. Now I call it high and passed out.

I pulled the sheet to the side and peeked out. Flashing lights on the street and a lady standing at the door with a clipboard.

I tried to wake Mama. But she wouldn’t budge. Her eyes didn’t blink. She made no noise. The baby started crying, and then there was another knock on the door. This one was louder.

I squared my shoulders and walked to the door. “My mama’s not home.” I ran from the door to the window and pulled the sheet to the side.

The lady with the clipboard wrote something on a piece of paper and shuffled her feet. She squinted at the door and then looked to the side. “Is there anyone else home?” Her voice sounded like honey.

I could say there wasn’t, but when Jessie did that, the cops came into the house and took her out of the house. I could say someone else was, but then the lady would want to talk to them.

“Why?”

“We just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She looked at the clipboard and flipped through the
pages.

“I’m fine,” I said. “You can go home.”

The lady glanced at the street, and a car door opened. He was a big man. It took him a little while to walk up the yard because he had to step over empty boxes and a broken bike. “Please let us in.”

This is when it got tricky. I knew he could come in. I didn’t even have to open the door. That’s what happened to Jessie. She ran and hid in the closet, but they came in anyways. Cops have that kind of power.

So I opened the door.

I don’t really remember what happened then. Lots of questions. The cop tried to wake mama, but she still didn’t move. He got worried and pointed at me and then to the baby. The lady took us both out of the house and put us in the backseat. Her car was dirty. I drew on the windows and kicked at the bags of McDonald’s on the floor. The baby kept crying, but I didn’t have the pacifier so I couldn’t make the baby stop.

We went to McDonald’s. The lady bought me a milk shake and chicken nuggets and French Fries. The baby ate French Fries.

The lady asked more questions. How much time did my mama spend asleep? Who took me to school? Did anyone else live with me? How did I get the bruise on my leg? What did the baby eat? How often did the baby eat?

I asked to go to the bathroom, and she said I could. I looked for a window but there wasn’t one. Then she came and got me. She took me to a brown building. She said I was going to stay there and that she would take the baby somewhere else.

I told her I wanted to stay with the baby. I said I took care of the baby and that I put the baby to sleep. I told her that the baby needed me.

She looked sad when I said it. She bent down and pressed her knees to the ground. She looked up at me and her eyes met mine. I think she almost started to cry. She told me that I would see the baby again but that I needed to let someone take care of me.

I cried. Shaking shoulders and snotty nose. The kind of crying that doesn’t stop and can’t be contained. All these people looked at me like I was crazy, but I kept crying. And then I started talking. All these words came out of my mouth, and I don’t even know what I said. But the lady’s eyes got really big. She handed the baby to someone else and then took me in her arms.

I didn’t want to be alone. I told her I needed someone. I said that the baby protected me from hands and that when the baby was in the room no one would hurt me.

“You’re safe now,” the lady said. She handed me a napkin and waited for me to blow my nose. She gave me a hug and then pushed me in the direction of another lady. I took a shower and changed into pajamas. And then I sat on a bed alone.

The lady promised I would see the baby again. She promised that I wouldn’t be alone and that I would be safe. The next day she brought me a trash bag. The bag had clothes in it and a pair of shoes and one stuffed animal. And then she had me take the trash bag to a new house. The baby wasn’t there, but the lady promised me these people would care for me.

Every month, sometimes every two months, I moved. From one house to another house. The people always asked for me to leave, and the lady with the clipboard always moved me.

I saw the baby once a month. A different lady with black hair held onto the baby and gave the baby kisses on the cheek. The lady with the black hair never let me kiss or hug the baby.

I was 16 when it started with the knock on the door, and when I turned 18, I grabbed my trash bag and I chose to leave the last house. The baby was two by then. The baby called the lady with the black hair mama.

The lady with the clipboard asked me to stay, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be taken care of. I didn’t need anyone. In the end, there would only be me, but I realize now, that’s actually quite a lot.

(title from "ghost" by eastmountainsouth)

the walk before the run

picture found here.

After months of not working out, I spent an hour at the gym on Thursday and another hour at the gym on Friday. I considered a routine of elliptical and rowing, the routine I stuck to months ago when I spent regular time at the gym. Instead, I chose to throw caution to the wind and attend my first work out class since high school.

My mother would tell you that I am overly hard on myself. That I expect my results to be as good as perfect the first time, that I do not do well with not doing well. And she would be right.

I know hard work is necessary. I understand that nothing is easy and that if it is easy, it probably is not worth as much as those things which require hard work.

Still, when I walked into the large classroom and waited for class to start, I hoped that I would easily catch on to the steps. That something would miraculously occur that would allow me to move with ease and without worry.

But that didn't happen.

I struggled through the class on Thursday. Sweat dripping down my face. Left ankle throbbing from the injury I had eight yeas ago. Knees cracking and popping and threatening to give out. But I didn't give up. Surrounded by people who seemed to know what they were doing, I didn't give up.

And when I walked out of the gym, I felt accomplished. I spent the thirty minute drive home feeling accomplished and thankful that I hadn't hurt myself. Once I got home, I went from feeling accomplished to hurting and spent the rest of the evening on the couch.

Then, I did it again on Friday. And again, I walked into the same large classroom hoping that I would easily catch on to the steps, expecting the class to be the same as Thursday.

But that didn't happen.

I struggled through the class on Friday. Sweat dripping down my face. Left ankle throbbing even more. Knees cracking and popping with every move. Eyes looking at the clock and mind counting down the minutes to the end of the class. I moved away from the mirror and focused on the steps. I struggled to synchronize my arms with my legs. I wondered again why I was here. I thought about how difficult it was and wondered if it was worth it. But again, I didn't give up.

It's a battle. A battle one minute at a time, a battle one hour at a time, and a battle one day at a time. But it is a battle I will win.

Setting myself on the right track is the first step to fighting the battle. Preparing my mind and my body for the things that I will face. Praying for strength and for guidance. Looking to others for support and accountability because even though this is my own personal battle, I need help.

I'm nervous for this battle. And already a little weary. I wonder if I can do it. And I worry that I won't do it well enough. But then I remember that sine this is my battle there is no one else I need to compare myself to. That instead I need to focus on myself and my steps, not on what someone else is doing.

This is what I struggle with. Both in the gym and in everyday life. Where is everyone else? Why are they there while I am here?

And it's because of choices. Some good and some bad.

So this battle it is another choice. A daily choice. Even an hourly choice.  Just like I have the choice to write every day or not write. And right now, I am making the choices that are right for me.

What choices do you have to make?

(title from "glitter in the air" by pink)