Now that I'm 30....

I've been waiting.
Ever since I turned 30.
I've been waiting for all those secrets that they keep from the 29 and younger crowd.
I knew they would be great--explain all the tricky things in life, make everything go smoother. Or just the jokes that only people who have been thirty would get.
Well, I was beginning to think that maybe I had just imagined it all because I wanted thirty to be so special...until today.
Today, with my thirty year old brain, I was able to figure something out that a mere 29 year old would be clueless of.

I figured out the true meaning of Black Friday.

Now, I am a little skeptical of sharing this. I haven't gotten my thirty year old handbook yet.
All of you older than me already know this, but I'm afraid that some youngster might get their hands on it and through the whole planet out of alignment.
But I'm gonna bank on all those young whipper-snappers keeping there mouths shut and behaving til they're thirty.

Ok, here goes.
The real reason for Black Friday is to----

cover all of your windows and mirrors and shake your naked booty!
It's naked dancing time!!

I suggest doing it after a shower, great way to dry off.
If you have kids in the house, close your bedroom door and call 5 minutes of mommy time.
If you like the way your body looks jiggling in all it's glory, keep the mirrors uncovered! (might be best to keep the windows covered though)
Play your favorite music loudly and stomp that naked arse all over the house!!

So, why do we do this?
(because we can)
Age has perks and naked dancing is one of them.
Celebrate what you have while you bounce, twirl, and wiggle away!!
(might even burn some calories too)
Do it alone or with those you love.
If you just can't  do naked, show off those rockin' undies!!

Have fun! Let loose! Don't be afraid to just be yourself!!

So who's going to join me this year in this new found tradition??
Who's going to help me redefine Black Friday?

Sounds better than all that financial mumbo-jumbo, right?

Goodbye October

October has been a real test for me and I'm not sad to see it go.
I know that on a large scale, visible to everyone it might not seem like it's been too bad.-I know I've had worse.
And any single event would have been taken lightly.
But every week, every day, something else has popped up.
Catastrophe after catastrophe. Fights, technically difficulties, and crappy doctor's appointments.

And I've handled it all very spectacularly. I wanted to beak down, give up, give in, but I haven't.
What this month has really brought to me though is doubts. It's made me feel horrible about myself and every choice I've ever made.

I doubt my ability to mother one of my sons--he's driving me nuts in a way I didn't know was possible, even find myself not taking his side. And I find myself wondering if I'm the right parent for him.

I doubt my ability to be a good wife--my husband and I are living such different schedules and I'd rather pity myself than try to help the fragile relationship we have. And the fights and frigidity follow.

I doubt my ability to be a friend--I ignored her when she reached out to me and can't or just won't find time in my life for her. Maybe I'm just not cut out for friendship.

I doubt my faith. I can't get over myself enough to place trust where it belongs and just give my life over. I try and blame the church, but I know better.

All of this is hard. I've been though it all before in varying shapes and usually come out on top(-ish).
 But I always knew, 100%, without doubt that there was still one thing I was good at.
I was good at school.
I took real pride in what I was doing and in the kind of student I was.
And maybe if it was just one teacher or one assignment, I wouldn't have noticed.
But no, not in October. In October, every single one of my teachers have called me out, either out loud, in class or in semi-personal notes telling me that I'm just not that good at what I'm doing.
I don't write well, I don't comprehend complex material, I talk too much, and that my thoughts might be ok if someone else were expressing them.
What feels like the final nail in the coffin was a comment left for me tonight.
I was being honest with the teacher when I told her that I'm not sure I understood the reason for analyzing and dissecting literature, that it seemed to take away some of the pleasure of reading. Her response was that I'd just be better off doing book-clubs. That I wasn't quite literature material.

And it hurt.
I know how stupid it sounds, but I try so hard at this and the people who I had come to really respect tell me I shouldn't even bother.

I  know I can't be the best at everything. Heck, I know I can't even do everything! I don't have aspirations of being a super-mom.
Right now I'd settle for mediocre-mom. And wife. And friend. And follower.

I know that it will all blow over, that life has it's ups and downs. But right now it's feeling plenty down.

But don't you worry about me. I'll just plaster that fake smile across my face and pretend that everything's fine.
And eventually it will be.

I just hope that there aren't any more October's in my near future.

If it ain't broke...

I have flash drives.

Lots of flash drives.

All over my house.

I even carry one on my key chain.

I took some advice from someone who spends way too much time looking after me, I decided that it just might be time to consolidate.

This caretaker happened to come across a great deal and bought me a big flash drive that would hold all of my work. I spent much time gathering said flash drives and getting many semesters worth of very hard work onto one flash drive. I was backed up and it felt good. I erased all the baby drives and sent some off to school with my children and had the rest laying around as decorations.

I carried the big daddy drive with me everywhere always carefully backing up and work I did- I learned the backup lesson after The Great Computer crash of '09.

Last Wednesday, in a computer lab at school, I inserted my handy dandy flash drive into the computer to save the work I had just completed, and something wasn't right. The computer threw up a mean red flag and told me that the drive wasn't inserted. My eyes certainly disagreed as I could see the flash drive protruding from the massive black tower, but again the computer said that it wasn't there. I passed it off as a quirky computer thing, ejected the flash drive, and went off to my next class.

If you know me at all you know that I am The Great Procrastinator and it will come to no surprise that I ended up doing a great amount of work last minute this Sunday. Part of this work is a notebook project that involves busy work and wasted paper. I wasn't in the mood to waste my ink (couldn't anyway, don't have any) or my paper so I pulled out the big daddy handy dandy flash drive, hooked it up to my computer, and my precious laptop informs me that there is no drive inserted. Then it prompts me to format the drive. Then it tells me that it not able to be formatted.

And It Will Not Open!

Six semesters worth of work (minus that which was lost in the crash) IS GONE!!

For sure if it's there I don't know how to retrieve it.

And my heart dropped into my stomach.

This is not good.

This may not be fixable.

I might have lost so much inspired work on the whimsy of a flash drive.

I backed-up! I did what I was supposed to!

The stupid flash drive did not hold up it's end of the bargain.

So now I'm sitting here, hurt once again by a computer. I just about feel violated. Mainly I feel really bad and very upset about my work just disappearing.

But I have learned a new lesson. Backing up isn't good enough. You need to back up your back up and in several different places. And I'm sure that once I start getting the hang of that, something else will change, I'll lose even more work, and will have yet another hard computer lesson to learn.

Handing it over

I did something really hard.

I mean, unbelievably, unfathomable, big time hard.

I handed over a decision.

A big one too.

Not just "what's for supper?" but a life shaping "you decide what's best" kind of decision.

You see, I had it in my head that we had to move. If you saw my house you'd understand that to me it was a have to not want to. It didn't help matters that my children's school was closing and my kids were school-less. And the school that they would now be sent to was unacceptable.

So the discussions began. And by discussions I mean that I talked my husband's ear off teling him what I wanted him to agree to without ever really listening to him--and that's how most all our discussions go.

Summer started, cleaning/packing began, and we started looking for a place to go.

Budget tight, must haves high.

We looked at lots of places and I fel in love with parts of all of them.

And he was silent.

I didn't ask how he felt about any place, I just made my own plans in my head.

And oh my head!

It was spinning and whirling and running and making so much noise! I had driven myself to stress levels that should never be allowed in any human. I was making myself sick.

Summer's racing by and I haven't decided! And now we have to go away for a week! A whole week of not looking talking hunting seeing!

And it was a great week. I saw sides of my husband and son I didn't know existed. But I was still stressed.

I prayed and prayed, wore out my knees praying that week. "Where should I move, where should I put my kids in school, what should I decide?" I didn't feel like I was getting any answer.

But I was feeling even more stressed. My body was rebeling against me! What was I going to do?

And then, in a moment of clairity, I thought about Forest. No, he doesn't have a perfect track record regarding decisions, but he also loves me and wants what's best for our family. And, he doesn't get stressed.

So we got back from our week, and I left for my week.

But before I left, I asked him to please decide for me. That I couldn't do it anymore. And then I said the scary thing. I said that I would go along non-grudgingly with whatever decision he made.

We've been a part of each other's lives for close to eight years now.

This was the first time I've put a decision like this in his hands.

Why, oh why didn't I do this sooner?

So I'm staying in house I hated and my kids are going to the school I thought was unacceptable. But he tells me that it'll all be ok, and I believe him.

And this, my friends, is a really big step for me.

The fabric of stories

Before I can write my stories, I must talk about who makes up a story. My story isn't my story. It is the story of all of those who touch my life. And it's all of their stories too. Starting before I was born, my mother's story was mine, I had nothing to tell, but her story wouldn't be the same without me. My parents story made me into who I am. Every story I may tell weaves  it's way back to them. And my stories would be so dry and boring if I couldn't tell my boys' stories too. And their stories wouldn't be here if it weren't for my stories.

Of course now, probably the most influential parts of my stories are shared. His stories and my stories are one story together. The only time they aren't the same is when we are apart, but they are still held together by some mighty strong threads. And then, when we are together again, we share, laugh, cry, and our stories become one again. Yes, perspective makes our same stories completely different but that gives us something to share and to strengthen those threads.

The other thing that accompanies stories and all who tell them is bad plots. Those little things make life unpleasant. The things that someone has done, done to us, or done without regard to us. That which makes us feel guilty, although we've done nothing wrong. The things we don't want in our stories because we don't want anyone to know about it. But while we hide others' secrets, our stories suffer. We aren't allowing sympathy or empathy into our lives. We are closed off and isolated. We can't fully live when we are hiding other people's character flaws, when we allow non founded guilt to keep others out, when we forget how to forgive and love.

So when I start to tell a story and wonder if it's mine to tell I realize without a doubt that it has to be mine, bad plot lines and all. That if the story is in, has changed, or is working in my life, then it's my story too. I do know that some things are truly better off not said, shared, and that there are times when I should check before including your part of my story, but I'm not going to hide from the story.

 I wouldn't be Annie without your stories, and I hope that my stories make up a little part of you too.

Long time no read

I was told this weekend that I ought to write more. Or at all for that matter. I'm not sure if this person enjoys my writing or just knows that sometimes I need to let it out.

Truth is, blogging feels great. I love to write. Every day in my little head I must write a million pages. But I don't bother to write them. That overwhelming voice telling me that no one cares what I have to say; that I'm better off being anonymous, quiet.

But I do have good stories and I ought to write them before I forget them. I mean, my stars, I just spent the past two weeks of my life doing some great things! Maybe I'm being selfish by not telling my stories. I don't want anyone to know just what I've done and how great it was. I let one person catch me being myself and she has to go and tell everyone how great I am and about the "gifts" I have. Please. I just do what I can. I'm not a humble person, but don't praise me for just being Annie- cause let me tell you, a lot of the time being Annie is no picnic.

 

So I guess I might just start writing again. An English teacher-in-training does not have the luxury of being shy about her writing. You'll just have to forgive me if the stories don't seem interesting to you or are poorly written, it's just me being unsure of my words. I don't have the grace, knowledge, and vocabulary as some folks, but I always write from my heart and if I can always do that, then maybe you'll know my joy, too.  I know that if I want to count my life as a success, I must live it, insecurities and all.

It's Friday!

Well hey y'all!



I don't have anything pressing on my mind tonight. More than anything I was itching to show off my new design. And all the little extras that I created (hint, hint, look at my button).


Well this week was exam week. Out of five classes, I had three real exams and they were all on Thursday. I had one "exam" on Wednesday. It was a killer--we had to go out to PF Chang's and eat supper together. And it was optional. But the three exams on Thursday were rough. I got B's in all three of those classes and I am thrilled with those grades. Still waiting on the other two, but I'm not obsessing.


So today really was the end of the semester for me. And let me say Thank Goodness! Hands down, this has been the worst semester EVER. And it's not just me saying that. Everyone is; the students, the professors, the spouses of the students. Now, I am at a school where a teacher decided to kill fellow teachers and no one really recovers from that well. It's not that we are in shock, or grieving, or are scared. It just threw everyone off. And on top of that, it seems like everyone--teachers (and me) included--have had some sort of personal disasters happen in their life. I think the planets aligned and evil ran rampant in Morton Hall at UAHuntsville.


But it's done. And I survived. And to celebrate, some of the education students got together tonight and had a great supper and spent quality time together out of the classroom. And we even ran into one of our favorite (and most intimidating.he.is.brilliant.) professors and his lovely wife. I took my husband and kids and it was just so nice to not be stressed out for a change.

And now it's time for summer. I opted to not take summer classes. Of course that means that next summer I have to take four classes, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there. This summer, I am just going to be. Now, that doesn't mean I'll be sitting around doing nothing. I've got several months of real cleaning to catch up on. There's a delightful rumor *fingers crossed* that I could be moving this summer. I must find a school for my children. I get to go build houses with my church. I have boys to play with and movies to watch and books to read. But I get to do it all at my pace. And I don't have to reflect (education word of death) on anything or write any papers. 

I get to be Annie.

And that's a good thing.