On: Being Alive

IT'S ALIVE! Oh, wait. I mean, I'm alive.

Yikes, you know life has changed when you realize you haven't blogged since September. That's a bad thing. I know.

In my defense my well structured life suddenly changed, and I'm still dealing with the aftermath. The Marine, Munchkin, Boy Wonder, and I no longer live in the land of sand and rocks. We're back in the PNW. The gray and rainy state of one of my favorite authors, Christina Dodd. Needless to say, it's been an adjustment. Though, thankfully, the weather has been mild and less rainy than it usually is. It's been easier to acclimate from constant sun when most days recently have at least had a glimmer of sunshine.

We survived the drive from California, and even survived the moving company misplacing our household goods for a week. Now we're in our new home. We're not settled, but that has a lot to do with my own OCD tendencies when it comes to organization.

I'm choosing to view this move as a good thing. I'm focusing on all the positives and all the new possibilities that are waiting ahead. I can't wait to be settled in so my little family and I can start living again.

How have things been with you, dear readers?

R.S.

On: Saying Goodbye

On Tuesday one of my closest friends checked into a new duty station. The Marines did this to prep him for his upcoming year long deployment to the Middle East. You would think, being married to the Marine, I would be used to this, but honestly, you never get used to it.

I've known my friend, the Captain, for a long time. Almost as long as I've been with the Marine. Our friendship has withstood living on different coasts and in different countries. In fact the last four months have been the only time, aside from when we first met, that we've even been in the same state.

It's funny how you can start relying on a person in a different way when they live down the street from you, and not a world away. His moving away, while not any different than the previous years of friendship, is harder this time. He won't be joining the Marine and I for late night Wii games, where we find out we're only smarter than a fifth grader when we work together. He won't be around for the Munchkin to chase and make funny faces at. In fact, not too long from now, he won't be just a text message away.

That's okay though, he's doing what he's supposed to do. What's he's meant to do, and I couldn't be more proud of him. This is who he is, and I wouldn't change that for anything.

Doesn't mean saying goodbye was easy, or that I won't miss him. I always will, because that's what being a friend often entails.

Have you ever had to say goodbye to a friend? I'd love to know your story.

R.S.

On Recreating Myself. Again.

It's been almost two months since Boy Wonder was born, and during that time I've enjoyed the snuggles, grins, and warmth that comes from his little body while he sleeps in my arms. I've enjoyed watching him grow and change, and seeing the expressions on his face as he becomes more aware of the world around him.

 What I haven't enjoyed is feeling like I've lost myself somewhere. I'm not the same person I was when the Munchkin was born. At that time, my life was completely different than it is now. I hadn't started school yet (that happened when she was three months old), and I wasn't actively writing, blogging, or doing anything particularly crafty or time consuming.

 My world revolved around my daughter and keeping the house clean. Occasionally we would run errands or go hangout at a friend's house, but mostly we would spend time snuggled on the couch, or playing on the floor. No matter what it was, I wasn't stressed out. I didn't worry about some huge thing looming over my head, and because of this, I felt like I had the parenting thing down.

Things aren't quite so simple anymore. Even though I realize a lot of the issues I'm having currently, are of my own making, I seem helpless to walk away from them. I've got the self-imposed deadlines looming over me. Things that really aren't set in stone, that I feel like I'm falling behind on. It makes no sense, while at the same time making too much sense.

I've got homework for a class I can't drop, and I know that no matter what I'll make it through it, but still I stress about every second of the day. There are other things that could go by the wayside, and not doing them won't matter a bit in a day, a week, or a year, but they hang over me like a dark cloud. I just want to enjoy the time I have with my son before he grows up and these days are gone.

I need to find peace with myself.

 I've been told that each child changes you, that with each new life you create, they recreate you into a different (and hopefully) better version of yourself. I firmly believe this. The person I became after the birth of the Munchkin was one I was proud of. I know, given time and patience, the person my son will create out of the stressed out ashes of my previous self, will be awesome.

Until then, I need to focus on what is really important. Spending time with my children. Taking a few moments to put away what I've incorrectly decided was important, for what is truly important. Whether that is reading a book with the Munchkin or dancing around the living room with her; feeding Boy Wonder (who seems to be a bottomless pit just like the Marine), or comforting him while he screams in my ear and shakes his little fists angrily.

The creating of art for myself and to sell, can take a backseat until a time when my children need me just a little less. The writing of the hundreds of books running through my head, can wait until Boy Wonder doesn't need to eat every two hours, and the Munchkin doesn't want to show me what new dance step she just created when she was supposed to be brushing her teeth.

It's time to sit back and let the re-creating begin, without the fight I've been giving it, because in my heart I know it's time for that change, I'm just having a hard time letting go of the old me for an uncertain future with a new me.

Have you ever had experiences like this? I really would love to know your stories.

R.S.

On: CSI NY

I've spent the last couple of days snuggled on the couch with Boy Wonder, working on posts for my various blogs, and watching CSI:NY on Netflix.

First it was Miami, now it's NY. I'm addicted.

Maybe there's a twelve step program I should look into.

A couple years ago I actually met Gary Senise when he and the Lt. Dan Band came to our base for a concert. He's actually a really nice guy who came off as being very quiet. After posing for the typical fan photo, he asked me to thank The Marine for his service to the country.

What are your favorite shows?

The Finish Line: Boy Wonder Arrives

It was a typical sunny day in the desert, and the weather man promised excessive heat for the next four days. I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant, and like every other day of the past nine months my stomach dictated what I wanted to eat. That’s what brought me to the base’s Starbucks at 1107. Before I’d reached the door I could taste the delicious brownie I had my heart set on.

Then my water broke.

In front of six Marines who barely looked old enough to shave.

If things happened the way Hollywood portrayed them, those Marines would have had a story to tell their buddies when they got back to work. Luckily for me, when my water broke, nature took its course and the water was more of a trickle than a gush.

Knowing what was important, I still got my brownie.

The drive to the hospital took six minutes--an eternity when every bump and stop caused a fresh gush of fluid to escape. When my sister and I secured a coveted ‘expectant mother’ parking spot we hustled, or in my case, waddled with a sense of urgency, to the labor and delivery floor.

Labor and delivery at the base hospital is a lot like any other place in the military. A lot of hurry up and wait. Once I was secured into a room and strapped into an uncomfortable bed with monitors and IVs, the real fun started. 

By fun, I mean the lying around waiting for the contractions to actually start doing something.

Five hours after I arrived, the doctor pushed Pitocin into my IV, in an attempt to move my labor along. Every hour a nurse came in and upped the amount of the drug dripping into my body, and every hour was the same. A lot of waiting without change. 

It wasn’t until nine hours and half a season of Veronica Mars later, something finally happened. My contractions stopped playing nice and sent a pain through my body so intense the world went black. It felt like something had broken. The Marine later told me it was probably his wrist cracking when I put him in a wrist lock.

I rode the pain of each contraction, silently for the next hour. Veronica Mars was still playing on the television, but I couldn’t focus on what was happening. I no longer cared whether she was with Logan or some other guy. With each contraction, the pain escalated. By the time I was ready to give up on the idea of a pain medication free birth, the doctor informed me I was too far along. My son would arrive within the next two hours.

For those of you who have never experienced child birth, two hours is an interminable amount of time. It might as well be nine months. I didn’t want to contemplate another two hours of my insides being torn apart by Edward Scissorhands or my own personal torturer--Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street.  

As it turns out, Boy Wonder wasn’t interested in hanging out that long either.

 Thirty minutes later I demanded, to the room at large, to get the doctor, because the baby was coming. I’m not sure who went for the doctor, or hit the call button, because at that moment I was hoping to go numb from the waist down. Blacking out would have been okay too.

Within moments the room was packed like a frat house on a Friday night after finals. Aside from my three person morale team that included the Marine, my sister, and my dear friend (and work husband), Corpsman K, there was a fleet of medical personnel: A doctor, a nurse, and three Navy Corpsmen. The perfect beginning to a joke.

It was a regular party, and I was the girl on the table.

I pushed for thirty minutes, and during that time I realized some very important things.

 I’m stronger than I gave myself credit for.

 It is possible to silence an entire delivery room with a single look directed at Corpsman K when he made a comment about his arms being sore from fanning me off with a clipboard.

The song Ring of Fire has a whole new meaning to me now.

At 2215 on June 6, 2013 Boy Wonder came into the world. Six hours shy of nine years to the day his brother was born an angel. On the anniversary of D-Day. To the sound of Taps playing across the base.

For the third time in my life, I experienced love at first sight.  

On: Moments of Growing

Today, the Munchkin got a little bit bigger, a little older. Yes, this happens each and every day, but today was different. Today she moved out of her toddler bed and into a big girl bed. A bright shiny bunk bed with full sized futon as the bottom bed.

She loves it.

The Marine and I realized we had to do this, not only because she is getting taller by the day, but because in a few months we'll be welcoming the newest member of our family. The Belly Munchkin, and he is going to need the toddler bed transformed back into a crib.

Each day brings changes and moments of growing. Not just for the children in our lives, but for us as well. Each day brings the birth of our son that much closer. While it's still several months away, those months will fly by. Taken up with daily life, school, crafts, and living. This pregnancy has already flown by in a way I wasn't prepared for.

Guess I better start preparing. :)

R.S.

On: My Anniversary

February 5th marked eight years since the Marine and I tied the knot. Of those eight years, we were together to celebrate our anniversary only twice. Including this year. Being married to a Marine makes for some lonely holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries, but you know what else it does? It makes you appreciate those rare moments you're actually together.

This year, the Marine and I went to a Japanese steakhouse (where I actually used chopsticks to eat the entire meal!) to celebrate the momentous occasion--you know having made it through eight years without blood shed--and had an amazing and wonderful time. Aside from the crazy traffic, and my uncanny ability to hit every red light between here and there. It was nice to spend time with my husband, without worrying about entertaining the Munchkin the entire time. I can also admit, it was the first time in forever I've gotten a chance to dress up. I even wore a pair of strappy heels.

Spending my anniversary with the father of my children was made all the more amazing by the kindness of strangers. We shared our table with an older couple who came to the U.S. before the Korean War. The gentleman served in the Royal Air Force, and then again served in our military as well. They had wonderful stories about their lives and their children. At the end of the meal, they did something we weren't expecting, and had nothing to do with our anniversary, but everything to do with the Marine's service to our country. They bought us dinner.

I'm not even ashamed to say I choked up.

It was a wonderful night, and I won't ever forget the kindness of strangers who shared a common bond. Military service and patriotism.

What is your favorite anniversary memory?

R.S.

On: Baby News

So, the Marine and I found out we are going to be the proud parents of a baby boy come June. The Munchkin is excited to welcome her brother, and is looking forward to being a big sister.

Now to just get through the next few months.

What things are you looking forward to in the coming months?

R.S.

On 'Skinny-Fat'

The other day I heard the term 'Skinny-Fat', and my understanding of it from verbal and visual cues, was not flattering.

Now, take a second to read the Urban Dictionary's definitions here.

You're back?

Good.

In a society where we're so consumed with the battle of which is better, 'thick or thin', it is demoralizing to realize even being 'thin' isn't quite good enough for those people who think anorexia is a perfectly good fitness routine.

I've had a pretty strict workout routine for the last two years, that has involved P90x, kickboxing, Zumba, and most recently, yoga and running. Because of this, I've got well toned arms and legs, and to my happiness- a butt is finally forming. However, I'm thirty years old and have a child who was damn near two feet long when she was born. I've never been fat, and I'm nowhere near it now, but based off this I could be viewed as 'skinny-fat', because my stomach isn't as toned and flat as someone younger or more athletic, though it's better than it ever has been. It never will be as flat as Miranda Kerr's, and that is something I've accepted.

If this has affected me this way, I can imagine how it would affect other women. Especially one who isn't as self-confident as I usually am. Is there no end to the emotional depravity men and woman will foist on each other when it comes to fitness and size?

It makes me very, very happy I am not out in the dating game. With knowledge like this, I'd probably never leave my house. It was bad enough ten years ago--a time before social networking had such a huge impact on our everyday lives. Before Twitter was king, and youtube could make you famous. Now it's amazing anyone actually dates, because surely nobody can match up to the unusually high standards even the lowest pond scum, drunken twenty-one year old seems to have.

Knowing all this, I couldn't be more grateful the Marine never acted like this, and actually treated women with respect--even though it made life with his co-workers more difficult.

What are your thoughts?

R.S.

On Understanding True Love

What is True Love?

As an author I ask myself this every time I sit down to tell my characters' stories. The answer, at least for them, is pretty straight forward. In a well crafted story, the heroine will be emotionally strong, and the hero will not be an immature ass. They've got to be human enough to make mistakes, and their trip into love can't be without its ups and down.

The hero, or sometimes the heroine, will show their strength in the others' time of need. They'll show compassion and understanding for each other, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to keep the other happy and safe. Even if that means locking them in a basement, cuffed to the water heater. In all cases, there is an equal give and take, because even in fiction, a relationship can't work if it's unbalanced.

In order for characters to be loved by readers they need to have redeeming qualities, and I haven't met many people who would find a hero who cats around on his lady--or drops her like a bad habit, appealing. Even if he does realize the grass wasn't greener and comes back, metaphoric tail between his legs.

If the heroine takes him back, the readers will lose respect for her, and possibly put down the book. That's not True Love, that's romantic suicide.

Reality is much more complicated.

Love is a crazy and fickle thing. It can be amazing or horrible, but usually it falls somewhere in the middle. The Marine and I have been married for seven years, and I'm the first one to admit it hasn't all been perfect--though according to my therapist it's quite healthy and has every chance of thriving. We've had struggles, and we've made mistakes. We're still learning about each other, and trying to grow together rather than apart while we're separated.

Most of all, our love is real, because even when I feel like I'm running into a wall, and he'll never truly understand me, he helps me to be stronger. When I look at my future, he's the only one who is beside me. Since I've met him, he's the only one whose been there.

Of course, if the Marine hadn't had the characteristics of a hero when we met, or I'd felt insecure or like I was only half of a person, rather than a better, stronger, whole person, I never would have married him. No matter how well his dress blues fit him, and no matter how much I loved him.

Regardless if it's a book or real life, love is supposed to make you stronger. It's supposed to build you up, not break you down. It's suppose to heal your soul, and seal up your insecurities, not break you or make you wonder why you're not good enough.

True Love is strength no matter what. True Love means a deeper connection than hormones and great sex. (Don't get me wrong, those are also very important) True Love is knowing no matter what, you'll be supported, cherished and loved. When you find True Love, it won't come easy, but you won't doubt yourself either. You won't be sad all the time, and even when you're mad, you'll feel safer with them than anywhere else. 

Have you experienced True Love? If so, I'd love if you'd share your story.

R.S.

On An Interview with an Inanimate Object

Could you imagine the conversations if inanimate objects could talk? What would the mirror in a public restroom say? Or the bed in a no-tell-motel? How about the cami bottoms of the Marine's uniform?

RS: So, thank you for agreeing to talk to me today, Mr. Pants.

MP: Please, call me Camis.

RS: Okay, Camis. How long have you been hugging the rear of the Marine?

MP: As you know, he likes to switch us out every once in a while, so I'd have to say probably for a year. He didn't get me until after his last deployment.

RS: Really, that seems like a long time. Do you enjoy your work?

MP: It's got some downsides, but over all I'm pretty content.

RS: What sort of downsides?

MP: Well, I put in long hours, and the expectations are killer. I'm expected to be durable and flexible. My pockets are constantly being crammed with books, pencils, pens, phones, and anything else my boss might need.

RS: What's the worst thing you've been expected to carry in your pockets?

MP: Keys. They're nasty suckers, always poking and digging.

RS: That does sound uncomfortable. What is your average work day like?

MP: I go to work when it's still dark outside, and sometimes it's dark when I get off too. Then when I'm at work it's  go, go, go. I'm either being weighted down, sat on, or rolled around in. Do you have any idea how hard it is to breathe when your boss has you face down in the dirt while he's got his knee in some poor schmuck's back?

RS: I can't even begin to imagine, but please go on.

MP: Then there is the amount of crap he puts ON me. My friend the belt has it pretty bad too, but at least he's only got things hanging on him. He doesn't have to worry about dealing with sweat or gas or anything else. He also doesn't have to worry about getting something on him when I'm forced to sit on some questionable surface.

MP: There are times I feel like I'm choking. Especially when he straps on a side arm or wraps boot bands around me.

RS: That does sound like a lot to go through during the day.

MP: Heck, that's not the worst of it. The absolute worst is when his wife starts groping me. I mean, come on lady, I'm not that kind of guy. She's hot and all, but I don't swing that way, you know what I mean?

RS: Oh, look at the time. I'm afraid that's all the time we have.

MP: But--

RS: No, really. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.

MP: I've got more to--

RS: Have a great day, Mr. Pants.

MP: Wait, where are you going? Why are you running away? Stop! Come back! I haven't even told you about the growling yet!


What inanimate object would you most like to interview? What would you ask them, and what would they say? I'd love to hear.

R.S.

On Continual Improvement

Every day is a new day.

A day where I get to decide what's going to happen.

Some days I wake up, and the only thing I want to do is curl in a ball with a good book or two, and an endless supply of chocolate.

Granted, neither of those fit into my current plans.

I hop a plane to Maui in about 37 days, give or take a few hours on either side.

*Squee!*

Okay, I'm calm now, and I've got goals, people!

37 days may seem like a long time, or a short time depending on my current frame of mind. It's long because I haven't seen my best friend in far too long, but it's short because I've got a lot to do before I leave to bask (and quite probably burn) in the sand and sun of Hawaii.

Since the first day of 2012 I've had my eye focused on the prize.

What prize is that you ask?

No, no, it's not a lifetime supply of chocolate that my husband will feed me as I laze by the pool. Though, if you'd like you could send me a lifetime supply of the smooth, sweet goodness. Any chocolate shop owners out there?

*Sigh*

I don't even have a pool, but I've got a whole lot of sand if anyone is interested. If you squint just right it might even look like a beach.

Anyway, the prize is physical and mental fitness. I'm tired of the continual feeling of exhaustion that has plagued me for the last year and a half. I'm tired of not being the healthiest me I can be. Which actually means I haven't really been eating chocolate.

I know, I know, hard to believe, right?

I read everything I can get my hands onto about how to lose that last inch around my waist I want gone. I've done amazing things for my body in the last few years. I dropped over 30 pounds all before the calling in of 2012.

It wasn't enough.

So I gave myself a personal challenge to do 90 days of yoga. Which I mentioned here. I'm still doing amazing with that. Sometimes I even do yoga twice a day. Because of this new routine I feel happier than I have been in a long time, and my core is so much stronger than it's ever been. Plus I can finally do correct push ups.

How awesome is that?

This morning, however, at the beginning of the new day, when the sky was barely pink and the power was still shut off (grrr to the power people and their more and more frequent 'scheduled outages') I decided I needed to do something more to bring my body to the best place it can be, both mentally and physically.

I decided to start running.

*Eeeeek!*

I hate running.

In fact I'd rather do just about anything instead of running.

Oh, you need me to clean your septic tank using nothing more than a mop and bucket? I'm on it!

I'm going to love running.

I want to be able to do things without gasping for breath. I want to firm up my glutes and tighten up the last little bit of skin on my stomach.

I want to shock the running shoes off the Marine.

Today was the first day of my 'couch to 5k' running program.

Not that I'm actually planning to run a 5k, but I'd like to be able to run three miles with the Marine. I'd like to enjoy running like so many other people seem to.

I want to be the best me I can be.

I want to continually improve my mind and body.

Yes, I want a lot of things, I admit that.

The big thing is, I'm willing to work for them and not expect them to just happen.

Hard work never hurt anyone.

In fact, the harder I work for something the better I feel when it all comes together.

I've got about three months until the Marine returns to me again. I think 90 days is a decent amount of time, right?

Wish me luck.

And maybe if I run I can start eating chocolate again. :)

Do you have fitness goals, or any goals you'd like to share? Is there something you hated to do, but you forced yourself to do it? I'd love to hear from you.

R.S.

On Valentine's Day

In general I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day. Even after I was married it never really warmed my heart. After all, aren't we supposed to show how much we love someone EVERY day of the year? It also doesn't help that the last few years, even though I'm married, I've been alone.

Don't people get married so they're NOT alone?

Apparently not.

At least I knew going into my marriage this was the way it would be, and I don't hold it against the Marine. He's doing his job, defending our country--even those people who would rather spit in the face of our military than accept them as human beings.

I love my husband for that, and there's a reason why I'm not in the service. I'm not as understanding of society's flaws.

Good thing he loves me in spite of my flaws.

Today, while my husband is somewhere NOT with me, I will share my love with the Munchkin and the Niece, just like I do every day.

I hope whether you celebrate Valentine's Day or not, you're having an amazing day.

Kiss your loved ones, eat some chocolate, and remember that even if you're single--you're not alone.

What do you think about Valentine's Day? Important or contrived?

I'd love to hear from you.

R.S.

On Insert Witty Title Here...

You know it's going to be one of those posts when I can't even think of a title.

I'm feeling jumbled today. Horribly jumbled in my head.

I've got a million things I need/want to do, and yet, I'm sitting here--for the most part--staring at the screen. There might have been drool involved a few times.

In the non-writing world--the day job world, the world where I'm also a mother of Wonder Woman proportions--I've got a ton on my plate. I've got to find out about all the legalities for the current venture I'm working on. I've got a ton of beautiful jewelry to make, photos to take, and like I said--legalities to learn and understand. Not to mention give as much time as possible to my little girl.

In the writing world I'm nose deep in editing a short, prepping to begin edits on a novel, and about half way through the current WIP novel.

I need to learn time management.

Something I used to be really good about.

Until the Marine left for deployment again.

This deployment seems much more difficult than any of the previous deployments. It could be that because for the second year in a row he's missing our anniversary (in two days), as well as all the milestones the Munchkin is making.

I'd really like to share them with him, without having to take a picture, video, or send an email.

I'd really like to sleep.

What do you do when you feel jumbled inside?

R.S.

On My 2011 Year in Review

Have you ever sat at your computer, or desk with a pad of paper and a pen intent on writing a list of what you've done during the year--only to draw a complete blank? 

Do you see me jumping around waving my hand? Oh yeah, complete brain dump, right here.

I know I've done stuff. 

Probably a lot of 'stuff'. I just can't remember it. 

At least not without help. 

I asked my best friend what I've done this year, she is after all my best friend so she'd have a pretty good idea, right?

Her response: "Worked your ass off."

As true as that is, it wasn't much help. 

She wrote this blog the other day, and I was so impressed with it I wanted to write one myself. 

2011

• Completed P90X
• Got a new tattoo
• Completed two novels
• Started a third
• Completed a short story
• Wrote several pieces of Flash Fiction
• Completed six college classes
• Changed my major
• Welcomed the Marine home from Afghanistan
• Said goodbye to the Marine when he deployed... Again.
• Added the Niece to our home--for a permanent stay.
• Turned 30
• Went to the Living Desert and rode a Camel with the Munchkin.
• Made friends and lost friends who weren't really friends.
• Experienced the Munchkin in her first dance class
• Watched the Munchkin in her first Christmas program
• Found out I had allergies...bad allergies.
• Saw the Lt Dan Band in concert and met Gary Sinise 
• Went to San Diego with my best friend.
• Started doing Zumba
• Started doing Yoga
• Went to Universal Studios, Knotts Berry Farm and Calico Ghost Town.
• Rode on a tram
• Discovered twitter (yes, I'm slow, but you can follow me @rsemeline)

I'm sure there is probably more, but that will have to be enough. 2012 is going to be insane. Really insane. Not to mention great. 

2012 is going to be great.

What did you do in 2011?

R.S. 

On Preparing for the Holidays

It seems like I've been baking since November. 

Oh, that's right. I have been.

It's called the preparing for the holidays. Something I feel like I've fallen behind on.

Who decided it was a good idea to have two holidays filled with baking, so close together? They sure didn't discuss it with me. I'd have offered June as a good month for one of them.

This is the first year I've gotten into the Spirit in years. It's a nice feeling. We're actually trying to create family customs and memories (even though the Marine isn't here to participate). 

That would explain the lack of writing I've managed to accomplish. 

Oh well, the writing will be there later, right? The Munchkin won't be this young forever, and I don't want to miss out on making Applesauce and cinnamon ornaments with her while she still likes me. 

I'm off to continue the baking. It's a never ending process, I tell ya.

I hope this week has found you happy, joyful, and in the Spirit of giving. 

May your Christmas be Merry and filled with all the love and excitement you could want. 

Season's Greetings,

R.S.

On Nanowri...No?

On the first of November I decided to throw my writing hat into the ring of Nanowrimo. This was all well and good, but for a few minor problems.

1. I was scheduled to take an accelerated class throughout the month, and by accelerated I mean cramming an entire semester or quarter or term (depending on the schedule structure of most colleges) into a four week period. This includes writing multiple essays, a research paper, four assignments that included approximately one hundred and four question and equaled around fifty-two pages, and three tests. This doesn't include the nearly five hundred pages I had to read during those four short weeks. *twitch twitch*

2. Thanksgiving. This was the first year I've actually been responsible for an all out Turkey Day meal. Plus, my best friend flew in for the dinner so between writing and spending time with her--I chose her. Okay, her and the firemen and paramedics we took food to. 

3. The Marine was on leave, because he's preparing to deploy. Again. He's going to be gone a long time and miss a lot of things during the next...long time. The Munchkin, Niece, and I wanted to spend as much time with him as we could. After doing homework there wasn't much time left.

Needless to say, I did great for the first twenty days of Nanowrimo. Things started to go down hill on the twenty-first day. My brain was no longer focusing, I was getting surly and snarly at everyone, and I was stressing myself out because as much as I'd like to be some kind of super hero--I'm not. I'm just an average woman who needed to spend time with her loved ones and relax after one of the most grueling classes I've been in.

I made a conscious decision on the twenty-first day of November. Nanowrimo was going to have to try again next year. It just wasn't important enough for me. I made my choices, and decided what was most important to me. This year it wasn't Nano. 

This doesn't mean I didn't write. I did. I also tossed around a few other ideas for stories and articles I'd like to publish. Do I respect those people who stuck it out and succeeded in conquering the beast known as National Novel Writing Month? 

Yes.

Do I especially respect the novelist who managed to beat the beast by writing 50k in two weeks?

Hell yes, I tip my writing hat to you, oh great one.

Do I respect myself for the decision?

Most definitely. Though some people might consider it quitting, or losing. I consider it a move done out of intelligence and respect--not only for myself and my family, but out of respect for the characters I'm so lovingly writing about. They deserve better than my stressed out writings. They deserve my passion and focus. 

So, on this last day of November, my official final word count for Nanowrimo is: 30,184.

Though, if I counted the eight page research paper, the fifty-one pages of questions, and the occasional blogs I'm sure I wrote more than the 50k. 

It's all in how you look at it. 

R.S.

On the 'State' of Happiness

So, this morning I read this blog post, and thought I'd give my own spin on it.

I've been part of the military my entire life, in one form or another. The funny thing is, I barely remember the moves, because my father actually retired from the Navy when I was a little older than what the Munchkin is now.

When my father retired we headed to his home state of Washington, and moved into the only home I remember. Now, there are flickers of memory from previous places, but they're pretty fuzzy from the passage of time. They don't really count.

We arrived in that little town in the Pacific Northwest just in time for me to begin first grade in the fall of 1988. I was lucky as far as the life of a military brat was concerned. I attended school with most of the same people from '88 until I graduated in 2000.

I wasn't moved around at random intervals like my sister was--she had to start all over again during her junior year in high school--and because of this I didn't seem to have the wanderlust that other people did. I didn't dream of backpacking through Europe, or flying off to the Middle East. I was content. Happy.

Kind of.

Then I hit my 20's and the wanderlust appeared. Not like it did in everyone else, but in a subtle way I didn't really notice. Between the ages of 20 and 24 I moved every six months. Not out of state or out of country, just to different places around the county.

In March of 2005, my brand spankin' new husband of a month--the Marine--had orders to Hawaii, and for the first time ever I was leaving the Continental U.S. Since then we've moved four times and lived in three different states.

I've still never been to a foreign country.

And my wanderlust is great.

I can't stay in one place for longer than two years without getting that 'itch' to move. I start getting antsy, and I start hating everything about the place I live. In the case of the desert, it's become a physical thing. I've NEVER had allergies, but in the last eighteen months I've not only acquired them, but they've set out to murder me.

Forget itchy, watery, or dry eyes. Forget sinus pressure. Bring on the allergy induced asthma!

That's right.

Why do something half-assed like boring sinus pressure, when you can go big and hyperventilate from a lack of oxygen? While doing nothing more strenuous than sitting on the couch? Or even better--sleeping.

Anyway, like the above mentioned blog, I've often wondered if it's where I am that depends on my happiness level.

Will I be at this level of happiness no matter where I'm at? Is there some place I'd be happier?

I know that while living in Washington I was never happy. That didn't become obvious until after I moved away, then it was so obvious I didn't know how I'd missed it for so long.

It turns out, that I'm at my 'happiest' or at least the 'happiest I know', when I'm some place sunny.

I don't do well with gray and dreary days filled with clouds and rain.

I 'thrive' in my own way, when it is sunny and bright.

It could be negative four out and as long as it's sunny I wouldn't care--though on a side note, I'm not a fan of extreme temperatures in either direction.

There isn't a particular 'state' I've found that I'm happiest in, and maybe that state doesn't exist. I know it's time to move again (even though a part of me would really like to buy a house and put down roots). Someday maybe I'll even get to a foreign country.

In my mid-twenties I believed Ireland was the place I needed to be.

Maybe it is.

Where is the place you're happiest? Have you found it yet?

R.S.

On Being Swamped

November is evil.

Between class, holiday preparation, the Marine preparing to deploy again, and Nanowrimo I haven't had time to think. I completely spaced that yesterday was Wednesday until I was finally getting horizontal last night. By that point there was no chance of me writing a blog post.

For the last week I've been eyeballs deep in research on gangs for a research paper that is due tomorrow. I just finally finished is, and I'm more than happy not to think of gangs for the next...oh however long I can get away without thinking about them for. Let's just say there is some pretty scary and gruesome facts involving youth gangs.

Tomorrow is my last day of class, and on this most glorious day I've got not one, but two tests. Yes, that's right I have two tests in the same class. I've also got a hair appointment. :) I'm going to have pretty pink streaks added to my natural strawberry blonde hair. After the month I've had, I deserve this.

As for Nanowrimo, I've done pretty well balancing it all out. I'm a little over half way to their word count goal. I've taken the past two days off because of the worn down feeling of my brain. My allergies have been killing me and have taken their tolls as well. However, I'm not worried. I'm pretty confident that as long as I get back on the 2k daily word count again in the next couple of days I'll finish right on time. I won't be early anymore, but finishing on time will just have to do. :)

How have you been this week? I'd love to hear. Please, let me think of something other than gangs, violence and death (the real-life kind, not the fictional variety).

R.S.

On Music in Our Family

Music has always been a huge part of my life.

It's rare that I'll go an entire day without listening to some form of it.

My ring tones are songs.

I randomly burst into made up songs-- like a bad  horrible amazing musical.

Eat your heart out, Disney.

I listen to music when I share, when I workout, and when I do my hair.

My phone has hundreds of songs on it.

I have an ipod for the car filled with hundreds of songs, and an ipod for when I want to tune the world out.

If none of the music I have fits my mood, I'll go to grooveshark.com and listen to streaming music there.

Sometimes, like when I was pregnant with the Munchkin, I'd watch CMT and GAC--just to hear the music.

Itunes is my Kryptonite.

I'd go as far as to say it's E-V-I-L.

All those songs at my fingertips, just begging me to download them.

*Sigh*

The Niece and I will dance around the house to anything that catches our fancy, and we'll laugh and giggle like loons as the Munchkin mimics us.

It's a happy feeling.

Music has started showing itself in another way in our home.

The Munchkin will randomly break into her own songs, and she'll sing them anytime, any place.

Her favorite venue seems to be the dinner table, but she seems to enjoy the potty equally well.

Maybe it has to do with the acoustics in the bathroom?

Recently, the Munchkin and the Marine had an impromptu jam session in our living room.

Mary Had a Little Lamb seemed to be the favorite.

Some days, I really love my life.


R.S.