Too Stressed To Think of a Title

I am stressed.

Stressed, like, beyond anything I've ever known.

I underestimated my worth as a stay-at-home-mum, but now that I'm a working mum, I realize just how much I did when I was at home.

I stayed home with the kids when they were sick.

I took them to doctor's appointments and dentist visits.

I took the cats to the vet.

I paid the bills (on time).

I took letters to the post office.

I went to the bank.

I made calls to sort out doctor's appointments, bill queries, banking issues.

I took the cars in for oil changes and maintenance.

I cleaned out the cars.

I cleaned the house.

I kept on top of the laundry.

I kept on top of the dishes. 

I made menus and grocery lists and did the grocery shopping.

I prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I even got in my "me time" by going to the gym and keeping fit and healthy.

Now?

All those things still need to get done, but Scott and I both need to leave the house by 7:30 to get the kids to school and daycare and get ourselves to work by 8. We both push ourselves mentally to the limit daily from 8-4:30, only occasionally taking an hour for a lunch break, before heading back home to collect the kids. By the time we get home, it's too late to run errands or make phone calls. By the time we've done homework with the kids, eaten a late dinner, and put all the little people to bed, it's time to tackle all the chores.  

Throw into the mix moving into a new house, where the errands, bills, and housework are thrown into overdrive. We are surrounded by boxes we have no time to empty and loose ends we have no time to tie. We had the old house to clean too, and all the old utilities to reconcile. 

This weekend we drove nine hours to Texas to visit family which was AMAZING (minus the driving part) and fun. But upon arriving back home at 1:45am and seeing the mess my house is in and knowing I'd have to be getting up for work in just five hours was devastating. I thought I'd also get the grocery shopping for the week finally done, after living the last two weeks on takeout, but that never happened either.  

Next week, my in-laws from Scotland are coming. The guest room is still full of boxes and no bed.

I never realized before how tough working mamas have it.  I worked full time from home for several years, which was extremely taxing, but I had no idea how hard it would be to work outside the home and not be able to get daytime tasks accomplished. Some people joke that going to work is a break from the kids, but my job is just one loooong day of a shitload too much to do. I go home from working nonstop all day to thinking of all the things that didn't get done at work and at home that need to get done. I wake up in the middle of the night trying to work out problems that won't let me get back to sleep. I remember half way through my work day that I never paid the car payment but I can't do anything about it because I'm at work. All my perfectly organized systems and daily itineraries are shot. My days run into each other bringing to close week after week without my realizing where the time has gone.

I am stressed.

I tell myself that in time it'll all come together. I'll make a new, albeit busier, routine and fall comfortably into it. But at the moment, I can't see that anywhere. All I see is a rocky landscape stretching to the horizon, and me climbing and tripping over the boulders and loose stones trying to go forward under the glare of a blistering, blinding midday sun. And all that's in the horizon for me is more rocks.

Usually, when I catch myself in danger of depression, I see myself slipping down a steep slope. I see it as a fast, slick descent. Right now, I see it as something I'm pushing myself into, unable to go any other direction other than full force straight into it, because that's the direction and inertia of my life.

How do you working mothers do this? How do you balance work and home? How do you spend all day expending your mental powers on the job and then come home to children who need attention and affection and patient help with homework, without totally coming unglued? 

I want to be that mother who comes home from work and pulls all the children onto her lap like a box full of kittens and snuggles them all with sitcom-worthy good nature before setting the whole family down for a healthy meal of meat and two vegetables. Who then brushes all the teeth and reads all the bedtime stories and tucks in all the blankets and coos as she turns out all the lights. Who throws in a load of laundry, washes all the dinner dishes, and then cuddles up with her husband on the couch with a glass of wine and a happy smile on her face. Who then wriggles into her perfectly made bed (done every morning, of course) with a book to read before slipping easily off to her eight hours of healthful sleep, fresh and ready for the 6 o'clock alarm the next morning.

Instead, I'm the mother who curses at the traffic on her way home from work, who picks up the kids from daycare and screams at the them because they have immediately begun to fight as soon as they get into the car over car seats and seat belts. Who gets home to a messy house and feels a massive headache come on as she tries to figure out what to throw together for dinner in a pinch because she hasn't had time to go to the grocery store in two weeks. Who feels guilty over the lack of vegetables on the plates and the overabundance of starches.  Who then loses her temper when the kids refuse to get dressed for bed because they have suddenly remembered that they have homework they need help with. Who snaps at her husband who also has been working all day over the tiniest things because her patience is gone and the house is a mess and even though they are both trying to carry their weight, the weight is too heavy. And when the kids are finally in their beds, after yet another night with no bedtime story, she looks at all the work that needs to be done and just cries as she moves from room to room doing small tasks that lead to other small tasks that make her feel she has done nothing at all when she looks back over the whole thing. Who collapses into bed without washing her face because she's too exhausted to fucking care that her face is going to break out and eyeliner is going to smudge all over her pillowcase.

That's the beautiful image I see of this girl right here. Hi, I'm Lori, the evil, stressed out arch nemesis of Supermom. Nice to meet you.

New House New Town New School

Well, we've kept it pretty quiet until it was a done deal, but this past weekend we MOVED! We moved out of Nowheresville into Somewheresville.  It's not quite the city, but Target is a five minute drive away, so I count that as a major step up in the world.

We rented a cute four bedroom house in a cute neighborhood with a cute neighborhood school and a cute-slash-awesome daycare. Instead of taking 45 minutes to get to work, it takes us 15. It's incredible.

When the house gets less boxy and more decorated, I'll take some pictures. It's an older house than the one we left, which has its advantages and disadvantages. The closets are much smaller, the bathrooms are smaller, and it's got old features like popcorn ceilings and wooden panel walls and drafty doors. BUT it's also got some adorable quirks like a wet bar, a wood burning fireplace and a Harry Potter-esque room under the stairs which will double as a fantastic storm shelter in case of a tornado.

The kids are loving the new space. It's such a big house that sometimes I actually can't find someone. Usually though, it's a cat I can't find. They are having a difficult time adjusting to their new digs. I'm trying to teach them to use the toilet instead of a litter box, with modest - very modest - success. More often than not, Sassy pees in the bathtub, but hey, it's better than the carpet! And I'm proud to report there HAVE been some poos in the toilet litter, which means it's starting to sink in on some level. If all goes according to plan, I'll have potty trained kitties in about, oh, three to four months. Worth it!

Today was the kids' first day of school at their new school. I am LOVING that they wear uniforms again. I think uniforms are a great thing for kids, at least young kids. It's easier on parents, it looks neat and tidy, and it levels the playing field for kids across the board.

Jaguar also started in his new daycare. We loved his old daycare and will miss the wonderful people there, but this daycare is super-cool. I told Jaguar they had pet guinea pigs in every classroom.  He laughed in my face and said, "No! Dinosaurs!" I had to explain to him that the daycare did not have pet dinosaurs, just guinea pigs. He didn't really believe me until he saw for himself today.

So now that we have hot water, a fridge (had to buy our own), and internet, the place is starting to feel like a home. Now we just need to stock up our wet bar (we live in a wet county again! No more driving out of city limits to buy wine!) so I can have a nice wee night cap before bed.

Things are looking up!

P.S. We have a guest room now, so if you out-of-towners want to come visit....

June Is Bustin' Out All Over My Free Time

It's nearly the end of June. Kids are out of school. I'm facing one of the busiest summers of my life.

I'm a list maker, and with all that's been keeping me busy lately, there's no way I can catch up without just listing out what has kept me from my beloved blog.

VIOD Book Club

1. Kids are out of school. Need I say more?

2. I'm looking for a job. Yep, like a full-time 9-5 gig. Job hunting is probably one of the most stressful things I've done in a LOOOONG time.  Tailoring resumes to suit each job spec, writing countless cover letters, interviewing... it's hard work, and I'm not even getting paid for it yet!

3. Subject to said job, we are planning on moving this summer. Originally we hoped to be moving out of state (Seattle! We long for you!), but after really getting nowhere with the out-of-state job hunt, we decided we are staying here in Arkansas. Yep, you heard me right. Arkansas. Us. Staying. But we are NOT staying in Nowheresville... the plan is to move into The Big City (aka The Littlest Big City), where life's happenin'.  So I'm slowly packing up the house and impatiently waiting for all our ducks to get in their row, so we can conclude the house hunt.

4. I am finishing my book. Funny, I "finished" it back in March, but I'm still not "finished". In March, I finished writing it. But oh my word, I had no idea how much time, energy, and headaches would go into editing and self-publishing. But I am so near the end of the tunnel, I can practically touch the light.  I *really* hope to have it out on Amazon (paperback) and Kindle (ebook) by the end of June!

5. I'm trying to keep up with my exercise routine.  It's hard though, when each day is so full of kids and errands and responsibilities. But working out keeps me centered and in control, so it's important to me. I've actually started going to a few 5am classes just to fit that time in. But on nights where I've stayed up late doing other things, 5am just comes too early.

6. I'm trying to fit in as much summer fun as possible before I start working. That means play dates and swimming pools and parks and zoos and museums.  I want to enjoy these last few weeks of stay-at-home-mum-dom before they are over.  Before they go into daycare all day...

7. I'm looking for daycare.  For the time being, they will go to the daycare just down the street from me, but even that is wrought with uncertainty. Do I start them before knowing for sure if I'm going to get any of these jobs, or before knowing a start date?  Do I wait and take the chance of the spaces currently open getting filled?  When we move, will I be able to find a daycare in the new area with open spaces?  Do I have any aspirin in the house?

8. I'm volunteering for a charity.  Right now, I'm just doing some posters for them.  It's called Lucie's Place, and it's an organization that assists homeless LGBT young adults.  Soon they hope to actually open up a shelter, but for now they assist these young adults with writing resumes, finding jobs and housing, and how to budget. I'll be doing some of that mentoring stuff contingent upon moving into The Big City, contingent upon jobs, contingent upon blah blah blah.... But of all the busyness going on right now, this one is one of the more rewarding ones.  I'm happy to be doing something for someone else once again.

9. I'm planning Jaguar's 3rd birthday party.  Little Jaguar (can't call him Baby Jaguar anymore!) freaking loves dinosaurs, so I'm planning a dinosaur party. It's only a few weeks away, and I've barely done any planning - which is so not like me, especially when it comes to birthday parties - but I'm hoping my preliminary plans of a dino cake, dino pinata, and paddling pools will be enough to get the party started.  Dino invites might need to be next on the agenda. (And a guest list. And dino party favors should get ordered. And do I want to rent one of those big inflatable water slides or just get some cheap slip n' slides and baby pools? Hmm...)

10. I'm reading as many books as I can fit in before going back to work. Who knows what my time will look like soon?  Without a day time to do laundry, dishes, housework, errands, car maintenance, quality kid time, and Facebook browsing (ha), will I even have time to read in the evenings after work? And if I'm going to the gym at 5am, I'll have to go to bed early, so no late night reading time.

And on that note, I'm going to go read.  I recently listened to over half of Barack Obama's Dreams From My Father on audio book, but have since forgotten where I left off.  So now I've gone back and restarted the book the old fashioned way - by reading it.  I do miss hearing the President of the United States read out classic literary lines like "bitch-ass mother-fucker" though. It's just not the same in my own voice.  Obama says it all so much better.

One Year Later: Throwback Thursday

I guess I should say something about this.

Today marks one full year we've been in Arkansas.

On June 17th, 2013, we stayed up well into the early hours of the 18th finalizing our packing - re-weighing all our suitcases, re-evaluating WHAT we packed, double checking all our documents, and eating chicken pakora and drinking Diet Irn Bru with family: Kate, Faisal, Adam, Andy and Marion. The girls slept on the one mattress still in our house. Jaguar, Scott and I slept on the floor on blankets getting taken the next day to the charity shop. The only things in the house besides that mattress and our suitcases were a few boxes of things to be delivered by Scott's parents to various places the next day and a few boxes of things the family was keeping for us until we would be able to bring it over to America at a later date.

On June 18th, 2013, Scott and I, our three kids, and Scott's mum Marion drove early to the airport with Scott's Dad, Kate, Faisal and Adam. We ate overpriced bagels in a coffee shop at the airport. We cried and hugged and said our last goodbyes. We boarded the plane and flew to America.

We should've arrived in Arkansas that night, but our flight had a problem. There were massive thunderstorms in Philadelphia, our port of entry. Our plane circled for a few nauseating turbulent hours, before running low on fuel. We were redirected to Baltimore to refuel, where we sat in an un-air conditioned plane on a hanger for an hour and a half, not knowing what was happening, everyone panicking about their connections. Fifinally we flew back to Philadelphia to an empty airport. Everyone who missed connections were given hotel and food vouchers.

We, however, with our twelve suitcases, had to wait for another hour or so in that empty airport, with staff giving us odd, suspicious looks, while Scott went through his Port of Entry Immigration procedure. Fifinally, he emerged from the immigration room with the final stamp of approval from the US government and a green card, and we lugged our suitcases and children (thank goodness Marion was traveling with us!) out to the curb to wait for a shuttle to take us to the hotel. We had to get twelve suitcases onto the tiny shuttle. It was almost midnight EST, which was 6am our body clocks' time. We'd been awake for over 24 hours.

We got to the hotel and unloaded twelve suitcases. We checked in. We took twelve suitcases up the elevator and rolled them down the hall to our two rooms, where we had to fit them all. Scott and I ordered dinner for everyone, our food vouchers barely covering the price of even half our meals. A glass of wine was almost $10. We managed to crawl in bed around 1am. We had to wake up at 4am to catch the shuttle to the airport to board our newly booked flights.

Three hours later, on June 19th, 2013, we woke up and rolled twelve suitcases down the hall, down the elevator, out the door and back onto a tiny shuttle. We took twelve suitcases and three children off the shuttle and into the airport where we waited in the check-in line. The woman did not have proof that we had purchased those six extra cases and thank heavens I'd shoved the receipt from the day before into my handbag, or she'd have made us pay another $600 to get them on the flight. We boarded a flight to Little Rock, Arkansas.

At about 10am, we arrived in our new home state. My mom and step-dad were waiting for us. With two extra adults to help us, we loaded twelve suitcases, three children and five adults into two cars. We pulled into my parents' driveway. We talked for a few minutes and then fell fast asleep.



We've been here one year. Within that one year, Scott and our children successfully immigrated to America, Scott got a job, I started a business and got a job, Fifi started a new school and Girl Scouts, Lolly started and completed a homeschool program, we got a house (rental) and a car, our kids played two seasons of soccer, Jaguar learned to walk and say a few words, we got two cats, made several friends, visited Seattle, WA, and countless other things that I'm sure will start popping into my head as soon as I hit 'publish'. It's been a long, eventful year. It's been really wonderful at times and really sad at others. Over all, we are happy. We know we made the right choice. While we have no intention of staying in central Arkansas forever, this is where we are right now, and slowly I'm learning to be okay with it, happy even.

It's been kind of an emotional few days as I've reminisced over what these days were like one year ago. We said a lot of sad goodbyes and a lot of excited hellos all in a matter of days. But when I think of where we've already come in just the space of 365 days, I'm amazed. Life is good. We are good. And it's only going to get better.

Special Things - Part 2

A few months ago, I posted some pictures of Special Things that Scott and I chose to keep when we moved to the US from Scotland. I promised a Part 2 of some other special things we kept. I've been waiting until I got a few of these things framed (the tea towels) before posting, but this weekend I went on a bit of a frame splurge and got them up. Now I just need to get frames for our family portraits, and I'll be just about done!

So first, the tea towels.


Technically, only the first one (the blue one) came over with us from Scotland. Only about six months before moving here, I became really good friends with Sheila. Our daughters were in the Gaelic nursery together and had become best friends. Since we were constantly getting the kids together after nursery (along with Robyn and Laura and their daughters), Sheila and I got to know each other really well. And I loved her to death. She was one of those people you just automatically click with and after only a few weeks, I felt like I could trust her with anything. It was really hard having to leave her after only just getting to know each other, really hard. She came over for weeks prior to our move to help me clear out each room of my house, take trips to the dump, and clean. Before I moved, she gave me a gorgeous tartan handbag (the kind I'd been wanting ever since I first visited Scotland with TMI, unbeknownst to her) and this blue Scottish foods tea towel.

Since moving, she's been the person I've kept in touch the most with, via cards and packages. Lolly and her daughter send each other drawings and little gifts all the time, and often we include a little something ourselves for each other. The red Tunnocks Tea Cake LOVE towel was one of the gifts she sent me. They are so adorable, I couldn't bear to use them, so I framed them. They are now in my living room.

The next framed item is also a tea towel. This one came from Robyn, another nursery friend. Like I said, our daughters all loved to play together and were best friends. Robyn knows I have a thing for moustaches, and she sent this to me after I moved here. So technically it didn't come over with us, but it's classified as a special thing that reminds me of her whenever I see it. It too was too nice to be used, so I finally framed it and hung it in Jaguar's moustache room.


Sorry about the flash, I didn't realize it had reflected so badly, but it's in Jaguar's room, and he's asleep, so no retakes tonight.

FYI, regarding all the tea towels, they are of such odd dimensions, no standard frame fit perfectly, so there is about six inches missing of each from framed image. Oh well.


Again, poor image, sorry. This is a painting I framed a while ago and have hanging in my living room. It's a painting of the Cloch Light House in Gourock, given to me and Fifi from my friend Debbie and her son who was in Fifi's class at school. I love it. I love all the things that remind me of Greenock (and Greenock friends).

Such as this.


In the previous post about special things, I showed a picture of two little angels from Mollie and Rosie, girls I childminded. This little tile was from them too for Jaguar. It's a painting of the Waverly, which can be seen (and ridden) along the Clyde past Greenock. The tile hangs on Jaguar's wall next to his birthday banner.


Also hanging in Jaguar's room, on the post of his bed, this little plaque was a gift from our friend from church Val when Jaguar was born. It was one of my favourite gifts. I was terrified it would break in the move, but thanks to about a meter of bubble wrap, it survived. Jaguar IS a real cute cookie, if you ask me!


Moving out of Jaguar's room and into the kitchen, I have this glass painting by our friend Lorna. Lorna was one of the first people I met, though it took a few years for us to get really acquainted (it happened once I started going to her church), and there is literally no one I know on this planet with a bigger, more selfless heart. And when Lorna's around, there's going to be laughter. I don't know anyone else who has so many random, weird things happen to her, but if it's random and weird, it will happen to Lorna. I mean, do YOU know anyone who on more than one occasion has found a stray sheep wandering around her living room?

Lorna used to invite the girls over for sleepovers at her house, and she always prepared really exciting adventures for them. Leaving Lorna was hard for all of us. The girls called her Auntie Lorna, because that's pretty much what she was. Lorna had started getting into glass painting, and before she moved, she gave us this treasure. It hangs above the counter in our kitchen. I love that she put in the effort of looking up the Arkansas state flag to add to the painting - along with the face magnets we used to have on our chores board that she glued to the airplane!

Fifinally, the last photo, also in our kitchen, my green and white pottery bowls and a card in a frame.


The card, which reads Children are the flowers of life was sent to us by my sister-in-law Rebekkah some time ago. I love homemade cards and usually keep them for a time, but this one was really beautiful. I loved it so much, it deserved to be framed. I found the white ornate frame which matched the ornate card so well, and put it in the girls' room in Scotland. It moved over with us and now decorates the top of my baking rack in the kitchen.

The three stackable bowls are possibly my favourite things ever. These were made by my dear friend Maria's own hands in her pottery studio. They were among her first pieces she made, and according to her, they have flaws, but I see only beauty. She gave them to me as a going away present. I decorated my entire kitchen around them. I use them for special occasions only, and the rest of the time, they keep my kitchen pretty. There are some matching green candlesticks in the living room too, but I need to find a new place for them; my cat knocked one off the shelf the other day and broke it. A little superglue will fix it, but I don't to risk any more breakages. These three bowls make me so happy, and I love telling guests where they came from. They always get a mention. I love that Maria is so talented. I am really proud to be her friend.

There are still a few other things scattered around the house, but most are in Fifi and Lolly's room, which I can't access right now (sleeping, yay!), so a Part 3 is still to come!

Keeping Busy, With This and That

For someone who has taken a back seat to getting involved in too many things - and I've taken, like, the very back seat of the megabus here - I've managed to still get myself very busy lately. However, this time I'm doing things I love, not things that I'm obligated to do, and oh, man that kind of makes me sound like a spoiled, pampered upper class housewife, so let me start over...

Last year's theme was Simplicity. This year's themes are Satisfaction and Motivation. I started 'theming' my years last year with my annual 40 Questions. Simplicity was the year I really needed to streamline my life - in both material possessions and in activities. I had gotten myself involved in far too much, which meant I couldn't actually give any one thing enough care and attention to do it properly. It also meant I was away from home so much, I felt I couldn't keep housework under control or spend enough time with my kids and husband. It was the year we moved from Scotland to the US, so I really had no choice but to simplify my commitments and my belongings.

In doing all that, and then moving across the pond, I realized I had simplified so much that I owned practically nothing, which I perceived as a bad thing, and moving to a new place meant I had very few friends and no activities to get involved with. Thus Satisfaction (and subsequently Motivation) were introduced as my 2014 themes. Can I be satisfied with what I have? Can I be satisfied with this new laid-back - super laid-back - lifestyle, with not being involved in anything? The answer seemed to be that I needed to learn what I can or can't live without and to be satisfied with that. And as for not having friends or things to do, that was going to require a little motivation on my part to achieve.

And in all honesty, I've not done well on either of those challenges.

We have accumulated a lot of stuff that we don't need and don't satisfy me to have. I still haven't been very motivated to get outside my comfort zone and get involved with anything or anyone. It's still very depressing for me. I know I don't want to live here in Arkansas long term, and that's keeping me from making the effort to make close friends or get involved with anything. It's pretty much entirely my own fault that I have very little life outside my home right now.

Soooooo, having laid all that out there, what I meant to say was, for someone who is no longer childminding full time, teaching baby signing, running an online shop, volunteering on committees, rehearsing for musicals, leading worship at church, studying Gaelic, and juggling kids' ballet, football, drama and tennis schedules, I've been a pretty busy lady lately. Mostly from home. And what I'm finding is, it's kind of satisfying. For now at least.

Working
I have my one business. Just one. It isn't extremely busy, it doesn't take very much planning, and the actual work involved is fun and energizing. Having my own Pampered Chef business has been perfect. It gets me out of the house to parties (I love that my job is all about partying), makes us a little extra money and gives me something to be excited about. It does require me to work at getting parties lined up, which is the hard part, but everything else about it is really easy and fun. My goal is six parties a month, though lately it's been only two to four, but those parties, plus holding booths at vendors' events, keeps me fairly busy.



I get to make and eat things like this for money!
Reading
I've joined a book club. Two, actually, though I've only been to one meeting of either... However, I have actually bought and am reading the book for Book Club #2 (which is named "Velociraptors in an Opium Den" which I guess I'll understand the context of some day) and have the next meeting on my calendar... I intend to go, having read the entire book, and I'll even bring some food. That's involvement, people! That's a pretty big step for me at this pathetic stage of my life. We are reading An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England by Brock Clarke; I'm halfway through. It's good to have a book in my hands again. We sold/gave away almost all of our books when we moved. Not having a bookshelf in my new house makes me feel uneducated, nonintellectual, and dare I say it, unsatisfied. I have a series of books on my 'to read' list and in my Amazon cart, for after pay day. Next two books on the purchase list: Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why by Bart D. Ehrman and The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream and Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama. As a Christian, I was always reading theology. It appears that now as a post-Christian, I still like the same genre! Politics, however, are my new interest. Religion and politics. The two things you should never talk about in polite company.



It was this book that got me interested in Obama's autobiographies...
Sidebar: You may wonder why I want to purchase books instead of check them out of the library or read them on a Kindle. Three reasons:
1) I want to build back up a collection of books. I re-read books all the time and love having them at my fingertips. I have books I re-read practically once a year. I don't want to go back to the library to check out a book multiple times. I also love having my own home library which leads me to...
2) I already said I feel uneducated, nonintellectual and unsatisfied with no books in my house. I want my kids to grow up surrounded by books. I want them to have books they can pull off the shelf at any time if they look interesting to them. I grew up surrounded by books - theology, biographies, fiction, encyclopedias - and I want my kids to do the same. Scott is also a reader - he's into early sci-fi - and together, we had a pretty fantastic library until we - sob, hiccup - had to part with them all. Damn, I miss my books.



All my books fit in this one shelf. Waaaah!
Oh yeah, and 3) I hate e-readers. I like real live books with paper pages.

Writing
I'm writing a book. I'm not ready yet to talk about what I'm writing or let anyone read it, but it does fill my time, and it's something I've always wanted - nay, needed - to do. I've been writing since I was old enough to print. I've been writing stories as far back as I can remember. I wrote a book in fifth grade titled Boys R Poo and if only I could get my hands on that incredible piece of literature... I'm sure I'd cry with horror over how embarrassing it is. I graduated college with a degree in English, with an emphasis in Creative Writing. I've written a book of poetry and self-published it as an eBook (which by all means, go buy. Right now.) But a book, writing an actual book, has always been on my bucket list. It's getting to the awful stage right now, the 'this is so not f***ing worth it, why am I wasting my time?, oh this is going to be terrible, I have to finish it though, I've come so far, but oh no one is ever going to want to read this drivel!' stage. Which, since I've never written a whole book before, may or may not be something like transition in childbirth. I don't know.




My e-book had to count as satisfying the 'before 30' part.

Sewing
Now that I have my new sewing machine, the thing I missed most after my books, I've started making stuff again. It's hard to find the time sometimes, but when I do get a few scraps of free time, I've been on my machine. I made another Jaguarator and I've started making taggie blankets. I'm even considering making some taggies to sell. Ohhhh I can see myself slipping into that second home business trap again, but I can guarantee it won't become an online shop! I also want to make some new clothes. I've got a couple of peasant skirts I want to make myself in time for summer (if summer ever comes to this god-forsaken cold town - this cold weather is NOT what I signed up for when we moved back to the South) and some dresses for the girls. I love having a sewing machine again!



Because babies love chewing on the tags.
Mummying
Not to be confused with the practice of wrapping dead bodies in cloths and embalming oils, though at times I feel like a dead person being kept preserved by another person's will, mummying keeps me fairly busy. Lolly starts kindergarten in only four and a half months, but until then, she and Jaguar keep me going full steam most days.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again. Having her home with me again after a year and a half of her being in nursery (pre-school) has been tough, but it's been amazing for our relationship. She's a tough cookie to get to close to. This year has been really special for us, as a mummy and daughter. The child I thought I'd never understand, the child who kept me at a slight emotional distance, even as a toddler, has welcomed me into her inner lair and shared her little soul with me this year. We have become best friends through this unexpected year off. She drives me insane, and some days I'm pretty sure drugs wouldn't be such a terrible thing to get into after all, but it's worth it. Like taking her to her homeschool group's Box Car Derby this morning. She painted and decorated her own car, which I'm not going to lie, was one of those 'Anyone got any heroin?' experiences, but at the derby, she was so proud of her beautiful car and so excited to be in a race.



She told me, 'Mummy, I promise you I'll win.' And she did. That's my girl!
Extracurricular activities keep me mummying too. Soccer has started up again, too, so on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I'm hitting the soccer fields again for two hours of watching Fifi then Lolly practice. Fifi is in Girl Scouts as well which is every other Thursday night. So those are my social nights, sitting on the bleachers with the other soccer moms and dads, cheering on our little tripping, bumbling wonders of biology and nature.



Selling the crap out of some cookies.



I've started calling it 'soccer' instead of 'football'. Waaaah!
Exercising
Fifinally, how could I forget? My least favourite but most rewarding hours of the week? Here's where motivation really comes into play - the gym. I try to go at least twice a week, if not three times. This is my other social outlet, though I don't really socialize very much while I'm there. I'm too out of breath to try talking. I'm still going to my fitness classes while Lolly goes to hers, and today I had a little epiphany. Or maybe it was less an epiphany but a kick up the backside. Instead of hating every moment of these classes (I just frickin' hate cardio!), I realized I needed to pace myself. Once again, a little like childbirth. If you go into a work out (or childbirth) already defeated, already ready to be miserable, then you will have a hard time getting through it. But if you pace yourself mentally, beginning with, 'Okay, I can do this, I'm feeling good, I'm working' then graduate to 'Whew, yep, I'm working all right, but I can maintain this, I can keep going' to finally, 'Right, now it's getting hard, I will keep going but this really is getting tough now', you'll get through it a lot more easily. And surprisingly, at the end of the work out today, I didn't feel like I was going to die or cry, because I'd mentally paced myself. I realized I was actually in good enough shape that if forced (and only if forced) I could keep going. Unfortunately, this is where the childbirth illustration breaks down, because in childbirth, when you hit the 'F*** this, I can't do this anymore!', well, hello, baby, is that a head I see? And you don't have the luxury of stopping any time soon, you just gotta keep working through that mess.

Tattoo Trio, aka Happy Birthday To Me

Away back in November, I asked my readers for blog topics, which believe it or not, I'm still working my way through. Joy gave me the topic "tattoos", and today is the day, because it's my 32nd birthday, and while 32 is an unexciting age, I'm going to commemorate my first birthday back in the States with a new tattoo.

I got my first tat when I was 20 and in college. At the time, I was taking Arabic classes, and though I never felt like I was really getting it, I loved it and was doing pretty well with it. The script is beautiful, and I spent a lot of time practicing my handwriting. I knew that if I were ever to get a tattoo, it had to be something that meant something to me and would always mean something to me. After a lot of deliberation, I chose the word "faith", for the reason that I may not always have love or hope, but I'd always have my faith.

There was an Arabic calligraphist on the U of A staff. I asked him to create a calligraphy design for me for the word iman. He gave me a nice design, but it was a classic calligraphy design, not quite what I had in mind, and it wasn't very tattoo-able. I then discovered a contemporary calligraphist online, Nihad Dukhan, and contacted him. For a pretty little sum I now can't remember (well over $100), he designed me a beautiful iman, which I loved enough to have tattooed on my right foot.

(Why did I not just get the word as it is in Arabic if I loved the script so much? It felt too plain and a little too trendy. It is beautiful when written out... إيمان ... read it from right to left... but I wanted something more artistic.)

A few years later, I was living in Scotland and was ready for a second tattoo. I already had faith, so the idea struck me to go with a trio - "faith, hope and love" - the "greatest of the spiritual gifts". On Nihad Dukhan's website, there was already a design for hope, so rather than have him design a special one for me, I just used that image. I loved it anyway. I had it placed on the middle of my upper back, between my shoulder blades. Hope in Arabic, by the way, is pronounced amal and looks like this: أمل

By the way, did I mention that both my foot and my spine are incredibly bony places for tattoos, and I don't like pain? Yeah, the actual act of getting inked is not my favourite part.

For many years, I've been itching to get that last tattoo - love - but it's never worked out. I've never been really sure where I'd like to have it. My left tricep has always been my go-to place, but for various reasons, I've never quite committed to it. I've also considered my right wrist and my right side under the ribs. I even briefly considered my right foot but just didn't want my tattoos to be that symmetrical.

So here I am years later... eight years, possibly. Sadly, my original trio just isn't what it once was. Incredulously, I did lose my faith, something I thought could never happen. In a way, it seems odd that I want to finish the trio - maybe that's the Type A side of my personality? But also, it still seems fitting. While my faith is not what it was, nor is my hope, love still abounds. (Cheesy.) Love still conquers all. (Just going with the cheesy.) I have faith and hope already tattooed on me, there's no going back, and I'd never want to go back. Both of those things are huge parts of my life, and they made me who I am today. I don't regret either tattoo; I still love them dearly. Now, however, is the perfect time for getting love, or al-hib, or الحب 

The three greatest gifts are faith, hope and love. Love is meant here in the brotherly sense, the universal sense, the love for one's neighbor and all mankind. It is also the greatest of all the three gifts. Nothing as of yet has broken or destroyed my love for other people.

(That's not to say I'm great at it all the time.)

One other thing I love about the trio, is that they all represent the different segments, or if it were a book, volumes, of my life.  The first tattoo was from My Life Part 1 - Raised in Arkansas.  The second tattoo was from Part 2 - The Scottish Years.  This third one will be Part 3 - Return of the McFarlanes.  (If I make another major move again, I guess I'll just need to get a fourth one... I do have my eye on "peace"!)

So on my 32nd birthday I once again return to Mr Dukhan's site for my tattoo. I love this design as much as the others... and again, I'm happy I don't have to pay for a custom drawing! I just need to decide where... my wrist or my tricep.  I hope to get it done this month.  I'm pretty excited!!

Another Old Unpublished One

I found this post while clearing off my desktop. I wrote it long before Scott and I announced to the world that we were moving to the US, but I couldn't of course post it at that time. I think it's safe now. This is what went through my head regarding the prospect of leaving Scotland.



I have to write this in a Word document because I’m not ready to publish it out there yet.

So Scott and I are thinking very seriously about moving back to the United States. Like, next year.

This is seriously mega huge for me.

See, ever since Scott told me he ‘loved me properly’, I knew that my new life was going to be in Scotland. I am sure that I must’ve experienced some grief at leaving my old life behind (and probably if I went back through my blog posts of that time, I’d find the evidence), but I don’t remember it much. Mostly I just knew that my life was about to change big time; I was going to marry a Scotsman and live the rest of my life with him, there.

So how is it that 9 years later, suddenly that is looking likely to change? How do I face that?

I can’t figure out if it’s pride or if it’s genuine ambivalence. See, part of me does feel pride. I was a 22 year old newly graduated university student who made the decision to move to another country and live another life. I was and am proud of that. I have changed so much because of that decision. I was a young girl who in under one year navigated through all the craziness of immigrating and made it. I saved up money, I filled in all the paperwork, I flew to Los Angeles to interview for my visa, I got married and I immigrated to the United Kingdom. Then I went through another crazy process of applying for my Indefinite Leave to Remain in the UK. I birthed my children here. I started three home businesses here. I got my UK driver’s license here. I re-learned English grammar to comply with British rules instead of American.

And I created a life here. I took that first lonely, scared, uncertain year and built a confident, fulfilling, exciting life for myself. I made irreplaceable friends. I have risen to challenges. I have overcome so many of my childhood fears and insecurities. I have become a woman here, a mother, a wife, a business owner, an actress, a supporter, a mentor, a nationalist, here, in Scotland.

I would even go so far as to say, I have become Scottish.

....

As I let that last thought sink in, I wonder, How could I ever revert back to being... American?

It sounds so plebeian now. It sounds so teenager. Americans, with their lame politics and mainstream religion and lack of humour and bad accents... How can I go back to that? Is it even possible? Or is it possible to go back to that place but not to that person? Can this ‘me’ live in that place and still exist?

....

I’ve been trying to figure out what the difference is with this decision and all the other ‘life’ decisions I’ve had to make. I mean, I know people who move constantly, in and out of the UK, all over the States, all over Europe, and they are happy and carefree. Why can’t I do that? Why can’t I just up and move like so many other people do? Well, for starters, that’s just not me. As much as I appreciate excitement and love to do things the not-done way, I am still just a homebody who wants to be settled. I don’t need upheaval to get my kicks. I like to do outrageous things, as long as they are from the comfort of a background that I know and that knows me.

I’ve made ‘big’ decisions before; of course I have. I once had to decide where I would go to university. I once had to decide a major. I once had to decide to quit my job to become a full-time mum. I once had to decide to become self-employed.

I once had to decide to get married. I once had to decide to immigrate to another country. I once had to decide if it was time to start a family.

The difference between these ‘big’ decisions was permanence. If I decided I didn’t like my university, I could go home or transfer. If I didn’t enjoy my major, I could switch. If I realised we couldn’t afford me staying at home to be a mum, I could go back to work. If self-employment didn’t work out, I’d just go back to into employment.

But, um, if marriage wasn’t what I expected (and it wasn’t), I was stuck. If Scotland wasn’t as dreamy as I imagined it (and it wasn’t), I was stuck. If having children wasn’t all sunshine and roses (and it wasn’t), I was stuck. These are the BIG life decisions. These are the things that changed my life... forever. For good. For better or for worse.

Moving back to the States? It’s for better or for worse. If I go back and hate it, I’ll be stuck.

We’ll have sold all our belongings. We’ll have spent thousands on greencard applications, citizenship claims, passports, flights, and other various yet unknown expenses. Scott will have no job still waiting for him back here in Scotland. If we make this decision, we make it forever. For good. If it doesn’t turn out how we expect it, we will still be stuck.

...

I know it would be the right decision for Scott. He would be so happy with his second chance, his turn to become a new ‘him’. His health would be so greatly improved, his career opportunities would open up. He could get back into the things he is passionate about - music, creating. I know he would be happier and that is half what this is all about. I then wonder if it’s the right decision for our kids. Right now, they are in a school that I couldn’t love more. Fifi’s class size is eleven kids – and that includes three different year groups. She is becoming bilingual. In fact, after hearing her little ‘puppet show’ she did for me this afternoon, I could easily say she is bilingual. She has a teacher who has the time and ability to get to know her personally, who knows her likes, dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, her quirks and what she is capable of. She isn’t grouped into an age category or a personality type. She is known for who she is – in a classroom! I couldn’t love that more. Is it really right to take her out of that, and to deprive Lolly and their soon-to-be-born brother of that pleasure?

Or should I be looking at the bigger picture – maybe what will matter more when they are grown are memories of playing outside, living in the sun, growing an outdoor instead of windowsill garden, freedom of safety... countless other benefits to growing up in America that I have forgotten because I’m so acclimated here. It’s not as if there aren’t great schools in America, and it’s not as if bilingualism is the end-all-be-all of education.

If I can be made certain that this move is right for them, then I will not care what it means for my own personal ‘identity’. My husband and my children mean more to me than I mean to myself. I am the wife and the mother, and in my heart, that makes me the enabler. Scott, bless him, sees it the other way around; me and his children mean more to him than he means to himself. So he won’t say outright what he wants to do, because he sees himself as the enabler. He will enable us to stay here if that is what we all want to do. I will enable us to move if that is what they all want to do. I have to say, that is a good place to be in, in the long run! I also have to say, that means one of us has to stand up and make the decision, and I think I know who that person should be and what the decision is.

I need to give Scott the chance he gave me when we got married; I need to let him have a fresh new start and do something life changing.

This means we need to move back.

....

Millions of people grow up in the UK to be intelligent, well-adjusted, happy people. Millions of people grow up in the US to be intelligent, well-adjusted, happy people. My kids can be amongst those millions wherever we live, because they have us to help them along the way. They have sweet friends here that they love in their childlike ways, but they have the ability to make and love new friends just as easily. They have grandparents here they adore to the very deepest places in their souls, but they have grandparents there that they would grow just as attached to and love just as deeply – without losing their deep attachments to the ones they’d have said goodbye to.

My husband could be happy living in Scotland the rest of his life. Or he could be liberated moving to the US and taking control of his life. He could make the most of his life here and be happy watching his children blossom and his wife thrive. Or he could actually enjoy the days and weeks of his life, with the ease of his newfound health, the prospects of a new career at his fingertips, the freedom to indulge in music like he once did, and be surrounded still by the four deepest loves of his life.

Lest I sound like I’ve suddenly somehow re-idealised America, I haven’t. But I can see it through his eyes. It’s the same sort of eyes I saw Scotland with before I came here. Scott couldn’t see the magic and promise I saw in this country, but it was there all along right under his nose. So while I can’t see the magic and promise of America, I can look through his eyes and see what I have become blind to.

I know I could be happy living in Scotland for the rest of my life. I know I have friends here who will be friends for years to come, maybe for life. I also know I could be happy in America, because I used to be happy there. I had friends who came and went, just like I have here in Scotland, but I also have friends that are still there, always ready to take me back into their lives and help me re-adjust. I can reasonably assume that some of my friends here would be the same – ready to welcome me when I come back for visits, never ready to fully release me from their hearts. I have family I love so deeply in both countries. No matter where I go, I will have people I love and yet people I miss. That is just the way of it. So I know what the answer for us is. The answer in the end comes fairly easily.

....

What lies ahead is the hardest part – the slow, painful unravelling of the fabric of this life as I start to let go of what holds me here. The gradual release of possessions, unstitching the tiny squares that formed the quilt of my home bit by bit. The telling people, the lengthy beginnings of goodbyes.

The unavoidable process of detachment.

We Are Not Alone: The Emo Post

Last night's Elf on the Shelf stunt was a last minute "Oops I better do something quickly" effort. He TPed the Christmas tree. Unoriginal, I know, but it's a good throw-away when you need it.

And last night I needed it.

Last night I was hit with a minor case of melancholy. I was just sitting in my big comfy armchair and without reason, tears started to glide down my cheeks. Scott asked what was wrong, but I didn't know. He thought that was me not wanting to talk about it, but no, genuinely I didn't know. He could not understand what that was all about. No one cries for no reason, he said.

Yes. Yes they do.

I know I'm not alone. Sometimes feelings you don't even know exist build up inside until they have to come out. For some people they come out as anger or frustration. For others, tears and sadness. I'm in the latter category most of the time.

After crying for a little while, and being prodded by my caring husband, the reasons started to make themselves clear.

I just miss everything.

I miss the Mid-Kirk cafe on Friday afternoons with my mother-in-law. I miss dropping in on my father-in-law on a rotten rainy day for a cup of tea and a slice roll. I miss my sister- and brother-in-law and my nephew ... and the niece I haven't even met yet. I miss Craft Nights every Tuesday with Heather, Elaine and Paula. I miss hanging out with lots of kids with Maria and Robyn. I miss the love and friendship I shared with Sheila. I miss coffees with Laura, and I miss being on stage. I miss drinks at the pub and the town gossip and the Gaelic school. I miss so many people I couldn't possibly list. I miss being known and well-liked and surrounded with people to see and places to go. Most of all, though, I miss me.

It sounds so damn corny, doesn't it?

I'll just stay with the corny though. Feelings are always corny when they are typed out. This is going to sound so stupid, but here I go... because for some reason I have this insane need to share myself with the world. I don't write for pity or for cyberhugggsxxx, but because we all need to know sometimes that we are not alone in those feelings that we are wrongly ashamed of.

In Scotland, I imagined myself in bright colours. I was happy (in general), colourful, outgoing, bright, busy, active. I wore make-up and heels and skirts and warm woolly scarves and sequinned hats. I was living in technicolor.

Now, I'm grey. I'm tired, lonely, fat, grey, grey, grey. I wear pajamas and no make-up, I eat junk and nap on the couch and check Facebook on my phone. I make two outings a day - taking Fifi to school and back. In the car, not walking, because it's cold and I don't want to be cold. Sometimes I go to Walmart or Kroger. Sometimes I do see friends, and those days are the highlights of my week. I wait for Scott to come home each night with fervor because he's my only adult and he's my joy and my rock. I just feel pretty pathetic.

I want to snap out of it. Trust me, I do. But I can't. I just can't. I make these small little targets for myself every day like 'Get dressed', 'Straighten your hair', 'Put on eyeliner', 'Don't eat any crisps'. And when I meet those targets I feel awesome. Until I realise they are shit targets. Hey, well done, you just did what all normal people do without any effort at all.

I keep pushing away the D-word. I don't want to label myself. I'm sad, I'm down, but this happens. This happened when I moved to Scotland the first time, but look what a life I made! I'll make it again. Scott reminded me of how lonely I was when I first moved there; he said I was so sad he was sure I was going to leave him and come back home. I didn't though; I slowly made those same kind of targets for myself - 'Catch the bus by yourself', 'Take a walk', 'Wash the dishes', 'Stop crying'. And each baby target met was a little crayon pulled out of the box lightly colouring in a corner in my grey life. As my confidence grew and friendships started forming, the colours became bolder and covered more and more of the page until the paper couldn't hold it all and I had to draw more pictures on more paper just to keep colouring.  I loved my art gallery of a life!

I'm back to my black empty line drawing on a white sheet of paper now. My crayons are sitting stubbornly in the box, as I grudgingly admit that I'm bringing this on myself. I don't want to be happy. I don't want to stop missing Scotland. I don't want to replace the amazing people in my life with new people. I haven't made an effort to settle here because I don't love it here. I'm afraid to make new friends in case I leave them too.

I've erected my own prison cell, and now I'm living inside it. And that makes me sad. But I have no strength to tear it back down. It's easier to eat a slice of cake and watch Netflix.

I promised Scott I'd set myself new targets. 'Make some friends.' 'Stop snacking between meals.' 'Get some exercise.' Today, even after we decided to skip church due to the weather, I fixed my hair and put on loads of eyeliner. I put on jeans that I like and a cardigan that made me feel cute. I didn't overeat. I had a good day with my kids and my step-mom at the cinema seeing Frozen. I let myself tear up at the sad parts. I feel okay. I'm not always depressed. I won't always be grey. I feel lonely a lot right now, but I know I don't have to feel alone. I need to give myself more time. I'm in a rush to be and have all that I was and had in my Scottish life, but that took time too. Time and tears. Tears aren't a bad thing, and neither is time.

Time is necessary. Tears are good, even the ones you don't understand. And sharing our tears is good. We are not alone. We should never feel alone.


And hey, toilet paper!

A Snow Day and a Sad Day and a Pervy Little Elf Day

Even though it's been warm all week (Fifi was outside climbing trees in shorts yesterday), it's going to get really cold and supposedly very icy tonight and tomorrow. While this kind of messes with my Pampered Chef parties this weekend, I can't say I'm not excited about Fifi being off school and Scott being off work! A surprise three-day weekend!

I do think there has been a little bit of hysteria over this weather going on around here. I mean, ice is bad, yeah, and no one wants to drive in it (especially with all the people on the road who don't know how to drive in it), but it seems a bit pre-emptive to cancel the universe before it's even happened, before the temperatures even hit below freezing.

Anyway, I'm not complaining. Day off tomorrow means lazing about, not having to wake up early, having an easy day and making up for the Advent Activity we did NOT do today.

I'd forgotten until last night that Fifi had a Girl Scouts thing tonight, so I had to do a little swapping around. We were supposed to watch a Christmas movie and eat popcorn together, but I changed it to have a picnic on the floor in our pajamas. Still a stupid thing to change it to because I wasn't going to get Fi in her pj's before Girl Scouts! At any rate, none of that happened at all.

Partially because of this...

You probably recall Gracie, our miniature dachshund. Our miniature un-house-trained dachshund. We love Gracie. She is the sweetest, gentlest dog ever... but she poos and pees EVERYWHERE. We just couldn't keep her inside for longer than 20 minutes for fear she'd mess our carpets again. With the weather getting colder, I just hated having her outside. We'd bring her in, but then she needed to stay in her crate, which just made me feel cruel.

I'd have loved to take the time to train her but with two other kids at home all day? It just wasn't feasible. So we started looking for a new home for our sweet Gracie.

My mom called me today to let me know a woman at her work had a daughter who loves the breed and was willing to take on the challenge of house training her. And she wanted her today.

Lolly was distraught. I was pretty broken up about it too, though I knew it was the best thing for our doggie. I decided I couldn't take Gracie away without Fifi getting to say goodbye, so I picked her up early from school on the way to taking Gracie to her new home and broke the news to Fifi. Fifi was distraught.

The whole thirty-minute drive was agony. The two girls wailed the whole way. Lolly kept crying, 'This life stinks!' and 'Why did you take us to this rubbish, rubbish, rubbish, rubbish America?!' and 'I want to go back to Scotland!' The cries not only made my head pound, they made my eyes water. I feel your pain, girls. In so many ways.

I took some pictures of the girls with their dog before saying goodbye, but they are too sad to share. So here's a less sad one for Lolly to remember her 'precious, precious puppy', as she kept calling her all day. This was earlier in the day before the reality of it hit her.


Afterwards, I took the kids by McDonald's for an ice cream. This helped soothe their pain tremendously. Then I stopped into Walmart to get some milk before this supposed 'snowpocalypse' rolls in. The people of central Arkansas have gone crazy. The state of their shopping carts made me think they were stacking the shelves of their nuclear bomb shelters before crawling in for the next ten years.

By the time we got home, and I got dinner ready, it was time for Girl Scouts, so no picnic in pj's. Fifi and Lolly did have a lot of fun cutting up thousands of sheets of white paper into snowflakes... which totally screws day number 9's plans. But tomorrow's snow day means we can have a picnic on the floor in our pj's all day long if we want.

And now, for a Banoffee Pie Update:

This morning the girls found BP having a leisurely tea party with his two favourite redheads, Ariel and Merida.


Even though he's friends with both, he obviously couldn't help perving on Ariel a little bit in her little teeny-tiny purple bikini. She wasn't helping things with the slutty way she was sitting either. But maybe it's not entirely her fault; I've never tried to sit on a picnic blanket in a fin, so I don't know what's comfortable.


Banoffee made some delicious Chocolate Oatmeal No-Bake Cookies too. Little ones for he and his friends to share with their cup of tea (real tea, despite Fifi tasting it and saying it was just water - it was real tea!) and jello (Lolly's gift to Banoffee yesterday). He also made plenty for us too, though I may or may not have eaten 95% of all by myself.


Stop checking the mermaid out, Banoffee!

You sly dog, you!

My Diet May Contain 10% Ethanol

I had to go for a health assessment at Scott's work for our family health insurance. (Never had to do that in Scotland!) I was certain I'd meet all the criteria for a healthy person -- and I did -- but only just.

As it turns out, I have high cholesterol.

What? I thought high cholesterol was for older people with poor hearts and awful diets. Perhaps I'm older than I realize, and perhaps my diet is worse than I'd like to admit.

I guess if I'm honest with myself, my diet really *has* been awful since I moved here. Not really because of all the awesome fast food, because I very, very rarely eat out (once, maybe twice a month tops), but more because I've been depression-eating.

We all know what that is. We feel down, and there's nothing to do, so you open your pantry, but everything needs to be made and you can't be bothered so you eat half a bag of potato chips instead. And an hour later, you're bored, depressed, and peckish again, so you open the cupbard, but everything needs to be made and you can't be bothered so you pull down a handful of old Halloween candy. Rinse and repeat ad literally nauseum.

That's kind of how I've been eating for the past several months. A bowl of sugary cereal for breakfast only holds me for about an hour, then I snack on crackers, crisps, and pickled okra until lunch. I don't feel like making anything up, so I have a cheese quesodilla or three. Then I have a couple cups of tea, with a chocolate each time, until dinner, when I make a fairly reasonable family meal. But then the kids go to bed, and I'm feeling crap (I wonder why?) so I make a cup of hot chocolate to cheer myself up while I lie on the couch and watch Netflix until bedtime.

And then I'm surprised to find out I have high cholesterol.

Luckily my 'ratio' -- whatever that means -- is still good. I apparently have a good level of the good kind of cholesterol, because Scott and paleo have convinced me that animal fats, meats, cheeses* and eggs are healthy, but clearly the bad kind is pretty extreme too. This worries me.

It's worried me enough that I decided on Monday after that to get serious about my diet. I've gained a little weight - maybe between 5-10 lbs - since moving here, which I'm unhappy about, but I'm more unhappy when I reflect on how my poor eating habits of late are affecting my health. It's also highlighted for me my mental state lately too. I'm not saying I'm 'depressed' clinically or anything. I suppose in all truth I'm lonely, I'm bored, I'm cooped up in a town I don't love, and these things are affecting me emotionally and psychologically. I wear my jammies half the day. If I do get dressed, it's jeans and a t-shirt, no make-up, and a pair of glasses instead of contacts. This is so not me. I see the difference when I have a Pampered Chef party to go to, when I put on a cute outfit, fix my hair, apply my make-up and put in my contacts. I see myself in the mirror again, and I recognize the person at the party who is taking the lead, talking too much, and basking in work that she loves loves loves. THAT's me, not this slightly over-weight, frumpy, grumpy, tired, unhealthy person I'm becoming during the day.

I need to get serious about my health. The cold weather has meant I walk to school less, so I need to find another way to exercise. I'm forgoing cereal in the morning now for eggs and bacon. I'm trying to eliminate sugary/unhealthy snacking. (Though all these lovely goodies from Scotland are very tempting! All in moderation, right?) I'm trying to stick to my weekly meal plan. But mostly, I need to get in charge of my attitude. I think once I start eating better I'll start feeling more energetic and optimistic, but I also need to make an effort to be less depressed and reclusive.

Somehow the diet seems easier. And I understand more fully now how it must feel to be truly depressed. Nothing seems like more work (and possibly more useless) than trying to get out of this mental and emotional low. It's easier just to watch Netflix.

But I'll start with the food.


*Paleo doesn't officially stamp its approval on cheeses.

**The topic of 'diet' requested by Stephanie. The previous post dealt with 'loss' as requested by Alex. Your topics, people, have been a great reflection of my real life.

Simplicity & Satisfaction: Lessons Learned from The October Dress Project 2013

The October Dress Project is OVER! This morning, I put on jeans, a tunic that I brought over from Scotland (sleeveless but woolly like winter), a velvet jacket and my brown flats, and I felt AMAZING. No stripes. No black and white. A top I can comfortably breastfeed in. I didn't even care that my hair wasn't fixed; I was just happy to be in something else.


Last year, post-ODP, my lesson learned was Simplicity. I made it my theme for 2013 to learn about Simplicity. And boy did I. After the project last year, I started clearing things out - clothes, junk. In January, Scott and I made the official decision between us to start applying for immigration to the US, and I did more clearing out. By June, we had eliminated nearly all of our worldly goods, retaining only what fit in twelve suitcases (two per flying passenger) and a few boxes to be kept in Scotland in family members' cellars. In this past year, I have learned a lot about Simplicity. I've learned I can do without a lot of things I once thought necessary. Aside from material things, I also took the theme to mean simplicity in my personal life. I allowed myself to cut back from certain things while still in Scotland to focus on what really matters. I made the choice to NOT get involved in so much when I moved to Arkansas. Instead of filling my entire life with so much that I hardly had time to think, I decided I would simplify my commitments to one or two things that really mattered to me. I've kept this, though with the time constraints I'm already under, it doesn't seem so. I now have only one business (The Pampered Chef) instead of three, no volunteer organizations (though I've been tempted by the PTA and Girl Scouts), and the kids are in one after school activity only. Though Pampered Chef and soccer have managed to take over my life (in a good way), they are my only commitments, and it feels pretty good. The simple life for me could certainly be simpler, but my lesson has been well-accepted and I'm learning.

This year, my post-ODP lesson must be about Satisfaction. If I look back over my last 31 days, the overwhelming feeling would be dis-satisfaction. Dissatified with my wardrobe and my lack of everyday household 'stuff' that I'm used to having at my fingertips, I've felt grumpy and unhappy. I think it's time to learn to be Satisfied with Simplicity. I started off so happy with having so little, but as school projects and costumes and Christmas decorating come up, and I don't have all those little bits and bobs I used to have, I've become unhappy with what I (don't) have any more.

I remind myself that we have started COMPLETELY over. This is the most complete re-start of my life. Moving to college, I still had all my stuff. Moving to Scotland I had some stuff, but Scott had the rest. Moving to Scotland WAS difficult; I remember a feeling similar to this one now, when all I wanted to do was draw or paint something and I had no art supplies. I remember having Scott drive me (because I couldn't drive yet) to the Arts, Crafts and Hobbies shop on Cathcart Street, where I purchased a drawing pad and a box of pencils - because I didn't even have pencils. Yet only about a year later, I had everything back again that I wanted. It took time, but before I knew it, my house and life were materially furnished.

This time next year, I remind myself, I'll probably be back to normal. I won't be in the kitchen stirring up a cake mix only to realize I don't have a cake pan (which happened a few weeks ago). I won't need to buy a blender with my grocery shopping so I can make soup (like I did yesterday). I'll have summer AND winter clothes. It just takes time to rebuild your life.

I am so very, very thankful and lucky when I think about it really... some people lose everything, not by choice, but by horrible circumstance - fire, theft, unemployment. We are not so bad off really. We got to choose to let go of our belongings and we got to choose what we wanted to keep.

So this upcoming year, starting now I guess, my new Life Theme is Satisfaction. Like Simplicity, it goes much further than clothes and belongings. I started a learning process about simplifying everything in my life. Now I begin the journey of being satisfied with my life. That will inevitably include satisfaction with my small but growing group of friends, my small but growing business, myself and all my shortcomings, my children and their shortcomings, my husband who, though he would deny it, has one or two shortcomings, and my faith which is simply short-in-coming and small but not growing.

Remarkably it seems I did get something out of the October Dress Project after all. I grade it Satisfactory.

Special Things

Scott and I had to be very strict (ruthless even) when we packed our bags and moved away from Scotland. So many things we loved and cared about had to be given away. Yet there were still a handful of items that just held too much sentimental value or reminded us of special people that we decided were worth keeping. These photos don't show them all; some things are still in a box, waiting for us to get some more shelves on which to display them, or some nails on which to hang them. I thought perhaps people would like to see though some of what they gave us that we couldn't part with. These things remind us of you every time we look at them.


This beaded loveheart was a 30th birthday gift from my friend Julie. It hung on our front door back in our Scottish flat. It reminds me of Julie, our flat, my wonderful party, and all my am-dram friends.

This candlestick (and its partner) were literally one of the only wedding gifts Scott and I received. Because we were moving to Scotland immediately after the wedding, we asked for people to give money instead of gifts. Yet a couple of people gave us small gifts, and these Moroccan candlesticks were from Kristen and Joshua. They remind us of, well, our wedding.


This canvas photo was a present from our dearest friends Sarah and Ian. The photo was taken by Ian on our trip to the Tain a few years ago. Scott and I had won a free three-day stay in the Glenmorangie House and could bring six other people. We invited Sarah and Ian, Maria and Simon, and Kate and Faisal. This photo reminds me of that weekend and of our friends, especially Sarah and Ian. It was one of the best weekends ever.


There are three things here in my kitchen window. First is a little blue wooden apple that Morag gave me at the Friday TinyTalk's going away party for me. It says 'Thank you for helping me grow.' It, along with the cuff and the lavender pouch the group gave me, remind me of my TinyTalk days, of my wonderful babies and mummy friends, and how much of a huge part of my life TinyTalk was. It also gives me a glimpse of what a part I played in their lives too, which is a wonderful feeling. It particularly reminds me of Morag and her two gorgeous children.

The angel suncatcher was from my friend Elaine and her family. It is believed to help create positive Chi Energy. I love it, because Chi Energy and angels are so Elaine and I think of her every time I look at it. In extension, it also reminds me of Craft Night, where I saw Elaine and Heather and Paula nearly every Tuesday night for four years, where hippy ideas, natural remedies, and Eastern thoughts were quite often the topics of discussion!

The plaque is one of my favourites. This was a present from Lorna, or as my kids refer to her, Auntie Lorna. Auntie Lorna is one of those rare people who love unconditionally, give generously, and care genuinely. She has always been in Scott's life, and for as long as I was in Scotland, mine. She's always been one of the kids' favourite people. I love Lorna, and miss her. This funny little saying is so Her, and it makes me and everyone who reads it smile.


These little angels were a going away gift to Fifi and Lolly from Mollie and Rosie, two girls I used to child mind. They remind me of those two sweet girls, and their lovely mummy and daddy. I also have from them a tile in Jaguar's room with a painting of the Waverly. It reminds me very much of Greenock, and I love it.


The first cross, a white ceramic one with the inscription 'For this child I have prayed' came from my sister-in-law Rebekkah when I was pregnant with Fifi. It has been hanging in Fifi and Lolly's room ever since until moving here, when I decided it needed a more prominent display place. It reminds me of her and the family she now has with Pete and her two daughters, my beautiful nieces.

The other cross is a heavy clay cross which has made it through two cross-Atlantic moves. This was a present from my old best friend Amanda in college. She worked in a florist shop and they sold these crosses. I loved it because it had a Celtic feel to it, and I had a boyfriend who was Scottish. She bought it for me for my birthday, and I kept it when I moved to Scotland. And I've kept it moving back. I can genuinely say now, it's probably one of the longest-owned things I have. Kind of weird. And it reminds me of Amanda and all those years pre-Scotland too.

The wooden plaque has a bit of a textured past, but I love it all the same. It was a handmade gift from my ex-sister-in-law. It says 'As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.' At the bottom is says 'Est 2004'. It is a symbol to me of our marriage and the way our family has changed since 2004, and of my commitment to serve the Lord with my family in spite of my struggle with unbelief.


These were a few handmade baby gifts.

The crocheted building block has Lolly's name sewn on its sides. This was a baby gift from my friend Debbie. I've known Debbie since Fifi and her son were babies, and we've been through a whole lot together. Also from Debbie I have a painting of the Cloch Lighthouse in Gourock which is just awaiting a frame before I hang it it. These things remind me of her and her little Lyle.

The cross-stitched pillow and cross-stitched framed duck were from Cheryl. Cheryl and I also go way back, and she's one of my oldest Scottish friends. We met one year after I moved to Scotland. On mine and Scott's first visit to the Greenock church, which would become our church for the next seven years, she and her husband Matthew were the first people to greet us and then invite us out to lunch afterwards. Matt and Scott have been good friends since, and so have Cheryl and I. Our kids are close too; Lolly has every intention of marrying her son one day (because he has a 'life-sized' battery operated car). These two gifts, lovingly stitched by Cheryl are very special to me, and remind me of our (short-lived) Sunday Sisters Sewing Circle, where for about four weeks we met up to embroider, cross-stitch, or in Lorna's case, fold laundry.


*************************

On the September Shopping Challenge front, I made it through Day 1. I avoided Shipley's Donuts on the way home from church, and Scott went in for the ribs for our Labor Day barbecue, so I wouldn't have to. On to Day 2!

The Benefits of Having Little

Those of you who have been following my blog, or who know me in person, know what a challenge it was for our family to sell/give away everything we own to move back to the United States. From a three bedroom flat full to the brim in belongings, we whittled our earthly goods down to what fit into twelve suitcases (for a family of five) and a few boxes of keepsakes to be stored in my sister-and-brother-in-law's cellar. I don't know if that sounds as crazy as it was, but essentially it was something like this: each family member (except the baby) had one suitcase for clothes each, one suitcase was for kitchen supplies, two were for toys, one was for baby clothes, CDs and DVDs, one was for shoes (and that was AFTER getting rid of tons), two were for pictures, breakable items such as pottery and other meaningful items, and the last was basically miscellaneous bits and bobs we didn't want to lose. The boxes left in Scotland are full of photo albums and books and Christmas decorations that have sentimental value.

Now that we are in our new house, we have had so much support from family and friends in getting set back up. We have been given furniture, kitchenware and money, not to mention the loan of cars, to help us get started. But still, our belongings are pretty sparce.

We LOVE it.

If I had to do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. I'd do it even if we weren't moving. It was the most freeing experience I can imagine.

Friends of ours, Graeme and Emily, moved back to Canada after a few years in Scotland, and Emily really encouraged me. At first, the thought of losing everything was horrible. So many things felt so important to me, like the display units Scott's gran passed down to us, and paintings I had done, and... I can't even remember any more, but they all seemed irreplaceable. But Emily told me, 'It's all just stuff. You won't miss it.' I didn't believe her, right enough, but I adopted her attitude and tried looking at everything as just material goods.


Now, before I go further, there are two things I need to say. First, I am not about to talk about how great it is to lose EVERYTHING. We were not in a fire, we were not robbed. We chose what went and what stayed. We made the decision ourselves on what really meant the most. This is entirely different from having everything taken from you outside your control. Second, I am not saying we have NOTHING. We have the necessities. We have things beyond the necessities. I am not comparing us to anyone in poverty, and I do not meant to be insensitive and imply that poverty is great. Having little is not the same as having nothing.

Saying that, we have less now than most middle class people in the Western World, and it is a wonderful, clean, refreshing feeling.

First of all, everything I see now really does just feel like 'stuff'. If something breaks beyond repair, I can just throw it away. When I'm shopping and see something attractive, I can admire it without buying it. In fact, many of the things I kept, I now wish I hadn't kept, because they weren't really necessary come to think of it.

Having little means my house is easy to keep clean. I don't have mountains of things with no real purpose or place. The kids still have more toys than they need but not so many that they don't each one have a special allotted space to be stored. My dishes don't pile up, because I only have one set which I wash and reuse immediately. I even marked 'dish drainer' off my list of 'needs', because I only have a few non-dishwashable items, which I can handwash immediately, dry and put away. My laundry doesn't pile up, because we don't have enough clothes to allow it to. In fact, I am finding it so hard to make a full load each time I wash, that I run it on Small Load more often than Medium or Large. With the help of my Motivated Moms Chore Schedule, I'm finding it incredibly easy to get to all those little jobs that used to be overlooked by all the dishes, laundry, and clutter I used to have to sort through first.

Scott asked me if I miss anything. Really, the only things I miss are my books (I love love love to read), my cookbooks (I'm lost in the kitchen without them), and some of my bento supplies that got lost along the way (my hobby and for a short while, my business). I also miss my Pampered Chef stoneware, but I'm coping without it! Some things that I miss I do hope to replace eventually, such as my sewing machine, but at the moment, I'm surviving without them.

If it hadn't been utterly necessary, I would never have been brave enough to clear out my entire 'life'. It would have seemed impossible, not just because of my attachment to my earthly possessions, but also because of the obligatory feelings attached to things - gifts given to me that would seem rude or ungrateful to get rid of. A few months ago I could hardly have used this word, but luckily I HAD to get rid of all those things, and thanks to that, I feel so free.

How do I encourage others to do the same? It's hard. I don't expect anyone will be able to do it to the extent we had to without a good reason. But I categorically DO encourage everyone to start seeing everything they own as mere 'stuff'. Don't be afraid to give away or throw away. Think, 'Will I miss this ten years from now?' With your wardrobes, think, 'Do I NEED six different black t-shirts? Or could I just wash the one or two on a regular basis instead?' Above all, remember It is all just stuff. You won't miss it.

Every time I walk into my new house and see a bare floor, clean walls, and empty tables, I breathe a sigh of relief. When I open my tiny kitchen cupboards and see tidy rows and lots of extra space, I smile. When I visit my kids room and ask them to clean up, I know it can be done quickly and relatively painlessly. When my chore schedule says to clean out the shower, I know I can manage it, because the general tidying up clutter doesn't need to be done first and foremost. At night, when the kids go to bed, I can do a quick sweep and hoover and then relax, or if needed, fold a (single) load of laundry or iron some clothes while watching Scrubs on DVD. Because I don't have a house full of rubbish to tackle at all times. It's amazing.

In a few years, I'm sure I'll own more, and it won't be so easy then to just give it all up. But it's changed something inside me, the need and the desire to own things. I just hope I can inspire others in return to think differently about their possessions and not be afraid to let them go. At the end of the day, we don't need much to get by, even comfortably, and very few things really matter.

Except maybe books.

School's Out For Summer

After a total roller coaster of a summer break, I can hardly believe school starts back up in one week.

This has by far been the longest, most eventful summer holiday ever! We took Fifi and Lolly out of school/nursery two weeks before the end of term in June. Since then, we moved to another country, had a 'two-week holiday' with Scott's mum here, lived with my mom for another month after that, Scott applied for and got a job, and we moved into our own house. One more week of holidays, and school will start for Fifi. It's been such a long, emotional, busy, stressful and exciting summer for all of us.

When we arrived, and had all the time in the world, we made all these plans for things we would do. We wanted to make this an exciting time for the kids, to help them transition. We made it to the zoo and a cave and the cinema and bowling, but there are still tons of things I'd still like to do with the kids before I run out of time.

Today, I'm taking them bowling again. I subscribed to a Kids Bowl Free thing that gives us all two free games every day until October 31st. We've only been two or three times, so I need to step it up to enjoy the promotion. I'd love to take them back to the zoo, too, and to Heifer Village and the local water park.

Despite our efforts, I don't feel like I've given the kids a very relaxing summer. It's probably just Mummy Guilt, I know, but with all the emotional stresses of moving twice in six weeks and looking for jobs and missing friends, I've been overly snippy and tired and cranky. As much as I wanted to make this move as smooth as possible for the kids, it's been hard all around to keep tempers from flying and the stress from bubbling over.

I guess it's probably been okay from their perspective. It's just that everywhere I go, all I hear and read is about how we parents are messing up our kids emotionally with our imperfections. It's like we better be perfect human beings who never get frazzled, angry, tired, grumpy, busy, stressed or hurried or we will damage their frail developing souls and cause lasting trauma from which they will never heal.

I get the point, but I wonder if the people who say these things are actually robots who have only robot children.

I keep having to remind myself that my brothers and I grew up with normal parents who lost their tempers, were busy with chores, got worn out, made us play outside so they could get some peace and sometimes even - gasp - punished us, and for the most part, we all turned out fairly unscathed...

So I'm just going to remind myself - and anyone else who feels the same - right now that just the fact that we do worry about damaging our kids and that we make the effort to build them up as best as we can, has to mean that we are doing something right. Our kids, in fact, probably are pretty happy. I'll keep trying to do better, but I am saying No to The Guilt.

And I'm going to love my last week with the wee rascals.