Thirty Days of Truth - Day Thirteen

I was prepared to write a letter to Three Days Grace, or Rascal Flatts, but then it hit me, although it's been a long time, I needed to write the letter to Mark Hall of Casting Crowns.  I was in church my entire life until about four years ago and haven't been since.  That doesn't mean God isn't real to me or that I don't still spend time thinking about my relationship with him.

Dear Mark,

It's been a long time since I really listened to your music.  I have to admit I've gone astray, into the music of other genres.  Three Days Grace, Buckcherry, Aerosmith, Flogging Molly, The Cure, The Black Crowes, Better than Ezra, etc.  Actually when I got ready to start this letter, it was going to be to Adam Gontier of Three Days Grace, but then I remembered sitting in the car in the WaWa parking lot, listening to your first cd, a song called Praise You In This Storm.  By the time Kevin got back to the car, I was crying like crazy.  I don't remember ever being moved like I was by that song.  Maybe it was just that time in my life, but for months I listened to that cd over and over again, and every single track, and I do mean EVERY track meant something to me.

When we started our youth group at church, we named them The Voice of Truth after yet another song on that album.  I've still got tee shirts with the name and logo on them even though it's a distant memory now.  The group, the church, and the kids.  That cd helped get me through what I can only describe as hell.  A time in my life that I truly felt like everything was falling apart, a time when I wondered if I'd make it out the same person I was when it started.

Thank you for being there when I needed you, for writing the music that may have literally saved my sanity if not my life.  I used to tell everyone I ran into about you and your music, the story behind how Casting Crowns came to be, such an inspirational story to be true, but I have to apologize that it's been a long long time since I've had the heart to listen again.  Today marks the first day in a long time, and I think now I'll be coming back to you, so thanks again.

Love,
Donna

Thirty Days of Truth - Day Eleven & Twelve

I'm going to lie and say I'm putting these together simply because it works instead of admitting that I couldn't for the life of me remember which day was which after I JUST read them to find out what I"m posting today.

All about compliments.

What do I get complimented most on, and what no one ever compliments me on.

This is kinda difficult because usually you can find me in my jammies with my cow slippers on holed up in the house like the crazy cat lady that I am.  Needless to say I'm not famous enough for the paparazzi to be camped out on my deck so they can snap pictures of the newest pj pant design, or write articles about the sorry state of my cow slippers of late.  They're old, you can't blame them for the parts that are supposed to be inside the slipper finding their way to the outside, or for the fact that their ears look more like Yoda than a cow these days. No one has found the need to mention that my roots are more gray then red, or that my makeup isn't quite up to par.

As you guys have drummed into me, at my whining prompt I might add, is that I'm a writer.  Until I've reached the best seller list, pretty sure no one cares what I look like and by then, I might decide to write under a pseudonym and use Brian's (nuclearheadache & the encyclopedia of counted sheep) picture for the back cover.

With that said, the thing I get complimented on the most is my writing.  Granted it's usually from people who love me, or at least find me somewhat amusing, so like I always do, I take it with a grain of salt, but it makes me feel better anyway.

What I never get compliments on?  Everything else.

No, I'm kidding, kinda.  The rarely leaving the house thing comes in here.  Maybe one day I"ll get out of bed and do some sit ups so I can post hot pictures like Eschelle's (Mumfection & The Little Fat Girl That Could) pinup photo.

Thirty Days of Truth - Day Seven

Since I'm still awake, this technically counts as today, as in not yesterday which technically happened about a half hour ago.  Yup.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Day Seven - Someone who has made your life worth living.

There are too many people I could say this about.

My Mom, who has always been an inspiration to me.

My Dad, who even after he was gone, always left me wanting to be more like he'd been.

My Husband who has never given up on me no matter how psycho I've gotten.

Honestly though, if I HAVE to pick one, it would have to be the one any mother would choose.

My daughter.

I've never been one to keep up with periods.  I figure they're bad enough when they come, they don't deserve to be scheduled.  The day I realized it had been a couple of months since I had one, I actually remembered the night that made me stop having them.  One of those "You're kidding me????  Really?" moments of clarity after the fact.

I had pretty much decided I didn't want to have kids.  I don't really do that well with them until they're into tattoos and piercings and talking about grown up stuff.  Not that I don't like them or anything, I've just never really been into hanging out with the wee ones.  I do okay with them when I am with them, but well, you know what I mean.

I'm not revealing anything my husband doesn't already know so don't feel bad for him.  My first thought was pure terror.  I was pregnant.

For three solid months I cried.  I was horrified.  I didn't really want to be pregnant at all.  That changed the very first time I felt that little life inside me move.  A single push against my stomach and I was in love.  My pregnancy (other than the tears) was picture perfect.  No morning sickness, no missed sleep, I only gained 19 pounds which I lost three of with the flu the week before she was born.  Eating was no problem because all I wanted was watermelon, popsicles and white grapes.  Perhaps that's WHY I only gained 19 pounds, or maybe it was because my german doctor threatened to not deliver the baby if I gained over 25, who knows.

Labor was a little bit of a different story, but I won't go into it here.

From the moment that little girl was born, she became my life.  I started striving to be a better person because I was HER mother, and I wanted to be everything that would make her proud.  What I didn't know then was that it didn't matter to her what I did for a living, what I looked like, or anything else.  She loved me for being me and that in itself was a lesson in love.

Watching her grow, seeing her mature into the beautiful young woman she is today has been worth anything to me.  She's my best friend, the coolest person I know.  Through a bout of depression that had me thinking of suicide, even though I'm pretty sure I'd never go through with it, thinking about her would draw my thoughts to better things.  Every day with her has been my own miracle.  She inspires me, motivates me, makes me laugh, makes me cry, makes every day a new adventure and I love her so damn much I can't imagine now having never had her.  Never experiencing the "uppy, uppy" or "do it again, do it again!" or "little bear's over, nappy time", never fighting with her to get rid of her pacifiers, it's all just unfathomable now.  I'm a mother.  I made a beautiful little person (with some help of course!) and in turn that little person has made me a better person.

Now with her being an adult, getting ready to graduate and start college, there's just as much to look forward to, even if it's different than the pretty little smiles over the sides of her crib.  It just goes to show that being a mother never changes, just the experiences that go along with it.  Once a mother, always a mother, and that my friends, makes every single day of my life worth living.

And now, the mandatory Mommy Pride option.  Pictures.  The Kitty Princess.

With my Grandfather, 1995

Horse Show, 1999

One of my fave pics of her ever.

And now I'm done.  Thanks for ooooh'ing and aaaaaah'ing appropriately.  :)

When Writing Goes Wrong...or Right....or Write.....UGH!

I'm beginning to think I'm a narcoleptic with attention deficit disorder.

How the heck does that work anyway?  I'm supposed to be doing Nano and what am I doing?  Writing and making new blogs.  Okay, so maybe I had some help from my kiddo, but still.  My novel remains largely untouched and I'm getting pissy about it.  Chase is strangely quiet and stuck in freeze frame outside her apartment building while life goes on around her.  Let's just hope Stevie doesn't find another crush while she's there.  I've actually got a picture of her in my head, and she's an action figure.  Ugh.  This is NOT good.

So what happens when you get stuck on a scene?

My husband keeps telling me to skip it and move on, but I caaaaaaaaaaaan't!  I've tried.  I know there are some writers who can write random scenes from their novels completely out of order but so help me, I haven't figured out how to do that.  Maybe I could use my cleaning methods on writing?  Hubby complains about that too.  I start cleaning by vacuuming, and the next thing you know all the furniture is in the kitchen and I'm painting the walls, and a couple or maybe dozen hours later the room is clean and spotless and has that new paint smell.  It works there, why can't I get it to work when I'm writing?

I know the narcolepsy has a lot to do with how I do things.  When I was on the Ritalin, I was focused.  Sharp.  Alert.  Even when I was sleeping 14 hours a day.  Wow, those were the days.  TEN whole hours of awake and alert.  My how far we've fallen.  Now I'm  up at noon, napping at two and six and nine and back in bed at twelve.  Is it any wonder I can't write?  At least my novel.

Instead, I start a new blog.  Yep.  One that's not work.  Just fun, all the time.  I guess writing is writing but unless someone wants to syndicate my blogs and pay me scads of money (in that case, have your lawyer call my lawyer and we'll work that out) it's not doing me any good financially where a novel, in my wildest dreams mind you, might make me some money.  One day.  A little.  Maybe.

Maybe Chase is just tired, but I'm about ready to shake her ass awake so she'll start talking again.  In the meantime, I'll just keep writing for fun and fortune (hint hint) and fame (more hints) and let the pages flutter as they may!  Maybe soon the pages won't look like these.