This Is Not A Mummy Blog

While the little one sleeps, I'm stealing a moment to update my very loved and completely neglected blog. But if I loved it so, would I neglect it in this fashion? Sure. I think of it like long lost friends - the ones who, no matter how long you are apart, act the same when they see you again. Some bonds you simply cannot break. This blog is one of those bonds. For crying out loud, I've had this damn thing since 2006. That's ten years!

Ten years of blogging. Someone get me a medal. No seriously. Do you know how many people start blogs and abandon them without care or concern? Thousands. There are literally thousands of lost blogs floating around the interweb with one or two posts and then - nothing. How tragic. And yet, here I am. Still plugging away on what use to be That Girl Tyson. Sure, I only posted a handful of times last year, but I posted 339 times in 2014. That's almost a blog a day, which is actually what I was going for.

Trust me when I say there is a lot of hidden content on here. After ten years, there are probably close to a hundred posts I've turned to drafts again in hopes of them being forever forgotten. Not simply because there were riddled with poor grammar, which they were, but because they are too private or silly. Either or. The others I've gone back and re-edited, hoping to clear away the errors.

In fact, I just edited my last post and found four errors. Unacceptable. I can't believe I hit publish without correcting 'excitement' and 'friendships'. I even misspelled 'will'. It's a four letter word, how the hell did I misspell it? Probably something to do with sleep deprivation and carb-overdosing. Yes, I don't sleep enough and I am eating too much food. Some will say I need the food to create the milk to feed the babe, but the truth is my breasts are a big dodgy and have issues sustaining life. Long story short, this isn't a mummy blog. So we will end that right here. 

The point of this post is to tell you this isn't going to be all about my wee infant. I am not going to post photos and updates, and talk about the pros and cons of motherhood. There will be no tricks to putting a babe to sleep or ways to make the bitty one stop bawling, I don't know those types of things anyway. Isn't the best approach to simply repeat "please stop crying" and "please go to sleep" over and over? Or am I doing this wrong. 

So, this ins't a mummy blog, as the title states. Except, the problem is, he's currently my entire existence. Whenever I get to thinking about writing a little blip here, it's always about him. I have five drafts I simply didn't share with you because it's all about him and his perfect mouth and hands and bum and eyes. And then there are those times I want to write about the birth. Mostly, I think, because I still have PTSD from his entrance into the world and, well, I want to talk about all the gory details. Just to put them down somewhere. Because people always say you forget the details of the birth and, quite frankly, I don't want to. I want to remember everything, from the sound my waters made when they broke them to the poop I left behind on the floor. Too much information? Sorry not sorry. Birthing is beautiful. It's disgustingly beautiful. Horrifically beautiful. Batshit beautiful. 

Batshit beautiful. Now, that's a saying I can see catching on. I'm trademarking it. 

To clear things up, I don't have anything against mummy blogs, except for the fact that I don't think people really want to read them. I mean, I've read my fair share as I try to stumble through being a mom, but everything has already been said about parenting. I certainly don't have anything worthy to add. So, I promise I won't write about the Timbit all the time - but sometimes, yes, because I can't help myself! The thing is, just because he consumes my life right now doesn't mean I won't have other thoughts later. I suppose I am making a promise. Not just to you, but to myself as well. I promise to write again. Not only blogs but novels and stories too. I am determined to be creative. Maybe not right now, but it's coming. Big things are coming. I can feel it in my bones. And on that day, watch out.

Ten years and I am still toiling away. Labour of love, indeed. Actually, October is my true ten year anniversary here, according to my first posted blog. So, I suppose I'll throw a party then and someone will get me a tin gift. It's tin for ten years right? 

I'm sure I will have become a big, successful, household named author by then. Go ahead, laugh with me. 

Wordy Wednesday - Liberal

Last night my coworker (and friend) drove us home from the ferry. Somehow, and I can't recall exactly, we ended up on the subject of religion. It's a well known piece of advice to avoid the subjects of politics and religion when indulging in conversation, but I say to hell with this. If you avoid these powerhouse conversational subjects, how will you ever know if you truly like the people you're keeping time with? Think about it. Almost all moral views and ideologies fall under one or both of these categories.

I want to know if the people I call friends don't agree with gay marriage or think climate change is a myth. Not just because it will allow me insight into who they are as people, but I will understand why our friendship is ultimately doomed. But today is Wordy Wednesday, so why I am I telling you all this? Well, you know how I love my tie ins ...

The word: Liberal

For what doesn't seem like a very exciting or interesting word it sure can whip someone into a frenzy and cause problems. There are those who sneer at the mere mention of someone being liberal, like it's a very bad, dirty thing. All I can assume is the definition has actually gotten lost in the twisted world of politics.

My coworker and I are liberal. As we talked, we exchanged ideas. We discussed. I talked about my thoughts on every single person and animal being interconnected and read her a short story I stumbled across on the intersnacks called The Universe Is Our Egg. She told me about her interest in Buddhism, how she finds religions interesting, and actually enjoys listening to people talk about their faith. We agreed faith is a good thing. A great thing. How it seems to be an essential component of existing in this world, which can be so daunting and cruel, so callous and cold.

There was talk of what we find disconcerting about religion. All the judgement. How people push their beliefs on others. The close-mindedness and unwillingness to accept others' thoughts and opinions. Following religious practices without asking questions. Not being able to listen to what another person has to say.

To be liberal is to accept differing opinions and ways of behaving. To be sympathetic. Compassionate. To try to understand others. You don't have to agree with what others think and feel, you don't have to embrace their morals or beliefs, but you are receptive to what they have to say. Being liberal is having your own thoughts and ideas but still accepting other people have theirs too. If you ask me, the world could use a whole lot more tolerance.

So, I believe we are one and that it is only with love that we should move. What do you believe?

Same Old

It feels as if every time I sit down to write to you all I can think about is how tired I am. Those kinds of posts are getting tedious. Promise this will be the last one to mention how incredibly exhausted I am for at least a month or two. This is a tall promise, but I anticipate doing nothing for the next quarter of the year. If anyone asks, I am taking the Fall off from any form of physical labour, asides working (because I've gots ta pay the bills, y'all).

So, we have officially moved. Goodbye, small blue house in cute little village. Hello, retro home in the heart of a sweet hamlet. I am nearly ocean front with a mountain view and, after only five nights sleeping here, am in love. Not everything is perfect, but there are perfect parts, and that's really all I can ask for.

There are things I want to tell you. Thoughts I have been pondering. Blogs I have been mulling over as I drive, walk, pack, unpack, lift, clean, bake and create. There is a wealth of information share, like moments and events and, most importantly, recipes. And I have deep revelations I want to talk out, mostly great expectations and being beautiful. The problem has been time management, which mostly has come down to me not having any extra time to manage. Between work, moving, and trying to help out with my boss' surprise birthday party, I haven't had a moment to sit down and chat.

This is why I am happy to report the craziness is drawing to a close.

Almost all the things are done.

Tomorrow I will hit you with something with a little more length, a bit deeper and, perhaps, some sort of moral or life lesson I have learned. Until then, here is a selfie I took in my car today. Sometimes I get bored and make faces.

I Promise

Those words sound so simple, don't they? I promise - they float off our tongues like little butterflies, with an ease unflattering to their content. We say them so freely, often not taking into consideration the sting they have when we don't follow through. Each and every one of us have been on the receiving end of a promise gone awry. Whether it was a best friend, parent, boyfriend or sibling, we all know how deep a broken promise can cut.

"Yes," you say with such gusto it's clear you've been hurt by someone who didn't keep their word. Before you get all flush faced and start drudging up all the times you were promised something you did not receive, think about whether you've ever been on the other side.

We all have, haven't we? We've said we'd do something we never ended up doing. I promise to make the bed. I promise to send your gift in the mail. I promise to clean the bathroom. I promise to pick that up from the post office. I promise I will never say that again. I promise to do better, try harder, be nicer. I promise. I promise. I promise.

Oh, and there are plenty of excuses, aren't there? I forgot. I didn't bring it with me. Time wasn't my friend. Was I suppose to do that today? I didn't mean to say that again.  I had to work late. What can I say? I suck. And these terrible excuses so often don't come with the two words needed to truly rectify the situation. I'm sorry. Those words seem to be the two hardest in the entire English language, followed swiftly by 'I was wrong'.

And it truly feels awful to have a promise broken, even if they are tiny things that seem so inconsequential. But for me, it feels worse to do the breaking. I never mean to break my promises, but sometimes it happens. Life gets busy. I get tired. And promises I once made can get forgotten. There is no reasonable excuse for this, but I do feel terrible when it happens. Maybe that's worth something. A little forgiveness, perhaps? When there is genuine remorse involved and a desire to not let it happen again, then moving past a broken promise is possible. It can be done.

What happens when that remorse and determination to do better isn't there? What happens when there is no apology and no chance to forgive? I suppose that's when it is time to move along. I try very hard not to make promises I have no intention of keeping, even promises I know will be hard for me to keep - like anything with a time frame, or if saving a piece of cake is involved. That being said, I think of the cliched promises people make and cringe.

I promise to love you forever. I promise to be with you until I die. I promise things will never change.

Talk about promises that are going to be hard to keep. Romantic, maybe. But also stupid. Here's the thing, I don't believe promises are intentionally broken, but end up being so due to a lack of consideration for the other person and an inability to time manage appropriately. They are only two little words, I promise, but they are important ones. And perhaps saying them without thought should be avoided. Maybe this calls for a promise not to promise so flippantly. Or maybe we should strike the words from our vocabularies and simply exist instead and give what we can when we can without anyone holding us hostage to promises we made on the fly without forethought.

Even more, don't ask people to promise unrealistic things. Or anything at all for that matter. I think I lost the point to this somewhere near the second paragraph.

Simple Words

This evening I'm thinking about words.

How there are so many words. Hundreds. Thousands. Yet, some people have such trouble saying what they are thinking and feeling, what they mean. I understand my vocabulary is extensive, that I use words in my each and every day others may not use, or even understand, for that matter. I am an epic communicator. It is with ease I will tell you what exactly is on my mind, but whether or not it makes sense is another matter completely. In truth, most of the thoughts running rampant through my head are so fleeting not even I can grab onto them long enough to understand them.

Still, all these words, this lush language and comprehensive communication, is so easily rendered pointless by simplicity. Sometimes I think about what I am saying, all these paragraphs I am creating in hopes of getting my point across, only to realize I might not need all this filler. Do I really need to articulate myself so thoroughly?

Can someone say this better? Quicker? Easier? With fewer words? Sure, I can pretty this sentence up, add delectable descriptors worthy of making lexicon lovers quiver in delight, but maybe that isn't a talent at all. Maybe a truly proficient wordsmith embraces 'less is more' and understands how valuable each word is, both in speech and writing. There is one thing to be a word lover, another to be a word whore.

Tonight I believe words are more powerful when used sparingly, like adjectives and exclamation points. Things don't have to be complex. In fact, they should be simple, so everyone can understand, so we all can enjoy. Sure, there is something to be said about the beautiful way in which words can be woven together (and the attractiveness of alliteration), but there is a sweetness in stark sentences. In their stripped down state, they can become so severe, leaving a sting you will always remember.

I am reminded of Dharma Bums, this little beatnik book, recommended to me by a long lost friend. And there is one sentence that stuck with. Needled my heart. Taunted my brain. And I cannot let it go.

One day I will find the right words and they will be simple. - Jack Kerouac.    

This is what is on my mind tonight. At times, I feel as though all these words I have written are all wrong and, when the right ones come, they will be modest. They will not be dressed in their finest clothes. They will be naked. Bare. And bold. And they will stick with someone else. They will needle  hearts and taunt brains. They will not be easily let go.

And then there is Robert Frost, who is clearly the master at the game of wordplay.

Social Rules? Fuck them.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a post in my feed from a girl I absolutely adore. The gist of her update was that due to 'social rules' she was withholding her feelings and instead posting a video of moose noises. The social rule in this instance was not burdening others with negativity or unhappiness. Apparently, if you put too many downtrodden posts out into the cyber world people get annoyed.

Of course, in my true fashion, I replied with, "Social rules? Fuck them."

And it wasn't just a passing comment, nor something witty or humorous said to garner chuckles. It wasn't a flippant remark. It wasn't said without feeling or thought. 

I genuinely think most social rules should be ignored. Not because I'm a rebel. Not because I like to stir the pot. But because I don't like the idea of people censoring themselves. I don't think it is healthy to slap a hand over your mouth and swallow your emotions, especially if it is only not to piss off the wrong people. I say wrong people because the right ones will never be annoyed by you. The right ones will always care. They will always love and protect and give you a safe place to fall apart and pull yourself together.

It is counterproductive to one's health and well being to stifle thoughts, cares, concerns and feelings. This world is tough. People are hard. The badness can weigh you down, make it seem as if it is impossible to stand and walk and exist. Life is difficult. It isn't easy. And sometimes we get lost. We can't find our way. We stumble through the darkness, waiting for the light, just a flicker to pull us through. Realistically, most of us can't do it alone. We need other people in order to make it out okay. To survive the blackness.

I am grateful for those who have shone their light on me. And I only hope there are others who are grateful that I have held up a flame for them. 

Why have they done this for me? Why will I do it for you?

Because we are all connected. We are one. Me and you. We exist here. Together.

And if we can't turn to our friends and family, if we can't speak our minds, in person or on the intersnacks to the ones we care about, the ones who are supposed to give a damn, then what good is socializing anyhow? Not being honest with our feelings, not being truthful to the ones we let into our hearts is utter bologna. This isn't a tea party. We aren't ladies. And we don't lift our pinkies when we drink tea. Well, some of us don't. Some of us have to because it's ingrained in us and an impossible habit to break. But what I am saying is we aren't debutantes. We aren't playing bridge and talking about the weather, eating cucumber sandwiches and wearing floral hats. The days of hiding our secrets and inconvenient emotions in a box under our beds are over because it never made anything better. (This is the comedic relief)

Here is where there is no humour.

Depression is a real thing. More people are affected by it every day. Mental health issues. Suicide. These are things that exist in our lives, that we brush shoulders with, that some of us know far too well. Chances are, someone we love is suffering. Hurting. In pain. Struggling. It boggles my mind and befuddles my heart to consider the fact someone I adore could need help but is not speaking up, not asking for help, not venting because of some stupid social rule.

Fuck the weak of heart and uncaring. Fuck the ones who get annoyed by expression of emotion. Fuck anyone who doesn't want to hear it. Fuck those who are scared of the truth.

Because the alternative to speaking up and writing posts and talking about the pain and negativity and doubt and hurt and despair and uncertainty is bottling it up. Shoving it down. Ignoring it. Hiding. Running away. Recoiling. Shutting everyone out. Turning away. Leaving them to 'deal' with it on their own. For them to try to find their way through the darkness without a hand to hold or someone to talk to.

That's why I say fuck social rules. Let it out. Because keeping it in isn't helping anyone. And if anyone is truly bothered by how you are feeling or what you are thinking, then they can fuck right off too. They aren't worth the time or energy and clearly need to cultivate their empathy and understanding. Maybe a lesson in love will set them straight.

Perhaps it's because I've experienced the darkness that I understand if you don't let it out, you will never let it go.

Bus Stop

Things have been hard lately. That's pretty much the understatement of the year. But I always figured if you could laugh during the tough times, then you can get through to the other side. Not unscathed. Never unscathed. But at least in a semi-functioning condition. In a state you might be able to put yourself back together in.

Last Thursday I rode the bus for the first time in over a year. There I was, urgently needing to get from point A to point B, with only the 257 standing between me and where I wanted to be. I didn't even know how much it cost to ride the bus. I remember when bus fare cost a dollar twenty-five. No joke. A buck and a quarter. Since I know it is no longer 1995, I had to ask someone, and the bus driver hadn't opened the doors yet. Also, I hate to be one of those people holding up production for others.

And, in the state I was in, I really didn't need anyone mumbling snarky comments about having my money ready. I might have snapped. And snapping in public never seems like a wise idea.

So, I turned to the guy next to me and asked, "Excuse me, do you know how much it costs to ride the bus?"

He looked at me, dead in the eye, and replied, "Four dollars for adults, but I don't know how much for youth."

I smiled, because I'm fairly certain I look over nineteen. "I'm older than you think I am."

Still, it was a ray of sunshine on a very gloomy day.

To be honest with you, I didn't miss transit. I didn't miss the crowd, the stink, the slowness. All in all, public transit is pretty much disgusting. Some people have enough respect to not be disgusting piglets or rude baboons, others are not so equipped with manners. Still, I got through it. Got to where I was going. And cried.

Today I took the bus again. Twice in the last week. Crazy.

The bus fare over here was $1.75.

That's island life for you. Cheaper bus fare and the scent of the forest when you open the door. Two things I am grateful for.

Articulation

The other night I was leaving work with the Sidekick and I said, "Hey, it's still light outside."
To which he replied, "Yeah, it's getting ... light ... outside ... more."
The situation only became more amusing when he added, "Yep, if anyone ever needs anything articulated send them my way."

We shared a laugh over it.

But it's a funny thing this articulation. Not everyone is blessed with the ability to put thoughts, feelings or ideas into words. I know many people who feel the English language is daunting and discussions the bane of their existence. When confronted with a conversation, they balk, hesitate to engage, and feel put on the spot, fearful over looking stupid, unsure if their verbal weapons are lacking compared to the person they are speaking with. Personally, I think the art of conversation is not an easy thing to master. That being said, I have never spoken to anyone and come away thinking, "Jeez, that person was an idiot." Actually, that's not true, but it hasn't been because they are unable to articulate themselves or they don't have a very extensive vocabulary. No, it's usually because they are narrow-minded, sexist, racist homophobes, or belligerent butt-heads with no common sense and even less manners.

What you are saying is far more important than how you are saying. While I certainly don't feel people have to read the dictionary or thesaurus in order to convey their emotions and thoughts to others, I do feel the ability to speak coherently, organize your thoughts, and deliver them in a fluent and concise manner can only be an advantage when speaking or writing. It's is far more likely for others to understand what you are saying, where you are coming, and not misconstrue what is being said and why.

While the Sidekick and I certainly had a laugh about his statement about the days being lighter, he really is a man of few words. And though he may not be an overly communicative person, he insists that he makes count the few words he does share. Here's the thing. Mr. Sidekick is certainly capable of articulating himself, but he chooses not to. It just isn't the way he goes about doing things. One part shy, two parts stoic man-beast, and the rest laid-back-whatever-will-be-will-be, he simply has a different way of tackling life.

Some of us are internalizers. Others externalizers.

I can appreciate both sides of the spectrum, which is probably why Sidekick and I get along fairly well. I don't like talking about my feelings, but I am blessed with the ability to be able to do so if necessary. Once in awhile I do engage with others in person, but because of this little thing called blogging, I am able to write about the thoughts running rampant through my head. I have been putting words onto paper, both virtual and real, ever since I was a little girl.

In many ways, I am pleased I know how to take my unbridled thoughts and form them into sentences, paragraphs and novels. Maybe that's a gift. It's certainly something I am grateful for. Most people have a hard time summing up their feelings and conveying their thoughts to others, and even themselves. But there's an age old saying for that, isn't there?

Practice makes perfect. This applies to articulation and the art of conversation. I can't recount how many times I've seen people try to talk to others, only to clam up and scurry away, or clamp a lid down on what they think, because they don't know how to brooch the subject, and are uncertain how to make their point. If you desire the ability to be able speak to others, to tell people your thoughts, feelings, ideas and beliefs, then start practising. Engage with others in a conversation. Try writing everything down. Start a blog - it can even be anonymous. Look up synonyms. Read books. And don't be so bloody self conscious.

One day, I will be the Queen of Articulation. I shall have a sash and everything.

It doesn't matter if you excel at speaking and writing or not. The Sidekick may not be the most communicative fellow, but he can draw like a mother fucker. So, here I am able to write down the things I feel, create fluid prose, and engage in lengthy discussions over human emotions and rain dances in the nude, but I can't paint at all. Sketching shapes is a task for me. And I'm not even talking about a tetrahedron or hexagonal prism. Circles and triangles are most tricky!

There's a point here somewhere. Maybe it's that we are all different? Sure, let's go with that.