I commonly here that guys do certain things to impress girls, whether its to show off, claiming they know how to do things when they really don’t, or learning something new to impress the girl. Little did I know, girls were capable of doing the same things as well.
It was my sophomore year in high school, and it was the second year I'd been dating my first serious, real, boyfriend, who was now a senior. He was big into snowboarding, and had been after me for a year to learn so I could go to Sugarloaf with him. I finally caved in, and that would be the winter I began to snowboard. That Christmas I my parents got me the works, a brand new snowboard, and the boots and bindings to match. I'm not sure why I didn’t think of renting a snowboard that were available at the mountain first, so I could try it out and decide if I was going to like it and stick with it first before I had my parents get me the works.
First day on the mountain, and my ever so patient boyfriend skipped the teaching, dragged me onto the lift and away we went. Wait- no, nope, we were not on our way. I fell getting onto the lift, I fell getting off the lift, both causing the lift to be stopped for safety reasons, I fell every five to seven feet, it was not working. I wasn’t taught HOW to snowboard the techniques of it, ya know, to keep me from falling! Needless to say, my snowboarding career was short lived, and my parents were less than impressed to see a very expensive Christmas gift thrown into a corner and left.
This year, about five years since I last used my snowboard, without the patient ex-boyfriend, I'm going to give it a try, but first I'm going to look up ways to successfully snowboard without having a black and blue rear end.
First, I need to be able to stand in the board comfortably, practicing falling and then figuring out how to get up once I've fallen with both feet in my bindings. I read, then when you fall on your rear end, to put your weight into your weakest foot/leg, then throwing your strongest foot/leg over the weaker one, this technique will allow you to get onto your knees. From yours knees you can then use your arms to push yourself back up onto your feet.
Now that I've learned how to fall and get back up, next I'll need to learn how to go down the mountain.
Before conquering the mountain, its suggested that I walk up a hill, strap on the board, and try going down a little hill a few times first to get used to dealing with the speed and control. To control the board, I'm going to need to learn to throw my weight between my tippy toes and heels, the toes will be used to control the board when going down the hill vertically, and to turn or stop, throw the weight into the heels, bending my knees more when I want to stop.
So, now that I know how to stand while strapped onto the snowboard, get up from falling, controlling the board, turning the board, and stopping when I feel like it. There is just one thing left that fills me with fear. The lift.
I read that the trick to the lift, is that you have to leave one foot out of the bindings, preferably the strongest foot. When I have to move in line, al I do is put my foot thats out of the binding onto the middle part of the board between the two bindings, securing it tightly against the binding my foot should be in, then I should just be able to slide down in line. Leaving my strongest foot out while getting onto and off of the lift will me to have more control. If I need to, I can use my strongest foot to walk, dragging my board and strapped in foot behind me. Sounds easier said than done, but we'll see.
Now that I have gained knowledge on how to stand while strapped into a snowboard, get up from falling, controlling and turning the board, stopping, as well as getting on and off of the lift, the true test will be when I arrive at the mountain this year, if we ever get snow. Perhaps I should take the lack of snow as a blessing in disguise. No snow means no snowboarding, no snowboarding means no sore body, no humiliation when they have to turn the lift off from me falling in the way, but I'm determined to learn to snowboard and do it successfully so fake snow or real snow, I will try to snowboard again after not doing so for six years.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Week #13
Lately, as people continue to pass away that are close to me, I'm left wondering, worrying and hoping. I'm wondering if they were saved, accepted Christ as their personal savior and if they'll be going to Heaven or Hell. I worry that I might not ever see them again if they weren't saved, if they didn't go to Heaven. I worry about my future, if I'll be accepted into Heaven, I'm saved, but sometimes it seems to good to be true. God forgives us for any sins, ones we've commited, and ones we don't even know we'll be committing in the future, but God will be accepting us either way, just as long as in some point in our lives we accepted him as our personal savior. I'm hoping that the ones that were close to me were in fact saved and went to Heaven, and that my family, my mom, dad, and brothers will one day come to decide what their fate will be.
The book "90 Minutes in Heaven" always comforts me and leaves me with hope, ends my wondering, and gets rid of most of my worries.
The man in the book, Don Piper, is on his way home from a conference when he gets into a horrible car accident. As soon as medical help arrived they pronounced him dead at the scene, and for 90 minutes he was. In the traffic jam that Piper's accident caused there was a pastor. When the pastor heard that the man had died, he went to every car in the traffic jam and told them to pray, and the pastor himself prayed as well. For 90 minutes Piper experienced Heaven, and tells of the paradise it was, how his loved ones were there, there wasnt any pain, suffering or anything to worry about. Don Piper came back to life, and tells of his experience in Heaven and shares it with others to help bridge others to a secure after life.
Personally, I believe him, and find motivation as wells as hope and comfort in the words in his book. His story shows me the power of prayer. Praying brought him back to life, possibly something he didnt want to come back to, but with the power of prayer he was back, people who didnt even know him prayed for him. Now when I get frustrated with prayer, thinking its not worth it, I find myself doing it anyway. Just because I pray for something doesnt mean that its going to happen, it doesnt mean its going to prevent my loved ones from passing on, it doesnt make all my problems go away, but it gives me home and strength to continue on. In the story when he comes back to life, he obviously has a long road to recovery, with learning how to walk again, deal with broken bones, and a back, and God was there for him. Giving him strength to continue on, helping him achieve his goal. Ultimately, his story shows me that Heaven is real. That there really is something after this life. A life without suffering, worries, and being re-united with loved ones that accepted God as their savior.
I respect others opinions of this book, of their personal belief on after life, what they think of religion, or if they just dont have one at all. But for me "90 Minutes in Heaven" gives me hope, and makes me feel more secure.
An eternal life with a God who is always accepting? I'll be there.
An eternal life without suffering? I'll take it.
An eternal life with my loved ones who too, have accepted Christ as their savior? Yes, please.
An eternal life without worries, natural disasters, or pain? I'll take it.
"90 Minutes in Heaven" shows that these things are real, and just by reading a book, I can be set back on track with my faith.
The book "90 Minutes in Heaven" always comforts me and leaves me with hope, ends my wondering, and gets rid of most of my worries.
The man in the book, Don Piper, is on his way home from a conference when he gets into a horrible car accident. As soon as medical help arrived they pronounced him dead at the scene, and for 90 minutes he was. In the traffic jam that Piper's accident caused there was a pastor. When the pastor heard that the man had died, he went to every car in the traffic jam and told them to pray, and the pastor himself prayed as well. For 90 minutes Piper experienced Heaven, and tells of the paradise it was, how his loved ones were there, there wasnt any pain, suffering or anything to worry about. Don Piper came back to life, and tells of his experience in Heaven and shares it with others to help bridge others to a secure after life.
Personally, I believe him, and find motivation as wells as hope and comfort in the words in his book. His story shows me the power of prayer. Praying brought him back to life, possibly something he didnt want to come back to, but with the power of prayer he was back, people who didnt even know him prayed for him. Now when I get frustrated with prayer, thinking its not worth it, I find myself doing it anyway. Just because I pray for something doesnt mean that its going to happen, it doesnt mean its going to prevent my loved ones from passing on, it doesnt make all my problems go away, but it gives me home and strength to continue on. In the story when he comes back to life, he obviously has a long road to recovery, with learning how to walk again, deal with broken bones, and a back, and God was there for him. Giving him strength to continue on, helping him achieve his goal. Ultimately, his story shows me that Heaven is real. That there really is something after this life. A life without suffering, worries, and being re-united with loved ones that accepted God as their savior.
I respect others opinions of this book, of their personal belief on after life, what they think of religion, or if they just dont have one at all. But for me "90 Minutes in Heaven" gives me hope, and makes me feel more secure.
An eternal life with a God who is always accepting? I'll be there.
An eternal life without suffering? I'll take it.
An eternal life with my loved ones who too, have accepted Christ as their savior? Yes, please.
An eternal life without worries, natural disasters, or pain? I'll take it.
"90 Minutes in Heaven" shows that these things are real, and just by reading a book, I can be set back on track with my faith.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Week #12
I struggled in my high school English classes that assigned book after book after... you guessed it, book. I wasnt interested in mythology, or even a man that looked like an elephant. Reading a book that is required of me, that I'm not interested in, is dreadful. The only books I've read apart from high school, as well as college, are based on true stories, things that actually happened. I've never been a book worm, and probably never will. My craving to read comes in spurts. When those spurts come, I read any chance I get. I'll keep the light on at night while my husband sleeps just to get those few extra pages in to satisfy craving to get me through the night.
I dont know what it is that magnetizes me to books based on true stories, more specifically, ones that involve Christians, and how they grew closer to God in their ordeal, but perhaps it's knowing that this person actually went through this. There's just something about the excitement of reading something that affected a person so deeply, in a life altering way, and how they over come that obstacle that just fills my reading tank. It's quite possible that I'm nosy, that I like to know what happened to people, and in great detail. Or it could be because it's inspiring. To know that someone has gotten through something so tragic, something I'm not sure I could make it out alive from, just fuels me to appreciate things better, not to take things forgranted. It pushes me to know that if I'm faced with a challenge, certainly none to the extent of which I've read in books, but that I have at least a shot of making it through, to seeing the next day.
The cover of the book I think about the most when I think about after-life, and how I know it's really there has kind of a dreary picture on the front. There's an ambulance clearly in a hurry to get to its destination, with a blurred scene, but not too blurred. It appears that it had rained or was raining, the roads are wet, but the sky has broke and there's blue sky, with a few pure white clouds to accompany it. There's not another car in site, the houses look dreary and sad, locked up, but the sky, the sky is beautiful. After reading the book I make a connection, one that may not be particulary seen by others or agreed with.
In the book a man is in a car accident, and dies, but only temporarily. While 'dead' he goes to heaven, but just for a little while, he experiences heaven and all that it offers. However, while he's in heaven, there's a minister in the line of traffic that is backed up from the accident, and begins to tell everyone to pray, pray that the man lives and that he'll be used to God's advantage. It works. The man returns to his body, and is no faced with an extremely hard road to recovery. The picture on the book says it all, for me. The beautiful, blue sky, displays that there are better things to look forward to, that after the rain, or hardships, comes something better than any earthly materialistic thing is waiting for us. It's blurred to represent that before we know it, death will present itself to us, and we will be going to either one of two places. The ambulance represents the long road to recovery that not only this man has, but also any situation the reader may be in.
The true stories I read in books leaves me on the edge of my seat, wanting more and "90 Minutes in Heaven" is one that sure enough, leaves me craving to read.
I dont know what it is that magnetizes me to books based on true stories, more specifically, ones that involve Christians, and how they grew closer to God in their ordeal, but perhaps it's knowing that this person actually went through this. There's just something about the excitement of reading something that affected a person so deeply, in a life altering way, and how they over come that obstacle that just fills my reading tank. It's quite possible that I'm nosy, that I like to know what happened to people, and in great detail. Or it could be because it's inspiring. To know that someone has gotten through something so tragic, something I'm not sure I could make it out alive from, just fuels me to appreciate things better, not to take things forgranted. It pushes me to know that if I'm faced with a challenge, certainly none to the extent of which I've read in books, but that I have at least a shot of making it through, to seeing the next day.
The cover of the book I think about the most when I think about after-life, and how I know it's really there has kind of a dreary picture on the front. There's an ambulance clearly in a hurry to get to its destination, with a blurred scene, but not too blurred. It appears that it had rained or was raining, the roads are wet, but the sky has broke and there's blue sky, with a few pure white clouds to accompany it. There's not another car in site, the houses look dreary and sad, locked up, but the sky, the sky is beautiful. After reading the book I make a connection, one that may not be particulary seen by others or agreed with.
In the book a man is in a car accident, and dies, but only temporarily. While 'dead' he goes to heaven, but just for a little while, he experiences heaven and all that it offers. However, while he's in heaven, there's a minister in the line of traffic that is backed up from the accident, and begins to tell everyone to pray, pray that the man lives and that he'll be used to God's advantage. It works. The man returns to his body, and is no faced with an extremely hard road to recovery. The picture on the book says it all, for me. The beautiful, blue sky, displays that there are better things to look forward to, that after the rain, or hardships, comes something better than any earthly materialistic thing is waiting for us. It's blurred to represent that before we know it, death will present itself to us, and we will be going to either one of two places. The ambulance represents the long road to recovery that not only this man has, but also any situation the reader may be in.
The true stories I read in books leaves me on the edge of my seat, wanting more and "90 Minutes in Heaven" is one that sure enough, leaves me craving to read.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Week #10
"It's not a man's job to do housework, it's a woman's."
The families my husband and I came from are very different. His mother was a stay at home mom from the day he was born to the day he moved out at age 20, while his dad was the one to break his back to work as much as he could to take care of his family. His mom took care of everything, cleaning, laundry, making beds, dishes, everything, David, or his dad or siblings, never had to do any cleaning. However, my mother worked just as much as my dad, they both held 40 hour a week jobs, with the occasional over-time, leaving it to everyone in our family to take care of our house, the cleaning, laundry, dishes, each of us took out turn, even dad.
When moving into David and I's home together, he didnt complain when he did the occasional dishes, or folding laundry when I asked. But one day, as I mentioned that David had done dishes and swapped the laundry over in front of his mom, she about fell off her rocker. "David did what?!", she asked. I repeated when I had said. "How come he has to do that?". I knew that would be her reaction, my face started to burn, I could tell it was getting red, I wanted to scream that he is perfectly capable of putting his hands into the dish water just as much as I am. Instead, I calmy said, "He lives at the house too, he can help clean and maintain the house." She didnt waste any time in replying, "Oh, I just cant imagine it. Poor David." I was about to come unglued, but some how kept it together, but inside I was screaming. "Poor David? Poor DAVID? POOR DAVID?!?! You've got to be kidding me!"
Men are just as capable of sweeping the floors they too walk on, folding the clothes that they wear, and yes, washing the dishes, they too, eat off from as well. What's the difference between a man working 40 hours a week and a woman working 40 hours a week, besides maybe the mans job is more physical, such as construction. They both get up early, get home late, get tired out throughout the day, and dread coming home to having to cook dinner, clean up and do it all over again the next day. Not to mention if there is the added stress of kids involved as well.
Where I was raised my dad worked the night shift, 2:30-11pm and my mom the day shift, 6:30-3:30, meaning my dad did all of the house work, keeping the house clean for us during the week while mom and us kids did it on the weekends. It was a group effort, not, oh she's a female, its her responsibility to do the cooking and cleaning.
This mind set, I'm sure was 'normal' decades ago, however, I doubt it flies too much these days. Men and women are created equal, each person living in a home together create messes individually as well as together, each person needs their clothes washed, towels clean for a shower, floors swept and washed, clean dishes to eat off from, and fresh sheets on a bed every now and then doesnt hurt either. In todays world a man needs to be able to take care of himself just like a woman needs to be able to take care of herself as well.
The families my husband and I came from are very different. His mother was a stay at home mom from the day he was born to the day he moved out at age 20, while his dad was the one to break his back to work as much as he could to take care of his family. His mom took care of everything, cleaning, laundry, making beds, dishes, everything, David, or his dad or siblings, never had to do any cleaning. However, my mother worked just as much as my dad, they both held 40 hour a week jobs, with the occasional over-time, leaving it to everyone in our family to take care of our house, the cleaning, laundry, dishes, each of us took out turn, even dad.
When moving into David and I's home together, he didnt complain when he did the occasional dishes, or folding laundry when I asked. But one day, as I mentioned that David had done dishes and swapped the laundry over in front of his mom, she about fell off her rocker. "David did what?!", she asked. I repeated when I had said. "How come he has to do that?". I knew that would be her reaction, my face started to burn, I could tell it was getting red, I wanted to scream that he is perfectly capable of putting his hands into the dish water just as much as I am. Instead, I calmy said, "He lives at the house too, he can help clean and maintain the house." She didnt waste any time in replying, "Oh, I just cant imagine it. Poor David." I was about to come unglued, but some how kept it together, but inside I was screaming. "Poor David? Poor DAVID? POOR DAVID?!?! You've got to be kidding me!"
Men are just as capable of sweeping the floors they too walk on, folding the clothes that they wear, and yes, washing the dishes, they too, eat off from as well. What's the difference between a man working 40 hours a week and a woman working 40 hours a week, besides maybe the mans job is more physical, such as construction. They both get up early, get home late, get tired out throughout the day, and dread coming home to having to cook dinner, clean up and do it all over again the next day. Not to mention if there is the added stress of kids involved as well.
Where I was raised my dad worked the night shift, 2:30-11pm and my mom the day shift, 6:30-3:30, meaning my dad did all of the house work, keeping the house clean for us during the week while mom and us kids did it on the weekends. It was a group effort, not, oh she's a female, its her responsibility to do the cooking and cleaning.
This mind set, I'm sure was 'normal' decades ago, however, I doubt it flies too much these days. Men and women are created equal, each person living in a home together create messes individually as well as together, each person needs their clothes washed, towels clean for a shower, floors swept and washed, clean dishes to eat off from, and fresh sheets on a bed every now and then doesnt hurt either. In todays world a man needs to be able to take care of himself just like a woman needs to be able to take care of herself as well.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Week #9
My life is a routine, doing the same things Monday through Friday. I start the day off a few minutes before 4:30am. Laying in bed dreading David getting out of bed and leaving for work and not returning until about 7pm. His alarm goes off at 4:30, and then scheduled to go off three more times, seven minutes apart. David claims this helps him wake up more, when all it really does is get under my skin, but its a battle that I'm not going to win. He gets up at 4:51, turning on the closet light so the big light wont burn our eyes, as hes getting dressed, I head out into the kitchen and make his lunch, cereal for his 9:00 break, last nights leftovers for his 12:00 lunch break, and a little debbies snack for his last break at 3:00, add in two cans of mountain dew and a bottle cool blue gatorade, and his big blue lunch box is packed for the day. Davids out the door for the day at 5:07am.
Its 5:07 and I have no were I have to be until 2:30. For nine and a half hours its just me and my dog, Brodey. I dont go back to bed because I hate sleeping when I'm home alone, if someones going to break in, I at least want to be able to escape. So, I head to the laundry room, folding the clothes in the drier, putting the clothes from the washer into the drier, and then taking care of the newly folded clothes. From there, I make the bed, telling Brodey I wish his Daddy would learn to put his dirty clothes in the hamper just four feet away from his usual pile. After cleaning up the bedroom, I make my way to the sink, by now the sun is starting come up, I look out the window above the sink as I begin to soak my hands in dish water, my mind starts to wander what life has in store for me next. I graduate this spring, will I go back to get a different degree? Will I look for a full time job? or is now the time to start having a family? Most importantly, how will I decide? As these questions boggle my mind, I look down at Brodey whos laying directly beside my feet, so close to them I can feel his warm breath. He looks back up at me. I wonder what he's thinking. Does he know hes a dog? I wonder if he gets sick of me? Do all dogs REALLY go to heaven? (A question that crosses my mind more often than not.) My mind refocuses on the dishes as I prick my finger one the tip of a steak knife.
I finish up the dishes, its about 7:00am, and I notice Brodey's dish is empty. I fill his water dish up, spilling a little on me as I try to gently put it down, then picking up his food dish and filling it to the brim with pedigree. I set it down and he looks up at me. As usual, I have to ask myself, is he sick of eating the same thing every day? Does it even taste good? As I go to walk away to inspect the floors, I apologize to him for having to eat the same thing every day. I look around the floors, clearly, they need to be swept and washed. I dread this task the most, considering it takes the longest time.
I begin to sweep, and my mind leaves me again. What would I go back to school for? Nursing has always been in the plan, getting my R.N., getting a job somewhere that doesnt require working weekends, and settle into a new routine. Unfortuately, I remind myself that in health care, its 24/7, no weekends off, especially in hospitals and nursing homes. So where would I work as an R.N. that would give weekends off? Weekends off are important to me, they give me something to look forward to, they're the only two days off that have unexpected schedules, adding some spontaneous excitement into my life. Ok, so maybe going back to school for medical assisting? That'd be ideal, I could get a job at a doctors office, they always have weekends off, even holidays. That'd be perfect. I catch myself, remembering that I heard medical assistants do the same work as an R.N. only get paid less. I quickly decide the money doesnt matter. Weekends off with a normal work schedule is what I want. Or is it?
The floors are now all swept and its about 8:30am now, which means that in about thirty minutes I'll be exchanging a few text messages with David while hes on his 9:00 break. I move onto the mop and orange glow, and it doesnt take but seconds to fall back into my future.
Is back to school the way to go, or is having our first child? One minute I've got it in my mind that I could do it, waking up all hours of the night, settling right down into pure family mode, and then I quickly ask myself, "What are you thinking?". I get scared, can I REALLY do that. What will people think? I'm married, but we're still just 22. Maybe we should wait? or should we? Who decides this? Oh, wait, we do. I can see it now, nine months of mood swimgs for David to deal with, labor that will, hopefully, bring David and I even more closer, falling a little more in love with eachother, most of all, falling into a new love. A love with our child. I go back to questioning school. Will I find a good enough job with the degree I'll get this Spring when I gradute to help take care of our little family, or is it smarter to go back for two more years to ensure it? The only thing I decide on is that I'm way too indecisive.
I'm brought back to reality when Brodey walks across the freshly washed floors. He's just a dog, what does he know? Besides hes already scared of the mop and broom for no reason, no need to get all bent out of shape over a few paw prints. It's 10:00 now, four and a half hours until I have to be at work. I'm worn out, so Brodey and I go lay down on the bed. As usual, I lay on Davids side of the bed, Brodey on mine, he lays on his back, my left arm is around him and he's snuggled up into my armpit, while I stroke his soft, silky ear.
Which reminds me. Will Brodey be good with kids? Will I be good with kids? More specifically, a boy? Brodey is a boy and David claims I've "ruined" him. He's the most sensitive dog either of us have ever seen, even slightly feminine. David wanted a mans dog, one that would ride in the back of his truck, that would go hunting with him, and spend days in the garage with him. Not Brodey, over my dead body will he be riding in the back of a pick up truck, and he wouldnt come out from underneath the bed after a gun shot to even go hunting, and garage? No, he spends days with mommy, cuddling and being talked to as if he is capable of responding. So a son? Would I "ruin him"? Make him a mommy's boy? I told David he'd have to build us a sand box and get us some tonka toys, so I could make him a mans man. But I cant compromise on the cuddling.
Its 10:30, and I've got homework. I concentrate better at the dining room table, but talk myself into sitting in the recliner to do the work. It takes longer than usual as I bounce between facebook, Bangor Daily news, and texting my mom. But finally at about 1:15 I decide I'm done my homework for the day. I have to get ready for work now.
The shower is another spot I spend time thinking about our future. I feel stressed out and overwhelmed, I feel as if David and I's lives are depending on the decicion I chose. He supports me either way, baby or school, he's ready for our own little family as much as I am. Just like any other day, I decide that when David gets home I'll talk to him, see what he thinks we should do, what I should do. I know I'll just get the same answer, "Hun, its what you want. If you think school for two more years is best, then I do too, if you want to have a baby, then I do too." I need decisions to be made, I need to get out of my routine, add a little excitement to my life. I hop in the car at 2:00 and being my thirty minute drive, where again, I'll be alone with my thoughts, battling where I want to go next in life.
Its 5:07 and I have no were I have to be until 2:30. For nine and a half hours its just me and my dog, Brodey. I dont go back to bed because I hate sleeping when I'm home alone, if someones going to break in, I at least want to be able to escape. So, I head to the laundry room, folding the clothes in the drier, putting the clothes from the washer into the drier, and then taking care of the newly folded clothes. From there, I make the bed, telling Brodey I wish his Daddy would learn to put his dirty clothes in the hamper just four feet away from his usual pile. After cleaning up the bedroom, I make my way to the sink, by now the sun is starting come up, I look out the window above the sink as I begin to soak my hands in dish water, my mind starts to wander what life has in store for me next. I graduate this spring, will I go back to get a different degree? Will I look for a full time job? or is now the time to start having a family? Most importantly, how will I decide? As these questions boggle my mind, I look down at Brodey whos laying directly beside my feet, so close to them I can feel his warm breath. He looks back up at me. I wonder what he's thinking. Does he know hes a dog? I wonder if he gets sick of me? Do all dogs REALLY go to heaven? (A question that crosses my mind more often than not.) My mind refocuses on the dishes as I prick my finger one the tip of a steak knife.
I finish up the dishes, its about 7:00am, and I notice Brodey's dish is empty. I fill his water dish up, spilling a little on me as I try to gently put it down, then picking up his food dish and filling it to the brim with pedigree. I set it down and he looks up at me. As usual, I have to ask myself, is he sick of eating the same thing every day? Does it even taste good? As I go to walk away to inspect the floors, I apologize to him for having to eat the same thing every day. I look around the floors, clearly, they need to be swept and washed. I dread this task the most, considering it takes the longest time.
I begin to sweep, and my mind leaves me again. What would I go back to school for? Nursing has always been in the plan, getting my R.N., getting a job somewhere that doesnt require working weekends, and settle into a new routine. Unfortuately, I remind myself that in health care, its 24/7, no weekends off, especially in hospitals and nursing homes. So where would I work as an R.N. that would give weekends off? Weekends off are important to me, they give me something to look forward to, they're the only two days off that have unexpected schedules, adding some spontaneous excitement into my life. Ok, so maybe going back to school for medical assisting? That'd be ideal, I could get a job at a doctors office, they always have weekends off, even holidays. That'd be perfect. I catch myself, remembering that I heard medical assistants do the same work as an R.N. only get paid less. I quickly decide the money doesnt matter. Weekends off with a normal work schedule is what I want. Or is it?
The floors are now all swept and its about 8:30am now, which means that in about thirty minutes I'll be exchanging a few text messages with David while hes on his 9:00 break. I move onto the mop and orange glow, and it doesnt take but seconds to fall back into my future.
Is back to school the way to go, or is having our first child? One minute I've got it in my mind that I could do it, waking up all hours of the night, settling right down into pure family mode, and then I quickly ask myself, "What are you thinking?". I get scared, can I REALLY do that. What will people think? I'm married, but we're still just 22. Maybe we should wait? or should we? Who decides this? Oh, wait, we do. I can see it now, nine months of mood swimgs for David to deal with, labor that will, hopefully, bring David and I even more closer, falling a little more in love with eachother, most of all, falling into a new love. A love with our child. I go back to questioning school. Will I find a good enough job with the degree I'll get this Spring when I gradute to help take care of our little family, or is it smarter to go back for two more years to ensure it? The only thing I decide on is that I'm way too indecisive.
I'm brought back to reality when Brodey walks across the freshly washed floors. He's just a dog, what does he know? Besides hes already scared of the mop and broom for no reason, no need to get all bent out of shape over a few paw prints. It's 10:00 now, four and a half hours until I have to be at work. I'm worn out, so Brodey and I go lay down on the bed. As usual, I lay on Davids side of the bed, Brodey on mine, he lays on his back, my left arm is around him and he's snuggled up into my armpit, while I stroke his soft, silky ear.
Which reminds me. Will Brodey be good with kids? Will I be good with kids? More specifically, a boy? Brodey is a boy and David claims I've "ruined" him. He's the most sensitive dog either of us have ever seen, even slightly feminine. David wanted a mans dog, one that would ride in the back of his truck, that would go hunting with him, and spend days in the garage with him. Not Brodey, over my dead body will he be riding in the back of a pick up truck, and he wouldnt come out from underneath the bed after a gun shot to even go hunting, and garage? No, he spends days with mommy, cuddling and being talked to as if he is capable of responding. So a son? Would I "ruin him"? Make him a mommy's boy? I told David he'd have to build us a sand box and get us some tonka toys, so I could make him a mans man. But I cant compromise on the cuddling.
Its 10:30, and I've got homework. I concentrate better at the dining room table, but talk myself into sitting in the recliner to do the work. It takes longer than usual as I bounce between facebook, Bangor Daily news, and texting my mom. But finally at about 1:15 I decide I'm done my homework for the day. I have to get ready for work now.
The shower is another spot I spend time thinking about our future. I feel stressed out and overwhelmed, I feel as if David and I's lives are depending on the decicion I chose. He supports me either way, baby or school, he's ready for our own little family as much as I am. Just like any other day, I decide that when David gets home I'll talk to him, see what he thinks we should do, what I should do. I know I'll just get the same answer, "Hun, its what you want. If you think school for two more years is best, then I do too, if you want to have a baby, then I do too." I need decisions to be made, I need to get out of my routine, add a little excitement to my life. I hop in the car at 2:00 and being my thirty minute drive, where again, I'll be alone with my thoughts, battling where I want to go next in life.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Week 8
Ever since my dad's 49th birthday, he's been wrestling with the fact that he's getting too old to do certain things, being my dad though, he's too stubborn to give into that. He's not only trying to prove to himself that he can still do 'a man's job' but also to us, even though none of us three kids, or, mom have ever questioned that to begin with. There seems to be a new adveture for him atleast once a month, sometimes twice. Since his 49th birthday, some of his 'man tasks' has included unloaded six ton of pellets by himself, doing so deliberately. He had the pellet mill deliver the pellets at a time he knew noone would be home, as well as knowing noone would be there for the rest of the day, when mom found out he did this, she went up one side of him and down the other. Other things he's done since his birthday is building a shed all by himself, not allowing anyone to even hand him a nail, reading directions on how to fix the furnace, with bad eyes, knowing he has bad eyes, still refusing to see an eye doctor. All of us are burdened with worry, not knowing what dad will be proving to us this month, or week, we worry about his health, and how he could seriously hurt himself completeing these 'man jobs'.
It was a Sunday, and it fairly windy, but the sun was still shining with not a cloud in sight, had it not been for the wind, it would have been pretty warm for a fall day. All of us kids were at the house with our significant others, waiting for Sunday dinner to finish cooking. Us two girls in the kitchen helping mom set the table and get things ready, while the three boys were out skeet shooting at a Pit about twenty minutes away. Dad was out sitting on the steps on the deck, appearing to be day dreaming, when all of a sudden, he stands up and rushes into the house.
"I gotta do something about that branch hanging over the garage, Mary. It's not good." Dad said to mom.
Us three girls, including mom, went outside to examine this threatening branch dad was so worried about. It was so unnoticable that we had to have him point it out, with I could tell got under his skin a little bit.
"It's right there!" He says, pointing to a strong branch, about ten feet above the garage, still attached to the tree, showing now signs of giving out any time soon.
We all walk back into the house, to finish what we were doing, all hoping that dad was just going to move on. But instead he goes out into the entry way, puts on his work boots, and grabs a pair of work gloves before heading out the door and yelling to mom, "Dont worry about it. I'll take care of it." We all stop what we are doing, and all look at mom, then eachother, sharing the same thought of, "oh God."
Mom quickly looks at me and asks when the boys will be back, "I dont know. They didnt say, and they dont have reception in the pit."
The three of us rush outside, trying to persuade dad to at least wait until the boys get home so they can help him. Dad immediately cuts me off, refusing the idea, but really refusing the help. There's no talking him out of doing 'a man's job', and certainly no talking him into waiting for help. The word help at 49 years and 10 months old just makes his skin crawl.
Off dad goes, grabbing two ladders; leaning one against the garage to get him to the top of the garage addition roof, which was atleast flat, up he goes, carrying the second one on top of the roof, and placing it against the tree.
"Daren, just stop, please, wait for David and Andrew to get here, they have experience with this stuff. All they use is tree climbing shoes, this is too dangerous!" Mom, trying to plead with dad. He just ignores her, climbs back down the ladder onto the ground, and into the garage. Us girls just stand there looking at eachother, Ashley constantly dialing Andrews number trying to reach the boys, but it just goes to voice mail every time. We hear banging, and crashing in the garage, and out comes dad with a chainsaw. This really gets mom going.
"DAREN! YOU ARE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF. ENOUGH!" She yells.
"Dad just wait, they should be here in no more than a half hour, just wait!" I tell him.
"Girls," He says, as if to calm his little fan club, "I'm alright. I'm just gonna cut the branch off. If I wait until winter to do it, it'll pile up with snow, get weak, and fall on the addition roof. I aint waitin' for that to happen." He says, proudly, as if he was rescuing us.
He climbs up the first ladder, chainsaw in tow, he's up on the addition roof, starts the chainsaw to have it ready when he gets up to the branch, and starts to make his way up the second ladder.
"I'm not fuckin' watching this, I'm not gonna watch your father kill himself." Mom spouts off as she stomps off on her way back inside. Ashley still trying to dial to get a hold of the boys.
Dads up there now, revving up the chain saw, getting ready to cut-when Andrew finally picks up the phone.
"Get home now, Dad needs help!" She quickly gets out so he doesnt lose service before she can get her urgent message out. Before he could reply, the ladder slipped out from underneath dad, and away he fell, chainsaw and all.
We both screamed, forcing mom to run out from the house. "DAREN!" My mother screams, "Ashley call an ambulance!!"
Dad's conscious, grabbing his leg, covered in blood. His bone was sticking through his skin, not a lot, but enough to make me puke. Just above it was where the chainsaw had hit his knee cap, leaving a straight-cut wound just above his knee cap. Dad wasnt crying or howling in pain, but biting his lip, to show no pain. The only thing he said was, "Where the hell were the boys?!" His way of asking, where was the help!
****
Since X-Rays had shown that he had also hurt his back, he ended up having to stay in the hospital for about two weeks. All the times we visited, he seemed to be overly proud of his adventure and battle wounds. I'll never forget the day we had gone up to pick him up to take him home. He was wheeled out in a wheel chair, and as he was standing up from the wheel chair to get onto his crutches to finish the journey to the car, he said, "I gotta see what I can do about that branch now, that cant be there when winter comes."
It was a Sunday, and it fairly windy, but the sun was still shining with not a cloud in sight, had it not been for the wind, it would have been pretty warm for a fall day. All of us kids were at the house with our significant others, waiting for Sunday dinner to finish cooking. Us two girls in the kitchen helping mom set the table and get things ready, while the three boys were out skeet shooting at a Pit about twenty minutes away. Dad was out sitting on the steps on the deck, appearing to be day dreaming, when all of a sudden, he stands up and rushes into the house.
"I gotta do something about that branch hanging over the garage, Mary. It's not good." Dad said to mom.
Us three girls, including mom, went outside to examine this threatening branch dad was so worried about. It was so unnoticable that we had to have him point it out, with I could tell got under his skin a little bit.
"It's right there!" He says, pointing to a strong branch, about ten feet above the garage, still attached to the tree, showing now signs of giving out any time soon.
We all walk back into the house, to finish what we were doing, all hoping that dad was just going to move on. But instead he goes out into the entry way, puts on his work boots, and grabs a pair of work gloves before heading out the door and yelling to mom, "Dont worry about it. I'll take care of it." We all stop what we are doing, and all look at mom, then eachother, sharing the same thought of, "oh God."
Mom quickly looks at me and asks when the boys will be back, "I dont know. They didnt say, and they dont have reception in the pit."
The three of us rush outside, trying to persuade dad to at least wait until the boys get home so they can help him. Dad immediately cuts me off, refusing the idea, but really refusing the help. There's no talking him out of doing 'a man's job', and certainly no talking him into waiting for help. The word help at 49 years and 10 months old just makes his skin crawl.
Off dad goes, grabbing two ladders; leaning one against the garage to get him to the top of the garage addition roof, which was atleast flat, up he goes, carrying the second one on top of the roof, and placing it against the tree.
"Daren, just stop, please, wait for David and Andrew to get here, they have experience with this stuff. All they use is tree climbing shoes, this is too dangerous!" Mom, trying to plead with dad. He just ignores her, climbs back down the ladder onto the ground, and into the garage. Us girls just stand there looking at eachother, Ashley constantly dialing Andrews number trying to reach the boys, but it just goes to voice mail every time. We hear banging, and crashing in the garage, and out comes dad with a chainsaw. This really gets mom going.
"DAREN! YOU ARE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF. ENOUGH!" She yells.
"Dad just wait, they should be here in no more than a half hour, just wait!" I tell him.
"Girls," He says, as if to calm his little fan club, "I'm alright. I'm just gonna cut the branch off. If I wait until winter to do it, it'll pile up with snow, get weak, and fall on the addition roof. I aint waitin' for that to happen." He says, proudly, as if he was rescuing us.
He climbs up the first ladder, chainsaw in tow, he's up on the addition roof, starts the chainsaw to have it ready when he gets up to the branch, and starts to make his way up the second ladder.
"I'm not fuckin' watching this, I'm not gonna watch your father kill himself." Mom spouts off as she stomps off on her way back inside. Ashley still trying to dial to get a hold of the boys.
Dads up there now, revving up the chain saw, getting ready to cut-when Andrew finally picks up the phone.
"Get home now, Dad needs help!" She quickly gets out so he doesnt lose service before she can get her urgent message out. Before he could reply, the ladder slipped out from underneath dad, and away he fell, chainsaw and all.
We both screamed, forcing mom to run out from the house. "DAREN!" My mother screams, "Ashley call an ambulance!!"
Dad's conscious, grabbing his leg, covered in blood. His bone was sticking through his skin, not a lot, but enough to make me puke. Just above it was where the chainsaw had hit his knee cap, leaving a straight-cut wound just above his knee cap. Dad wasnt crying or howling in pain, but biting his lip, to show no pain. The only thing he said was, "Where the hell were the boys?!" His way of asking, where was the help!
****
Since X-Rays had shown that he had also hurt his back, he ended up having to stay in the hospital for about two weeks. All the times we visited, he seemed to be overly proud of his adventure and battle wounds. I'll never forget the day we had gone up to pick him up to take him home. He was wheeled out in a wheel chair, and as he was standing up from the wheel chair to get onto his crutches to finish the journey to the car, he said, "I gotta see what I can do about that branch now, that cant be there when winter comes."
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Week 7 Re-Write
David likes to help people, goes out of his way to do so, even if he knows he wont be appreciated in the end for doing so. Last month, on October 15th, his friend needed help moving down to Rumford, a four hour round trip from home. David's friend called him at 8:00am needing him by 10:30am. David never complained though, he drove the half hour to where his friend used to live, helped load stuff into his own truck, and started out on the four hour trip. His friend never offered to pay for gas, not that David would have taken it anyway, and still after helping him unload his stuff, before leaving told his friend, ""Hey no problem! Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you, anytime."
***
Thanks to Cianbro, he works all the time, doing whatever is asked of him. David aims to please. He usually works seven days a week doing twelve hour shifts, with a weekend off here and there. The most days he has ever worked in a row is 28, in the month of May this year. On Wednesday, the 18th day, he was told he'd have the coming weekend off. He was relieved, and looking forward to a couple of days off, but didn't show it. Friday, the 20th, his foreman told him he needed help for the weekend, and it would be manditory that he work the weekend, the was supposed to have off. David never showed a sign of disappointment, or even complained. He had worked 28 days straight, 28 days of getting up at 4:30am, with an hour drive to and from work, 28 days of getting home at 7, and then eating supper, and from the supper table to bed, but never once complained.
His wife, who he's been married to for two and a half years, sure knows how to pick an argument. She gets heated pretty fast, spouting off hurtful things, walking out of the rooms he follows her into, opening the doors she's slammed in his face. But he doesnt raise his voice, not once. He tries to comfort her, tries to hug her, and constantly apologizing, even though its not his fault, and she knows that.
Three months ago, in August, things got pretty heated. He came home late from work, tired, and just wanting to shower and go to sleep. His wife had cleaned the house that day, and when he walked into the house started to put stuff everywhere. Walking around with his dirt filled boots all over the freshly washed floors, threw his dirty flannel shirt onto of the clean counter stop, carelessly put his lunch box ontop of the dryer, and started to take his clothes off there. Heading toward the shower just in his boxers, he left his dirty carrharts on the floor by the door, with his socks and shirt piled ontop of his boots.
"David, do you even care that I spent the entire day cleaning this house, and you single handly, just messed everything up?!" She spouted off.
"What the hell are you talking about? I took all of my stuff off there because it's covered in dirt, and didnt want to track it all through the house!" He replied.
"So who's going to clean up this mess you piled all over the kitchen?" She quickly said.
"I will, just give me a minute, please. I just walked in the door." He replied, calm as ever.
"Yeah, right. You do this all the time, pile you shit everywhere and it just magically gets cleaned up."
They then spent the next hour and a half arguing. When things simmer down, she apologizes over and over again for the hurtful things she had said, and for getting angry for no reason. David accepts them, and forgives, no questions asked. She would have held a grudge, argued for even longer if he had ever said the things to her that she had said to him. But he doesnt, he's extremely forgiving. Forgiving to the point that in his mind, it never happened. David gives the true meaning to "forgive and forget".
***
When he loves and cares about someone he does so with his entire heart, especially when it comes to his wife. He'd go to all ends of the earth for the love he has for his wife. It seems to good to be true the way he is to her. Last December, the day after a snowstorm had dumped about nine inches of wet, heavy snow, he spent the morning shoveling. It was on a day that he had had off, and she had been working, he shaped a pile of snow into a giant heart with a shovel, then using his finger he wrote, "I Love You" on the top of it. When she came home to that, she was so excited, and flattered, which made David happy to see that something he had done for her made her so happy.
***
His mom sure knew what she was doing when she raised him. At just 22 years old, he's impossible to get angry, quick to forgive, and slow to put himself first, if ever at all. There's nothing he loves more than watching football on Sundays, the one thing he enjoys. Napping on and off, snacking throughout the day, and switching between the two games he wants to watch. Other than having a Sunday in his recliner watching footbal, he never asks for anything.
***
Thanks to Cianbro, he works all the time, doing whatever is asked of him. David aims to please. He usually works seven days a week doing twelve hour shifts, with a weekend off here and there. The most days he has ever worked in a row is 28, in the month of May this year. On Wednesday, the 18th day, he was told he'd have the coming weekend off. He was relieved, and looking forward to a couple of days off, but didn't show it. Friday, the 20th, his foreman told him he needed help for the weekend, and it would be manditory that he work the weekend, the was supposed to have off. David never showed a sign of disappointment, or even complained. He had worked 28 days straight, 28 days of getting up at 4:30am, with an hour drive to and from work, 28 days of getting home at 7, and then eating supper, and from the supper table to bed, but never once complained.
His wife, who he's been married to for two and a half years, sure knows how to pick an argument. She gets heated pretty fast, spouting off hurtful things, walking out of the rooms he follows her into, opening the doors she's slammed in his face. But he doesnt raise his voice, not once. He tries to comfort her, tries to hug her, and constantly apologizing, even though its not his fault, and she knows that.
Three months ago, in August, things got pretty heated. He came home late from work, tired, and just wanting to shower and go to sleep. His wife had cleaned the house that day, and when he walked into the house started to put stuff everywhere. Walking around with his dirt filled boots all over the freshly washed floors, threw his dirty flannel shirt onto of the clean counter stop, carelessly put his lunch box ontop of the dryer, and started to take his clothes off there. Heading toward the shower just in his boxers, he left his dirty carrharts on the floor by the door, with his socks and shirt piled ontop of his boots.
"David, do you even care that I spent the entire day cleaning this house, and you single handly, just messed everything up?!" She spouted off.
"What the hell are you talking about? I took all of my stuff off there because it's covered in dirt, and didnt want to track it all through the house!" He replied.
"So who's going to clean up this mess you piled all over the kitchen?" She quickly said.
"I will, just give me a minute, please. I just walked in the door." He replied, calm as ever.
"Yeah, right. You do this all the time, pile you shit everywhere and it just magically gets cleaned up."
They then spent the next hour and a half arguing. When things simmer down, she apologizes over and over again for the hurtful things she had said, and for getting angry for no reason. David accepts them, and forgives, no questions asked. She would have held a grudge, argued for even longer if he had ever said the things to her that she had said to him. But he doesnt, he's extremely forgiving. Forgiving to the point that in his mind, it never happened. David gives the true meaning to "forgive and forget".
***
When he loves and cares about someone he does so with his entire heart, especially when it comes to his wife. He'd go to all ends of the earth for the love he has for his wife. It seems to good to be true the way he is to her. Last December, the day after a snowstorm had dumped about nine inches of wet, heavy snow, he spent the morning shoveling. It was on a day that he had had off, and she had been working, he shaped a pile of snow into a giant heart with a shovel, then using his finger he wrote, "I Love You" on the top of it. When she came home to that, she was so excited, and flattered, which made David happy to see that something he had done for her made her so happy.
***
His mom sure knew what she was doing when she raised him. At just 22 years old, he's impossible to get angry, quick to forgive, and slow to put himself first, if ever at all. There's nothing he loves more than watching football on Sundays, the one thing he enjoys. Napping on and off, snacking throughout the day, and switching between the two games he wants to watch. Other than having a Sunday in his recliner watching footbal, he never asks for anything.
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