%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  A JOURNEY THROUGH MY MIND: THE WORDGODDESS' BLOG |
|
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
THIS IS A JOURNAL OF WHAT'S MAKING ME WRITE. WHAT I AM WRITING, AND ALL SORTS OF OTHER SCARY THINGS. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** PLEASE READ AT YOUR PLEASURE, AND PLEASE SIGN MY GUEST-BOOK WHILE YOU'RE HERE. SOME LUCKY VISITORS WILL RECEIVE SOME SPECIAL ATTENTION. "Invalid Item"  by A Guest Visitor ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** NOW, ENJOY. |
| Have you ever been able to turn something bad into something good? Have you ever been able to stop something from getting worse? I have. I was the victim of an unfortunate misunderstanding and accusation here on WDC. While I was angry and hurt, I managed to turn things around. Rather than throw ugly words back at someone, I simply stated the facts and then offered a solution to the problem. It was difficult not to let my emotions stand in the way of what was the right thing to do. As much as I wanted to yell and be heard, I knew that no one is ever really heard when they yell. I am pleased with the outcome of the situation, and proud of the way I handled it. I hope that in the future, I can remember this and apply it in real life as well. I am almost looking forward to someone upsetting me just so that I can show them that I am a peace keeper. |
| I love sliders, there, I said it. I am officially addicted to these babies. Like magic, words blend together before me creating endless poetic juntures. Like a junkie I can't turn away the ectasy of the drug. Inspiring me to create images beyond my control. A passsion which devours my day, I surrender to their beckoning call. The words await for me to complete their task. Like A GOD, I change their world and pupose, providing new fate. Definitions unexplained leave my mind wondering as I gaze upon their beauty. Then in amoment, they are gone, again. Reformed, a jumble of thoughts exposed. Creating a breif reality of imagination grand. |
I never was much of a text book student. You know, read the chapter, take the test, pass. Not me. I have always been a hands on kinda' gal. A self learner. I feed on the interaction between myself and my goal. I need tomake mistakesin order to perfect whatever crazy thing I am teaching myself to do. My latest adenture was reupholstering my diningroom chairs; by hand, my hands.  . A perfect example of my learning curve can be seen in the progress I made from chair to chair.The first one I did was the guinea pig, roughly measured, not an exact plan. I learned though what worked and what didn't and that helped me develop that plan. I learned to use more taks andless staples and that thematerial needs to be pulled tighter. By the third chair, I had devolped a patern of efficiency. Trying different ways to get teh same effect, looking fo rthe one with the least istakes and most productivity. while I was trucking along on my fourth and fifth chair, I learned that the sems around the base were nicer covered with piping. so now I had to go back and upgrade all the others too. As I cut and stretched yards of fabric over my dining room table,I realized that I was learning another lesson, always buy more fabric than you need. Just as I was finishing the back on my last chair, I ran out of material. Life sucks when you run out of material. |
| They say that behind every cloud there is a silver lining. While sitting under your dark cloud, an emotional storm brewing, it is almost impossible to get a glimpse of that glittery lining. After having spent the last week in the Children's Hospital with my daughter, my lining is starting to surface. The relationship between a mother and daughter is unique, like no other. There is an instant and infinite bond that is more powerful than anything I Have every felt. Just as powerful as that relationship, is the strong willed attitude of an adolescent girl. Ashley is fifteen years old and going on thirty. She has always been a very independent person and to suddenly lose that independence was devastating to her. Before last week, Ashley and I had a typical mother-daughter relationship. I would tell her what to do and she would argue and complain about it. She was sweet when she wanted something and a brat when she didn't get it. A perfectly normal teenager. As with most teenagers, she never really understood the power of the relationship we had. I don't think she truly understood how precious her life is to me and to what extent I would go for her. She saw this over the past week. She saw the fear, the pain, the tears, and she also saw the strength, the power, the determination. If anything good could have come from her misfortune, perhaps it is a greater appreciation for what it means to be a mother. In the days since we've been home, she has improved not only physically, but psychologically as well. Our relationship has entered a new demision. We have both developed a better understanding of each other as women, and not just as mother and daughter. I can see my silver lining in Ashley's eyes. When she looks at me and smiles that Hollywood smile. I know this has changed us both for the better and brought us closer together. It is so strange to be thankful for something that was so aweful, and yet I am so thankful for so many reasons. |
| I missed several entries this weekend due to apending it in the hopital with my 15 year old daughter. We discovered that she had a tumor growing on her spine and we had neurosurgery this morning. She is doing well and we are waiting for pathology reports. I will try to keep my blog updated, but she requires much attention. Details to follow shortly. |
| When you are raising children, life is always throwing curve balls. You never know what disaster is lurking in the shadows of parenthood next. Someone always needs something. A school play, a football game, tutoring, karate lessons, orthodontist appointments, the list is endless. We learn to "go with the flow", to be cliche'. Almost resistant to sudden over doses of stress, we claim fortitude in our children's lives. Even still, the most resilient parents know that something will come along and tear down your barriers. It will devour you. The most fearful of all the horrible somethings there could be, are the ones with our child's health at their mercy. When our children become ill a temporary autopilot clicks on and takes over. Behind our ever so powerful glare of determination and optimism, lay the swollen eyes and tattered spirit of a parent. It never really occurs to us as it happens of course,as we are in auto pilot remember? I spent the day in autopilot today. My oldest daughter has been seeing a chiropractor for back problems which suddenly occurred out of nowhere several weeks ago. Last night after her appointment with him she became decreasingly worse. She was experiencing terrible pain and increasing numbness in her toes. At this point the barrier meter is showing orange and parental protective barriers begin to be compromised. This morning we took her to her pediatrician with the suggested diagnosis from the chiropractor for further opinions. She did a thorough examination, eliminating certain obvious, but serious, possible conditions. The Dr. then prescribed a muscle relaxer and sent us across town for more x-rays and blood work. Parental barriers have been weakened further. From the ride to the pediatrician's office to the hospital my daughter began to loose the feeling in her legs. Not completely all at once, but slowly through the day. Parental barriers severely damaged with signs of deterioration. My daughter is fifteen years old and is in relativity excellent health. There is no rational explanation at this point, but an MRI holds promise of an answer on Monday. Until then I will remain on autopilot, attempting not only to care for my daughter, but to maintain my sanity. As an added bonus, Parents also know that our past autopilot episodes come with flashbacks. A flashback in this respect is when a previous encounter with a horrible something has remnants, sort of a trail, of somethings to follow. These somethings are never quite as shocking as the initial mother something, but they do their damage as well. My second daughter has been struggling with some serious health issues for the past several years. Today after the older daughter had finished with her medical experiences for the day, we took her younger sister to find the results of a food allergy and internal makeup test. Keep in mind that we were already tapping the autopilot reserve at this point. These test results would give us the answers we need to help our daughter heal, they also cine with a heavy price tag and a long wait. The results of her test confirm our suspicion of a candida yeast overgrowth and a bacterial growth in her gut. As we sat in the office listening and trying to absorb as much of what the doctors were saying as possible, I felt my barrier break. For the first time in over fifteen years, with countless somethings concurred, I was broken. My mind just too full and my barriers gone, I couldn't hold on. I know my husband, their father, must not be too much further from destruction. The hopelessness. The exhaustion. The loneliness. The fear. Yeh, the fear. The fear is the worst. The fear of the horrible something that you know is there but you can't see. The fear of knowing that your barriers are broken and that you might have to face this something without the aid of your autopilot. The fear of not knowing where the strength will come from to pull your child back from its hands. This is how I spent my day. |
| In my home town a few days ago something terrible transpired. Something that makes a mother's heart chill. A small boy was found dead at the edge of a nearby lake. This boy was left, neglected, dead, just waiting to be found. He was under 28 lbs and 6 years old. No one know who he is. There was evidence of a feeding tube, which was no longer in tact, that must have kept him alive. His picture has been posted on the news, as well the window of every local store, to haunt us all. He is trying to tell us something. His mystery is real. There are no reports of missing children to fit his description in the national database. Wylie's angle, that is his new name due to the town in which his body was recovered, had a frail face, blond hair and the bluest eyes. Although only from a picture, I felt a sweetness from this tender boy that touched my heart. I don't think that I will ever be able to forget his smile in that picture. How does this happen? How can someone just dump a child, dead or alive, in a lake and walk away. What hell there must be to avenge for such a tragedy. We can try to understand. We can try to put ourselves in another one's position and ask what would we do. The possibilities run through my mind daily now. Perhaps the boy died in the families care and they could not afford a burial. Perhaps they "helped" him die by removing that feeding tube to release him from agony's grip. All of this is speculation and pointless because the biggest question is unanswerable. Why leave him in a lake, alone, discarded like a day old fast food sack from your back seat. This is just disgusting! The people here in Wylie have adopted this angel. Mounds of teddy-bears and flowers adorn the spot where his limp body once lay. The glow of candle vigils on the lakeside make for a nightly show as one travels across the bridge over the water. Prayers ring out from every church and temple. Total strangers to the boy in life are his best friends in death, raising money to give him a proper burial so that his souls may at last be at rest. This boy must not have died in vain. There must be a greater purpose for him to have been found here. He was sent to us for a reason, a reason that we have yet to discover. He is here to teach us something, tell us something, show us something. I am here to learn his lesson, know his purpose, and tell his story. Rest in peace little angel. |
| my mind is just too busy to blog. I have so many things to write at once. I have e anew contest starting soon and I am hoping that I can run it smoothly. It should be fun. I MUST get back to writing though. I will have to post a longer entry tomorrow to make up for my lack of time tonight. |
| People tell you to write about what you know. Well, I know a few things I suppose I should write about. The question is if there is anyone who will want to read it. I could write about raising children. I am good at that and have tons of experience. I could write about love. I have been married nearly half my life to the same wonderful man whom I love with all my heart. I could write about family. I have a big one. Sisters, a brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, my parents, my grand-parents (some are still alive). Or, I could write about education and public schools and how I hate them. I could share my experiences having been through my now 23 year of public school. (uh-hm...I am counting my kids too) I could write about cooking. I love to cook and am real good at it too. I could write about nutrition, weight loss, dieting, health and wellness awareness. I could write about the environment and the effects that our life-style choices have on it. i could go into detail about a recycling plan and compost pile for your home. I could write about writing, I guess. I do it a lot and I like it enough to spend many hours at it. I could write about teenagers and how the youth in our country is changing the world we live in. The bottom line here is that there are so many things I could write about just based on what I know, but who wants to read about any of it? Who am I writing to ? For? Do I need a purpose for my writing? Do I need a predetermined audience in order to give value to my writing? I feel that way some times. I sit down with an article or poem that I wrote and ask myself "who is ever even going to see this?" I suppose that I should be writing for me. That doesn't sound cliche' at all, does it? but maybe there is something to cliches after all. I mean, they say them for a reason, right? Perhaps I should begin doing what is advised and start writing about all the things I know and not be so focused on entertaining someone with my babble. To just write to write. write to make me happy and hopefully along the way bring a smile or a tear to someone who happens upon it. This is why I used to write, before the idea of being published and professional occurred to me. Just a hobby that served as an outlet to vent all that was wrong and a place to share all that went right. I think that I will start listening to whoever "they" are and wright what I know. Hopefully someone will read it. |
| I am running at a steady pace on the WDC track. Today we had several new members join the MOMs group and I am getting great response to the "Finish Me" contest idea"Invalid Item" by A Guest Visitor . I am less confident about the WDC MOMs Merit Badge Giveaway Group Contest. I am hoping that I start to get more input, but then the poll is pretty new. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Putting together a community of intelligent and dedicated people is a rewarding effort. I have had the pleasure, in the past to be involved in my children's PTA offices, I recall with chills, the hectic moments before the third grade valentine party and card exchange. When we were running low on pink frosting to spread over store bought, heart shaped sugar cookies. One might have thought that there had been a National disaster, the way the the volunteers were getting into heated arguments over how may red-hot candies each child needed for their sweet-heart candy craft box. My first reaction was to laugh, however the glare from the President's overly made-up eyes helped me to bite my tongue. Then I thought about what it takes to make any group effort a success rather than a total disaster. This group had been brought together for the sake of their children, their teachers, and community. How is it that pink frosting and red-hot candies somehow make us remember why I we are even participating? All those delicate emotions and fragile egos, stirred up together in one pot and left to brew. WDC is nothing like PTA...thank the forces that be! And my groups are never going to run out of pink frosting. I know I have a wonderful group of hardworking MOMs, on and off WDC. I look forward to enjoying the happiness and friendships that grow from this group. That our WDC community benefits from our presence. I think that they have a better chance than the kids in third grade do. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
But I am contented with my job. I love it there so I'm ok. 
.
