A new start: A general blog post about why I changed my blog

Hello,

This is a general blog post. Really, I’ve decided to change my blog, and write whatever comes to mind. I even deleted all my followers, so they won’t suddenly see post that they didn’t sign up for. I’m happy and disappointed that I decided to do this. I’m happy because I’m getting back to my goal to write everyday. Though, of course, I’m sad that my first idea didn’t hold mine and others attention enough.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

——

This time in order to keep with my goal to write everyday this blog will be almost like a diary. In time I hope to find my nitch and make this more professional again.

For my original Books and More blog I tried to write about literature. Though I found that I wasn’t writing anything because it felt like I was doing school work. I was focusing so much on everything that could be better that I have a long list of drafts, but very few post.

I’m keeping my old post on her so you can scroll through to see some personal work and other links. I’d love to hear from other blogger about what worked for them and if you also did any redo with your blog/s.

Thanks for stopping by

Linda

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Memorial Day: Remembering

Hello Everyone,

We barbecued today, and now I’m outside chilling with my daughter. Yet, eventhough I’m peacefully drinking my cup of coffee there’s a dark cloud over my head today.

Memorial day hasn’t been another holiday since I joined the military a lifetime ago. My life in the Navy has long been done, about six years now.

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels
Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

Memorial day is a moment to remember those who we lost. Often we think about the men and women that lost their life in war and violence far away from us.

While of course I think about them, this year I can’t stop thinking about those we lost closer to home.

The guys that tooked their lives. The men and women who died from cancer. The ones that were killed by senseless violence here at home. They all gave the ultimate sacrifice for us.

I know our government and our nation is all over the place. I know that our system doesn’t help us veterans as much as they should. Still, for the most part I like to think that we try to take care of each other, and do our best to honor those we lost.

How do you celebrate May the 4th ? : This Year I Remember Carrie Fisher

What do you do on Maythe4thbewithyou? I normally use this day to watch a few of the movies. However, this year I decided to spend the day remembering Carrie Fisher. It’s actually strange and a little hypocritical of me to care that she’s gone so much. When young, I never thought of her as one if my heroes. I always thought she was a bad ass, both the character of princess Leia and Carrie Fisher, but she wasn’t my role model. I had Stargate’s Samantha Carter for that. I also always felt that I learned strength from Captain Janeway more than Leia.

It wasn’t until I learned of her death that I realized how important she was to me. I don’t morn too well, even for people I’m close to. I certainly don’t really cry for celebrities that I don’t know. The only exception was Robbin Williams and Carrie Fisher.

I was so surprised, but when I thought about it she was the first strong women I saw on T.V. or anywhere really. I lived with mostly crazy women who took and gave abuse. Leia taught me that I didn’t need a man to take care of me. She also taught me that I could be strong and kind at the same time.

Later in life I realized and learned that alot of my families problems revolved around mental illness and addiction. Carrie Fisher taught me that was okay. It was okay that my family and I weren’t alright. I had lost any ideas of role models or heroes by my late teens and into early adulthood. Still, believed that her writings helped me in some way.

Enter my late 20’s to early 30’s and I was too busy and tired to think about movies and even books that impacted my life and thinking. Now in my mid 30’s I’m back in school and have a little girl to raise. I’m once again rememded of the women who had an impact on me. Not just those I met and see on a regular bases, but those in movies and books. One day I hope my daughter loves Princess Leia as much as I do. One day I also wish he admires Carrie Fisher for telling her story.

Have you ever heard the story about the cow tongue. I can find the audio anymore, but this stories has most of it. https://goss.ie/la-showbiz/carrie-fishers-friend-reveals-epic-way-dealt-producer-harassed-111966

Here’s Carrie Fisher’s page on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Carrie-Fisher/e/B000AP7SXW

Interested in books and toys for younger kids? Check out Mighty Girls Facebook post https://www.facebook.com/316489315054055/posts/3917219744980976/

https://www.amightygirl.com/blog/?p=29925

From amightygirl.com Facebook post

Featured image photo by Lisa from Pexels

Thank you for following me

Hello,

It’s been forever since I last posted anything and I wanted to checked in.

Since I need to get back into the groove of writing, I want to take the time to thank everyone who follows and checks out my posts. These last couple of classes took up more time than I thought they would. I also started my Etsy shop back up, but wait there’s more, we also all took turns getting sick this last month.

Anyway, I’m hoping to get some things posted this week since I have some time off. In the mean time here’s some nice pictures of scenery I took this past week.

This one might not seem nice to some people, but I thought it looked nice and gloomy today. Yes, I like stay at home weather.

Featured picture Photo by Gratisography from Pexels

Poem: I’m a bad mom

Hello,

This peom is more like a personal rant, so it’s a fairly bad poem. I’m having a hard time with potty training, behavior, and speech therapy stuff with my daughter. The issue isn’t with my daughter right now, but with everyone else. I’m actually very happy to say that presently my daughter tolerates me and even gives me hugs.

I’m a bad mom

I’m a bad mom
thats always wrong
that thinks she’s never wrong.
While my daughter lags on 6 months to a year
behind others when she’s
speaking
to
you.

And we say she goes at her own pace.
Cause she can jump so high,
And she can argue her point
In a blah blah kind of way.

But its not just the doctors anymore.
Or me,
Unfairly comparing her to others.

I see how she lags
And wants her way.
You see how she lags
And wants her way.

I’m torn between she fine and not okay.
I’m told I’m doing well, and she’s so happy.
While being told I do nothing, because my daughters behind.

And so
I’m a bad mom when I make her cry.
And I’m a bad mom when she gets her way.
And I’m a bad mom when I try.
And I’m a bad mom when everybody else doesn’t get their way.

Photo by Keenan Constance from Pexels

I’m Going to Miss Those Dr. Seuss Books, Because I Grew Up With Them.

Short post. I’m a little late in talking about this, but how do you feel about the decision on the Dr. Seuss books? While I understand, and agree, to their reasons I can’t help but to be disappointed by their decision. Mostly, though, I’m mad at myself for putting off buying Mcelligot’s Pool, as it was my favorite as a kid.

https://www.seussville.com/statement-from-dr-seuss-enterprises/

STATEMENT ON REMOVAL OF DR. SEUSS BOOKS FROM PUBLICATION : from National Coalition Against Censorship

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Usborne Books and More : Have You Tried Them?

Hello,

First, If you’ve been following me I’m still getting on my feet. I started classes again (Journalism and Shakespeare) so more poetry and current news posts will probably be in the future.

In the mean time I want to talk about how my daughter and I have finally gotten into a good reading routine. I’ve always made it a point to have reading time, but now she has started to request it (and not only as a way to stay up later). About half of her goto books are Usborne books so I wanted to talk about them a bit.

So if you know Usborne your waiting for me to say go to my page, I can be your book lady. However, I’m not a consultant. I might eventually try but not yet. Also, sadly my Usborne consultant is deployed right now so she temporarily stopped selling, or I would make sure to promote her. The good thing is you can go to the website or you can search almost any social media platform and find one. They sell books from infant to young adultish (around 12) and they also have a couple of learning sets. People sell them through their site, party’s (currently alot on facebook), or they sell them in their own physical stores. I’ll leave the link to the website and a couple of consultants I’ve found below (note: my phone does not like the main website. I always have to use my computer because it gives me one of those cannot find server messages. Though, if I click on a consultants link I can get on the site.)

Moving on, I don’t know how these books are different, but there’s something about them that is. My daughter wasn’t really taking to books until I got a few of these.

I’ll be honest, it took a few invites to the Facebook book party’s, but by the third invite from my friend I finally bought some. It’s a good thing I did too because she fell in love with their All Better book. This is still one of the first books I can use to start reading time. It’s a very cute book that has you put band-aids on the animals, but for me it was awesome to see my daughter put the right band-aid on the correct animal.

Thats a sticker on his hand. There are five animals with booboo’s, each has their own sticker with a different color

Today, though we were reading Nibbles the Book Monster. This one is for older kids, but it’s one of the few she lets me read to her. There’s holes in the book where he “nibbled”, and she puts her hand through them to “chase” him. This book is actually part of a series, and the last I saw they also have a stuffed toy of him that can be bought alone or with a set.

I’ll be honest it’s been a hit and miss with us liking the books, but for the most part they’ve been worth the money. I’ve found the average books that I like for my little monster cost around 11.99 ish. Though, alomost all of the books I’ve gotten so far are better quality than those I get from regular stores. Which is good because she’s very destructive.

Here’s a look at most of the books we have from Usborne Books and More.

Overall, I’m very happy with Usborne Books and More. I’ve been buying them for over 2 years now. They cycle through books and get new ones every few months. Sometimes I like what I see, and other times I hold off. The downfall is that they are a little expensive, so I usually have to save up for a purchase. Also, I’ve read that some people think selling the books is a scam. From researching, I don’t think it is but it might be difficult, like avon or any other at home thing, to make alot. Still, it is a legit company that’s been around for awhile.

Here’s some YouTube channels I’ve found and websites.

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Poetry Post – My Morning Drink

My Morning Drink

Blurry hues and bright lights, like eyes looking back.
Will it be jukebox music or live tonight?
Passing on supposed fruity drinks – with absolutely no fruity taste.
My poison is dark with full flavor thanks.

My nightly haunts that haunt me still
When the urge to run
comes creeping back.

Blurp blurp blurp blurp – fish bowls call us,
But the larger tower wins out.
A nice Larger while looking for chicks that I’ll never ask out, but I’m sure you will.
Maybe we should have gone into that bar; if we had been drunker.

Said conversations from days gone by
when the urge to run
Goes creeping by.

No more bars but empty bottles, cause why pay so much for only a buzz?
Whiskey in coffee, “You’re so happy today!”
While it takes three packs instead of one to fill my lungs;
When sleep and voices refuse to succumb.

Are the omens that are missed
When the urge to run
comes creeping up

Small head, small hands, small everything – that irritate me when the buzz leaves
So no more fog, no more headaches, or a sadistic Ferris wheel in my head.
I can’t help but feel my heart aching
As my smokes go walking pass me.
Stomp stomp stomp stomp – not only the sound in my head but on the floor
Colors on the walls and in our hair
As little jack-o-lanterns overflow with frothy laughter
When my hair falls out like streamers on the floor.

There’s no more time, and yet all the time in the world to think about
The urge to run
That is creeping up me

Little pastel teacups filling with water – where’s the ice tea?
As I wash cucumbers instead of limes.
My breaking point has definitely been broken
That even the creeping has left me
To the fate of the minion –
Drinking water – that is sometimes mimosas

Photo by Moussa Idrissi from Pexels

Lets Judge One Another: A NonFiction Touching on Postpartum and Uncomfortable Truths

During my young life I have been just as judgmental as the next women. With a couple of years of motherhood under my belt, I now believe that most women break out of there vicious cycle of judgment. We judge ourselves and others so viciously it’s no wonder soccer moms pop pills to survive. I used to pour out a bottle a day to survive work, and I didn’t even have a child yet. Still, I told myself if I could stop myself from drinking my bottle of Jameson, I could deal with becoming a mother. 

I had no idea how difficult giving birth to a new life would be, and the aftermath was even worst. As a young adult I battled with depressive thoughts and self-harm and lived through that a stronger and better person. Since I survived such difficulties early in life, I figured that I could survive anything. I was not prepared for Motherhood. It left me defenseless and exhausted like crab after molting. As I laid in that cold white room, I didn’t feel this magical click of understanding like I did with previous situations. I had a click when I was tired of being tired, and through myself into writing and exercise. I had a click when I realized I was drunk more than sober. I had click when I couldn’t run as fast and needed to stop smoking. There was no click after giving birth to my first child, and I wonder if there will ever be one.

I started judging myself within the first hour of motherhood. As I think back, I remember having very little rest for forty hours. That is how long she took to come out. Laying in the hospital bed the whiteness of the room gave me a headache. With so much blood loss the sixty something degree temperature left me shivering in my paper-thin robe I still wore. My parents had to return home to get me more clothes and rest, and I felt very alone. The I.V. drip had help keep the real hunger pains away, but now since that was gone the empty room seemed to vibrate with the sound of my growling stomach. As I moved closer to the side of the bed I almost drifted off into an uneasy sleep, until a thought entered my mind.

In the haze of exhaustion, I thought a diaper needed to be changed. In the same moment I also thought that her mother could do it when she came back. Next came the sudden and violent realization that I was now the mother, and this snapped me back up and out of bed. The experience left me shaken and concerned. Judgment radiated from me, and I felt so stupid and guilty that I didn’t get any sleep for the rest of the day.

#

At the time I felt fear and worry for having to tell myself that I was the mother now. I remember telling my sister-in-law that story and having her laugh and scoff at me. Such judgment right after giving birth solidified my feelings that something was wrong with me. Three years later, with hormones almost normal, I see it for what it was, instinct. Forty hours of labor and my brain went straight to what it knew. I had always been the aunt, the cousin, or the friend. It had been more than ten years since I last changed a dipper, and times where different then. More than not I was told to let the kids pee twice, or just wait till the mother got back. Their feeding and changing times where scheduled out for me, but this was the first time I felt the weight on me. This was the first time the responsibility was truly all on me with a living breathing person that wasn’t a black and white picture. Three years later, for the most part I ignore my sister-in-law’s condescending treatment at everything I do as a person. At the time, when I was still vulnerable, I took her response as proof of my incompetence.

#

When I was in the Navy, I uses to stab the boxes before breaking them down. This action would either get a look of understanding or one of concerned judgment. In the kitchen I repeated this action, only now with my daughters’ box of wipes. I specifically use my pocketknife because I prefer the control I have with it. The kitchen knives are too sharp, and a pair of scissors are too heavy. These little decisions give me control in a life that is overwhelming not in my control. The little pop is a satisfy sound as I mentally stab at my annoyances. My current annoyance was suddenly my house guest who was loudly complaining about her little sister. Our brunch, like normal, turned into a gossip and complaining fest and is the whole reason I started thinking about my daughter’s birth. Her younger sister apparently had been taking her frustrations out on her older son, by unreasonably yelling at him. I’ve known my friend for almost twenty years and watched her sisters grow up. The youngest never had any patience, and at barely twenty-three her children didn’t magically change that about her. For some reason the way she was speaking about her got to me and I jabbed the knife in harder. I won’t lie and say I’ve never bad mouthed her little sister before as well, but moms are allowed to be overwhelmed sometimes aren’t they? Every mother has taken their frustration out on their kids in one way or another. On bad days I yell at mine too quickly, and on good days I take a moment and drink some tea.

#

Right now, we weren’t drinking tea but some mixed drinks. As unfair as it was to judge a young mother for losing her cool, I unfairly and bitterly judged my friend for having a strong screwdriver so early in the morning. Gone were the days when my drinking started at ten in the morning and lasted all day. Now, my drink was a very light mimosa that was more orange juice than champagne while her small bottle of Grey Goose was already halfway gone. As I finished stabbing the box and moved on to ripping it into smaller pieces, I voice my concerns about her ignoring how hard raising children is. The oldest of five, most days she was left to raise her siblings and lost her cool at times too. Thus, the conversation moved on to her joking about already having children, meaning her younger siblings. Like me, she is in her early thirties but is still single with no kids or significant other. Inevitably, I know, talking about children will lead to both of us judging her for still not having any. Being in her shoes just three years earlier there is no way around the small sense of shame that comes with this simple fact. Both our families still follow older traditions and even though we try not to care, we both know they still matter to us.

#

Throwing the box away I return to my seat next to my friend, watching as she makes herself another drink. Still reflecting on the past, I know my daughter’s birth wasn’t a magical experience that made me a new person. It was a hard experience with no rejuvenating effects. Yet, raising her has taught me how beautiful her contributions to my shell really is. I no longer feel like it is not my own, or that it is somehow unfit. Like my drinking days, gone are my all-out emotional rebirths. Our everyday victory’s show me that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, and to not be so hard on others. This time when my friend pauses for my feedback I don’t ignore her look of concern and fear. I don’t remind her that she’s getting older, or that she had always said she wanted children. This time, I smile and say as long your happy there’s still time. Afterall, there’s no need to help her judge herself.      

End

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Personal Poetry – Tin Can

Hello, if you have been following me you know that I’ve had a bit of writers block these past weeks. I started classes again so this should help me back in the groove of writing. In the mean time I’ve been working on my poetry. Here’s an old one that I did, and used this time to fix it up.

Tin Can


Would I have been so moved for your sister.
Would I have stayed by her side, through day and night?
And stand my ground against the black storm; the fiery blaze that raged through her.
Would I have wanted to save her insides.
And feared for her safety?

I always thought I hated her, and wouldn’t have missed her.
It’s surprising to me,
hard even,
watching through this screen, your beauty through the dark haze.

I stand here watching you coughing up black, spitting up red hot phlegm
Hoping those around you make it through these uncertain days.

Will those tireless people be praised for fighting beside you?
Will they be praised – or will they be insulted?
Like I should be for always saying I would leave her, your sister, to stew.

I thought our time together was a lie.
Something I thought I wanted, but in the end I didn’t care for.

So why did seeing you,
you so much like your sister,
cause a part of me to cry.

Why then, when the haze was gone
did I look at you,
you so much like your sister –
and saw you almost more beautiful than before.

Would I then have given it my all too?
Not just my job, but my duty, to save her.
After all it was her compartments that I called home,
And it would have been her due from her raider.

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