Conversations with the Husband | Tumblr

Me:  I think I'm addicted to Tumblr.

Husband:  I think you are, too.....

 Oh!  But it's all the best kind of people!  It's like Comic-Con ON MY PHONE!

Conversations with the Husband | Molting

Me:  It's time to cut back on the sunflower seeds again.
Husband:  Is it?
Me:  Yes.  I have that thing with my tongue again.
Husband:  Oh.
Me:  It's like it's shedding.
Husband:  Lovely.
Me:  Or molting.  I like molting better.
Husband:  Please stop.

I Miss You A Little

I miss you a little since you've been gone 
A few little memories keep hangin' on 
I miss you a little, I guess you could say 
A little too much, a little too often 
A little more everyday

When a Good Man Goes to War

There's an episode of Doctor Who called A Good Man Goes to War.  In it The Doctor is set on rescuing his best friend.  There's obviously so much more than just that in the episode, but if you boiled it down to the soul of it, he's searching and fighting for his friend.

During a part of the episode there is a poem that is read in a voice-over.

Demons run when a good man goes to war

Night will fall and drown the sun 

When a good man goes to war 

Friendship dies and true love lies 

Night will fall and the dark will rise 

When a good man goes to war

Demons run, but count the cost 

The battle's won, but the child is lost 

When a good man goes to war

This poem has always resonated with me.  I've not been able to put my finger on it, but it's just stuck out to me because the phrasing of "a good man" going to war just sounds so powerful to me.

And then I read a comment on Tumblr the other day and it offered the following advice (slightly altered to remove profanity):  Even the nicest people have their limits, don't try to reach that point because the nicest people are the scariest when they've had enough.

And then it clicked into place inside of me.

Even in my own dad I saw this example.  He is smart and caring and kind and devoted.  He is a good man.  Which is why he's not set off by trivialities.  He doesn't get involved in drama or feuds or petty arguments.  But if you go against what he stands for, he is fearsome.

Demons run when a good man goes to war.  

Think about that for a minute.  Demons run when a good man goes to war.  When a good man goes to war, he is unstoppable.  A good man doesn't go to war unless it's something that truly matters to him because he knows that if a war is worth fighting, it's worth dying for.

Let this be a lesson to us in how we speak, act, and behave towards others.  If you spend your days fighting trivial battles then someday when you step into war, no one will tremble.  If you spend your energy fighting little battles, how will you make sure you have enough reserves to fight the war?

If we want our words and actions to have meaning, we have to be a person of meaning.  These things can only be set apart if we, ourselves, are set apart as well.


I could almost see getting this one, too.
Me:  "If I ever got a tattoo, I've decided what I would get and where I would get it."

Husband:  "What and where?"

Me:  "I'd get it on the bottom of my foot and it would say 'Do not store at temperatures below 50°'."

Husband:  "You're a weirdo."

Me:  "Then when I get cold, I can just take my shoe off and show my foot and say 'See!  It's too cold!'."

Husband:  "Wow..."

Me:  "And the other foot would say 'Warning:  Contents under pressure.'."

Free to Be Me

Acceptance is the best gift we can get or give.

Believe me, I get that more than I wish I did.

To be "good enough" for those that mean so much to us...we have dreams about it.  We read books and watch movies about it.  We all want to measure up to those that we love and admire.

We all have people in our lives and in our pasts that we just could never be good enough for.  We might have been good...just not good enough and definitely not the favorite.

I don't brag on my husband enough, but this is one thing I can brag on him about.

He accepts me.

I'm controlling and opinionated and stubborn as the day is long.

And he deals with that and loves me anyway.

He was made for me.


He's a 'video-game addict', but that's because God knew that I would need my downtime.  I love books and I love computers, and sometimes I just like being alone and God knew that I wouldn't work well in a co-dependent relationship so He gave my husband a hobby that he enjoys and that he could share with Ty.  So He created my husband with this 'addiction' that I'm perfectly okay with.  And a little thankful for, too, if we're being honest.

God also knew that I would need to be able to express myself endlessly but that I would accept basically no advice on how to 'fix' things that bother me.  So instead of giving me a husband with the typical 'fix it' type of mentality that many men have, He gave me one who would listen and rub my back or give me a hug but would—for the most part—keep his suggestions to himself.  And because of that, I find that I pay better attention to what he says when he does make requests or give suggestions—like asking me to adjust my privacy settings on Facebook or reword certain things in my blogs (he's my filter, this will be one of the very few blogs that I post before asking him to read it and give his blessing on it).

God molded my husband to be this way because my Daddy is the same way.  Just this week I felt like emptied my heart in my Daddy's ear and he just listened.  He didn't tell me what I did wrong or right.  He didn't pick apart my words and make me question myself.  He didn't fluff up my ego and make me feel validated.  He just listened.

I would do well to remember how invaluable that was to me the next time someone else unburdens themselves to me.

God also created my husband with a healthy dose of inner-nerd.  Even though he keeps it far more hidden from much of his family and friends than I, personally, wish he did.  I'm all about the 'owning who you are' because I am so over people who judge you for who you are.  Or aren't.

He doesn't hide who he is because he's ashamed of it, though, it just doesn't apply to everyone in his life. And it balances me that he is that way because when that particular 'give a damn' broke in my life, I would probably be a lot less tolerable to others if he didn't reign me in a little bit.  This is a good thing, even if I don't always appreciate it.  He loves me and my every little quirk.  But he helps keep those little quirks from getting me in trouble.

He's my filter.

He's my other half.

He's my best friend.

I'm so thankful he builds upon me, balances me, directs me, and accepts me.

Incredible You

I've been watching my page views for weeks now as I've edged upon 50,000 page views...which just blows my mind.  Instead of being able to catch it, though, my audience has blown right past it before it even crossed my mind to check again and see what number I was at!

As it stands—right this very moment—I have had 50,548 page views to my blog.  Which kinda blows my mind.

I've posted 463 public blogs which means that on average each blog gets approximately 110 individual views.

Not bad for a small-timer who basically took two years off to lick her wounds.

You guys know everything there is to know about me (pretty much), so I'll tell you something about you this time!

Based on statistics, I would guess you're from the United States, you're using Internet Explorer (tsk tsk) on a computer or device running a Windows operating system.

No big deal, right, that basically sums up everyone that you would expect to visit my blog, right?

Well, interestingly enough, I have a global audience with the following countries accounting for my readership:

          United States (57%)
          Russia (16%)
          China (10%)
          Germany (6%)
          India (4%)
          Taiwan (2%)
          Serbia (2%)
          Indonesia (1%)
          United Kingdom (1%)
          Romania (1%)

A disappointing 40% of my readers use Internet Explorer (I feel the need to blog about this and why it makes me feel bad for that percentage of my readers...) where 22% use Firefox, 13% use Chrome, 11% use Opera, and 2% are checking it out on their mobile devices (though I suspect part of Opera's stats are also mobile users as well).  The other 13% are using a compilation of other web browsers.

As far as operating systems go, 76% of my readers are using a Windows based operating system.  Only 8% are using Macintosh.  10% are browsing the blog from their iPhone or iPad and the other 6% are using Linux, Android and other operating systems.

Twenty-seven percent of my readers arrive at my blog from a Networked Blogs post either on Facebook or Twitter.  Twenty-two percent seek me out on Google (surprisingly, "Julianna Hough naked" is one of the top referring keyword searches that sends people here which I find to be extremely curious since I have one blog that even discusses the dancer...and she's fully clothed.)

Moving date, my most commented-on blog has been Happily Ever After-All.  This post garnered (only) 8 comments.  I obviously need to work on engaging my audience better....that's something to figure out going forward.

And on that's where you chime in.  Of whatever blogs you've read (that you remember); what was your favorite?  What do you love reading about and what dead horse have I beaten far beyond its death?  You've played a part in the 50,000 views—I'd love for you to come back and enjoy the blogs I post between now and 100,000 views.


The Husband and I worked in the front yard this morning.  Our shrubs were threatening to take over our home so that needed to be fixed because they afforded the local black widow population too much space to play, prey and repopulate.

So we broke out the gloves and the hedge trimmer and I donned my knee-high rubber boots (after shaking them out vigorously, just in case.  I have a thing about spiders hiding in my rubber boots.)

And after a little more than an hour of me trimming (Jason declined the 'honor' as apparently 'picky' is too light an adjective to describe my preference) and him cleaning up the clippings and weeding, we were left with this transformation.

I may have gotten a bit ambitious on a few of the shrubs, particularly the one in the middle on the right that's supposed to be spikey and not so rounded....but it'll grow back.  The important thing is that there is less hidey-space for spiders to make themselves feel welcome at.

In the "During" part of this process I thought it was interesting that I found a pair of handcuffs in the third back bush from the left.  

In the after we watered some severely diminished plants in the yard and on the front porch (that's a whole other "to-do" project).  I killed two more black widows and decluttered the front porch a bit in an effort to eliminate hiding spots for the little fiends.  We were just about to walk in when I spotted a large wolf spider on the ledge of brick on the front porch. 

As I raised my foot to step on her I commented to Jason, "Eww, she's covered in babieeeeeEEEEEEEE!  Get the spray!  Get the spray!!  Get the spray!!!  Grossgrossgrossgrossgrossgrossgross!!!!"

Jason returned from the garage with the spray and went to spray the swarm when I yanked it from his hand and insisted that I would feel much better if I were the one to douse the area with bug spray.  He laughed and far-too-casually-for-me stated, "Don't you hate when that happens?"

"That was the first time that ever happened to me," I told him, "in case you couldn't tell by the freak-out."

But our bushes are trimmed and our spider population has decreased by approximately 3,000 so all-in-all, I'm thinking it was productive.

Mama Boy Night

The Boy and I snuck a Mama Boy night last night.  The husband (who had this a few days ago) slept in the guest room so that The Boy and I could share a bed for the evening before he's too old to want some extra time with Mom.

We snuggled and giggled and talked about things like whether Grandpa JT could hear Ty in heaven when he talks to him, or my cousin Jerrid and how old he was when he went to heaven and what he was like before he died.

We sang "Come Home Snoopy" together and whispered about Dad and how Ty hoped that Dad would remember that he promised to make him eggs for breakfast this morning.

He started to get quiet and I thought he was about to fall asleep when this conversation took place.

Ty:  Mama, you know that hole in boys underwear?
Me:  Yes.
Ty:  Sometimes when I wake up, my pecker is poking out of that hole.
Me:  That's normal, a lot of boys wake up like that.
Ty:  Does Dad?
Me:  Sometimes.
Ty:  Does he ever rub his pecker on you when it does?
Me:  Dad mostly says on his side of the bed.

Needless to say there was a change of subject before that conversation went any further....I'm just so not ready for my 8 year old to know the ins-and-outs of reproduction.  I can so see all the other Third Grad mothers calling me out at the PTO meeting for teaching my son something that he would no-doubt go to school and teach their children!

Chip Off the Old Block

The Boy With His Fingers Crossed
My kiddo has been asking me for a blog this week.

Which lead to both pride and a bit of anxiety on my part.  Obviously I'm proud that he sees this is something I enjoy and like to do and I'm proud that he considers it something he might like to do himself.

But I was a bit anxious because you come into all these questions of how to properly police it, for lack of a better word.  But he's persisted in wanting a blog so he can share his summer and his days with the virtual world who might want to get to know him.

And I'm all about growing him as both a reader and a writer, so this could be good for both of us, right?

That's what I'm choosing to go with.

So we struck up an agreement.  I set up a blog, and he can write them.  He cannot, however, publish them.  Before they go live on the blog, Mom will proof-read, edit, and then publish the blog for him.

This is my way of  letting him see what I'm changing and why (tonight was Proper Names and why we capitalize them).  It's also my way of making sure that nothing is put out there that doesn't need to be such as names, locations...stuff like that.

So anyway, the blog is up and the blog is live....and a bit to my own chagrin he's getting more comments than I've gotten in months.

Check his blog out if you like.  I can make no promises as to what will be posted or how often it will be posted in the future but I encourage you to like it on Facebook and keep up with his adventures as he/we share them.

Third Grade | The Adventure Begins

Please be patient while images load.

A Long Time Coming

I know that a lot of you that don't have daily interactions with me IRL are wondering what's up.  I basically dropped out of the Blogosphere completely and left a lot of you wondering what's up, and though it coincided with my marriage and new life in another location, it didn't actually have anything to do with that specifically.

I went through what every other blogger goes through at some point.  

Nasty criticism.

And like most bloggers, it came from the realm classified "Friends and Family".

And given that I can hold a grudge like it's got super-glue coating on the's taken me three years to decide what I should have said up front:  "This blog was never about you to begin with, it's about me."  And similarly, "This blog was never for you to begin with, it's for me."

I enjoy writing.  I enjoy the friends that I met and connected with through writing.  And with only a few exceptions, every follower I earned (and those I lost in my absence) enjoyed me and enjoyed what I shared.

So why stop what I'm doing because a few people don't like it or choose to use it against me?  That's a good question.  

The thing I've learned about my critics is that they're not anyone I'm interested in impressing anyway.  

Please forgive the language, but this seriously made
me laugh!  I couldn't pass up using it!

The thing I've learned about my supporters is that they're fiercely defensive of me (and they exhibit a bit of pack-like behavior, too.)

So, I'm back to blogging.  Not for you, but for me.  And if you have something ugly to say about it....go ahead, it reflects more on who you are than who I am (even if you only say it behind my back).

So say what you want, but don't get upset if I throw you to the wolves for doing it.

And for all my little wolf-like friends and family, thanks for being the reason I want to come back.  Thanks for being my "safe place" and for encouraging me to do what I love.  You're a lot of the reason that writing is a peaceful place for me.

There's a Hole in the Bucket

Me:  You missed my song!

Husband:  I know, it was giving me a headache!

Me:  Okay, so I'll summarize it for you.  Henry told Liza there was a hole in the bucket so she told him to fix it.  He asked what he should fix it with and she told him a straw.  He said the straw was too long so she told him to cut it.  He asked what he should cut it with and she told him to use a knife.  He told her the knife was too dull and she told him to sharpen it.  He asked what he should sharpen it with and she told him to use a stone.  He said that the stone was too dry so she told him to wet it.  He asked what he should wet it with and she told him to use water.  He asked her how he should get water and she told him to use a bucket and so he reminded her that there's a hole in the bucket.

Husband:  What.  The.  Hell.

Back in the Groove

Miss me?

Guess what?  I'm back.

Want to find out what all you've missed?

Here's my Instagram.

Here's my Twitter.

And here's me.

Yesterday's makeup, hair unfixed, and no filters.

Know what that means?  I have nothing to hide.

Let the adventure resume.

Whatever it takes...

I'm told I don't fight fair... 

It ISN'T What It Is

I've had a frustrating week.  I'm allowed a rant.  So bear with me.

I am so sick of the phrase "It is what it is"

Has this suddenly become the most popular cop-out in America?  I rarely heard it before but the past few months I'm now hearing it everywhere.  And it's almost always used as a way of avoiding responsibility.

You know me, you know I'm all about the accountability--even when it sucks.  But that's part of the reason why I'm able to respect myself.

It isn't what it is.

Life is the culmination of decisions and the results of those decisions.  Sometimes the results of those decisions rock and sometimes they don't.  When they rock, we're all too happy to take credit, but when they don't rock, we still have to admit that they're the results of decisions.  And if we were a part of what "it is", we need to grow up and own it.

It isn't what it "just is".  It is what we--as a general whole--have made it.

Quit copping out and start owning up.  Our country will never move forward until it does.

The Cat Bit My Eye

Seriously.  The title is not an exaggeration.

And I have not forgotten it, even though the cat would have me to.

He's been all pesty and needy and "Feed me", "Look at me", "Love me", "That smells good, can I have some, too?".  And I've been all "That bridge is burned, buddy."

But still he persists.  After all, it didn't happen if there's only partial evidence, right?  I'm sure that's what he thinks.

I was laying in bed last night and the cat was on the bed with me and I moved my hand under the covers, which brought out playful kitty and he pounced.  So I moved my hand again and we had a fun little game of it for a few minutes until Mr. Kitty got ticked off that The Human was faster than his feline reflexes.

And apparently he got ticked that I was laughing (at him) because he looked at me as if he was about to go for my face, but then he went for my hand instead, and then when he missed it, he decided to go for my face after all.

He rethought it in mid-attack.  I could see it in his eyes.  I know this, I've had that same moment of re-decision myself.

In my first physical fight with my sister, I'm sure this same look flashed across my face as I was throwing a fist aimed for her nose.

Daddy always taught me to go for the nose (though I doubt he meant that I should go for my sister's nose, but he also never directly told me not to either).  He said it's the time-out button.  Plus a man can't fight if he can't see, and apparently when your nose gets broken, your vision is one of the things your mind's not overly concerned about at that moment.  So he said that the first punch you throw--if you had to throw a punch at all--should be to the nose.  Or to the stomach, because that bends them over where you can come up with a hook to the nose.  Same train of thought, though.

Anyway, so I'm in mid-swing...well, I guess I should go back at least a little.  (I'm hoping that since we can laugh about it now I'm free to blog about it, besides, she made an inappropriate beef crack on my Facebook this past week, so worst case scenario we'll call it even)  ;)

I was 15 I think.  I was on the computer and my sister and her boyfriend (now husband) were wanting me to leave that room so they could have some time alone.  Back then we couldn't just pick our computers up and take them with us.  They were stationary which meant that if I wanted to be on the computer, that's where I had to be.

And I had no intentions of moving.  And for some reason it was a big deal to both of us.  And things escalated pretty quickly.  A threat was made if I didn't get up (and a chair was yanked out from under me), I mentioned our comparative intellect (my standard go-to), she threatened to throw a monitor over my head.   The next thing I knew I was swinging for her nose and my brain suddenly chimes in with bells and sirens announcing "Abort!  Abort!  Abort!"

There was this moment of clear thought that broke through the irrational teenage angst that reminded me, "This is NOT going to end well if you break her nose."

But my arm had already committed before my brain decided to get involved.  Somehow I course corrected (or I had really shoddy aim to begin with) and my fist (and my prized Atlanta Braves championship ring) connected with her forehead instead.

Knot-head didn't even begin to describe her.

So she left her entire dental impression in blue bruises in my upper bicep to make things fair and we called it quits after that.

Wow, I may have wandered from the story.  The point is, I knew that moment of "Abort!" the second I saw it in Link's eye.  But he'd already committed.  Which possibly spared me an eye because he didn't bite my eye nearly as hard as he otherwise would have.

And considering one tooth landed right at my tear duct and the other landed at the crease of my upper could have been bad.

Unlike my 15 year old self, I've learned that when I get really mad, I'm better-off to shut up and withdraw from whatever has made me mad.  Which is why I texted the husband to let him know that his cat (he was in trouble after all and, like children, pets become temporarily orphaned when they've crossed a certain line in the badness of their behavior.)

And as "punishment" the husband came in and scooped the "Bad Kitty" up and petted him and told him--in the same tone of voice that you speak to a newborn--"You have to be nice to Mommy."

He's a tough one.  It's a wonder we don't all cower in fear of him.

So my eye got bit and Link got a loving "bad boy" pet.

And the cat acts like it never happened at all.

Not me, I remember these things....