California and Parades.

I spent Thanksgiving with my husband, my children (of course), my mom and dad, and my grandma and grandpa. Once in a while, my brother takes a break from hunting and shows up, but this often scares us, because he is dressed from head to toe in camo, and we don't know he is there, until he says something (which, by the way we love it when we  finally realize he is there). Jess had to go to work on Thanksgiving Day, so we celebrated the holiday on Wednesday so Jesse could eat with us.

Jesse had to fly to Los Angeles. Yesterday, I talked to him on the phone while he was driving in LA. He hates driving in LA, because I guess the laws regarding driving offences are really strict. When Jesse was home this last time, he received a letter from California's Law Enforcement, and within the letter was a picture of a person running a red light, and a bill for 400 dollars. In the picture was a woman running a red light. I guess it was Jesse's co-pilot driving the rental car they shared. Jesse is in a pickle, I think.

Owen might be the cutest person on the planet. He has such a sweet persona. Last night, I was having a little snack and he pulled chair up right next to me. It was getting late, so I told him he had only five minutes left until bedtime. He then asked me "Mom, will you play hockey with me, please, please mom?" And his voice is so sweet. When he talks his voice is high pitched and as he continues to talk, his voice get higher and higher. I politely declined the hockey request, and then through clinched teeth, he continued to ask (yell) "PLEASE!" and when I said no, he hit me on my arm--3 times. Since, he was mad at me, he climbed off the bar stool, and in anger, he sat down and preceded to take off (one by one), his imaginary hockey clothing and pads.

I have been pretty good about keeping my cool lately, meaning I have been patient. Last night, we went to a parade. I hate parades. I do. I'm sorry, but I have never like parades. Especially,when it is eleven degrees outside. However, as a parent, it is my duty to take my kids to a parade and not complain. I just hate candy being thrown at my face, I hate the traffic and the WAITING for the parade to start. We watched the parade from my car and my dad was with me and the kids. I think I only banged my head against the window four times. It was a cute parade, I guess.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I did.

Stop. Hammer Time

When it comes to our personal relationships, I think we as humans get careless. I think this is especially true with today's social networking sites. We stop calling our favorite people and soon our calls turn into texts, and then those texts quit coming, and  soon, the only form of socializing we do is through social networking sites. Although, I credit social networking sites with putting me back in touch with people I had lost contact with previously, I also feel that it limits or discredits the friendships and relationships I have. I think social networking sites causes havoc (okay, havoc might be a little dramatic), but I do think these sites have the potential to (I don't know I can't think of a good word, so I will use the word shrink) "shrink" relationships. There is no tone to our communication. It makes saying important things like Congratulations or Happy Birthday easy or convenient, but it somewhere along the line, looses or disengages personal connections. People can use these sites to be passive aggressive, which at times makes me giggle. You know when people are using a social networking site to aggravate, slam, or reprimand another person. The posts will say something like "People should really keep their mouths shut when they are talking about my mother, because this is a small town, and what you say gets around!" or "Why do I even bother? No one cares anyways!" or "If you want to start with me, you will regret it, karma will slap you silly, you snot rocket!" or "Left out again, I guess I will eat a ham sandwich and watch Survivor, alone, again." or "Interesting what I just heard!" I guess people get their feelings hurt or they get angry, and instead of going to the human source, they hide behind their computers and let it rip. Like, take that! It's sometimes entertaining, sad, or irritating. However, we still need to work at our relationships with those we hold dear. I don't want to read a post on a social networking site and wonder, "Shit, is he or she talking about me? What did I do?" The other day Jesse posted "Stop..." on my timeline on Facebook. I thought he was mad at me, I thought, what in the hell does..."Stop..." mean? I thought of a million things I could have done, did I spend too much money? Was I cranky on the phone? I should know that my husband would never be passive aggressive on a social networking site, specifically when interacting to me, but I couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't until later I realized he was being silly, as he was flying MC. Hammer that day and he was just being funny. You know?, "Stop...Hammer Time!" He just forgot to add "Hammer Time!"

No Cell Phone for You!

In middle school, through, I don't know my early twenties, I went through this awful stage in which I needed everyone one to like me, I wanted everyone to love me. If someone didn't like me, whether I knew it as a fact or I suspected it, I would loose sleep over it, I would obsess over it. I KNOW I would not have survived being so young in today's society. I wouldn't have made it, I was not strong enough. I don't know for sure if the rate of suicide has dramatically increased since the early 90's/2000's. I haven't done enough research to be certain. I do know that it seems to be more recently, that I've heard/read about many young people taking their lives. I'm aware that the parents of these children (children who took their lives) have blamed the use of technology, a form of bullying that did not exist when I was growing up (Thank God). Keyton is nine, and he keeps asking for a cell phone. I am not a fan of Keyton getting one, to be honest it scares me. It's funny, because as I am typing this, I can hear Jesse and Keyton talking about how much it cost's to have a cellphone (they are sitting 10 feet away from me). I know that it's extremely important to talk to my children about what they will endure in the years to come. I strongly feel that it's important to prepare them for whatever cruelness awaits. I want them to have thick skin, but to be sensitive to others. I don't want them to follow the norm when the norm is to be cruel. I want my children to grow up with their own thoughts and dreams, and not to be discouraged by others. I want my children to be excepting and view humans as equals. I don't want my children to waist one second of their precious lives worried about what other's think about them. I pray that I prepare them enough to be the best they can be, to be compassionate, and strong.

Yesterday, someone asked me why I was so weird, and then today, I was asked why I was so weird again, by two different people in less than 24 hours! I still take some things personally, but I don't obsess over it (I know a few people would not agree with this statement). I'm goofy, I like to run not walk, I trip often, and I use a keyboard when it is missing a space bar (which by the way I got a sweet new one). Whether you like me or not, I am pretty sure I love you.

Scrooge of Halloween

I had an incredibly cranky day. I was just mad. I had no reason to be angry, but I was. This bitterness started on Saturday night, after I put my babies to bed. I got on Facebook (shocker) and saw what seemed to be a ton of pictures of people dressed up in their Halloween costumes, having SO MUCH fun. I guess, I should be happy that other people are having a happy ole' time-but I was sitting all alone, on a Saturday night thinking to myself, "Sure have fun--you Happy Halloween people, drink your yummy beer or whatever and have fun." As I was feeling sorry for myself, for probably the world's dumbest reason ever, I had a flash back of a Halloween party I attended in 2000. This would make me 19. I was Micky Mouse---I was one drunk Micky Mouse. People who attended that party, occasionally bring up this party to me. I went all out for this party. I borrowed a costume from a friend, who really bought some fantastic costumes. There was a Halloween dance I attended. I had the whole outfit, from the big (gigantic) Mickey Mouse ears, big white gloves, fluffy yellow shoes, black tights, red shorts, and suspenders.  I had a blue camera I was taking pictures with, back when we still used film, which I had worked hard for and I lost my camera that night. I would suspect that the pictures were entertaining. I can't tell you any stories about that night when I was Micky Mouse, because I can't remember them.Which, sort of made me appreciate the fact that I was not anywhere, making a ginormous fool of myself at that moment. Anyways, people are in the spirit of Halloween. I have been a Scrooge, the Scrooge of Halloween. With the up-coming election, Owen having been sick, and my husband working, I'm not in the most jolly mood. I am going to wake up tomorrow and try my hardest to be a Happy Halloween Woman. Keyton is a scary werewolf, Hal is Wonder Woman, and Owen is Cookie Monster. How can I not have fun with that combination? I can't.

Sometimes, when I get angry with sobriety, I have flashbacks of using or I have nightmares where I'm using, hence the Mickey Mouse flashback. Flashbacks are funny,scary,appalling, and surprising. I'm needing some positive energy. I don't always no how to go about it--ridding myself of negativity. I pray. I talk to friends and family. I try to think about how blessed I have been and am. But, as humans, I think we are entitled to feel however we want/need to at certain times. I can't walk around thinking I should be happy, because of A, B, and C. If I'm not feeling happy, making myself feel badly about not being happy, only makes me feel more anxious or even guilty. So now, that I admit I am having an angry moment, I feel better...a little. I will go watch "The Office" now and laugh and fall asleep feeling better and wake up a Happy Halloween Woman (my costume for tomorrow).

Basketball and Cats.

These last few days, I have been trying to talk Keyton into playing basketball instead of hockey. I have tried different tactics, including telling Keyton that Williston bought brand new basketballs that bounce higher than any other town's basketballs. It's not that I don't like hockey, I just like sitting in warm gymnasiums. And lets face it, there is a lot of protective gear that hockey players must put on, and the gear does not smell good. My dad played basketball when he was in high school. According to what people have told me, my father was a great ball player. I played basketball a little also. I was fast, but my height and attention span were short. When I was in the sixth grade, my mom was attending college in Dickinson, which meant that she and my brother lived there, and I stayed with my dad. I was responsible for getting myself up in the mornings and nine times out of ten, I forgot my inside shoes (in the winter) and I had to wear my snow boots all day, including to basketball after school. My dad would come to my basketball games after work and he would spy me running (well according to him, I would be frolicking) down the court in my snow boots. Now, as I am writing this, I am surprised my coach would let me play basketball in my snow boots. Anyways, I got an awful case of athletes foot that year (I have not had it since, but I do know athletes foot is not pleasant). I guess I better prepare myself for another season of hockey.

Hal wants a cat. I have an unpleasant memory that involves a cat. This memory includes hair and balls. Now that may sound strange, sure it does, but I had a cat as a child, who wore a collar with little ball shaped bells attached to it. One night, while I was sleeping the cat, named Ice ( she was all white) was sleeping with me and somehow, my hair got tangled in Ice's collar between the bells/balls, I mean really tangled, and Ice was hissing and scratching my face. Ice was one pissed off feline. I had to run to my parents room with a cat on top of my head. It was awfully scary.My dad had to free me from the cat's claws. I wouldn't be happy if I was stuck to some one's head either, but it was an unpleasant experience. And I don't want another cat.

Crazy?!?

The other day I dropped off two written prescriptions at my local pharmacy, which I had received from my family doctor earlier in the day. About two hours later, I went back to pick up the scripts and the pharmacy tech informed me the pharmacist told her that he would not fill one of prescriptions, unless he had word from the doctor that it was okay to fill it. I guess it had not been 29 days since I had filled it last, and the soonest I could fill was two days later, which was a problem, since I was leaving on a trip the next day. At first, I was okay with this, and I walked away from the counter, but then all of a sudden something snapped in me,  I was suddenly flooded with these intense feelings that I had never experienced before (seriously). I whipped around and found myself standing in line again at the prescription counter. When it was my turn, I could feel that my face was flushed. I said to the pharmacy tech, "You know, I like, really- really need that prescription to go on my trip." I had a written prescription from my doctor, which in my view meant the doctor had given them permission to fill it. The pharmacy tech turned to another pharmacy tech. The new pharmacy tech told me (not nicely) that it was the pharmacist's call and they (the techs) had no control over the situation. I felt my face grow redder and I said, "Enough! I want to talk to this pharmacist!" So, the pharmacy tech went behind a divider and I heard her say to a the pharmacist, "A crazy person wants to talk to you." So, I said to the divider, "Yeah, only that is why I am here, to pick up my pills-- so I am not crazy anymore." Then I turned to see a woman sitting in a seat  (whom I assumed was waiting for a prescription) gawking at me, as soon as she saw me looking at her, she hurried and buried her head in the magazine she was holding. The pharmacist walked out from behind the divider and made eye contact with me. I think my pupils had dilated and I was sweating and bright red. He told me something about how my doctor would have to contact him to give him permission to fill the prescription.....blah blah blah.  I explained, my doctor wrote me the script that day, and that my doctor knew I was going on a trip and that should be enough permission to fill the damn thing (I also may have told him that my doctor was going to be REALLY MAD at him when he finds out what he did). Then I found myself saying, "I'm not crazy!" After, which I didn't really prove my point because, I told him to take my written prescription and eat it--Then I walked out. Okay, I actually told another human being to eat a piece of paper, after I had explained to the whole pharmacy that I was not crazy. In all of my 30 years, I had never yelled at someone who was only doing their job. Yes, I think we all have crazy moments, where we act/speak before we think. I found a new pharmacy. I didn't bark.

At this point in my life I feel satisfied, as if past events have possibly "hardened" me a bit. I  have a happy feeling deep inside my tummy, and I am pleased with who I am--finally. For so many years I was ashamed of who I had been. I think I have been extra sensitive and finally some of that sensitivity is lessening itself.  Like, I have stated previously, I have been known to act sort of extreme in situations that are out of my control, especially, if it involves people that I love (Which, by the way only pushes those people further way--duh). I feel though, I am finally at peace with those situations.  Depression is a hard subject for many people to communicate. It is my choice to talk about it openly, hoping that others might actually read this and those people might not feel so alone. My best friend emailed me this link today, I wanted to share it. http://www.cnn.com/2012/08/22/living/going-public-with-depression/index.html?c&page=0

Art and Jerry

Above is picture of my maternal grandpa. Art Jr. Eliassen. He died when he was 43, on November 3rd, 1982. This picture was taken two years earlier at my mother and father's wedding. My grandfather took his life. My grandfather had three children, my mother, who was 23, my aunt Jan who was 17, and my Uncle Todd who was 12 at the time of his death. I was 13 months old.  Obviously, I didn't get a chance to get to know my grandpa---however, I love to hear stories about him.

Below is a picture of Jerry Patrick LeDosquet. Jerry took his life, December 27th, 2000. Jerry's daughter, Shelly and I met the summer before first grade and were inseparable. Shelly emailed me the photo below and I have looked at it a million times since.

Jerry, was like a father to me-- I loved him dearly. I had a hard time after Jerry passed. I have probably had a hundred dreams about Jerry during the last 11 years. In these dreams, Jerry is smiling just like he is in the above picture...because that is how I remember him, exactly how he is in the picture. Jerry loved the lake. Jerry's family still has the same boat (not the boat in the picture) that Jerry drove a million times on Lake Sakakawea and now, his family-- Phyllis, Melissa, Shelly, Melissa's husband Will, Jerry's Granddaughter Ella, and Grandson Ethan Patrick ride around on that boat in Minnesota. I learned to water ski behind that boat. Shelly had this to say, "You can not rationalize an irrational act. We love and miss you daddy

Families and friends that have lost their loved ones to suicide want to talk about their loved ones. Families often sense how uncomfortable others are when talking about their family member/friend and they feel as though they can't reminisce, because they, the family and friends, can tell that suddenly people become "odd" or shut down when the name of the person is brought up. This should not be the case and (most of the time), families and friends love to talk about the people they miss everyday of their lives. They need to feel comfortable doing so.

Coping Mechanism

I am enticed by many things to stop sobriety. I'm enticed by, music (all types), Winter days, wedding receptions, Fall days, class reunions (although, I've only been to one), Spring days, fishing, Sundays, funerals, Mondays, arguments, Tuesdays, mean people, Wednesdays, nice people, Thursdays, birthdays, Fridays, trips, Saturdays, shopping, Sundays, and Summer days. The list really could go on for days. I am human after all. I can't control every situation--which, drives me insane, literally, I act like an insane person  when I'm not in control of every situation presented. Ask my husband, like if our grass is starting look browner than I like, I will ask him a million times about the sprinkler system. This need to control everything, combined with my history of depression and anxiety, is the reason I liked alcohol so much. Now, I don't ever get to escape those annoying-- nagging feelings that often overwhelm me. I also don't get to escape situations I have no control over. So today, while being bothered by a situation I had no control over, I decided, I would try a  new coping mechanism. I have tried this new found (self invented) coping mechanism out a few times today, and I am surprised by the success I have had with it. For instance,whenever I had a nagging feeling over a situation I couldn't control, I would bark. Yes, I would bark like my Ruby (my dog). It is a high pitched bark or maybe you could compare it to a high pitched grunt. I did it in a parking lot today and scared a construction worker. I must be creative if I am to survive sober living. Humor gets me through almost every life obstacle there is, but nothing beats a good bark. 

Job Change...Again.

This will be my last week working at the company I am currently employed at. I accepted a position at a cancer center to work as a RN. I am nervous about ANOTHER change. I flipped flopped around so much during the last year wondering where I wanted to work. I first was suppose to work at a women's health clinic. I decided that instead, I would work on an actual labor and delivery unit. However, those 12 hour shifts really were brutal with a husband who is rarely home. I knew that working those 12 hours shifts would be hard, but I needed to give it a try. Then I was going to work a clinic within the hospital and decided, at the last minute, I didn't want to do that either. I was in school getting my bachelor's degree and I was committed to that at the time. I have really enjoyed working in an office environment and learning how an environment like that operates. What I do at the office, is take hand written pieces of paper that truck drivers have filled out, noting the type of sand they hauled and the location from where they loaded to were they unloaded. I put that information into a computer and turn that order into an invoice, which is sent to various companies, so the companies can pay the company for their services. Needless to say, my job has nothing to do with nursing. I am ready to get back into nursing--however, I never thought I would work as an oncology nurse. I wanted to be a labor and delivery nurse, because I related that to happy experiences--after all, you can ask almost any adult with children, when they happiest day of their life was, and they would (I guess most of the time) would say, the day my child or my children were born. Now, I am going to work in an environment where no one wants to be--patient wise. I can't imagine, how scary it must be, to know that you have cancer growing in your body. I do know that I want to be helping people, and I think, I will be.

Boys

January 27th, 2003 Keyton Alan Opsal entered this world. I had him around noon that day. After 19 hours of labor, Keyton's heart rate indicated fetal distress. My doctor decided it was in the best interest of Keyton, to be born via c-section. After having been in labor all day, and me being completely wiped out, it was decided that Keyton would sleep in the nursery. I sensed, even before the nurse took Keyton to the nursery, that something might be abnormal with Keyton's behavior. However, not having had a baby before, I was reassured by a nurse that Keyton's lethargic state, was normal for a baby, and that his lack of appetite was nothing to be concerned about, after all he had entered this world weighing in at 8 pounds, 6 ounces. Not that long ago (from today) I learned that a nurse whom was on duty that night, was charting and something (or someone) prompted her to go over and check on Keyton. Keyton (according to a nurse) seemed "lifeless" lying in his bassinet. He was pale and unresponsive. Alarmed, she ran to get a doctor who happened to be at the labor and delivery unit having delivered another baby just minutes earlier. The doctor tested Keyton's blood sugar which was dangerously low. Keyton was flown to Fargo, ND to where the closest pediatric endocrinologist practiced. Keyton was diagnosed with hypopituitarism. I remember the drive from Williston to Fargo. I was with my parents, as Jesse was able to accompany Keyton on the flight to Fargo. I cried the whole way, wondering what was wrong with my baby, I wondered if my baby was going to live. I remember seeing my father's face in the rear view mirror ( I sat in the back seat of my parent's car) and I saw tears falling down my father's face, which he wiped away with a tissue, trying his hardest to hide those tears that fell from his eyes that were hidden behind his sunglasses. It was the first and the last time I had seen tears fall down my father's face. I credit that nurse on duty that night with saving my son's life. A few months ago, I called her house, I do not know this women, but I had got her name, she was not home. Maybe, I will try again soon. Keyton takes three pills a day and we give him a shot every night. Keyton has had a shot everyday, since he was two weeks old. I remember giving the shot to him when he was an infant and he would cry. He would look at me like, "Why the hell did you do that?" There have been times, when I have had to wrestle him to the ground to give him his shot, actually there have been many wrestling matches between us. Now, he somewhat understands that he needs the medication to help him grow and thrive. Athletes get in big trouble if they get caught using human growth hormone---Keyton kind of gets a kick out of that.

I have told Owen's story before. Owen also had to fight for his life. I love these two little boys.

Keyton and Owen-Easter-2011

Orange Eyebrows.

Keyton and Hal were puppies in the production of 101 Dalmatians tonight.  They did a wonderful job. Tonight, when I was putting pajamas on Owen, I told Keyton and Halee to go into the bath room and try washing off the white and black paint on their faces. I planned on giving them a bath, but I wanted them to start. After I got Owen dressed, I went to check on them, since the water and wash clothes were not working to get the paint off, they were smearing lotion all over their faces. Immediately, I caught a glimpse of my SELF TANNING lotion bottle sitting on the counter. I picked it up and shouted, "I hope this is not what you are using!" With big eyes (really big eyes) they told me they were in deed using my self tanning lotion to get their make up off. I shouted "Oh no!! Now your faces are going to turn orange---probably for a really long time!" Then they both started to cry. They stood there and cried with orange eyebrows. Poor kids. After I regained my composure, I was able to calm them down. They each took a bath and they still have orange eyebrows. Learning experience. 

My kids take part in a program called Community After School Club (CASC). It is a wonderful program and I have been thrilled with it. They were in the 101 Dalmatians, because CASC worked with our community's local theater company, Youth Education on Stage. Both Keyton and Hal enjoyed being part of the play. CASC has provided many great opportunities for my children while both Jesse and I are working, and for that we are thankful. 

Bill

Less than a week, and I will be done with school...probably forever. I can't wait. Right now, I am taking a class called "Ethics in the Workplace" (boring). I am insanely sick of the word ETHIC. I can't count how many classes I have taken and the focus has been on ethics. I just got done with a power point presentation, where my focus was the Sears, Roebuck & Co. Scandal that took place in 1992. My head hurts, I had to answer questions regarding the unethical behavior that occurred. I still don't understand the assignment, but I got it done--over with, and I don't want to pick apart any scandalous behavior in the near future. A week ago, I had to write a  paper on the Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky "scandal". Bill cheated on Hillary, Hillary basically stood by her man, Billy lied and then had to back track, it was all there, in black and white. But, the questions I had to answer for paper were hard to answer. The elements I had to cover within  the paper, related to President Clinton and the former White House intern were as follows, "Clearly define the issue." What seems to be the basis of the issue?" "Identify ground rules that manifested this situation." "What ethical change, deficiency, or conflict brought it about?" Then I had to actually propose a plan for revising the ethical standards to resolve the issue. UMMMMMMMM??? These papers (for this class) have to be at least 1,050 words or more. While writing about President Clinton's infamous extramarital affair, I did bonk myself in the head, repeatedly. I am just glad I have a semi good imagination and can "come up" with enough BS to earn myself an A. Pat on the back. Pat on the back.

Shrink

Jesse, a friend, and I are going to Fargo tomorrow for the day. I am excited to get out this gigantic city trapped inside a small town. Jess is going to fly his brother's airplane and we will get there fast---well as fast as the cute little air plane will go. I am going shopping---mama needs some new clothes. I also get to see my auntie Jan and my Grammy Cheryl---two people I love so much---WINNING!

I wore high heels to work today, and I fell a few times. One of my co-workers said she watched one of the falls out her office window (I was walking/stumbling to my car in the parking lot).

I have been going to Minot to see a shrink...I can call them that I believe---because they shrink negative feelings or at least they are suppose to. I generally don't feel terrible, I just feel yucky and/or anxious. Sometimes, I think that I should just be my own shrink--like I should just talk to myself in the mirror, because I know what I need to hear, I just need to believe it. Honesty is a virtue. I believe that to be a good person you must be honest. Some people say that you can be too honest, yes, yes you can--I believe this--like you shouldn't tell everyone exactly what you are thinking, because just like honesty is a virtue, so is being polite. It is not polite to tell someone that you think their earrings look like little pieces of doggie doo doo hanging from their ear lobes. I suppose you could, if you KNOW the person extremely well and to the point where this is "deemed" acceptable--but it wouldn't be nice to say to the woman or man standing behind you at the super market, "Hey, you look like you have little pieces of doggie doo doo hanging from your ear lobes." I would not be honest if I said I am not nervous about telling people I am going to therapy. In fact, I have only told four people (yes I kept count) and now if You are reading this, I am telling you too. So, now by this time tomorrow, maybe five or six people will know? I don't know. I like talking to a therapist, I can talk and talk and talk and she gives me advice and doesn't just tell me to get over the "things" I can't. She helps. She helps me understand myself, let's face it I'm complicated. Jesse asked me if I lay down on a couch.. I haven't yet, but I think I will during my next session, plus--I will hold a box of tissues against my tummy. Why not?

Like I have stated before in many of my posts, I am proactive when it comes to my mental health. I know what I need, when I need it. What I don't know is, who I need when I need them.

No Words

The other night, Jess, Keyton, and I were sitting in the living room. Our dog Ruby often feels the need to hump Keyton's leg. Everyone knows what I am talking about, so I can use the word "hump". I honestly don't know what else to call it. Would I call it, bounces her butt up and down while dog's paws grasp leg? I don't think that works. Anyways, it is a dominance thing, it's Ruby's way (yes Ruby is a girl dog that humps legs) of saying, "I own you Keyton, you are my kid." This "situation" has been getting worse recently (Ruby's leg humping). And without thinking about it, when Ruby does this, we say, "NO!! Ruby don't hump!". Now we know we are suppose to censor ourselves around children. We get this. We censor ourselves all the time. Anyway, the other night Keyton jumped up on the couch, and Ruby started to hump his leg. Jesse got mad and said, "No, Ruby, you don't hump!" Pretty soon, we noticed that Keyton was pretending to "hump" the air (remember, Keyton does not know what this means, he had no idea what he is doing) and Jesse told Keyton (horrified) to simply stop, well it was more like,"Keyton Alan, STOP IT!" Keyton then asks,"Why? Why can't I hump dad?". Sometimes, in life there are no words. And this was an instance when Jesse had no words. It wouldn't have been so bad, but Keyton kept (and kept and kept) asking,"Why dad, why can't I hump?" Jesse tactfully changed the subject. Keyton is our serious child. He is mostly funny, when he is not trying to be funny. Keyton has his first baseball game of the season tomorrow. I love watching baseball now that I have a child who plays.

Hal is going to start tennis lessons next week. Hal and I talked about her trying something new this summer. First, I brought up softball. She turned that down--fast. Then, my friend Heidi told me that her daughter was going to try tennis. I asked Hal if she wanted to give tennis a try. She said, "No, I just want to dance and dance and dance!" I pulled up a YouTube video of two girls similar to Hal's age playing tennis. After watching for a second, she said she would give tennis a try, because the girls in the video were wearing skirts. So, she is going to start tennis on Tuesday, in a skirt. I can't wait to see this.

Owen is potty trained! Although, he will only go potty if his little potty chair is in the kitchen. I know, gross. The potty chair is sitting against the wall in the kitchen and when he has to go, he goes. He is even in big boy underwear. I am proud of him.

Summer School

Holy man, I honestly can't believe it's the end of May. Today, I had to go to the school district office and ask if it was too late to register Keyton for summer school. Yes, I got the needed registration form a month ago, yes it has been in my purse for a month, but no, I didn't turn it in. Today, during my lunch break, I went to the district office and I had to explain to the nice woman behind the desk, that basically, I have been too busy to take care of a matter that is in the best interest of my son. I actually, laid my head down on this poor woman's desk and while "laying" there, I preceded to tell her my life story-- as if she were my therapist. This lady was surprisingly sympathetic towards me,and even preceded to tell me about how irresponsible she too, has felt lately. I am not sure if she was trying to make be feel better, however, I left the office feeling better--so if that was in deed what she was doing it worked. I will graduate with my Bachelor's Degree in Nursing on June 16th (unless of course I fail the current class I'm in). I do have a problem though, and that is that I am not actually working as a nurse. It is strange that I have been in school for 10 years ( with some breaks here and there) for nursing, and I am not even working as a nurse. People always ask me, if and when I will go back to nursing. I don't know. I don't know.

The Tooter

Yesterday, was day one of boot camp. We took our measurements and did some tests to see where we stand in terms of how many sit-ups we can do in one minute, how many push-ups, ect. Obviously, I am sore. I am so sore, that I can't even smile. I can't lift my arms above waist level. My mom is doing boot camp with me. She has the same problem as I do when it comes to giggling at inappropriate times. For instance, yesterday when we were doing the sit-up test, my mom was standing on my feet and she was counting how many crunches I was doing. When I was on like number 11, the guy doing sit-ups (like 5 inches away from me) did a little, well actually a big gigantic toot. It was loud----so loud it was hard to pretend to not hear it, and with my giggling problem-- this was a challenge...and I failed. I started laughing. Poor guy. I think my belly got a better work out from laughing at this poor gentleman's air release, than the actual crunches. During the push-up test, our push-ups did not count, unless our chests touched this blue block--I kept thinking during these push-ups that I should have worn my padded bra, so that I wouldn't have had to go down so far.

My job is going fantastic. I am actually loving it. I have met some nice people--- and I did I mention the one hour lunch break? Or the fact that I have my own office with a direct view of a funeral parlor?

We celebrated Keyton's 9th birthday on Friday. We went swimming at a hotel and spent the night. Keyton had a great day--and now has more Legos than anyone should.

On Saturday, Jesse and I left the kids with my parents and went to Bismarck in search of a new vehicle. We found one we liked. I think we would have purchased it-- if the dealership would have offered us more for our mini van. The first month I had my mini van, Owen was in the NICU. One day, after visiting Owen, I was backing out of a parking spot and so was another woman--we hit each other. I got out of the van and this little woman got out her car and said, "Speak no English!" She got back in her car and drove away-- really fast. I don't think my husband believes this story--but it really happened. So basically, since we first owned our van, we have had a crack in the back bumper. We drove to Bismarck to find out that we have to get our van fixed and sell it on our own. However, this was a blessing actually, because when we thought about the vehicle that we were about to purchase, we decided that the light interior would have been a huge pain in the rear. We now decided that we are going to go for black interior. So instead of spending a lot of money on a new set of wheels, I spent (when compared to the car) a little amount of money at the mall.

Jet

I found the above picture of a Challenger 300, one of the many Challenger 300's Jesse's company owns and the jet Jesse flies around the country in each day he is working. This is a picture of one of his actual company's Jets.
I guess this is what it looks like inside? Jesse,correct me if I am wrong.
I found this picture of a guy racing the jet Jesse flies. This sort of cracks me up.

People often ask me about what Jesse (my husband) does for a living. They often ask me what kind of jet Jesse flies. They ask me about his company. I posted some pictures (above) of pictures I found of the jet he flies. I get questions like, "Does he ever pick you up?" "Does he fly out of Williston?" The answer to both of those questions is no--I wish. I am personally fascinated with the line of work my husband does. He flies a really fast Jet (I think). Believe me, when we go on a road trip, like from here (Williston, ND) to Minneapolis, I can tell he is more annoyed than the most, with the length of time it takes us to get there. Recently, we drove to Minneapolis for a doctor's appointment for Keyton. He told me maybe once or twice that he could have flown from the West Coast to the East coast two and half times in the time it took us to drive to Minneapolis from Williston. He flies people to really cool events like the Super Bowl and award shows. Flying is Jesse's passion. He gets to do what he loves and for this I am thankful. I would be more than willing to hop aboard.I have always been somewhat nervous to fly. When I fly with my husband (commercial) I often look at him when things start to get bumpy --and when I notice that he is not making any faces--that say---"We're going down!", I can stay calm. I can't believe people can actual fly private--all I want is a full size SUV.

Pierced!

We didn't make it to church this morning. I am wondering if I would have behaved better today, then last Sunday.

Last night my dad took the kids and I to a basketball game. While sitting in the bleachers, I was overtaken with memories. Memories from being a small child, as well as memories from being in high school myself. When I looked across the room I saw many familiar faces, many of these faces I have seen through out my life. There were four men sitting together, they had all been teachers at Williston High School together, now they are retired. These men sat there together and smiled, they didn't say much to each other, but they didn't have too. They have known one another their whole lives. They have an incredible bond. I couldn't help but find it cool they still wanted to sit together. I thought about all the life changes they had experienced with each other. Like, being on each other's basketball team, coaching others together, attending each others weddings, welcoming children in to the world, watching their children grow up, and welcoming their grandchildren into this world. It made me happy. I also envisioned all of the faces I used to see in that gym. My old friends. I miss my old friends, dearly. Most of the people I grew up with live in various parts of the country. Many of them live in other parts of North Dakota, but I don't see them anymore. I value my relationships with my childhood friends. I see them now (on the social network sites) with their babies, in a sense-- we are all together, because of this social network site. We see the announcements (status updates) such as, "Hey! I just said yes to the man of my dreams!" "Okay, I can finally tell the world that I am going to be a mommy and/ or daddy!" "I am proud to announce the arrival of little baby Jack" "Jack turned one-year-old today!" We get to experience these mile stones with the people we grew up together with, and for that I am appreciative for social networking sites. Even if I haven't seen an old friend for quite some time, I still feel like I am part of his or life, because I can keep in touch through these sites. I also think these sites make time fly by. It seems that I say, "Happy Birthday!" to someone through Facebook, and then it doesn't feel like any time has passed, and I am saying "Happy Birthday!" to the same person again. It is a funny thing, that Facebook, but I think it is brillant, unless of course you are a 15-year-old.

I got my nose pierced the other day. Random, yes. I like it. It hurt, though. I was in no way prepared for such agony. Now, I am dramatic, but this was painful, more painful than anything I had ever experienced. I wanted my nose pierced ever since I can remember. I love little diamond studs. So on Thursday, I thought, hell I am 30--If I still want one---what the hell.? I told myself I would call a salon and try to get an appointment, if there was an opening (that same day) then it would be a sign and it was meant to be--and what do you know? The lady had an appointment that day. So, I go to this place and I checked in with the receptionist who announced to everyone getting their hair colored that I was going to get my nose pierced. An older lady rolled her eyes! Anyways, I waited for my turn and the lady who was going to pierce my nose came over to me and said it would be a couple of minutes, she needed to finish foiling her client's hair and when the hair of her client was processing she would peirce my nose. I waited my turn. When the hair dresser/nose piercer finished putting aluminum foil in the "eye roller" lady's hair, she announced that she was going to run across the street to get something to drink. I thought, she forgot about me, this is a sign---- I should get out here-- fast. Then she turned around and saw me sitting there and remembered that she was suppose to pierce my nose. She said, "Oh, yeah, I have to pierce a nose first." You can imagine how this made me feel. Anyways, she took me back into a tiny room and asked," Now where is the sterilized equipment?" I think my eyes bugged out at that point. She found what she was looking for; and before I could say another word, or get another thought in, she had put a clamp in my nostril (somehow, I still don't know what that was all about) and BAM! she had stabbed me. Slowly the room went black-- I don't think I was out for long. The next thing I knew I was holding a bloody tissue and I was trying to pay for my new accessory --with women with tin-foil in their hair watching me, I wrote a check--- re-wrote a check---and then re-wrote a check again, I got out of the place. Long story short--my nose is pierced. I am really "finding" myself at age 30. My dad is not thrilled....I told him over the phone, he said, "Well don't be surprised if I gag every time I look at you.

Church

I went to church on Sunday with my parents and my kids. My mom had called me and asked if I wanted to go with her and my father. She told me to call her at ten if I was planning on attending. I decided that since church was at 10:45 there was no reason I couldn't get the kids and myself ready. Now, with my ADD it is hard for me to get through a sermon with out forgetting to listen. I do catch most of the lesson that pastor does for the kids in the congregation (when the kids go to the altar). Go figure. Anyways, the pastor was talking to the kids about the "voice" they hear. And that this voice they hear (especially) when they are afraid or need to make a choice-- is the voice of God. This really hit home for me, because I often have voices in my head. No not those types of voices, not the voices telling me that there are microphones in my house recording everything I say. I often hear God talking to me. I can ask him a question (usually I ask it in my head) and I will get an answer. And often those answers make me feel better. Something has been weighing heavily on me lately and I swear that when I asked God about this particular situation (again), God said, "I will tell you my answer, but you never listen to me, I am starting to feel like a broken record." God is right. God often gives me great advice, and for a moment right after God has spoken, I feel better, I feel relieved. However, the next day or night the same "problems" re-occur. I am going to keep asking and I am going to keep listening---I am glad God is so patient.

At the church service I got the giggles. I get the giggles very easily--even in the most inappropriate times. During one of the readings, the woman reading the scripture kept repeating a specific word. I could have handled this word one or even three times, but not 14 times. Here it goes the word was...fornication...sorry--but that word makes me uncomfortable--and after the fourth time the woman said it, I actually laid down in the pew and covered my face--I did glance up at my mother who looked horrified that her 30-year-daughter was acting like a 13-year-old. After I pulled myself together (still laying on the pew) it took me awhile to get the courage up to actually pull myself upright. After I sat up and carefully glanced around the congregation hall and saw that no one was looking at me I felt better. My mother also gave me the look of horror when I asked her when communion was (she knows I look forward to the wine) I know I should probably drink the grape juice--but I prefer the wine--and God told me (he really did) that it is okay for me to drink the wine on Sundays as long as I don't sneak behind the alter and drink the whole bottle. I also enjoyed this Sunday's prayers--I always enjoy the prayers (when we all stand and someone from our church says the prayers). This week I appreciated the prayers even more than usual. We prayed (a woman from our congregation led the prayer) that people would no longer be discriminated against for their race, their culture, and wait for it......their sexual orientation. This is huge for me. I got goose bumps when this sweet older lady said this--as this is something I pray for regularly. I love my church.

Eerie

Wow- I got some great feed back from my previous post. It is nice to know that I am not alone when I speak of my quest for happiness. I think that even though I suffer from time to time with depression, the fact that I am aware of this, I can embrace it and know that it is part of me. When I was 19 I didn't like myself. I hated myself. I hated everything about myself. I look back at me. I look back and see "that" me sitting against a wall crying. I remember feeling very alone. This was part of the reason I loved alcohol so much. As soon as I started to feel that warm feeling I could forget about hating myself. I could forget about all of the asses who "I thought" were so cruel. I often wonder what my life would have been like if I had not been so dependent on alcohol. I wonder if I would have actually went to school instead of sleeping the day away. What would I have become? I do know that if I had been a great student and didn't drink and repeatedly get caught by my friends the cops, that I would not have been forced to move back home. I would not have met my now husband and I would not be Keyton, Hal, and Owen's mommy.

Right now my community-- as well as many communities close by are feeling the affects of the loss of a small town's high school teacher. This woman went out for a morning jog--at 6:30 am and never returned home. There had been a massive search and the outcome was tragic. I am shook up. I think everyone in the area is shook up. It is like we all knew something like this was going to happen---with the dramatic change within the area. I am happy to know that the people most likely responsible for this have been caught, but it doesn't take away from the loss that so many are feeling. There are still a lot of questions that we need answered. All we can do is be careful. The environment we are living is unsafe. It is eerie--this place my friends, family and myself call home is uncomfortable. I am disturbed and I keep thinking not only about this women's family but the citizens in her community--especially her students.

Unconditional Love

Writing has not been on my list of things to do these days. Aside from working, going to school, and taking care of three little people, two big people (Jesse and myself), and one little dog, I just can't juggle it all. I'm not good at multitasking. In fact, in the short few months that I have not written, I went to work at a hospital as a registered nurse, I was determined to become a labor and delivery nurse. It took me only a few short weeks to understand that I was no where prepared for such a commitment. I decided to work on a medical surgical unit in hopes that it would be a better fit. However, it took me only another few short weeks to understand that those 12 hour shifts are not right for me in any environment (at the moment). So, I decided I would go work at a clinic. I was all ready, I had given the hospital the required 3o day notice and was already on the clinic's schedule, before I understood I wasn't in the position to work at the clinic either. All of this hit me ( not wanting to work as a nurse) when I woke up in the middle of the day after having just worked a 12 hour night shift and decided that I needed a day job, that would well...not scare the hell out of me. I woke up put in my contacts and went down town in search of a job. I made a phone call and ended up at an old building in down town Williston. I got the name of a guy I used to hang out with when I was younger and found out that he works for a company that was looking for some help. I walked into his company and I went up to a desk where a pretty girl was sitting and I said, "I am here to talk to my old friend." She asked for my name. I felt stupid, so I said I was just an old friend and I just needed to speak with my old buddy for a minute or two. She went to see if this person was busy and she came back and said he was in deed busy, but she would leave a message for him. I left my name and number and embarrassed, I walked out of the building. A few minutes later my cell phone rang. It was him ( the old friend) and I had an interview the next morning at 8:30 am after my night shift at the hospital was over. I worked all night, came home and again put my contacts in and put on some interview type clothes and met with the boss man (not my old friend, but my old friend's boss man) and I was offered a job. I had no idea what this job was, I researched the company a little and I found out that I was going to be working at a trucking company. I am now employed at a trucking company. I had my first day today. I have my own office with a spectacular view of a funeral home, which is located across the street! I have my own desk and places to put pictures and I have a one hour lunch break. I have my own phone, although I don't know the number that one would have to dial to reach me, and there are a bunch of names on the phone that I do not recognize. I learned how to do these fancy things called invoices. In fact my new title is Invoice specialist. I went from "Registered Nurse Sarah" to "Invoice Specialist Sarah" all in just a matter of weeks. I must say it is going to be an adjustment. I do think that it is going to be a great fit for me. I love being a nurse, I love it so much that at the moment I know I can't be the best nurse I can be, I can't swing it. After a night shift, I would come home and lay my head down on my table and sob. I would sob because I didn't get to bring my kids to school, I would sob because I would have to sleep away half of the day. I have many friends who love those 12 hour shifts, because that means they work three days and then they have a bunch of days off in a row--I would like that too if my husband would come home every night. I like having a job because my husband does not come home at five and when I am home alone with three children for 24 hours straight, depression sets in. A dark cloud finds me and then I can not see. I like the routine. I am lucky that Owen has a daycare where the workers are more than fantastic. They love O and O loves them. I am lucky that my kids want to go to school--they love to see their friends and they actually beg me to take them too school before school starts. I actually think they just like to eat the school's breakfast because my cooking is not so good. So here is to 2012. May I find peace and fill my soul with happiness. Happiness has always been a struggle for me. I have bad genes. After all, my grandfather committed suicide when I was only one-years-old. I have always struggled to fill a hole in my soul. People are always telling me to focus on all the good in my life. That is an easy thing for people to say when they have never suffered the effects of depression. That is an easy thing to say when they don't have that hole in their soul. Believe me, I have done odd things to fill that hole in my soul. I have tried herbal therapy, not really that odd, but sort of risky being that I am already on an antidepressant. I have asked everyone I know for advice, only to find out that they can't give me the answers that I am looking for, because they don't know what a hole in the soul feels like. No, nothing in particular has caused my depression---besides some messed up biochemical elements that circulate at the rate of a turtle. I am not the kind of person that holds back. If I am sad, believe me, everyone around me knows. I will tell them--I will say, " Hey there, I am depressed today, I am sad.". Most people get uncomfortable with this. This is when they say things like, "well, focus on all of the good things you have in your life." Really??? As if it were that easy you humans! I do know one thing that my dramatic personality can do and that is push away ones that I love. I love hard, and with that comes pain. If I am hurt I tend to tell EVERYONE who will listen to me. This is not always a good trait. Sometimes, I trust people with things that I shouldn't. I will tell them how I am feeling and they will not....no they cannot empathize and since they can't empathize they will cut me out completely. I am lucky I have a best friend---Husband. He for some reason always listens to me. Although, he can't empathize with me most of the time, he puts up with me and loves me anyways. Unconditional love---is what I value the most in this universe. Unconditional. So again to 2012, may I continue to fill that hole in my soul--and to unconditional love.