Mom, You're Freaking Me Out

So, this was my night last night. At 12:45 am.

Me: (sleeping)

Oldest: Mommy? (She says as she opens my bedroom door). There’s a BIG spider next to my bed.

Me: Hi, Baby Girl. (Me thinking: She never wakes me up. Something's up. And, there was something about a spider.)

Oldest: Mom! It’s gigantic and I’m not going to be able to sleep with it there.

Me: Ok, Baby, I’ll get it. (I grab a tissue and go out as all spider killers should. Buck naked. There are no places to hide undressed like that.)

Oldest and Me looking. We see nothing.

Me: Where was it?

Oldest: It was in the corner climbing up the wall. It’s probably up by…

Me thinking: OMG, it’s HUGE and it’s right by Little One’s head in the top bunk. If I don’t get it, it’ll go past my funky ceiling panels and they’ll be sleeping with me which means no one sleeps.

I climb up the ladder to the top bunk.

This wasn't the kind of spider that was in the girls' bedroom.
It was more like one of those spiders you'd see in the rocks by a lake.
I wasn't going to stop and take pictures of it last night.

Little One: What are you doing?

Me: (As I eye the spider) I just came up to give you hugs.

Little One: What?

Me: Hugs, Baby, hugs. Can’t I just give you hugs? (As I try to hug her and discreetly reach for the spider).

Squish. God, I hope it’s in the tissue. Please be in the tissue.

Little One: Mom, you’re freaking me out.

Me: I love you, too.

I climb down the ladder and feel something drop on my toe. OMG, my heart rate shoots up. I’m thinking the spider was still alive and dropped out of the tissue. It was just a gummy bracelet. Still felt like a spider.

I throw out the tissue.

Me: Love you, girls.

Oldest & Little One: Love you, too, Mom.

Mom by day. Spider killer by night. All in a day’s work.

@Ybbeige

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

www.barbarabeige.com
Unexpectations for Kindle

I Got What From a Slug?

I’ve been trying to maintain my sense of humor this summer for my girls through this head thing so I don’t worry them. Oldest tends to worry, and, well, so does Little One.

Last week, Oldest was mowing the lawn and I was covering the grill. I found several bright orange slugs attached to the cover that had been crumpled overnight near the compost container. I took a slender metal stake that was nearby and skewered a few.

I thought I was being funny with my slug kabob (or slugabob as 5-11 SexyBoi-SexyTwang called it). I held it out to show Oldest as she pushed the mower past and I faked taking a bite. I lost my balance or something (I just do that these days) and the slugs went flying. They bounced off my hands and body and deposited orange goo all over me. Of course this whole maneuver got both of us laughing.

Brushing my hands in the grass did nothing to remove the slug slime. I ran inside and washed it off after eww-ing a few times. Went back out and realized it wasn’t off. Went back inside and repeated the procedure. Now, you’re thinking that I must be a moron and can’t wash my hands or am just rinsing like a kid would do. No. I’m psycho about hand-washing. Especially since I worked in food prep and in schools before. Out again. Two more spots still remained on my hands. What. The. Heck?

Still slippery. Still orange.

My mind started racing with the potential economic profits of my find. Skin moisturizer? Wrinkle cream? Tanning solution? Personal lubricant? High temp engine lubricant? The possibilities were endless. Imagine driving around in a nice car or living in a house funded by slugs…finally a purpose for these destructive garden critters.

Sacrificial Alter. You should see how many people freak out when
your toddler is saying that as one of their first phrases. 

Slugs, especially these dusky slugs, are prolific. Ask anyone with a garden. Just a few weeks ago, I hand-picked 57 off my lemon thyme and put them in our sacrificial alter (a feeder for the birds in the center of the bird bath). Little One was fascinated by how many I was finding and counted them for me. That’s how I knew how many I had.

Seems like such a waste of good beer, but this was from one night's catch in the lemon thyme. I was surprised at how many baby slugs ended up in there.
Guess they are born with a taste for Landshark.

Well, all this seemed like a really great idea until I began seeing a correlation between touching slugs and getting poison ivy. Pluck a few slugs from the mulch; poison ivy on my arm. Pull dozens off my lemon thyme; poison ivy on my thighs. Make one lousy slug kabob; and, well, omg, it’s where I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. And, no, I was not testing the personal lubricant idea… As a facial moisturizer or wrinkle cream, I didn’t need my eyes swelling shut and having to go to the doctor for prednisone from some sort of venereal slug disease (another 5-11 SexyBoi-SexyTwang phrase).

So, what can I do? Buy more Ivarest, keep my fingers away from itchy places, catch more slugs without touching them and just keep laughing.

I need to buy stock in this stuff. Seriously.

@Ybbeige

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

www.barbarabeige.com

Opinions. Judgement. Questionable Acceptance.

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

~Eleanor Roosevelt 

Why do we put so much weight on what others think and say about us? I think it’s human nature to want to be accepted and loved by our own. But, at what cost?

In all types of relationships we look for approval. We want to know that we are doing the right thing. We want love, acceptance and kudos. Even from when we are very young, we try to please our parents. We try to pick up on cues of what is right and wrong. Cues of how they want us to behave. So we can please them.

We try to fit in with friends and school mates. We are constantly judging ourselves and making micro adjustments in our behavior to fit in. Then we grow up to be in the same situations with older friends and co-workers. Whatever circle of people we are in (or are trying to be in) we change. We mold. We conform. And, sometimes it isn’t for the better.

We may be on the outskirts wanting to be one of the group.

How many of us have been in relationships where we change to please the other person? From step parents to lovers to friends? We fight hard against some of what makes us “us” to be accepted. Yes, there is the need to be flexible, especially in a partnership relationship. But, to try to be who we aren’t, to change what makes us “us,” isn’t the way to go. We try to be too much of who they want us to be. We may try this for a while. Weeks, months, years. Thinking this will make the other person happy which will make us happy. Rarely have I seen this work. We are the only ones who can make us happy.

I have a friend who is hurting from an online dating experience. He opened up, showed his vulnerabilities. He was led along thinking this other person liked him for all that he was. But, in an instant, their opinion changed. They wanted more. They wanted him to be different. They didn’t like him for him. Their words cut him deep. And he’s left trying to pick up the pieces from that hurt. I think he’s better off knowing this now before things moved farther. How much would he have changed about himself to try to please this other person?

I’ve personally made concessions to be with others. I’ve tried to change the little things that make me “me” that they didn’t seem to like. I’ve even made big changes. And, I’ve felt the hurt too. I was looking for the approval of others when what I really needed was just to find someone who accepted me for me.

Trying to be something else?

Recently, I’ve even put a lot of weight behind what people have said while I’m dealing with this head injury. I look fine. I should be fine. They don’t know what goes on in my head or the constant physical pain that I’m in. I fight that every day. Why do I care what they think? Why do I put so much weight behind their words? They aren’t me. I’m trying to let that go. But, it’s years of conditioning and of trying to be accepted that makes it so hard.

It takes time to undo the hurt that comes from when we are dealing with what we perceive as rejection by those we can’t please. We have to re-find ourselves. We have to find our self-esteem again. We have to realize that they aren’t us. They don’t know who we are or what we’re going through. Most likely they have projected their own insecurities and problems on us to make themselves feel better. That hardly seems fair. Why can’t we all just be kind to each other? And accept others for who they truly are? It would then make it easier for us to accept ourselves. There would never even be that questioning. We would always be happy with who we are and celebrate daily in our uniqueness. In the end, that’s what’s really important.

Have you ever felt judged? Why did you care so much? How did it make you feel?

@Ybbeige

www.barbarabeige.com

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

Kid-spiration

Inspiration hits us from different places. And, for different reasons. As of late, with the way my head has been, I’ve felt less inspired to write than the old me had. Constant headaches and a short attention span keep me from thinking of much else besides the necessary daily functioning of things. But, I think some inspiration is finding its way back in. And, you want to know where it’s coming from? My Oldest. Yep. Kid inspired inspiration.

My girls came to spend the summer with me about two weeks ago. On Day One, my Oldest asked if I had any legal pads. I scrounged up the remains of one, though it was yellow, and she prefers white. She just started writing.

She filled up all the pages that were left and asked if I could read what she wrote. I was amazed. She had the beginnings of a novel with a Western flavor. It featured a strong, young female main character not much older than herself. Inspiration was tickling me.

Character drawings by Little One for the novel Oldest is working on.

We bought her a pack of white 8-1/2 x 11 legal style pads. She went into the reasoning of why she preferred those over spiral bound notebooks. No metal to dig into her or to catch on her if the spiral got caught on something. Nothing to get squished and keep the pages from turning. No looking at all those holes. The direction of flipping the paper and on and on. She really didn’t have to convince me. For less than four dollars, we can get her a six pack of her preferred note pads.

I know exactly how she feels to want to write on just the right kind of paper. I prefer a spiral bound myself; those half-sized ones with three sections and the thicker spiral wire so that it doesn’t squish and catch. And, I like the yellow legal style pads in the same size she prefers (vs. the actual longer legal size) for my character development and place description notes.

My notebooks. Smaller one has a few blogs written in my special chicken scratch.
Yellow legal pad has notes for novel #3. 

I’m like her, too, on writing a lot by hand. There’s just something in the way our brains work when we physically connect our pen to paper. She is also like me in that she prefers to write with blue pen (whereas Little One prefers black).

Oldest has almost forty pages chocked full of writing so far, not counting separate sheets with her notes and changes. She writes every moment she can. Writes when she first gets up. Brings her notepads to the waiting rooms of my appointments. Scratches things down on them while she’s riding in the car. And, most every night, she writes instead of reading when she climbs into bed.

A few days after she began writing, she asked me if it’s okay to write every other chapter from a different character’s point of view. Little One said she loved a book she recently read like that. I shared with them a few paragraphs from the first two chapters of my second novel, Identically Different. (It's still in the editing stages). It showed Oldest the differences between the ways the two identical twin sisters talk and think. Her eyes lit up. I had inspired her.

And, look. I’m writing. Even just a bit to start when I feel like I have more of a moment of clarity when my head pounds less. This is good. This is inspiration. And, I especially love where that inspiration comes from.




Where do you find inspiration?


@Ybbeige
www.barbarabeige.com
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

Missing Me

I try so hard to be a positive person. I like to look at the glass half full. I try to find the good in everything. I appreciate even the small things in my life. I say I live in a world of fluffy bunnies and happy rainbows. What could be happier than that? But, sometimes, even the most positive of people can be down. Can be frustrated. I’m finding myself going there.

I’ve had this concussion for over 3 weeks now. It’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced. I’m forgetting what it feels like to not have my head pound constantly. I so miss music. I never imagined not having music every day in my life. You may remember that I even blogged about that. I’m lucky that I can now listen to a few songs now and then…if they are quiet. I was never much of a tv person but an occasional show to laugh at or with would be nice. I can almost watch a half hour sitcom. As long as I mute the commercials (and loud introduction…like the Big Bang Theory song that usually I’d find so catchy) and close my eyes during those. They are too flashy and over-stimulating for my head.

Everything feels so over-stimulating most of the time. 

I feel like I’m losing myself and who I am. The me who likes to write and express myself with words. I come up with little quips occasionally that I’ll tweet. I rarely get on Facebook these days to see what is going on with friends and family. I miss wishing them Happy Birthdays. The flickering of the computer more that twenty minutes once or twice a day is more than my head really wants. Thoughts come to me of things I’d like to write about. I jot them down. On paper. Hoping that I’ll be up for it at some point.

From the outside I look fine. People look at me and wonder why I’m not back to work. Why I’m not out and about doing things. That’s probably the most frustrating part for me. I’ve always considered myself to be a strong and tough woman (I do have those German genes that I always say add to my strength). Yea, I look fine. But put me anywhere with flickering fluorescent lights or loud sounds or lots of movement and visual stimulation and I’m not fine. Not in my head. And, then not in my belly. Nausea kicks in. How can even the toughest be fine if they feel like I do? I’m the one who had surgery last year without general anesthesia. What the heck?

So, I’m just feeling like I just need to express some frustration. Tell people where I’ve been. I have a CT scan tomorrow that I hope will give us some answers on why I’m still feeling like I am. Just so you know…I hadn’t gone into hiding. I just rest a lot. With my eyes closed. I want to come back soon. I want to come back to being me. I want my glass to fill up. I want to see those fluffy bunnies and happy rainbows again. Wish me luck. 

@Ybbeige

www.barbarabeige.com

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

And the Gallinippers Fly

5-11 Sexy Boi-Sexy Twang describes having a large insect in Illinois. Here, we call them crane flies. There, they call them gallinippers. I think that is a rather fun word to describe this harmless creature (though the word is also used to describe a vicious large mosquito out Michigan way). So, I came up with this little poem where I can say gallinipper lots.

Almost 2-1/2 inches long, these critters can seem quite daunting.

Spring ponds warm
And the gallinippers fly.

Adrift on the wind
And the gallinippers fly.

Pulled by currents
And the gallinippers fly.

Only days to live
And the gallinippers fly.

Thoughts of mating
And the gallinippers fly.

The gallinippers fly
The gallinippers fly.





@Ybbeige
www.barbarabeige.com
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

The Baby Photo Dating Story

I thought I'd try a little photo story of how I met 5-11 Sexy Boi-Sexy Twang. These are actual baby pictures of me. (My parents paid real, hard-earned money for them; if you can believe it). My relationship with her is really not as painful as it may appear to be in the photos below. Lol.

What?! Who me? Date? Gosh, no. I'm not ready. Just got out of a relationship.

I need to take time for me. I have no interest in getting out there for a while.

But, I'll chat with this nice girl who follows me on Twitter. Just as friends.

DMs back and forth. Then Facebook. Then texts. Then talk.

Wow! She sounds nothing like I expected. Where'd she get that sexy twang?

I have a thing for accents.

Oh my god! We talk for how long each night? 

Thank goodness we have Verizon-to-Verizon free calls.

And this is as friends? We're becoming good friends. Really good friends.

Something is going on inside me. I'm pretty sure it's not just gas.

I think I might really like her. As more than friends.

Yea. I do.

Oh my god, I really do.

It's an amazing connection. Started from the inside out.

We can't get enough of each other.

This long distance thing between visits will be hard.

I'll try not to be sad when we're apart.

I'm just so content. I feel so accepted for who I am.

Everyone deserves to feel this way.

Here's hoping this grows up into something big.

@Ybbeige

http://facebook.com/barbarabeige

www.barbarabeige.com

Unexpectations (Kindle version)