So. I am kinda obsessed with "The Hunger Games."
If you haven't read the trilogy and you like getting absorbed in fast-paced stories, you may like them. I read the books in about two days each and if I didn't have a toddling baby, I probably would have read them in one sitting. I was on the edge of my seat waiting to find out the conclusion.
That being said... they aren't spectacularly written. They are comparable to the Twilight books (however, much better than the obscenely horrible Twilight movies) in that the characters are relatable and the story engrossing but lacking sophistication and depth. It is Young Adult fiction, so you know, maybe author Suzanne Collins was trying to make it appeal to that audience and didn't want to reach further than what she did.
Though it's YA, "The Hunger Games" (and the other trilogy books "Catching Fire" and "Mockingjay") deal with extremely disturbing subject matter. I don't want to give anything away, because I hope you will read these books, but I can say this: After I read them, I told Jon, "Dear God, I hope they don't make these into movies. I would have to watch them but I think I'd have nightmares for weeks."
Of course... they are making the first movie right now.
I loved reading these books the same way some people love looking at disturbing art. They were fascinating but utterly troubling. I'm certain that was Collins' intention, and I can't help but feel the very people she satirizes are those who will enjoy watching these films.
and... I'm one of them. Maybe that's the most disturbing thing of all to me....
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Fill in the blank Friday!
Yay! We got family pictures taken, and I'm pretty excited about them. Daphne? Pretty much the cutest baby of all time and now it's proven in print. Also, I haven't done a Fill in the Blank Friday in forever, so I'm excited to see what blanks Lauren at *the little things we do* has come up with this week!
1. Somewhere someone is falling in love. That makes me smile.
2. Music is/are my muse. It definitely moves me to be more creative.
3. It would
suck if chocolate was no
more because Jon and I would then have nothing in common. (Currently, our chocolate addiction is holding our marriage together ;).
4. The weather is/are my
favorite thing about today. It is rainy and overcast and cool.
5. Life is kind
of like a movie. No, wait. Usually it's nothing like a movie. This is a deep question for FITBF.
6. If I could have anything I wanted I would want a house. Right. Now. Please.
7. A funny thing happened the other
day... Before dinner every night, I take Daphne's clothes off so she doesn't get them all grimy. The other day, I took her clothes off and she ran to her high chair and started banging on it like, "Yay! I know it's time to eat now!!"
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Daphne turned one. You know, like a while ago.
But.... I do want to post some pictures here. It was a super fun day. My sweet friends Rebecca and Missy helped me make some insanely delicious snacks and helped set up early as well.
(Credit where credit is due fo sho.)
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| Ridiculously cute birthday girl. |
 | ||||
| Awesome banner that I made. I get to brag on myself because I'm not generally crafty. |
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| Pretzel fairy wands were a main feature of the spread. |
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| I'm telling you. They were whimsical and delicious. |
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| This delicious punch that Missy made included fun flower ice cubes. |
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| I adore these edible fairies found on this etsy page. They made the party for me. |
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| I wasn't going to give Daphne a "smash cake" because she had never before had any sweets. I thought a cupcake would do. However, we had enough batter left over and it turned out so cute. |
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| She seemed to love the attention all day, but when everyone started singing to her? Oh, man. She was the cutest. She looked somewhat surprised, puzzled and seriously happy. |
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| This is about as much smashing as she did. She totally wasn't into it. |
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| Daphne had so many friends come celebrate her including special guest: Lily! My lovely niece. |
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| Grandpa and Grandma Smith |
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| Ogden, who my grandparents completely fell in love with. |
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| Baby Eilee! |
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| Kai! |
 | ||
| Matix! |
 | |
| Hattie! |
and more.
Also? Lots of presents. :)
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| Yay! |
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| It was a very special day and I think it was perfect. |
On writing
Last week (or maybe it was two weeks ago?), our modem broke, so we were without internet for a while. I had two Project Runways to catch up on, so it may have been two weeks, but it felt like I'd gone a week without water. I'm seriously addicted to not only the internet but also tv. During the time off, I spent a lot more time playing with Daphne and also getting out of the house, so you know, it was probably good for me, for us. I have some noble friends that can abstain from such media, however, I'm not willing or possibly able to give up my stories.
I thought about how I needed to update this blog, which I will, for posterity. I mean, I want Daphne to read it when she's a teenager and all kinds of angry with me and see, "Oh. My mom was totally obsessed with me." Then I want guilt to torment her until she agrees that dating is really for people in their 30s and that she would actually prefer not to go away to college but instead decide that I'm her BFF and we'll run a homestyle bakery. From home. Many factors (including me learning how to bake) will have to precede this decision, but I'm really counting on that guilt to act as catalyst.
Anyway. As I thought about her tears falling as she happened upon pictures of her first birthday party, I realized I have to post those and tell a bit about that party even though it was weeks ago. Then I started to think about how writing this blog is really lacking in creative release for me. Then I realized the truth which is that I'm just not that creative anymore.
I used to write. In third grade, I wrote a pretty emotional and serious story about a girl who decided to have an abortion. The abortion was "botched" and the baby survived and this 15 year old girl and her child lived happily ever after, but it was precocious and I got a lot of positive attention for it. I always knew I would write. and I did. In college, I even decided to heck with the teaching certificate, I'll just make a living as a writer. Heheheh. Whoops. I did make money writing for a few years as a reporter for a small newspaper, and I enjoyed that. But, when I say I used to write what I'm really referring to is nights spent hunched over blue lined notebook pages, words spilling out of me, beautiful sentences, ugly sentences, words rising like bread, like Braille. I wrote like I breathed. I had to. I would read later what I wrote and be somewhat surprised by my syntax, by the way I captured exactly what I had felt.
I'm certain I had a knack for it. I was creative and vulnerable and skilled. I wrote for no audience and it's true that only few have ever read anything I wrote during those times.
I'm not sure when I stopped. Well. That's not true. I know exactly when I stopped, but it's complicated inside me. I stopped writing when I met Jon. This also means: I stopped writing when I stopped using drugs. I stopped writing when I became a Christian. I stopped writing when I stopped being depressed.
Again, I'm not certain what it was... Did I write because I was unstable? Did I write because it helped me in a therapeutic way? Was I writing because I was high all the time?
I don't know. Maybe a combination? All I know is this. Now, I do not write.
This blog then is unsatisfactory to me not because of the medium. I don't necessarily need blue lined notebook pages (I've tried those too to no avail). It's unsatisfactory because I'm unsatisfactory. I feel that everything I say has been said in the same way. Cliche after cliche. I know that I'm writing about my daughter, about my life, in a way that's personal to me, but I know that these are well-worn feelings, nothing unique is being described here. It's somewhat irritating, but I see no way out.
It's not like I'm going to trip on acid and see what happens. ;)
Instead... I'll keep writing here, capturing what I feel about my daughter, my family, my life, and hope that I learn to create something of value, something that I enjoy reading. Perhaps it's the audience that stays me from being creative, but the three people reading this shouldn't cause me to write so perfunctorily.
I don't know. While this is unsatisfactory it's not unsatisfying. I do enjoy having these thoughts preserved here, it's simply my clumsy methods that annoy. I'll keep trying and hopefully will have something great rise again.
I thought about how I needed to update this blog, which I will, for posterity. I mean, I want Daphne to read it when she's a teenager and all kinds of angry with me and see, "Oh. My mom was totally obsessed with me." Then I want guilt to torment her until she agrees that dating is really for people in their 30s and that she would actually prefer not to go away to college but instead decide that I'm her BFF and we'll run a homestyle bakery. From home. Many factors (including me learning how to bake) will have to precede this decision, but I'm really counting on that guilt to act as catalyst.
Anyway. As I thought about her tears falling as she happened upon pictures of her first birthday party, I realized I have to post those and tell a bit about that party even though it was weeks ago. Then I started to think about how writing this blog is really lacking in creative release for me. Then I realized the truth which is that I'm just not that creative anymore.
I used to write. In third grade, I wrote a pretty emotional and serious story about a girl who decided to have an abortion. The abortion was "botched" and the baby survived and this 15 year old girl and her child lived happily ever after, but it was precocious and I got a lot of positive attention for it. I always knew I would write. and I did. In college, I even decided to heck with the teaching certificate, I'll just make a living as a writer. Heheheh. Whoops. I did make money writing for a few years as a reporter for a small newspaper, and I enjoyed that. But, when I say I used to write what I'm really referring to is nights spent hunched over blue lined notebook pages, words spilling out of me, beautiful sentences, ugly sentences, words rising like bread, like Braille. I wrote like I breathed. I had to. I would read later what I wrote and be somewhat surprised by my syntax, by the way I captured exactly what I had felt.
I'm certain I had a knack for it. I was creative and vulnerable and skilled. I wrote for no audience and it's true that only few have ever read anything I wrote during those times.
I'm not sure when I stopped. Well. That's not true. I know exactly when I stopped, but it's complicated inside me. I stopped writing when I met Jon. This also means: I stopped writing when I stopped using drugs. I stopped writing when I became a Christian. I stopped writing when I stopped being depressed.
Again, I'm not certain what it was... Did I write because I was unstable? Did I write because it helped me in a therapeutic way? Was I writing because I was high all the time?
I don't know. Maybe a combination? All I know is this. Now, I do not write.
This blog then is unsatisfactory to me not because of the medium. I don't necessarily need blue lined notebook pages (I've tried those too to no avail). It's unsatisfactory because I'm unsatisfactory. I feel that everything I say has been said in the same way. Cliche after cliche. I know that I'm writing about my daughter, about my life, in a way that's personal to me, but I know that these are well-worn feelings, nothing unique is being described here. It's somewhat irritating, but I see no way out.
It's not like I'm going to trip on acid and see what happens. ;)
Instead... I'll keep writing here, capturing what I feel about my daughter, my family, my life, and hope that I learn to create something of value, something that I enjoy reading. Perhaps it's the audience that stays me from being creative, but the three people reading this shouldn't cause me to write so perfunctorily.
I don't know. While this is unsatisfactory it's not unsatisfying. I do enjoy having these thoughts preserved here, it's simply my clumsy methods that annoy. I'll keep trying and hopefully will have something great rise again.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
An open letter to Daphne on her first birthday
Dear Daphne,
Today you are one year old, so that means it is your first birthday. Birthdays are pretty awesome affairs, and I am writing a letter to you because you won't remember it.
We celebrated you already, and I will fill you in on that more later (you had a rocking party), but I really wanted to make mention of some of the ways you have astonished me this year.
The first time I saw you, you looked at me like, "Oh! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" You still look at me like that but with more food on your face.
So a year ago today, you weighed 7 lbs and 10 oz. You were 20.5 inches long. Today, after waiting two hours at the doctor's office during which you opened every drawer, pulled every poster off the wall and charmed every person there, we found out you weigh 21 lbs and 1/2 oz. You are 30.5 inches long. Doctors are real big on accuracy. The real news is that I weigh a whole lot less than I did a year ago, so I'm celebrating that too.
I don't know a lot of babies. I mean, I didn't before I met you, and so I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure you're brilliant and extremely advanced. You've done a lot of stuff that some of my friends from college still can't do.
Some of my friends said they cried on their baby's first birthday. I didn't cry or feel any nostalgia or melancholy. Honestly, Daphne? I feel so blessed that God let us have this year with you. You're so healthy and smart and fun, and I know that some families can't say the same of their one year old. When celebrating your birthday, I can't help but mourn for your cousin Dallas born on the same exact day and in heaven now. Why would I cry because you've grown? I'm so happy that you're here!
Your Dad and I are pretty much gobsmacked by you daily. After you go to bed, we sit around and talk about everything you did that day. We try to imitate your new phrase, "Ducka ducka ducka," to each other and we smile and laugh and love each other even more than ever because of you.
I pray that we have many more birthdays to celebrate, but even if we don't, I'm overwhelmed and grateful for this first one. You are so dear to me, Daphne.
Love,
Mommy
Today you are one year old, so that means it is your first birthday. Birthdays are pretty awesome affairs, and I am writing a letter to you because you won't remember it.
We celebrated you already, and I will fill you in on that more later (you had a rocking party), but I really wanted to make mention of some of the ways you have astonished me this year.
The first time I saw you, you looked at me like, "Oh! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" You still look at me like that but with more food on your face.
I don't know a lot of babies. I mean, I didn't before I met you, and so I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure you're brilliant and extremely advanced. You've done a lot of stuff that some of my friends from college still can't do.
Some of my friends said they cried on their baby's first birthday. I didn't cry or feel any nostalgia or melancholy. Honestly, Daphne? I feel so blessed that God let us have this year with you. You're so healthy and smart and fun, and I know that some families can't say the same of their one year old. When celebrating your birthday, I can't help but mourn for your cousin Dallas born on the same exact day and in heaven now. Why would I cry because you've grown? I'm so happy that you're here!
Your Dad and I are pretty much gobsmacked by you daily. After you go to bed, we sit around and talk about everything you did that day. We try to imitate your new phrase, "Ducka ducka ducka," to each other and we smile and laugh and love each other even more than ever because of you.
I pray that we have many more birthdays to celebrate, but even if we don't, I'm overwhelmed and grateful for this first one. You are so dear to me, Daphne.
Love,
Mommy
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Real romance: Part 2
After Jon read Part 1, I asked him, "What do you think I'm going to write about next?"
He said, "The first two years. Hell."
Exactly.
Like most new couples, we were so infatuated with each other in the beginning. We wrote love poems, marveled over how much we both loved sweet and sour chicken, and admired our differences.
Several factors led to the infatuation breakdown. First? Marriage and the stress that comes from living together. Second? Being married to someone we barely knew. Third? No money, no jobs. Four? Both of us came from homes that struggled with conflict. Neither of us really knew how to have a healthy relationship.
It seems outrageous to me to sum up the first two years of our marriage by saying we fought a lot and even talked seriously about divorce. It's outrageous because that sentence is so small compared to the enormity of what we went through. So many days I felt our relationship was like broken porcelain. I knew I could put it back together again with hard work and I would labor over it, struggling to control Jon, struggling to control circumstances beyond my control. I felt like the pieces were all at my feet and that somehow it would be reparable.
One day, I knew it wouldn't be fine. I looked at the broken pieces and found some irreparable, knew there were missing pieces. We talked to other people. We tried to make lists. We made "I feel" statements. We forgave each other and consistently brought up the issues that were 'forgiven.' I know there were good times, too, but what we both remember was being constantly at odds.
I started drinking again after over a year of sobriety. I talked to a friend who said divorce would be better than struggling all our lives. Several friends. This combination led to Jon moving out. I did not respect him, I did not respect our marriage, and I was tired of trying so hard to make it better. Certainly Jon played his own part in everything, but I'm not going to highlight his flaws. I know he would agree that we were both at fault.
I can remember thinking that I wasn't going to dwell on the fact that my marriage failed. I was going to just start over.
Then? I got the stomach flu.
Jon was staying with his brother at the time, but we still were on stilted speaking terms. I called him and asked him to bring me a Sprite, that I was in bed horribly sick. My husband, who had plenty of valid reasons not to come help me, did indeed bring me a Sprite. He came and took care of me for two days. That was the turning point.
It amazes me that God used that time to help us. The stomach flu saved our marriage!
I started going to AA after that, and Jon was very encouraging, attended meetings with me, forgave me so freely. I started dedicating myself to praying for him daily because it helped me to see things from his point of view. I also started going to therapy, which changed my life. I had learned so many incorrect ways to deal with life when I was a child and it took time for me to teach myself new and better ways.
Again, I highlight what I went through, what steps I took. This is not Jon's blog, and if he wants to share his role, he can. I can say that changing me, my thoughts and expectations, helped me tremendously when it came to overlooking his flaws and being merciful towards him.
Our relationship didn't become perfect, but it became peaceful where it had been tumultuous. We really started healing and working as a team. Team Minor, we say as we bump fists.
Part 3 of our real romance? Just this: Real romance isn't flowers and fairy tales. It's dedicating yourself to the person you vowed to be with. It doesn't matter that friends or society tells you that it would be better to give up when times are tough. GOD HONORS YOUR DEDICATION! and He will see you through. Romance is knowing where we've been and never going back there. Our romance is based on trust and mutual respect. We want better and we're willing to be selfless to get there together.
*Note* This advice is for Christian couples. I know that people who aren't Christians can stay married, but I have no idea how. God really is what kept us together.
He said, "The first two years. Hell."
Exactly.
Like most new couples, we were so infatuated with each other in the beginning. We wrote love poems, marveled over how much we both loved sweet and sour chicken, and admired our differences.
Several factors led to the infatuation breakdown. First? Marriage and the stress that comes from living together. Second? Being married to someone we barely knew. Third? No money, no jobs. Four? Both of us came from homes that struggled with conflict. Neither of us really knew how to have a healthy relationship.
It seems outrageous to me to sum up the first two years of our marriage by saying we fought a lot and even talked seriously about divorce. It's outrageous because that sentence is so small compared to the enormity of what we went through. So many days I felt our relationship was like broken porcelain. I knew I could put it back together again with hard work and I would labor over it, struggling to control Jon, struggling to control circumstances beyond my control. I felt like the pieces were all at my feet and that somehow it would be reparable.
One day, I knew it wouldn't be fine. I looked at the broken pieces and found some irreparable, knew there were missing pieces. We talked to other people. We tried to make lists. We made "I feel" statements. We forgave each other and consistently brought up the issues that were 'forgiven.' I know there were good times, too, but what we both remember was being constantly at odds.
I started drinking again after over a year of sobriety. I talked to a friend who said divorce would be better than struggling all our lives. Several friends. This combination led to Jon moving out. I did not respect him, I did not respect our marriage, and I was tired of trying so hard to make it better. Certainly Jon played his own part in everything, but I'm not going to highlight his flaws. I know he would agree that we were both at fault.
I can remember thinking that I wasn't going to dwell on the fact that my marriage failed. I was going to just start over.
Then? I got the stomach flu.
Jon was staying with his brother at the time, but we still were on stilted speaking terms. I called him and asked him to bring me a Sprite, that I was in bed horribly sick. My husband, who had plenty of valid reasons not to come help me, did indeed bring me a Sprite. He came and took care of me for two days. That was the turning point.
It amazes me that God used that time to help us. The stomach flu saved our marriage!
I started going to AA after that, and Jon was very encouraging, attended meetings with me, forgave me so freely. I started dedicating myself to praying for him daily because it helped me to see things from his point of view. I also started going to therapy, which changed my life. I had learned so many incorrect ways to deal with life when I was a child and it took time for me to teach myself new and better ways.
Again, I highlight what I went through, what steps I took. This is not Jon's blog, and if he wants to share his role, he can. I can say that changing me, my thoughts and expectations, helped me tremendously when it came to overlooking his flaws and being merciful towards him.
Our relationship didn't become perfect, but it became peaceful where it had been tumultuous. We really started healing and working as a team. Team Minor, we say as we bump fists.
Part 3 of our real romance? Just this: Real romance isn't flowers and fairy tales. It's dedicating yourself to the person you vowed to be with. It doesn't matter that friends or society tells you that it would be better to give up when times are tough. GOD HONORS YOUR DEDICATION! and He will see you through. Romance is knowing where we've been and never going back there. Our romance is based on trust and mutual respect. We want better and we're willing to be selfless to get there together.
*Note* This advice is for Christian couples. I know that people who aren't Christians can stay married, but I have no idea how. God really is what kept us together.
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