Blog Peep Questions: Round 20

What works better for you… planned visits, or when someone says, "I'm wanting to drive down and see you today, does that suit?"

The funniest thing about this question is that it comes from a reader in Australia, so the odds of them popping in unexpectedly are not great. :)

Planned visits are definitely better for me, simply because there is a lot of planning that goes into me having company. For the week or so before I make sure not to have other people over. I don't talk on the phone unless I have to and I don't Skype with friends.

I rest. Completely. Often with the TV off and in the quiet. I find out what time my company will be coming, and in the week prior I try to adjust my timing accordingly.

Adjust when I take my meds, when I try to sleep, when I try to wake up… all so my body will be able to be used to being well and up when my company is here.

I time out two days ahead when to shower, because if I shower the day before I'll often be too worn out when they're here. I time out when I'm going to fix my hair the day before. I adjust night time meds the night before and up my pain meds the morning of.

I send Susie to Sonic for me {thank God for friends} the morning of so my stomach will be settled and I won't be throwing up while company is here. And then I debate about standing long enough to put on make up, which is usually decided by whether or not the camera will be out. If that's the case, I then decide… YES. Some things are worth the risk when cameras are involved. :)

Everything is planned to a science. And it's worth every moment because it all results in moments like this…

Moments when Elias shows me his cool new car that zooms if you shake it.

And I tell him that maybe, if he shakes it hard enough, we can get it to fly right off the bed…

AND IT WORKS!

So we congratulate ourselves with cheers and fist bumps and high fives all around.

And moments like that right there? Those moments make every bit of effort the week before it worth it.

Every single time.

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Got a question for me? Just leave one in the comment section and I'll add it to the list. :)

Blog Peep Questions: Round 19

What does your daily faith walk look like? How do you connect with God?

Honestly, this is one way I feel fortunate for the life I have. {I know… this is going to sound crazy that there are benefits to being bed bound, but it's true.} Because the truth is that my life is set up in a way that I don't have a lot of distractions between me and God.

I don't have a hurried existence. I don't have a job and husband and children and errands or just plain old life to distract me. And in a lot of ways, that really stinks. I would like to have those things filling my world. But in this way, in this I-have-no-one-around-me-but-Jesus way, it has allowed me to have a connection with God I don't know that I could otherwise have.

I open my eyes in the middle of the night, and my first thought is to talk to Him. About my thoughts, about people, about situations. I do nothing all day but lay in bed, often times in the quiet depending on how I'm feeling, alone with my thoughts. And those thoughts are a direct conversation between me and God. It has become as natural to me to connect with Him as it is for me to blink my eyes.

And I would never want that to change.

A friend of mine and I were recently talking about someone we know who not only has stopped believing in God, but preaches pretty vehemently against Him. And as angry as some of the things he says makes me, I told her that I am mostly sad for how lonely he must be without God. How empty the quiet space must be.

Because my life, my moment to moment existence, would be incredibly lonely without my constant companion. So, that's what my prayer life looks like. I read books about faith, I'm currently reading through Acts in the bible, I pray the rosary and I pray written prayers and I do all sorts of things to broaden my faith and knowledge.

But mostly, I just talk to Him, thank Him, acknowledge Him and rest in Him. Every moment.

How does Jesus talk to you?

I'm not one who will say, "Jesus told me…" simply because I would hate to presume I heard right and then turn out to be wrong. :)

I don't hear an audible voice of God. I have thoughts that pop into my head and I immediately speak back to Him in my heart and I know that somehow He sparked that conversation. I have moments where I am wrestling with decisions and I will settle on something and have a complete peace about it, and I take that as His way of helping me know it's the right choice.

Sometimes I don't feel anything at all and that is frustrating as all get out, and I let Him know that I'll be patient because I fully acknowledge that maybe it's not the right time for me to hear, to feel peace, to make the decision. In the end, even not hearing from Him is a way for me to let Him know I trust Him more than I want an answer.

The way I hear from Him most often comes through conversation with others, however. And not necessarily what they say to me. This happened just recently when I was emailing with a friend about a decision I was making medically and wanting to be sure I was making the right choices. She started asking me hard and direct questions and I answered them so easily. Words flew onto the page before I even thought them through and I remember thinking, "Oh, that is true. That is right. Ok. Decision made."

Sometimes it's in that process of working through topics with other people that He puts words into our own mouths to answer the questions. At least that's how it works for me.

How did you come to know the Lord? Where have your spiritual influences come from?

I am one of those really lucky people that doesn't have a grand coming-to-know-the-Lord story. I'm one who doesn't remember the first time I heard about Jesus. I just always knew Him as the friend and the savior and the Father that He is. He was always a part of my family's life.

We always talked about our faith growing up. We always went to Mass and said the rosary and prayed before meals and bed and upon waking. Mom would walk into our rooms in the morning singing, "Rise and shine and give God your glory glory." We sang our ABC's and Jesus Loves Me as though both were important to learn. I went to Catholic school and found it completely natural for a teacher to say, "Well, have you prayed about that?"

I was in college before I met another human being that didn't believe in God. I spent a week every fall vacationing at a convent with a few hundred nuns, my godmother was a Presentation Sister, I had priests and nuns babysit me and we often had Mass said at our house.

I am one of the fortunate ones who had a great religious experience growing up. I am one of the fortunate ones who was surrounded by faith and people who had real relationships with Jesus. I can't really think of any part of my upbringing that didn't have a spiritual influence on me, and for that I am so very grateful.

If you have any questions for me… deep or silly… just leave them in the comment section and I'll answer them in another post. :)

It's Not About Me.

In last Friday's post, I wrote a sentence about the externals in life not affecting the internal. How the things that happen to me are just that – external influences. They don't define who I am on the inside.

Since that post I've had a number of people email, asking me to write about what I view as an external vs. the internal. They want to know what defines me vs. what happens to me. I've mulled that over the last few days and I've come to the only conclusion that works for my life.

Everything is an external, except for Him. The internal is Him, working through me. The rest is just what He has to work with.

That's not to say that the externals don't affect my emotions. My dad's death rocked me to my core. This disease has changed every other external in my life and I have a lot of feelings about that. The external impacts us – we'd be cold and unfeeling if it didn't. The externals of other people's situations should impact us, too, so we can be empathetic and reach out to help as Jesus has instructed us to do.

The externals matter, because they spur us to action.

But that internal existence, the thing that dictates our emotional and outward reactions to all the externals, should be guided by one thing only: Him. Our trust in Him. Our belief in Him. Our guidance from Him. Our instruction that He has provided by His word.

As I thought about it I kept going back in my mind to a post I had written a few years ago when I talked about my own life not being about me, but about what He needs from me. So I'm going to repost that below… I think it will help explain what I mean by life's externals just being a way He can use us for His good.

Because like everything else in life, I think it comes down to trusting Him more than we trust ourselves.

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It's Not About Me
{originally posted January 13, 2009}

It's not about me.

That's what has been popping into my head a lot lately when people ask me questions about how I deal with being sick, why I don't get more frustrated, why I don't complain more or why I'm not angry about my situation.

We all want life to be fair. We want goodness to prevail and hard work to mean that life will be easier and ... that green grass on the other side of the fence that belongs to the people who don't appreciate it? We'd like that to be transplanted into the lawn of the person who spends all day feeding and watering the sparse looking grass in hopes of a fruitful harvest.

But all of that is "me" thinking... and it's not about me.

The plain and simple truth, if we take big lessons in life and strip them down to the bare essentials, is that we are tiny blips on a very big screen. Only God has the capacity to see all of it. He saw all that came before us and sees all that will come after us, and only He can know the role that each of us can play that will best serve Him and each other.

So, my life isn't ideal by our standards. By my standards, it's getting less ideal by the year. That whole living in pain thing? I could do without it. The getting sick thing? Gets old really fast. The never leaving the house thing? I could think of some fun places to go. I miss fresh air. I miss singing at church. I miss dancing until I'm out of breath and riding in a boat so fast if you close your eyes you think you're flying.

But it's not about me. It's about what He can do with my life. I have learned a lot about myself, my faith, my perspective. But that doesn't mean I was given this illness to teach me something. For all I know, God saw this illness was going to be in my body and helped nurture me so I could use it to affect someone else. And as much as I would like this disease to be gone when I wake up in the morning, if it serves a purpose for another person to see their life or relationship with God in a new light, then I wouldn't ask for it to be taken from me.

Because it's not about me. Nothing about my life is about me... it's about who He needs me to be.

And how can I complain about that?

Oh, complaining can come so easily for all of us... your small house, your flat tire, the promotion that should have been yours and the grass that grows so fast you don't have the time to mow it...

But what if the small house is so you are next to a neighbor who needs your help when her husband dies? Or your tire went flat when you were driving so it didn't happen when your teenage son was driving and he wouldn't have known what to do? Maybe the promotion would have been a dead end for you and next year a better opportunity will be waiting. And that lawn? Maybe it's the only exercise you do each week and is saving you from a heart attack.

The point is, you don't know. I don't know. But it's not about me. It's about how He can use my life... so as far as I'm concerned, even those things that make me want to pull my hair out and scream "Why me?!?" are blessings in disguise. Blessings for me, or for someone else, or for a reason I can't even imagine.

But it doesn't really matter. Because it's not about me.

Blog Peep Questions: Round 18

What flavor of ice cream should be outlawed?

Oh, that's easy. Mint chocolate chip. Seriously… mint anything is hideous to me. And there are also great ice cream flavors out there that are ruined by almonds and pecans and pistachios and other gross nuts. There were so many times that I was wanting a good old fashioned Rocky Road but never got to have any because so many brands use almonds instead of peanuts.

ick. Just wrong.

And while we're on the topic of gross things, what ever possessed someone to put coconut in a candy bar?

Seriously.

If you could eat three foods for the rest of your life, what would they be?

Cheese. Cheese. And cheese.

There are a great many foods I can no longer eat because my body has developed an allergy to different ingredients, but hands-down-without-question I miss cheese more than anything else.

Including chocolate.

I love cheese that much.

The funny thing is, I didn't realize how much I loved cheese until it was unavailable to me. Then I realized I ate it in everything, on everything and with everything. And yes, I know there are vegan options, but people… that's not cheese.

I miss it to the point where, if doctors ever tell me I only have hours left to live, I have friends who know exactly which restaurants to go to to get me food that has cheese in it so I can go out with a stomach full of happy.

For real, though, if I had to choose three things, I would probably say:

1. toasted cheese bread topped with bacon and dipped in ranch dressing
2. Mom's fried pork chops with mashed potatoes topped with milk gravy and corn
3. a really good bacon cheeseburger with Countryside barbeque sauce and fries

Sorry I've now made all of you hungry. :)

What was your favorite grade? Would you go back to school [not for a new degree, but to a time]?

This question made me think of the movie Miss Congeniality when Miss Rhode Island was asked what her perfect date would be and she answered, "That's a tough one. I'd have to say April 25th. Because it's not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket."

Because the first thought I had to "What was your favorite grade?" was A+.

I wouldn't go back to the drama of junior high or high school for all the money or health in the world, but I would totally go back to some of my college years. I loved everything about it. I loved the newfound freedom, I loved the friendships I formed, I loved that college held new responsibility but also held enough whimsy that it was acceptable to be social and fun at the oddest times.

I loved my classes… I loved that it was my job to sit in a room full of people and discuss books and write papers. It wasn't even work because it was so intriguing to me. I love the memories I have of that time in my life, and I'm so grateful I soaked in as much as I did.

Does Riley's personality remind you of any human you know?

Oh my word, I hope not. It's amazing what is acceptable in a dog, because I think he is the most perfect animal for me. He is incredibly attentive and I wouldn't trade him for anything.

But he is incredibly narcissistic. If I had a husband who was this clingy, demanded that I give him food at his every whim, expected me to clean up after him and required my full attention at all times – including jealousy over me speaking to or looking at another human – we'd be divorced in a hot minute. :)

If you have any questions for me… just leave them in the comment section and I'll answer them in another post. :)

Blog Peep Questions: Round 17

What is your middle name?

Anne. With the "e" … I'm guessing since Mom decided to leave the "h" off of Sara, she decided to get a little more creative with middle name. Mom's name is Jane Ann, and when I was little I added an "e" to her middle name in my baby book because I thought she must have misspelled it by accident. Oops.

I don't really know why she spelled my name different than hers, but it ended up working out well for me. When I was a junior in high school I had the lead in the play The Diary of Anne Frank, and it wasn't until the wrap party that we realized her name was built into the middle of mine: Sara "Anne Frank"l. At the time it felt like destiny. :)

How old are your siblings?

I'm the youngest of six kids. In order, we are:
Jerry: 45
Laura: 44
Jim: 43
Janette: 42
Steve: 40
Me: 37

The first three overlap ages every year… so when my brother Jim was born, my oldest brother Jerry was still one and Laura was in between them.

CRAZY.

Apparently, every year at the baptism my grandpas would say goodbye to each other by saying, "I'll meet you back here this time next year."

Poor Mom. :)

How did your parents meet?

I love this story. My mom was from a small, neighboring farm community called St. Benedict and attended the public school there. But since the Catholic high school was open in Algona, the priest in her town decided to help out enrollment and told my Grandma Flo that he wouldn't give her absolution for her sins unless her kids attended the Catholic school [Garrigan].

Seriously.

So, seeing that her soul was at stake, and she wasn't allowed to take part in communion unless she received absolution, Gram pulled mom out of school and away from all of her friends to send her to Garrigan.

Thank goodness. Because that's where my dad went to school every day. He was "that guy" with the cool van and a boat, and was the one everyone wanted to dance with at The Surf Ballroom on the weekends. He was smooth. :)

Anyway, Mom and a friend of hers were worried that they weren't going to get dates to the prom, and a nun at the school told them if they went into the chapel during lunch and said three Hail Mary's on a Tuesday, they would get dates for the prom.

Mom swears that they went into the chapel that day, walked back out and the first person she saw was Dad. He walked right up to her and asked her to the prom… and the rest was history.

I never tested this theory myself, but all you single girls out there… tomorrow is Tuesday. Find a chapel over your lunch hour and report back if you magically find the loves of your lives.

Maybe that nun was onto something. You never know. :)

Reaction of Habit

I received a few emails this weekend after my 5 minute: 5 years ago experiment on Friday. Three of them were almost identical… asking how I can keep believing so firmly after getting up only to get knocked back down again.

They weren't saying I shouldn't still believe, to clarify, they were just looking for a practical way to have that be their default reaction. And I'm here to say that it takes practice.

This comment by Jenn on that post summed it up well, I think:

the way i know that you believe what you believe deep down to your core is that this post is what came out when you only had 5 minutes to write about the topic at hand. i love that God has given this rock solid joy and perspective to you.

It is a belief down to my core. And trusting God with all my heart leaves no room to pretend His love isn't enough. But the only way I can have that reaction in every situation is by making it a habit. And making it a habit takes practice.

I don't want you to think that because I believe so strongly, life doesn't still hurt and keep hurting. It's just shy of eight months since Dad left us, and it still feels like someone is scraping out my soul with sandpaper. There is still a numbness and a grief that greets me every single morning when I open my eyes.

Believing doesn't spare us the grief. It doesn't spare me the pain of illness or the emotional exhaustion of surviving it every day. But survive it I do because I have practiced it.

I practice it by praying every day. I practice it in my pursuit of finding and choosing joy. I practice it in the morning when I wake to praise music to shift my focus, and I practice it in the evening when I read my bible.

I practice when I talk to people who are hurting and weep with them, and then reassure them of who our God is. I practice when I pray for peace and fortitude, and thank God for the people and blessings in my life. I practice when I thank Him for the good that comes from the difficult. I practice when I praise Him for simply being… because if He never does another thing for me in my life, I will already have been blessed beyond measure by His sacrifice on the cross.

I practice. I read. I pray. I don't have to try to find God in hard situations because I instead choose to acknowledge Him in all situations. I practice my reactions in the little things every day so that my reaction becomes habit when the big things hit.

Like all important things in life, my reaction that comes from habit only becomes a habit because I work at it.

Practice doesn't always make perfect. But it is an essential step in making life better. :)

Blog Peep Questions: Round 16

Does it drive you crazy to be alone all the time?

Honestly, it is so much more complicated than yes or no. The truth is that I want to scream Yes and explain No all in the same breath. I'll tackle the yes part first.

Yes. Oh my goodness, yes, there are times it gets really old being alone. I'd say mornings are probably toughest for a number of reasons. One is that I never feel well in the morning – I always wake up in a lot of pain, oftentimes I don't breathe as well first thing in the morning and it's hard for me to get sitting up to take my meds and get my body moving. So I'm not starting off from a place of strength, and I look at the clock knowing I have a whole day ahead of me, alone, to get through.

I know, not the hop-up-happy answer for the way a person likes to start the day. But that's probably when I most take note of being alone… partially because I don't feel well and partially because there is the knowledge that I don't know what's coming, if I'll be able to get up or not, if I'll feel well or sick, if I'll be exhausted or have a little energy to do something. All I really do know is that I'll be doing it by myself.

So that's why mornings can seem a little lonely. That is, of course, until Riley notices my eyes are open. Then he flings himself across my chest because he's certain that I've been longing all night just for the privilege of scratching his chest for him.

He's a little narcissistic. But I made him that way by entertaining his every whim, so I can't really complain. :)

But him noticing I'm awake and being so happy about it is what makes me smile every morning. He's my physical therapy as I start to move my arms and get my fingers working simply by petting him. He's pretty much my lifesaver.

Onto the no portion of this answer. The truth of the matter is, I am ok being alone most of the time simply because I know it has to be this way, and also because it gives me the freedom to do what I need when I need it. There is no one here to entertain or do things for or keep a schedule with. That means if I want to eat supper at ten o'clock at night because that's when I am less nauseous, that's ok. If I lose a whole day to coma sleep like Saturday, I'm not messing up anyone's plans. If I can't breathe well or am in a lot of pain or simply exhausted, I don't have to fake my way through it keeping someone company or making sure they don't worry.

I guess Riley gets his narcissism from me. :) But really, being this sick requires that kind of flexibility. I am in control of nothing, including the whims of my body, so I have to let it dictate what I do and when. I can't keep any real sort of schedule, which would be hard on other people. And that would make me feel incredibly guilty. More importantly, I could never live with someone because every germ they encounter out in the world, I would encounter when they came home. I have to be ok with being alone because it just simply wouldn't work.

I was the most social person you can imagine, so it was an adjustment for me, but it was a gradual process and I adapted as I went along. The sicker I am, the more I crave quiet. The more I crave simplicity and don't tolerate drama. Being tired a lot can sometimes make me melancholy, but it also makes me need the quiet and solitude.

So, yes. I get lonely every day. And no, it doesn't drive me crazy because it's what is absolutely necessary. And it all really depends on how you define being alone.

In the movie Harry Potter – Order of the Phoenix, there is a scene when Harry is feeling isolated and alone because of the lies being spread about him by followers of Voldemort [otherwise referred to as "You Know Who"]. His friend Luna says to him: "I suppose that's how he wants you to feel. If I were You Know Who, I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else because if it's just you alone, you're not as much of a threat."

And that's what all of you do for me. You make sure it's never just me alone. You defy my circumstances for me. You show up here and comment and keep me company. You send me notes and pictures of the outside world, even when I don't have the energy to write you all back. You all make sure I'm not cut off from living, and I can't imagine how much more crazy being alone all the time would make me if I really was alone.

But I'm not. I have you all to look forward to every day. Which means you all pretty much save my sanity. So you can mark one off in your win column just by being here and keeping me company. You do so much more than you think. :)

Flashback Friday... on a Monday

Many of you have asked me how I decide what to write about. In all honesty, I don't think a lot about it; I just write whatever is in me in that moment. This blog, other than being a place to connect with people, has primarily been a source for me to figure things out. To write things down. To have a place where I can go back and remind myself of things I need to remember.

I was hoping that I'd be feeling better by now [I am the most unrealistic human on the planet, apparently], but since I'm not yet feeling stellar, I thought I'd improvise and do a Flashback Friday on a Monday. And, ironically, when I went back to look for an old post I found one that was a darn good reminder for me right now. One I needed.

So I'm sharing in case it might be a good reminder for someone else out there, too.

Invincible
[originally published November 2008]

I love words. Not just for the sake of writing and their meaning, but the way they sound when spoken aloud. There are certain phrases that are given a depth that would otherwise go unnoticed. It's just something about the way the words sound together.

The quote pictured below is on my wall of doodles, and it's a perfect example of a message I like for it's meaning, but one I like so much better when said aloud. Try saying it and see if you feel the difference:

"In the midst of winter, I finally learned
there was in me an invincible summer."
                                                              ~Albert Camus

See what I mean? It sounds like poetry to me.

It's also a quote that happens to be true. I put this on my wall not to inspire me, but to remind me of what I've already learned so I don't have to keep re-teaching myself.

When things get harder, when my health is more trying, the thing that keeps me calm and sane is the fact that I know I've done it before. The pain has been bad before, the symptoms are all ones that I've faced in the past, the exhaustion has reared it's ugly head and the headaches have tried to break me. And during those times, those wintry moments when things seem cold and endless and bleak, there is a summer deep within me that is untouchable. Invincible. I know it's there even when it seems far away and unreachable because I've been through it all before... and the summer always rises to the surface.

I have faith that He hasn't left me empty. So in those moments I remind myself of what I've already learned... that in the midst of winter there is in me an invincible summer.

What have you already learned that seems easy for you to forget?

Because I really do believe that once we know better we can't pretend to be ignorant anymore. Try making it a habit to remind yourself now of what you've already learned so that during your next run of trouble... the winter moments that inevitably come... you will remember and believe that He hasn't left you empty.

Remember that He has given you an invincible summer within.

Praise.

One of the questions that was posed to me in the comments recently was this: "I am particularly curious of how you keep your spirits UP, and remain so seemingly serene."

I don't know that anyone who knows me in person has ever thought of me as serene – most of them would probably more accurately describe me as LOUD. [It's true.] But I will say that I feel pretty centered most of the time, and I figured out recently that it has everything to do with my focus on one certain aspect of prayer.

Praise.

That's why I've chosen Praise to be the word I focus on this year.

This really hit home for me recently when I started a new morning habit. Nighttime is difficult for me in terms of pain and rest. I don't sleep well, and often don't really get sleep until the morning hours when other people are getting up and starting their day. It's hard to keep my body on a sleep schedule because once my medications do kick in and the sleep [albeit restless] takes hold, it's hard for me to fully rouse out of the slumber.

To counteract this, I discovered an app on my iPad that will play music I've selected at a certain time every morning, and it gradually increases the volume to pull me out of sleep more gently. It helps me start to wake, the familiar music gets my brain to start working enough to roll over and take my pain meds, and then I lay in bed listening to songs until the meds kick in and I'm able to get myself into a position where I can get up.

This whole process takes about an hour.

The key here, for me, is the music I've chosen. I listen to Selah's Deliver Me cd, which is an hour long, and each song is a perfect prayer in just the right order. There are messages in each song that bring me to center. They are prompts to pray for certain people, certain circumstances, individual requests. And every one of them brings me to a place where I am praising the One who gave me the privilege to live this life, know these people and pray for them.

So at the beginning of each day when my pain is high and I wake with a bit of dread for what's ahead, my focus is immediately shifted. Rather than letting life run me, I take a simple action. I go from my own circumstance to thinking about others. I remember that this life is not about me and choose to give thanks to the God who loves me.

That is what keeps my spirits up... it's my focus on spirits other than mine. It's my focus on praising instead of dwelling on my own circumstances. It's not always easy, but it is something I have to choose to do if I am going to live the life He needs me to.

There is something that happens on Twitter that I love. I assume it's something people learned in Sunday school or youth groups – whenever someone tweets the message, "God is good!" many other people tweet in response, "All the time!"

I love it. I believe it. I need to remember it.

I want to own that kind of praise this year.

When things are going smoothly, when things are difficult, when life is in that in-between we don't know what to do with, the fact remains that God is good all the time. And that is worth praising Him for. That knowledge, that belief and that attitude of praise is what shapes who we can be in this life for Him.

He knows my past, present and future. He is surprised by nothing. He is with me, never leaves me even when I feel alone, and holds me up even when I think I am standing on my own two feet. He is good. All the time.

And I am going to praise Him through all of it.

It's Me. In a Video. Be Warned.

So, we did it! I'm in a video.

And I'm as dorky as I feared I'd be.

I wasn't sure for a few days if the video was going to happen, because at one point in the weekend my coloring waned between putrid and then rashy, and I was overdosing on anti-nausea meds in order to stop throwing up blood. No, you don't get to see those photos of me looking that cute. Yes, it is the kind of fun people look forward to when visiting the condo. ;)

Bless their hearts.

But by Sunday the meds were kicked in, I was feeling a million and ten times better and the only thing standing between you and a video of us was... me. I almost forgot. Good old Shannon, though, never forgot about you for a minute. She was packing up their stuff, getting ready to head out the door for their long trip home, and managed to give you a grand tour of the place.

We had talked earlier in the day about how to answer the main question people had about what a day in my life looks like. But seriously, there's not much to tell. The truth is that I don't do very much, move very much or get up very much. Actually, the goal my physical therapist set for me is that I get to a point where I can get out of bed once an hour, walk to the kitchen and get back in bed.

We have to work to get up to that. It's kind of pitiful. But a girl's gotta have a goal, right? :)

So a day in the life consists of me resting a lot. Sitting up in bed when I feel good, processing photos or writing for the blog at some point each day and generally just trying to keep going. I plan my shower based on when I want to try to work on the blog or if my nurse is coming, because I generally am exhausted after I take one. And I plan my bathroom breaks around when I get up to get a snack, which I plan around when I take my meds.

It's a laugh a minute around here.

Speaking of laughing, at one point in the video I get the giggles watching Shannon leaning over and waving her hand in front of the camera and you get to hear my laugh. Which can best be described as a hyena imitating a machine gun.

You're welcome.

So, enjoy your tour of the condo and your introduction to me. Shan did a great job showing you guys around, the girls are adorable, and I tried my best to be lively for you all. Which is probably why I'm dorky. :) Oh, and Eliana had one request... that we end the video with "kthanksbye" because that's what I say to her mama when I'm trying to win an argument and I want the last word.

I can't say it works, but I keep trying anyway.

christmas blog video from gitzengirl on Vimeo.

Blog Peep Questions: Round 14

What movie can you watch over and over?

Oh, I am so guilty of this. You know how little kids can watch a movie and then turn around and begin immediately watching it again?

And again.

And again.

[Like the Barney movie when you wanted to pull your hair out if you heard "I Love You, You Love Me..." one more unbearable time.]

Yeah, that's how I am with movies. And books for that matter. And, if I'm honest, food. I can eat the exact same thing every day for months on end... which has come in quite handy since there are so few foods that: a) I'm not allergic to, and b) my stomach can handle without getting sick. My mom can attest to the fact that for an entire year before afternoon kindergarten I would eat a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich every day for lunch before getting on the bus.

And not because she wouldn't make me anything else. I was just happy with  my routine.

As for movies, I've been known to repetitiously watch Steel Magnolias, The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, The Notebook, The Proposal, The Holiday, etc. etc. etc. It's ridiculous. Now that Christmas is coming, I can guarantee you I'll watch Bing Crosby's White Christmas multiple times every week.

The only way I can explain it is to liken it to comfort food.

Other people find their familiar – their comfort – in chocolate or their favorite dessert or whatever carb makes them feel full and warm and at ease.

For me, it's the familiar story, the sounds of the conversations, the music and the scenery that feels like coming home. Last year when the pain from the Spondylitis and Cushing's had me completely immobilized, the only thing I could stand was watching back to back episodes of Alias. It was ok if I closed my eyes, if I fell asleep, if I paid attention or not – because I knew what had just happened, what was coming next and what was being said in every single scene. It was familiar and soothing and required no effort from me when no effort could be given.

Since this summer, my comfort food has been the six Harry Potter movies.

Yes, I'm basically a 12-year-old.

But since Dad died, I can't seem to get into television shows that I would normally be chomping at the bit to see. It seems to take more effort for me to concentrate, I think partially because of the grief, partially because my pain has risen [and as a result so have my pain meds] and I've barely had a minute when I haven't been sick, which means I've been more tired. So comfort movies have been my saving grace.

Why Harry Potter? Because the movies are familiar, the music is mostly soft and soothing, and those English accents are a bit melodic, aren't they? It's like old friends stopping by for a visit, only I don't have to sit up and carry on a conversation, or worry about whether or not they are bringing germs in with them. :)

And the movies take me back to a time when my nephew Thomas, niece Anna and I would have Harry Potter weekends. We would watch them in a marathon, sometimes until three in the morning, while eating ice cream and candy and all the things adults should say no to. We would re-read the books during the day and throw about our theories and just spend time.

Wasting days on movies and books turned out to be days that weren't wasted at all. They are ones I treasure, and getting lost in them again is so much better to me than all the comfort foods I'm now allergic to.

Although I do still miss frozen Oreos.

Blog Peep Questions: Round 13

What's the most rebellious thing you've ever done?

Oh, people.

I was not what you'd call a rebellious child. We've had this conversation before, and Mother has confirmed that whatever word describes the polar opposite of mischievous is the word that would best describe me. Catholic guilt was my most consistent emotion.

But as I was on Facebook tonight chatting back and forth with Goi, one of my dearest friends from high school, I remembered a time when we tried really hard to be rebellious.

Tried being the operative word here.

We were sophomores in high school and the guys in our class were rebellious enough for all of us. If they could find a way to get into trouble, they jumped in with both feet.

One day, a bunch of us were sitting in the cafeteria during study hall when the boys started bragging about stealing some random road sign. And some of us girls [Goi and I included] were trying to tell them it wasn't that big of a deal. That it wasn't the amazing feat they were claiming it to be.

And then we decided to put our money where our mouth was.

[Dear Mother: you may want to stop reading now...]

Of course, we were girls and that meant that we were more logical than our male counterparts. So we decided we would only steal a stop sign from a country road where there was little traffic and less chance anyone would get hurt from our actions. [Thoughtful, weren't we?] We also decided to focus our efforts out by the acreage where I lived because it was fairly secluded so there was less chance of getting caught – and if anyone happened upon us out there we could get in the car quick and say we were just headed to my house.

We were totally thinking ahead.

We were so prepared with tools and cover stories and oodles of logic.

What we weren't prepared for were the bolts on the sign being so dang tight.

Seriously, people. I have a hard time believing the wimpy 15 year old boys in the sophomore class had enough muscle on their own to get those bolts loosened. I'm convinced to this day that they took some sort of power tool out there with them.

Although, showing my age here, I'm not entirely sure battery powered tools were as readily available 20 years ago.

Regardless, it was insane. At one point, Goi and I were both holding onto the wrench [totally not even sure it was a wrench... I'm not tool savvy] and pulling on that sucker with all of our might when the wrench flew out of our hands and into the overgrown ditch. Goi jumped in to retrieve it, only to start yelling about getting bit and her face burning and swearing she jumped right into a mad swarm of something.

Turns out she did.

We gave up on the sign entirely [and probably lost the wrench-like tool in the process] and when I showed up in study hall the next day, Goi was there with one eye almost swollen shut and red bites on her face.

Seriously. Poor girl. I don't remember how she explained that one to her parents, but I'm sure it was a doozy.

All this to say... I have succeeded at a great many things in my life.

Being rebellious was not one of them.

Blog Peep Questions: Grandparents, part 4

What is your favorite memory of a grandparent?

I know it's hard to believe when looking at this face:

but the best word to sum up my Grandpa Gerald is ORNERY. I think that's why Riley adored him so much when Gramps was here visiting. Those two are cut from the exact same cloth. Ornery as all get out, but so cute they can get away with it. :)

It's so hard to pick just one or two things to tell you all about my grandpa, because what's fun about him is everything about him all wrapped up into one package. The way he goes about every undertaking with a whistle on his lips. The way he starts a story and somehow ends up telling it in an Irish accent because it sounds more entertaining. The way he concentrates when working on something intricate and bites his tongue out the side of his mouth. And the way he has, despite all that concentration, cut off almost all his fingers at one point or another.

Grandpa Gerald is simply never boring.

He and Grandma Rita would come to our house when I was little and Grandpa would place his fingers on the piano and pluck out a rousing Redwing for all of us to pair up and dance to. And he'd do this, despite the fact that he could never read a lick of music. I was shocked when he was at my house a few years ago and, despite him losing some of his mental abilities due to Lewy Body Dementia, he placed those hands [with a few missing fingertips] on my piano keys and played that familiar old tune from my youth. And I smiled, knowing Grandpa would always be Grandpa when it came right down to it.

I'm sure he made all of his granddaughters feel special, but when he'd give me a hug and say, "So how's my little sweetheart?" it was hard to believe he felt that much love for everyone. He'd show love in the little things, like teaching me that vanilla ice cream just needed a little bit of warmed applesauce and cinnamon to make the perfect dessert. He'd make filling bird feeders or cleaning up the pontoon boat less a chore and more of a special outing. And he loooooved to stun you with grand gestures. Like the time we went to visit and renting VCRs at the video store was the big new thing... but the store we went to had them all rented out already. So he simply drove to the store and bought a VCR instead.

We thought he'd lost his mind. Or was magical. We were never sure which.

As much as my dad had my Grandma Rita's personality, he had almost all of my Grandpa Gerald's mannerisms. They had the same hands, the same way of talking to themselves as they worked on a project, the same way of giving their attention to their grandchildren and making every task a learning adventure.

It's hard for me knowing that Grandpa won't ever be well enough to travel again, and that it's impossible for me to get to him. I miss walking into a room to give him a kiss on the lips and blowing a raspberry instead just to get him to laugh and say, "You little shit" through his chuckles. I miss playing cribbage with him and having him tell me to "Drop my voice" when I'm still trying to find a combination of 15 and he knows I have none left. I miss the twinkle in his eye when he's telling a tall tale and the sweetness of just sitting and holding his hand.

But now, there's a part of me that is ok knowing Dad will see him before I will again. That when Grandpa's time comes, he and Dad will be able to sit together and talk about all of us, about their lives and the stories that had been left untold between them. Heaven doesn't seem like such a faraway place to me anymore. It just seems like a place where loved ones are waiting. And when Grandpa's time comes, I know Dad will be the first face he sees.

And I kind of hope Dad tells Grandpa to "drop his voice." Just for fun. :)

Blog Peep Questions: Grandparents, Part 3

What is your favorite memory of a grandparent?

Oh, how I adore my Grandma Rita.

I mean, of course I love her. And admire her. But mostly, I think I adore her.

I adore the memories I have of her when I was growing up. She was what everyone thinks of in a Grandma. She bustled in the kitchen, singing to the radio and moving with a bit of a beat in her step. She’s the type of woman who instantly makes you just a little bit happier being around her.

And she made me feel adored, too. She’s a woman who always had time for the little things, which are often the most important things. She’d stop in her busyness to twirl with me in the kitchen. She wouldn’t just peel an apple for a snack, she’d show me how to do it while creating one, long, twirly red apple peel. She’d make me German pancakes with applesauce, and would serve them on her pretty china she got from Germany... just because I thought it was special. She would play endless games of hearts and cribbage and crazy eights. She’d save the bread crusts and show me the best way to get the squirrels to come to us on the patio.

She knew the little things that made little people happy.

Grandma Rita would walk with me around their yard at the lake so we could admire her purple flowers and refill the bird feeders. Nothing was ever a job... it was just a daily task that was made special because we were doing it together. She was always teaching, always listening, always humming a tune and always making every little thing important.

I truly adore my Grandma Rita.

I love that she was always thrilled to see us. She’d have our bedrooms looking lovely and the toys we cherished ready and waiting. She would show me the little nooks and crannies in their downstairs kitchen that had trinkets I could use when playing store. There were post office looking shelves where things could be organized and imaginations could be fed. She never thought ideas were silly or games were too much trouble.

She seemed to love her life exactly as it was. With her children and grandchildren and her home... full of love and happiness.

At least that’s how it felt to this granddaughter.

I suppose if there is one compliment I could pay her, it would be that she reminds me more of my dad than anyone else. Just like him, she makes a room happier simply by being in it. She is kind and loving and selfless. She cares about people and makes sure they know it. Dad knew how much she loved him, and he adored her, too. The past few years that Grandpa and Grandma lived closer, Dad would call me on the way home from his visits with them. He would tell me about their marble games, and what she had made him for dinner and that he got her home all vacuumed before he left.

He was so very happy to be her son.

I hope I’m like her, too. I hope I always look at my life and find the beauty in it. I hope I always keep a tune at my lips and a beat in my ever-slowing-steps. I hope I always treasure the people in my life and make sure they know it, and make time for the little things that are important to little people. I hope I have her positive nature and happy spirit but, above all else, I hope I have her strength and her faith.

I really do adore you, Grandma Rita.

Love always, Sara

Blog Peep Questions: Grandparents, Part 2

What is your favorite memory of a grandparent?

Last week I told you about my Grandma Flo, and today I get to tell you about her husband. My Grandpa Joe:

Mom and Grandpa Joe in 1990, about a year before he passed away.

I wish I could tell you I remember a lot about my Grandpa Joe before he got Alzheimer’s, but most of my vivid memories are after it started affecting him and they moved into town from the farm.

My siblings talk more about his dog Duke and playing in the barns, but most of what I remember from the farm were little things inside the house. I remember Grandma telling us not to play upstairs, but I loved sneaking up there because I was mesmerized by the glass door handles that I thought looked like diamonds. And I remember the grates on the floors that were the warmest place to stand in my red buckle shoes during cold winters that were more suited for boots.

But even though I don’t remember as much about the old days with my Grandpa as my siblings, I love the sweet memories I have after he got sick. He was very warm and tender, and would hold my hand and call me his girl when I would sit with him. And he taught me that food is so much better layered together, as he would take his mashed potatoes, carefully place the dip in the middle where he would slather on the milk gravy, and top it off with corn.

Not going to lie. My mouth just watered a bit as I was typing that. Yum.

And while he would tell the same story repeatedly, as many as 15 times right in a row, I think they were better stories because he wasn’t as inhibited due to the Alzheimer’s. My favorite story he told was when his mother would have him and his brother go out to catch a chicken to have for dinner. He’d tell me how they worked so hard doing their chores that they didn’t want to give up one of their own chickens. Then he’d start in on the elaborate tale of sneaking over to the neighbor’s farm and trying to be quiet while they stole a chicken out of their coop.

The key to the story was always the ending, though... when it turned out their mom had invited the neighbors over and they never realized they ate their own chicken at that dinner!

The only part of the storytelling I hated were the brief moments when he’d have a flicker of recognition after telling it a few times, and ask me if he had already told it to me. But I always told him he hadn’t, that I was anxious to hear how it turned out. And that smirk would come back as he’d get to the punch line. I still wonder if the story was true, or if he just enjoyed being ornery and seeing my reaction. :)

One of my most beautiful memories is getting to be with Grandpa on the day he passed away. It was the summer I had graduated from high school and was getting ready to head to college. He had been in the hospital after surgery, with my mom and her sisters all taking turns being with him and Grandma. It was an afternoon I had off of work and I sat with him while the others had a break. He had done pretty well, but was beginning to confuse me for his own mother, and then became agitated... wanting to take out his IV and leave. I had called Mom and told her I wasn’t sure what to do, and when she came up it was discovered that he had gotten pneumonia after the surgery.

All of his children came and he died later that night, but the time in between calling Mom there and his actual death was truly beautiful. It was my first experience of being with someone when they died, and the faith of the people in that room – loving and caring for him – was so impactful. At one point, after Grandpa had been unconscious for a bit, we were all gathered around his bed praying. A priest, who was a close family friend, was leading us in the rosary when we could suddenly hear Grandpa Joe faintly saying the prayers with us in German... just as he had prayed those prayers as a little boy.

I remember learning that night what an impact prayer can have. The impact of being so faithful to prayer in daily life over the years that it was second nature to a man - even in his ill state, even with his mind escaping him - during the final moments of his earthly life. The impact on a family when faith filled the room, even when some of the members there might not have had that strong faith in their lives at the time. The impact on a young girl who saw that there is more beyond this life, that Spirit can fill a place as cold as a hospital room and warm the grieving people in it.

So, when you ask me my favorite memory of my Grandpa Joe, it’s more than the sweet and ornery stories he told, or the way he ate his potatoes, or the tender moments of mistaking me for loved ones who had passed on long ago. My favorite memory is of him praying the rosary in a German tongue, and teaching his granddaughter that prayer is a constant to rely on and rest in.

Daily and faithfully.

Blog Peep Questions: Grandparents, Part 1

What is your favorite memory of a grandparent?

I thought this was a great question, but can’t just pick one story since I have four grandparents. :) So, I thought I’d do a post for each of them over the next few weeks. Since today would have been my Grandma Flo’s birthday, I figured it was appropriate that I start with her.

Grandma Flo was a tiny red head who packed a whole lot of attitude into her little self. She wasn’t a woman who got on the floor to play or spread a ton of hugs and kisses around, but she was an incredibly faithful woman who was diligent in praying for her family.

I recently responded to a tweet from my friend Mandy when she made some reference to holy water, telling her that I woke up out of a dead sleep once because my Grandma Flo had doused me with holy water.

She thought I was kidding.

I totally wasn’t.

I was staying in her guest room when I was in high school and my parents were on vacation. I had gotten bronchitis, and since she had been a nurse for many years she thought I should stay there rather than home alone. Apparently the guest room is where Grandma Flo sat and prayed her rosary every night, because I woke up with her in the room – bottle of holy water in hand – spraying it in different directions.

She literally scared the devil out of me.

I asked her what she was doing, and she shushed me and told me to go back to sleep. Normally I didn’t question Gram, but this one was just a little too odd for me to let go. She finally explained that she prayed for each of her children and grandchildren every night, and sprayed holy water in the direction of where they lived and asked God to watch over them and keep them safe.

Which I thought was really kind and sweet. And a little creepy when it woke me up in the middle of the night. But every once in awhile, when it’s pouring down rain outside, I wonder if Grandma Flo has bent Jesus’ ear and asked Him to cover us in His holy water when we need a little extra help. Trust me when I tell you, if anyone could tell Jesus how to do his job, it would be Flo. :)

Now, while that is my most impactful memory of Grandma, it’s actually not my favorite. The memory I most treasure is actually much simpler and less dramatic.

When Grandma was struggling with emphysema, but was still living at home alone, there was a weekend when my parents and my Aunt Mary were both out of town at the same time. I didn’t have anything going on, so I went home for the weekend and “dropped in” for a few unplanned visits with Gram. She was very independent and not one to be taken care of, and wouldn’t have appreciated thinking I was home on her account.

We sat watching the Cubs play, and had some of the nicest conversations I ever had with her. We talked some about her younger days and a trip she and Grandpa had taken on a train with friends of theirs. I’d never heard many stories about the two of them that weren’t centered around their kids and farming and working life, so it was nice to get a peek into that side of their world.

There was a moment during the conversation when she had started coughing and went into the bathroom, staying in there longer than I felt she should have. So I knocked on the door and she reluctantly let me in. She was so sore from coughing and had been trying to rub a salve on her back but couldn’t reach. I asked her if she would please let me help her.

And she did.

I know it probably sounds silly to choose that as a favorite memory, but for that moment my Grandma needed me and let me care for her. She let me rub a salve on her back and show her a moment of love and concern. She wasn’t one to easily accept hugs and kisses, so for her to allow me to help her like that was the most generous gesture she could have given to me.

It reminds me at times to let myself be helped as well. It reminds me that people who care for you often need the opportunity to give even more than you need the chance to receive. My Grandma Flo had an absolutely beautiful death just one day after Christmas that year. Most everyone had been there to see her at some point, and after I had sang at Christmas Eve Mass, a few of us spent the evening with her... dining in her room at the nursing home and singing Christmas carols.

I sang Ave Maria to her and she patted my hand and said, “So pretty.” Another simple moment of giving something to her. The simple moments of caring for her in the only way I knew how... they are the ones I will always treasure the most.

Riley's New Contract

Wowza, people. That was one seriously close vote on the logo for Blog Peep Questions! Honestly... total nail biter. :) I had a few email submissions from those who subscribe to get the blog posts in their email inbox every day, and I promised I would include their votes as well.

Final tally:

Bird Peep: 27

Cutest Blog Dog Ever: 24

I’ll be totally honest and say that I think the bird fits the theme of the posts better, too. But when I broke the news to Riley, I totally blamed it on all of you. I mean, what else could I do when I looked at this pitiful face:

He’s ok now, though. I gave him some extra pork roast to eat with his antidepressant medication tonight and assured him that his position as blog dog is a permanent one. I think he’s a little less trusting, however, because he’s demanded a new contract assuring at least one photo of him appears on here every week. And a raise in his allotted number of daily Cheerios.

He drives a hard bargain, but I’m a sucker for those big eyes. :)

So, from here on out, this remains the Blog Peep Questions logo:

But he remains the alpha:

As it should be. :)

Blog Peep Questions: Round 12

Ok. First thing’s first. I have a pressing question for YOU...

Which one of these Blog Peep logos do you prefer?

OR...

I know. You were expecting something a little more important, weren’t you? But I really can’t decide, so I’m leaving it up to you which one I use in the future. Leave your choice in the comment section and whichever is liked the most, I’ll use. Never let it be said we aren’t a democracy around here. :)

Now, onto some of YOUR questions...

If a movie was made about your life, what would it be called?

I said this line in passing to a friend of mine a few years ago, and it immediately struck me that it would be the perfect title for a book [and, in turn, a movie]: My Life is So Crazy My Dog is on Antidepressants.

Right? Isn’t that perfect? And, sadly, totally true!

This question segues into a few others you all have asked. Namely, What would you title your book? Are you writing a book? and What’s one writing project you’ve been putting off?

Well, the book title we’ve already covered, and the other answer is... aren’t I kind of already writing a book for you all? I’m just doing it in tiny little daily installments here on the blog. :) Think of it this way... if I wrote a book, I wouldn’t have the time or energy to write here every day. Not to mention, you get this for free and you’d have to shell out your hard earned money for a book!

So, the answer to whether or not I’m putting off any writing projects... Nope! This blog is my writing project. Which means YOU are all my writing project.

What could be more important than you? :)

Who would you want cast in your role for the movie?

I can’t imagine who would play me. Of course, I want to say Jennifer Garner, but that’s mostly because I’m so obsessed with all things Alias that the idea of her playing me would make my head explode. And it’s the only way I could ever pretend to have her perfectly sculpted arms. [My friend Shannon and I refer to them as “Alias arms.” We need to get a life. We know this.]

I really like Rachel McAdams in The Notebook, and Kyra Sedgwick in Something to Talk About, but I’m not sure if I think they’d be right to play me as much as I just totally want to have the chutzpa of their characters in those movies.

If you were to star in a movie, which would it be?

I would LOVE to live Meg Ryan’s life in You’ve Got Mail. Seriously. First of all, she’s adorable. I love the idea of walking the streets of New York, picking up flowers on my way to work, stopping at different vendors and eating lunch at a sidewalk cafe while watching the people walking by.

And speaking of work, to own that children’s bookstore? I’d be in heaven. I love the books... and to get to take a break in the day to put on a hat and act out stories to the kids who came to listen? Come on. How fun can life get? Plus, the store itself has so much character... you can almost smell the old wood and the polish and the fresh scent of new paper. And I would need a character in my life like Birdie who could serve me tea on pretty china and tell me stories about her life that are too far fetched to be true. Except they are.

Don’t even get me started on her apartment. It’s so happy and quaint and perfectly her. And if I had Tom Hanks show up with daisies because they are a happy flower... well, let’s just say I’d be happy in that movie.

Ok, now don’t forget to vote on which logo you like better, and feel free to ask any questions that come to mind in the comment section.

Anything goes. :)

YOU:create ... Week 6

This week, we’re combining a YOU:create with a Blog Peep Question.

Ready?

I’ve been asked about a million versions of this same question:
What special scrapbooking program do you use?

The quick answer: none.

When I first started digital scrapbooking, I didn’t really know the whole medium existed. It was just getting harder for me physically to use my hands and lean over a table, so I had the bright idea to scan in some papers that I loved and put some pages together in Microsoft Publisher.

Yep. That’s my big scrapbooking program. The one I already had on my computer. Turns out, though, that it worked so well it’s what I’m still using now. I eventually did some Google searches and discovered a ton of digital scrapbooking resources. My two favorite sites for papers, elements and kits are Designer Digitals and Little Dreamer Designs. Both have the style of product I like to use, and both have great sale days and freebies that got me started.

There are also a lot of scrapbooking software programs out there, many where you can drop photos into premade designs, but for me... scrapbooking is all about creative freedom. I like starting with a blank, white sheet of paper and layering items until I find the look I want. When I started, I also didn’t have any money to spend, which is why I opened the Publisher program already on my computer and just started. Which means any of you can start this endeavor without spending a fortune.

In Publisher I can open any photos and design elements, resize them, crop them and rotate them. I can layer photos with frames and embellishments and then group them together as one item so I don’t accidentally move or separate them after I place them how I want them. There are ways to change colors, contrast and saturation levels, and my favorite little trick is the little transparent wand that turns the white background transparent, allowing the background to show through.

Here’s an example of a photo, frame and four flower elements grouped together:

Easy Peasy.

Now, don’t get me wrong... I LOVE Photoshop. I process every single picture I take in that program. I can’t imagine photography without it, and a lot of people use it to create their scrapbooking pages as well. I just didn’t have the program when I started, and there was a learning curve that I didn’t take the time to figure out since I already had a simple system in place that I liked.

Basically, I attribute that to being lazy. :)

One other program I did purchase, before I got Photoshop, is FXFoto (creative edition). It’s a cheaper alternative that gave me a little more freedom and creativity with templates. Basically, any black frame/template that can be used around a photo, like this:

can have a paper placed over it to turn it into this:

Which means you have as many frame options as you have papers to drop on it. Again... so many think that their choices are more limited with digital scrapbooking, but I find I have so much more at my fingertips. There is a part of me that misses the actual paper in my hands, but even if I had the choice now I don’t think I’d go back. It’s especially nice because once I have a layout finished, I not only have it for my book but I can print out another copy and make the same book for Mom if I want... without having to recreate the project. So if you are scrapbooking the same event for more than one of your children’s books, this might be a route that’s for you.

So, there’s a quick overview of how I do my scrapbooking. If you guys have more in depth questions or want more specific information, let me know and I’ll be happy to help if I can. I’m obviously not a professional at this, but I’d be happy to share with you what I’ve found to be the simplest and least expensive way to enjoy this hobby.

Now... speaking of inexpensive...

I have a freebie of my own to pass along to you! :)

One of the “doodle requests” last week was for handwritten Months to lay over your photos or onto your scrapbook pages, much like the Days I had given you all previously. Ask and you shall receive...

I’ve put them in a .zip file you can download... just click on the button below and it will take you to the download page!

I can’t wait to see what you guys came up with this week! Just click below and follow the instructions to link to your project. When it asks you to choose the web or a file for your thumbnail, choose web. Then it will take you to a list of the images on the page you are linking to and you’ll be able to choose a photo to represent your project.

In the Pursuit of Normal

I remember after 9/11 happened and David Letterman first came back on the air, he said he wasn’t sure how to do something normal again. How to tell a joke when nothing in his life felt funny.

I feel a little bit like that. The day after Dad’s funeral I got up, looked at Alece and said, “What are we supposed to do now?” It felt like there should be more to do; I just had absolutely no idea what that was. So, I find myself trying to do normal things while feeling anything but normal. My sister Laura described it best when she said she feels like she’s walking through her day with a nagging homesick feeling in her stomach.

We’re all homesick for Dad.

But, we are all going to do the normal things despite feeling homesick. We’re going to tell jokes even if nothing in life feels funny. I’m going to get back to our normal blogging routine, even if in the course of it I talk about Dad and grief and all that comes with it.

Thanks in advance for bearing with me. :) The most normal thing I can do is share with you all whatever comes to mind... show you what real life is here... and throw in a lot of sarcasm for good measure. In other words, business as usual.

So, tomorrow begins our Tuesday Gitz Bits again. I’m going to go around and take some photos that will sum up some of the last few weeks, and then we’ll get back to a photo a day after that. I’m also going to start back with our YOU:create project this Thursday.

Ironically, Mom had taken photos of Dad doing a project that I told him I was going to put in a YOU:create post, so I’m going to go ahead and do that on Thursday. If any of you did projects the past few weeks even though I wasn’t posting, I’d love for you to link them up there so I can go around to your blogs and get caught up with you. Then, starting next week, I’ll be posting my own creative endeavors once again.

Now, who wants to help in my pursuit of normalcy?

[Don’t everyone raise their hands at once...] :)

I’m going to be bringing back Blog Peep Questions for awhile to help me get back in the swing of things. So here is your mission, should you choose to accept it:

Leave me a question in the comment section. It can be deep, shallow, personal, obscure, interesting, silly, insightful or random. I don’t care. You ask it, I’ll answer it... anything goes!