I Will

I've spent this month compiling all of my notes and preparing a timeline for the historical fiction novel I will be writing my first draft for this November. 

I've been writing character bios and fact checking actual events in history. I've been learning proper slang terms in various time periods and writing detailed notes on proper attire for the 1830's on to modern times. 

I've been working my creative butt off all while packing up the house and preparing to move almost 1,700 miles away. 

Then I found out I was pregnant. 

I've wanted to be a "real" writer for so many years. I'm not stopping now. I will keep writing. Even if I don't hit my goal word count by Nov. 30th, I will keep writing. 

Then will come the editing, the proof reads, the begging people to read it for feedback, the re-editing, the locking it up in a desk for however many months it needs to rest, and then the re-read with fresh eyes. All while juggling three kids, another move, a new house, and a new life. 

Maybe something will come of it. Maybe it won't. But I just want to get this story out of my head. I want to bring life to the characters I already know. Even if no one else will ever meet them. 

I want to be able to say, "hey, I wrote a book once..." 

Novel November

It's official. I'm writing a novel in the month of November. I have 25 days to go through the piles and piles of notes I've been keeping, fact check my timeline, and organize my thoughts all while packing up and moving. Yay.

Alas, the NaNoWriMo 2015 project waits for no one. From November 1st through November 30th, I have to write a 50,000 word first draft. I might be insane to choose my far more complicated plot idea, which will require historically accurate facts and will likely exceed 50,000 words, as opposed to the simpler-to-write story that I have been working on for over 5 years. But I'm taking advantage of the built in childcare I will have this November (thanks family!) to attempt the more complicated tale. 

One of the first steps to this project is to announce my intention, so that I will be subjected to the well deserved mockery of everyone who reads this should I fail. So here it is. I'm writing a novel this fall. If you see me around, ask how many words I have written so far. Chase me back into my cave with a lit torch until I have written an acceptable number of words. 

And so, I begin my journey towards becoming a caffeine-addled penmonkey!

Currently reading: Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery

All the pretty little horses

The last in my series of depression posts is one that I rarely talk about. But in many ways it was the most scary to me. It was the one where I felt most confused and out of control.

10 to 15 percent of all postpartum women experience postpartum depression. Usually, symptoms occur within 2 weeks of childbirth. However, symptoms have been known to show up anywhere within the first year. Also noteworthy is that about one in one thousand women will develop postpartum psychosis. These women are at an extremely high risk of suicide.

It was remarked to me on several occasions that there was some surprise that I hadn't developed postpartum depression; the last two weeks of my first pregnancy and for some time afterwards I was completely incapacitated due to an injury. Birth and immediate recovery in the hospital, where I was suppose to be bonding with my new baby, were extremely difficult. 

Every time this remark as made to me, I looked around at my home. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink, empty pizza boxes littered the counters, my hair was matted, and my clothes hadn't been changed in a week. No, I thought, this is just motherhood. Right? I'm fine

My son was an incredibly easy baby. Aside from some initial breastfeeding problems (that I blamed myself for with a passion), he was a good sleeper, even tempered, and adorable. I had no reason to be sad. But I was. Baby blues, I said. Right? I'm fine.

Like the story book, that baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. I looked around at my home. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink, empty pizza boxes littered the counters, my hair was matted, and my clothes hadn't been changed in a week. But I was just busy. I was busy in my constant research to be the perfect mother. I would do everything right. I didn't matter anymore. Nothing except my boy mattered. Right? I'm fine.

I would occasionally catch sight of myself in the mirror. My eyes were hollow and I didn't recognize the face staring back at me. Just sleep deprivation, I thought. All moms feel this. Even though my son was a pretty good sleeper. I would just lie awake at night because I was listening to him breathe. I was a devoted, vigilant mother. Never mind the strange buzzing sound I would hear on occasion. Probably means I drank too much caffeine today, right? I'm fine.

What twaddle these new moms spout off. They aren't doing it right. They don't do the things I do. The things that my hours of research tell me is the right way to parent. I see their weakness. I have no weakness. It's odd that the buzzing noise comes in the day time. Yes, my love. You can pour all of the flour out onto your little table. That's what good moms do. I will let you explore with all of your senses. I will clean it up eventually. When I feel better. When this noise stops. It will stop, right? I'm fine. 

No one understands my boy but me. I will always be his protector and his advocate. I don't know who wants to hurt him. But someone does. I wont let them. Maybe the shadows know. That one that just moved down the hall. At least I know what makes the noise. I will be able to understand all tonight. I wont sleep. It doesn't want me to sleep. In the mean time, I need to get a new activity going for my boy. The shadows will know when I let my guard down. I wont do that. I can't do that... right? I'm fine.

Toasted jamstick. Shadows are watching. It moves around the room. But if they know what I see, they might take my boy. I'm fine. I'm fine. A new approach. A new daily schedule. You can't catch me when I'm concentrating. When I'm mothering. Why is it so loud? Don't look at me that way. I'm doing things right! I'm doing what they say is best. No, I don't matter. Why should I? I'm a mom now. That's all. I'm not fine. 

I was adamant about not seeing a psychiatrist. I wanted to continue breastfeeding and I knew that medicated would stop that. My therapist was an amazing woman who listened to me, who listened to the ramblings. Who understood and put a name to what I was dealing with. She was able to break through the fog and give me a place to pour out all that was inside my head. She was not totally comfortable with my refusal of medication at first, but I was able to regain myself through our visits. It helped that once my mind was clear, I was able to draw from my experiences with meth psychosis and rationalize the postpartum psychosis. 

Our weekly appointments had to stop when we moved away, but I have been able to draw on her advice ever since to lead a relatively normal life, though normal to me is quite a bit different than the accepted definition. 

I don't advise not seeking help sooner, or refusing medication if someone is experiencing postpartum depression and psychosis. I was just stubborn. Always have been. 

Inferno

Statistically speaking, one in three female high school students will experience abuse of some kind in a dating relationship.
Women ages 18-34 are at the greatest risk for experiencing abuse. Half of these women will attempt suicide.
Alternately, one in four victims of abuse turn to drugs.
I chose the latter.

Without going into the details of my first experience and the dirty details of my time as an active addict, because I'm saving the long story for another time, I'll stick to simple facts.

It was a means of escape. The drug was an instant reward to my long suffering mind.
During this time I was fearless. Something I had never been, especially lately. My voice came through loud and clear. I told him to stop.
I told him I would take no more.
Drugs helped me to escape him.
I was free. Or so I thought.

It became clear very early on that I was increasing my intake at a rapid pace.
I never said no. Cocaine, heroin, crack, ecstasy, pills. All were welcome, but meth was my drug of choice. I gave it no boundaries. Pipes, lines, syringes. All were welcome.
All were welcome.

Then I began to exhibit alarming signs. My own drug using friends started telling me that I needed to cut down. Something wasn't right. The pleas to cut down turned into please to stop altogether.
After surviving a near overdose, I began to see their point. But it's not so easy.

Substance abuse is the second leading cause for suicide according to Psychology Today. In fact, people with substance use disorders are six times more likely to commit suicide than the general population.
I once witnessed the scene of a recent suicide. A week before, I was talking with the victim about his inability to get a handle on his own meth addiction.

Luckily, I had the support I needed to quit. The statistics that addicts face are dark.

To be continued... 

Star No Star

I met him when I was 16. He was 18 and all the girls wanted him. But he chose me. 

In our rocky, on again off again relationship that spanned 3 years, I slowly became his possession rather than his girlfriend. 

It happened innocently enough. He requested that I stop talking to former boyfriends who were now friends. Done. Then he requested that I stop talking to girls who were friends with the former boyfriends. I was hesitant, but agreed. 

Once I slipped up and said Hi to a friend. All hell broke loose. I broke a promise. It was my fault. I would do better. 

I was now the faulty one in the relationship. It was constantly hung over my head. I could not be trusted. 

Once, I slipped up again. I took a 15 minute shower. In that time, I missed 24 calls. He screamed obscenities at me for an hour. I spent that time crumpled on the floor in a towel, trying to figure out how I couldn't hear my phone ringing. I was the worst girlfriend. 

Any time I broke a rule, and these rules were sometimes made up after I broke them, I was blasted with belittling, name calling, screaming, and suicidal threats. 

If I ever considered leaving him, he would describe in detail how he would end his life. Always with a written declaration that it was my fault. 

My hair was thinning. I stopped eating. I never slept. I was a shell of myself. 

But I never had a black eye. Never a cut lip or a broken bone. Surely this is not abuse. I couldn't even fathom comparing myself to women who fear for their very lives. 

I drifted through my high school without notice. I had no real physical sign on my body that anything was amiss. I felt cut off from everyone. I was cut off from everyone. Even my favorite teacher. He was a man, so he was off limits. He knew what was going on though. With my entire being, I felt grateful for the reassuring glances, the squeezes on the shoulder. "I see you. I know you are still there" he seemed to say. 

But I wouldn't open my mouth all day. Not until I was back in his presence. Then I was allowed to speak. Funny, since I'd lost my voice long ago. 

Eventually I began wearing my pain. But my injuries were from my own hand. Razor to flesh. I punished my weakness. My inability to be a good girlfriend. My stupidity for believing him. Maybe I wanted to show him my pain. I wore it like a white flag. He called me a stupid idiot. 

Sometimes you have to go through great lengths to rid yourself of someone. Like I did. 

To be continued...

National Domestic Violence Hotline:

1-800-799-7233

The cloud that took the form

Since September is suicide prevention awareness month, I've seen quite a lot of talk about circumstances that often lead to such ends. 

I wanted to spend the rest of the month highlighting a few issues that I'm personally intimate with that have high suicide statistic rates. I believe that the more open we are about this, the more people we can reach. 

I was diagnosed with clinical depression as a young teen. I assumed that after a few months popping these pills the psychiatrist gave me would clear things up and I would feel better. 

I did feel better for a time. 

But like most teenage girls, I began to withdraw from family. While most girls spend long hours locked in their rooms listening to music and talking on the phone, I spent them blaring heavy metal from my stereo to muffle the choking sobs. Eventually I began punishing myself physically for my emotional weakness. 

Weeks later I would still be wearing long sleeves and jackets in all kinds of weather to hide the red, jagged cuts up and down my arms. 

Later, I would concentrate my punishment to my chest or legs when my arms were discovered. 

There were nights when I would lie awake and wonder if dying would end my struggle. I felt that I was in too deep to recover from. I never intended to do it, but the thought of finally stopping the pain was comforting. 

Many people describe depression as "fighting your demons" and that, for me, was partly very true. My life seemed to be a pendulum that swung from forcing myself to concentrate with the screams from Hell inside my head, to periods of complete numbness. Some days the numbness was more unbearable that the war. But I could always count on the pendulum to swing back. One of my demons was flesh and blood and always stood above me. 

It was many years later that a therapist told me that I was not just suffering from depression, but also that of PTSD. Up until then the thought had never occurred to me. 

Almost 1.5 million high school students nationwide experience abuse from a dating partner in the period of one year. That makes one in three. Nearly half of these victims admit to attempting suicide. 

Unfortunately, emotional and verbal abuse statistics are hard to directly pinpoint because so many are so crushed and broken that they do not dare step forward. 

Today I step forward. 

To be continued...

Best Flour Tortillas

True to my roots, however wandering they may be, I love Tex Mex. Unfortunately, real Tex Mex is hard to find outside of Texas... So I have to make it myself! I'm a much bigger fan of flour tortillas as opposed to corn. Something about the texture.

There is a small chain restaurant in the area that I grew up that makes the best tortillas of all time. It's their specialty. Recently, I wondered just how hard it would be to make real, soft and fluffy tortillas at home. Turns out it's pretty simple, if only a little time consuming.

In our pledge to eat only (or mostly) homemade, unprocessed food, I decided that the time it takes to make wholesome food for my family is worth it. Luckily my boys are pretty good about playing with each other. When they aren't, they like to help me! And when that doesn't work out, it's arts and crafts time.

The actual hands on time for flour tortillas is only about 25 minutes broken up, so it's totally doable. It's worth it to eat these soft, chewy, buttery tortillas of amazingness.

Ingredients

• 3 cups all purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
• 2 tablespoons melted butter
• 1 1/8 cup warmed milk

Directions

In a large bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, and salt. Stir in the butter and warm milk until it becomes a sticky dough ball.

Knead dough on a floured surface for 2 minutes or until firm, soft, and smooth. Place dough back into the bowl and cover with a damp cloth for at least 30 minutes.

After the dough has rested, break off 12 sections and roll into balls. Cover and let them rest for another 10 minutes. This step allows the gluten to develop for proper thickness.

Next, flatten each ball and roll out into circles with a rolling pin. Aim for about an 8 inch diameter. Cover the stack until you're ready to cook.

Heat a dry skillet on medium-high heat. Cook each tortilla individually for about 30 seconds on each side until slightly browned and starts to bubble. Place cooked tortillas under a dish towel until you are ready to serve.

Store in an airtight container for 2-3 days.

Currently reading: The Complete Sherlock Holmes vol. 2 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyl

Easy Pumpkin Spice French Toast

Have I mentioned that I LOVE FALL? I know that the beginning of September isn't Fall yet, but ARGH, hurry! I can't wait for the weather to turn crisp, for the leaves to change, and for the color explosion.
 Love it or hate it, Pumpkin Spice everything dominates Fall. While it's not technically Fall yet, I can't resist indulging once in a while in this flavorful phenomenon that marks an entire season. This morning I made some pretty awesome pumpkin spice French toast.
Usually, I'm all about time intensive, complicated recipes. Hey, I love to cook. But mornings are not those times. I have two starving boys who aren't exactly morning people, and I don't function properly until I've had at least two cups of coffee.
This recipe is easy and so quick to make. Perfect for... erm.. not morning people.

Tip: French toast is best with homemade, thick cut bread. I used my 5 minute bread for this recipe.

Like I said, this is a quick, simple recipe, so I used minimal ingredients here.

Ingredients

6 slices thick cut bread
2/3 cup milk
2 eggs
1 tsp pumpkin spice*
1 tsp vanilla extract
Topping of choice

Directions

Heat lightly oiled, nonstick pan on medium high.

Mix the milk, eggs, spices, and vanilla in a wide bowl. Dip each slice of bread in the egg mixture, and let soak for a few seconds. Then place in heated pan. Cook until golden on each side and plate.

Now you can top with anything you like! I stuck with what my mom always topped mine with, a dusting heaping pile of powdered sugar!

* Pumpkin spice recipe (yields 1/4 cup):

4 teaspoons cinnamon
2 teaspoons ginger
1 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon nutmeg

Currently reading: The Complete Sherlock Holmes Vol 2 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Capsule wardrobe: Fall

It's raining outside. Rain is one of those things that just make me happy. It's my favorite type of weather. I'm instantly energized and productive. (Hence the reason that both bathrooms and master bedroom were clean before noon, thank you cleaning schedule).

 I'm soaking up the gray, cloudy bliss by drinking a cup of Earl Grey tea and working on my capsule wardrobe for the Fall. What is a Capsule Wardrobe, you ask? According to Susie Faux, the owner of a London boutique back in the 1970's and who coined the term, a capsule wardrobe is a collection of a few essential items of clothing that don't go out of fashion.

I think that definition can be interpreted by individuals, but I like the idea of a small, wearable wardrobe. I'm pretty terrible at walking into a store and putting pieces together in my mind. I will walk out with 6 or 7 shirts and a couple pairs of pants and not be totally in love with any of it. So I sat down with Pinterest and a few favorite capsule wardrobe instagrammers and built my whole wardrobe. Before purchasing anything! I figured out how I wanted everything styled, which brands and stores to buy from, and how much everything would cost. Now I'm slowly making the purchases and storing them in my closet. My rule is that I can't wear anything until the whole wardrobe is complete, which is pretty easy. It's still hot here most days.

Sneak Peak:  Biker Jacket

I have made 4 purchases so far. We are working to streamline all of our possessions. Minimalism is another thing that can be individually interpreted. I don't desire cold, sparseness. I want a visually appealing, clutter free home. This sentiment extends to my closet. I want useful pieces that I love. That I will actually wear. Having less helps me value what I have more.

Want to know what I'll be wearing this Fall? Follow along as I continue collecting, and see how I put everything together!

Sneak Peak: White Sweatshirt

Currently reading: The Complete Sherlock Holmes Vol. 2 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

5 minute no knead bread

Love the taste of fresh, home baked bread but fear that you don't have the time, or that it's too difficult a craft to learn? Not anymore! This simple recipe taken from the book "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day" by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois will help you create beautiful loaves of artisan bread.
Show them off to friends and family. Pretend you're fancy. I won't tell.

This dough is stored in the fridge for up to two weeks, but I doubt it will last that long. It's so simple to whip together so you can bake a fresh loaf daily and quickly mix up another batch for a never ending supply. I hear the longer you keep it in the fridge, the more it develops a sourdough taste. I like to leave it for at least 12 hours in the fridge before baking my first batch as the chilled dough is easier to work with.

What you will need to yield four 1lb loaves 

3 cups lukewarm water

1 1/2 tablespoons granulated yeast (or 2 packets)

1 1/2 tablespoons kosher salt (or any coarse salt)

6 1/2 cups unsifted unbleached all purpose flour

Directions

Preparing the dough for storage:

Warm the water slightly, just warmer than body temp. Warm water will rise the dough more quickly, about 2 hours as opposed to 3-4 hours with cool water.

Add the yeast to the water in a 5 quart bowl or lidded container (not airtight). Don't worry about getting it all to dissolve, just sprinkle it in.

In another bowl, mix the flour and salt. Be sure to accurately measure your ingredients. Baking needs exact ratios, no guess work here.

Add the water/yeast and flour/salt together in a heavy duty stand mixer fitted with the dough hooks. You can also mix the dough by hand using a wooden spoon. Mix until everything is uniformly moist without any dry patches. The dough should be wet, loose, and sticky. Don't knead.

Allow to rise. I covered the mixing bowl with a thin flour sack towel and left in a warm place in my kitchen. Leave for 2 hours, or until the top begins to flatten. Rising up to 5 hours will not harm it.

You can now use a portion of this dough for baking, but I prefer to let it refrigerate over night. Place it in a plastic lidded container (not airtight).

On baking day:

Prepare whatever you will be using for baking; loaf tin, cloche, tray, etc.
I like to shape my dough into a boule, so a tray or cloche works best for this. Sprinkle the surface of your refrigerated dough with flour. Pull about a grapefruit sized portion of dough out (about 1lb). Tear off from the sides. The dough will have risen and we don't want to expel the gas in the center of the portion you will be working with today.

Add a little flour as needed as it might be sticky. The top of the dough will look dome-like, so gently flip over and begin stretching the bottom on all four sides. The bottom will look like a collection of bunched ends, but all will be well when baking. This step should take no more than 30-60 seconds. We don't want to release too much gas.

Rest the loaf and let it rise for about 40 minutes. The rest of the dough should return to the fridge. It may not rise much this time around. That's ok.

20 minutes before baking, preheat the oven to 450. Place an empty pan or broiler tray at the bottom of the oven.

Dust and slash. Dust the top of the loaf liberally with flour. Slash a quarter inch deep cross, diagonal lines, or pound sign on top using a serrated knife.

After a 20 minute preheat, you're ready to bake. The oven will not be fully heated; that's ok. Put your loaf in the oven and pour 1 cup of hot water from the tap into the empty tray on bottom to create steam. Close the oven immediately.

Bake for 30 minutes, or until the crust is browned and firm.

Be sure to use up the rest of the dough within 14 days. This bread is great with a smear of homemade butter! Be sure to check out Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day for sweet and savory variations, what to do with stale bread, and many more tips!

Cabin in the woods

I grew up in the Texas panhandle, slightly over an hour to the New Mexico state line. A lot of people picture New Mexico as a yucca strewn desert, but a heavily forested mountain wilderness stretches over a large portion of the state. Up north, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains* (the southernmost part of the Rockies) reach along a vast wonderland of pine trees and wildlife. It is here that my family built a log cabin in the early 90's for vacation stays and escape from daily life.

I wish I could describe to you what it was like. I don't think I can accurately put it into mere words. It was a densely forested mountain land, purchased from the owner of Christmas Tree Canyon Ranch, outside the Mora Valley. He was a grumpy old man, retired Navy Captain, Top Gun commander, fighter pilot ace, and WW2 decorated veteran, but his wife and I had a bond by our shared love for wolves.
Here was a community of mountain lovers. Every 4th of July, the "canyon" neighbors would get together and hold a parade down the tree lined dirt road. The free range horses and burrows at "headquarters" would roam into our yard and beg for carrots. My sister and I would wander the woods alone, true "free range" kids ourselves. Black bears, deer, foxes and squirrels were frequent visitors. The occasional wolf howl would keep us up at night. Bonfires in our fire pit, snuggled up with blankets among the trees in the crisp mountain evenings, were nightly rituals. Here is my childhood.

Then, when I was a teenager, it was sold. I was obviously upset. I loved this place more than anything. But I was just coming of age, and had so much more on my mind. I buried my grief and struck out on a long rebellious rampage. Hello high school. Sorry mom.

Now that my head is clear, and I've grown up, I grieve for this place. This was a place of magic and wonder. I grieve for my kids who will never experience this life. Not here. Not where you can watch a bear right outside your window roll boulders over with one paw. Not where you can watch water bugs glide over the creeks and lake nearby. Not where we would dump our dinner leftovers on a board to feed "the critter" in the night. Not where you're awakened by the piercing howl of a lone wolf in the pitch black night. Not where you wave to your neighbors and stop for a chat during one of the many jeep rides through the trees. Not where a kid can scale jagged boulders in search of animal bones to add to her collection. Not where Sunshine Mountain greets you each morning through the huge triangle windows.

I have fond memories of walking "the loop", watching baby squirrels in a birdhouse, holding injured humming birds, deer watching, jeep riding, listening to my Papa caw at the crows, collecting bones, fishing, hiking, playing wolf, and building dams in the creek.

My soul longs for this place. I am not content until I'm surrounded by mountains and forest. My dream is to return to the area and build our own home. I want my kids to experience this. Some day. Some day.

*The mountains in my header

Currently reading: Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (1899)

Meal planning for the family

I admit, I am not an organized person by nature. I was not gifted with that natural talent like some people. That's why I love that so many people are out there to help us disorganized slobs!

I have gained so much order using a home management binder. I keep so much info in it for easy reference. Lists! Calendars! Doctor info! Cleaning schedules! I like taking a few minutes in the mornings after my workout to go through my binder, reading and adding to lists, refreshing the calendar, etc. Throw in an enormous cup of coffee* and you have yourself a comfy little moment of domestic bliss.

One of my most favorite things in my journal is my meal planner. Though I do like to switch up my printables, I'm currently using the meal planner by Organizing Home Life. So many free printables!
I create my meal plans weekly. I'm a collector of cookbooks and LOVE to cook from scratch, so perusing my books and coming up with meal ideas for my family is one of my favorite things to do.

Current favorite cookbook: This Williams-Sonoma cookbook. The pictures alone are to die for. 

So anyway, I come up with breakfasts, lunches and dinners for a whole week in my meal planner, write out the grocery list (also in my binder!) and shop on my errand day. No more panic at dinner time. Plus with 2 young boys around, I can prepare them ahead of time for what awaits them at meal time. Oh the joys of picky kids. 

* Seriously, this cup is the size of my face.

Currently reading: Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (1899)

On my bookshelf

As I said previously, I love reading. I consider it an important fact about myself. My favorite types of books are classics, though I have a long list of genres I will read with pleasure.

Every so often, I will list the three books on my "to read" shelf.
I began the Goodreads 2015 Reading Challenge back in January. Though I have always loved books, I hit a period of time where I only churned out maybe 3-4 read books a year. That was right around the time I had my first baby. *cough cough*
I decided to right this terrible wrong and make it a point to do something I enjoyed. Plus, a public goal is always good motivation. I took it easy on myself and challenged myself to read 25 books before December 31st.

Here is my list of the next three books on my "to read" bookshelf.

• Heart Of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (1899)
• The Complete Sherlock Holmes vol. 2 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1903-1927)
• Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray (1848)

Heart Of Darkness will be my 25th book to read since the beginning of the year, so I'll be completing my challenge soon!

Have you ever participated in a reading challenge?

Portrait

My name is Lani. "Lani" is Hawaiian for Heavenly Skies and no one knows how to pronounce it correctly. Upon my first visit to Hawaii, I also learned that Lani is pronounced differently there, too. Maybe I don't belong anywhere. 

I grew up in a medium to small sized town in the Texas panhandle. I've been asked on numerous occasions if I had horses. No, I didn't. I also don't have cowboy boots or a cowboy hat, and you will never catch me in them. (Is this still a stereotype? Because I hear it often..) I can, however, tell you all about the Alamo and Texas history. And yes, Texas is the best state. 

I stayed in Texas for 22 years, but then through a series of odd events, I married and left with my husband, who is in the Navy. Nothing about our meeting, marriage plans, wedding, first year as a married couple, or really anything else about us is considered "normal", but those are stories for another time. 

I have two boys. One born in 2011 in Colorado and one born in 2014 in Florida. In the year 2010, I became a housewife after leaving Texas and following my husband to a short term school so he could cross rate from one fancy Navy job to another high tech, fancy Navy job*. Anyway, I had this typical Lucy Ricardo/Laura Petrie image of a stylish housewife in my mind as I skipped out of my job as a child development teacher**. Let's just say... uh no. But that's a story for another time. 

So now I'm a stay at home mom. I LOVE it! Talk to me about how stay at home moms are not fulfilled, need job experience, or lazy and I will hit you with a brick. In my, at the time of this writing, 4 years of experience as a mom, I have accumulated a few tips on parenting. Parenting styles, sleep tips, introduction to food tips, baby transport tips, postpartum depression tips, mom uniform tips, how not to go insane tips, how to sneak chocolate in the bathroom before the kids see and steal it tips. The list goes on! But those are stories for another time.

I will leave this gem of a tip: a mom needs interests. Hear that? A mom needs interests. Something that does not involve the kids. Something that defines you. Being a mom totally defines me. It's what I was put here to do. I love it. But I also love other things. Things like:

• Reading 
• History
• Antiques
• Writing
• Hiking, camping, and anything to do with mountains and forests
• Cooking
• Tattoos
• Fashion
• Classic movies and sitcoms
• Learning crafty skills
• Planning my dream home (Ehh, it's called a dream home for a reason. Sigh.)

See that? That's me. Here you will find stories of our lives, parenting and life hacks, egotism, sarcasm, and truth.

Wait, what?

* Please don't ask me what he does for a living. I don't comprehend military terms.

** Fancy code word for menial daycare worker/diaper changer/nose wiper