Car Troubles and Thankfulness

I noticed the other day that my other friends have done a much better job of posting lately. I resolved to no longer be a slacker. Fortunately I have some calamities to share. 

So, my car broke down last week. There was smoke everywhere. Plus, I don't have a cell phone (because I want to stick it to the man), so getting home took forever. A few days later, I got into a fender bender that was my fault. Then I found out that my car was dead. Then I had to buy a new one. Then I didn't remember about car insurance, and it cleaned out my bank account. Then I was overdrawn. Then yesterday, I found out that the fender bender was going to be way more than I was hoping.

It has been pretty stressful. It has been pretty sucky.
I can't say that I haven't been upset and stressed.

But I've been hanging out with people who have less.

But I'm thankful that I had money for a new car.

I'm thankful that I found one so quickly.

I'm thankful that I have a job.

I'm thankful that I could borrow money from my family.

I'm thankful that I am going to get out of debt.

I'm thankful that I have car insurance.

I'm thankful that I have enough to give away.

I'm thankful that I don't have to apply for jobs right now.

I'm thankful that I have hope.

More Pen and Paper

Ever write about the people in your life in a journal? I tend to rant about "unfair" things, frustrating situations, and a desire to be in the right! One could definitely tell which days contain rants and other days general mellow updates about life.

For a few days this topic has been on my mind. I read quite a few stories in my journal the other day about people I grew up with, acquaintances and even my family members. Some of the stories are legitimate. Some are over the top and ridiculous. (A teenager is allowed a certain degree of ridiculousness!)

And you know what, perspective and time vindicates the words on the pages. Every time I reread, I learn something new about that story and myself. I realize now, the people/characters I painted in my journal are just like me in many ways:

- they have lives
- they are searching as well
- nothing is one sided
- Life isn't about me.

Time heals all wounds. Laughter heals misunderstanding. Wisdom comes like a light bulb and grace wins the day (even when I was justified to upset, concerned, frustrated, misunderstood and overwhelmed). I am on a journey of grace.

What have you written about in the past?
have you reread the stories?
Has your perspective changed?

Happy Journaling!

Adieu,

Anne

The paper and pen journey

Ever find an old journal? I keep mine and occasionally stumble upon the insight into who I once was and who I still am.

It blew me away
- some of the issues I thought were life shattering ( not getting invited to a party, the nerve of some people!).
- How I struggle with the same things, but to different degrees.
- the ridiculousness and awkwardness of being a teenager and a christian teenager.
- somethings that I forgot. dreams, insights, randomness from my earlier years.

I love journaling and have quite a few. I am always writing down practical things as well as not so practical things. It helps me to collect the plethora of thoughts that fly though my brain daily. I am not great at keeping up with a journal, sometimes the ramblings are frequent, other times, I forget for months.

My journal is my silent prayer. Sometimes it is my way to vent, scream and to sit still. I'm not sure what possessed me to keep one from the late nineties to the present.  (YIKES) I love looking with fresh eyes and fresh perspective on the things I have written down. I love going back, and writing in the margins; this really happened on this date or Wow, I understand a little why this happened. Sometimes, I also imagine someone stumbling upon my story years from now and remarking on the oddities of my scrawlings. Like a granddaughter finding books in the attic.

"She was crazy."
" What would possess someone to be so silly?"
" So, that is what really happened!"

My journal makes me feel like a romantic. It makes me feel at times, He knows what exactly will be written before my pen hits the page. Just like my sighs and the unspoken longings of my heart, He knows those words yet to be written. I encourage myself and others (shh, they dont know) within the pages of my journal journey. I laugh a lot as I write; crying even more. I even have a smudge in one journal where a bird pooped on my page while sitting under a glorious tree.

My journey is not quite complete, even if I dont write it down. I will be sure to when I can.
More laughter, tears, adventures, hurt, pain, awesomeness, hope, love and life to be scrawled on the papers set before me.

How flipping cool.

Adieu,
Anne

Baby, You're a Firework

Katy Perry's song will forever be burned into the Independence Day mix of songs. Sometimes I love the song, other times I long for some Ray Charles, "America the Beautiful".
And Team America... that's a whole different story.

When I think of July 4th, I think of:
- nathan's hotdog eating contest... it's like a trainwreck waiting to happen, you have to watch it!
- fireworks before they were banned in my city.
-poppers, that may have been popped to close to my face once.... (you know who you are!)
- the National Mall.
-fireworks at the hotel pool at home. (where I almost drown)
- the American traditions and how they may not be appropriate to mention in England, "Happy Independence, from you losers. America!!" Somehow, they don't think it's awesome...
-watching the fireworks from the top of an office building in DC with my sister.
-fireworks in general remind me of my brother...

What does the 4th of July remind you of?

Traveling-On the road again.

I love traveling.

I love adventures. I love the hustle and bustle of my favorite city, DC. Since I lived here for almost 2 yrs, I know the inns and outs, what to do, what to avoid etc. This last week, I was holed up in a room outside of the city and had to rely on public transit. When I lived here I relied on the metro heavily BUT I hardly ever took a cab.

Cab's scare me. They are fast and efficient to be sure, however they still scare me. Since I wasn't staying right in the city and my conference was on the outskirts of  the city I had to take a cab more than once. The rides are great but who knows if the driver is running up my fee or if I actually get to where I am going on time. Additionally, understanding cab drivers is a needed yet effective skill. This week my nerves on edge, I accomplished riding cabs and not looking like a complete nervous fool.

Learning more about the city is a good thing to know and experience. This city is not one dimensional and for the faint of heart. I am happy to be learning and growing up.

No longer am I the girl who would walk everywhere and rely on herself to go places. Stubbornly, I use to walk to my destinations when people were late to pick me up! Now, I am confident in taking cabs when needed and hopefully to arrive on time for new adventures.

Adieu,
Anne

Motherhood: What else could be tumultuous and joyous at the same time?

When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself - Nancy Friday 

I was thinking last night how I try very hard as a parent to show my kids how much I care about them. I love them, I want nothing more for them to be happy. BUT, at the same time sometimes I fail. Sometimes I leave the baby in her bed a little bit too long because I just want to finish the floors, sometimes I respond to the never ending questions with, "Please, leave me alone for a minute." a little too harshly. Sometimes I tell Joe that he can color but then I look at the table and see it covered in laundry and I change my mind. It's too much work to put it all away just so he can make another mess. Sometimes it isn't even laundry, sometimes it's breakfast left on the table and I just don't want to, I just can't clean it.

I see the hurt on their faces, the disappointment in the way they hold their mouth and droop their eye lids. Sometimes it's too much having 5 kids and I think that while I love them it's just so much. Sometimes I tell that to Jerry and he jokingly says, "okay, who should we get rid of?" I like to think about it... but I can never chose. I love them all and I usually feel sad thinking about it. What would my life be like without my little weasel Joe and his skinny legs, always causing mischief? He is always the first to jump into my arms and squeeze as hard as his toothpick arms are capable. My Sam bones brown, my oldest - he has the spirit of a kitten, loves to cuddle and is always more excitable when you're tired. Could I live with out my Lucy Lu? Absolutely not! She has true Toompas spirit - kindness abounds, love overflows, helpfulness, cheerfulness, and camaraderie. Oh what about Molly, our beauty? She loves me to brush and brush her hair, wants to look just like princess bell and has perfected the doe eye blink. Seeing Jerry with her, their special oldest daughter daddy bond always makes me roll me eyes but those moments I tuck into my heart. We all know it certainly could not be Iris Sophia that I get rid of. She is like water to my soul. I feel as though I've never known love like I have from her. She is always smiling, giggling if you make eye contact, snuggly buggly baby, She wants me all the time. My heart breaks into a thousand pieces then melts back into shape each time she raises her arms to me saying, "Mommy you are my favorite and I need you so much." None of the other kids have ever needed me as Iris does. Not because she is a sickly little thing but because that is her personality. She is loving and she will always be one of those women who everyone feels accepted around, I already know it. 

ANYWAY, the point is, sometimes I do hurt my kids. It's not always on purpose (Okay sometimes I snap at them to get out of the bathroom and it feels good.) but it happens.

This is it, these are the times they are "scarred for life". We always joke with my mom about a handful of things she did to us that was so "terrible", but my mom cared and she did so much to make us have a great childhood, how can I blame her for a few times when her anger got the best of her, or when she forgot me at church *ahem* and I got to hang out at one of the pastors' house for awhile... yes mom, I remember.

When I think about my formative years I know that I was a difficult child.

I'm 2, there’s a summer party outside in the church yard. Everyone is there.  I love everyone there and I feel very happy. We’re playing an egg toss game; we can throw pies at people’s faces, there are water balloons.  Someone wants to take a picture, maybe it’s my mom but I can’t see because it’s sunny. I don’t want my picture taken and I put my arms in my sleeves because I hate the shirt I’m wearing. It is blue and so it should be a boys’ shirt. I hate it. I hope my mom sees the picture and doesn’t like it and I hope she knows how much I do not like this shirt. I don’t like suspenders. They are Spencer’s and I don’t know why I have to wear them. 

I clearly remember those feelings, that I wanted her to be mad because I was mad. When I think about it even still, it makes perfect sense to my two year old self. Why would I have to wear an ugly blue shirt that I hated so much? Didn't she care about me? Didn't she care that I really didn't want to wear it?

I clearly remember my new swimming pool, I'm probably three now and my mom has her friend over, she lives next door and we're in our swim suit. I don't want Crista to get into the pool with me even though we're friends and I think I said something mean to her. I can close my eyes right now, I see my mom's face, her face then, not her face now and I remember her eyebrows raising in her "I'm serious" face. "You can chose to let Crista get into your pool or you will get a spanking and you will take a nap." I remember the defiance in every part of my body. my stomach clenched, my jaw clenched, my eyebrows low. It's my choice. Did I want a spanking? No. Did I want to share my new pool? NO. I got a spanking and a nap.

I remember laying in my bed crying. Why was she so cruel to me? Why would she spank me? It was MY pool and why did I need to share!?

I'm 99% positive this exact scenario has happened at our house. "You will share the popcorn or you will get a spanking and you will take a nap." Is it because I hate my children and don't want them to enjoy popcorn? No... not at all. Again, as a child it's just something incomprehensible. Even if she tried to explain it, even if I tried to explain it to Molly there would be no understanding.

Being a parent means you show tough love. It's called tough love because it's tough, it's mean, it's harsh, but it's based on love. She wants me to be a good person, she wants me to learn to share and show kindness. I want Molly to be liked, I want people to love her sweet temperament. But in the garden of her personality there are a few weeds that need to be pulled, her attitude occasionally needs to be pruned.

My mom wasn't a good mom because she gave me everything I wanted and told me I was beautiful every second of the day (though I would have absolutely loved it!) She was a good mom because she met my needs, gave me love, gave me comfort, instilled a passion in me for reading, sewing, gardening. She showed me how to be a person. How to clean bathrooms and dishes, she showed me how to cook, how to be a good friend.

My mom doesn't always know the perfect thing to say, she doesn't always say what I want to hear, she doesn't always make me feel good about myself. Sometimes when I'm really struggling with something I'll call her thinking she will have the answer to what I want to hear, instead she will say something completely grounded like, "Sometimes you have to just put yourself aside and do it for your family." and I feel irritated and we hang up and I'm mad for a few minutes and wonder why I even call her but then I obey her. And I always call her back. She is reliable, she is kind, she is caring, she is full of good very irritating to hear advice.

How could I not think she cared about me? She cared by showing me how to be a person. She showed me how to love and how to be loved in the best way she knew how.

I'll probably scar my children for life too. The time I forgot to feed them breakfast and lunch then wondered all day why they were so cranky!? They will remember. They will hold it against me. I'm only human. The best I can do is not always shower them with love and gush over their beauty but sometimes I'll have to not let Sam go to a friend's birthday party because he refused to do his homework - I'll teach him self discipline. Sometimes I will stand over Joe while he has tears streaming down his face telling him to do it again because that is not clean! 

It's taken being a parent to see that the times my Mom "didn't care about me", wasn't because she was a bad person or because she wanted to make me feel foolish or unhappy. It's because she was a tough love Mom and she was human. She had moments that she hated us and told us to scram.

I'm 3 and all four of us are huddled around my mom's bedroom door. She told us she is taking a nap, under no circumstances are we to bother her. Spencer is laying on the carpet breathing under the door and she yells through the door to go.to.bed. I'm playing in bed and brush the popcorn ceiling with my finger tips. Some of it falls into my eyes and I start screaming. Amanda and Max are looking in my eyes and trying to tell me to be quiet. Mom will be angry with me for being loud. Finally Amanda drags me to my mom's room. We're both terrified in the hallway. She opens it and says, "Yes?" and Amanda tells her what happens. She immediately scoops me into her arms and carries me into the bathroom and I cry only because I am so relieved that she isn't mad at me. 

Was my mom crazy and lock us out of her room all the time? No. Did she beat us? No. Did she occasionally need a nap because she's a human? YES.

 Of course, as a child I couldn't see that, I'm sure my children can't see me as a human either. She did the best she can. I'm doing the best I can... because it's the best I can do.

So many people love my mom, they never hesitate to tell me how much she inspired them to be a better parent, how she gave them so many ideas on training their children. I would nod and smile - sure, sure... you don't know the real her... but now I know that they did see the true her.

And for the first time, I do too.

Kait -Mother of Five

Calamity: Living with Other People

So, I graduated from college and moved back in with my parents. I know that all the books tell you to do that for as short a time as humanly possible. But my parents are gracious people and I'm good at rolling with the punches, so it works. Still, I'm counting down the months until I pay off my loans and move out.

Wait, did I just say that my parents are gracious people? I must have meant monsters who eat people named Grace. Every three months living here changes into something like living in a dungeon. And I know that it has nothing to do with me. Because I'm angelic.

Seriously, living with other people opens your eyes to how weird the rest of the world is and how selfish you can be.

For example, I think it's so strange that other people don't have seven projects started at the same time. It was Winston Churchill's philosophy that doing something different is as good as resting. And I agree. If I can change from crafting to writing to cooking to cleaning back to crafting to my other craft, it's very productive for me. But people in my family have thrown around the words, "slob" and "pig" and things. They seem to think that if I'm not currently physically working on something, I shouldn't have it out. And they're even less less supportive of my 10 other projects. I guess they don't see the mental work and joy that happens while I leave my sewing out. I see it as decoration; they see it as mess.

It's hard to balance my need to be creative and my family's need for a weird sort of order.

I'm learning to put away projects that are not essential, and my family is learning to give me some space. And it's not fun. But it's probably healthy.

This is the kind of adjustment that I have to make all the time because I'm living with other people. And, like I mentioned, every three months it gets especially hard. I hope that I'm growing because of it. Or that the next few months go really quickly.

Potential, continued...

I have to admit, I may have freaked more than I needed to about bringing the BF home. The whole week went splendidly. We laughed a lot.

I learned a lot about myself, him and how we interact in busy new situations. It made me laugh more than once, at his desire for adventure and new things. I take life as it comes and calculate my options, sometimes with reserve. He, on the other hand, tries to catch everything he can in the small moments of life. ( There's a great thing called patience!) In the Market, I could have used a leash to keep him going to and fro, but he persisted and I followed along. It was I who was along for the ride during this adventure.

He makes me smile a lot. He fit in, albet quiet at times, soaking all of it in and he did great in the hustle and bustle of our week. He met literally everyone and their dog and kept a smile on his face.

Potential, for the time being, neutralized. The worried potential from before turned into wonderful memories and new knowledge of one another. I like this much better.

Adieu,
Anne

People and Calamity

The people in our lives...

The differences in people amaze me. The passions and lives of the ones around me bring a smile to my face. How unique are the lives different than my own. Sometimes, as I let my introverted side stage my reactions and initial impressions of new people, often I have no idea what they see and perceive of me. AND that is scary.
It's scary to think about how I carry myself and if who I say I am is truly represented. Selfishly, and in my humanity, of course I want people to like me, to laugh with me and to enjoy being around me. I have that moment... Oh goodness, will they still like me, if they find out X about me?

I think its a normal reaction.

As a child I would probe the friends who would come over for sleep overs for information.
Did you have fun, Do you like me, What did you like, Do you like me? I would over think about the things I didn't do right. Often trying to make up for them, apologizing rather than enjoying myself.

In my adulthood my reaction is subdued and sleek in its approach, yet similar to my childhood. I often rely on what I feel and what i want those around me to see. Secretly, still the desire to have people like me remains. But here is a different story.

I have a friend who is moving and today we had a goodbye lunch. As she was telling me about her move and the next stage of her life, she began to tell me how she remember's when we first met in Grad school. We laughed about the classes we took together and talked about the future. Taken back and surprised at what she said next, I learned something new.

"You know, you always had a smile on your face. You always asked me how I was doing and that really meant a lot to me". She proceeded to encourage both my bf and I about what's next for our lives, "God is good".

She is right... I do smile a lot. Often I smile because there are things in my heart just waiting to burst to the surface but I smile instead. This is what she saw. This is what she remembers and takes with her. She never paid attention to the things that I thought would disqualify me from friendship. The things I think from the outset which I believe people will reject me for, she never saw.

Mind Blown. It's the conversations in life over coffee, that change my perspective of myself, of who I want to be, of who I really am and how people love me just because I smile.

Potential Calamity

Ever have those moments where you freak about the possibility of things going wrong, horribly terribly wrong? ( and it usually doesn't?)

I am in the midst of one of these potentials. I am taking  the BF home for the first time AND we're flying across the country to get there. It's not like he's lived at home for years, no... He's from the south and I hail from the good ol' NW. Let the craziness begin!

I freaked out a bit, OKAY... a lot... when we made the trek to the south for Easter to meet his folks. I wasn't surprized that they were awesome, amazing, loving, welcoming and fun but I was still freaked out. It's a big deal. The first morning there, I sat down at the kitchen table with his folks and over coffee we got to know one another. Piece of Cake (Kentucky Bourbon Cake to be exact)... no problems and not the slightest potential for things to go a wry... (ha).

Having grown up in the NW, well... we do things different. Sure, I'm sweet... but I also have the tendency to be sharp, quick and severely independent. AND so does my family. They are loud and opinionated not sweet (some of the time) and southern like his fam. So I am worried, he will be floored when we get there.

For weeks I have been caught in this comparing our families funk... AND ultimately being somewhat ashamed of my unique, loud family. He (the BF) doesn't seem to be too worried, which is good. He actually has encouraged me NOT to compare and not to worry about all of this. BUT I am. Don't get me wrong... I love them a lot. They can just be a lot to handle sometimes.
After talking to my dad about how awesome people are from the south, he scolded me.

"listen here, sister. We are who we are. I'm sorry we didn't raise you in the south. I'm sorry we're loud. God forbid, the house is dirty. And who cares if we are. You are part of this loud, opinionated family."

Ouch... Dad wisdom, for the win.

I can't control opinions, or the volume of my sister's voice, or the words that come out of peoples mouths...
what matters are people's hearts. My family has a BIG heart and we laugh a lot. At each other and the things that happen around us. That makes all that other stuff not so important. And my Dad's word's per usual, cause me to reevaluate my heart.

Sure there's definite potential for things to be super crazy, super busy and sometimes just plain messed up. There is more potential for adventure, fun, laughter, getting to know each other better than there is for a nuclear disaster happening (fingers crossed).

Definite update soon.
Adieu,

Anne

Calamity: Riding a bike

I have not been on a bike since I was about 13.

Most of the time, I tend to exaggerate stories, sometimes to make myself feel better and other times to make other people also feel better for me. I fell off my bike when I was 13. I was on my way back from the library with a friend and I caught a patch of gravel and skid a few feet. Scratches and bruises abounded as I picked myself up feeling ashamed I fell off the bike in the first place and second... my friend thought it was HILARIOUS.

I'm sure she didn't mean to add further to the apparent physical bruises, but it did. Since then I would avoid riding my bike, talking about biking and also bringing it up when anyone asked why I had such a distaste for bikes. At this point ,since I had an audience, I began to elaborate.

"So, I was speeding on my bike trying to get away from Ninjas and caught a patch of gravel and then ate a ton of dirt. After I fell, said friend relentlessly mocked me"- Well it's mostly true... mostly.

Yesterday, I got invited to ride bike on the boardwalk with some friends. Okay, I can do this....
Little did I know that there were a few events at the ocean front... and we were going to bike through a mass of people.... awesome. BUT I did it... and as they say, it's as easy as riding a bike.

After 13 years of not riding a bike and some perspective, I'm still not over exaggerating when I am hurt. Who doesn't like a good story with Ninjas?

I am however, learning to let go of misunderstandings, of things that happened in my childhood that I never understood, things that hurt... I'm letting go and allowing my bruises to heal even if I don't understand why. I couldn't control the gravel being on the road that day, nor the reaction of my friend. There is so much outside of my control, so I am sure there will be more bruises along the way.

I pleaded to have a helmet yesterday (No luck) but I was fine. Other than the heart palpitations and sweating I was golden on that bike.

So, I'm getting back on the bike, and hopefully riding off into the sunset.

Adieu,
Anne

More on Defining Calamity

We thought of the word "Calamity" while trying to put all our names together. "Col-An-Kaitie" It probably wasn't a good idea since we're not actually celebrities, but I like what came out of it. I like the word "calamity."

First it makes me think of Calamity Jane. Now there's a woman who defies some stereotypes. I don't know a lot about her, but she stands out as someone who is going to do her own thing. And I think that each of us has done unique and beautiful things with our lives.

The word "calamity" sounds loud. And we are loud with our voices, our values, and our sarcasm. I look to these friends for honesty. Sometimes we cause calamities for other people. And that's okay. I imagine the three of us as troublemaking heroes. Doing our own thing. Stirring the pot. Saving the world.

Also, calamity sounds hard, and life is hard. All of us have had problems, big and little, that feel like calamities. But no matter how big the disasters, we've lived through them. We've come through strong.

And we've come through together. I've depended on these friends during the best of times and the worst of times. We haven't always been perfect friends, but we've been friends. And we've been ones who helped each other through. That's the best kind of calamity.

Defender of Truth and Justice,
Colleen

Calamity: Self-Doubt

Once in a while I admit something horrible to people. I make it seem casual, but it is not casual to me. My secret is this: I don't feel very prepared for my field of work. I wonder if I am really suited for my field.

I feel really bad.

I'm not ready to give up, but my concerns are real. I'm not very good at my work yet. That's not something that I imagined. My internship was hard. Dread crushed my chest most of the time that I did it. If the economy were better, I would probably know by now. As things stand, I'm caught in the meantime.

When I confess this to friends, the answers that I get are not usually helpful. I don't think there's a perfect answer. I just have to face it. But there are some things that are more or less helpful.

Not Helpful
  I bet you are great. I wish I could watch you do your job.
(You weren't listening. I'm being honest, not self depreciating.)
2. You should just...
(This isn't a "just" thing. It's a big, hard decision.)

Helpful
1. Work hard at it.
2. Failure brings growth.
3. You'll be okay no matter what.
4. Stories about others who have faced what I'm facing.
5. Advice about how to improve.

Do you see the difference? Do me a favor and listen to someone today, instead of dismissing their concerns. It's a big deal to them.

Calamity: Running

I HATE RUNNING!!!

There's never a day of the week that it sounds fun.
You have to get totally changed.
I get so flushed and hot.
I'm bad at it.
Sometimes I just plain quit.
And then I feel bad.
It makes my heart and lungs scream at me.
My mom outruns me.

Every step that I run feels like a calamity. And yet, I do it sometimes. Because I'm a sucker? Because I'm proving something to myself? Because I want to be healthy?

Until June, I'm running a few times a week. Pray for my soul.

Defender of Truth and Justice,
Colleen

Defining Calamity

So we did it. Finally... we created a blog together. Some of my oldest girlfriends and I are on an adventure of sharing our hearts and our chaotic journeys. And yes, they have been full of calamity.

When the name was first suggested... calamity friends... I thought, guys, you know what that means right??
Do I really want to blog about something and have a name which means a state of deep distress caused by misfortune or loss?

Sure, life has not been ideal in many ways. But I guess, our title is ironic. We have made the best of true misfortune. All of us have experienced true loss and distress in the midst of our lives and yet bounced back with joy not of our own stregnth.

We are works in progress. Sometimes life is full of calamity and chaos. We chose to laugh and move on.

Im sure in the days to come, we will change the format and tweak our writing styles and our individual topics. So be prepared.... or not ;)

Adieu-Anne