There's Always Someone Else For You to Blame

Okay, recent events in the media are really starting to tick me off!
Number one: Penn State scandal
Instead of looking at the man who was actually committing the crime, they turn it around on the good Samaritan. Joe Paterno turned in the man who was molesting the boys, did what he was supposed to do, and yet the country is blaming him, saying he should have gone even higher. He did what was expected. He did what was asked. If he had done any more, he would have been chewed up one side and down the other. It's like the little story my father tells me: A man gets stabbed and the knife is left in him. When the police come, he is arrested for having a concealed weapon. Seriously, people?
Number two: Violence in the media/violence being committed
Okay, I wasn't sure how to word that, so let me explain: I watch the news every morning while I pump (I know, you really didn't want to know that!), and then again at mom's while I'm feeding the baby. I kid you not, every single morning there is a new story about a shooting/stabbing/hit-and-run that happened overnight (five on Halloween night!). The other day there was a story about a student that was stabbed while trying to break up a fight at the college my mom (and my dad?) went to. Fox 5 News got a professional on there for an interview, who proceeded to "explain" that all of this violence with people today is due to mainstream media showing it all the time...news, movies, video games, prime time networks. I absolutely ABHOR the idea that this has such an effect on our minds! I watch shows like NCIS, CSI, Law & Order, etc., but you don't see me going out and trying to murder someone!!! I remember one episode of The Simpsons (I'm not a big fan of the show, but I've caught a few episodes over the years) when Marge (the mom, for those that don't know) and Maggie (the baby) are watching the cartoon Itchy & Scratchy, which is always violent, normally ending in one of the characters being brutally killed or at least maimed. Maggie then proceeded to try to kill/injure Homer (the dad...but I think just about everyone knows that!). Marge blamed it on the cartoon. I forget exactly how the episode resolved...I remember the makers of the cartoon then made Marge a character to make fun of her. Anyway...the point is Bart and Lisa always watch the cartoon and they were fine. The majority of the country watch shows/play games like that and they aren't going out and killing/maiming people. There are people that may not see any of it, and yet they will go out for blood. The media has nothing to do with a person's willingness to cause harm.
Okay, I think I'm done with my little rant. I'm going to stop now. Good-bye.

When You Say Nothing at All

Ever since I've gone back to work two and a half weeks ago, I've wanted to stay home. I've been a little stressed, what with trying to work out with my parents (who have been the greatest, as always!) when they're going to have him, getting up and getting not only myself ready to go in the mornings but Jake as well, getting back into the swing of things at work, and having to deal with an "apprentice." I just feel like I've been almost going a mile a minute! There's some tension at work that has been building since before I went on leave, and I came back to it being at an all-time high. So many things are running through my mind at any given minute.

And then I come home to this...

...and all is right in the world again!

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes...Turn and Face the Strange

It's been a little while, I know. You're probably all thinking, "Now why don't she write?" I've been a little preoccupied with a certain little one, however, and haven't had very much interesting to say, except possibly how cute my son looks when he smiles, or how cute his little coos and laughs are...or just how cute he is in general, but I figured that would get a little old after, say, five or six entries so I figured I'd keep my fingers in check.
No, I'm writing now because so much is going through my mind. I've been thinking about how, when I look back on my life, it seems like it's going by so fast. I feel as though I was just in school, and yet now I've graduated, met a wonderful mand and got married, bought a house, and just had a baby. Wow, a lot has gone on in my life!
And now I think I may have another change coming into effect. I've been at my job now since my sophmore year of high school (grant it, I was a kennel person back then and now I'm a groomer). This is the one and only job I've had. It's had it's ups and downs, and I love doing what I'm doing. There just have been some recent developments that have gotten me thinking about other things out there. Part of me is scared...scared of the unknown, of the new, of the different. I've been in the same place for over 10 years now, and although I've been told numerous times that it's not the best job for me, I've stayed because I was comfortable with it.
But I think it's time for me to get out of my comfort zone...well, a little. Change of scenery, perhaps. The other day (my second day back to work after the baby), on my way to work I was just thinking about different things: how I hated leaving my son, how the situation at work had gotten even worse (which none of us had even thought was possible), how my husband and I could try to cut expenses here and there, or at least somehow try to save more money. While all of this...and more...was going through my head, the Garth Brooks song "The River" was playing on the radio. Now, I've mentioned before here about one of the reasons behind the title of my blog. That being said, one line really hit me as I listened:
"I know there'll be rough waters, and I know I'll take some falls. But with the good Lord as my captain, I can make it through them all."
I started tearing up right there and then. I've mentioned before that I'm not an uber religious person and don't ever claim to be. But I believe I was being sent a message of sorts. I had been contemplating leaving the grooming career for something that was an easier job (or at least in my mind it was), like a bank teller or a cashier. A position where I didn't have to do much, just be there with a smile because it was easy. While that still sounds tempting, that line keeps popping in my head. I had always detested those people that do their job, not because they love it, but because it pays a lot of money, and then in the end complain on and on about how much they hated their job. I never wanted to be one of those people. And yet here I was thinking about becoming one! I love being around animals. I really like grooming, my artistic ability coming out through the haircuts. I don't necessarily have to still be a groomer, but I'd still like to be in the animal business.
So, here I go, into the wild blue yonder...or at least out to find somewhere new. It may be rough, and I'll be a bundle of nerves, but I know I have Someone looking out for me wherever I go.

And Don't You Know That it Hurts Me So...

...To say goodbye to you...

Okay, so I'm not entirely saying goodbye to my cat, Jasper. He just went to my mom and dad's farm to be an outside cat. But it still hurts...
Let me start a little further back. I had the baby, for those of you that didn't know. Jake was born on the 24th of June. Mike and I (and the whole rest of our families) are so excited! Now, as you people know, Mike and I have two dogs and two cats. There are those out there that completely FREAK out at this information, not so much the dogs, but the cats. They'll "smell the milk on the baby," "the hair will choke the baby," they will "scratch the baby to pieces," and numerous other concerns and old wives' tales. Okay, as far as the scratching...I keep my cats' nails clipped anyway because I personally don't like being stabbed to death when they're in my lap. The hair choking the baby? Yes, we don't vacuum quite as often as we should, but I assure you, there are no hairballs anywhere around the baby. And smelling the milk on the baby...that's just a myth. Okay, maybe if they get right up on the baby they'll smell it, but people make it sound as though as soon as the baby eats, no matter where the cats are in the house, they will be in the crib in seconds. Cats and babies CAN coexist, despite what people (especially older women) tell you.
That all being said...we're getting rid of the cats. I know, I know: why go on this soap box spiel about babies and cats coexisting if you're not giving it a chance? Well, I did give it a chance, and unfortunately, the cats lost. We had been thinking about giving Cali up for a little while anyway, because we can't seem to break her of getting on the counters and getting food. Jasper I had broken of that at my apartment in college because I was able to see him. I can't catch Cali. She's really sweet and loving, so if anyone is willing, she's free to a good home. As for Jasper...Jasper's my baby. He was my first pet...MY first pet, not a family pet. He has such a personality on him. He'd greet me at the door when I came home, he'd paw at me to be picked up, he'd give me kisses, he'd snuggle up to me under the covers in the winter and sleep in the crook of my arm and purr. I had put my foot down to my husband that I was not giving him up (Mike's not a cat person and he's been trying to convince me to get rid of them for almost a year now). I didn't want to give Cali up, but I finally conceded. But Jasper was going to stay with me.
What changed was when he decided to jump in the crib to investigate what this new creature is that mommy brought home on the second night Jake was here. It scared me enough to realize that, even if Jasper is being innocent and just wanted to snuggle up to this new being, Jasper is twice the size of Jake and could suffocate him.
So today I made my tearful goodbye. Okay, okay...so it's not goodbye. Mom and dad agreed to take him on the condition he is strictly an outside cat (the family cat died and so dad didn't want to have to deal with anymore litter...that, and even though Jasper's neutered, he still smells like he's intact). He knew something was up because he saw the carrier in the hallway. I took him to get updated on his shots and then Mike and I turned him loose at mom and dad's. He explored a little while I was there (mainly of the back porch and deck where his food will be), and then set up camp by the back door, crying to be let back in (Which is funny, if you think about it...the whole time I lived at home he kept trying to escape out the back door, even slipping out a couple times and going under the house. Now I finally let him out and all he wants is to come back in!)
I know it's for the best, and at least he's still with people he knows, even if he is outside. But I just worry about him...the guy that hays the fields hasn't done that yet, so I'm freaked Jasper'll be in the long grass when he starts. There's wild animals and stray dogs and occasional stray cats that come and go through the property, so I'm worried he'll tangle with them. Maybe he'll run away. I know he's just a cat, but he's been my little buddy for six years now, and all that stuff mentioned above that he would do I won't have anymore.

I Remember Daddy's Hands

There are so many memories and moments that I remember with my dad. Too many to put down here or else you guys would be reading a Hawthorne novel. But I'd like to share with you a man that means so much in my life...
My entire family is incredibly close, which this day and age is a rare commodity. Even with all of my brothers starting their own families and moving to different states, or even just different cities in one state, we all manage to keep in touch with both each other and our parents. Mom mainly is the "ambassador" for our parents, dad just kinda staying in the background. Though, we always know he's there...literally, we ALWAYS know he's there, the man is so loud! My brothers told me that they were at an away game for either soccer or football (I think football, because I think that was the only sport both Jimmy and Eric were on the same team) and without even needing to turn around, one leaned over to the other and mumbled, "Dad's here," having heard him above all the other voices in the crowd. When we call the house, mom doesn't even need to put him on the phone...we just have conversations with him through her because we can hear him perfectly through the receiver. Even if we aren't talking to him, he's always singing or going on about something nonsensical (yes, that's my word).
Growing up was slightly different, as far as I'm concerned. He would always go to my brothers' sports and such, but I wasn't in sports, so I didn't have the number one fan they did. Not to say he wasn't rooting for me in everything I did. Dad worked a lot, and there were literally times that I didn't see him, either because he was working an odd schedule or he would get home from work and have to go practically straight to bed because he had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn.
I remember one memory, burning bright in the back of my mind, though. It was winter, I'm not sure how old I was, but pretty young. I hadn't seen him very much it seemed to me because of his work schedule. But he had gone out hunting one night and it was right after we had had a really good snow. My brothers, mom, and I were all in the living room watching TV when we heard dad's boots stomping in the back porch, announcing his arrival. Normally, after coming in from hunting, he'd unload at the back door, go to his room and get out of his hunting clothes, then usually lie down or maybe come to the living room to watch TV, depending on the day and how late it was. Well, this time, after getting the snow off his boots, he appeared at the living room door and said he wanted to show us something. My brothers didn't really want to go out in the cold at night, so I was the only one that went. I hurried to dress warmly, then ran downstairs and dad and I headed back out into the night. The snow had a crust on it that crunched under our boots. It was dark out, but there was a full moon (or at least a really bright one) out that night, so we didn't even use a flashlight. We didn't talk. Dad led me down the path that went to, at the time, a cornfield down by the river. We came out of the woods into the open field and I took in the sight...the field was completely untouched, no footprints, no animals, nothing. But because the snow had the crust and the moon was so bright, it was a field of diamonds! It was absolutely breathtaking. Every turn of the head and shift of the eye had millions of little sparkles shining everywhere! We stood there for a little bit, then decided it was getting too late and too cold so we headed back. I remember telling my dad on the way back, "I'm glad my brothers didn't come, that it was just you and me. We haven't done a lot of stuff together lately."
Other things about dad...
-I remember him taking us fishing at the trout pond near Graves' Mountain Lodge.
-I always help him butcher deer (when he gets one). I used to dance with them...yeah, kinda morbid, I know.
-He taught me how to drive. Mom helped, too, but dad gave me the tricks for dangerous conditions.
-Occasionally he'd read to me at night if I asked him. There was a big book of bedtime stories for every night of the year. I think originally it was my oldest brothers, but we were all read to from it. On the cover was a picture of a scarecrow leaning against a tree, reading to little woodland creatures and fireflies. He'd point to each image, asking what the animal was. He'd get to the back of the book (the picture wrapped around) where there were three fireflies and the other side of the tree. He'd point to each one and we'd say, "Lightbug. Lightbug. Lightbug. Tree." Then it was bedtime.
-He taught me how to shoot his .22 rifle. I'm pretty good. I was better than him at one point!
-Alan Sherman, Dr. Demento, Ray Stevens...enough said...
-We grew up not knowing the real words to songs, because dad always made up his own!
Oh, there are so many things I could put on here, but I've gotten a bit long-winded as it is. Long story short...Dad is a major part of who I am today. There were tough times, sure...like when I had JUST finished cleaning the entire living room and literally just sat down when dad walked in and thought I was watching TV and grounded me from TV for a week and I was so mad! Or when Chris was in charge while mom and dad were gone and Eric and I didn't listen to him, so dad woke us up when he got home and heard the news and punished us right there and then. But there were more good times to outweigh them. And it all just taught me the love he had for my brothers and me. Happy Father's Day, daddy!

And They Call That Real

How do people get their own "reality" shows? From the Kardashians to Playboy Bunnies to a crazy woman who had twins then sextuplets, it's gotten to be absolutely ridiculous! What exactly started the "reality TV" trend, anyway? I think it was the movie "The Truman Show" with Jim Carrey (I'm not sure if there was anything before that or not). Did people just wake up one morning and say, "I'd like to film every little thing I do throughout the day and then let the world watch my humiliation?" And it's so easy to get sucked into the shows, too. You have the people that watch "American Idol" RELIGIOUSLY, letting the world know through Facebook or the like whom they are throwing their votes in for. There's "The Bachelor" and "The Bachelorette," where the women of the world sniff and sigh over the supposed relationships that are blossoming on the screen. My husband watches a show called "Tough Enough," which shows individuals training for WWE-style wrestling. We get into arguments about the so-called reality of both the training and WWE. He says it's real (the WWE, that is), even though he's watching with his own eyes people being trained STUNTS! Today we were watching a marathon of Sinbad's new show (remember him?). Don't get me wrong, he's a funny guy, but the whole thing is so scripted it's not even funny.
And that's the trouble with "reality" shows...there's no REALITY to them! Some of them, like "Operation Repo," even state that the episodes are BASED on what actually happened. Which means the show could have been scripted and doctored to be way more dramatic than the actual scenario. I think the worst one is all the "Desperate Housewives of..." shows. Sadly, I have watched a few episodes of some of them. Grown women are acting that way? And they're supposed to be "upper class" and "sophisticated," too. It's just cat fight after cat fight. They snub their noses at us heathens, and yet they act like children. It's embarrassing.
Don't get me wrong...I still watch these shows for entertainment. But I just want to know how I can get my own show and make lots of money for making a fool of myself, my children, and/or my family and friends. Apparently it's a decent living otherwise people wouldn't be doing it, right?

Memory

My oldest brother and his wife have an e-mail account set up for their soon-to-be three-year-old daughter. They send e-mails to her for her to read when she grows up about funny things she's done, memories they've shared, and such. Occasionally they forward the e-mails to the rest of the family for us to read as it also helps catch us up on everything she's doing and learning since they're so far away and we can't see her as often. Chris just the other day sent an e-mail to her telling Emily of Grandma Moore (her great-grandmother) and remembering her now that she has passed away last Sunday. Obviously, the e-mail was from Chris' point of view and it tells of memories he has of her from growing up. It made me start thinking of my memories of her...
I remember she had a fridge in the basement that was stocked with sodas and juice. Almost immediately after arriving at her house and hugging hello (she made sure to hug EVERYONE hello and good-bye), my brothers and I would run down the steps to grab a drink. Normally we'd stay down there, playing pool on the enormous pool table, board games (though a bunch of the games didn't have all the pieces, like Mouse Trap...but we tried to set it up anyway!), or later down the road, ping-pong. Being the competitive family that we are, there was a lot of smack talk going on and gloating and such.
I remember getting pizza from Regina's, I think just about the best pizza ever. I don't remember many holidays, just a few, but there was always laughter and joking and everything was very loud! Grandma would always have us go wash our hands before we ate, and she always had Caress soap in the dish (which is the reason why I use it in my own home...it always reminds me of her and her house). She made THE BEST apple pie (sorry, Mom, but I don't think anyone could compete with it) and I'd always try to get more than one piece. After dinner, we'd clear the table and a pack of cards was brought out. It was from Grandma that I learned War, Rummy, and 10/Oh Shucks/Oh Hell/Trumps (the last one Grandpa Moore had taught everyone, but I learned it AT Grandma's).
My grandparents, brothers, aunt and uncle, and cousins (and occasionally mom and dad) would go down to Lake Kerr, where we rented two cabins beside each other right on the lake. The kids would get the lofts and the adults would get the two bedrooms. I think the last year we went the kids got one cabin and the adults got the other. One year there was a huge spider that decided to build its web completely across one of the doors and we just left it, amazed at the web she made, the detail and the sheer size of it! We'd all wake up, eat cereal, then head down to the lake...sometimes swimming in front of the cabins, sometimes going to another small beach, usually within walking distance, though Aunt Karla would sometimes drive herself, Grandma, and the younger of us that didn't want to walk as far. My cousins and I would go to a little store to get snacks and bait and such. I thought it was so cool because it floated on the water (which was really handy when the lake flooded one year). My cousins and I went to the loading dock one time and I slipped, slicing my big toe open. They helped me back and Grandma went to the store, bringing back bandages and a foam thing to put on my toe. I thought it was weird, so it didn't stay on long.
There was a neighbor behind Grandma that had a big pool with a slide who would let us come over and swim in the summer. One time the jet on the slide wasn't on and I had no back to my bathing suit, so when I went down I burned myself really bad. Grandma taught me how to cup my hands, keeping my fingers together, so I could "push" the water out of the way and swim better. She had apple trees and a grape arbor (which I thought was cool because it was like a little hideaway). She had an ENORMOUS tree in the backyard that we used to climb (the tree is actually listed in a book on the largest trees documented in the US(?), my brother found out). We played soccer and football in the backyard.
Other things I remember:
Grandma's the reason I finally got my ears pierced. Mom didn't let me, and then Grandma had thought they already were and bought me a jewelry set for Christmas one year that had pierced earrings in it.
Her coffee table was a huge slab of a tree trunk, which I thought (and still do) was the coolest thing. There were two stools I would sit on and either eat there or do puzzles or some other activities.
She always had candy, which I'd get when I was there. They were like Tootsie rolls, but flavors like vanilla, butterscotch, and butter rum (my favorite one!).
Grandma had the oddest collection of furniture and decor (including a huge set of carved wooden spoon, fork, and something else that hung on the basement wall, as well as an African-looking drum she used as a side table) that I think she and Grandpa Miller got when he was in the military.
I remember hunting Easter eggs in her front yard a couple years.
She had the oddest (and coolest) sayings, like, "Bwess 'em wittle teensie!" when you had a boo-boo.
Dad always called her "Rady" (I always wondered why he called his mother this, and he explained that he called her Ol' Rady (old lady) and she called him something back which I can't remember).
Grandma used to always call me Tada. I had always accepted it as an endearment, then one year I asked Aunt Karla why she called me that (I was afraid to ask Grandma herself because I was young and for some reason thought it'd hurt her feelings if I questioned her). Apparently, when I was born, my brother Eric couldn't say "Samantha" and all that came out sounded like Tada, so it always stuck with Grandma.
But the most important thing I remember about Grandma and Grandma's house was the love and laughter that was always shared there, starting with the big bear hugs and kisses on the cheek upon arrival and ending with the reluctant waves as our car pulled away.

I love you, Grandma.