Work Hard (But Not Too Hard)

Anyone else have days where you’re productive at work but not at home, or the opposite? Why can’t I be productive all the time?

At home, I did dishes and laundry and now I’m out on my walk/run before I cook supper. Housework on the agenda too!

My accomplishment at work, however, besides a six block stroll to the bakery, was realizing my side project since February is immaterial and thus worthless. If you’re spinning your wheels, stop…

Monday Again!!

It just keeps coming!!

Had a ball this weekend with my sister at Stillwater’s Remember the Ten 5K (her first!) and Downtown Arts Festival. So much inspiration, from the victims’ families, fellow runners (and walkers), and artisans.

Last night we had some friends over and cooked homegrown burgers. I can’t wait to get moved into the new house and start work on it, and have people over all the time!

I feel a little lame for copying an outfit almost exactly, but what can you do? There are only so many business casual outfits a closet can ever make, and especially with four cardis, five pairs of pants, and more camis than a person really needs, you can’t help but get similar outfits every once in a while… And I don’t care! Just throw on pretty jewelry and shoes and realize that No. One. Else. Cares!

(It’s the denim shirt over the black dress from the Who I Am post, in case you’re curious. One day I’ll fully accept the brown belt with black clothes trend…)

Be happy, and have a lovely Monday!

Girls and Boys

I was going to blog about the TSwift song stuck in my head, and then another thought came up – family roles.

I promise it’s not as random as it sounds. I was just rushing out the door this morning (like most days) and thinking of all the things on today’s agenda at work. Every time my husband’s alarm went off, I hollered. I have mixed feelings about the fact my voice is 100000x effective as an alarm clock.

And even though I was late and scrambling, I loaded the dishwasher. And filled up the water pitcher. And made my side of the bed.

Part of this is my OCD, and part is inspiration from a blog I was reading this morning about leaving things, not as you found them, but as you’d wish to find them yourself. And part comes from the woman in me.

Say whatever you want about gender stereotypes, but I am both breadwinner (meaning the day-to-day paycheck – my husband definitely works harder than I do) and traditional female in my little family. I suspect many farm wives understand this conundrum. We married into – if we weren’t already born into – a profession and a culture that emphasizes masculine work. Women are often called upon to take a share of the lifting, pulling, mechanicing, hauling, throwing, pasture checking, tractor driving of a day’s work — because that is what’s needed for the family.

Of course, after this, she’s also going to take the lion’s share of feeding tired workers, cleaning the calf lot off the living room carpet, and turning the wheat stubble into a pretty arrangement. Because that’s what the family needs.

In my family of 2, my husband is building the future as I finance the present. I’m making the home as he does dishes after I leave for work. We’re sharing family jobs because that’s what the family needs.

So while I don’t want to slight my feminist foremothers, who gave me an equal education and an equal career, I can’t turn my back on my genetic foremothers — you know, the women who raised me. The ones who forsake dreams of their own to make sure I was healthy, clothed, socialized, and capable of reciting my ABC’s. Through their nurturing, I came to a position I use my intellect for a living. I also learned from and enjoyed time with my father and my friends’ fathers (mostly blue collar-manly men) and the few male teachers in my school system (mostly football coaches), but found a different experience.

Not better/worse, just different. That’s men and women in general. Separate but equal. If the goal in life is self-serving independence, I’m going to have a ball and humanity (and society) is going to the dogs. As long as my heart is about family, I’m going to be stuck here…

… Just a farm wife with a city life.

Good Morning Monday

Year Two of being married… ReadySetGo!

The grooms’ cake survived well, considering the trailer disentegrated before the reception, and it’s been upside down in the deep freeze since.

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Here’s the finished dishwasher magnet. Switched gears halfway through and I’m pleased.

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The other day, Jen from TheHouseFM made the comment that if you can’t find Him, it’s not His fault, and you must not be trying hard enough. Not sure how I feel about such a blanket statement. You have to be of the right mind to have Him, and for those not raised devout, that state of mind can be hard to found, due to the number of thoughts that conflict. I believe that things happen for a reason, and everything you go through sets you on a path for something better. You were meant to live the life you have — so cut those of us who drew the short stick a break for taking the scenic route to Him.

Newest DIY

Do you ever get those magnets on your phone book? Or is that just a Southwestern Bell thing? Around here, we get injury lawyers’ phone numbers on a regular basis – nice big magnets, but useless information.

I had an epiphany this morning while Pinning for clean/dirty dishwasher magnets. I’m going to transform a phone book magnet into a dishwasher magnet! Helloooo kitchen organization!

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It’s going to take a couple coats… But I’ll let you know how it goes! Or I could have modpodged it…

I also bought chalkboard paint (spray can form) yesterday… Maybe I’ll turn another lawyer magnet into a fridge memo pad!

Happy Saturday!

The Buzz about the Bling

Not to disenchant all you single ladies (and gentlemen? Do I have male readers?), but marriage is more work than finding a spouse. It’s easy to catch a man… Giggle lots (means you’re fun), watch some obscure tv or movies of an obscure genre (someone is going to get that reference someday, and then you’re supercool), and take your clothes off (“accidentally” or not) occasionally. Piece of cake.

Marriage, however, is working 12 hour days and coming home and trying to not push each other’s buttons. Coordinating housework, errands, vet visits, wedding/holiday/graduation gifts, meal planning, all to a level you can agree on. It’s everyday, all day, no regrets. Everyone slips from time to time, so at the same time you’re trying to keep it together, you have to forgive your spouse for the inevitable. No matter what.

That’s the truth begind the ring. Pinterest makes wedding planning fun (and with unbelievably high expectations) but you have another forty, fifty, sixty years after your wedding day.

The stomachaches. The mood swings. Laundry Day. The day before Thanksgiving. The day after your birthday. The day your dog dies. The days your nieces and nephews are born. The nicotine withdrawals. The chocolate cravings. The rainy days, the droughts, the day your truck breaks down. Every day.

Anything you can do

If my sister can set a goal to keep blogging, I can try harder too.

My sister is 10.5 years older than me. The often-made joke was that our parents raised two only children. I was around for big sister’s perm (yay 90’s), her strange friends who showed up late on weekends and swallowed lit matches, and for the rumble of her glass packs. I was barely beginning my academic adventures of my own when she headed off for the big city, and never came back. She took to City Life much faster than I.

I like to think I outgrew pesky little sister relatively early, but that’s probably just a perk of this being *my* blog. My story, my rules. I helped her move countless times around the metro, living for the weekends that Mom would take me down and I got to follow Linna around and go to the movies and rollerblading and shopping. In high school, a couch, a DVR, and nothing to do were just a short two hour drive away.

Two hours seems like an eternity sometimes, like the day I took her dog to the farm with me, and Mara stared the whole flipping way. Poor neurotic puppy. And it was an eternity for her, I’m sure, when Mom was in the hospital in Wichita and Linna not only had to deal with that and Dad and her husband, but also that loser I thought I was going to date. You’re never too old for your big sister to stare you in the face and promise to always love you but to also force you to not make stupid decisions.

Two hours isn’t so long, though, in the big scheme of things. So I’ve tried to do more, make the most of the time I get to boss my big sissy. Come see me! Come love me! Come run with me!

So she’s worried about being 35 and on a different path than originally intended. So what? Life never takes us where we want to go, like some cabbie waitin on a fare. It takes us where it damn well wants us to be. Things always work out in the end.

But I’ll always be taller.

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