Sharing is Caring

I am ready to commit to writing again.  I've been yearning to blog for awhile, but have not sat down in front of the computer and just typed away.  I was either "too tired" or "too busy" but in reality I was too afraid to open up again.

Anyone that knows me, knows I am a pretty direct person.  I believe I come across as confident and energetic, but I am also very fearful.  I am my harshest critic, so the idea of putting myself out for the world (well not the world, but whoever is gracious enough to read this blog) was plaguing me.  As I am approaching the end of my 35th, which I guess is really my 36th year, or if you really want to get technical, 37th year (don't forget the time in utero), I find myself stuck.

Will I also feel this stuck feeling?  Is that just my personality? or has my fear stopped me from pursuing passions, thus the stuck feeling?

If I were  the 20-something years old girl day dreaming about my life, I would've thought that the 35 year old version of myself would have been more advanced in my career, would have traveled more, would've, could've, should've a lot of other things.  The reality is, I haven't traveled as much, I don't even consider myself having a "career" but rather a string of jobs put together to create a decent resume.  What I also realize  is that my reality also includes a very intriguing, tumultuous, challenging, loving, roller coaster of a ride.  I don't think my story is any more special than anyone else's.  I don't think I would win the Gold Medal in tragedy, nor do I want to.  However, if any of the self -reflecting that I have learned over the years has taught me is that sharing my story is important. 

I remember three years ago when I got home from my open heart surgery, I was out with my sister and met up with friends of friends of hers.  I recall one of the women I spoke with was going through a rough patch in her life.  As we spoke about her life and the challenges she was facing and how the week prior I was laying on an operating table undergoing open heart surgery, she looked at me "but your soo positive! Your energy is great.  you really have inspired me."  I thanked her and went on with my day.  It wasn't until a little while later I thought, I just inspired someone by telling her about my life.  How cool is that?

So here I am again.  Trying to break free from the stuck feeling and not allowing fear to stop me.  I am not special. I am not a hero. I am not perfect. I am not a failure.  I am here.....in the now, sharing my story.

One Flew Into The Cuckoo's Nest

Our backdoor has two side doors/windows that you can open to let the fresh air in while keeping critters out.  When we first moved into our house one of the screens had a rip on the bottom of it, my dad thought it would be a brilliant idea to teach Petie to go in and out of the ripped screened door as his own personal doggy door.  At first, I hated the idea; now its a second nature to open "the Petie door."  Although the rip on the screen has grown bigger over the past 8 years, I have yet to replace it, part laziness, part cheapness, part convenience for Petie.  Well after this morning, I'm calling a screen repair company.

Petie had just gone out to do his morning business and unbeknownst to me had come back into the house.  The side door/window was still open while I was playing with Peyton on the couch, talking to my parents on the phone while they embarked on the journey drive back to Texas after a month away in Florida.  Peyton was smiling, I was chatting and the next thing I knew was a small bird was flying around my kitchen.  A bird flew into my house.  Never in my life have I had a bird in my house.  Being the ever calming force that I am, I shrieked "a bird flew into my house! AHHHH!" and as the poor little bird frantically flew around my kitchen banging into windows and kitchen cabinets, I was ducking for cover like I was in some serious danger.  I hung up the phone with my parents, after I told them I felt like I was in Alfred Hitchcock's Birds, to my moms response "Allie, its one bird!"  

One bird indeed.  One bird that was invading my personal space and I wasn't going to take it anymore.  I ran to our laundry room that houses our 'fly swatter.'  By know the bird had concussed itself by banging into our back windows, window above kitchen sink and flying into the kitchen cabinets.  It was quietly sitting next to the stove, like it belonged on my kitchen counter tops.  I quickly shut all the doors that led to bedrooms and bathrooms.  I opened the backdoor and figured the door being wide open will allow the bird to easily fly out.  Well.... not quite.  After I shut all doors, I put Peyton in her activity center and as she clanged around with her toys, I took the fly swatter and got closer to the bird.  I started smacking the swatter on our refrigerator.  This spooked the bird and as he took off he flew right into our back window again, this time getting stuck in our curtains.  C'mon bird, just LEAVE! Then I made some more noise and the bird took flight again.  This time slamming itself into the wide open back door.  Nope, not flying out of it, but smashing its poor body into it and then continuing to fly into our TV room, where my adorable almost-5-month-old daughter was minding her business.  I know was screaming like a complete lunatic "get out bird, stay away from my baby!" 

The bird landed on the ground next to Petie's dog bed.  Surely, if Petie was in his bed, he would be get up and scare the bird.  Right, isn't that what dogs do?  But no movement.  Petie must be upstairs I thought.  What I envisioned next was the bird flying right into Peyton, so I quickly got over to Peyton, picked her up and ran behind a wall.   In one hand holding my baby, I flipped on the overhead lights and  started smacking the swatter onto the wall.  This time, the bird lifted off the ground, fluttered around for a second and flew out the door!  

holy shit, I felt like I defeated Muhammad Ali in a boxing match.  I was shuffling around - yelling "that's right bird! Get out!" Slamming the backdoor to ensure that Mr. Tweeter and his friends didn't visit again.  I went back to playing with Peyton and two seconds later I heard Petie get out of his bed.  You know, the bed that the bird landed on and then next too.  This dog slept through the entire fiasco.  My mighty, fierce watchdog didn't come to my rescue, but again, he is used to me yelling and jumping around like a lunatic in our cuckoos nest.....err, home!