Design Flaws

When I was three, my parents bought the home that I would grow up in. It was a pretty nice house, bigger than the home we moved out of... and it had a pool. My Dad and his wife Delia still live in that house today. 

The entire thirteen years that my parents lived in that house, every wall was white. For a long time, it never occurred to me that I could paint the walls. When I got old enough, I remember asking once or twice to paint a wall or the room and the answer was always no. 

I vaguely remember my sister, Alison painting her room when I moved into Kari's room, and she got the privacy that she begged my parents for. I could be making that up. I definitely remember my mom working tirelessly to scrap the ugly wallpaper off the bathroom walls and painting that a lovely shade of.... (surprise!) white.

Years later, when Delia (because it was her idea, no doubt) painted the walls in that house, I was floored. It was so WEIRD. The house had always been white, and now there was a sage green color in the dining room, and a pretty tan color in the den. 

After my Mom and I moved out, we lived in an apartment which obviously we couldn't paint. Then, we moved back into the first house my Mom and Dad had purchased, and we didn't paint any color in there either. When I moved out, I lived in rentals that always had a no paint policy. 

Like how I get right down to the point?

I became OBSESSED with painting. When Denise and I were looking for an apartment in Fresno, she found one that let you paint one living room wall in one of their approved colors. HOT DOG! But when she went to visit, she explained that the freeway was right behind the building and it was loud. Alas, painted walls were not to be. 

When I moved in with my friend, Cisco, who owned the house, he said I could paint my room whatever I wanted. So I painted vertical stripes on one wall, which I now know is called a "focus" wall. How fancy. At that time, I was arrogant. How HARD can stripes really be? Honestly. I didn't know that there were tips and tricks and entire blogs dedicated to painting stripes. It turned out well enough, but no where near what it could have been had I researched. 

Bryan and I now own a home. We can change pretty much anything we want if we have the time, inclination, funds and know-how. 

And wouldn't you know that while I have myriad ideas but no actual inspiration to DO any of them? 

It doesn't help that my super supportive and inspiring husband likes to shut down every vision or idea that I have. 

I haven't had a whole lot of motivation to paint or unpack and decorate because 1. every time I talk about what I want to do Bryan looks at me like I have sprouted ten heads and am speaking in Russian and 2. because I look at these blogs of real people (read: women) just like myself that have beautiful homes and I want that NOW. I'd like to skip the whole awkward, figuring things out stage and just have a beautiful zone that does not have German shepherd hair and drool all over it. 

I want to wish away the blue tile and gray grout in the kitchen, and the cream and green tile in the master bathroom, along with weird ivy-laden light fixture. And don't even get me started on the black toilet that freaks all of our guests out in the front bathroom. (Note: If you are ever in Lowes or Home Depot, and you think to yourself, OH. We could put a chic, black toilet in the only guest bathroom in our house. LET ME TELL YOU, this is a bad idea. It freaks people out. I have lived in the house since September, have owned it since May 2010 and do you think that I have EVER peed in that bathroom? Creepy.)

So, not only am I in the hugest hair-do funk of my LIFE, but I also am in a decorating funk. 

Awesome.

Ethan

My cousin lost her little boy on July 28, 2010. 

Ethan had an accident at home. He was rushed to Fresno and we got word that the prognosis was good. That he would be okay. And then, all of a sudden, my sister was calling me at work saying that he had passed. 

I did not know Ethan. 

I spent time with my family, I went to the funeral and the reception afterward. I cried for my cousins loss. I cried for my family, I ached for them. And I felt a huge, overwhelming surge of guilt. 

All I can think about right now and every time I have thought about this, is how DARE I. How can I possibly make it about me and my guilt. If I was my cousin, I would slap me. How could I talk about this guilt when I cannot even begin to know what she feels, what she and her family is living on a day to day basis?

Unfortunately, I am human. And I can't help it.

For a brief period of time during my childhood, my cousins and I were close. My grandma and grandpa had four girls. Each girl got married and had kids. There were twelve cousins, and for a while we were as close as we possibly could be. We spent time at each others houses during the summer, we got together over at our grandparents. Our parents would hang out together. 

But, through all of that, my immediate family was living a lie. My Dad is an alcoholic. I always say that his alcoholism is marked by my lifespan. He drank before I was born, but it became a serious issue when I came around and got worse as I grew. My Dad is not a functioning alcoholic. He is a binge drinker. 

So, his "problem" would cause us to lie to our family. And maybe they knew, maybe not. But it tended to make us feel like the black sheep of the family. It made us all alienate ourselves from people. We couldn't invest in any relationships, because we were all just trying to survive the emotional roller-coaster that was our life. 

The canyon between our family and my mom's family widened over the years. All of the cousins were still close, they all lived within ten minutes of each other. Now, this is only speaking for myself, but I felt displaced among my family. I know I've mentioned this before, but I am awkward at making relationships. I feel vulnerable and I have always had a huge fear of rejection. So, for a lot of family functions I would take a book and just try to stay out of the way. I couldn't find my place with my family. 

Then, when my parents separated, I was fifteen. When they were divorcing, I was sixteen. I was sixteen and I would come home and have to make my mom eat. I watched her almost fade away. I was angry at the world. I partied. I didn't talk to my father. My sisters were gone. I lost myself in boyfriends. I lost my Vavo. I stopped trying in school. I got my first job. It was a crazy time in my life. And as I remember it (which my memory is not the best, as I'm sure you well know) the only person that was there for my mom was one of my aunts. Ethan's grandma. 

During that time, I came to have a great distaste for my mom's family. I begged my mom to let me skip weddings and birthdays and Christmas. Sometimes she would let me stay home. Most times she made me go. I felt like an outsider. I was angry and bitter. I wanted my Mom's families support. I wanted her to have people to talk to. I felt like the least my aunts could do was to BE there. I knew, and know to this day, that my sisters would be there. No matter what. There wouldn't even be a hesitation. I saw my extended families absence as proof that they didn't love her or us. And I was ready to cross them off my list, forever. 

I continued to pull away. As soon as I was out of school I stopped going to family functions. It helped because for quite a while, my own Mother and I weren't talking. I pushed them all out of my family and out of my heart. I felt like our family was the black sheep in the family, and that their inaction made it clear and made me RIGHT.

I told my Mom that I just didn't 'fit in'. And that they were unwelcoming. I would only give exception to Ethan's grandma, because I respected her for being there for my Mom. For inviting my mom over and helping her through a time that I didn't understand and couldn't deal with.  I felt like Grandma and Grandpa were out of touch and the language barrier was too difficult. I felt unloved.

My cousins grew up, got married, and had babies. My aunt's became grandmothers. My cousins were mothers. All of a sudden we were all grown up and everyone was going their own way, and I was fine with letting them go. I was okay with letting my family do their thing and creating my own family. 

For my wedding, a lot of pretty bad stuff happened between me and my aunts. It was, to me, validation of how I was treated different from their other nieces and nephews. Words were exchanged that could never been taken back, only wished away. I was done. It was the last straw. And I didn't lose a moments rest about it. 

Until Ethan. 

I didn't know Ethan. And I didn't know him because I let a whole lot of emotion push me away. I never gave myself the chance of getting to know my cousins. I never gave them the opportunity to get to know me. I never even explained how I was feeling, and I never gave them a chance to tell me I was being dumb. And for that, I didn't know my second cousin. Holding onto that resentment made me miss Christmases and Thanksgivings. It made me stay away from my family. I lost time with all of them, especially my Grandma and Grandpa, who are not getting any younger, if you know what I mean. 

I could barely hide my guilt and shame as I walked into my cousins house. I could barely stop myself from tearing up and telling her that I was so, unbelievably sorry for not knowing her little boy. For not taking the time to get to know her family. But I did, because I knew that this was not about me. This was about something so much bigger than me. 

A few nights ago, we all went over to my grandparents house for pizza, and Ethan's mom told us the happy news that they are expecting a baby. There were tears and "I can't believe it!s" and an overwhelming sense of joy and hope. 

I am reminded all the time that God is faithful. That my God is a giving God. He is all about love, kindness and second chances. He forgives. 

I may not have known Ethan, and for that I will always be sad and sorrier than I can explain. But Ethan gave me a gift. He taught me one of the biggest lessons that I have ever had to learn. And while I would do anything to not have learned it this way, Ethan taught me that family is necessary and permanent. Family is worth fighting for. Family needs to be more than just coming together at times of great happiness or tragedy. 

Family is worth the effort. So, although I have my own little family now, and we have our own traditions, I plan on getting plugged into my family as much as I can. 

Freedom...

Veteran's Day just passed and it got me thinking a lot about freedom. Freedom is a pretty precarious thing. Most wars are fought over freedom. People, every day, sign their lives away for an (almost) thankless job of protecting freedom. They fight for the freedoms of other people that don't even live in our country. They kill other people all for the sake of freedom.

To stop and think about it, it is a crazy, what one will do for freedom. What a nation or a society of people will do for freedom. For the freedom of others. It's amazing and terrifying.

I started this blog for freedom. I wanted, needed to have an outlet. Now, I am only marginally creative. I've never been one to paint or create or build. I've always been a reader and a writer. I started this blog for the creative expression. To write. To document. To vent. It was supposed to be a representation of me, my life, and my thoughts.

In starting a blog, there has to be a modicum of discretion. I've had to be careful in how I explain my thoughts, as to not upset anyone. I've had to ask permission to post things. I've posted in anger, in frustration, and sometimes I left it up. Other times I took them down.

At work, my boss always says, "Megan, put it in writing. Then there will be a record and there is no disputing it." She told me to be careful of what I write because its documented. It's locked in. You have a little wiggle room with tones - but the words are there forever. And how someone perceives those words is important. There are times when I have written and re-written an email because I felt it sounded snarky, or rude. Which is appropriate and right. At work you need to be professional, you need to keep emotions at bay and do your job.

While a margin of professionalism needs to bleed into this blog, since a large portion of my life takes place at work, I had every intention of being myself. I wanted to have an accurate representation of my life. Not for anyone else, but for myself. To have a place to be me, as unfiltered as possible. I wanted a space for my creativity to be unleashed.

Recently, I went back and read some posts and they don't sound like me. Most of the people that read this click on the link from facebook, or are family members or old school mates. And maybe a few of them could tell that I wasn't being me, that I wasn't writing how I would speak or interact with other people. Mainly, that was because I was so worried. I was worried about hurting feelings, of being taken out of context, of not being accepted, of not being understood.

How did my "space for my creativity to be unleashed" become about OTHER people?

I didn't want to step on toes, or let that fact that I'm a Christian and I say "shit" pretty regularly be called being hypocritical. Or if I wrote about how I'm a conservative republican being manipulated into being close-minded and hateful towards others.

Many of you reading this know me, but don't KNOW me. I don't let a whole lot of people in. Some take that as being rude or stuck up. Some think I am shy. Honestly, I AM shy. I am really, horrible insecure when it comes to making friends. I am awkward to the nth degree. But, if you are pushy enough (like most of my friends are), once I get comfortable, the Portuguese in me takes over and I am loud. And sometimes hilarious, and often quiet. But when I feel safe, I let myself be me.

So, since I am writing for myself, why am I not being ME? Why am I letting myself by caged in when this is MY outlet? How does that make any sense whatsoever?

The answer is it doesn't. It does make sense to not post in angry, or be flippant with words. Words have meaning and everyone should tread carefully. But on the flip side of that, people need to be true to themselves. I need to remember that I can state how I feel, by being respectful, but not compromising who I am.

Freedom of any kind is worth fighting for... and I intend to go down swinging.

One Year Ago...

Happy Anniversary, Baby. We made it a year without killing each other. :) To the first of many...

A Different Decision

Yesterday, Bryan and I went to Fresno to do a little shopping and to see a movie. After 'The Social Network' we went to the Elephant Bar and had a few drinks and some dessert. We were talking about how we needed to work on the structure of our days and to spend our time more wisely. So, today I made a real effort in being better.

Here are a few simple things I did to change my normal routine:

-I woke up ten minutes earlier than normal so that I would arrive 5 minutes early to work instead of right on time... with make-up on.

-When I got home, I organized my meal plan for this week. Taking care to implement what I already have so I don't spend what I don't have to.

-I watched a little TV before Bryan got home and rested.

-I spent a few moments chatting with Bryan about our days and various other things.

-I started dinner before I was hungry and made sure not to rush. I tend to want until I'm hungry to eat and then I rush through and say things like "That's good enough." And eat it. Even if its NOT good enough. I made a yummy dinner, and managed to get a grunt of approval from the hubs. :)

-Instead of sitting down after cooking to watch TV and relax while Bryan cleaned up, I talked with him, changed out my checkbook and wrote a payment. Then I started some laundry and put my purse back together for tomorrow.

-When Bryan was finished with the kitchen, he found me on my computer surfin' the net. So, he sat down and played a little Wii. When I was finished, he started Arrested Development and now we are watching, cuddled on the couch, eating Halloween candy that we definitely don't need.

All the changes were simple decisions but they really made a difference to my day. I feel accomplished. And it makes me happy. It also makes me want to pass out like my Cali-girl. :)


*Posted via Blogaway on the HTC Incredible. Any errors are because my thumbs get so tired that sometimes they don't hit the right keys.

Owl Be Watching You

Say hello to my new friend. :) I cannot believe I found a white ceramic owl for $13. And he is huge! Who would have thought that Burlington Coat Factory would have cute home stuff? So excited to put him on my bookshelf when I get home!

All good things...

End with a trip to the emergency room. Say-WHAT?


I wish that I could say I ended up in the ER because I went sky-diving and hit my head on a bird on the way down so I had to go get checked out... 


Or I pulled an Evel Knievel and did a little of this:

(Source: EvelKnievel.com)

But, I didn't. I went to the ER because my brain was THISCLOSE to exploding on Sunday night. We should rewind to the beginning, though. 

Friday, (Oct. 8) was my birthday, and I always try to get my birthday off if it's a Friday. My boss, Kim, approved the request and I went to the Fresno Chaffee Zoo, since I had never been there before! I loved seeing the animals, but it also made me really sad too. I can't help but feel like they should be in their natural habitat. Those pens are just so tiny. It hurts my heart. 

Nonetheless, I enjoyed seeing all the different animals and I was able to get a few good pictures... 

Obviously, I was dying to see the elephants. Look how CUTE they are. I was practically begging them to get in the water and play. Of course, animals almost never do what you want them to do. They were both kind of swaying to their own music though. They are so beautiful. 

I had SUCH a great afternoon with my friends (who will remain nameless, to protect the innocent). Thank you for coffee, lunch, and accompanying me to FCZ. It was awesome. :)

For dinner, Bryan and I met up with my sisters and their husbands. We went out to dinner at Fugazzi's. It was so fun. There is definitely never a dull moment when the all six of us get together. We ended up going to Kari and Adam's house after and we all kind of pooped out on the couch. We watched The Office. It was a great ending to a long day.

On Saturday, Bryan and I busted our rumps to get the house in order for my little birthday get-together that night. Luckily we pulled it together. Oh how I wish we had taken pictures! I'm so bad at that. But I had a really fantastic time with my friends and family. Thank you to everyone who help pull Saturday night off and who came and celebrated with me. Love you all!

Kari and Adam held their gender party on Sunday evening, and about 30 of their friends and family members attended to find out if they were having a boy or a girl. 

Now, the minute Kari told me she was pregnant, I KNEW it was a boy. I just knew it down to my toes. And guess what? 

(Stolen from Kari's Facebook page, cause I'm a ninja.)

IT'S A BOY! I knew it. I'm amazing. And I am SO HAPPY for Adam and Kari. Congrats!

After receiving such happy news you would think that I would go home and dream of all the ways I'll be able to spoil my nephew when he arrives next year... but no. At around 10 that night I felt a migraine coming on. I immediately took my medicine and went to bed. I woke up a few hours later with a BLINDING headache. I had Bryan heat up my... I don't know what to call it... bag of corn? Heating bag of kernels that don't pop into yummy food? Anyways, it was so hot that it made lava seem like ice cream. And it didn't help. He rubbed my back, nada. I knew that this was a loosing battle. I had no medicine, none of my tricks were working. I was completely. screwed. 

I started to cry, and Bryan begged me to stop because it would only get worse. Finally, I started to feel really nauseous. And then I knew, this wasn't going to go away. There is no way I would be able to fight this. It was now 1:30 in the morning and I told Bryan that I needed help. I needed to go to the hospital. 

A few minutes that I don't really remember later, we were at the hospital. Bryan gave them all my information, and we got moved into a room in the back. The nurse asked me a ton of questions that I again, don't remember. I was really just focusing on not throwing up. I don't remember asking, but Bryan got on of those bags that you throw up in from the front desk and kept it close to me. 

Finally, the doctor arrived and asked me more questions. Again, I don't really remember what he asked me. But I DO remember him moving to touch my the back of my head. He asked if it hurt, and I remember saying yes. Then he tilted my head up, which was a REALLY bad idea cause I threw up every where. I managed to block my mouth with my hand, and Bryan moved the bag in front of my face, so I hope I didn't get it on the ol' Doc. But I did manage to get it on me, my pillow, and a little bit on Bryan. 

I honestly can't tell you WHY a migraine gets to a certain point where you cannot hold your stomach. I think that the pain just gets so bad that you have to relieve pressure somewhere. I don't know. All I know is that other migraine-sufferers that I have spoken to will base how bad the migraine is on 1. how blurred your vision is and b. if you are nauseous and/or throw up.

So, the doctor, now standing across the room from me, probably terrified of getting more nastiness on his white coat,  said he'd like me to get a CT scan and that they were going to give me a shot and I'd have to wait there for a while. In came the morphine. I remember that I kept telling myself not to tense up, cause then my butt would hurt forever, but due to the communication problems between my brain and I, I tensed. And my butt STILL hurts. TMI? Oh well. Once you say it in blog-land you can't un-say it. All you can do is issue an apology or tell them to go fly a kite. Guess which one I'll pick if people get offended? 

On the plus side, I got to ride in a wheel chair to the room with the donut machine. The only bad thing is that I barely remember the ride, or the test itself. I do remember waking up in the original room and kind of zoning in and out of consciousness. One time, Bryan tripped on something and almost went down into a bunch of cabinets. Which is hilarious now that I'm thinking about it. The doctor gave me a prescription for Vicodin and we left. It was about 4 at this time. I don't remember the ride home or getting into bed. All I know is that I stayed there for the next 13 or so hours. 

It was fun. Doesn't it sound fun? I know. Everyone wishes they were me.

Can I say one thing though? I wish, wish, WISH that Bryan would get a migraine. I wish that he would just get ONE, horrible, rotten, no-good migraine where he was throwing up and thinking that being shot in the head would feel better than this migraine continuing. Because, Boy doesn't know how to be sympathetic at all. On Tuesday, he asked me, "What's wrong with you? Why are you still messed up?" It's like... seriously? 

Brains have to sustain SOME kind of damage after a migraine happens. And brains need to heal. Sleeping for almost 24 hours is not enough to get your brain functioning back to normal, where you can go to work, unpack boxes and cook dinner. No siree!

Cook your own damn tacos, is what I say.