In a few hours it will turn to 2013.
I hope that 2013 is going to be a big year for us. It's going to be the year I lose 50 pounds. It's going to be the year we get pregnant. Hopefully it will be the year we pay off our debt, too. Maybe it will be a year of new jobs.
I'm going to be using this blog for tracking my weight loss journey. There's probably going to be some partially naked pictures of me here, and I'll apologize for that in advance. But if it will keep me on the right track, I'll do it. My body isn't pretty, but it's what God gave me, and I'm trying to make it better.
I pray that 2012 treated you well, and that 2013 will treat you even better. Blessings to you, friends.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
High School
I've been bantering back and forth with some high school friends on Facebook, and I thought I'd write a little bit about it since it's been a while since I blogged, and I know you're all missing me, anyway. :)
I graduated from high school in 1998. My graduating class had between 80 and 90 kids. Not bad for rural, total small-town Minnesota.
I think of our class has having something like a "caste" system...the popular kids, the kids stuck kind of in the middle, the semi-outcasts, and the generally unpopular. I was one of the semi-outcasts, and I'll tell you why.
My family lived in a small, run-down farmhouse 10 miles from town. My parents never made a lot of money. I never had the "Girbaud" jeans, never had a silk shirt, never had a B.U.M sweatshirt, or E.N.U.F t-shirt. I had elastic-waisted jeans and I sometimes had to wear the same shirt twice in one week, because we couldn't afford for me to have a "wardrobe."
My little group was pretty close. We'd meet in the hallway in the morning and between classes to chat, passing notes, and spending time on the phone in the evening. I know the other groups were close, too, probably doing many of the same things that my bunch did.
Now that I'm an adult, and I've experience a whole lot more, I get it. Most of the popular kids, and a major portion of kids in the "stuck in the middle" bunch, I really couldn't care less about. They haven't grown up, gotten some normal-people priorities, or are still just way too good for me. We have absolutely nothing in common. I wish them well, but I don't want to waste my time or energy thinking about them, or caring. In fact, as soon as I'm done with this, those people are getting trimmed from my "friends" list on Facebook.
I keep in contact with the people I want to keep in contact with, even if it isn't as frequent as we'd like. I think of my high school friends, and pray for them often. These friends are the ones that helped mold me into who I am as an adult, and I am forever grateful for that.
At any rate, there is life after high school...SO much life, and it's so much better than I ever imagined. I am glad I never have to go back there, and I'm so excited to go FORWARD.
My high school friends...the REAL ones...know how very much I love you from afar.
I graduated from high school in 1998. My graduating class had between 80 and 90 kids. Not bad for rural, total small-town Minnesota.
I think of our class has having something like a "caste" system...the popular kids, the kids stuck kind of in the middle, the semi-outcasts, and the generally unpopular. I was one of the semi-outcasts, and I'll tell you why.
My family lived in a small, run-down farmhouse 10 miles from town. My parents never made a lot of money. I never had the "Girbaud" jeans, never had a silk shirt, never had a B.U.M sweatshirt, or E.N.U.F t-shirt. I had elastic-waisted jeans and I sometimes had to wear the same shirt twice in one week, because we couldn't afford for me to have a "wardrobe."
My little group was pretty close. We'd meet in the hallway in the morning and between classes to chat, passing notes, and spending time on the phone in the evening. I know the other groups were close, too, probably doing many of the same things that my bunch did.
Now that I'm an adult, and I've experience a whole lot more, I get it. Most of the popular kids, and a major portion of kids in the "stuck in the middle" bunch, I really couldn't care less about. They haven't grown up, gotten some normal-people priorities, or are still just way too good for me. We have absolutely nothing in common. I wish them well, but I don't want to waste my time or energy thinking about them, or caring. In fact, as soon as I'm done with this, those people are getting trimmed from my "friends" list on Facebook.
I keep in contact with the people I want to keep in contact with, even if it isn't as frequent as we'd like. I think of my high school friends, and pray for them often. These friends are the ones that helped mold me into who I am as an adult, and I am forever grateful for that.
At any rate, there is life after high school...SO much life, and it's so much better than I ever imagined. I am glad I never have to go back there, and I'm so excited to go FORWARD.
My high school friends...the REAL ones...know how very much I love you from afar.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Get Outta My Head...
And into my car.
I have so many good memories with vehicles. So many good childhood (and adult) memories revolve around rides in cars. I remember my dad's "Babe the Blue Ox" old Ford truck that had an 8-track player and we listened to Kenny Rogers' "Coward of the County" over and over and over.
And I remember the old beige and brown Chevy with the wood bottom in the box. It started on fire one time on Highway 29, and my uncle had to run down to the river to get a bucket of water to put it out...
We hauled cows and hay and ginormous Christmas trees that covered the windshield so much Dad had to hang his head out the window to see his way from Dale's to Grandma and Grandpa's. I remember when my dad backed that truck into a roll of wire on the farm and drove all the way home on Highway 29 with sparks flying behind him.
Oh...and then the day when dad bought the cursed "new" blue Ford. It was automatic, so I could drive it! We took it on vacation up north, and I thought I could surely handle backing the boat trailer back so I could drive it around the lake to pick dad up at the access. Unfortunately I was wrong. I practiced in front of Grandma and Grandpa's cabin, trying to weasel that trailer in between a tree and a stump. I hit the stump, and I remember Grandma hollering at me for it. I told my dad...and he just laughed. I've never been able to learn how to back a trailer. Maybe my husband could teach me.
My driver's license...the freedom that afforded me. My parents bought an Oldsmobile, so I got to drive our '87 Ford Crown Victoria. I felt like a queen in that limo. I wonder what happened to it...
After the Crown Vic, I inherited the Oldsmobile, which I took to college. I put so many miles on that car. My dad was sick at the time, and I was back and forth from Morris to Frazee every weekend, and I remember driving from Frazee to Rochester to Frazee again in one day...twelve hours of drive time.
After Dad died, Grandpa bought the cursed blue Ford, and since the Olds was about done with, I took the money from the Ford and the Olds trade-in and bought a year-old Chevy Cavalier. I drove it for six months before I totalled it and broke my humerus in the process, which led to six months of physical pain and deep, dark, pit-like depression.
And then...the Grand Prix. I bought my '96 Grand Prix in 2000 when I was ready to head back to work after that car accident. I lived at my aunt and uncle's in Hawley and drove it back and forth to Fargo every day. That fall I drove it to college in St. Paul. I drove it to the gas station on 9-11 because everyone thought gas was going to be $5 a gallon and I was concerned I wasn't going to be able to get home for Christmas. I drove my car to East St. Paul to work at JOY Preschool, where I found out how much I adored children, and decided to teach. From Concordia I drove back to Detroit Lakes for my grandfather's funeral, my uncle's funeral, and one of my church kid's funerals. I drove that car the day I met my husband. I drove that car to meet his family. I drove that car all over the Cities with my college friends packed into it.
I drove the Grand Prix to Fargo the day I graduated from college and got my first apartment. I watched Ryan pull my car behind the U-Haul when we moved to Las Vegas for our first teaching jobs. After that year, I drove that car around Austin, Minnesota for a year. I drove that car the day Ryan proposed to me, and I drove it the day I was blessed enough to marry him. I watched Ryan pull that car to Wyoming when we moved here.
And then, after all of that, I decided it was time for another one. I was worried about the Wyoming winters, and I was afraid my trusty Grand Prix wasn't going to cut it anymore.
So we bought our Equinox. We had it for about six months. I drove it back and forth to work, and Ryan drove it to Minnesota in October of 2006 to help me say goodbye to my William Dean. We drove it that winter, and drove again from Wyoming to Minnesota during our spring break, hitting a deer in southwestern North Dakota in the middle of the night. During our trip, we traded it in for our Chrysler Pacifica that we have now. We thought we'd gotten such a good deal...we drove a LONG time before we had to fill up, thought we were getting great gas mileage. And then...then we found out it had a HUGE gas tank.
The Chrysler has been with us through a lot, too. It gets me back and forth to work every day, and helps us do our paper route on Friday nights. It's driven me back and forth to about a bazillion doctor's appointments. It's driven me back and forth to the doctor's here in town, trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth to Salt Lake, through numerous attempts at trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth from Minnesota. I was driving home from Minnesota the day the I-35 bridge collapsed. I remember crying for an hour, barely able to see through the tears, hoping that my friends weren't on the bridge. So many tears have been cried in that car over unfulfilled hopes and dreams. I hope this summer I get to cry happy tears in that car--good news.
There's also Ryan's black Lumina. He's had that car since we met. It's now sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for us to decide what to do with it, as the engine is about to go. We made out in that car. That car drove us from the church to our hotel on our wedding night. It's driven me back and forth to work, and Ryan back and forth to work. It's taken us from Las Vegas to Minnesota, and pulled motorcycles across the country.
Sometimes I feel like my life runs on four wheels. I remember every car I've ever had, and ever car my parents have ever had (maybe...I barely remember the Valares. Yes...there were two.). I hope that we get to fill the Chrysler with car seats, bread crumbs, and spills. And giggles and happy squeals. And I hope the people I've ridden with never forget how much I love them, and how blessed I feel to have them in my life.
I have so many good memories with vehicles. So many good childhood (and adult) memories revolve around rides in cars. I remember my dad's "Babe the Blue Ox" old Ford truck that had an 8-track player and we listened to Kenny Rogers' "Coward of the County" over and over and over.
And I remember the old beige and brown Chevy with the wood bottom in the box. It started on fire one time on Highway 29, and my uncle had to run down to the river to get a bucket of water to put it out...
We hauled cows and hay and ginormous Christmas trees that covered the windshield so much Dad had to hang his head out the window to see his way from Dale's to Grandma and Grandpa's. I remember when my dad backed that truck into a roll of wire on the farm and drove all the way home on Highway 29 with sparks flying behind him.
Oh...and then the day when dad bought the cursed "new" blue Ford. It was automatic, so I could drive it! We took it on vacation up north, and I thought I could surely handle backing the boat trailer back so I could drive it around the lake to pick dad up at the access. Unfortunately I was wrong. I practiced in front of Grandma and Grandpa's cabin, trying to weasel that trailer in between a tree and a stump. I hit the stump, and I remember Grandma hollering at me for it. I told my dad...and he just laughed. I've never been able to learn how to back a trailer. Maybe my husband could teach me.
My driver's license...the freedom that afforded me. My parents bought an Oldsmobile, so I got to drive our '87 Ford Crown Victoria. I felt like a queen in that limo. I wonder what happened to it...
After the Crown Vic, I inherited the Oldsmobile, which I took to college. I put so many miles on that car. My dad was sick at the time, and I was back and forth from Morris to Frazee every weekend, and I remember driving from Frazee to Rochester to Frazee again in one day...twelve hours of drive time.
After Dad died, Grandpa bought the cursed blue Ford, and since the Olds was about done with, I took the money from the Ford and the Olds trade-in and bought a year-old Chevy Cavalier. I drove it for six months before I totalled it and broke my humerus in the process, which led to six months of physical pain and deep, dark, pit-like depression.
And then...the Grand Prix. I bought my '96 Grand Prix in 2000 when I was ready to head back to work after that car accident. I lived at my aunt and uncle's in Hawley and drove it back and forth to Fargo every day. That fall I drove it to college in St. Paul. I drove it to the gas station on 9-11 because everyone thought gas was going to be $5 a gallon and I was concerned I wasn't going to be able to get home for Christmas. I drove my car to East St. Paul to work at JOY Preschool, where I found out how much I adored children, and decided to teach. From Concordia I drove back to Detroit Lakes for my grandfather's funeral, my uncle's funeral, and one of my church kid's funerals. I drove that car the day I met my husband. I drove that car to meet his family. I drove that car all over the Cities with my college friends packed into it.
I drove the Grand Prix to Fargo the day I graduated from college and got my first apartment. I watched Ryan pull my car behind the U-Haul when we moved to Las Vegas for our first teaching jobs. After that year, I drove that car around Austin, Minnesota for a year. I drove that car the day Ryan proposed to me, and I drove it the day I was blessed enough to marry him. I watched Ryan pull that car to Wyoming when we moved here.
And then, after all of that, I decided it was time for another one. I was worried about the Wyoming winters, and I was afraid my trusty Grand Prix wasn't going to cut it anymore.
So we bought our Equinox. We had it for about six months. I drove it back and forth to work, and Ryan drove it to Minnesota in October of 2006 to help me say goodbye to my William Dean. We drove it that winter, and drove again from Wyoming to Minnesota during our spring break, hitting a deer in southwestern North Dakota in the middle of the night. During our trip, we traded it in for our Chrysler Pacifica that we have now. We thought we'd gotten such a good deal...we drove a LONG time before we had to fill up, thought we were getting great gas mileage. And then...then we found out it had a HUGE gas tank.
The Chrysler has been with us through a lot, too. It gets me back and forth to work every day, and helps us do our paper route on Friday nights. It's driven me back and forth to about a bazillion doctor's appointments. It's driven me back and forth to the doctor's here in town, trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth to Salt Lake, through numerous attempts at trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth from Minnesota. I was driving home from Minnesota the day the I-35 bridge collapsed. I remember crying for an hour, barely able to see through the tears, hoping that my friends weren't on the bridge. So many tears have been cried in that car over unfulfilled hopes and dreams. I hope this summer I get to cry happy tears in that car--good news.
There's also Ryan's black Lumina. He's had that car since we met. It's now sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for us to decide what to do with it, as the engine is about to go. We made out in that car. That car drove us from the church to our hotel on our wedding night. It's driven me back and forth to work, and Ryan back and forth to work. It's taken us from Las Vegas to Minnesota, and pulled motorcycles across the country.
Sometimes I feel like my life runs on four wheels. I remember every car I've ever had, and ever car my parents have ever had (maybe...I barely remember the Valares. Yes...there were two.). I hope that we get to fill the Chrysler with car seats, bread crumbs, and spills. And giggles and happy squeals. And I hope the people I've ridden with never forget how much I love them, and how blessed I feel to have them in my life.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Desire
I know this really isn't my designated "poor Marcie can't have a baby" blog, but its about my life, so I get to talk about it here.
The desire to be a mom is constant. I long to hold a baby in my arms. The term "baby" is fluid though...an infant. A two-year old. A seven-year-old. I can picture myself sitting on the floor of our apartment, tickling a baby's tummy, giggles filling the room. I can picture myself with a kindergartener, teaching him or her how to tie shoes. Poorly, according to my mother. I can picture myself hand-in-hand with a second grader walking along a deer trail in the woods, looking for colorful leaves, acorns, and signs of other wildlife, answering all the "Why, mama?" type questions I'm able to.
I can see all those things.
But the issue is that I don't always picture the same child. Sometimes I see a little girl with dark, bouncy curls, Ryan's brown eyes, and a joyful spirit making rivers with stolen spoons in the sanbox in the back yard.
Other times, I picture us with a boy with dark skin, and a crown of tight, black curls having a hard time sitting still during the sermon at church, but singing every praise song and hymn with the most beautiful, angelic voice.
I don't necessarily know how the road to parenthood will "end." I don't know how we're going to get there. I don't know if our next round of fertility treatments is going to work. I don't know if God is going to lay it on our hearts to bring a child into our family through the miracle of adoption.
All I know is that the desire to be a parent weighs heavily on my heart. Its a desire I never thought I'd have, or that I'd long to have fulfilled...
The desire to be a mom is constant. I long to hold a baby in my arms. The term "baby" is fluid though...an infant. A two-year old. A seven-year-old. I can picture myself sitting on the floor of our apartment, tickling a baby's tummy, giggles filling the room. I can picture myself with a kindergartener, teaching him or her how to tie shoes. Poorly, according to my mother. I can picture myself hand-in-hand with a second grader walking along a deer trail in the woods, looking for colorful leaves, acorns, and signs of other wildlife, answering all the "Why, mama?" type questions I'm able to.
I can see all those things.
But the issue is that I don't always picture the same child. Sometimes I see a little girl with dark, bouncy curls, Ryan's brown eyes, and a joyful spirit making rivers with stolen spoons in the sanbox in the back yard.
Other times, I picture us with a boy with dark skin, and a crown of tight, black curls having a hard time sitting still during the sermon at church, but singing every praise song and hymn with the most beautiful, angelic voice.
I don't necessarily know how the road to parenthood will "end." I don't know how we're going to get there. I don't know if our next round of fertility treatments is going to work. I don't know if God is going to lay it on our hearts to bring a child into our family through the miracle of adoption.
All I know is that the desire to be a parent weighs heavily on my heart. Its a desire I never thought I'd have, or that I'd long to have fulfilled...
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Possibilities
I have taught for a while now. This is what...the beginning of my 8th year of teaching.
I've had 7 groups of my OWN kids, and one group of two entire grade levels at a school. I've never had a group of children who have so...deeply CHANGED me. My 16 kids this year have reached their dirty, sticky little fingers down into my soul and touched me in a way I never thought possible.
I just...I think God brought them into my life at this exact time because they're what I needed. They're teaching me patience. I kind of lost my patience with a student today, and my voice got louder, and they looked at me like I was nuts. While I am nuts, I think in past years I tended to YELL more when I needed attention. I don't do that this year. I find myself down on my knees talking to a student about a behavior rather than towering over them, and lowering my voice when I need to get attention or have a discussion with a child. My students taught me that.
I've learned to be positive. I put the positivity in my voice. I get excited about what kids are learning and what I'm teaching. I want my students to leave my classroom loving school. My kiddos give me that desire.
Like any situation in life, I bond more with some children than others. Adults do that, too. I've bonded more with some colleagues than others. I love them all, but I like some of them more than others. :) My students are absolutely amazing, and I am blessed to have them in my life. I hope that *I* am a blessing in theirs. I hope that they are able to look back as adults and remember me as someone who made an impact in their lives. A POSITIVE impact. I hope they know that they are loved, and that I see the individual gifts and talents that each of them have.
I've had 7 groups of my OWN kids, and one group of two entire grade levels at a school. I've never had a group of children who have so...deeply CHANGED me. My 16 kids this year have reached their dirty, sticky little fingers down into my soul and touched me in a way I never thought possible.
I just...I think God brought them into my life at this exact time because they're what I needed. They're teaching me patience. I kind of lost my patience with a student today, and my voice got louder, and they looked at me like I was nuts. While I am nuts, I think in past years I tended to YELL more when I needed attention. I don't do that this year. I find myself down on my knees talking to a student about a behavior rather than towering over them, and lowering my voice when I need to get attention or have a discussion with a child. My students taught me that.
I've learned to be positive. I put the positivity in my voice. I get excited about what kids are learning and what I'm teaching. I want my students to leave my classroom loving school. My kiddos give me that desire.
Like any situation in life, I bond more with some children than others. Adults do that, too. I've bonded more with some colleagues than others. I love them all, but I like some of them more than others. :) My students are absolutely amazing, and I am blessed to have them in my life. I hope that *I* am a blessing in theirs. I hope that they are able to look back as adults and remember me as someone who made an impact in their lives. A POSITIVE impact. I hope they know that they are loved, and that I see the individual gifts and talents that each of them have.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Where's the Joy?
If you know me at all, you know that for a huge portion of my life I was loud, exuberant, laughing, joking, without a worry in the world.
I haven't felt like that for several years. And I hate that. I don't know if its the infertility issues that we face that I allow to drag me down. I don't know if it's the continued chemical imbalances. I thought my meds had them pretty well-controlled, but lately I've been feeling SO anxious, and nothing seems to help.
Maybe its church. We haven't been faithful church-goers for quite some time. And I find that I need that.
So I'm on this quest to find some joy. I'm tired of moping through life. I want to be happy. I want the joyfulness I used to have. I wonder why I've allowed a little bit of life to steal it away from me....
I haven't felt like that for several years. And I hate that. I don't know if its the infertility issues that we face that I allow to drag me down. I don't know if it's the continued chemical imbalances. I thought my meds had them pretty well-controlled, but lately I've been feeling SO anxious, and nothing seems to help.
Maybe its church. We haven't been faithful church-goers for quite some time. And I find that I need that.
So I'm on this quest to find some joy. I'm tired of moping through life. I want to be happy. I want the joyfulness I used to have. I wonder why I've allowed a little bit of life to steal it away from me....
Thursday, April 14, 2011
My (un)Christian Heart
I've been a Christian for over 20 years.
I'd love to tell you I'm an avid Bible-reader and church-goer, but I'm not. I think I'm more upset with myself about the Bible-reading than the church-going, although both are important. If I want to know God intimately, and know what He has to say about EVERYTHING, I know where I need to. And I don't do that. Shame on me.
I really noticed today how mean I am. And hateful. And resentful. What is wrong with me? Ryan tells me I snap at people. I don't feel like I do, but it doesn't really matter what I *FEEL*, it matters what people are perceiving. For instance, Ryan went with me to my podiatrist. I took my sock and boot off for him to look at, and he was trying to put my sock back on for me, and I said "Give me that! I can do that!" I thought I said it in a joking tone, but Ryan took it as snappish.
I don't FEEL snappish. I think I tend to joke much more than I'm grumpy. But I guess if people don't know that about me, they're not going to get the message I'm sending.
I really want to get a tattoo somewhere *I* can see that says "Shut up, Marcie." Because that's what I need to do. I want the words that I say to be encouraging, positive, and uplifting, and I fear that more often than not, they are just the opposite. I want to be one of those people that listens ten times more than what they say.
So I need to watch what's happening in my head. If there's mean, resentful stuff starting to creep in there about other people, I need to turn on the self-talk to shut up. I need to be able to change the direction of my thoughts to more positive things...
Because I'm a Christian, and I love my brothers and sisters. We're all made in God's image, whether or not we hold the same beliefs...
I'd love to tell you I'm an avid Bible-reader and church-goer, but I'm not. I think I'm more upset with myself about the Bible-reading than the church-going, although both are important. If I want to know God intimately, and know what He has to say about EVERYTHING, I know where I need to. And I don't do that. Shame on me.
I really noticed today how mean I am. And hateful. And resentful. What is wrong with me? Ryan tells me I snap at people. I don't feel like I do, but it doesn't really matter what I *FEEL*, it matters what people are perceiving. For instance, Ryan went with me to my podiatrist. I took my sock and boot off for him to look at, and he was trying to put my sock back on for me, and I said "Give me that! I can do that!" I thought I said it in a joking tone, but Ryan took it as snappish.
I don't FEEL snappish. I think I tend to joke much more than I'm grumpy. But I guess if people don't know that about me, they're not going to get the message I'm sending.
I really want to get a tattoo somewhere *I* can see that says "Shut up, Marcie." Because that's what I need to do. I want the words that I say to be encouraging, positive, and uplifting, and I fear that more often than not, they are just the opposite. I want to be one of those people that listens ten times more than what they say.
So I need to watch what's happening in my head. If there's mean, resentful stuff starting to creep in there about other people, I need to turn on the self-talk to shut up. I need to be able to change the direction of my thoughts to more positive things...
Because I'm a Christian, and I love my brothers and sisters. We're all made in God's image, whether or not we hold the same beliefs...
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
WHY?
Sometimes I want to shake my fist at God. I know He'd understand my railing, or rather, I know he UNDERSTANDS my railing at what I perceive to be the world's injustices.
See, I don't understand why it seems like the "fertiles" of the world are all on some type of state or federal "assistance." My husband and I work our BUTTS off. We both went to college, and we both have multiple degrees. And I think that compared to the rest of the world, we make quite a bit of money. But that doesn't mean we don't have limits. We've made our financial mistakes and now we're trying to fix the financial mistakes. The motorcycle is paid off, the trailer is paid off, student loans are getting paid off, and the car is getting paid off, etc., etc. We don't borrow money any more, and we live within our means. We don't buy huge luxury items we don't need anymore. I'm not going to lie and say that we never eat out and we never buy some kind of junk we don't need. We do. But, we generally budget for it and can afford it.
There is a point to this, I promise. So, with all of that, I don't understand why I have to pay for "fertiles'" cigarettes, rent, clothing, and food, not to mention their healthcare, and the children that they continue to have, even though they are not able to independently afford said children.
See, my husband and I struggle with infertility. We have been trying to conceive for two years now, to no avail. So we're moving on to more invasive medical procedures to try to have a child that we CAN afford. But, you see, our medical insurance, that WE pay for, doesn't cover these infertility treatments. We have to pay out of pocket to try to do something that most people have absolutely NOT issues accomplishing. I'm not talking $100, or $500. I'm talking $15,000. The price of a small, brand-new vehicle. To try to have a baby. That I will NOT expect the general, American public to support. And there is no guarantee that those treatments will work and we will end up with a child.
How does that make sense? My tax dollars go to support people who reproduce outside of their means, but there is SIGNIFICANT cost involved for me to try to have a child that I will wholly support. There is debt involved for me to try to have a child. There are no handouts for me.
And it's a handout. I don't mind my tax dollars benefiting those who need a hand UP. I don't mind my dollars going to help WORKING families with daycare costs or housing costs, or even food costs. People who are TRYING to make it, and TRYING to make better lives for their children. People who hold on to their jobs, and don't purposely get themselves fired so that they can qualify for unemployment benefits on top of the assistance they already get.
Because I work darn hard. And I don't think its fair that people on public assistance have a better, higher standard of living than I do. I think that my money should go for ME to try to have a baby, not for people that can't afford to have children to reproduce like bunnies.
What it comes down to is this: get a job. Go to work REGULARLY. Pay your bills. Don't buy crap you can't afford. Don't expect for the general public to finance your sorry existence. Buy and use condoms correctly until you know you will be able to afford your child without having to rely on the hundreds of millions of other Americans to take care of you and your child.
And when I have to pay for your child, I'm sorry, but don't expect me to jump for joy and lavish your child with gifts. My gift to you is the cigarettes in your pocket and the formula in your kid's gut. And when I do have my own child and I'm FULLY taking care of that child by myself, I will look down on you, and think you less of a person because you choose not to, and you expect everyone else to bail you out of your stupidity.
Okay. I'm sorry. I know that was particularly ugly. But this is something that REALLY upsets me, and I was hoping that writing down my internal ranting would help me to process my feelings and hopefully let it go. I'll let you know how that goes. :)
See, I don't understand why it seems like the "fertiles" of the world are all on some type of state or federal "assistance." My husband and I work our BUTTS off. We both went to college, and we both have multiple degrees. And I think that compared to the rest of the world, we make quite a bit of money. But that doesn't mean we don't have limits. We've made our financial mistakes and now we're trying to fix the financial mistakes. The motorcycle is paid off, the trailer is paid off, student loans are getting paid off, and the car is getting paid off, etc., etc. We don't borrow money any more, and we live within our means. We don't buy huge luxury items we don't need anymore. I'm not going to lie and say that we never eat out and we never buy some kind of junk we don't need. We do. But, we generally budget for it and can afford it.
There is a point to this, I promise. So, with all of that, I don't understand why I have to pay for "fertiles'" cigarettes, rent, clothing, and food, not to mention their healthcare, and the children that they continue to have, even though they are not able to independently afford said children.
See, my husband and I struggle with infertility. We have been trying to conceive for two years now, to no avail. So we're moving on to more invasive medical procedures to try to have a child that we CAN afford. But, you see, our medical insurance, that WE pay for, doesn't cover these infertility treatments. We have to pay out of pocket to try to do something that most people have absolutely NOT issues accomplishing. I'm not talking $100, or $500. I'm talking $15,000. The price of a small, brand-new vehicle. To try to have a baby. That I will NOT expect the general, American public to support. And there is no guarantee that those treatments will work and we will end up with a child.
How does that make sense? My tax dollars go to support people who reproduce outside of their means, but there is SIGNIFICANT cost involved for me to try to have a child that I will wholly support. There is debt involved for me to try to have a child. There are no handouts for me.
And it's a handout. I don't mind my tax dollars benefiting those who need a hand UP. I don't mind my dollars going to help WORKING families with daycare costs or housing costs, or even food costs. People who are TRYING to make it, and TRYING to make better lives for their children. People who hold on to their jobs, and don't purposely get themselves fired so that they can qualify for unemployment benefits on top of the assistance they already get.
Because I work darn hard. And I don't think its fair that people on public assistance have a better, higher standard of living than I do. I think that my money should go for ME to try to have a baby, not for people that can't afford to have children to reproduce like bunnies.
What it comes down to is this: get a job. Go to work REGULARLY. Pay your bills. Don't buy crap you can't afford. Don't expect for the general public to finance your sorry existence. Buy and use condoms correctly until you know you will be able to afford your child without having to rely on the hundreds of millions of other Americans to take care of you and your child.
And when I have to pay for your child, I'm sorry, but don't expect me to jump for joy and lavish your child with gifts. My gift to you is the cigarettes in your pocket and the formula in your kid's gut. And when I do have my own child and I'm FULLY taking care of that child by myself, I will look down on you, and think you less of a person because you choose not to, and you expect everyone else to bail you out of your stupidity.
Okay. I'm sorry. I know that was particularly ugly. But this is something that REALLY upsets me, and I was hoping that writing down my internal ranting would help me to process my feelings and hopefully let it go. I'll let you know how that goes. :)
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Day Thirty
A picture of someone I miss:
This is my cousin Bill. He died in October 2006. He was the brother I never had. I still want to beat him. But I love him.
This is my cousin Bill. He died in October 2006. He was the brother I never had. I still want to beat him. But I love him.
Day Twenty-Nine
A picture of someone who can always make me smile:
My beloved husband. And you'll never guess why. LOL :)
Day Twenty-Eight
A picture of something I'm afraid of:
Liberals. Socialist Liberals. They terrify me. And what terrifies me more is socialist liberals who expect to be handed everything. You know what irks me off? That I have to pay $15,000 to even ATTEMPT to have a baby, but I'm paying for them to reproduce freely, plus I have to feed and clothe their children, too. It irks me off. Sorry. Rant off.
Liberals. Socialist Liberals. They terrify me. And what terrifies me more is socialist liberals who expect to be handed everything. You know what irks me off? That I have to pay $15,000 to even ATTEMPT to have a baby, but I'm paying for them to reproduce freely, plus I have to feed and clothe their children, too. It irks me off. Sorry. Rant off.
Day Twenty-Seven
A picture of myself and a family member:
These are pictures of my Grandma Matson and me, taken Christmas 2009. Grandma's been gone almost a year, and its still kind of hard to believe. She was such an amazing woman. I don't think that there was anything she couldn't do. She could comfort a crying baby, and in the next instant gut and pluck a chicken. She could cook and bake like no one's business. If all else failed, I could always count on Grandma to tell me like it is.
These are pictures of my Grandma Matson and me, taken Christmas 2009. Grandma's been gone almost a year, and its still kind of hard to believe. She was such an amazing woman. I don't think that there was anything she couldn't do. She could comfort a crying baby, and in the next instant gut and pluck a chicken. She could cook and bake like no one's business. If all else failed, I could always count on Grandma to tell me like it is.
Day Twenty-Six
A picture of something that means a lot to me:
Where do I start? Something that means a lot to me: my family. End of story.
Where do I start? Something that means a lot to me: my family. End of story.
Day Twenty-Five
My favorite super-hero and why:
Seth Rogen as the Green Hornet! And why? He's hunky. The end.
Seth Rogen as the Green Hornet! And why? He's hunky. The end.
Day Twenty-Four
I'm not posting a picture of the inside of my bag. Because its gross.
BUT...on any given day, you might find random bits of chocolate, gum, etc. in there. My wallet and cellphone are generally in there, although contents of my wallet, depending on use, might be floating around in there, too. Certain feminine products might be in there, too. Also, there are generally a carpet of receipts as well.
BUT...on any given day, you might find random bits of chocolate, gum, etc. in there. My wallet and cellphone are generally in there, although contents of my wallet, depending on use, might be floating around in there, too. Certain feminine products might be in there, too. Also, there are generally a carpet of receipts as well.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Day Twenty-Three
A picture of my favorite book:
This is complicated, because I'd like to be glib and say "The Bible." But the sad fact is that I don't read it as much as I should, if at all. I think maybe I just need to say I'm going to read a chapter a day, and then actually do it. It might take me forever to get through it, but at least I WOULD get through it, eventually.
So I don't have a favorite book. I read a LOT of Christian-type fiction. Romance, historical, etc. But my favorite subject has to be these wunderbar-gut people:
This is complicated, because I'd like to be glib and say "The Bible." But the sad fact is that I don't read it as much as I should, if at all. I think maybe I just need to say I'm going to read a chapter a day, and then actually do it. It might take me forever to get through it, but at least I WOULD get through it, eventually.
So I don't have a favorite book. I read a LOT of Christian-type fiction. Romance, historical, etc. But my favorite subject has to be these wunderbar-gut people:
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Day Twenty-Two
A picture of something I wish I was better at:
Music! I wish I could read it. I wish I could sing. I wish I could play an instrument! Those are not my God-given gifts. Hopefully music appreciation is a form of gift, though.
Art! I wish I could draw or paint--just create. I like to write, but I like form and color. My 2nd graders certainly think that my art is fantastic, so God bless them for that. :)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Day Twenty
A picture of someplace I'd love to travel:
Okay...how do I pick just one? I'll pick two of my favorites.
The first is obvious. I've been dying to go to Hawaii for quite some time. I love that I don't need a passport to go to a tropical paradise. One day. It's on our list of places to go.
The second probably isn't as obvious. I would love to go with my husband and his in-laws to the Gargano region of Italy. Ryan's dad and aunts and uncles have already been there, but one day we want to go to this little chunk of heaven on the Adriatic Sea.
Okay...how do I pick just one? I'll pick two of my favorites.
The second probably isn't as obvious. I would love to go with my husband and his in-laws to the Gargano region of Italy. Ryan's dad and aunts and uncles have already been there, but one day we want to go to this little chunk of heaven on the Adriatic Sea.
Day Nineteen
A picture of my nicknames:
The original Marcie nickname: Skeeter. I guess I don't really know why I have it, but my Grandpa Matson gave it to me, and he and my dad used it regularly.
Another one:
My aunt Fern gave me the nickname "Marce-ahontas" after a family vacation we took together. It was on this vacation I took my first turn around the lake in a canoe. And it was tough to get me out.
I have had several other nicknames over the years. Ry generally calls me "Smooch" or "Smoochie Poo." I don't know where he got it from, but it's cute. :)
Another one:
My aunt Fern gave me the nickname "Marce-ahontas" after a family vacation we took together. It was on this vacation I took my first turn around the lake in a canoe. And it was tough to get me out.
I have had several other nicknames over the years. Ry generally calls me "Smooch" or "Smoochie Poo." I don't know where he got it from, but it's cute. :)
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