tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33842292438624548332024-02-21T10:26:29.558-05:00Super KMutterings and Musings from a Working Mother, Loving Wife, and Avid Worrier. (Super Hero? Not So Much...)Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-88341691241488824212009-08-10T14:28:00.005-04:002009-08-10T14:41:08.783-04:00Scary MonsterEvery once in a while I am struck by the Overwhelming Sadness. It hits at odd times, but usually when I've been under a good deal of stress and haven't had much alone time. Yesterday morning was one of those times. <br /><br />I use the term "struck" because that's exactly what it feels like - a blow to my soul that takes my breath away. I try to fight it but wind up losing - i.e. curling up in the fetal position until life looks a little more doable. It's difficult to explain, even to those who love and know me best, but mostly there's a sadness of such proportions that I feel like I could never cry enough to get it out. It is completely about the loss of my parents and everything that entails - sorrow for the little girl in me, anger for the teenager who desperately needed support, disbelief that my child/future children will never know their grandparents... each time there are different reasons to be sad.<br /><br />I know this sounds so self-absorbed and self-indulgent, but the Overwhelming Sadness takes a form that seems inconquerable. Yesterday, while laying in my bed letting it wash over me, my son came in the room. He wondered what was wrong. I said, "Mommy's sad". He patted my hand and said, "Scary Monster, huh?" That's about right.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-25098341673094526742009-07-27T14:29:00.002-04:002009-07-27T14:34:56.182-04:00CocoonedMy husband, son, and I have recently moved into a new home. It's the first we've owned and it fits us perfectly. I can't wait for the end of the day so that I can go there. <br /><br />Before I met my husband, I would walk in the neighborhood near the apartmeent complex where I lived and look into the warmly lit windows and sigh. Now some of those windows belong to me. I get to go in and feel that feeling.<br /><br />Home.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-10916779172961028362009-06-16T11:16:00.003-04:002009-06-16T11:24:24.054-04:00Six Degrees of Separation from DeathRecently, there was a horrific accident in the town where I work. It reminds me of a strange phenomenon I've observed about people when this sort of thing happens. They want to indicate how the event relates personally to them, and will stretch far and wide to find some connection to the people involved. Why is this?<br /><br />In my life I have been far too close for comfort to death, disease, and the dying process. I want nothing to do with it. I hate to admit it, but when I hear of something like this I breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn't me or someone I know. I do feel empathy towards the family, but I'd rather not think of it at all. It's just too much.<br /><br />Why are some people wanting to get closer to it? This is something I don't think I'll ever understand.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-34556218213112733632009-06-13T14:41:00.004-04:002009-06-13T14:46:00.958-04:00Procrastinator.So, I put a fairly important bill on top of the computer keyboard so that the next time I used the computer, the first thing I would do would be pay that bill. That was 2 1/2 weeks ago. The bill is now under a usb cable and a Post-It pad.<br /><br />Mostly I don't want to pay this bill. It's vehicle tax. I didn't have to pay vehicle tax until I moved here. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO PAY IT. But I will. Just not today.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-28762064757764843842009-06-05T14:04:00.007-04:002009-06-05T14:19:55.428-04:00If it makes you happy...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343909239068425330" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 106px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 80px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVIsiqAJwE6rgo4Ovyd2l_SmfdZ65pp2zJebybrgzfa5jl6X0mB7XaiDNRT8JCp15MWeD68pxatzX549lr1KdsJDY8fvsiYDxdlTK0kPJrHQ4Zp1uYg8Bdr-kAR9bsYH92vaYSQNmqtc/s400/images.jpg" border="0" />I just love that Cheryl Crow song. The problem is, I never really know what makes me happy until I'm already in it. In fact, I seem to be most miserable when I'm TRYING to make myself happy.<br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div>I recently got something I've been wanting for a long time. Then I sat there waiting to feel the bliss, the excitement, the all-out Yee-Haw-ness of the situation. Nothin'. </div><div></div><br /><div>My husband said, "Maybe we're just not meant to be happy all the time." Thanks a lot Mr. Sunshine. </div><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiD0UiOwlHD_1rS-CHyDKKUYJ69EM26fLbxcMhzMjzHYx7yZo52LsHJPRIf7AE1d8afcYiL8swaaFpLB35zHHtAsSohZTXgIrLy_DWA-wcahLGKxbLMiReFOkhK9PcjFfbCGE3LS3XU4/s1600-h/images.jpg"></a></p><div></div><div>But then I thought about it. Happiness comes from stuff or events, and is fleeting. Joy is deep-rooted, part of the soul, flowing through our very being. Once I caught on, I realized, like the folks in Oz, I have had joy all along. I just couldn't feel it because I was too busy trying to be happy.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiD0UiOwlHD_1rS-CHyDKKUYJ69EM26fLbxcMhzMjzHYx7yZo52LsHJPRIf7AE1d8afcYiL8swaaFpLB35zHHtAsSohZTXgIrLy_DWA-wcahLGKxbLMiReFOkhK9PcjFfbCGE3LS3XU4/s1600-h/images.jpg"></a></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-28637719742894131872009-05-18T14:30:00.004-04:002009-05-18T14:34:30.394-04:00Forecast: Chance of Intermittent but Occasional BloggingI am, quite possibly, the worst blogger ever. "Intermittent" does not even begin to describe my blogging behavior. It reminds me of all of the other hobbies I've had throughout my life - the remnants of which can be found in various boxes in the attic. Well, I'm dusting this baby off. Time to get back at it. At least for today.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-64720954685111502092008-12-26T10:37:00.005-05:002008-12-26T10:44:53.472-05:00The Dichotomy of MotherhoodPicture this: An incredibly cute yet incredibly loud short person spending most of his waking hours yelling, "Train, Mama" or, "Cookie, Mama", or "Down, Mama", or "Up Mama" pretty much constantly. This has been my Christmas Vacation. <br /><br />However, between the yelling I've been given sweet kisses and hugs, the smell of baby shampoo, new words and new dance moves, and a Christmas morning filled with awe and delight. <br /><br />I am a mother, and I am grateful.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-33486825963756075042008-12-10T09:11:00.002-05:002008-12-10T09:52:08.329-05:00PerspectiveAn old friend of my parents emailed me recently. I hadn't heard from him since before they died. He wanted to know what had become of me and my siblings. This kind of thing happens more often than you'd think, thanks to Mother Internet. She makes it so hard to hide. <br /><br />My first reaction was anger because I felt like what he was asking was for me to assure him that we are fine, and that he no longer has to feel guilty for not checking in when we were young children, in need of many connections with people who loved us and loved our parents. I let that pass and then sent him a brief note letting him know that, in fact, my siblings and I have grown up relatively unscathed. <br /><br />He wrote back. He told me about his family. His wife died in 1995 in a car accident. His sadness was evident in the words he wrote. I was reminded once again that everyone has their own burdens to bear and we are foolish to think that ours are heavier than anyone else's.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-5074349381246692622008-12-02T09:05:00.002-05:002008-12-02T09:17:55.737-05:00EeyoreAccording to Just-Pooh.com, Eeyore is <em>an unbelievably loveable donkey who is dismally gloomy for almost eternity</em>. I have just today realized that I share an office with Eeyore. Her weekends make her tired. Time off is busier than being at work. The usual things that everyone else anticipates with excitement are burdens to this woman. <br /><br />In addition, she finds the need to comment on every email she receives - <strong>without actually indicating what the email is about.</strong> Imagine sitting at your desk and intermittently hearing comments such as, "Well, I guess I'll have to stay late again tonight." or "Nobody realizes how much work that is."<br /><br />She just answered the phone and responded to the caller, "Yes I took yesterday off, but it wasn't that great of a day." Oh Eeyore, I hope your tail doesn't fall off again today.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-3231398985281786852008-11-24T08:27:00.002-05:002008-11-24T08:37:21.695-05:00Brrrrr!So, our furnace is in disrepair. We are waiting on a repairman to install a new one. This will happen today if all goes well. If all does not go well I think I may scream. I am not merely tired of being cold in my home. I have whined so much about it that I'm tired of hearing myself whine about being cold. <br /><br />There are plenty of people for whom today does not bring a chance of warmth. There are people who live just down the street from me who have to wait until May for their house to be warm again. Who am I to complain about the inconvenience of having to cart space heaters to the room I move to when others would love to have the option of that inconvenience? <br /><br />Maybe it's my apathetic heart that's making me cold.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-15592796189270409512008-11-19T08:11:00.004-05:002008-11-19T08:19:48.360-05:00Me and the Old GuysI've always had a thing for elderly men. Now, before your little mind goes in the gutter let me clarify. I think they are sweet and wise and honest, and most have seen enough of this life to have let go of the silly concerns that keep most of us from saying what we mean. In other words, they can be a little crass, but they get away with it. I love that. <br /><br />I was at a meeting last night with a few older gentlemen and one was particularly friendly to me. When it was time for the meal he said, "I'm gonna sit by this pretty young lady!" (meaning me, people, catch up) and I was flattered. Then he said, "I like to look at the ladies and at 75 that's about all I can do - look." <br /><br />I wasn't sure what to do with that. Maybe as a woman I should be offended, or at the very least a little uncomfortable, but all I could do was giggle. That charmer.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-51416726465940176512008-11-13T08:40:00.003-05:002008-11-13T08:44:16.200-05:00Fuel ShortageYesterday I had an intellectual breakthrough at work. A data problem I'd been trying to figure out finally came together. Today I can't hardly speak in full sentences. I guess brainpower is finite. I need to start looking into alternative sources.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-11311537212166614802008-11-12T12:35:00.005-05:002008-11-12T12:40:34.209-05:00I'm Back?Ok, so two blogging friends, a <a href="http://thesuperbongo.blogspot.com/">monkey</a> and a <a href="http://chickfeed.blogspot.com/">chick</a>, suggested I keep this thing up. I haven't written anything lately, frankly because it started to feel a bit awkward. It reminded me of those times when you tell a joke and no one quite hears you so you are just sitting there waiting for the guffaws to abound and someone says, "Wha? Did you say something?" Never happened to you? Oh.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-43522291812259493292008-06-12T15:14:00.002-04:002008-06-12T15:18:25.574-04:00What I Miss TodayAnyone who's ever lost a loved one knows that what you miss differs from day to day and that place in your heart that was broken when they died is never really repaired. My parents died 22 years ago. Today I miss them because they would have been the keepers of the best stories about my childhood. They had a better capacity than I to put those moments away and cherish them.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-51501574755152512692008-06-05T09:36:00.003-04:002008-11-12T12:46:03.820-05:00No Thanks Mom.I am amazed by how simple life could be, if only we were all toddlers. My son was eating dinner last night. He decided to try some turkey. He didn't like it. He spit it out in my hand. Done and done. No need to complain about the taste, no need to later say, "Can you believe what mommy served for dinner? What was she thinking?"<br /><br />Of course, I don't especially like holding my son's half-chewed dinner in my hand, but I can appreciate his sentiment.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-37790624996989242842008-06-02T10:29:00.004-04:002008-06-02T10:53:31.035-04:00GivingMy heart tugged a little as I walked past two young men on the street. My son was cranky, so while we waited for our food at a nearby restaurant, we had taken a walk outside. I was reminded that just as I held my little boy in my arms, their mothers had done the same, and how my heart would break if my son was ever in the same situation. I had no money to give them, so I just smiled as I walked past.<br /><br />After dinner, I came out of the restaurant stuffed to the gills carrying a box of leftover food. I saw one of the young men digging through the garbage across the street. I immediately knew I couldn't possibly bring extra food home when he was unable to get a decent meal. As I gave him the styrofoam box I felt humbled that God had allowed me to serve in this way. Such a simple thing, not even a sacrifice, yet He used me for good.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-88225949883526842142008-05-30T08:57:00.001-04:002008-05-30T12:03:02.569-04:00Tuning OutMy husband can tune anything out. I'm convinced that an atom bomb can go off in our back yard and, if his mind is elsewhere, he will not notice. This morning we were on our way to work and our son was crying in the back. Not only did he not hear him, he also did not hear my repeated asking, "Do you know where his cup is?" I literally asked this three times. It's not like we drive an enormous car and I was whispering from the back seat. We drive a <a href="http://automobiles.honda.com/civic/">Honda Civic</a>! How do you get this special ability? I want it!Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-2225613906100767902008-05-29T16:12:00.000-04:002008-05-29T16:14:15.325-04:00I'm New Here, or, Second Guessing AgainIn my first post I didn't even introduce myself. I suppose that's ok. Hopefully as I post you will learn more and more about me. Maybe I'll even learn a bit too. Either way, hello. It's good to be here.Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3384229243862454833.post-86070904828003178722008-05-29T14:40:00.000-04:002008-05-29T15:07:19.151-04:00Waving to Prisoners<span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Today on the way to work I waved to a busload of prisoners. To be fair, one of the prisoners waved to me first. Is this ok? I do this kind of thing a lot, second guess my actions. Did I somehow invite prisoners now to break into my home? He waved first, it would be rude not to wave back.</span>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847649763066581590noreply@blogger.com1