The cakepop queen

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I made almost 300 cake pops last week. I had help from my teenager. They were for her fundraiser afterall. I managed to make, package and deliver them all in a few days with only one order mistake. I officially hate the smell of cake but I have darn near perfected it and if I wasn’t so sane, I’d have me a little business. I know better though. 300 in one week is enough to make my back throw curse words in my direction for at the very least, 24 hours.

I am however, the local queen of cake pops. Even if I never want to see them again.

I feel  very fortunate in that I am really pretty good at a lot of things. I can sew. Well. I have made more costumes than I care to admit. Each one was hand sewn. Davis’ costume last year literally made my fingers bleed. It was wonderful and I will someday get his Daryl Dixon vest signed and framed. Because I love that costume, that kid and that man (hello Norman Reedus, wanna sign my vest?) I have made money for very tight Christmas’ with felt food and I have made many, many babies blankets. I can crochet. Pretty well. I can make a hat, a sweater and even pants now. I don’t always close my rounds just right but I am not embarrassed of my work. I’ve taught myself web work, I consider myself an illustrator and I am not bad behind a camera.  I am good at lots of things but I never feel  great at anything.

Maybe I am great at cake pops. I don’t know.

It’s really hard to work at things, with your whole heart and not reap what you feel the benefit of the work should be. Shouldn’t I be internet famous by now? Shouldn’t I have people beating down my door for my wares? Nope. That’s not in my cards and I get that but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.

It’s tough to do the work. Really do the work. And when you really nail it, it’s hard not to reach out for that pat on the back. But if we’re doing it for the pat, we’re just not doing it for the right reasons. That’s an even bigger pill. Damn pills.

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We bought a new car last night. It’s older than my oldest child. I wasn’t very happy about the choice but it’s bigger than the other car we looked at and seems like it maybe a good fit. But some highway shaking and tough turning says it may have issues I wasn’t prepared to deal with. I hate cars. I always have. Working for a car lot taught me more than I care to know. And it makes me anxious to know we have an older car that will need care. When we bought the van I added a package that covered all the care throughout the lease. You can’t do that with an old car, bought from a person and so now I think about all the extra costs and work that are paired with a car this age.

But we needed a car and this is the one he wanted. The benefit of it is it is a automatic where the last was a stick. My daughter, learning to drive, has enough on her plate driving in this area.. it would have been killer to then add shifting to the mix.  It’s also AWD and has more room then the last car. It will be helpful to have the trunk space for sports gear etc. Also, it’s a Honda and I know if Honda’s are well cared for, it will do it’s job for a long time. I just have to make the effort to take care of it before it goes down that old car slippery slope.

I’m trying to find the positives here. It’s hard.

Hopefully, HOPEFULLY it ends up being a wonderful car. That lasts more than a couple years. Because I hate the car buying process and I just want something to last a lifetime. I know that’s a lot to ask.

Hi! I'm Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

The lemons of life

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My husband has wrecked almost every car he’s had. His first blue Honda met with a guard rail, if I remember correctly, on a winding road in Colorado. My favorite car, a purple-ish blue Passat Turbo slammed into a curb deploying the air bag and some other awesome-ness and then after a very bad storm, hit a tree and it probably got crushed after we sold it to a junk yard a year or so later. So when he texted me last week that he had an accident in this car, I was neither shocked or surprised. I was not very happy however.

The week  before I’d just texted my dad asking if he thought I should pull this 1999 car off of full coverage. We’ve added a teen driver to out policy and I was looking for way to cut some financial corners. Seemed like a good idea. Original my dad said yes, cut it but after I explained why I felt maybe it wasn’t a great idea (sometimes I just need to bounce ideas off people, even when I know the answer), he agreed, it was worth keeping. I think it was a premonition because that above? It is a totalled 1999 VW Jetta. Thank God I didn’t drop that insurance.

They towed it away Monday. I watched briefly as the man pulled it up onto the tow truck. The skewed Broncos sticker in view and I this time I didn’t feel sad because it’s just what it is. There is nothing I can do about it and it worked out. They’ve already cut him a check for way more than I expected and he will likely have a new vehicle by next week. Nothing more to worry about except maybe a higher insurance rate and how I am going to buy a car for Devlynn now that her car has left the building. But things work out and we make lemonade out of the lemons of life. Because it gets really tiring to be mad at people all the time. Equally so to be  upset at things you can’t change. Hindsight, it’s such a silly thing. Although I admit, I dropped a few F-Bombs.

By nature I am a glass half empty kind of person. So it was hard for me not to go off the deep end on this one.  If it can happen to a person, it will happen to us. Although by some grace of God we have avoided anything catastrophic. Our children are all healthy, wonderful and wise and though I feel very lonely at times, we are often surrounded by the loved and kindness of people when we really need it. I take that as God’s way of knowing that I can only take so much people and he offers up who he can when he knows I need it most.

This year we decided to allow Devlynn to join a mission trip to Belize. A huge, huge jump for me. I am sort of on the fence about short term missions and out of the country missions in general but, I want for her all the things I didn’t experience and this mission seemed like one of those things. Floating around is an article about how short term missions don’t really help and when I first read it I felt a pang of guilt as I raise money and apply for passports for just that, a short term mission but I think for a teenager, it’s different. She isn’t yet equipped to change the world but this might the first push in the right direction. For all we know, it’s not their lives we’re trying to change. Those we serve on these missions.. but our own. Because sometimes it takes building a house for someone else to push us start building our own. I can’t wait to put Devlynn on that plane and hope that it’s the first steps into something life changing. I won’t let that half empty attitude tarnish that. Especially when, by some grace of god, 300 cake pops later and the love and support of friends far and near, she was able to raise the money plus extra to take this journey far before her deadline. And not without some tears of humility, joy and thanks. And a REALLY BIG teenage grin.  It just proves to me it’s where she and I needed to be. Her on a plane and me trusting that I am doing the right thing by her. Even if the cake smell may forever be embedded in my hair and I will never be able to thank those who supported her enough.

So the lemons of our life end up sweet.. even if we only have a half glass.

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Ps- Thank you to everyone who supported us thus far on Devlynn’s journey to Belize. In thought, in finance, in prayer and in love. All mean the world to us.

 

 

 

Hi! I'm Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

Dusty lenses

IMG_3794It’s March 15th and I have taken 166 photos total in 2016. Now I try and remember that this is just from my “big camera” and there are plenty of memories on my phone but we all know what happens to those phone photos.

Nothing. They just sit on your phone.

I started taking photos when the kids were little. But I had always sort of had a bug in my ear about photography. It started with a short stint on the yearbook committee and a dark room that I can still smell like it is in the next room.

But camera gear is expensive. And when Devlynn was born, I relied mostly on my mom to take photos because even though I had a small camera, diapers were more important than film.

I bought my first DSLR with money I earned making a logo. And it took off from there.

There are 100s of thousands of photos in my collection. Until now.

Because I don’t love it anymore.

Depression is a funny thing. It is a thief of joy. To put it mildly. Anxiety coupled with depression? They’re like the Natural Born Killers of joy. Taking you out piece by piece and laughing all along the way. My depression tells me not to bother to take the photos and my anxiety reminds me I am not good enough anyway.

Together they say, “why bother?”

“Why bother” is winning.

Baseball has started. I am hoping it will rekindle that spark I had. I do love sports photos. I can say it’s one of my favorite things to shoot. But after watching all the things my anxiety said I couldn’t do, pass before me… I stopped shooting games too. Because anxiety tells me that I can’t edit like that person and even if I could they wouldn’t hire me anyway. I’m not a man. And I am definitely not one of the boys. And my gear is so old, who am I kidding. Hello again anxiety.

After Davis was born I took medicine for awhile. I can say it helped me not feel sad or anxious but reality was it made it so I just didn’t feel much at all. And I had to decide whether I wanted to be not sad or I wanted to be me and sad sometimes. I picked me but there are weeks and days and hours that I think maybe it was the wrong choice. Because it’s really exhausting to hate everything about yourself. And even more tiring to be sad all the time. I’m tired of being sad.

And I miss being the me the sad is stealing.

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I’m just not sure what to pick.

This morning was a rough one. Last night was really the start. I sat trying to turn in an idea to 99Designs but had a baby crawling up my leg, two big kids wrestling loudly and a 4 year old wailing over a 8 hour old boo boo. And I was alone. Baseball practice. And I snapped. And everyone got yelled at because I just wanted 20 minutes to work. Or 20 minutes to watch a show without someone crawling up my legs. But everyone always needs me. And I never get a moment alone. And I don’t have anything that’s “me” because the sewing always waits for laundry and I always come home to insanity.  And we’re constantly going and the introvert in me is dying slowly and painfully.

So this morning when Davis pulled his typical sloth game, I snapped at him and when I asked him what was wrong with him, he said he was lazy. Who do you think taught him that? Me. The crushing sound of those words coming out of his mouth. I think I will hear it forever. Hearing “lazy” is different then teasing him about being a sloth. To think you’re lazy? When you’re just a boy learning. Shame on me. Shame on me. Our voices are our kids thoughts. So often I forget that. So very often.

Hopefully he will forgive me and I can tell him he’s not lazy. Because he’s not. He’s 11. And he needs to learn how to be a man. At 11, you still sit on the couch and it’s always someone else’s fault and it’s my job as his parent to teach him…  not scold him and make him feel like something he’s not. Because while he’s sort of slothy,  he’s always witty and smart and kind and wonderful in so many way. And we’re not all a million miles a minute.

I have to get out of this cloud so I can be a better mother.  But I am just not sure what to pick. I can’t let my sad be my kids’ futures. I just keep thinking of the therapy bills. And I can’t figure out how to fix it…

 

 

 

 

Hi! I'm Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.