I’m a Professional!

I’m a professional writer now guys! I’m a freelancer! I started doing freelance work a couple weeks ago and I’m already a full blown workaholic.

I get most of my clients through UpWork.com, I do mostly copy writing and blog writing. It’s really fun learning about all the different things my clients are having me write about. I’ve learned about SEO, and how to write in it…which is something I’m turning out to be awesome at. (If I say so myself).

I’m far from making a living at this, but I’m not slowing down until I do! I’ve got a fairly reasonable goal fo earning $600 a month by the end of June. And this is across the board work, so it counts my photography work as well.

I’m really excited to see where all this goes. it’s a path I’ve only ever considered from a distance–my hesitation was always from “Why would anybody want to hire me?” I’ve been unemployed for over a year, and no luck on finding a combination of babysitter+employer so…my expectations are low. But people did hire me! And they keep doing it! It’s awesome!

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Tea Party

Even when i was a little girl I loved tea parties. I remember my first tea set, it was plastic, and the cups changed their color when they got wet. My niece has it now and it’s stained the glittery ink that it turned. By the time I was eight I’d graduated to my very own real china set.

To call it a set though is a misnomer, and probably an insult to expensive tea sets everywhere. Two cups and saucers matched, but that was about it. they all had an antiquey / retro feel, and I thought and still think they’re perfect.

I still don’t care so much for hot tea, but I still love tea parties. So it was no surprise that last November (Yeah, that’s how behind I am in my blogging!) when my grandma said she wanted to have a tea party for some of my younger cousins, I…sorta took it over. Not gonna lie.

She handed me a $20 for “whatever was needed”, and I already had a pretty strong collection of tea party supplies…All designed for adults and not five year olds. So the tea party grew in seriousness every day.

The menu included cucumber sandwiches, peanut butter and jelly, chocolate dipped spoons, hot chocolate in place of tea, marshmallows for sugar cubes, pickled beets and hard boiled eggs. The girls just loved it. The two five year olds had a blast, and the older girls were delighted at being treated their age.

I’ve already got a pinterest page for this years, we’re aiming for a springtime garden tea party! I’m thinking I’m going to add “tea party planner” to the services RattledUp enterprises offers. 

Identity Crisis

I don’t like to make generalizations as a rule, but I also think living in a small town is hard. I grew up in one, and I credit it with my perpetual identity crisis.

To be fair to other towns, other people have informed me that my hometown is very very strange and seems to be suffering the same sort of identity crisis as I am.

It’s neither urban, or even all that rural. Just a population around the 8,000 mark and a 45 minute drive to anywhere remotely interesting. Farmer’s a plentiful, but also an annual heavy-rock music concert that literally shuts down an entire road next to the coffee shop and the bank. A town with a top ranked college within the limits, but walk downtown during homecoming week and you will not see a single  piece of college propaganda. Not a single banner, not on any of the remaining storefronts. Because they disappear regularly.

And unlike what TV, books, and the general world at large would have me believe, my hometown isn’t quaint and “artsy”, but it isn’t back-woods hicks ville either.

It’s hard to carve out your own identity against this back-drop. I didn’t have an advantage in traveling, so to me, for all but a solid year, this town was literally all of my experiences. And it never made sense. Add this to the usual complexities of growing up and carving my path with no discernible talents or passions…it was tough.

This may seem like I’m ragging on this town, I grew up here, and I love it. But I also really hate it. Because I grew up here I know every crack in every sidewalk. I’ve seen next to nothing change in 23 years of living here. This town wants to be something, and I want this town to be something. I really do. I really wanna be part of something that really makes a statement here. It takes time, but the plans are laid and crawling along.

I said in the beginning that I credit living in this specific small town to my identity crisis. Maybe that’s just me denying personal responsibility for my early quarter-life crisis. But I stand by this, this town is confused, at least as confused as I am about what it wants to be, and I’m not sure if it’s the cause of my discomfort, or if we’re just parallels of each other.

Here’s where instinct urges me to write an uplifting ending. To take all I’ve shared and spin it into a satisfactory self-bettering ending. But I can’t, in good conscience, do that to you.

Living in constant personal conflict like this has not made me a stronger person, I’ve yet to rise above this and be all the me I can. I’m not. And if you’re goodly enough to read my blog, I don’t want to lie to you…If anybody reads this, I haven’t had a comment in over a year.

I’m just on the slow-track, probably just chasing my tail trying to pick a direction to go. But either way, at least I’m running for it right?

Tiny House – A new daydream

I’m remarkably not well traveled. It’s something I’ve wished to change about my life for about as long as I’ve lived in it. But unfortunately, travel requires more capital and time than I’ve ever had.

Like most people in their twenties anymore I’m bagged down by debt, underemployed. Add to that I’m a mom, and almost all my family lives within a fifteen minute walk from me. I’ve never been on a plane, and it was only last month that I’ve had  a reason to be driving more than three hours in one direction.

So I dream. Travel sounds lovely, but how would I manage it?

As usual for me, TV answered the question. An ad for a “Tiny House” show came on and inspiration was born. Now I watch it every chance I get and pretend Noah and I are in the process of building one to take time off from our lives and the careers we have barely started.

 

Anxiety Confession

Anxiety meltdowns are serious buiz guys.

 

Sorry about that, I got caught in the shorthand of my friends for a minute. All of us are a little “broken” in one way or another, that’s why we get along so well. We know what it’s like to have weird boundaries and respect them. Some of us have a diagnosis, some of us have “quirks”. Those without diagnosis’s should probably  should have.

We exist in this group as peers so we all have a safe place to hide when reality gets too real and we don’t want to be alone, and people to hold us accountable on our shit and help encourage us to grow. It’s nice. I love my little group of weirdos.

I’m doing this post about anxiety because it’s something I struggle with. When I get overwhelmed I shut down or get angry and slam the kitchen cupboards until they stay the fuck closed. But through time and practice, lists and systems getting through a day isn’t really an issue.

I guess it really was a year or so ago though.

One of my friends brought up something that he and Noah have a vivid memory of, but is a complete blank spot in my memory. Seriously, I know this thing happened, but I couldn’t visualize it like the rest of my memories.

To hear them tell, I was in full meltdown mode, Sobbing, babbling, scrubbing counters, swearing, and muttering. Experience has taught Noah that I get rather nasty if you interrupt an episode, so he was sitting aside waiting to make me feel better as I calmed down.

Our friend who had not had these experiences with me eventually decided he couldn’t in good conscience let me carry on like this anymore. So he marches into the kitchen, uses his “stern” voice to distract me, and I apparently start bawling about how “worthless” I am or how I was a “failure”.

Instead of repeating the “no you’re not” litany to me over and over and trying to convince me that I was delusional he sits me down and tells Noah and I about “failure.”

About being twenty five and living with his dad, no job, no prospects. “Ready to eat a fuckin bullet when you two call and offer me a room. You guys saved my life, you could never be a failure.”

This is the most important moment in our friendship, and I can’t remember a single moment of it. But because of him, and this moment, I’ve been able to get my anxiety under control. I haven’t had an episode (aside from the moving in to the new place when I couldn’t catch my breath, but at least I didn’t feel awful about myself).

So the moral of the story:

Always let people know how much they matter to you. Always. 

Taking the kids to the farm

Earlier this week one of my best friends in the world, Adam, offered to take my little crew at The Burrow out to his family farm, field-trip style for the kids. They just got in a bunch of baby chicks, all the sheep had twins so there were a lot of those, and young (but not baby) cows.

I babysit my niece and nephew during the day and this was an ideal outing to entertain them. What followed was an excess of cuteness.

I couldn’t pass up a photo opportunity. They’re all so cute!
It was an overcast day, and a bit nippy so the boys both got to wear their striped sweaters. Ramius kept trying to pull the hood up on his (there isn’t one). And didn’t get into the spirit as much as the others did. He didn’t like the chicken coop, while his cousin Aiden had to be removed under protest.

Aiden has always loved animals, and he particularly loved the cows. The baby sheep were talking very loudly, and it took him a few minutes to warm up to them.

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This picture pretty much says it all.

And by the way, that lamb Adam’s holding is SO DONE.

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He’s just done.

 

Adam’s family farm is almost a piece of perfection on earth…I can see why their whole family loves working there.

Laundry Tips (To Avoid Violence):

-Clothes worn in a factory never go in the washer or dryer. I don’t care. don’t do it.

-Clean clothes ALWAYS come upstairs. Always.

-One soap pod, one dryer sheet.

-The Lint Trap gets emptied every single time the dryer gets turned on. Punishment for not doing so is burning to death in the fire you’re most likely the cause of.

 

Entering this basement means you’re agreeing to the terms and conditions stated above.

Sincerely,
Management