.Odd Duck Stuff.

A couple of days ago, Liz from Buckaroo Barbie posted a blog of all the little quirky things that she celebrates about herself (read that post here), and Erin from Diaries From The Dirt Road made her own list based on Liz's original post. I loved reading them both, and decided to hop on the train as well. I sat down with pen and paper to do mine, and realized that I have so many habits that others might think are strange or silly, but to me they've never been anything but normal. Just goes to show that your perception of yourself is what really matters, as long as what you do makes you happy! Here are a few of the things I wrote down:

• I have to put my pants, socks, shoes, jackets, etc. on left side first...no exceptions. If I do it in the wrong order, I take it off and start over.

• I feel incredibly naked and self-conscious without earrings in or my toenails painted. Everything else can be a hot mess, but I've always got to have just a little bling and polish.

• I went to cosmetology school. I love makeup and hair products and tend to hoard and collect them, and spend hours reading beauty articles and watching beauty tutorials on YouTube. I know ALL the tips and tricks. However, I rarely wear makeup or do my hair and, when I do, I always wear the same trusty products and styles no matter the occasion.

• I like plain sorrel horses. No, I love them. The more orange and ordinary they are, the more pleasing to my eye.

• I freaking LOVE trucks, especially cow trucks. I love riding along and have since I was a teeny little thing going in the truck with my grandpa.

• I feel emotions toward inanimate objects. I'm afraid they get lonely, and I worry about what might happen to them.

• In my opinion, cacti are prettier than even the most delicate of flowers.

• I can't eat fresh eggs, except those from one awkward black hen we have. I can't explain why either.

• The most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me was while checking cows during a blizzard...I got off my horse to run into the calving barn for something or another and before I got back on, this particular fellow wiped the caked snow off my saddle seat for me. Give me little gestures like that over any rose bouquet any day. 

.The Newest Adventure.

What is it about learning that you're becoming a mother that changes you so completely?

I don't know, it hasn't happened yet.

In the five days since I discovered that I am expecting, I have waivered in between various states of shock, panic, and sheer terror. THERE IS A TINY HUMAN BEING INSIDE MY BODY. I, the girl who forgets to feed the dog and has spent my entire life floating from place to place with no cares in the world, am going to be responsible for a little baby boy.

Oh, sweet Jesus, bless his teeny heart...I apologize in advance.

But underneath the anxiety, I know that we're going to be okay. I have a great support system in the form of my momma and my grandma who have been holding my hand through the whole process, easing my paranoia and laughing at my discomfort as only a woman who has been there can...I think I'm dying half the time, but they assure me that I'm not really, and that this is nothing compared to what's coming in the next few months (thanks, thanks a whole lot).

I find myself worrying when I lay down at night. How will I teach this little boy everything he'll need to know about being a good man? Will his daddy someday be around to teach him, or will I have to figure it out on my own? How will I protect him from all the bullshit in the world that surrounds him, when it seems that there is more and more sadness and anger and negativity and pure evil every single day? Will there still be sagebrush country for him to ride when he grows up? So many questions and I have no answers.

Still, I look at the women that raised me and the men that served as father figures to me, and all the wonderful people that helped me through life and taught me the things I know and I am confident that my son will be surrounded by the best people there are to grow up with. He'll have a few good wings to huddle under and a few good brains to pick, and somewhere along the way I'm sure he'll grow up having learned all he needs to be okay in the life he'll make for himself one day.

I used to pray for a good man to love forever. I had no idea that one would be made from my own heart. It isn't what I had in mind, but creation knows what its doing. So for now, I'm going to get used to the flutters in my tummy and not being able to button my pants, and look forward to what's coming. After all, it's only once in a lifetime that a girl goes on the adventure of being a brand-new momma.

.Explanations.

I don't owe you an explanation.

You don't owe me one either, but I never asked.

My choices are mine alone; I am the only one who has to live my life in my body in my world and be content with my actions and the people and things that surround me. I don't have to tell you why I'm not friends with this person, why I love that person, why I don't like getting drunk anymore, why I'd rather spend my time alone with a book than trying to impress people who don't even like themselves. I don't have to explain my gut feelings to you, my hopes or my dreams, my beliefs or my relationship with my higher power.

I don't have to tell you why I use the gear I use on my horses, I don't have to tell you who my family is or where they're from so you can judge whether or not I belong; I don't have to tell you about the scars on my face or my body or how many bones I've broken or why my pinkie toes are crooked or why I never got braces on my teeth.

You are not entitled to every detail of my existence.

It's a privilege when someone decides to share a part of themselves with another. It's a privilege when a heart is opened and a stranger is invited in. It isn't a right, and the invitation can be revoked as quickly as it was given...without explanation.

The only person anyone owes anything is themselves, and the biggest promise one can make to oneself is to be discerning when choosing what and who to allow in. Treat yourself like a treasure...not everyone deserves to have the map.

.Dream Catcher.

When is it time to give up a dream? Or is there ever a time to give up?

Do you struggle for so long before you decide that it just isn't meant to be, or do you keep struggling, pushing, reaching, grasping...even if you can't see what you're reaching for?

There's a dream catcher in my window. I don't remember where it came from or exactly how long it's been there, but I see it every single time I walk into my bedroom. Tradition and lore say that bad dreams get tangled in the webs of dream catchers and are held there, while good dreams flow freely through the center, drifting down the feathers hanging below and floating gently to the dreamer they're intended for.

Sometimes I don't wait for sleep to find me...I imagine all my dreams passing through my dream catcher, loosely, fluidly, ever-changing. The dreams are always there, even when I'm afraid they've left my heart. They may not always look the same, they may not always travel in the same directions, but at the root, they are the dreams that have always followed me. Some get stuck in the sinewy web, as if to say, "Not right now...it's not time yet." Some buzz around my head like fireflies begging to be chased and caught and held.

Perhaps there's never a time to truly give up on a dream, any dream. Maybe there are only times when you need to watch your dreams shift, take new forms, follow new paths, and be open and willing to chase them in whatever directions they fly. The best adventures are the ones that happen when you get lost...maybe your dreams know better than you do what they are meant to become.

Maybe the best way to honor a dream is to let it run as wild as your heart is. Maybe that's where true freedom is waiting...

.About A Dog.

“A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his." ” --  John Grogan, Marley & Me.


There are times in life that seem unbearably lonely; times when it's as though there's nobody a girl can trust with her heart, her soul, her troubles, or her triumphs -- it's like everyone is just waiting for her to become vulnerable and then take advantage of her when she's down. It's times like this when I'm glad I have a dog.

I've had my dog, Pepper, for eight or nine years now -- I lose track of the time, but it seems like he's always been with me. He rides along with me on most of my adventures unless it's too hot or too cold for him to sit in the pickup should I have to get out, and he gets shotgun -- rarely does he ride in the back. He likes to play tug of war with bailing twine, and he likes to run fast. He always gets gravy on his supper, and always half of my tater tots every time we go to Sonic. He sleeps next to my bed every single night on a fluffy pink (yes, pink) rug -- unless I'm having a bad night, then he sleeps next to me up on the bed.  I swear my entire existence is covered in white dog hair. I don't mind.

 

 

He always seems to know how I'm feeling. When I'm having a bad day, he'll come put his head in my lap and lay there quietly while I fiddle with his ears and tell him my problems. When I'm having a good one, he's always down for a long walk somewhere to run and explore and see what we can see. His calm and quiet demeanor somehow manage to quell the anxiety in me when I feel a panic attack coming on...I've always joked that he should be able to go everywhere with me and save me the cost of  my anti-anxiety medication. Sometimes he'll put his paw on my leg as if to say, "It's all okay, Mom. Just pet me and everything will be okay." And it always is.

 

 

I know there are some out there who don't understand the bond between a person and their dog (or horse, or any other pet for that matter). I don't understand those types. Studies have proven that owning a dog is actually good for the health of your heart, and I totally believe it. In my opinion, the love of a dog is like the love of God (is the spelling just a coincidence?). It's unconditional and ever-forgiving, and you are never alone with either -- or both -- by your side. Every single night when I go to sleep, I thank One for the other without fail.

 

 

 



.Never Too Old.

There's nothing I'd rather do than spend an afternoon in the dirt with my mom. I can watch her work a horse for hours. I soak it in when she takes the time to watch me work one, pointing out where I could use more finesse, more patience. When I was younger, it used to drive me crazy because I thought she was nagging, but now I wish I had paid more attention...how much better a horsewoman would I be if I had? We're such different minds. She has such energy and presence, I am timid and soft. She has patience. It's no secret that I have none. But she can teach me, if anyone can.

She knows my strengths and my weaknesses like no one else, she knows how to guide me to compensate for them. She makes me laugh when I'm so frustrated I'm about to cry. She does her best to tread lightly and let me figure things out in my own time, but she doesn't let me forget that I am tough enough, strong enough, smart enough. She doesn't push or force, and she doesn't hold me back when I'm ready to try something new. She handles me like she does her colts, her outlaws...she sets me up to succeed, but she expects me to try.

 "My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true." I don't remember who wrote this, but it's from some book I read somewhere. And it's the most accurate statement I can make about my mom. She is my backbone, never letting me forget that I am capable and intelligent even when I don't feel very much like it.

I used to think there'd come a time when I wouldn't need her or when I'd be old enough to stop being told. Now I don't ever want that time to come, because that woman is so full of things to know and I want to know everything that she knows. I want to be as able as she is. I want to be half the woman she is (I can hear her making a smartass comment about pant size right now).

I will never, ever be too old to stop learning from my mother.

.Fluorescent Pink.

I have accepted the fact that no matter how much time I spend painting my nails, at least one of them will end up chipped or smeared.

I have accepted the fact that, when I'm nervous (and sometimes when I'm not) I babble about the most random and useless things.

I have accepted the fact that I worry too much about things I have no control over.

I have accepted the fact that I will never, ever, ever, ever be a cheerful morning person.

I have accepted the fact that I have a crooked smile and a goofy laugh.

I have accepted the fact that Aviator sunglasses do not do me any favors.

I have accepted the fact that my nose is funny shaped because it has been smashed a couple of times.

I have accepted the fact that my hair will never be either pin-straight or smoothly curled, and will most likely always look like a range horse's tail despite my best efforts to wrestle it into submission, and that a few of the hairs are now silver instead of dark.

I have accepted the fact that I will never be a size 2 or have a flat stomach.

Most of all, I have accepted the fact that none of this matters in the slightest. In fact, I am almost certainly the only person who notices any of it, because the thing about mirrors is that they only reflect what we choose to see about ourselves...and that is almost always something completely different than what others see. Every time I look in a mirror and start picking myself apart, I have to take a deep breath and a step back and remind myself of the things that really matter, like how my eyes are green like my mom's and my body is stout and healthy like my grandma's; like how my lips have never been afraid to wear bright pink lipstick and how my legs are long and made to wrap around the middle of a horse. My scars and bruises and funny nose are a picture book of stories of my adventures. If I sleep in until 9 a.m. when I have nothing more pressing to tend to, the world won't stop turning...and if, when I do get up, it's on the wrong side of the bed, that's okay too because sometimes you just have to be grumpy for a while. And no matter how crooked my smile or loud my laugh, they are beautiful just because of what they represent -- a happy, blessed girl.

The older I get, the more secure I am in the knowledge that I would not trade a single day of my life of fishing trips, tan lines, cold beers, rope burns, horse wrecks, pizza slices, Dr. Peppers, bad hair days, late nights, shots of whiskey, long flights, desert drives, knock-down-drag-outs, first kisses, slow dances, bonfires, girl talks, hard work, fluffy pillows, ugly cries, good dogs, flat tires, and countless memories for even a minute of "perfection."

Because if everything was perfect, what a mundane, boring, colorless life that would be.