Just because he's that adorable.

I love my kid. So here's the latest photos of him just for you all :)

I dream of hallways of the past.

My middle school was on the upper floor of a school in the middle of nowhere. On one side, there was a field. On the other, a cemetery. As though reminding us where we'd end up if we stay in this little town too much. Beside the resting place, was a church-at the corner.

The school, was beautiful compared to the other schools, but at the same time, it also held a forboding feel to it. It was an immaculate building with bricks and these large windows. The classrooms were tucked in and out as you walked. The Elementary was downstairs-and we, well, we were stuck upstairs. When you walked in the doors in the morning, the Middle Schoolers walked in the doors to the right, and the Elementary to the left. There was a conference room to the right and the Teachers' inboxes were to the left. The stairs were split level stairs and there were glass doors on the half landing. Once you finally walked into the top hall, there were windows with the view of the playground to the right and lockers that looked as though they were there for the sixth graders, even though they never used them. Above those, there were large windows.

The hall split at the doubledoors, and thus began the hallway. It was a long hallway, with glass at the end by the girls' restrooms. The classrooms sometimes had connecting doors, and it felt larger than my last school. The lockers just lined one side of the hall, and it felt as though it went on forever. The first time I walked into the school, I realized the spots of the restrooms. I feel as though I'm not doing it justice, trying to write about it, but across from one of the Math rooms, there was the "Hall of Fame" where newspaper clippings and photos hung of the students that made the paper. I made it there several times.

A little ways down, there was Jane's board. Which usually had various mythology pages, graded papers with perfect grades, and tributes to world events. She felt it was her duty to inform us of the world that the Educational System wanted to shield us from.

My teachers all had odd names. I'll always remember that. Names that you'd find in fictional stories, in fact, I can't write many fictional stories now because I fear that there's probably a teacher out there with that name.

Just five classrooms before the end of the entrance hall, there was a turn to the right.

It held the entrance to the cafeteria, and straight ahead the gymnasium. Our bathroom at that end of the hall, it was horribly painted purple with yellow sponge paint on the wall. The stall on the end never worked, and usually I avoided using the bathroom at all there.

Our gym was old and drafty, with wooden stairs and seats-with a stage that probably was only used in talent shows. What a waste of a stage. I always was hoping for a drama club, but we were far too poor to afford that.

I had a dream about that place last night. After reading Jane's blog with the description of the classroom that I remember sitting in and watching the Horrible truths of the Holocaust. The Princess Bride, Frogs, and an array of other movies which were probably not that educational, but in ways no one else could see unless you paid attention and it tied into the lesson. (Right?) But movies are all educational, in some way.

I wish I could go back and tell most of the teachers what I thought about them, but now, I'd rather go back and tell them that they need to get their heads out of their asses and stand up for something they believe in-and don't get brainwashed by the system.

I'd go back and tell Jane how much she affected my life. I'd go back and choose a different path than the one I took.

But then, I wouldn't be the person I am today...would I?

I still laugh at the fact that my friend Lauren & I would watch Tommy when he spun his combination every day and we'd leave him notes, and funny pictures-although, he didn't find it too funny. Was I a mean girl? For a while, yes.

But he was doomed-and that hallway is still dark.

Amazing.

On a community.

Friends.
Honesty.
Hope.
love.
Acceptance.

Neverending commitment to each other-
this is the online community which I am relieved to be a part of.
It's amazing there.
I love it.

I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations...as well as a SNS employee...

JUST A MOM?

A woman, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job or are you just a......?"

"Of course I have a job," snapped the woman.

"I'm a Mom."

"We don't list 'Mom' as an occupation, 'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.

The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."

"What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right.

I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronoun cement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. "Might I ask." said the clerk with new interest."just what do you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, [what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another Mom." Motherhood!

What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door. Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!!! I also
think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants".

----

My grandma has the neatest e-mails to send me. Sometimes, I forward them, if I think they're worth forwarding, but most of the time, I simply delete them after reading them, because Chain E-mails have made no horrible effect on my life. I've never been killed by a girl with a knife, and I'm not dead yet.

But this one, for some reason, hit me. Maybe, when I wasn't working, I could have used that. It would've been a priceless statement to make. ANd it makes you sound important.

I do love that.

Time to think.

In the most recent days I've been away from here (Yes, I know, I did say I would try to write religiously) I have been working, raising my son, spending time with my husband, and just thinking about my life and the direction which I am headed in. And this is the conclusion I've come to.

I believe I need to take the SATs. I want to apply for several colleges, while I probably won't go out of state, it's a nice idea to think that I could get accepted into an out of state college. I want to feel like I have the brains and application down. I mean, with the colleges I applied to my Senior year, I got accepted to four of the four I applied to.

So, it's nice to know that I can get into them if I wanted. Although, it's going to be hard, considering I need to take that stupid test. But I am just going to go to IVY Tech for a while.

I know now who my real friends are. I say that with the most deepest sincerity. Although, one of them hates the other one, that's fine, because they don't have to be in the same room together. (Personal vendettas are so pointless, ladies). My best friend from high school, she just doesn't seem to want to hang out anymore, or call, or message me. Now that I think about it, I talked to her sister the other day longer than I've talked to her since May. Sad, isn't it?

I'm craving Oriental food. Crab legs from bloomington to be exact.

I now know who I am, by the way. It took some time, but I know. I just know. And this is odd to say, but it's all thanks to the PostSecret Community that I know who I am. Those people there are awesome, and we all trust each other-even though we're complete strangers.

Is the world that funny sometimes? Like, you know, you'll be best friends with someone for so many years, and then you open your eyes and realize that the friend you haven't spoken to in four years wants to be your friend still, and is sorry for not making their motives that caused the break clear? Then you can pick up a conversation like that and be friends again. It's funny like that.

I saw a photo of myself from the beginning of my sixth grade year. I was so tiny. Bony. Skinny. Anorexic. And it disgusted me that I ever thought I was fat, that I let other girls tell me I was fat. I looked at that photo and I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

Society is unforgiving. But when you get older, you realize that society's opinion of you doesn't matter at all.

Well, I'm going to go before I begin to rant on etiquette.

<3
Faith

Someday...

I don't know what I've been doing lately. It's like my mind is all boggled up and there's not a coherent thought in there. Sadly, I Must admit, I have had little time to remotely do what I want to do, although some might paint a slightly different picture, it's honest...i have had little time to do what I find fun.

Writing being one of them. Lucian is now ten months old and growing before my eyes. I can't believe he's that big already. it seems as though last summer didn't happen, and it shouldn't be like this. But he's growing, and there is little I can do to slow him down. He must make it to being a kid. And then the fun begins, even more after he's potty trained and I don't have to change his diapers, that will be a day of rejoicing.

I don't really have much to type at the momment. Other than it's hard to balance so many things on a plate at once, and I mean that sincerely.

I wouldn't ask for things to be any easier though, because I wasn't given an easy life because I was meant to be a strong individual.

Life lesson no. 400: You were meant to be strong, deal with the hardships and chaos that is your life with the grace of an adult and the acceptance of a child.

Love,
Faith

My latest attempt at actually writing.

Title: Madison Brighton, Novelist.
By: Me.


Prologue:

Everytime I sit down to write my novel that's been building up in my mind for the past three years, I just can't seem to find the appropriate words. Nothing comes to mind, and it's utterly sad. The characters, the plot, the setting-I have them all planned out, yet I can't seem to write those first words. It's like there's a block set in my way of writing it, like I need to write this first before I can pen that novel. And it's utterly depressing.

How horrible is it that writing should prove to be so difficult, that words can't seem to find their substance-that my pen shouldn't make the phrases I long to write? It's the cruelty of a writer, not being able to express yourself, and I'm being honest when I say that. Writing has always come so easily to me, but right now, it looks absolutely dismal.

I remember the first graded story I ever shared with anyone. It was my Creative Writing assignment in High School, the teacher, he was a stickler for grammar and sentence structure even though it was Creative Writing; I digress, I wrote about a woman I observed at the bookstore, and it received an A+. He then had the nerve to write at the top of the paper in huge, red, capital letters 'YOU'LL BE FAMOUS, I JUST HAVE THE GUT FEELING. NEVER STOP WRITING LIKE THIS'. A year and a half later, I published that observation, and it made me a little money and famous to boot.

I'm feeling rather Nostalgic. I dedicated that book to him, seeing as how he swore I would be famous, and he put it on the booklist he hands out to his students. I was astounded when he contacted me and asked me to speak before his class. Of course I went back to my old High School and gave the 'Keep at it, don't give up, just be who you are' speech. It was boring to me.

My second and third novel, well, they were what we'd call 'rebound books'. I wrote them after failed relationships. One of them being a failed marriage. He told me I was married to the book rather than being married to him.

He was right, on so many levels.

Maddie placed her pen aside and began rubbing her left hand. It had been quite the longest time since she had last penned anything. She felt that maybe by freewriting she would be able to begin her story, but what she had, after looking at the pages before her, was the beginning of her autobiography. It was yet again, a failure at attempting to begin her novel.

Just then, the grandfather clock in the livingroom chimed seven times, and her stomach growled. Placing her hands on the desk, she pushed herself up from her seat and the black labrador retriever in the corner lifted his head and watched as his master left the study and walked toward the kitchen.

Upon arriving in the kitchen, Madison began rummaging through the cabinets to look for Samson's food. When she pulled out the food, she noticed her cat, Juliet was on the cabinet now. Sighing, she poured her cat milk and filled up her dog's bowl.

She then reached for the phone and pushed speed dial three. She knew the voice on the other end so well...and she would dial this number every night, and every night, her over analyzing mother would call and berate her for not going out and trying to meet someone new, and she would spend an hour of her life, arguing with the lady on the other end of the phone, who thought, that just because she had a degree in Psychology, she could psyco-analyze her daughter and the failed relationships.

"Tony Wok, take out delivery." The asian voice said.

Ah, Tony, her love. The man that makes her food.

Updates, Happy Christmas, and so on...

Wow, I just noticed that it's been quite a while since I last posted anything here. I bet you all were wondering where I have run off to? Well, work does that to one. It takes them away from the things that they once enjoyed, yes? Well...blogging seems to be low on my priority list. Although, I suppose it shouldn't be so far down, no? It releases...but lately, I've had another outlet for all my fears, hopes, dreams, and tears to pour into. And I love that so very much. It's been a while I suppose I could say since I've had my BEST FRIEND. I've had what I considered a best friend, but really, I don't think I've been able to share as much with her as I have with this person. If she's reading this, I want you to know, my dear, that even though we didn't speak for the longest time, I believe it strengthened our friendship.

Yes, that's right. *smiles* I appreciate you in my life.

Work...wow. I've gotten at least about 35 or 36 hours-Idk what my check will look like, but on Christmas Eve we had to flood our kitchen, and for those of you who have never worked in a fast food-restaurant, it means we lay down our sani-rags on the floor between the kitchen and the dinning room and literally hose the floor down and sincerely make it FLOODED. And then we take these giant squigies and brooms with bristles and push the water into the drain. It's a wet mess, it really is. So, I got my feet wet. And my socks were wet. I was late for Dirty Santa [But I still got the envelope with $10. :)]. But I can't wait for my check. My friend and I are planning on going to a movie next Sunday-we REALLY WANT TO. :) Cause we haven't hung out outside of work other than the other day when she took me for my first eyebrow waxing. :) I really enjoy this.

Christmas. Wow. Well, Shane's great great grandma is in the old folks' home, and we got a call this morning that they were calling the family in. We spent from 10:30-4pm there, then we brought the baby home so he could get in some sleepy clothes and some warm bottle. We did that, then the in-laws came back home at 9 so we could open our gifts and they left at 10...they're still there. She got better this afternoon, but she took a turn for the worse at about 6, and her blood pressure is dropping-it won't be long. But we think that she would've wanted this-to die on Christmas or the day after-it was her favorite holiday. She looked like a mere pile of skin and bones laying there, but I suppose cancer does that to one. *SIGH* Cancer. That word seems to take all the people I grow to admire away. Please, if you are out there, and I admire you, I don't want you to die of cancer, I don't want to remember you like that. It's painful to think about.

But for Christmas, I got the fifth HP movie, the 3rd PoTC movie, an iPod Nano, a gift basket from Bath & Body works, some sleepy pants (I love sleepy pants), a PostSecret book, and my journal. My journal. God, that sounds amazing. It's more like a giant black book one would find on an old-fashioned book case. Who knows, one of these days, maybe you'll own it. I'm seriously considering writing my story in it. Just because that's what it reminds me of. A story book. I suppose in many ways, it will be a story book. My story book.

My son made a killing this Christmas. He's now officially 9 mos old. And he got some clothes, and a billion toys. Kids are blessings, spoil them while you can.

My grandmother got me a satin bedset, a fleece blanket from New Mexico, and candles. I do love that woman, and I miss her more than anything.

Well, just thought you all deserved an update. I love you all.

Feliz Navidad.

<3
Faith