A Girl and Her Dog

A Girl and Her Dog

I have a dog. Lots of people have dogs. I take having a dog very seriously. I don't just own a dog, we made the conscious decision to add a member to the family. No matter how many times I've had to say goodbye to my beautiful little fur babies I always make the decision to add another to the family. Saying goodbye to a pet is every bit as hard as saying goodbye to a human family member. I've had to do it several times in my life and not a week goes by that I don't remember that amazing little spirit inside what was once my best friend in the whole wide world, but even though I know that I will face something heartbreaking someday I will never not have a dog. What would the world be without their enduring unconditional love? The house feels empty when there isn't 4 feet padding around.

My first dog of my very own, Gizzmo. This is the day I got him! He lived to be 16 years old and became not only my dog, but my little sisters as well.

Some people might remember Merlin J. Phineas Alberto. Big name for a little dog, but his personality matched that name. He has been gone almost 3 years, but not a day goes by I don't think of that little fur ball.

I can tell many stories of how each little fur baby has touched my heart, but I want to share a little story about the big one that has won me over.

Thora Anna

After Merlin left us I was devastated. Avinell was old enough to know he was gone and it was hard for her too. We waited several months before considering getting a dog again. It was painful to think about it, but I had the most overwhelming feeling that it was of utmost importance to make sure my child had a dog. She needed to know the love of a pet, the responsibility, the never ending companion ship. It became so important to me that I started to research. My husband had a beloved dog when he was growing up too, a German Short Haired Pointer. I've always had smaller dogs, but was open to anything.  During my research I looked at adoptable dogs and dogs from breeders. I understand some people aren't comfortable with purchasing a pet from a breeder, but I won't go into that aspect. All I will say is it was right for my family. We found the most amazing, loving, and caring breeders in the world! They not only took the time to educate me about a dog breed I was unfamiliar with, but have been right there with us every step of the way! Even putting up with my silly questions about minor skin rashes! They genuinely care for each and every puppy they share with the world and want them to have the best and give their best to each family.

 When we picked Thora up she was a tiny little brown pup and of course I was in love. She grew quickly and her bond with my husband was much stronger than her bond with me. She is a hunting dog by breed and because he takes her out to train and hunt of course she is his dog through and through. Thora enjoyed my pets and the fact that I would throw the toys, feed her and do all those dog owner type things, but she really only had eyes for her Dad. Then I started to see the relationship that was blossoming between this all legs silly girl and my two legged kiddo.

Blanket Fort! 

Avinell was two when we added Thora to our family. Their bond wasn't immediate because as a puppy Thora was very wild! Avinell was often intimidated of those long legs bounding around. Over the last year though as Thora has calmed out of her puppy stage and Avinell has grown up their bond has become so amazing. Thora has become the best friend I always wanted my little girl to have.

Thora craves attention from her sister! She will gladly race down the steps to kiss Avinell's face in the morning when I give her the command to "wake up sissy". Thora wanted to help when Sissy fell and bumped her head so she stayed on the couch with her while she recouped. 

This is a nightly routine. Snuggles until sleeping. Then Mom gets to move a sleeping child from under a sleeping dog! 

 Thora is her protector, her best friend, her sister. I resigned myself to being 3rd in the pack. You know what, that is perfectly fine with me. Seeing them together and how perfect it is I wouldn't have it any other way. Lately though I've been receiving a little more love and cuddles from that pup. I think we have come to an understanding. I love her for what she is and she thinks I'm pretty comfy.

I Am Okay

Every day millions suffer in silence from depression. It is time to remove the stigma of mental illness. If you are hurting, or know someone who is, please know that you are not alone. 

Why Post Partum Depression was a Blessing in Disguise.

Preface:  This took me 4 tries.  It's still not perfect.  It's a bit disjointed.  And there is much more to this than I can write without it getting TL:DR. It's almost TL:DR as is.... But stick with me.  All this nonsense happens for a reason.  And I need you to know, that you aren't alone. And that you can come out on the other side more certain of who you are too.

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I ran away.  I ran away from a wonderful home, 3 gorgeous children, an incredibly supportive husband and extended family.   The children I ran from were 5 and under, the youngest being only 6 months old.  I ran away.

Post Partum Depression, it’ll do that.

Funny thing is, my brain got oddly rational while I had PPD.   You see, I’m a fibre artist, mainly a hand spinner. Yarn and fibre were my only means of escape, so during nap time and that precious hour between putting the big ones to bed for the night, and when the little one woke to eat, I would spin.  It was my escape.  But things became overwhelming. Post Partum Depression hit me like a freight train.  It was all I could do to remain normal and calm on the outside.  I know people saw me struggling to balance 2 rambunctious boys and a brand new baby who was in a lot of ways my most difficult infant. She refused to breastfeed, despite a month and half of trying and trying unsuccessfully.   She spit up always.  The boys just kept doing their monkey thing, climbing the counters, pulling out the Tupperware and pots and pans…  But I’m not sure they realized the depth of the struggle.  I was overwhelmed, and my hormones were super outta whack.  It did not help that I was not ready for this.  I had been preparing to get an IUD to prevent another preganacy for a short time.  Hormonal birth control didn’t jive with me, made me anxious, and all over the place emotionally.  So IUD it was going to be.  And then, despite precautions, I was pregnant again. I peed on a stick the day before the appointment. Double lines.  Damnit.  Now, please don’t take that the wrong way.  It wasn’t that another child was unwanted, it was just that another child was something I wanted to delay, so that I could enjoy the time with my little boys.  They are, after all, only little for so long. We are talking they were 3.5 and 1.25 ish when I got pregnant again.  This is probably where it started.  And a doctor probably should have picked it up at that first appointment, make a note that the momma wasn’t ready.  Flag for depression.  But it wasn’t flagged, I dealt with it all alone.  And sometimes, when you have to deal alone for so long, you just need to leave.

Breastfeeding was that one thing that teathered me to my boys. I was stuck (in a good way) as the only source of nutrients.  It made me needed.  When it didn’t work with my lovely little daughter, it was like a knife.  She didn’t’ need me. She needed someone to make her bottles, and anyone could do that. 

So, When I found a week long spinning retreat, I used it as a perfectly good excuse to run away.  Education!  A very legitimate reason to leave.  I actually had a day long argument with my husband that resulted in a lot of ugly crying on my part. It wasn’t a ploy, it wasn’t a tactic to get him to push over.  It was raw and real emotion.  He did end up agreeing.  And I foisted my 3 small children on my parents for a week.  There were 2 months between my registering, and my leaving, and I had plans. Secret plans.  How much money was in the bank? How far would that get me?  Can I live on that for a few weeks until I found some kind of job?  What is the best way to hide, and not be found? 
When the time came, I definitely took that course I’d planned to.  I wasn’t crazy, I wasn’t about to waste a bunch of money.  I rented a townhouse room. When you do that at this retreat, you get random roommates.  My roommates were nice, kind and wonderful.  Interacting with humans that were self sufficient was a beautiful thing.  I could get used to this, I thought.  Their courses were just a few days, where mine was a whole week.  I ended up in that townhouse alone for 4 nights.  4 very quiet, very lonely nights.  Through conversing with one of my classmates, it turned out that she was also alone.  So on the last night I had her over for dinner.  We talked about our kids, we talked about life, and talked about everything and nothing, and she said I made great food.  As the sun set, she left for her townhouse, and I was left to sit alone in mine, marinating in the wonderful things I’d just said about my family.  And I began to truly miss them.  I came to my senses.  I couldn’t leave them. 
I think the universe sometimes does these things to you, to put you on the path you should be on.    I had ran away, only to be reminded of what I was worth.  That even my presence alone was enough.  And as much as they didn’t really “need” me, I really actually needed them.  So I went home.

The positive thing that came from this whole thing, aside from the knowing that I needed my family, is that I found a passion.  I spin yarn, and while that in itself is a little odd, and out of the ordinary, it’s a passion.   I know more about yarn and fibre than your average person should.   What started as a perfect excuse to run away turned into a livelihood.  And while the depression was scary and hard to take, and drove me from my loved ones, it was a blessing.  I still suffer from depression, but I can feel the lows coming sooner. I can do what I need to, to make it less awful, and am open with my husband about when it’s going to hit.   I don’t think I would have gotten here, if it weren’t for that episode of PPD.

If you are suffering with PPD, or any other mental illness related to your role as a mother, please check out this website:  http://www.postpartumprogress.com/frequently-asked-questions-on-postpartum-depression-related-illnesses

I wish I’d have found this when I was living through this.  It seems like an excellent resource.

Much love, and much light.

P.S. Pictures of yarn!  What saved  me from self destruction ;)  All hand spun on a spinning wheel, a la Rumplestiltskin.

10 Tips for Self-Care

Are there days that you just can't make it out of bed? I have had those days more than I wish to admit. It seems as if nothing will go right, what's the point. I understand. I have put together a quick cheat sheet of what helps me get up and out when I just can't face the day. If you have any tips, pass them on! I would love the hear what helps you through the tough times.

Fan Girl

I'm a geek. There I said it. I have always been. My fandoms have evolved, changed, morphed over time. Sometimes I fall back to the old loves, sometimes I move on and find something new to obsess over. I'm a geek and a crafter. When you put these 2 things together you tend to get a mass explosion of creative wonderfulness that lets you share your loves with the world. I enjoy making things that reflect my interests/obsessions. Sometimes I enjoy making things that reflect others interests too.

I LOVE EDGAR ALLAN POE. I have loved him since I was in 7th grade English and had my first taste of his macabre writing. I have made a few things in tribute to him, but not long ago I made what I consider my Poe masterpiece. A small collage quilt of his likeness. It was my first go at collage quilting. I have others planned, but as he was so time consuming I have yet to tackle my next subject.

Little bits of fabric where glued onto a base sketch on muslin and then I used my machine to free motion thread sketch over that. It was so time consuming, but so worth it. Edgar now resides on my library wall along with other handmade and purchased pieces in his honor. 

 I also made a prayer candle for my E.A. Poe sanctuary. (and yes that is a real taxidermy Raven
 straight from England) 

Doctor Who is one of my other loves. I've made several things and have something pretty spectacular in the works. I can't wait to share, but alas it is not finished. I built this TARDIS from bits of paper cut on a friend's Cricut machine. Forty Five minutes of gluing tiny bits of paper! I gave it to a special friend and must make myself another. 

Making geeky cakes is fun too! My sister turned 16 and love Steven Universe. I made this giant 4 layer cake. Each layer was a different color to match a character along with the gems on the top made of candy. I'm not super familiar with the fandom, but with a little research it turned out super fun!

Another fandom I don't know much about is Supernatural. I know a ton of people that adore it and will eventually immerse myself in it, but right now I got to much on my plate. That doesn't stop me from baking a rad license plate cake for a friend. With the help of a carpenter friend I made her a Devil's trap box for her prop obsession too.

I made a few Doctor Who zipper pouches and a Walking Dead tote bag for some friends as well. Sharing geeky gear is what makes me smile the most!

These are just a few of the geeky arts and crafts I've completed lately. They make me smile and remind me everyday why I am a maker. Now I'm off to work on something and enjoy my day. Why don't you create something today too? Geeky or not give it a go! Why Not! 

Little bits of fabric where glued onto a base sketch on muslin and then I used my machine to free motion thread sketch over that. It was so time consuming, but so worth it. Edgar now resides on my library wall along with other handmade and purchased pieces in his honor. 

I'm a 30 something mom, wife, and artist. I enjoy spending time creating and teaching my kiddo to create. Born, raised, and currently residing in the upper Midwest. Proud to be a North Dakotan! Always inspired to learn and create in new ways. Married to my high school sweetheart. We enjoy the outdoors as a family. Total geek!  Learning to live by the mantra "Why not!" 

Instagram: alwaysinspiredmomma 

Middle Age Ninja

I am middle age. I'm 47. No longer am I the hot twenty year old that guys turn around and look at. I am invisible. 

My body is no longer youthful. My boobs are  lower than they used to be. My stomach is a little more round and the lines around my eyes, a little deeper. 

In my twenties I took my body for granted. It was tiny, it was fit, it could put up with the abuse I gave it. I would go out, dance the night away and drink like a fish. I was a party girl. 

In my thirties my body began to revolt. No longer was I fit. I couldn't stay out all night long and bounce back like I used to. The drinking and bad eating caught up with me and it showed. 

In my early forties I looked in the mirror and began to not care. "That is the way you are supposed to be at forty," I kept trying to convince myself. Tired, unhealthy, worn out. 

Now I am in my late forties and my body is finally in a good place. I no longer care about getting overlooked. My body is my own. I am healthy for me. I am not that tiny little girl worried about getting attention. I am not that unhealthy forty year old just getting by. I am myself. I am not perfect, but I  feel beautiful. I am still overlooked and I am absolutely okay with that. My body is my own. My confidence is one hundred percent because of me. I am a middle aged ninja. No one suspects a "mom" type to be a force to be reckoned with. That is power, that is my body, that is who I am. A force. 

My Biggest Regret

There are few things I regret in life, but he is one of them. I have no doubt in my mind that I was ready for such a huge step. I felt no shame, no guilt, and at first I felt euphoric.

Slowly those feelings changed to fear, helplessness, and deceit. He hid his true colors well and I realized it too late; by then he already manipulated me into thinking it was my fault, that I was to blame, that I secretly wanted it and was just playing hard to get.

Health class never prepared me for this. My mother wasn’t even able to prepare me for this. She told me all the emotional side effects sex can have on an individual and on a relationship. Possessiveness, guilt, shame, lust, euphoria, aggressiveness, and acceptance were all talked about. However, I don’t think any level of discussion could’ve prepared me for the intensity of the emotions that ensued.

Months after the first offense, I could still feel the burning sensation of his hands on my wrists. The bruises I tried so hard to hide finally faded away, but I could still feel their aching pain on my thighs. Tears would stream down my face with no other provocation than haunting memories of my screams being muffled- first by his hand, then by his pillow. Sleepless nights filled with terrors tormented me night after night. I struggled to find the positive side of anything. Depression gripped me harder than I wanted to admit to anyone, especially myself.

I felt all this pressure from friends to stay with him. They saw him as charismatic, funny, and sweet. They didn’t know him the way I knew him. The constant pressure I felt was the only reason I stayed. I knew my friends put our relationship on a pedestal, I thought that I would’ve failed them in some way if I had left him sooner, made them lose hope in finding a decent relationship in high school. That was one of my biggest mistakes, putting their happiness before mine on a matter that was so intimate and personal, on a matter that they weren’t even involved in.

The second offense affected me even worse, echoing my fears louder than before. The possessiveness became overbearing; the aggression was torturous. I had no idea what he was capable of until I denied him for the first time. Yes, he previously had consent, and I wish he never did. If he had never gotten my consent in the first place, maybe he wouldn’t have thought of me as property. Maybe I wouldn’t have suffered as long as I did from how unpredictable his moodiness became.

            I used to think that having a “grown-up” relationship would help me age faster, wishing that I could reach adult-age sooner than my peers, but I was naive. That naivety cost me parts of my sanity and my innocence.

Repairing that kind of emotional damage has been difficult. I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), commonly found in war veterans and not in teenage girls, but little did I know that I was also fighting a war. Intimacy became a chaotic entity, something that was attainable by few, something that was deceitful to many. My body was no longer a sacred space, it was no longer appreciated and loved by me, it was a dilapidated war zone that had seen one too many bombs, and it seemed irreparable. I only wish I would’ve seen the abusive signs sooner, said no instead of yes earlier, hadn’t been so naive. I wish I had accepted the help of those around me and told them the truth. I remember my mom reading my texts and asking why I apologized to him so much. I regret giving her an excuse and not telling her that I felt like I was dancing on eggshells.

Learning about the emotional side effects of sex is not a lesson that can be taught by anyone, but has to be experienced individually because it’s circumstantial and it’s different for everyone.

At age fifteen, I was raped twice and the emotional fallout that followed left me cruel and even more jaded than I already was. The girl who was once confident became insecure yet again. I forgot what happiness felt like for days at a time, until he was particularly sweet to me, and then his horns would show yet again. It was a vicious cycle, but he knew everything about me, he knew every insecurity, every heartbreak, every action, every lie I’d ever told. He knew me better than I knew myself and he used that as a weapon.

I know I said no. I know I was audible about not wanting what he wanted in that moment up until he smothered my protests. In those moments, my voice did not matter. My body was not mine in his eyes. It was his. At first, it scared me. At first I didn’t know what to do. My brain put my body into a dissociative state to protect me and my memories. I felt as though I wasn’t in my body and seeing everything happen to a girl that looked like me. This hindered any sort of coping for a long while, even after the second time. Once I broke up with him, I remember feeling stressed out the majority of the next few months without knowing why.

Finally, I kept having dreams that felt more real than a normal dream and confided in my now-boyfriend and my mom who both told me what it was that I had experienced. I was shaken to the core. Memories and pain flooded back to me.

 Realization fueled a fire in me that was bigger than him, bigger than myself, bigger than the crime he committed against me. I have never been more determined to take back what is and has always been mine. I am working on loving myself for who I am and my body for what it is, giving up the shame and guilt I’ve carried for so long, and empowering myself and women around me.

There are few things I regret in life, and he is one of them.

My name is Kacie. I'm 18 and attending NWACC for my general education before switching schools. I like makeup, writing, and video games. I also believe that the best way to combat ignorance is to inform and give patience without being condescending or aggressive. I also love animals, specifically dogs.