See the Unseen

So, sorry for not writing in so long. Well sorry but not sorry because we've been on vacation!  I took my husband out to California where my heritage springs from.  San Francisco.  Monterey. SacramentoValley.  It was a blast, especially cause my brother and sister came along.  We all gained weight, thanks to my Portuguese Grandmother who insists we're starving every 90 minutes. And we lover her for it:) We enjoyed the beach, the city, and lots of good food.  But we're back, back to reality, and to be honest, I've had a million different things come up that I wanted to write about.  First, I wanted to tell the story of my Mammaw, the Portuguese wonder woman out in Cali, because she has one of the most incredible life stories.  But then I thought better of it, because it's her life story, not mine, and I'd want her approval before it went viral. So then, I was going to write about diversity, my spin on it based off life experience and my recent time spent in one of our nation's melting pots, San Francisco. But then, I felt like I'd be beating a dead horse.  Everyone writes/talks/blogs/preaches about diversity these days.  About equality, acceptance, love, hate, . . . . and so on.  So I picked something a little different.  I've selected a few very key events in my life to highlight in this post.  Each event has been something to change my life, my way of thinking, my way of doing and being, in some way.  Big or small.  They're things I don't often talk about, things I'm sure many others have felt and experienced.  But unique to me, the following events and discussion are part of my story.  Part of what makes me, ME. And it's not like I think the world wants to read all about me. Wants to know my life, my ideas, my stories.  I'm no narcissist.  I know in the grand scheme of things, no one really cares. Rather, we're all looking to relate and to learn, especially from each other.  So that's what I'm doing here. Hoping we can somehow relate using some of the most important, special, moments of my life. Moments where I felt this indescribable, overwhelming, unique sense of peace.  A peace that to this day, gives me the chills when the memories come creeping in. It's not of this world, this feeling of peace.  It is sent from somewhere else.

June 1st, 2010.

Probably one of the most significant moments of my life.  For obvious reasons.  It was the day my daughter was born.  I've told the story a million times.  Here, at groups, conferences, to friends, family...but there's parts of the story I always leave out.

Sophie's birth taught me something very important.  That this life, as long, scary, intimidating, tiring, or lonesome as it may seem at times, is one of the shortest, most insignificant parts of our history.  When I told my Doctors I was pregnant, I was advised to terminate the pregnancy.  It was too risky for someone like me.  They advised me of the risks I was taking and the complications I would face.  But for some reason, by some miracle, it never, not ever scared me. I thought about it a lot.  I mulled over the "What If's" in my mind.  But it never caused me to panic.  I never second guessed my decision to give Sophie life, even when it meant putting mine at risk. So, when the time finally came for Sophie to enter this world, we were well prepared.  The whole team knew exactly what they were doing, and I was ready for anything.  At one point in the delivery room I felt myself blacking out.  And for a moment,  I thought, "This is it, I've done my job.  And now I'm leaving." And again, I wasn't scared.  I was OK. I felt this overwhelming sense of peace. This unusually thick, warm blanket of serenity. The room was in chaos.  But to me it was quiet.  All the noise seemed dimmed by my mind.  I could hear voices, but they were so far away.  I felt my heart exploding with love for this tiny human being that had finally been born.  But she was off being cleaned up. It was just me, a light, and a very warm, calm sense of companionship I felt between myself and something or someone else unseen. When I think back to this moment I tear up because it has left such a lasting impression on me.  My mother was there, she made sure I got the oxygen mask ,that I was okay. She was taking care of me, along with a whole other team of very special people, all the while I was off somewhere else. In a place of pure peace. Until I got to come back.  And watch Sophie experience this world for the first time. And understand that her birth was sending ripples.  Ripples I was just beginning to comprehend.

I don't know everything.  I don't have answers for much.  But I do know one thing.  That Sophie and I are kindred spirits. That our history began before a time I can remember.  I know that.  I saw it and felt it that day in our delivery room.

And I don't believe God necessarily intended for me to make mistakes as a teen, mistakes that would lead me to get pregnant.  But I know Sophie was part of a grander plan.  Too many things took place for it not to be 'meant to be'. I can't have kids anymore. Sophie was my one and only child that will ever be born of my own flesh and blood.  Sophie HAD to come when she did.  She HAD  to get to her family somehow, and I was the missing piece to that puzzle.  But I NEEDED her too.  For so many reasons. You can't tell me there isn't a bigger plan after I've seen what I've seen and felt what I've felt.  You can't tell me there isn't a reason why she's here against all odds, and I am too. That day has forced me to look at life through very different eyes.  Sophie's birth was huge, but so small compared to what her life and the change in mine, will produce.

I believe life is short.  So very short.



June 3rd, 2012

I went to Africa knowing I was taking a risk.  If anything were to happen to me I was in big trouble.  There are no hospitals adequately prepared to help a heart patient in trouble in Tanzania.  But I didn't care.  I was dead set on going, had been for years.  I didn't care if I died there, I was going. Well knock on wood, I died there.  Died and came back to life twice. (thank you ICD) Sounds ridiculous, sounds dramatic, but that's what happened.  And I don't care.  Because I'm here now, things worked out.  And I got to feel it again.  That peace.  The first time my heart stopped we were out on a dirt field.  I don't remember passing out.  What I do remember is a very bright light, distant voices, and a total sense of peace.  My words and descriptions CAN NOT give what took place the next 72 hours justice.  Again, utter chaos.  Panic.  Terror. For everyone but me.  I wasn't there.  Mentally I was.not.there.  Something took me someplace else.  To keep me from panicking.  To keep me calm.  Those who know me, know that I am SO VERY IN TUNE  with anything and everything that goes on inside my body.  How fast my heart is beating, how my head feels, how my legs feel, how my skin looks.  To the point that I'm paranoid.  If I had been coherent during those days in Africa, I would have created more of a panic, I probably would have caused more problems.  So, I went somewhere else for a time.  And I got to feel the peace again.  A feeling that I try to re-imagine daily because I yearn for it.  Who wouldn't? For a while I knew without a doubt that things were okay.  Nothing scared me.  Should have, lots of thing should have scared me.  The fact that I was dying in a third world country should have scared me. But I thank my Father in Heaven all the time for what he did for me there.  What he taught me, showed me, gave me.  Incredible.

June 1st, 2009

My brother Clint had just left on his mission.  I was working at subway that summer. On this day, my good friend Erica walked in to the store.  For a moment, I smiled and thought, "What a pleasant surprise!" Until I noticed her face was red and there were tears in her eyes.  My heart sank.  I couldn't breathe but I said, "Erica, what is it, what's wrong?" And before she could say a word her voice trembled and her body shook, more tears started to fall down her face, and she told me it was my brother.  Initially I panicked, thinking my younger brother at home was in trouble and we had to go. NOW.  But then she shook her head and said no, it was my older brother. Clint.  The one eight hundred miles away.  The one I couldn't run to and make sure things were alright.  The one we had, just two weeks prior, placed into the Lord's care.  I left work with Erica immediately.  I was in shock the whole drive home.  I'm sure I cried, I don't remember.  But I do remember thinking I needed to hold it together.  I had younger siblings at home who were going to need me.  My parents had already jumped a plane to California to see Clint. He had gone running that morning in a park with his missionary companion.  He dropped to the ground and quit breathing when his companion began to yell for help and two park workers, who also just happened to be volunteer paramedics, approached the scene and administered CPR until the ambulance arrived.  Clint was defibrillated several times before they got any kind of rhythm.  Long story short, Clint was gone.  Someplace else, experiencing that same peace I felt in Africa, the same peace I felt when Sophie was born. He was in a coma for over a week, intubated and all. The prognosis was scary.  If he woke up, he could have serious brain damage.  Or he could be fine. Either way, if he survived, he was going to need an ICD, like me. I was finally going to have a twin in the family. Long story short, Clint woke up.  Thanks to some amazing nurses and doctors, a Mother's tender love, and lots of faith and prayers.  And he got the surgery for an ICD, and went right back out on his mission, completing the full two years without ever coming home.  He's a rock star.  He's seen it all.  He knows God and Angels are real.  Ask him.  He'll  tell you.

When my parents left to go see him, I didn't know what we'd hear the next time they called.  As far as I knew he was already dead, and they were taking him to an E.R.  But I prayed and prayed and prayed for a miracle. We all did.  And as we prayed, Clinton was in the care of some great people.  Some seen and some...well, not seen.

Today

On this day, and every day, I can smile when life gets rough. I can cry.  Because I'm human.  And a girl...But then I can smile because I remember what it feels like to know none of it matters.  There is SO MUCH MORE in store.  So much that DOES matter, amongst all the things in life that DON'T. And I thank God every day for teaching me that so young.

I'm so grateful for what I've seen and felt in just the first 22 years of my life.  Not one day goes by that I don't think on the things/people that have changed me the most.  My mother is one of the most amazing people I know.  No, she IS the most amazing person I know. She's never had it easy.  She's never had it all.  Yet she's so at peace.  She's so close to God, she's so giving, so calm, so selfless.  I can only dream of ever becoming half the woman she is.  She's taught me a lot.  She's carried me through even more.

I gave my mom this poem last year as a gift, because she's always telling me everything you should hear from a mother.  "You're beautiful, you're strong, you're smart..." But for the first time in my life, I finally believed it, and it was thanks to her consistent praise and support.  She, aside from the heavenly peace I've felt, is the one thing I can always count on to make things okay.  She's truly an angel.  And if you know my mother, then you know she's special.  And so anyway, here's the poem...

People always say I have a laugh like my mother does.  Guess that makes sense.  She taught me how to smile when things get rough.  I've got her spirit, she's always got my back.  When I look at her I think, "I wanna be just like that." When I love, I give it all I got, like my mother does. When I'm scared, I bow my head and pray, like my mother does. When I feel weak and unpretty, I know I'm beautiful and strong because I see myself, like my mother does.

I guess the point of this post is to describe how I've came to understand the phrase "live like today's your last day".  Cliche I know. You hear it all the time.  But until I cheated death a few times myself, came close to losing people closest to me, I didn't REALLY get it.  I didn't really TRY it.  But now, it's on the fore front of my mind, all the time.  And it is what has made me ME.  It is what has influenced my life the most.  
Anyway...as always, I hope this has sparked some kindling of thought in your mind. 'Till next time;)

Intellectual Honesty

Last night could have been one of the most relaxing nights I'd had in a long time.  IF it weren't for absolutely everything and everyone that made it into the exact opposite of what it SHOULD have been.  This post is obviously turning into a vent session.  One I might regret later on, since it will indubitably give people an insight into my very own "Mr. Hyde". However, on the same hand I don't mind all that much.  Because some things just need to be said.  And ya know, every now and then I get a family member or a friend say to me, "ShaNae, I love your blog because it's authentic, it's real.  You don't hold back.  It's completely YOU."  To which I let out a sigh of relief knowing my deepest intent has reached my readers.  I AM HONEST.  And sometimes brutally so.  If something needs to be said, if there's an elephant in the room, I'll be the one to  tear off the sheets.  Not because I'm always abrasive, though sometimes I am.  But because just like the rest of the human race, I have a streak of egotism.  At the end of any given day, almost everything I did was for myself. We are not an altruistic race.  FACT.

So let me clarify.  I'm not brutally honest or authentic for your sake, though keeping you from going out in public in that dress WAS doing you a favor.  I'm honest for myself.  Because I can't physically function without being honest about how you or him, or them, or that, is making me feel. I'm honest because I can't shut up and smile when what you're saying makes me wanna scream and spew. If I trust you, you'll know it.  If I don't trust you, we won't even speak. There's a reason I am who I am.  There's a reason I'm not my mother, but I'm not my father either.  There is a reason I am the perfect mix of both.  Allowing me to be honest but diplomatic, abrasive yet soothing, assertive yet composed. I've grown to be brutally honest through my father, while using diplomacy and a continuously improving brain filter through my mother.

So, back to the point of this post.  Last night was date night.  Spenser and I have been working our tails off this summer and felt like we hadn't REALLY seen each other in days.  So, I proposed we make it a date night once he got off work.  We ended up with free dinner at my parents house and a cheap movie at the water gardens.  It was easy, low budget, low stress.  Exactly what we like.  Shoulda been a great night.  Shoulda ended great too if you know what I mean.

BUT NO.

Okay, let me just ask you this.  Ever done something to fully and completely embarass yourself?  Don't you usually know, getting some kind of sixth sense, that you're embarassing yourself? So you stop whatever it is that you're doing?  Unless it was all done and over so quick that all you can do is grovel and hope to high heaven it doesn't leave a lasting mark on your record? Most of us have, I should hope, born naturally within us, the ability to rocognize when the motors running our mouth should stop.

MOST OF US.

Last night at the movie I sat by a group of young adults who more than lacked this ability.  MORE than lacked. Meaning, not only did they not realize what they were doing. They kept it up the ENTIRE two and a half hours we were there.  They were oblivious to the glares coming at them from all directions. AND, they got louder with each passing minute.  Okay, so in the movie, for those of you who haven't seen it, Mr.Gatsby uses the name 'Ol' Sport'...a lot.  It's a term of endearment.  Kinda like my siblings call me Nae, or my husband calls me babe...nothing special. Just 'Old Sport'. Oh, but to the boistorous group seated next to me, that was down right, the FUNNIEST thing they'd ever heard.  The whole movie was funny to them.  Every little thing a normal person might find artistic, classic, creative, or exciting, they found...HILARIOUS.  So they'd force out ridiculous laughter, then chat about what they'd seen for thirty seconds to follow.  Needless to say my Gatsby experience wasn't ruined by an unhappy ending, it was ruined by a group of people with a gaping lack of social skills.  At one point I turned to the boy sitting nearest to me, with rage boiling behing by eyes and ears, opened my mouth to say a thing or two, but something stopped me.  Something, probably the filter aquired from my mother, stopped me.  Because honestly, I wanted to stand up, walk over, grab his drink and pour the soda all over his lap, then tell him to PIPE THE *$#! DOWN.  But I couldn't.  All I could do was glare.  Because I knew making a scene would only fuel the fire burning in everyone else's chest.

HOWEVER.

Being an egotistical human being unable to function without expressing my fervent emotions, I had to do something for myself.  Something to satisfy the anger I felt toward these vociferous, raucous, riotous, uncouth, insolent, ill-mannered, ridiculous people.  So, I vented to my husband the entire drive home.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  I was hoping to engage in some kind of verbal brawl out in the parking lot after the show.  I knew the vocabulary of my perpetrators was minimal, based on their behavior inside. I could beat them into the ground using only words in a matter of seconds. My honest self sure wanted to.  Hell, my honest self still wishes I would have. But thanks to my even-tempered husband, and the image I try to uphold when he's around, I kept my mouth shut this time.  I used a slightly less satisfying, yet probably more commendable alternative to channel my fury. I simply vented.  Cursed and screamed inside the safety of my own car.  I saved myself from a possible throw down, and still got to be honest with my emotions. A win-win.

But obviously my vent session couldn't terminate in the Nissan.  I had to write about it. Why? I don't know.  That's a stupid question. It's besides the point. Maybe so you'd know that acting disrespectful during a movie while I'm around is a threat to your own safety and self esteem.  Or maybe so I could remind myself using retrospect that engaging in lesser forms of abrasiveness is okay, I'll still FEEL OKAY, knowing I've exerted my honesty.  Sometimes, when things like this occur in my life, my husband or others close to me will say, "But aren't you glad you didn't stoop to their level?" To which I say, "Oh no.  You see, I could NEVER stoop there.  I could NEVER lower my IQ enough to stoop there, not even for five seconds.  What I wanted to do wouldn't have been stooping. It would have been educating...so as to save someone from future embarassment"  That's all.  No curse words.  No high volumed senseless chatter.  No Yo Mamma jokes because I hate what you did back thur in that thur movie.

Just brutal, intellectual honesty.

And to my friends back at the late showing of Great Gatsby on July 1st, 2013.  If we ever cross each other again in similar circumstances, that is exactly what you will recieve.

And You're Welcome. It may just save you from someone or something far worse in the future.

Oh The Controversy

Signing up to be an organ donor is one of the most generous things you can do—especially when you consider that a single donor can potentially save eight lives.  That’s eight people who won’t have to spend agonizing months or years on the transplant waiting list, who will get a second chance, because you made the selfless decision to be a donor.

If you would accept an organ why wouldn’t you give one? By deciding to be a donor, you are providing hope for the thousands of people awaiting organ transplants and for the millions of people whose lives could be enhanced through tissue transplants.  It’s the greatest gift you can give—the gift of life.

The video plainly explained why I do this.  Why I'm writing this post.  I have a very personal connection to the topic.  However, even if I didn't, I'd still support it. Below, as promised in the video, I've answered some myths that surround organ donation and remain responsible for the stigma pressing the issue.  

Myth: If I agree to donate my organs, the hospital staff won't work as hard to save my life.

Fact: When you go to the hospital for treatment, doctors focus on saving your life — not somebody else's. You'll be seen by a doctor whose specialty most closely matches your particular emergency.

Myth: Maybe I won't really be dead when they sign my death certificate.

Fact: Although it's a popular topic in the tabloids, in reality, people don't start to wiggle their toes after they're declared dead. In fact, people who have agreed to organ donation are given more tests (at no charge to their families) to determine that they're truly dead than are those who haven't agreed to organ donation.

Myth: Organ donation is against my religion.

Fact: Organ donation is consistent with the beliefs of most major religions. This includes Roman Catholicism, Islam, most branches of Judaism and most Protestant faiths. If you're unsure of or uncomfortable with your faith's position on donation, ask a member of your clergy.

Myth: I'm under age 18. I'm too young to make this decision.

Fact: That's true, in a legal sense. But your parents can authorize this decision. You can express to your parents your wish to donate, and your parents can give their consent knowing that it's what you wanted. Children, too, are in need of organ transplants, and they usually need organs smaller than those an adult can provide.

Myth: An open-casket funeral isn't an option for people who have donated organs or tissues.

Fact: Organ and tissue donation doesn't interfere with having an open-casket funeral. The donor's body is clothed for burial, so there are no visible signs of organ or tissue donation. For bone donation, a rod is inserted where bone is removed. With skin donation, a very thin layer of skin similar to a sunburn peel is taken from the donor's back. Because the donor is clothed and lying on his or her back in the casket, no one can see any difference.

Myth: I'm too old to donate. Nobody would want my organs.

Fact: There's no defined cutoff age for donating organs. The decision to use your organs is based on strict medical criteria, not age. Don't disqualify yourself prematurely. Let the doctors decide at your time of death whether your organs and tissues are suitable for transplantation.

Myth: I'm not in the best of health. Nobody would want my organs or tissues.

Fact: Very few medical conditions automatically disqualify you from donating organs. The decision to use an organ is based on strict medical criteria. It may turn out that certain organs are not suitable for transplantation, but other organs and tissues may be fine. Don't disqualify yourself prematurely. Only medical professionals at the time of your death can determine whether your organs are suitable for transplantation.

Myth: Rich and famous people go to the top of the list when they need a donor organ.

Fact: The rich and famous aren't given priority when it comes to allocating organs. It may seem that way because of the amount of publicity generated when celebrities receive a transplant, but they are treated no differently from anyone else. The reality is that celebrity and financial status are not considered in organ allocation.

Myth: My family will be charged if I donate my organs.

Fact: The organ donor's family is never charged for donating. The family is charged for the cost of all final efforts to save your life, and those costs are sometimes misinterpreted as costs related to organ donation. Costs for organ removal go to the transplant recipient.

Now that you have the facts, you can see that being an organ donor can make a big difference, and not just to one person. By donating your organs after you die, you can save or improve as many as 50 lives. And many families say that knowing their loved one helped save other lives helped them cope with their loss.

Also, some of the problem isn’t that people don’t want to donate organs or even that they don’t sign up to become donors. It’s that currently, the health care and legal systems don’t ensure that a person’s wishes regarding organ donation are honored. Even if you sign a donor card or the back of your driver’s license, if your family doesn’t give its approval, the hospital will not procure your organs — in spite of your prior written consent. The National Network of Organ Donors believes that signing a legal document should guarantee, without exception, that your wishes are met.

That’s why they created the network, and why we’ve made it their mission to get every adult in America to join the registry. They want to remove the barriers, both legal and emotional, that can prevent life-saving transplants from taking place.

The Network understands that a grieving family may not be in the position to make a decision about organ donation at the time of their loved one’s death. And yet, that’s precisely when doctors must ask family members for permission. Why do hospitals need this consent if you have already signed an organ donor card or the back of your driver’s license? Because they may fear a lawsuit if they go against the wishes of a patient’s family, especially if the family is vehemently opposed to organ donation.

So educate your families people.  Let them know what you want.

Also, regarding stem cell research.

Growing up I was told by some people that stem cell research was wrong, immoral.  Even murder.  Stem cells are primal cells found in all multi-cellular organisms that retain the ability to renew themselves through cell division and can differentiate into a wide range of specialized cell types. Basically, say someone had Parkinson's. This disease sets in when cells in the brain that secrete a specific chemical die out, so we could turn stem cells into the missing cell type and implant them in the brain, curing the disease. Paralysis results from damage to the spinal cord, but we could turn stem cells into nerve cells and use them to bridge the gap. If a person has a severe heart attack, the heart muscle becomes damaged and can't work as well, making the person progressively weaker and leading to death, but we could turn stem cells into heart cells and replace the damaged tissue.

We could cure just about anything.

But funding for the research has stopped because of ethical issues involved.  Stem cells come from three places.  Embryonic stem cells, adult stem cells, and chord cells.  It's only when they're taken from embryonic cells that people start to raise questions.  Is it ethical?  Is that the taking of human life?  Well, do the research.  And make your own decision.  But remember, there are other sources for stem cells too.  They don't all come from embryos.  So in my opinion, the research needs to move forward.  We're over a decade behind the rest of the world in the research.  There's tons of potential.  And if we don't commit to the research, we'll NEVER see the results.  

So, that's my long, exhuasting blurb for the week.  Hope I stirred some thought!  Till next time!

Google Search

Okay, so here I have for you some random facts.  As unimportant as they may seem, one can never say that expansion of knowledge is a bad thing.  No matter how useless the facts may be. The other day, during one of my grave shifts, I started to Google anything that popped into my head.  The list below is the direct result of my random googling.  And I have to say, I learned a lot.

Item #1

My Search: Egyptians and Human Organs

My Results: Early Egyptians believed that the heart and other major organs had wills of their own and would move around inside the body.

Okay so the first thing I thought when I read this was, "If that's true, then my heart has some sort of beef with me.  And we best sort this out" But just the idea that organs could be complete entities of their own fascinated me more than it made me laugh at the silliness of the idea.  That's it. Probably the most useless of them all.

Item #2

My Search: Red Head Facts



My Results:  According to Hamburg sex researcher Dr. Werner Habermehl, women with red hair have more sex than women with other hair colors. He also postulates that women in a relationship who dye their hair red may be signaling that they are unhappy and looking for something better.

Well played Dr. Habermehl, well played.  I read this, and looked around my general vicinity, just to make sure no one but me had become privy to this piece of information.  I felt like someone had just given me the nod, confirming my theories to be correct! I'm not saying red heads are promiscuous beings.  Because heaven knows blondes get the rap for that.  But I HAVE always questioned the wannabes.  The ones who dye it red.  Whatcha tryin to say? Whatcha tryin to prove? Why go red? And not blonde like everyone else?  Anyway...

Item #3

My Search: Tattoo History

 
(you're welcome;))

My Results: The Greeks learned tattooing from the Persians and used tattoos to mark slaves and criminals so they could be identified if they tried to escape. The Romans learned it from the Greeks and would tattoo “fug” on the foreheads of slaves for “fugitive.

It's no secret for those who know me that I think awesome tattoos are AWESOME.  And I say it that way because some tattoos, like the ones with bleeding eye balls and raging dragons, are straight up stupid and disgusting.  No one should ever get those, and the people who do need to be questioned.  So, I was curious, to see how far back tattoos go.  And actually, I also found that one of the earliest mummies ever found had a cross tattoo.  So basically body art has been around since the beginning of time.  As a form of identification.  And this particular fact led me to wonder what kind of identification mark would I choose for myself if we still did this.  Like let's just say if the nerds all got NERD tattooed on their bodies, and all the gamblers got GAMBLER, and all the people unjustifiably on welfare got MONEY MOOCHER, and so on, what would I get? After giving it some thought, I decided I'd get GINGER.  Because as a ginger, most of my key traits and personality quirks are already implied, I wouldn't have to say much more.  

Item #4

My Search: Facts on Love

My Results: When someone looks at a new love, the neural circuits that are usually associated with social judgment are suppressed.

EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW.

Item #5

My Search: USA tax system



My Results: The United Sates has what is called a progressive tax system, which means that the more money a person makes, the more he or she pays in income tax.

And some act confused...It's quite simple really. What, get a job? Nah,  imma stay home watchin' sum Jerry Springa sippin on my beer and nomin' on a frozen pizza pocket.  That way, those people livin in that there white house aint got nothin on me! 
I totally get it now...my white trash neighbors know what they're doin!

Item #6

My Search: Moral Decline



My Results: Under the Hays Code (1930-1968), people kissing in American films could no longer be horizontal; at least one had to be sitting or standing, not lying down. In addition, all on-screen married couples slept in twin beds...and if kissing on one of the beds occurred, at least one of the spouses had to have a foot on the floor.

Boy have we jumped off the deep end.  How would it have been to grow up in an era with cinematic rules such as this? I'm so used to seeing what I shouldn't during movies.  I think we all are.  And without getting too serious or bringing up a whole other topic of its own, I just have to say it's troubling, and disappointing.  What has been deemed appropriate for the screen has created mass distortions between right and wrong, moral and immoral.  I for one value the sanctity of marriage, the sacredness the union implies.  I'm not a saint, I laugh at crude jokes, I think Easy A is down right hilarious.  But I get sick to my stomach when I realize how numb we are, I am, to the things we see on TV.  Whatever happened to the Hays Code? Maybe I'll google that.

Item #7

My Search: Kissing Facts

My Results: Passionate kissing burns 6.4 calories a minute. A Hershey’s kiss contains 26 calories, which takes five minutes of walking–or about four minutes of kissing–to burn off.

So working out is hard for me, we know that.  I'm a heart patient, my heart sucks, therefore exercise is rough.  I have struggled for YEARS to maintain a healthy weight, because even speed walking makes me nervous.  That being said, you can imagine the little chuckle I enjoyed with myself when I read this.  All this time I've been wearing myself out, when I could have been making out. It's a joke really, but I find it kind of hilarious knowing I will now and forever use this against myself as an excuse not to go kill myself at the gym.  In fact tomorrow night, I'm going to  stay home and make out with my husband instead.  And the best part is, it won't even be a day off, cause i'll be burnin just as many calories. So pleased with this piece of useless knowledge, so very pleased.

Item #8

My Search: Stupid Laws



My Results: 

While reading these laws I couldn't help but come up with some smart aleck remark after each one, they were all just so darn ridiculous. So I picked a few to share.

It is illegal in Tennessee for an atheist to hold office.  And in Tennessee we don't allow gay marriage either, because then we'd be a bit biased and off balance when it came to equal rights, and heaven knows what kind of problems that'd cause...

In Truro, Mississippi, a man must prove himself worthy before getting married by hunting and killing either six blackbirds or three crows. FINALLY. A way to sort the manly men from the rest of them. 

In Kentucky, a woman is forbidden to wear a bathing suit on a highway unless she is armed with a club or is escorted by at least two officers. The amendment says that the provisions of this statue “shall not apply to a female weighing less than 90 pounds or exceeding 200 pounds.” Because heaven knows the teenage boy-lady or the fatty chick aren't getting jumped by a couple hustlers any time soon. 

That's all for today.  I'm in the midst of some research surrounding eating disorders and the facts behind it all.  So, heads up for the next post.  If that topic doesn't interest you, maybe after reading my post it will. Till next time;)

Am I Over It?

There was a time in High School when one of my closest friends confided in me concerning her parents impending divorce.  The first time I heard the news I was heart broken.  Devastated that this beautiful family was soon to be split in two.  I ached for her.  Couldn't even begin to imagine what she must be feeling.  Didn't know what to do or say other than offer a place of safety, love, and comfort.  However, as she continually disclosed the same information repeatedly over the course of several months I began to grow weary.  I was sick of hearing it.  I could only say so much.  I could only DO so much before her pain became burdensome and I was sick of hearing about it.  That's when I turned to her one day after school, amidst another one of her venting episodes, and told her to JUST GET OVER IT.

Still can't believe I ever said that.

But I did.  And she'd never forget it either.  And I don't blame her.  I looked at her straight on and said, "I'm serious.  You need to get over it.  Your parents are getting divorced and there's nothing you can do about it.  Stop mulling and move on." To which she said nothing but instead, stood up and walked away.  

We had a break in our friendship for quite some time after that.  Because I was insensitive and rude.  Because I failed to see, that what she was experiencing right then, would be life changing for her.  She needed my support.  She needed my listening ear.  But I grew tiresome, and bored.  And didn't take her circumstance seriously. I didn't realize this trial she was going through would become a defining part of who she was.  I didn't appreciate that.  I didn't help her see that, feel that, know that.  And as her friend I could have...

The reason I relay this story is to exemplify the fact that WE ALL HAVE A STORY. One we wish to share.  One that has changed us forever and molded us into who we are today. And these stories should be acknowledged, celebrated even. We are lucky to be alive, let alone live through the bad and the ugly. Because as we often hear, it's from those times we learn and grow the most.

I absolutely LOVE this quote.  Because sometimes, just like the rest of the human race, I have really bad days.  I get SO down on myself, thinking I can't believe I ever did that, I'm so rude, I'm so dumb...blahblahblah. Whatever.  It goes on.  But then I stop and think, hold up, without all that history, who would I be?  Like, really, who would I be? I understand people, I get their stories.  I can relate with the 'girl next door' and the 'nerds'. I know what it feels like to struggle, to thrive, to hurt, to love, to hate, and to forgive. And that's a true blessing.  I can't hate where I've been, not for two seconds, not when I think about all I've become because of it.  And I hope I'm not the only one who stops to think about this. I really hope this is something we all do.  I bet it is...but let me ramble anyway;)

"Let no man pull you low enough to hate him". Hmm...well that's definitely a lot easier said than done.  I doubt very many people refrain from hating someone simply because it's in our best interest not to. Its not new news to  hear that harboring hate is one of the most self destructive pursuits we can engage in.  Too damn bad it's so easy to do...I so wish that hating someone or something would make it all better.  Make it, or them, change to eleviate my hatred. But the fact remains, it wont. They wont. Nothing changes. So you continue to hate.  And by hating, your wounds continue to fester. So how do we fix ourselves without changing them? Well, I sure as heck don't have the perfect answer for that question. But I can tell you what I do. However,before I do, I need to share this next quote.




"To be a christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you".  .  .  .  .

Do ya feel like you just got hit by a ton of bricks?

Mind blowing I know.

Atleast it was for me.

I'm not kidding when I say I read this and thought.  Holy Crap.  Who the heck do I think I am? Who am I not to forgive those who have wronged me?  When I have wronged more people than I care to think about. And when God himself has forgiven me for the worst of sins.  For the 'Inexcusable In Me'. I have no right.  It is my God-given RESPONSIBILITY to forgive ANYTHING.  And that IS.SO.HARD. My gosh it's so hard.  But that's what I do.  Well, TRY to do.  And that's all I can do.  I can't change them.  I can't change it.  So I forgive.  My only option really.

Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a girl. A girl so unconcerned with her High School career and SO concerned with her boyfriend.  The man of her dreams, the one she thought, she'd be with forever.  The one she fell so in love with, so, so young. This girl truly believed she had found her soul mate. They did everything together.  Everything.  They had the same friends, same interests.  They laughed together, worked together, hurt together, disclosed all their secrets to each other. They were living a fairy tale . . . for over two years. . . that's a long time when you're so young...

So you can imagine her pain, her sadness, her absolute despair when her worst nightmare became their reality.  And his too. She knew he was hurting too. Their hearts, their lives, their whole universe was shattered.  In a matter of minutes.

There was no happily ever after for this girl.  Not with him anyway. Which is good.

But no, she'll never forget it.

I, ShaNae McCleskey, will never forget it.

I will never forget the pain I felt losing not only my daughter, but my best friend.  I have never felt so betrayed, neglected, and un-loved in my entire life.  I blamed myself for the.longest.time.  But I also HATED him for it.  That hate drove me to do A LOT of stupid, self destructive things.  I didn't know how to move past it. I didn't know how to forgive someone I loved for dealing with our situation in a way I didn't, and couldn't, ever understand.

And I can honestly say, I'm still learning.  I just know it's something I have to do.  Will do.  Not for his sake, but for mine. I want to do it.  With all my heart I want to let it ALL go, every ounce of the hate.  But like I said, so much easier said than done.  Even after three years...

Let me clarify also by saying, this isn't a bash.the.birthfather. post.  He did what he had to do.  And the consequences of that have led me to embark on one of hardest journeys of my life.  And that's the path to true, total, and complete forgiveness.

And that takes me back to what I wrote about in the beginning of this blog post.  Healing takes time.  And a different amount of time for every person.  So how dare I tell my friend amidst her parents divorce to just 'get over it'.  And how dare I tell myself that either.  It's not possible to 'just get over' something that has affected you so deeply.  So permanently.  So I think I write this post more as a declaration to myself than anything else.  Because I've been pushing some feelings back for over a year now.  I wanted them to be gone, so I convinced myself they were.  Well, surprise, they're not.  And that's only because I have yet to forgive 100%. If I had, it wouldn't matter anymore.  Nothing would phase me.  So, I'm hashing this out.  Once more. But this time I aint stoppin till I'm finished.

I need to finish this.  Forever.  I'm beyond ready to move past these debilitating emotions.  I hate admitting to myself that ya, I'm kind of a hot mess sometimes. Behind closed doors, when no one's watching.  Cause I'm the kind of person that doesn't ever wanna be a hot mess. In public OR behind closed doors.  So, I'm doing it.  I'm going to figure this out.  I'm going to forgive the inexcusable because God forgave the inexcusable in me.

Wonderful Mistakes

Why HELLO again.  It's been WAY to long since my last post and I realize that's probably cost me over half my audience (which wasn't very big to begin with unfortunately) but I'll do my best to make up for it and earn 'em all back and then some!  I just finished school, I have a life now:) I'm working graves at a fabulous treatment facility that lets me write ALL I WANT in my FREE time. Meaning, once all my shiz is done.  And heaven knows, I've been aching to write, with lots to write about! So hopefully I'm able to spit out a post or two every week on just about everything from adoption, to hippi mafias, to marriage, to life lessons, to comedy, and more.  I'm super excited.  I've had hundreds of ideas just mulling over in my head for months, with no time to write them down.  So, I plan on spending a lot of my summer organizing those thoughts and putting them out there on the internet where they can now and forever be used against me...sounds good to me:) 

SO, the other day I was working and due to the nature of the facility I work at, there were motivational quotes and sayings just about every where I looked.  I spent a few minutes reading some, connecting them with people or places I knew.  Ideas I had.  Or experiences I'd been through.  One quote in particular triggered my thoughts to commence down memory lane. And it had this effect, because my life has been FULL of mistakes. Absolutely full.  But I say that with no underlying implication of remorse.  The quote said, "A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing." And after I withdrew my thoughts from memory lane I thought, "Wait a second. So, a life like mine must be pretty damn useful right?" Here I was for the first time in a long time, acknowledging my worth as a human being.  As a citizen.  As a wife.  As a daughter, birth mother, friend, sister....As ME. 

We hear it all the time.  We.Are.Our.Own.Worst.Critic.  And it's true.  Unless unsuspecting fame has caused your head to swell, then you're like the rest of us.  You don't fathom your worth.  So, being part of the majority who has yet to enjoy the comforting bliss of fame, I naturally, continually demean myself.  Forgetting that I've made wonderful, yes wonderful, mistakes.  Mistakes that have led me to places and people I never would have beforehand seen or known.  Mistakes that have changed my body, mind, and soul forever and molded me into someone that deserves to be loved by the one person who mostly definitely should...myself. 

So, there I was, having a moment.  I noted my honor.  I noted my usefulness.  And I noted to always try and remember that a life like mine will never stop turning.  AND THANK GOODNESS FOR THAT.  Because like the quote says, the more mistakes you make, the more useful you are to yourself and those around you. The more mistakes you make, the more people you can relate to.  The more mistakes you make, the more open you are to life's experiences.  And the last thing I ever want to do is stop learning, stop meeting new people, and stop LIVING.

Throughout the weeks that followed, this quote would arbitrarily pop into my head.  I'd be sitting at home, getting down on myself cause I couldn't finish a stupid homework problem.  Or I'd be standing in the mirror cursing because I have birthing hips and saggy boobs.  Or I'd get mad at myself for ruining what was supposed to be a nice dinner for Spenser and I.  But then my thought process would change.  And all of a sudden I wasn't stupid, I just needed a brain break.  Or I wasn't ugly and fat, I had a beautiful body, one that had given birth to a beautiful baby girl.  Or I wasn't a failing wife, just lacking skill in the culinary department. This was ground breaking for me.  To be conscious of all the times throughout each consecutive day I was demeaning myself.  And then to reverse those thoughts and turn them in to something more reasonable.  I felt better, I felt CLEANER when I could remind myself of all the things I've done RIGHT  because I've done WRONG. 

This new thing I'm doing, this change in thought, has altered my mood immensly.  I'm happier, I'm less stressed, and I'm more grateful. It's a work in progress, but I don't plan on halting the efforts any time soon.  These kinds of things, these patterns of change, they take time.  But I know they're worth it.  Now, the main reason I bring this up is not to expound on my most recent self discoveries, that's boring. I bring this up for something much more important.  

During the week before finals I was riding the campus shuttle to class.  Sometimes rides on said shuttle can become slightly awkward due to there being only two rows of benches, placed on either side of the bus.  So every passenger faces their fellow riders, hopelessly avoiding eye contact or the urge to stare.  However, on this particular day I rejected all social cues held withing my subconscious and just stared.  I stared. At each and every girl riding the bus with me that day.  Why? Because it was just that. An entire bus full of women. Not a single male inhabited a seat on those two rows. And these women were of all different shapes and sizes.  All different races, religions, background, majors. . . all very different.  In more ways than one. However, the one thing it took less than 30 seconds for me to realize we all had in common, was how much we DIDN'T and maybe couldn't, fathom our worth.  I was feeling self conscious that day without makeup. And that's ALL I could think about. The girl on my right,attemping discreteness, had her cell phone off so she could examine every square inch of her face through the screen's reflection.  The lady across from me was overweight, and never looked up from the ground.  The woman on the end of my row looked beaten and abused, torn down tired.  And the woman on my left kept fidgeting with her hair, her nails, her makeup, her clothes. None of us seemed comfortable in our own skin.  Not one of us seemed happy.  And not one of us seemed to be believe we.were.beautiful.  

I'm not kidding when I say I had a sudden, strong epiphany.  I pulled out my cell pone and sent myself a text that said, "and not one of us believed we were beautiful" so that I could remember that moment, sort it out in my brain, and write about it later.  Which is why I'm here, relaying that story now. Because after I realized what was taking place on that bus, I felt sick.  Absolutely sick to my stomach to know that most women, most divine daughters of God, don't believe they are beautiful.  Don't fathom their worth.  And how sad, how heart breaking is that? To me, I wanted to cry.  Sounds a little emotional and extreme but it broke my heart. Because I have a daughter.  I know what it's like to love a little girl more than life itself.  And if I EVER heard her thoughts.  And if they were EVER like the thoughts I feed myself on the days I don't wear makeup.  Or the days I don't ace a test.  I would be torn, my heart would be confounded with grief.  I would wonder how she couldn't comprehend her beauty.  Her worth.  How she couldn't possibly see her strengths, her strong points. I would do everything in my power to help her FATHOM HER WORTH.

 It's all too easy for us to understand someone else's worth without ever fully comprehending our own. I've understood Sophie's worth since the day she was born.  And nothing about that could ever change. But I'm in my twenties...and I STILL don't fully understand my own.  I sill don't love myself the way I should.  

In this moment I thought of my Heavenly Father, and how he must feel, as a Father, every time I've hated myself.  Or hated the mistakes I've made.  And then I multiplied that by all the people in Earth's history who've hated themselves at one point or another. And I tried once more, to comprehend how that must make Him feel.  From my standpoint as a birth mother, as someone vulnerable to how her daughter view's herself, I could only imagine.  I suddenly held this strong conviction.  To try as much as possible, not to add to His pain.  

And not just for His sake, but for mine. And to know that my life, one absouletely full of wonderful mistakes, is worth a lot.