Because I'm embracing my role...

That would be my role as a housewife, homemaker, domestic engineer, whatever you'd like to call me (besides Bitch, although I have answered to that once by accident). I've finally started to find my footing as someone who can cook. I'm not sure why I always found it so intimidating. I'm experimenting with new things - veggies and meats and spices and everything else.

I cannot wait for Springtime so I can plant stuff. I'm feeling all Mother Earth-y and want to grow all kinds of stuff - cucumbers and squash and beans and everything else I can. I want to cook with said food.

I'm trying hard to be a good wife and mom, and feed these boys. Adam is a great husband - he'll eat anything I put in front of him, and grin even if it tastes like a hockey puck. Addison is good about trying new things. Hell, the kid has me cook him salmon and broccoli and I even got out my tweezers to take the bones out of it. If all else fails, the dogs will pretty much eat anything. (The new dog has been caught eating her own excrement. I'm sure anything I make will taste better than that. And yes, she's gross.)

Because I realized this ...

I'm not looking for sympathy, or encouragement, or anything like that. I'm self-assured enough to not be that type of person.

What I realized the other day is that I seemingly have no discernible talent. I can't make things out of wood, or sew a quilt. I can't draw to save my life. I can't sing, or play an instrument. I can't take really nice pictures.

I've been searching myself and thinking, pondering, wondering if I do have some sort of talent. Maybe I do, and it's been dormant my whole life. Maybe I am just a really ordinary person. Maybe I still need to discover it. I think that it would make a really neat blog, like "Finding My Talent" or something like that, a quest to find out if I really do have any sort of gift.

Until then, I'm going to be thinking and thinking about it.

Because I like these days ...

I know everyone likes to complain about the cold, snowy, icy, what-have-you kind of days the entire country seems to be experiencing lately. Me, well, I like this weather.

I like the cold, gray days. I like to ask Adam to build me a fire so I can lay down in front of it and absorb the warmth (and dry skin). I like wearing sweatpants, a cozy sweatshirt, and thick wool socks. I'm lucky in the fact that I don't have to go out in the cold, or the snow (because I live in southeast Georgia.) I have no right to complain. It's January. It's winter. I'm making the most out of it, because in a few short months, the hot, sticky weather will be here, and then everyone will be complaining about that.

I'll enjoy the winter season as long as it will last.

Because these people bug me ...

I've been trying hard to be a more positive person, to roll with the punches instead of trying to fight everything. I think I've been doing a pretty good job of it, and life is a lot less stressful. What I've figured out, though, is that there is a certain breed of people who I will never, ever like. I bet you know one or two or even more, because they're certainly rampant. They are the "I'm better than everyone else because _____" (fill in the blank.)

You know those people who make you feel bad because you happen to like Justin Beiber's music? The ones who say, "Oh, if you don't listen to the new record by I Pull My Pud you suck so bad." It seems like everyone tries to be original, to not be mainstream. That's fine, but you don't have to try to make yourself feel awesome by making others feel bad about what they listen to.

Or read. Or eat. Or drink. I don't care if I won $190,000,000 - me and my taste buds would still be eating at McDonald's.

It seems some "trashy" things are cool to own up to - watching Jersey Shore, for example. I don't watch it, but if I did, I'd own up to it. I'm reading Snooki's book. Go ahead and mock me, I don't care. I read all kinds of books. I just finished the Stieg Larsson trilogy and really liked the books. I love Willa Cather and I love Jackie Collins books.

People need to get over themselves. If you want to drink your Keystone Light while reading Cervantes, you go for it. If you want to listen to New Kids on the Block while discussing Beethoven's works, who the hell cares? Like Joseph Campbell is reported to have said, "Follow your bliss." I'll add to that and say, "Follow your bliss, and fuck anyone who gives you any shit about it. They're douchebags, yo."

Because it's reading time ...

There's something about the holidays that makes me want to sit on the couch and do nothing but read nonstop. I actually did this one day, and by evening I was nauseous and my eyes hurt really, really bad. But, I love to read. I may be "just a housewife" but I love to learn.

I finished reading Just Kids last night. It's about singer/writer/artist Patti Smith and photographer/artist Robert Mapplethorpe, how they met, lived together in the late '60s and '70s in New York City, and what their lives were like during that time. I've always romanticized what living in NYC might have been like in the '70s, the drugs, music, sex, etc. I think the opening credits of Saturday Night Live during the late '70s gave me this view. Whatever it was, I loved the book. I only knew the names of Patti Smith and Mapplethorpe, and this was a great introspection by Smith into both herself and Mapplethorpe. The book is beautifully written. I read each and every word so as to absorb the whole book.

I ponied up and started reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson. I have read the previous two in the trilogy. They are intense reads, that's for sure. Usually, if I enjoy a book and know the next in the series is already published, I plow ahead and read as many as there are. With these books, I had to take a few months' break between them. It could just be me, but I find them psycholgically and mentally exhausting. But I do love them, so I'm glad to be on the last in the trilogy.

Because it's that time of year ...

I have this incredible yearning for nostalgia lately. I feel the need to comfort myself. I'm not sure why I feel like this. Maybe it's because Adam's still only been home less than two months. Maybe it's because it's almost Christmas, and we aren't lucky enough to live near family to be able to spend it with them. Whatever it may be, I'm nostalgic.

I want to be 6 years old again, sitting it the back of the car while my mom and dad (who would divorce a year later) bring my sister and I to my grandmother's house for Christmas Eve, in the snow, looking at Christmas lights the whole way to her house. I want that innocence back. The belief that Santa was real. The non-divorced parents. When getting an Annie doll was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I want to watch every Christmas episode of the best shows I used to watch growing up: Laverne and Shirley, Good Times, Happy Days, and all those sitcoms that made me feel good.

When I have a lack of control in life, I tend to gravitate toward my old creature comforts. Adam will be taking on a job with more responsibility next week. I'm so proud of him, but I also know it will involve even longer hours than the usual 13+ hours a day he's at work. I miss him when he's at work, and I miss Addison when he's at school. But I'm okay with this. This is life.

I will enjoy the slowing down of the next few weeks, because it doesn't come along often, maybe once or twice a year. I'm going to watch all the Christmas shows I can, read Christmas books, listen to Christmas music, and overall, just enjoy the season.

Because I admire her ...

I'm incredibly sad that Elizabeth Edwards is nearing death, according to the news reports. Though a staunch Republican, I've always admired her. I read all about the Edwards family when John was running for office, and felt awful about the loss of their son in a car accident. I can't imagine the pain a parent feels when their child dies suddenly.

Through all the news about John's infidelity and his fathering of another child while still married to Elizabeth, she remained classy. She even bought the kid Christmas presents. I highly admire people who remain classy and graceful during times of high stress, when they have the right to freak out and rail against those who hurt them, yet don't. They take the high road. I aspire to be like those people.

Although Elizabeth has been preparing her children for her death, no one can ever replace a mother. My heart breaks for her children, for her family, for her friends, for all who know and love her. She is able to impart her final words of wisdom to her children. I don't ever want to die before Addison, and I can't quite fathom knowing that I didn't have much longer on this earth, and the hurt associated with that.

All I can say is I sincerely hope Elizabeth is at peace and in no pain physically. She has a lot of admirers, including me, praying for her and her family. Godspeed, Elizabeth.