Quick update

Life has been a little bit (lot bit) hectic lately, which hasn't left much room (or sanity) for blogging. While today is no exception, I wanted to post a quick blurb-y update.

We decided not to sell our house after all. The idea of selling and moving again was breaking the kids' hearts. They love this house, they love our property, and with everything they went through moving halfway across the country 18 months ago, we just decided it wasn't fair to them.

Besides that, Hubs' job is going to keep us here for a few more years (at least) anyway, so what's the point in selling a house we love, only to move into a rental we'll just have to tolerate, when we'll be here in Cheyenne anyway?

So that's the scoop. It may not be the wisest financial decision, in terms of the drilling and property value and whatnot, but we're letting future Mommy and Daddy deal with that.

Besides, once I'm a hot shot novelist, it shouldn't matter, right?

Right?!?

Guys?

Why are you laughing and walking away?!?

Not in on the joke

So life has been... a little nutso lately. In some ways, good. In other ways... well, see above.

As I discussed on here in a few previous posts, life has apparently had a sense of humor lately. Unfortunately, no one let me in on the joke.

First, the broken dishwasher saga really and truly turned into a saga. We just had it fixed this week for the FIFTH time. Yes. In the past seven weeks, my brand new dishwasher has worked for a total of about four days. I spent Thanksgiving hand washing dishes because the super-awesome customer service at B&B Appliance couldn't be bothered. I get it, they're probably super annoyed at us by now. But maybe if you fixed it the first damn time. Or the second... Or the third...

It got to the point where this past week we got our home builder involved. We only bought our appliances from this store because she convinced us of their stellar customer service and quick response time. We made it clear that has been anything but our experience, and reiterated what has been going on. She promised us (and yes, we got it in writing) that if this last time didn't fix it once and for all, she'd personally buy us a new dishwasher.

So we'll see what happens.

On top of that, Little One is sick again. For one, he has a double ear infection AGAIN (second time in under a month, poor dude). But the bigger issue is his tonsils. He has had overly-swollen tonsils for two years now, and no doctor, neither here nor back in Washington, took it seriously. I've taken him in to be seen several times, and every single time I was told that since he wasn't running a fever and they weren't impacting his ability to eat, breathe, or speak, they were fine for now.

Well, both ear infections he's had occurred without a fever. So clearly that's not necessarily a telling factor in my child's wellness.

And last week his tonsils suddenly poofed up so big that they were touching and he was talking like he had cotton shoved in his mouth. And he started snoring like a logger. And the right tonsil has this nasty vein running across it (I swear, it's like they're starting their own colony or something).

Finally, the doctor is taking me seriously.

Right now Little One is on uber-antibiotics to deal with the ear infection and to hopefully clear up whatever made his tonsils turn into monsters. Otherwise, it's looking like surgery. But, of course, we will have to make a separate appointment with a Ear, Nose, & Throat specialist. And because Wyoming has refused to acknowledge the Affordable Care Act, our insurance company is being... well, less than ideal.

So we're dealing with that.

There's really no stress like that of having a sick child. Especially when you're afraid he will stop breathing in his sleep.

In terms of work, my freelance writing has started taking off, though as they say, be careful what you wish for!

Two weeks ago I was hired to ghostwrite a two-part supernatural romance series. You know, fallen angels, ancient pacts, lost souls, the usual love story!

It's been a blast writing it so far. Much more fun than those medical articles I was doing for the difficult web clients. Who, by the way, pretty much fell into radio silence when I got sick last month.

(Did I forget to mention? I spent the first two weeks of November so sick with the flu that I couldn't get out of bed. It was the sickest I've been in years, and it was awful. Hubs got it after me, so he can attest that I wasn't just being a baby; it really was terrible.)

Anyway, so I haven't worked with those clients in awhile, and to be honest, I don't miss it. Writing this romance story has been so much less stressful, and has allowed be to exercise my creativity, rather than regurgitating dry medical data.

Well, this week I was invited to submit a proposal for another romance series, this one four parts. I was hesitant (hell, I'm still hesitant!) because the style of writing is much different than I'm used to, and the time frame is quite short. However, taking Tina Fey's advice, I went for it.

My proposal was accepted, and now it looks like I'll be ghostwriting two novel series! The first book of the current series is due by the end of January. The entirety of the second series (all four books) are due by the first week of February.

Suffice it to say I'm losing my mind a little bit. But in a good way. Mostly.

Finally, the biggest things we're dealing with right now is this little gem. Go ahead and take a sec to read it, I'll wait...

*twiddles thumbs*

*tries whistling*

*remembers can't whistle*

Oh you're back! So yeah, basically, powers beyond our control have essentially screwed us over. Like, big time.

After taking several days to process, we decided our plan of action was to try and sell our house before the drilling starts, because once it starts, the odds of someone wanting to buy right here drop significantly, to say the least.

If the house sells, we will rent a house in town for now, until we figure out where we are going to end up. Living in Cheyenne was never a long-term plan. It was only supposed to be for two or three years, and then we were going to find Hubs a new, fancy-schmancy job back in our beloved Seattle. However, his job here is really good, so it may keep us here longer than expected. Or not. We have no clue.

What we do know is that if we don't sell our house now, we will for sure be stuck here for several more years, until the drilling is done and property values increase enough to give us our value back.

If the house doesn't sell in the next month or so, we've accepted the fact that this means we're sticking it out here much longer than planned, and we'll just make the best of it at that point. We'll finish the basement, landscape the yard beautifully, develop the land more, build outbuildings, and basically make our 40 acres so damn desirable that the pump jacks won't deter buyers.

So besides spending my weekend working feverishly on my writing projects, finishing decorating for Christmas, attending my daughter's choir concert, and baking cookies, Hubs and I will be frantically getting our house ready to show. It went on the market last Thursday, and we have the photographer and countless local agents coming out on Tuesday to see the property. Gotta make it snazzy before then!

Because, you know, no pressure.

Like I said, life has a sense of humor. It'd just be nice to be in on the joke.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!

May your bounty be full and your tryptophan coma be joyous!

Handle your sh*t

Aaaaaaannnndddd I'm back!

I know, I know, my last post was a bit of a Debbie Downer. I apologize.

Actually, no, I don't, because everyone has experienced those days.

Those days aren't pretty, but they're real.

And you've just gotta figure out a way to handle the fistfuls of crap life throws at you sometimes. So I did just that.

Well I can officially confirm that things are better now!

*happy shimmy*

My freelance project is chugging away nicely. Or, as nicely as can be expected given that the client keeps adding to and changing items on the scope. I'm about one third of the way done with it. Taking a break right now for a cuppa tea and a breather, because I was starting to feel overwhelmed.

(No, I won't attach yet another '10 Things I Hate About You' reference)

(Though, if you didn't automatically make said reference, clearly we aren't meant to be friends)

(I think you can in Europe)

(Couldn't help it, sorry, done now)

I digress.

Work is back on track. Still tiresome. Still thankless. Still waiting for that big break. But in a better state of mind, which makes all the difference.

Dishwasher is still broken. Repairman came out, said 'yep, I can't fix this, have to special order a part' and left.

So in 7-10 business days, I will hopefully get to stop hand washing dishes and wreaking havoc on my poor skin. Because sandpaper knuckles are not pretty.

But, again, attitude is everything. Washing the evening dishes has become a nice time for Hubs and I to chat about our days. Because positive spin.

We also solved the vehicle crisis. Sold the Passat. Less than what I wanted to get from it, but more than Hubs expected to get, so I guess it was a win. Especially for that piece of crap!

And we bought a new, not broken, not-going-to-be-broken-for-a-long-time car!

(Fingers crossed, knock on wood)

It's a Certified Used 2014 Chevy Traverse.

It's white, which is slightly unfortunate, because I always swore I'd never own a white vehicle. On account of almost every single person I've ever known who owned a white vehicle was a d-bag.

But I'm not a d-bag, so maybe I can effect positive change for white vehicles. Or their non-d-bag owners. Or something like that.

Anyhoodle, the Traverse came with a 3-year/36,000 mile warranty, which we quickly and gladly upped to a 10 year/100,000 mile warranty. Because mama ain't gonna play that game of Russian Roulette ever again!

The dealership we purchased from also offers a "drive forever" warranty on all of their certified vehicles. Basically, if anything on the powertrain breaks, ever, it's covered. For as long as we own the vehicle.

Throw a piston?

Covered!

Engine seizes?

Covered!

Transmission gives out?

Covered, bitches!!!

Which would have been nice to have this summer with the Suburban.

Or the truck.

Or the Passat.

Seriously, we've had some pretty lousy luck.

Anyway, the point is, we got it figured out. And I love my new car. And its fantastic gas mileage. And its new car smell.

And while, yes, it will tighten our budget for the next few months, we can handle it.

And better yet, unlike with the truck, I actually want to make it work, because I don't resent the vehicle in the first place!

I think this is what emotional maturity feels like? Let me just bask in this moment for a sec....

And it passed.

You're welcome ;-)

Back from the ether... With lemons

So it was brought to my attention quite recently (thanks Boppa!) that I haven't been blogging very frequently lately. Which is... totally true.

Especially here on Muddled Lemons.

About a month and a half.

Eesh, sorry!

Life has been hectic of late. 80% in a good way, mind you. But hectic nonetheless.

Continuing to build my writing career (yes, I still giggle awkwardly at calling it that). Working on the novel that has been bouncing around in my head for a number of years. Producing freelance content for clients. Occasional writing on my other blogs. Applied for my first 'big girl' writing job with a pretty big news/gossip site (which I totally won't get, but it's the putting-yourself-out-there that counts).

On top of that, Hubs has been busy climbing the corporate ladder at his new job, and loving every minute of it (except when he had to fire someone, that part sucked). And the kids have kept me busy with their eight million extracurricular activities. I clearly missed my calling as a chauffeur.

I also was recently hired to produce the content for a start-up website. Well, kinda. It's a long, cluster-f*ck of a story. The first client, K, contacted me to write the content for a site they want to go live in mid-November. I wrote the first article for them, and they were really impressed with it and recommended me to their colleague, S.

S contacted me a few days later, describing two upcoming health projects they are building, both of which are huge in scope, and they said I could have one or both if I wanted.

Well, of course I jumped at the chance. I know little to nothing about the topics of these projects, but that's nothing a little research can't remedy. You can't turn down that kind of an opportunity! As Tina Fey says, "say yes and figure it out later".

So things were chugging along all fine and dandy, when the second client, S, emailed me asking if they could contact me via my personal e-mail, rather than through the host site.

I politely said no. Because privacy.

They then asked if I would be willing to produce this content via another host site, citing cheaper commission rates on the other sites.

Again, I politely said no.

Because here's the thing: the site I write through has incredibly stringent author protections in place, reducing the likelihood of being ripped off by a client. Which is a huge issue in the freelance world, and the exact reason I don't just query clients on my own.

(Yes, you could make more money querying on your own, but there's no guarantee of payment, so you could have wasted your time and had your work essentially stolen.)

By asking to contact me outside of the host site, and asking me to move to a competitor's site, this client not only basically asked me to break protocol, but was also essentially putting my standing with the host site (standing which is quite high), as well as my personal security and chances of even getting paid at risk.

All to save them two percentage points (maybe $20) on the host commission.

So now I don't know if I will be continuing with these projects. I'm currently working on the first article for the first health project, because the client had already deposited the money into their client account (one of the assurances the site takes for their authors as guarantee of payment).

After that? Who knows?

The whole thing left me feeling pretty dejected. For every decent freelance client out there, it seems like there are a dozen shady ones looking to score as much free or low-paid work as possible. It's quite disheartening.

Yes, I am technically a paid writer. Yes, you have to claw your way up in this industry. Yes, you have to pay your dues. Yes, there will always be lousy clients or rejection letters or doubters or people looking to take advantage of you. Yes, you will eventually make something of yourself through sheer hard work and determination. But some days it honestly doesn't feel worth it. Some days, I feel like I'm just wasting my time and getting paid peanuts in the process.

(Aren't I just a sparkling ray of sunshine?!?)

So for now, I plug away at the menial tasks of being a newbie freelancer. And for now, I just hope that at some point, preferably sooner rather than later, someone will give me a chance to prove my worth. And make a livable writer's wage in the process.

On top of dealing with the emotional quagmire associated with freelance writing, we've had a few other out-of-left-field curveballs. Because life has a sense of humor, apparently.

Our dishwasher broke this week. You know, the brand new dishwasher that's less than a year old. Yep, that one. So I've been 50s-housewife-ing it up this week.

I know, I know, First World Problems.

But it's annoying nonetheless.

Especially since the only reason we bought our appliances through this particular store was because of the apparent "wonderful customer service" as assured by our builder.

Well that customer service apparently means you have to wait over a week for them to even come out and look at the appliance in question.

I swear, if they try to renege on the fact that it's still under warranty, I may be inclined to throat-punch someone.

Just sayin' is all.

Then, the other day my husband's car finally gave out. It's a 2004 Passat. And if you know anything about VWs, you know that they tend to crap out pretty epically.

We've dumped more money into that damn car over the last few years than it's even worth, most recently paying almost $1000 last month to replace the fuel pump.

And then it just ups and dies.

Bastard car.

So we're figuring out what to do now. We can't go into winter without two reliable vehicles. However, we just bought that damn truck this summer because our Suburban blew up. Can we really take on ANOTHER car payment? Or can we really keep dumping money into a piece of shit car that has virtually no trade in value or financial worth?

I'll be honest. I'm damn sick of dealing with vehicle issues. We've dealt with more vehicle issues in the last, what, four or five months, than we have pretty much ever.

Pretty much sums it up.

I've also been incredibly anxious for the past few days, but not in terms of the writing stress or the car stress. It's another beast entirely. I can't quite put my finger on why. And it's made it near impossible to get a good night's sleep or have much of an appetite.

Some days I feel like the gods look down on me and smile. And point. And laugh. And throw things.

Life's little curveballs keep things interesting. But sometimes life's little curveballs get pretty tiresome. And sometimes there's nothing more soothing than a good cry. Or six.

Usually I'm like this:

And some days I'm like this:

But today? I'm like this:

This hippie is high on life

So let me just preface this post by saying that I do not do drugs. I've never smoked weed or dropped acid or dabbled in any sort of mind-altering substance. 

I'm also not religious. I was raised by an ex-Catholic Earth Mother Pagan type, and while I have attended various Christian-based services in the past, I quickly discovered they are not my "thing".  

(Although I think I could get on board with the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Seems like a pretty cool dude. But I digress.)

My personal spirituality is sort of an amalgamation of Eastern and Norse philosophies, tied together with a tree-hugging, wool sock-wearing, organic granola-munching, love-the-people, humanist side. I dig Pope Francis and think he's a pretty awesome dude, but I also think it'd be cool to have tea and chat with Richard Dawkins. 

I'm open-minded, but not in the "expand your mind by eating 'shrooms" kind of way. I've never been the one in the corner contemplating the meaning of string and watching the walls pulsate; I've likewise never striven to speak with God, or gods, or any sort of deity really. I rely more on science, less on blind faith. 

Okay. So we've pretty much nailed that one down, yes? Mind is not altered, nor is it influenced by a monotheistic worldview.

Okay, we can move on now.

So earlier today I was listening to the 107.7 The End app on my phone (because there aren't really good radio stations in this neck of the woods, at least in terms of my musical preferences) and Lana Del Rey's song "West Coast" came on. The vibe of the song always leads me to picture a sepia-toned 8mm video of the California coast in the 1960s (ironically, the video is actually in black and white, though I didn't know that before writing this post).

Anyway, I suddenly found myself immersed in this strange, unfiltered train of thought:

The 8mm film of the '60s is like the cell phone videos of today, or the stone carvings of ancient times. The modern tools we use to capture a moment in time. A moment that is fleeting. A moment that will soon pass and never been felt or experienced again. The people that experience these individual moments will find themselves surrounded by new technologies that the next generation will use to capture their also-fleeting moments. These moments are important and pivotal to our existence at the time, yet in the grand scheme of things they also don't really matter, because the human experience is fluid and in constant forward motion. The individuals throughout time who have sought to capture their moments have all passed on, as we all will someday as well....

...Pass on. What happens when we pass on? We exist in this consciousness, this awareness of our awareness. But what happens when we die? What happens to that consciousness? Is it like falling asleep? Are we somewhat aware that it's happening? Or is it like a light being switched off? Instantaneous. We just suddenly cease to be aware, cease to have the capacity of awareness. Our light is just snuffed like a candle wick. Is it just over?...

...Our consciousness is an energy. Our consciousness is what makes us human. Otherwise, we'd be like an earthworm or an amoeba or a piece of kelp. Our consciousness is what the human experience is all about, what has transformed society into that which it is today. So what happens when we die and that consciousness stops? If energy can be neither created nor destroyed, what happens? Are we aware that our bodies have died? Do we pass on to another plane within the universe? Does our consciousness continue in a new life, but only in flashes of deja vu, or are we cognizant of having lived before? Do our conscious minds continue after our bodies have perished, like some sort of cosmic audience to the passage of time? Do we watch our children, and our children's children, and each subsequent generation of humans? Do we continue to exist along the space-time continuum, expanding with the universe and experiencing an awareness that our simple human brains cannot fathom? Is this what people see when they have near-death experiences? Is this what the tunnel of light is; our consciousness passing through to another realm? Is this what people perceive as Heaven, or Valhalla, or Brahmaloka, or Nirvana?...

See? I'm telling ya folks, I don't need mind-altering substances to trip myself out. I just need a few moments of silence and some musical inspiration!

Happy Labor Day!!!

I hope everyone has a safe and happy Labor Day!

Movin' and shakin'

This weekend was busy busy busy, but in a productive, happy, and delightfully exhausting way.

Since moving is off the table for the foreseeable future, we are now moving forward with plans we've had for the house. Hubs started building us a deck off the dining room a couple of months ago (in between thunder storms, anyway), but it was put on hold for our vacation up to Washington. Since getting back from our trip, we've been busy and distracted and the deck sat neglected for the last several weeks.

Additionally, I've been planning on painting a few rooms in the house and putting my personal stamp on it. My first project was the guest bathroom. It has this fun paisley-patterned shower curtain in it, and I wanted to play off the colors in the pattern. All of the colors are fairly bright, so I knew I'd only do one wall so as to not cause blindness or epileptic seizures in my guests, and I decided to go with a warm, burnt orange color. I had carried the sample paint chip around in my purse for almost a month, but when it became apparent that we may not be here as long as we'd thought, it clearly didn't make a whole lot of sense to spend the time and money putting my personal touch on the house.

Well, now that we know for sure that we're sticking around for awhile, we spent the weekend working on these projects. I finished the bathroom:

Before...

During...

After!!!

Hubs finished the skeleton of the deck:

View from the eventually-to-be-landscaped backyard

Soon-to-be entertaining area

Soon-to-be steps down to the yard

We used reclaimed wood for the frame, since we're hippies from Seattle and that's just what you do. We're going to seal it with a couple cans of Rescue It (I'm thinking either the Timberline or Russet colors, since that'll complement the house), and then use new, pressure treated decking boards for the top. We're also going to get solar-powered post caps, because again, hippies. Weather permitting, it'll be done (or mostly done) by the end of this coming weekend, and we can spend a few weeks enjoying it before winter comes early and ruins the fun.

I'm planning on putting two potted dwarf junipers on each side of the steps, for pretties. I'm also going to repurpose a set of end tables and a coffee table that we have into planter holders, again for pretties. I'll post pics of the finished product!

Besides helping Hubs with sealing the deck, my next project will be to paint the wall around the front door. Our front door is gorgeous, but it sort of blends in with the wall around it, and I want to make it "pop". I'm going to choose a more neutral color for that; probably something in the toasted almond range, since our living room accent wall is a pretty bright red, and while I love color, I prefer any one visual space to not clash and give people headaches!

That'll pretty much be the end of my painting projects until the basement is done. At that point, we'll be painting every surface down there (the older kids are already contemplating colors for their rooms... oldest is going with a Seahawks theme), and I'll be turning the front bedroom into a guest room (which I'll be painting) and moving my little guy into the center bedroom (again with the painting). I also want to paint the master bedroom, but in all honesty, that's the last thing on my list. Mostly because I want to paint the wall that our bed rests against, and our best is freaking heavy, and I'm too lazy to make the effort. Just being honest.

Everyone calm the f*ck down, mmmkay?

In my last post, I discussed the random challenge we were faced with in receiving two competing job offers in one day. Well, given my overly-caffeinated inability to focus coupled with my mental and emotional exhaustion, I apparently didn't explain the situation particularly well.

Because of this, and the blowback I have received regarding our "decision", let me clarify a few things:

No, we don't hate living here. We just love Seattle and the plan was always to move back in a few years anyway. It's not a waving-the-white-flag situation, so keep your "I told you so" to yourself.

No, it would not have been "selling [our] soul" had we taken the Seattle offer. We knew it wasn't perfect, and that it would have been career-limiting, but it would have gotten us back up there (which was our only reason for considering it). Also, no, I don't make my decisions based on [this individual's] opinions. But thanks anyway.

Financially speaking, it would have been challenging and borderline irresponsible to move back. Moving 1200 miles is friggin' expensive! U-Haul, gas, food, hotels, and oh yeah, buying or renting a house; it adds up. Also, while we would have been able to sell our house quickly, we would not have even made back our down payment since we haven't lived here very long. All of that was a major 'con'.

While our heart may be in Seattle, sometimes you have to be a grown up and consider the responsible choice. Staying here and taking the local offer is the better career move, as well as the financially responsible move. Facts don't lie.

What I know everyone is thinking when
they say "I understand"...

Yes, I would rather live in Seattle than Wyoming. Duh.

Yes, I can be a Seattle girl even if I live 1200 miles away. I will always love Seattle. It's an amazing city filled with incredible art, culture, music, food, and people. And coffee. (God, I miss good coffee.) The climate and geography are amazing. The perpetual green is beautiful. The ferris wheel is... well, terrifying for me, on account of hating heights. But still. Living sandwiched between the ocean and the Cascades is where my soul is fed. Seattle is an incredibly special place.

Yes, I was looking forward to coming back. I had already made plans to spend my birthday up in Victoria with my childhood bestest friend, having high tea at the Empress (delicious!), roaming the cute little shops and bakeries, and hitting up a few of the 8,000 Irish pubs down by the harbor. I was going to kidnap other bestest friend, Ginger Jesus, and their kids for Thanksgiving. I was planning the annual Halloween party with my mom. I was invested in this.

And yes, I was heartbroken when it didn't work out.

But I truly believe everything happens for a reason, and apparently staying put is what we're meant to do for now. Hub's new company will provide him the valuable experience, marketable title, and global platform to grow his career in ways the Seattle job could never have. So while I miss my family and friends terribly, I understand that things worked out for the better. 

I'm sorry I let everyone down by dangling the carrot and then having to take it away. 

But we will be back. That much is guaranteed. 

And until then? We enjoy the journey and the experience. Next stop, Mt. Rushmore and Carhenge!

Like sands through the hourglass...

Yep, these are the days of our lives... The crazy, out of left field days of our lives.

So here's what's been going on. As you know, a little over a year ago, The Husband was offered an outstanding job opportunity here in Wyoming, resulting in our big move from the greater Seattle area to Cheyenne. However, after getting down here and getting settled, it quickly became clear that the job was not what we had been promised. In fact, The Husband had been bold-faced lied to about the job: its future, its duties, even its title.

Over the course of the past year, Hubs was put in charge of a project that was doomed from the start (when the management company includes a clause in their contract stating they do not have to finish the project if they don't want to, that should be a red flag, but Husband's company's CFO signed it anyway). Since then, they cycled through four different project managers (none of whom had previous PM experience), pushed back the project three separate times (it's now slated to go live a full year after its original date), and had the management company remove 80% of the original project items from scope. Husband was the only one at his company technically skilled enough to handle the demands of the project, and therefore more and more duties and responsibilities were dumped on his plate.

On top of that, continually more duties and responsibilities of his core job were piled on as well. It became the go-to to expect Hubs to 'handle it', even when the time constraints made it truly impossible to do so. As the expectations exponentially grew, so to did the lack of respect or appreciation (or even basic civility). Hubs became the fall guy for everyone else's issues (particularly when the Payroll Department didn't feel like doing their jobs). Hubs' manager did absolutely nothing to ease the situation, not even bothering to show up to meetings or update himself on the status of the project. All of the warnings Hubs gave regarding the quality, integrity, and success of the project were ignored, even when all of them came true. And still no willingness from Hubs' manager to give Hubs the job title, pay grade, or even public recognition and respect befitting his massive responsibilities.

Finally, the tinderbox erupted. It became clear that Hubs not only had no future growth within the company, but there was a chance he would be left holding the bag when the project inevitably failed and created a PR, logistical, and corporate nightmare. Hubs and I both reached out to our networks and pursued job opportunities for him, both here and back in Seattle. Some leads went nowhere. Others seemed promising but resulted in bupkis. After our hellish summer of family health crises and vehicular drama, we became all the more aware of our need for a reprieve. Mentally and emotionally, we both were exhausted, and put it out to the universe that hey, we need a break!

Well, be careful what you wish for, my lovelies, because apparently when it rains, it pours!

Last week, Husband received a call from a contact back in Seattle, offering him a job position. It wasn't an ideal position, but it would have afforded us the opportunity to get back to our home turf. Some negotiations still needed to take place, so we knew we had a few days before anything was final. However, we were given verbal confirmation on several occasions that yes, this was going to happen, without a doubt.

Well, yesterday we were supposed to have received the official job offer. By then, we had discussed the situation with our families and a few closest friends, and everyone was incredibly excited about the prospect of having us move back to Seattle. As we awaited the job offer, Hubs received another interesting phone call. A local job prospect that he had interviewed twice with and then didn't hear back from finally called. The president of the company wanted to interview him that afternoon! He went in, and 30 minutes later they offered him the job.

So, now we were facing two competing job offers: one that wasn't great but would have brought us back to Seattle, and one that would have kept us here in Cheyenne for the foreseeable future, but was an awesome career opportunity. It was a genuinely mind-boggling situation that we had never predicted having to face, and we were at a loss.

Cue the DEFCON 1 levels of stress.

Being the slightly OCD, anal-retentive, Type A person I am in a challenging situation, I proceeded to make in-depth pro-con lists. We then took the kids out to dinner, both to celebrate Hubs' new opportunities and imminent escape from his hellish job, as well as to inform the kids of the difficult decision we were facing and get their input.

(Oldest son wanted to go back to Seattle, daughter was good either way, and little guy was sad at leaving his best friend Percy Jackson...)

By the end of the evening, we had pretty much come to our decision, but were still awaiting the official job offer from Seattle. By this morning it still hadn't come, and we found out that the CFO and HR manager of that company had decided it would be more fiscally advantageous to stick with local candidates whom they could hire for much cheaper (because they notoriously pay below market whenever possible).

So that was that. The decision was made for us (though, in truth, it was the decision we were leaning toward anyway).

Hubs starts his new job the day after Labor Day, and it couldn't have come at a more perfect time!

To quote Britney Spears...

So I've been working as a freelance writer (officially, anyway) for about a year now. And I'll be honest, I've been making peanuts. Like, I can handle the Starbucks budget.... and that's pretty much it.

But I love writing! It's something I genuinely enjoy doing, even if the pay sucks right now.

I think that most people start out pursuing a writing career hoping to be the next J.K. Rowling, or Stephanie Meyer, or the chick who wrote 50 Shades of Unrealistic Expectations. Everyone dreams of writing that instant hit that garners you critical acclaim, a loyal fan base, and a big fat paycheck.

While that would be lovely, I am completely aware that it doesn't happen that way for 99% of writers.

I get that.

Most of us will toil away at low paying writing gigs, working on seven different manuscripts on the side, hoping that maybe something will hit. We will put our blood, sweat, and many tears (not to mention a whole heap of self-doubt and occasionally questioning our sanity) into our work, never completely sure that anything will come of it. We will nervously allow those closest to us to read our work, seeking feedback, reassurance, and ways in which we can improve. We will jot down setting notes and dialogue ideas on any scrap of paper we find (or if you're me, in the notes on your iPhone). And we will think of giving up eighteen times per week, while knowing that we couldn't possibly bring ourselves to walk away from our passion.

Contrary to the idealistic expectations of newbies, writing is not a glamorous endeavor. Nor is it a piece of cake, sought out by slackers who want easy money with little to no effort. Writing is actually hard work, and you get out what you put in.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

As Ms. Spears put it, "You better work, bitch!"

One good thing about being a writer in this day and age is that no longer do you have to hustle your butt to and fro different publishing houses, hocking your work to anyone willing to give you 5 seconds of their time. No longer do you have to blindly mail copies of your manuscript to editors, publishers, or agents, hoping someone will pull your work from the "slash pile" and give you a chance.

You still have to hustle, yes. You have to hustle your arse off. But you have technology on your side. You can network instantly with industry contacts without having to leave your couch. You can publish individual chapters on various sites, building a reader base and proving to publishers you are worth their time. You can even self-publish your books either digitally or in print, at a much lower cost than vanity publishers would charge, and get your work out there for the world to (hopefully) fall in love with. If your work does well, publishers will contact you! And if not... then you keep trying!

So that's what I've been busting my butt with recently. Establishing networks, building my portfolio of freelance work to gain the history and experience the "big" clients want ('cause that's where the money is), and meanwhile working on my manuscripts to be ready for the self-publishing saga.

I'm excited. I'm intimidated. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm completely insane for even attempting this career goal.

But if you don't go for your dream, you'll always wonder 'what if...'

"Moodling"

As I've mentioned in my other blog, I lost my Zen, and have been working to rediscover it. One way that has always helped bring me back to center when things start getting all bajiggity, is through reading Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach (pronounced Bon Brannack).

Simple Abundance is a day book that focuses on finding your inner voice, your spirit, your creativity, your authentic self. Over the course of the year, it covers various topics, such as discovering long-lost and new-found hobbies; finding ways to express yourself through cooking, home decor, wardrobe choices, and personal interests; and expressing gratitude in the simple pleasures of life.

It's basically a hippie call to arms!

What I love about reading this book is that it focuses on the difficulty women often have in carving out enough time for themselves, between jobs and kids and husbands and our endless daily responsibilities. Women very commonly do not allow themselves the personal time to pursue their own interests and feed their souls. We feel guilty for taking an hour of strictly "me time".

But taking that "me time" and discovering ways to express our inner selves feeds our happiness and satisfaction, relieves stress, and generally makes us better, happier, and overall less eye-twitchy versions of ourselves.

And the great thing about it? That "me time" doesn't actually have to consist of anything in particular!

You can have a plan, and spend this time doing something you specifically set out to do. (And actually enjoy doing. "Me time" should not be "household chores time" trying to masquerade as a creative outlet!) You can have a plan to bake a loaf of homemade multigrain bread, or work on a sewing project, or try that new recipe you've had earmarked for months.

Or. OR!!!

This "me time"? Can consist of nothing in particular. The July 26th entry of Simple Abundance calls it "moodling". "Moodling" is described as "long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering". In essence, my perfect Saturday!

Now, if course, I do have things to accomplish this weekend. I have the sorting-through-the-kids'-toys project I began this week and sorely need to finish. I have the corner of my kitchen counter that looks like my post office exploded on it and is in desperate need of clearing off. We need to paint the base of the deck with sealant so Husband can continue building. And my bathrooms need a bit of a touch-up.

But none of those things count as "moodling" (even if my OCD makes me enjoy cleaning more than the average bear).

So to satisfy my soul's need to "moodle", I also have tentative plans to write, or cross-stitch, or read. I'm going to try my hand at baking bread in the oven, rather than the bread machine. And I will waste probably more than a few hours doing nothing much.

And it'll be fantastic.

Intravenous caffeine use needs to be an option

Because Thursday.

Is this a real thing?
Please tell me it's a real thing!

Anniversary

One year ago today, we arrived here in Wyoming.

We had left Washington on the evening of July 6, 2013, and pulled into Cheyenne in the wee hours of July 9th.

Those first few days- hell, the first few hours, even- were a major struggle for me, as from the start, things did not go as planned and expected. I had just left a house that I loved, a town that I loved, and my family and closest friends, and was instantly regretting all of it. It honestly took me several weeks before I began reestablishing my grasp on why we had moved, and that it was in fact a good thing.

Those four months we lived in the apartment, waiting for our house to be finished, were tough. I physically hated living there, and the commute for my husband and children was brutal. After the house was done and we finally, officially moved up to Cheyenne, things began looking up.

The fluffy clouds of the High Plains

I loved our house, and the feeling of finally getting to be settled. I loved that the kids' school and Husband's work were now only minutes away instead of an hour. I loved that our lives were finally able to simplify, and we could begin establishing ourselves here.

Storm rolling in over the kids' school

There have been some hiccups, and some obstacles, and some what-the-hell-are-you-kidding-me moments. But overall, I can honestly say that I like living here (minus the wind, which is soul sucking).

But here's the thing.

Something that, despite my many attempts, I have been unable to successfully explain to many others in our lives.

On the one hand, I like it here. On the other hand, I would move back to Seattle tomorrow.

And yes, those two feelings can coexist.

While it was an emotional struggle for me at first, I fully understand why we moved here, and the benefits of doing so. I have adapted (mostly) to high plains living, and while there are some aspects of it I may not particularly care for, overall it's nice here.

Normal sunset views from my house!

I like exploring the area and seeing new things. The sunsets and sky-scapes are absolutely stunning. The slower pace of life and small-town feel is perfectly pleasant to me (except trying to get anywhere on Lincolnway anytime before 10 am, when the Blue Hair Brigade is out in force and going 20 mph below the speed limit!)

But here's the thing that people are having a hard time wrapping their heads around: I like it here, but I miss Seattle like crazy. It's not like living in Cheyenne is terrible, and I'm miserable and want out rightthissecond. I do, genuinely, like it here. But I don't love it here.

And that's the key.

Hello, gorgeous!

My heart and soul is in Seattle. In the trees and the mountains and the rivers and the ocean.

Mt. Pilchuck, my former backyard

Is anything better than a bonfire on the beach?!?

So beautiful, and so very missed

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if we will stay in Cheyenne for five more months or five more years. But I do know that our time here is not permanent. Western Washington is a very special place, rich in a natural beauty that can't be matched. My soul is fed up there, and because of that, we will move back eventually.

It is possible to like where you are, but know you belong somewhere else. To be happy, but not fulfilled. That's where I'm at. And our calamity of a trip last week reaffirmed that to me. Driving across Snoqualmie Pass made my heart sing. And leaving made it sink.

I don't hate living in Wyoming, and I certainly don't regret moving here.

But home is where the heart is. And my heart is in Seattle

When things go sideways: The vacation from hell

Crow Creek, Curt Gowdy State Park, 5/30/14

Robert Frost once said that the road less traveled makes all the difference…

Well no offense to ol' Bob, but in this case, the difference made by the road less traveled wasn't fun. In fact, it plain old sucked!

My family and I went on vacation last week; a road trip up to Washington to visit family and friends. The week leading into our trip, we pretty much had our plans laid out. We knew what days we would be driving through which states; we knew which days we would be seeing specific friends and family members; we had everything arranged and had set our expectations accordingly.

And then life happened. Griswold Family style.

At first, the hiccups were minor. Friday morning we had planned to leave by noon, but my oldest son ended up with a horrendous nosebleed that took over an hour to stop. I sat with him in the bathroom, changing out the tissues and reassuring him that he wasn't bleeding to death (something that genuinely freaked him out, poor dude). So that prolonged the packing process, and we ended up leaving shortly after 1:00- not bad by any means!

We stopped for a quick lunch and then hopped on I-80 West, hoping to make it at least to Ogden, Utah, if not farther.

For the first leg of our drive, we ended up making excellent time, and by the time we hit Ogden (around 9:00 that night) we were feeling pretty pumped and decided to keep on going to Twin Falls, Idaho. We fed the kids a quick dinner and had them get ready for bed, that way when we finally stopped for the night, it would make bedtime much quicker and easier. We got back on the road, and about 30 minutes later, as we're cruising along nicely up I-84, chatting about how great the drive had been thus far and how we would be able to make it to Seattle a day earlier than we'd thought… BANG!!!

Husband and I both looked at each other in shock, and he pulled the Suburban and trailer over to the side of the freeway. The sound we'd heard made us both think we'd blown a tire, so we hopped out and starting checking for a flat.

Nothing.

All the tires on the Suburban and trailer were fine.

But smoke was pouring out of the engine compartment….

Husband popped the hood open, and we fanned the smoke away and used the flashlight on my phone to look inside.

Carnage.

Ruin.

Badness of epic proportions.

Now, I may not be an automotive expert… but my spidey senses told me that seeing big chunks of metal and oil sprayed everywhere inside the engine compartment is… not a good thing!

We immediately called State Farm, whom our insurance is through, because we have their roadside assistance coverage. After being rerouted multiple times, with no one bothering to make a note of our call and forcing us to start from scratch four different times, we were finally told that they could dispatch a tow truck for the Suburban and two passengers, but that we would have to call a taxi for the rest of us (I guess they wanted us to pick favorites?!?) and pay out of pocket for both the taxi and the separate tow for the trailer.

They also were "unable to locate" the MAJOR FREEWAY upon which we were stranded.

Um…. so how are you assisting me on the roadside then? When I have three young children stranded in a broken vehicle on the side of a very busy freeway late at night?!? And when I gave you my exact mile marker location, and the cities both north and south of me?!?

Needless to say, we quickly became utterly disgusted by their version of "roadside assistance". I also quickly learned that these claims of "agents available 24/7" is… complete BS. Though our agent's office voicemail said they were available 24 hours a day, she didn't call us back until regular business hours the following day.

This whole debacle is something we will be discussing in person with her this week; while we have been loyal State Farm customers for well over a decade, we will likely be looking for a new insurance company without some serious ass-kissing and reparations on our agent's part. Because damn.

So during Husband's third attempt to get any sort of useful help from State Farm, I went ahead and called AAA. The woman I spoke with was able to find our exact location, find and dispatch a tow truck that was big enough to tow both the Suburban and trailer AND all five of us (no picking favorites!), and she expedited it because of the obvious safety issue of us sitting on the side of the freeway.

Finally, a competent human being and a company that gave a crap!

We got towed the 10 minutes south to Brigham City, Utah to a Chevy dealership that the tow driver just happened to work at. We spent the night in the trailer in the dealership parking lot, listening to the service department's radio station being played through the outside speakers… not exactly conducive to a restful night, but at least we were safe.

The next day, we got the initial assessment on the Suburban's engine. We had blown at least three pistons, which had shattered the oil pan and caused other shrapnel-style damage. It would take at least a week to repair, at a starting cost of $7000…

Not only did we not have $7000 just sitting in our pockets, but that also didn't include the cost of a rental vehicle (something State Farm also wouldn't cover) to tow the trailer back to Cheyenne, and then the gas to drive all the way back to Brigham in a week to pick up our newly rebuilt Suburban.

We were completely screwed, and spent half the day just trying to wrap our heads around what the hell to do next.

(And I may have cried a lot. Like, a lot. Like, probably embarrassed myself in public but was too distraught and stressed to even care.)

While we were wandering around the parking lot of the dealership trying to get a handle on the situation, a salesman came out and said that he assumed we were over at the service department, but wondered if there was anything he could help us with. When we told him we were the Suburban, he gave us a look of pity I've never experienced before! We joked that we had a great trade in for him, with perhaps a bit of engine trouble…

The sales guy showed us their used trucks, and we found one we liked. It was a blue diesel GMC Sierra 2500 quad-cab. While I've never had the desire to own a truck, like, ever, it was beefy enough to tow our trailer and could handle anything Wyoming had to throw at it (no more getting stuck in snow drifts!)

The sales guy let us take it for a test drive, and Husband was pretty impressed with it. I wasn't quite as sold, as I was (and still am) fairly attached to my Suburban, and was quite honestly struggling to cope with the events of the previous 14 hours. After driving around Brigham for a bit, we went back to the dealership and Husband went inside to discuss the actual realistic-ness of trading in our dead Suburban for the truck.

In truth, I did not expect them to accept it, and knew we were wasting our time. The sales guy let us take the truck and go to lunch, and said he'd see what he would work out. I wasn't holding my breath.

As we were sitting there eating, not 20 minutes later, sales dude called back and said he'd worked it out!

He said that what they'd do is give us just under Kelly Blue Book on the trade, and put a used engine in the Suburban, making it plausible for them to sell it and make it worth their while. We lost all the equity we had built up in the Suburban, and would essentially be starting from scratch with the truck. But we were pretty much stuck at that point, and this was our best option.

He then told us what the payment on the truck would be, and my stomach flipped so hard I almost puked. We would be tripling our car payment.

Yes. Tripling. As in, three times as much. As in, ouchies to my budget.

After discussing it over the rest of our lunch, Husband and I decided to go for it, because it was the only way (and the cheapest way in the short run) to get us out of Utah. And this meant we could still continue with our vacation, which we had accepted was otherwise totally done-sies.

We got all the paperwork sorted, hooked up the trailer to the truck, and headed back on our way to Washington. Husband was immediately impressed with how well the truck pulled the trailer- no more bucketing in the wind or when being passed by other big vehicles, no struggling to go up even minor hills. It seemed like everything was back on track, and though I was still quite stressed over the looming loan payment, I was starting to shake it off and let Future Sarah deal with it.

We were about 15 miles past where we had broken down the night before, and suddenly the truck lost all power…

The fuel filter indicator, which had just read 100%, suddenly read 0%, and we weren't able to go over 30 mph. Husband immediately called the dealership, and the sales guy was stunned. He told us to come back and they'd take a look at it.

We slowly crawled back to the dealership, where they unhooked the trailer (again) and pulled the truck into the service bay. The same guy who had given us the tow the night before ended up being the one who swapped out our fuel filter (thanks again Juan!) After that, everything looked peachy keen, so Husband and the sales guy hooked the trailer back up (again) and took it for a test run, to make sure nothing bigger was wrong. They went up this steep hill behind the dealership, and everything was looking great until they got about 3/4 of the way up.

The truck lost power again.

Sales guy was baffled, since the dealership prides itself on selling quality used vehicles. He called the owners of the dealership to tell them what had happened, and the owners were there to meet them when they slowly crawled back into the parking lot. Several profuse apologies later (and a near stressed-induced cardiac event on my part), the owners presented us with two options.

Option A: they would do a straight swap of the blue truck for a red one. Same model, one year older, less miles, and one of the owners had just used it on his family vacation to Yellowstone, towing a similar trailer as ours, so they knew it was reliable.

Option B: borrow the red truck for the week and continue on our vacation, while they figured out what was wrong with the blue truck, fixed it up all pretty like, and had it waiting for us when we came back through the following weekend.

Husband and I discussed the options, and I was initially leaning toward doing the swap. However, while the interior of the red truck was nicer, it had fewer features and a little less interior space than the blue truck. It was also a short bed, as opposed to the long bed of the blue truck (something I didn't really care about, but it mattered to Husband). We finally decided to just borrow the red one and fix the blue one.

We unhooked and re-hooked the trailer (AGAIN) and were finally, finally on our way. We made it to Boise that night, and then after sitting in awful Sunday traffic on I-90 in Washington, finally made it to my mom's house Sunday night. A full day after we had been expecting, but at least we made it.

Of course, the unexpected delays associated with our Suburban's catastrophic engine failure shook up our entire week's visitation schedule, so we had to make some last minute adjustments. Some people were… displeased… with our limited time frames, but quite frankly, by that point I had no patience for it. We drove 1200 miles and went through two vehicles; I think you can handle driving 20 minutes to meet us for dinner and survive not eating exactly at your predetermined usual dinner time. Suffice it to say, we found out who some of our true friends are (and are not) this week!

We also got a call on Monday afternoon from the sales guy back in Utah, to tell us what they had found on the blue truck. The injector bank went out. Now, as stated above, I'm not exactly an automotive expert, so to me, that pretty much means nothing. They could have said the phalanges were broken for all I know!

Husband explained that, basically, what happened on the Suburban's gas engine is what happened on the truck's diesel engine (only less catastrophically so). The engine was kaput!

Because of course.

Because Utah hates us.

So they ended up replacing the injector bank (and the phalanges, probably), and we have a warranty on the engine so that we don't have to deal with this again any time soon (fingers crossed, knock on wood).

The rest of our vacation had a bit of a pall over it, though we tried to make the best of it, despite some friend drama and a few minor irritations (because seriously, I fought this hard to make this vacation even happen in the first place, but yeah, let's make it all about not inconveniencing you) and some serious homesickness for Western Washington and my boo-thang Kym.

We left Seattle Saturday morning, with the intention of getting all the way to Brigham that night so we could swap vehicles for our truck and get back on the road first thing Sunday. We only got as far as Mountain Home, Idaho, because it took us 7 hours to even get out of Washington.

7 hours!

I don't even know how that is possible. It was like all travel slowed to a crawl.

Sunday we made better time, and got to Brigham shortly after noon. However, as we were coming back down I-84, about 10 miles or so north of the exit for the dealership? THE RED TRUCK LOST POWER!!! Same effing thing that happened to the blue truck. In the exact same spot as where our Suburban blew.

I swear, Utah hates us. I mean, I know things happen in threes, but come on!

(We did see a lot of other truck and trailers pulled over on the freeway, also having issues, so maybe Utah just hates road-trippers in general?)

After swapping back to our blue truck, the rest of the drive home was relatively uneventful, though still wracked with stress. I spent the entire rest of the drive just waiting for something else to go wrong, because the precedent was set. Our truck has a few quirks on it that we need to get checked out, like weak air conditioning, engine fans that aren't terribly effective, and the door handles have some issues. Plus, it's not my Suburban, and I loved my Suburban.

So now, I have a massive loan payment on a truck that, at the moment, I loathe (though I'm sure my emotions have as much to do with that as the quirks and stress).

This week, we have the joy of dealing with digging out, both in terms of unpacking and settling back into being home, as well as dealing with the financial and logistical fallout of this week. Our insurance agent will be having a meeting with us, which will be non-fun for her. We need to refinance the truck through a local bank so we can get a better deal on the interest rate (and hopefully ease the burden on my budget). And I will be looking into new paid writing opportunities, since Yahoo decided to shut down its contributor side… meanie heads.

So that road less traveled?

I have a gypsy spirit, I'm all for the road less traveled. I mean, hell, I moved to Wyoming of all places, just to experience something new!

But when I'm on a road trip with a predetermined destination, and limited time frame and financial leeway? I'd like to stay on the intended road, and not have any mechanical issues along the way, thank you very much.

It's happening

School's Out Forever!!!

That's right, ladies and gents. I am OFFICIALLY a college graduate.

B.A. in Business Management, betches.

Simple and Tasty Homemade Iced Tea Recipes

So here is my latest Yahoo! article, just in time for summer's slightly belated arrival. Simple, healthful  homemade iced tea; is there anything better?!?

These recipes are easily customizable to your personal tastes and preferences. Use whatever sweeteners you prefer (or none at all). Add fresh fruits, berries, or herbs for an added kick. Throw it in an old school mason jar with a lemon wedge and serve on a super cute retro serving dish for added Hostess With The Most-est brownie points.

There are no rules, so get creative and enjoy!

Today, thank a vet...

I hope everyone has a safe and happy Memorial Day!

It's how I roll

You're welcome.

Best places to camp in southeast Wyoming

Here is my latest Yahoo! article. I haven't been published much lately on account of being ridiculously busy and otherwise losing my mind. However, I'm trying to get back into it, especially now that my final quarter is winding down soon.

Hope you enjoy!

Not to be obnoxious, but...

I know. I'm sorry. I hate to be that annoying, braggy parent. But I'm a very proud mama today, so I'm just going with the bragitude. You've been warned.

My son is in 5th grade this year, but he has been taking 6th grade math. We just found out yesterday that, based on his grades, testing scores, and achievement levels, he has been accepted into the Honors Pre-Algebra class for next year, which means he will be taking math at the Junior High, even though he will only be in 6th grade. 

That whole thing is pretty cool, and makes me braggy enough as it is, but there's more.

If this Honors class goes well and he remains on the advanced track, he will begin earning high school credit for math… in 7th grade.

Yes. Algebra I is the beginning of the high school math credits, and that is the class that follows Honors Pre-Algebra. That means that by the time he is a senior in high school, the district will have run out of traditional math offerings for him. He'll have completed them all.

So, like I said, proud mama!!!

I wonder if I can start having him balance my checkbook for me…? Does weekly allowance cover menial budgetary tasks?