Rock.

rock ¹ (rk)

n.

1. Relatively hard, naturally formed mineral or petrified matter; stone.

2.

a. A relatively small piece or fragment of such material.

b. A relatively large body of such material, as a cliff or peak.

3. A naturally formed aggregate of mineral matter constituting a significant part of the earth's crust.

4. One that is similar to or suggestive of a mass of stone in stability, firmness, or dependability: The family has been his rock during this difficult time.

5. rocks Slang Money.

6. Slang A large gem, especially a diamond.

Idioms:

between a rock and a hard place

Confronted with equally unpleasant alternatives and few or no opportunities to evade or circumvent them.

on the rocks

1. In a state of difficulty, destruction, or ruin: Their marriage is on the rocks.

2. Without money; bankrupt: Our accountant says the business is on the rocks.

(http://www.thefreedictionary.com/rock)

I always wanted a rock since I was a little girl. A rock with the following characteristics.

- a rock that made sparks...good for warm fires
- a rock that possibly dull on the outside hid a diamond within.
- a rock that was dependable
- a rock that was shelter from the rain and no matter the downpour....I was always dry.
- a rock that was patient.
- a rock that stayed long enough to listen.
- a rock that could be carried with me whenever I strove to conquer the world.
- a rock that made pebbles to take its place in the world.
- a rock that when thrown would always come back.
- a rock that didn't travel in the pockets of others.
- a rock that didn't place itself above others in the world.
- a rock that isn't out of reach.
- a rock with core components of honor, truth, and loyalty.
- a rock that stood against the storm.

And here I stand, a rock in hand at the crossroads of life. Which way do I throw it?

And So I start again....a letter to.....

Several years and I start to blog again. This should prove entertaining. Current household forecast: One child sleeping, one child withdrawn into the depths of his brain due to the emotional storm around the house, and a hint of psychotically barking dog. I need a romantic getaway for two.

Caolan has made some incredible headway with his therapy. Though after today, the therapy sessions will be even more intense. My homework consists of several pages of ABA therapy. However, the work load is going to be split into a more reasonable manner and finally, I am going to get some help in getting it done. About bloody time.

After reading several other past blogs of others and mine own, it is time for some changes.

1. Yes I am not a SCA person. Not surprising when one gets treated like a load of shit and backstabbed by friends and family. You want me to come to events? Don't have me come when I am pregnant, sick, or am left with the sole responsibility of minding the kids. A sitter needs to be found that I can trust and know. Sitting on the sidelines with screaming kids watching a battle is boring and stressful. Btw, Pregnancy and garb don't mix.....and playing with a load of cheaters. Not fun.

Changes: I will come to events on the sole conditions that it is a team event. Give and Take. I will come to events knowing that I have the full, HONEST, support of a loving husband. Going anywhere with people that are constantly nay saying a sca/non-sca marriage is destructive and creates a poisonous atmosphere. Hell if I have to chase kids and if I do sit on the sidelines...I would hope that later, said husband would make it more than worth my while for doing so. In more ways than one.....not that isn't exciting too. ;) Heck, during your breaks in fighting come see how I am doing and shoot the shit before diving back into another battle....It breaks the monotony of listening to the crickets chirp. Or for fucks sake; ply me with enough alcohol that anything would be entertaining. Last note: making it a more family oriented outing with other family oriented people would be a good thing. OR even better, going to events that are strictly husband/wife adventures.....that would also be a good thing. Sex in a tent without two kids watching or neighbors gossiping.....sounds like a plan to me. You pull that off, heck we may even avoid the *please have a shower cause you smell like pit talk.* And dude, please don't show me how your war wounds ooze pus or poke out the wrong way.....there was a reason I didn't become a doctor....IF you were a half dead, starved, mangled animal then by all means show me. Least the animal I can put out of its misery when it whines. Lastly, Why is it that every event either my tent door, campsite, etc is cursed with corn candy vomit? WHO the fuck is eating that shit anyways and why aren't you puking in your own tent area?

Positive things about the SCA: My garb kicks your garb's ass. More positive things to come I am sure....The ball is in your park....throw it and get into the game.

Final note: If you SCA people don't want to be called freaks by me please do the following:
DON'T ask me to sleep with you, don't ask to sleep with or shine, lick or suckle my husband's knob. Don't encourage him to lie and sneak around.
Don't walk into my kitchen half naked and ask if I want any form of you. IF you are scary with your clothes on....how will it get any better on my eyes if you are naked? And really if one husband is more than I can handle, why the fuck would I want two or more of you?
Also, I have to draw the line at people who weight their balls, drop a two headed axe on their heads, call me a concubine, brag about their penis, encourage my husband to leave his family and run for the hills, expect to leave the financially destitute hanging with the financial burdens of the other financially destitute, who expect the very pregnant to wear black constricting all covering garb in 30 degree weather while being eaten alive by asshole mosquitoes, need I go on? AND FUCK: Let be the candy corn...it is disgusting, unhealthy, and comes up the same way it went in.

If you are a normal, family loving individual with a love of the past: Hello, My Name is Jenn. Nice to meet you. I love history too . My garb still kicks your garb's ass.....but if you are normal enough and treat me like a human being....maybe I'll make you some cool garb.

SO, Is it in my future to be an SCA'er? More than maybe....with a little positive encouragement and support. So get out and throw the ball. I have the bat at hand....don't make me charge off and hit the other idiots on the playing field.

Life In the Fast Lane

To update my blog:

I have moved to a new home in Aldergrove. I spend my months dealing with strata council, chasing my 2.5 yr old son, I commute two hours every day of the week and I am tired all the time....But I am alive and well.

Here a Box, There a Box

My household articles are slowly metamorphizing into boxes. If I can't find anything I need, I assume it has been packed. Caolan is loving the whole process as his imagination is further spurred by the downstairs entertainment room now turned into a box castle. I am starting to see light at the end of the tunnel, for soon the packing shall end and then I will spend a day of back-breaking labor to pile all those boxes into the end of a moving trunk and into a storage facility.

As for my work environment, I am trying my very best to work hard and get ahead in a company that has a short corporate ladder. Thus, getting near the top is hard, but I shall try to do my very best. It doesn't matter that the work is not challenging........I have to get ahead. And it doesn't matter if I have to claw my way to a place in the world, as long as there is a roof over my son's head and a stable future for him. Thus I shall work even harder.

I HATE MAY!

May 1st, a time of new beginnings or otherwise known as a time of extreme stress. I don't make near enough money at my job, even though I earn way more than minimum wage. I am daily informed of this by people and the bank, that I need to find a job that makes way more money. However, none of them seem to stop and realize that I chase a toddler around during the day and work during the night. Therefore, finding a high-paying, 9-5 job is impossible. I can give up the few day-time hours to hand my child over to daycare which may or may not instill values into him that I wouldn't approve of and I can also hand over the increase in salary to the daycare. In the end, I get screwed while the people surrounding me are happy. Arg!

To make may issues worse, I will soon be looking for a roof over my head as the current house we live in is now sold. I HATE moving, with a passion. Trying to find a place that is big enough and cheap enough is impossible and as the limited time ticks away, panic is setting in. To the people who make the housing market impossible to break into .... fuck you!

Into the realm of chalk

Custom made santa bags filled with chalk, dusty fingers, hands, arms, faces, clothes and you name it, everything else. A physical and pychological neccessity of the climbing community and the bane of all managerial gym types everywhere. I am oft amazed at the boulder rats behavior towards this substance. They abuse it like they would drugs and alchohol. And like a low end worker who produces illicit drugs, I am exposed to breathing the stuff daily without a mask.

My day usually starts off with handing out the chalky nastiness in the following situation:

Innocence boulder rat approaches my desk like they would royalty, humbly asking in the process that I enter them into the computer system. Who am I kidding? Said boulder rats wearing baggy pants that encompass their knees, with most of their underpants flashing the world.....usually sneak in the back way to enter the gym, praying to all the gods that I don't notice them or their overdue payments to their accounts.

Then after two hours of grunting and destroying themselves on inane boulder problems, spilling their santa bags of chalk on the carpet, and after fully bathing in the stuff; they then traipse up to my counter with a drug addict's gleam in their eyes, and a coin in hand to beg for a chalk bag. I then hand over a usually half full chalk bag, (both parties knowing that the chalk bag will not return ever again the front desk, but instead deposited lovingly into the rat's own santa bag) .....to be instantly recieved into overtly eager hands that quickly dart into the bag, pull out the chalk ball, analyze the purity and quantity; only to then redeposit the given gift back onto my desk. The preceeding wails sounds like the following:

"It is a limp chalk ball!! It is barely filled! How can I possible crank a route with this? Can't I have another ball.....a full one? I promise that I will return it still mainly full!"

Response from non-caring managerial type: "Sure you will, just like you'll return your gear upstairs We all have seen you wapping your ball into your hand while you stare vacantly at a route open-mouthed." This response usually provokes laughter on the boulder rat's part and then incessant whining until said manager relents, gives out a new chalk ball, to then be thanked by empty chalk bags and missing chalk balls at the evening's end.

There is no hope of rehabilitation, once the taste for the blessed powder called chalk has been developed, all shall bow down before it............. pft! Keep dreaming boulder rats and sleep well, for your chalk stealing days are numbered. Mauhahahhahhahah.
- Management. Please see front desk for more details.

Welcome to Wacko World

To start the tour, I would like to point out a few things little importance.

To the left you'll note one the invading mother ignoring the existence of her tarred and feathered evil, bitch daughter; while gabbling baby jargon to a toddler grandson (who couldn't care less) and to the right, one frazzled, overwhelmed, stressed, coffee slinging, couldn't care less about blood relations woman related to the invading mother. Those of you interested in a gong show, stay awhile, pull up a chair and come get your free giggles for the century. WHY do I do this to myself?

Nonetheless, I survived the visit, the cold battered fish, and the hardly consumed tea. I did benefit from this episode of insanity, I have a clean house, more noisy baby toys, and an infant sweater large enough for a five year old or the dog.