Tattoos Really Do Tell A Story.

As many of you have heard or seen, in November I finally got myself inked.  I've always wanted to get a tattoo, and first started seriously considering the idea at the age of 16.  Of course, at that time I was too young to get it done myself, and besides...I knew I wanted one, but I didn't know what I wanted or where I wanted it.

A real conundrum, to be sure.  It took me 18 years to finally figure it out.  The day after Thanksgiving my KC friend Sarah took me to a tattoo studio near her house - Exile Tattoo - and the wonderful Steven Campbell worked his magic on my skin.

Prior to heading to Kansas City for Thanksgiving, I spent weeks honing my designs.  I knew that one of the tats would have to be my goose.  Story on that coming up.  The other was to be my mommy tat, and that one took a bit of time and research to decide on.  My mommy tat needed to be personal and symbolic, yet unique.  I wanted a piece of artwork that depicted strength (the Celtic knot), motherhood (the heart shape of this particular Celtic knot), and how important my kids are to me (their names and birthdates, and the purple/white in the knot for their birthstone colors).  I had all the separate elements, and Steven did a fantastic job of putting them all together for me. I asked that the tat be placed on my upper left arm, close to my heart.  Here's the end result (remember that this pic was taken right after the tat was finished, so it's a bit bloody and swollen):

Maybe a bit extreme for a very first tattoo, but it's exactly what I wanted. And it didn't even hurt that badly.  When Steve was done, I felt like I had just gotten the world's biggest flu shot in my left arm.

Next up, the goose.  This one would turn out to be my most deeply personal and inspirational piece of body art -- more so than I'd even anticipated.  See, I consider the goose to be my "totem" - my animal spirit guide, such as was believed by Native American cultures.  The goose is a symbol of loyalty, bravery, and determination. The goose is fiercely protective of its young. The goose never leaves one of it own behind.  Nowhere in the animal kingdom is there an animal that better describes and represents my own personality.

My father nicknamed me "Goofy Goose" as a very young child, and called me that for many, many years.  In college, I carried on the name by introducing myself as "Goose."  That nickname really stuck; there are many cherished friends who still call me that, to this day.  The goose is a part of my soul; I felt it appropriate to honor that by inscribing it on my body.

I chose a silhouette of a flying snow goose, and decided to place it on my inner right forearm and color it solid black.  There it would be easily visible, and a constant reminder that it is OK to move forward with my life, putting myself and my children first.  The goose would be my promise to myself that I will never again allow anybody to take advantage of me, treat me poorly, or destroy my self esteem.

And that is a promise I have taken very seriously.  It's amazing how a simple visual reminder like a tattoo can change my perspective.  In the six or seven weeks since I got this tattoo, I have shed many anxieties, started rebuilding my self-confidence, and even exorcised an old demon I'd been carrying around for several years.  I feel more like myself than I have in a very, very long time.  The goose reminds me that I deserve nothing less than 100% - in relationships, in friendships, at work, anywhere.  Nobody gets to make me believe differently.

I have a long road ahead of me as I work my way through ending my marriage and starting my life over. It is a process, and a taxing one, at that. But with the support of my amazing family and wonderful friends, and the magic of my goose tattoo, I know I'll get there.

Giving Many Thanks.

I'm doing Thanksgiving Kansas City style this year, celebrating with my bestie Sarah.  I drove down instead of flying, spending roughly 8 hours in the car.  I left super early in order to avoid incoming nasty weather, and the first half of my trip was utterly uneventful.  Weather was fine, roads were dry, and I literally lost count of all the windmills and cell phone towers in Northern Iowa.

Then, as if on some heavenly timer, the skies opened and it started raining the minute I arrived in Ames.  Normally not a big deal, but the temperature hovered at 32 degrees, and the risk of the rain starting to freeze was very real.  So I slowed down, put my hands at 10-and-2 on the wheel, and took my time.  I sure didn't want to end up in the ditch.

After about 20 miles, I rolled in to the northern edge of Des Moines.  The roads were wet but not overly slippery, but I still took it slow.  I saw some commotion at the bottom of a hill - mile marker 95 - and wondered what was going on.  There were several cars pulled over to both sides of the road with their hazard lights blinking, people standing around in the median.  I slowed to crawling behind the gawkers and saw why: a big, battered silver pickup truck lay on its side in the center median.  Several people stood around the truck, some holding kids, their hair being violently whipped by the 30mph freezing wind.  One gentleman in an Iowa State jacket hustled around the median, picking up the bags and items of clothing which had been strewn every which way.  A woman's head popped up through the driver's side window - she was standing inside the cab - and she looked very shaken.  The people around her started helping her out of the truck.  Emergency vehicles had not yet arrived; I'm guessing I came along maybe two minutes after the rollover accident happened.  Apparently the roads were in worse shape than I thought they were.

The scene brought tears to my eyes.  This family's Thanksgiving holiday was ruined, their possessions lying in the rain in a highway median.  Their vehicle was totaled.  It appeared that everyone was OK, but having been in accidents myself, I suspected they would all make precautionary trips to the hospital to get checked out.  They would not get to their final destination to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday with family or friends, and that made me sad.

My tears weren't only those of sadness.  I was absolutely amazed by the quick response and compassion of strangers.  There were no fewer than a half dozen vehicles pulled over, and there was a literal crowd surrounding the ruined truck.  I'm sure that strangers held the kids and calmed them while the parents made sure everyone was out.  I imagine that the guy in the median was a stranger helping to collect the family's stuff.  It would be so easy to just keep driving after witnessing an accident - but the overwhelming majority of folks stop and do what they can to help.  That scene really underscored my belief that people are inherently good - and on this Thanksgiving, I needed that reinforcement.

I am thankful for the kindness and compassion of strangers.  I am thankful for my bestie Sarah and her hospitality this weekend.  I am so thankful for my family, who have been utterly instrumental in helping me through this trying year.  I am thankful for my friends - I don't see them nearly often enough, but they continue to love me for me, and I love them just as much.  I am blessed to be the mother of two beautiful and amazing children, who remind me that life really is exciting and new every single day.  Happy Thanksgiving to you all - thank you for enriching my life.

Who Needs MySpace?

I decided to do away with my MySpace account today.  I did manage to save the one awesome thing I had there - a video of Price the first time he walked across a room.  This made me tear up, and it seems like such a long time ago.  Won't be long before Kendall's doing the same thing.  *sigh* They grow so fast...


Price Walking