Life isn't perfect.

My life is not perfect, nor will it ever be.  My life is not perfect, nor will it ever be.  My life is not perfect, nor will it ever be.

I keep running this through my head.  This may seem like a downer thing to be thinking when things get tough, but trust me, this is a positive thing for me. 

I don't know why, but in my head life must be perfect.  I need to be up at 4:30 every morning to work out, I need to be to work at 7 a.m., be able to assist anyone that asks for help at the office while doing my own work as well, be home by 3 p.m. to cook a home-cooked meal from scratch, do homework with the kids, get them to bed by 8 p.m., and then spend at least a few hours on house projects and hanging out with my husband.

If I do the math on this (which anyone that knows me, knows is not my strong suit), this schedule leaves me approximately 4.5 hours for sleep a night, exactly 8 hours for work, does not take into account drive time, nor does it include any time to keep myself sane.  Add time with friends, hosting parties, and general time to sit down, and apparently my days are at least 30 hours each!

So when things start to get crazy, I have to take a step back and remind myself that life isn't perfect, I'm not perfect, and the only person that expects me to be perfect, is me.  No one cares if the chip dip at the football party is homemade or from Costco!  And frankly, Costco's probably tastes better....

This is all a long-winded intro to my true point.  I can't continue to expect life to be perfect and I need to own up to the fact that it won't be.  To help me own up to this fact, I'm going to be more open here and talk about all of the crazy, ridiculous things that go on in my house on a day-to-day basis.  I'm going to warn you now that I have young children and some of these things may not be all too pleasant.  You have been warned. 

Lost Time!

So I haven't posted here in months.  In those months, I was offered, and accepted, a summer job in Germany.  I moved my entire family out of the country for two months and then plopped them back down in Minnesota when it was all over.  All in all, they seem to have adjusted to it all well.  I, however, haven't.  The kids see it as a fun summer we had abroad.  My husband sees it as a giant dollar sign that was a big bump in his road to finishing our basement.  I see it as a dream that was in my grasp but was pulled away far too quickly.  I realized, yet again, that I don't belong living in the US, that my heart is overseas, and that I still haven't found that ever-elusive "home" I've been searching for (which is why I started this blog in the first place).

I am going to try this whole blogging thing again.  I have a horrible track record on keeping up with this, but I want to try harder.  I also want to try swimming every morning, and start crafting more, and finish my basement, and sleep more, and be more productive.  I want to do a lot of things, but I know I can't do them all.  Ugh.  I am giving myself an anxiety attack.

So I guess what I need to say is that I will try harder to blog more, but that I make no promises.  I want to blog to help clear my head and make some order out of the chaos that is my brain, but if I am stressing about blogging, then it isn't helping.  This is a vicious cycle.

Cowboy, Take Me Away!

I've found myself listening to an inappropriate amount of country music as of late.  This isn't anything new for me, but it is something I haven't done in quite a while.  It got me to thinking about WHY I'm suddenly listening to all this country music.

I recently completed a very intense process efficiency training at work, that requires you to ask Why a number of times to find the root cause of an issue.  For the sake of this entry, I'm going to call my country music addiction an "issue".  So here goes:

I'm listening to a lot of country music.  Why?
I like country music.  Why?
It reminds me of home.  Why?
We used to listen to country music while flying down back roads in a pick-up truck.  Why?
Now that is a question no one can answer!  That's just what you do in the country!

So really, this series of Why questions helped me find the root cause for why I'm listening to country music: I miss home. 

Home is something I find myself struggling with regularly.  Home was the suburb of Milwaukee I was born and raised in.  We had a quaint little cottage on a lake, my best friends lived within two houses of me, and my whole extended family was within a half-hour drive.

Then home was a log cabin in the middle of 45 acres with no TV or central heat.  We spent our summers tending the gardens, chopping wood for the winter, and taking care of animals.  We spent our winters hauling wood in each morning to melt the icicles forming in the bathroom.  We couldn't see any neighbors, town was a half-hour drive, and my closest friend lived five miles away.

Then home was a little town in Hessen, Germany, where I spent some time abroad as an exchange student.  I lived with a host family in a town with cobble-stone streets and went to school in a castle.  I made life-long friends and developed a sincere love for the country.  So much so that I returned in college to research my senior thesis.

And now, home is a suburb of Minneapolis.  I have lived in the Twin Cities area for 11 years now and absolutely love it.  I can have the urban feel that I thrive on, but still have the ability to sneak away to a park in the middle of the city for some quiet reflection. 

So why do I struggle with a sense of "home"?  As I stated before, my heart belongs in the city.  Well, most of my heart at least.  There is a little part of me that loves to kick off my heels, run barefoot through a barn, then jump in the back of a pick-up truck to run to town.

A friend posted on Facebook the other day that he was having a bonfire at his house, which is where I spent a considerable amount of my time in high school.  It made me sad and nostalgic to think that I'll never be there again.  I'll never have those carefree nights with my closest friends on a clear summer night.  To have a "carefree" night, I need to find a babysitter, pay a babysitter, get my husband off the couch, and find something to entertain us.  Not so carefree...

Now my parents are looking at selling that little log cabin in the woods and moving closer to me and my family so that they can see their grand kids more often.  I hated that tiny town and the people in it when I lived there, but that house was my home.  It was my home because my parents were there and we had created a very different life for ourselves in that strange place.  When my parents move, I don't think I'll go back very often, and I find myself feeling a bit sad about that. 

So really, the problem is that I miss that tiny little ass-backwards town and the crazy-ass people in it.  I miss the local bars and stopping in at the Kwik Trip, where you could run into about every person you know in a matter of minutes.  Thus, I'm listening to more country music to help sooth the part of my heart that is aching to go back.  I think I see a road-trip to Wisconsin in my very immediate future :) 

One more thing!

I forgot to mention that the stilettos I am wearing today are zebra-print, and fabulous! 

And so it begins...

I've thrown around the idea of having a blog for ages, but truly believe that I lack the ability to draw any "followers".  I refuse to shamelessly market myself, so feel free to let others know about this blog if you like it.  If not, that's fine by me.  I'm going to pretend that no one reads this so that I can ramble on as I wish without the constant fear of judgement.

If you've found this blog, it means you probably know me.  If you don't, here's a quick overview.  I'm in my 20s, married, 2 kids, house in the suburbs, good job with a company I believe in.  Pretty much the most average person you will meet when viewed on paper. 

When one chooses to delve further into my existence and get to know a bit about me, they'll find that I'm a bit crazy, a bit wild, have enough energy to run circles around most people, and I swear like a sailor.  I was raised in the country but my heart belongs in the city.  I am constantly torn between my "roots" in the country and my constant desire to run head first into life in the city. 

Thus the title of my blog, Shotguns & Stilettos.  A friend once suggested it to me, and he was spot on (Thank you Josh H).  I spent most of my teen years running around in fields in three-inch heels.  I can out-shoot most of my military friends, and I can do so without chipping my nail polish.  I can paint a house, track a deer, throw a hatchet, and drive a manual transmission.  I can also write a legal contract, speak another language, and debate with the best of them.  I have the best of both worlds, but find myself constantly at war with myself about where I belong.

So, I guess my hope in writing this blog is that I sort out my brain.  Or rather, bring these dueling sides of myself into harmony.  I invite you to go on this adventure with me.