Nobody would have guessed.  Nobody would have thought.  She had worked with the kind of diligence only fear could breed to keep her secret just that.  Secret.

Even so, she lived in constant fear that someday somebody would discover her dirty little secret and expose what she’d kept hidden in plain sight.   That somebody might reveal the skeleton living in her microwave.

Her hands shook as she lit a cigarette from the emergency pack she kept in the freezer.  Her I’ll-Take-Mine-Rare red nails matched the door that hid the evidence – whispers of scandalous midnight rendezvous with leftovers better left untouched, dark tales of defrosted meat gone wrong, rumors of popcorn badly burnt…

Tap.  Tap-tap.  Tappity-tap.  The gentle sound of her computer keys as she Googled and Pinterested were reassuring, like the words of an understanding confidant.  With any luck she’d find what she needed to get the deed done before the kids got home from school.  The thought of it – of living out from under the thumb of that silent, threatening burden – sparked a tiny, smoke-filled, half-hysterical giggle.

Suddenly her hands froze.  She pulled the cigarette from her lips and leaned closer to the screen.  What was this?  She read slowly, carefully, flicking the ashes from her smoke into her empty bourbon glass.

Oh, yes.  This would do.  This would do nicely.  Now no-one would ever have to know what happened behind that blood-red door.

Ever.

This is the 'after'. The 'before' is too damn scary to show. Click this picture to check out Crafty Little Gnome's blog on how to clean your microwave - you won't be sorry! (Hint: It involves vinegar & water and is SUPER SIMPLE!)

P.S.  There’s still time to send me your pic for the I AM BEAUTIFUL…Just the Way I Am follow-up post.  Send your photos to myndishafer at rocketmail dot com by Feb. 24, and I’ll make sure to include them in the follow-up post that will run on the 29th!  Make your declaration of REAL BEAUTY to the world!  *hugs*, Myn

*waves hello*

I can’t believe it’s Wednesday already.  Time is flying by the closer I get to my due-date.  Little Miss Took will be here before we know it…EEK!  :)

So, I did manage to take a look at my goals…I can’t say that they changed all that much, but my thoughts are a little more organized, and I did set up some boundaries as to when/where/how they’ll get done.  That’s a good thing.  Pregnancy hormones can cause sensibility-blindness, and I these days I need a clear reminder of when it’s okay to shut off one area of my life to focus on another.

Here’s what I’m looking at:

WRITING:

*Work on the WIP after the kids go to bed in the evening.  Trying to do any serious work while they’re vying for my attention just doesn’t work.

*Stop beating myself up for not getting to it during the day.  That’s just the way my schedule is.  It’s not good or bad; it just is.

BLOGGING/SOCIAL MEDIA:

*Read and promote other folk’s blogs 1 hr/day in the morning while the kids are working on quiet projects.  This is Monday through Friday only.  Cut myself a break on Sat and Sun.

*Write one blog post/day 4 days a week in an effort to stockpile blogs for baby’s arrival.  Write these during SweetZ’s naptime.

*Schedule guest posts for when baby arrives. *cough* Any volunteers out there?  :)    *hugs* (and a HUGE thanks to those of you who’ve already volunteered!)

*Reduce blogging to three times a week (not counting ROW80 check-ins), and switch my ROW80 check-ins to Wednesdays.  No blogging on weekends anymore.

HOMESCHOOL:

*When it’s homeschool time, focus on that.  Social Media and Blogging and the WIP are on the farthest burner during that time.  Family first.

EXERCISE/HEALTHY EATING:

*Go back to the five minute ‘test mile’ theory.  I’m in the heat of the last trimester energy drain, and it’s okay that my body is tired and demanding rest.  *mantra* I am not a wimp.  I am not a wimp.  I am not a wimp…

*Allow myself to nest, and make lists, even if it drives the rest of my family nutso.  :)

*Continue with the whole foods breakfasts, and add in lunches.  This goal is so very YUM!

I want to help.

Doing dishes is hard.  It’s a chore nobody likes.  A dishwasher is meant to make that job easier, not harder.  And it breaks my heart to think that you came to my blog looking for an answer, and got none.

Let me walk you through it, dearest (go ahead and bookmark this page in case you need help with it again).

First, you need to open the dishwasher.  That’s the big door on the front.  Mine is black.  Yours might be white, or stainless steel, or covered with wood to match your cabinets.  It might even be old-school Harvest Yellow or Avocado Green.  That’s okay.  Dishwasher diversity is a good thing.  Don’t be a hater; embrace it.

Once your dishwasher is open, look at the inside of the door.  There you should see the soap dispenser, or as you put it, the soap box.

Gently push the little blue lever (again, yours might be a different color),

and the lid will spring open.  It’s almost like magic!

At this point I like to shout abracadabra! or voila! or, if I’m feeling particularly Kansas-y, yeeeee-haw!  Vocalizing my excitement doesn’t help the dispenser to open, but it makes the moment much more enjoyable.  Feel free to borrow my exclamations, or you can come up with your own.  It’s okay to get caught up in the moment.  No one will blame you for your excitement.

Now don’t forget, after you’ve added your soap, to close the lid.  Dishwashers are strong-willed, independent machines.  They like to decide for themselves when to add soap to the wash cycle.  Arguing with them about it won’t help.  Trust me on this.  Dishwashers are stubborn as mules.  Since mine cleans my dishes without complaining, I long ago conceded this area of housewifery control.  I highly reccomend you do the same.

I hope this helps you in your quest, and that you somehow find your way back to my blog and to this post.

All the best,

Mynniesue

I’m keeping it short today.  Last week was up and down – lots of school demands, lots of preggers fatigue.  I think it’s time to re-evaluate what I can realistically get done in the months before and after Little Miss Took is born, and readjust my goals/schedule.

But I’m not going to do that today.  I’ll get it done by Wednesday, and post an update then.  Today, I’m spending time with the family, catching up on blog writing/reading, and working a little on the WIP.

Happy ROW-ing this week!

Big grins,
Myndi

*Taking a moment to sigh wistfully.  Feel free to feel envy, jealousy, covetousness, resentment, what-have-you toward me for that fair bit of good fortune.*

Anyway…

I revisit that time of life quite often.  Out of all my memories, those two years spent on a giant hunk of lava are some of my most vivid.  I could spend hours telling(typing) all kinds of stories about a naive young family from Nebraska who sold all their worldly possessions (except what could fit into a few boxes) and moved half a continent and half an ocean away.  Sight unseen.  No clue whatsoever of what waited for us.

But I won’t.  Instead, I’ll just tell you one story.  For now.  (I reserve the right to bore you with all the other stories at a later date.  *enter evil laugh here*  It’s my blog, after all.)

Not long after our arrival, we, along with a sweet couple we’d recently met, decided to go to the beach.  Now, beaches on Big Island are different than what normally comes to mind when you think Hawaiian beaches.  Big Island is a young island, as far as islands go, and long stretches of uninterrupted white sand are a rarity there.  The few that do exist can be difficult to get to (Think 4-wheel driving across unforgiving beds of lava.  Something we weren’t keen on doing just yet, especially since we were driving about in a borrowed car).

So, we headed to a place called Two-Step.  One of the most beautiful places you’ll ever go for snorkeling.

The problem with Two-Step, though, is that it’s not really a beach.  It’s simply a shelf of lava that juts out into the ocean.  Gorgeous, mind you – the contrast of that wet, black shelf against the brilliant blue hues of the water…It’s something to look at.  But there’s no sand to speak of, and the water there isn’t child friendly.

That wasn’t going to dampen our spirits, though.  The Hubster and his new buddy took off for some snorkeling, while my sweet new friend Em and I stayed back to hang out with the kids, exploring the little nooks and crannies in the lava with my then 2-year old boy, while my little 4 month old baby slept on a blanket nearby.  I’m not gonna lie.  It was a killer way to spend the afternoon.

At some point, I decided I wanted to swim out and find the Hubster.  Em said she’d stay behind to watch the kids, so off I went, eager to splash a little.

Before I go on, there’s a little background about me you need to know:

I grew up in Kansas.  KANSAS.  A landlocked stretch of country that boasts gorgeous skies, lovely pastures, freakishly diverse weather and unforgiving wind.  Not a lot of water here, though, and nothing even laughably close to the mighty Pacific.  Even though I’d been swimming since I was little, every bit of swimming I’d ever done up to that point was in muddy pasture ponds, or State-dug lakes.  Bodies of water with no current.  No waves.  No uneven hunks of lava underneath you, teeming with things just waiting to inflict pain on you.  There’s just murky, brown water that is often shared by cows and humans alike.

Even so, I wasn’t going to let my lack of experience hinder me.  I boldly made my way to the edge of the lava shelf, where tourists and locals had gathered to step down into the ocean – the place where Two Step had gotten its name.  Here, when the waves pulled back a little, you could see the lava had formed into two ‘steps’ leading into the great blue abyss.

I waited patiently for my turn, watching as people gleefully jumped out into the warm, tropical water.  My chest was pulling tighter and tighter the closer I got.  There’s no need to freak.  It’s just water.  You know how to swim.  My little mini-pep talk was pathetic, and I knew it.  But there was no way I was going to turn back and admit my cowardice.  Pride pushed me onward.  I was a trembling but stubbornly determined mess by the time my turn came.

Gingerly, I stepped down onto the first step.  A huge wave of tsunami proportions (as it seemed to me) came rushing up at that exact moment.  My feet never touched the second step.  The wave pulled me out away from the shelf, and there was Midwestern Myndi flapping around in the water just like a fish out of water.

Ever aware that there were people around me, watching, I tried to act cool about it.  Like I’d been doing this my whole life.  I’m 100% certain no one was fooled.  For one thing, I’m a terrible actor/liar.  Everything I’m feeling in a particular moment is displayed on my face whether I want it to or not.  I’m pretty sure the expression my face carried in those moments could be described as utter-terror-I’m-too-young-to-die-oh-my-gosh-what-in-the-heck-just-brushed-by-my-leg??? .  But even if my face hadn’t given away just how out of my element I was, my skin color certainly did.  I’m what my friend Liz calls ‘an alabaster beauty’.  My skin is so fair, that when our family doctor in Omaha learned that we were moving to the Islands, he advised that I take out stock in a sunscreen company.  And he wasn’t joking.  Anybody with half a functioning eye could see that I didn’t belong.

So not only was I flapping around like a fish out of water, I looked like a fish out of water.  On top of that, I felt like a fish out of water.  It suddenly dawned on me that I was terrified of this thing called the Pacific Ocean.  I think I even hated it a little.  I may have even told it so, in the water-logged, profanity-filled language of a native Kansas cowgirl.

It was at that moment that some idiot dude in a snorkeling mask swam up to me.  Somehow I was managing to keep my head above water, but every time my breathing would begin to even out, a killer wave intent on sending me to a watery grave (Em’s hubster would later inform me through thinly masked amusement that these were hardly considered waves, but ripples) would send me back to borderline hyperventilating and hysteria.  It was at this exact moment that this idiot dude decided to hit on me.  For real.

Him:  It’s a rush, isn’t it?

Me: What?? 

Him:  The water.  It’s a rush!

Me (frantically looking around for the Hubster, barely able to comprehend that this guy was trying to talk to me):  Yeah, I guess.  

(Wave hits again.  I splash wildly trying to turn direction and swim the heck away from this moron.)

Him:  Hey, where are you going?  I thought we’d swim out together.

(Now I’m not only worrying about being drowned by an ocean that apparently hates me and wants me dead, but I’ve got some kind of aqua-stalker following me around.  My paddling becomes even more frantic, getting me absolutely nowhere.)

Me (trying to sound indignant, not panicky):  I’m going to swim with my HUSBAND.

Him:  Myndi?

Me (to self):  Oh my god, he knows my name.  How in the hell does he know my name??

Him (louder):  MYNDI!

Me: *sob* Leave me alone!

(Somehow the evil ocean has turned me around again.  I’m face to face with this weirdo, and I’m trying to figure the odds of me managing to paddle straight through him without drowning in the process.)

Him (a little more urgently):  Myndi, it’s me.  It’s Thomas!

(He pulls the goggles and snorkel off.  I stare at him in shock as he morphs from some weird-a$$ stranger to my dearly beloved Hubster, who just moments ago I was certain I’d never see again.)

Of course I immediately sea-cow lunged for him, locking my legs and arms around him in a vice grip, nearly drowning us both.  He couldn’t stop laughing as he towed his poor water-logged wife to shore.  I’d never been so happy to see him, or my kids, or dry land.

After that day, the Hubster and I had an agreement.  I wouldn’t go back to Two Step.  Ever.  And I’d never attempt snorkeling.  Ever.  I didn’t give a rats behiney how gorgeous the underwater world was.  How it was just like ’Finding Nemo’ down there.  How the turtles would swim with you and the world would go silent around you.  Nope.  Not ever.  Not for me.  We’d seek out the few sandy beaches and stick to those – beaches where I could feel the sand gradually slope down under my toes, where I wouldn’t be afraid to pull my kids into the water.

That, my friends, was my first plunge into the Pacific Ocean.

Any other aqua-phobes (word?) out there?  Funny underwater stories that you’re dying to share?  C’mon, make me feel better about my first foray into the wide blue yonder!

It’s such a sweet story about a seriously socially awkward guy with a heart of gold trying to win the girl of his dreams.  I honestly cringed through much of it – not because the plot or acting was bad, but because Matthew Lillard was so believable in his awkwardness that I was having actual physical reactions to it.  But I think the thing I love most about this movie is that it’s never over-done in any way.  The storytelling is so simple, the climax so subtle, and the triumph in the end so perfect that it kept me thinking about it for days after.

I love it when books/movies/music do that – when the story being told sticks with you.

Lucky for you, Spooner is available on Netflix instantly.  If you haven’t seen it, go watch it, now.  If you have, go watch it again!

Today has been such a lovey day.  Slept in LATE, enjoyed some vinyl and tea with the Hubster, went on a mini-lunch date while the kids chilled at home, and am now sitting down to get some work done.  If every day could be this low key, I’d be one breezy girl indeed!

This was the kind of week I can totally get on board with.  Productive, happy, and drama-free.  We had our 7 month doctor appointment for ‘Lil Miss Took, and she’s as healthy as a horse, apparently.  Somehow – and this is unfathomable to me – I’ve dropped three pounds.  What the what?  But the good doctor isn’t worried about it, so this is one momma who isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  :)

I also had a killer week, blog wise.  Highest hits in a week’s time since I started blogging seriously in October.  Participated in August McLaughlin’s Beauty of a Woman Blogfest, which churned out some of the most incredible posts I’ve read lately.  Such a cool thing to be a part of.

Goal wise, things are looking good – much, much better than they had the past couple weeks.  A little bit of productivity goes a long way for me.  It’s kinda like a drug.  The more productive I am, the happier I am, and the more I want to produce.  Writing, reading, taking care of myself, and eating well in the mornings – all that stuff I sailed through.  Mid-week I’m going to add in snacks/lunch to the eating well regimen.  Whole foods, no refined junk or preservatives.  I’m really confident on being able to nail it 90% of the time during the week, but weekends will be a little tougher.  Will have to work through a little trial/error there, I think.

Exercise has been a little hit and miss this week.  Not awful, but not the five days I was aiming for.  Even so, this week wasn’t a total wash, exercise wise, and with the progress I made everywhere else, I’m choosing not to beat myself up over it.

Well, friendlies, I’ve got a couple hours now to sit my butt in a chair and write, so I’m gonna take advantage.  I’ll try to get by several of your blogs sometime this evening to encourage you!  Please forgive me if I show up a little late (like tomorrow).  The Hubster and I were discussing the Big Picture of the series I’m working on this morning, and I’m itching to get to it.

Happy Rowing!

The Blair Witch Project, Urban Chihuahua-style