With love, to Dad

From the time I met him, I called him "Dad."  He was just one of those people. The kind of people who make you feel so invited and included that you can not possibly refer to them as a "sir" or "mister" He was certainly a person who inspired respect, but his mannerisms and warm heart always let you know that it was okay just to be yourself- another spirit drifting around on this little Earth.  He was a lot of fun, and willing to be part of the fun at any moment.  He never dismissed anything as silly or obtuse in the time that I knew him.  He was a great man.

Ronald Vincent Schoultz, 77, of Bismarck passed away September 9, 2015. Born in De Soto Missouri in 1938, He is preceded by his parents, Roy and Elsie Schoultz, and his brother, Robert Schoultz. He is survived by his six children, Stephanie Simpson, Ronald R. Schoultz, Daniel Schoultz, Michael Schoultz, Matthew Schoultz, Andrew Schoultz, and numerous grandchildren. On January 8, 1957 he completed Air Training Command and served in the Army Air Corp as a grounds equipment repairman at Scott Air Force Base and later Guam. After completing his military duty on May 24, 1962, Ronald attended Lindenwood University to study art and worked as a police officer in St. Louis. Art and poetry were a great passion of his and he spent much of his life pursuing both in his spare time. Following his work as a police officer, he performed maintenance electrical work for Atlas Plastics and Reynolds Metal. His family moved from Missouri to Grand Junction Colorado in 1980 where he worked in maintenance for Canyon Valley. In 1983 he moved his family to Arkansas and worked for Hot Spring County Memorial Hospital as a director of maintenance. Throughout the 1980s he held jobs in Denver, CO, Gonzales, LA, and Greenville, SC. In 1992, Ron began his work on Johnston Island, now known as the bird sanctuary Johnston Atoll, as a civilian contractor for the United States Government. He spent his free time enjoying the ocean and its inhabitants. He returned home to Bismarck, Arkansas to work at the Arkansas School for Math and Science as a boiler operator (although he would often sneak into the classrooms and leave art for the teachers to find the next morning.) While Ronald would have asked that there be no fuss, the family will be holding a private memorial to honor a wonderful father, grandfather, and friend.

“A million lights spreading through the skies,
Meant only to be seen by man’s frail eyes?
Steadfast we stand on our small sphere,
Content in thought that we alone are here.
Yet, could it be in the far beyond,
That many worlds have come and gone?
That countless beings have lived and loved,
And wondered at the lights above?” --Ronald V. Schoultz

Struggling Against the Id

They say that babies are born with no personality, and only have basic desires to prompt them to action- food, water, shelter, comfort. These basic desires have no root in any type of reality- whether a thing is possible or not is irrelevant. It is wanted, and therefore, action happens. As we grow, we are supposed to develop what Freud called, "ego"- the part of ones self that is organized and realistic. Eventually we should also develop the "super ego"- some part of our brain that moralizes us and teaches us to think critically. The ego and super ego are, in essence, a way to control our own impulses. I have started to wonder lately- as someone with ADHD- is my ego just underdeveloped? Did I miss some kind of critical stage in which I would have learned the necessary skills to cope with reality? I know it is silly, considering that all of this is really theory- and there's no way to prove it- but sometimes I wonder if I came out broken, or if it was something that happened along the way. The truth is that I know I make an abundant amount of mistakes. I know when I'm making a decision that is going to have potentially disastrous results. It doesn't stop me. I sometimes feel like I'm being swept away with my own actions and there's really nothing left to do but just see how it plays out. I get super excited and respond to something, and my brain immediately recognizes it as a terrible response, but my body already acted. My mom always said that my brain was too fast for my mouth, but I think it's probably the other way around. My brain is a little slower than the rest of me. I wonder sometimes if these responses are part of my own id. Am I subconsciously acting so that I can achieve fantastical desires that have no basis in reality? I know other people that struggle with problems similar to mine, but when we start to talk about them we tend to wander into all forms of other topics. I guess that's pretty typical too. You can't really have support with other people who are struggling, because you all end up going to the park. Some of my friends take medicine, and it seems to work for them, but I never really saw medication as an option for me. I am so sensitive to medicine that I'm more afraid of the side effects than my own screw ups. Then I have to think about the super ego though- I definitely developed an ethical and moral sensitivity. That's why I feel so guilty when I make a mistake. Can one have an underdeveloped ego and still have a super ego? Maybe it's all irrelevant now anyways. I mean, Freud did kind of end up way off the mark on a lot of his opinions. Well...There's my random musings for tonight. Look I put out two blog posts in the same year! Maybe I'm improving? Well I'm going to let the id win for a little while and snuggle in for some reading.

I Just Want To Be Friends

So, I would just like you to go ahead and accept that I suck at being a dedicated writer. My life is busy. However, I'm pretty sure that all my writing is so self absorbed that no one was too concerned about it. ;) I've had a pretty bad case of the feels lately. It's been disconcerting and hard to deal with. I think I'm keeping it together for the public, but honestly, I'm getting pretty worn out from it. I'm really lucky that I have amazing friends. People I can complain to, people who will listen to my "me's", and people who will then tell me about their new game that they are so excited about because it's a remastered version of nostalgia. ^__^ It keeps a certain amount of normal in my life, which I desperately need.

I think part of my feels is loneliness. I'm surrounded by a variety of people all day, and I don't feel connected to any of them. I have my friends that I talk to, but I have to miss them because they are all so very far away. I miss having someone to go do stuff with. I especially miss my female friends. I've tried making new friends but everyone thinks I'm hitting on them. It's so frustrating. Like, "hey do you want to hang out tonight?" constantly gets a response of "Oh, sorry, I'm not gay."... Damn it.

I'm scared to try to make friends with people I work with, as I'm afraid they will think I'm hitting on them as well and then that's going to go 80 kinds of awkward and possibly cost me my job. I was even desperate enough to try to make friends with my sister. She tolerated it, because she's a good sister, but we both knew that wasn't going to go that well. I just don't know anything about hunting, fishing, football, or Desperate Housewives. At least she knew I wasn't hitting on her. I have read umpteen articles about making friends, but so far none of those tactics have panned out. It doesn't help that as a mother, student, and full time worker, I have a limited amount of time and attention to offer. With that being said, I'm grateful I'm not completely alone. I seriously look forward to graduating with my MBA in December so I can hole up in the game room for a week and do nothing but play games with my friends online. That will be uber fun.

In the meantime, this short post will serve to satiate my guilt at not writing in over a year. If anyone else has ever struggled with sounding like they are hitting on people whilst trying to make friends, I encourage your response so that I can feel like I'm not alone in this. :)

New Year, New Post: My First Broken Heart

So I haven't done much writing in the last two years. It was too painful and tumultuous. I didn't want pity and I didn't want to talk. But I feel like it is time to write about it, and who knows, maybe it will give comfort to someone who is going what I went through, so here it goes:

In May of 2012, I had what doctor's refer to as a missed miscarriage.

I was thirteen weeks pregnant when my baby's heart quit beating.

It was the most gut wrenching, life tearing, heart wrecking thing that has ever happened to me. I went in for a regular ob/gyn appointment alone, and they couldn't find the heartbeat. I told myself it was ok, it had happened before but they eventually found it. But I saw the nurses face and in my heart of hearts I knew something was wrong. When they called in the doctor and the doctor turned to me I could hear a strange buzzing in my ears. When she told me my baby's heart had stopped I teared up. She asked if there was anyone they could call to come get me, I said no, I would call someone. She told me it wasn't my fault, that this happens sometimes when something isn't correct or viable. They gave me some time in the room alone and I called my husband. As I heard him moan,"nooo", I knew that I would never forget that sound. He said he would come to get me. In the meantime I had to call my work, because they expected me to show up after the appointment. So I had to make two calls and tell an intimate partner and a colleague that my baby, my precious baby, was dead. After the phone calls, the nurses ushered me to a lady who is responsible for scheduling patients for surgery. I was still in shock, my ears were still ringing, my heart was still breaking, and my eyes were still burning. I just kept waiting to wake up. Praying to wake up. Wishing I'd wake up. But I was awake.

As they scheduled me for surgery with the cold precision that only an intake specialist can provide, I was told I would have to go to surgery tomorrow. I could carry my dead baby until then. They talked to me about payments and all the other things that intake specialists really care about. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to wake up.

As I sat in my car in the parking lot, waiting on my husband to come get me, I cried, and I wailed, and I beat myself up, and I chastised myself for not remembering to take my prenatal vitamin four tuesdays ago, and having that coca cola because I really wanted it. I chastised myself regardless of what the doctor said, because deep down, I KNEW IT WAS MY FAULT.

I don't remember much of the rest of that day. I remember my husband's mom coming over and crying and needing to be comforted, just another reminder of my failure. I killed my baby, I broke my husband's heart, and my mother in laws'. I remember laying in my bed and wishing it would swallow me. I remember having to explain to my daughter that she wouldn't be getting her little brother or sister as soon as she had hoped. I told her that this baby had to go live with grandpa in heaven. I had to be brave for her and not cry. I called someone to watch her for a few days.

The next day I went for surgery. My husband looked haggard, old, and worn out from tears. I probably looked like the death machine I was. I don't remember much of the surgery other than having to wait in the intake lounge for hours and think about the fact that my little bump on my tummy was dead. All my dreams of baby shampoo smells, all my hopes of tiny giggles shared with my daughter and me, all of it was gone. Gone in a day. I remember coming out of surgery. My lips were cracked, I was very pale, and I couldn't stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. I remember going home and wishing the bed would swallow me again. This awful person.

The next few days were a blur, and I think if I hadn't had my daughter I might not be typing this now. But she returned home and my love for her forced me to take care of the things that needed taking care of. My husband became quieter after that. I received a call from work, asking when I'd be back. I told them I needed a week. I had to go to the ob/gyn for a visit following surgery, and it was explained to me that I had a clotting disorder, that was probably the cause, and I needed to take aspirin for the rest of my life. I did as she asked but didn't really understand or care.

Most of the time, I just lived on guilt. I had complained a lot during my pregnancy because I had been really sick and had awful pains the whole time. So I would look back on it, and think, "it is my fault. I wasn't grateful enough. It is karma. I should not have complained. I should have been joyful." I would think about every bad thing I had ever done in my life and feel like I deserved what happened.

But as life does, it moves on, and I did to. I will never stop thinking about my angel baby. The one I didn't get to keep. When I became pregnant with my son, I was terrified to tell anyone. I didn't want to have to call anyone ever again and tell them my baby died. So I thought I would keep it to myself. I called one friend and asked them what to do. So I went through the first three and a half months of my pregnancy with only my husband and my best friend. I eventually worked up the nerve to tell his mom, and then his mom spread the news to close relatives. Casual friends, work friends, and facebook friends didn't find out until I'd made it to five months. In June of 2013 I had my son via c-section, prematurely. He survived and is a healthy 17 lbs. He is wonderful, and I love him. I love both of my children. But I love my angel baby too.

Some people believe that there is no life after death. Maybe there isn't. I believe there is. Maybe I believe because I have to. Maybe I believe because I want so badly, to see my baby someday. I couldn't tell you. I think we all have to believe what is right for us, as individuals, and that is what is right for me.

As this has been a highly emotional post for me, I am going to get off now and go dry my tears. But for anyone that has ever experienced this loss and is dealing with all of the meaningless platitudes people will give you about how "it was all for the best" and "better now than later" I will say this. They are well meaning and stupid. It hurts and no amount of words are going to make it okay. I understand that and so do you. Let it hurt, and be with people who understand that it has to hurt right now.

Why Girls go for Mean Guys....

So as I was stalking people on Facebook, I came across a status I have seen many times... by many men. "What's the point in being the nice guy when the girls all go for the bad boy?" Well let's analyze it.

Before we go into the reasons of why girls like guys who are less than worthy, stop and take a minute to do a little self reflection.

1. Are you REALLY a good guy? Some people have a very high opinion of their own morality. The thing is, not everyone has the same set of ethical values. So while you might perceive yourself as a "good guy", others may not. Keep this in mind when you are asking yourself why your awesomeness is not enough. Also, ask yourself if the person you are calling "the douchebag" really is a bad guy. Is he honestly bad? Or does he just share different viewpoints? Do you even know this guy? Personally? Second hand knowledge does not tell you anything. We are all guilty of being the first to point out the flaws of others. So be careful about being too judgmental without knowing all of the facts. And for heaven's sake, do NOT base your opinion of someone based on someone else's opinions.

2. The truth hurts. And so does your face. Many people base their choices on physical appearance and attractiveness. Let's be honest with each other. If you are chasing a girl, chances are you think she is foxy. But are you? Do you take time with your appearance? Do you take care of yourself? Are you in the same league as the person you are chasing? You probably based your selection on appearance first and other qualities later. Should she respond any differently?

3. I'm a Loser Baby. Are you date-able? Do you have your own life? Do you work/go to school/volunteer? Do you have hobbies and interests that are interesting to her? Or are you a broke down dude living with mom and dad and playing on your computer all day?

Okay. There's more criteria in self reflection, but let's stop there. If you do not meet the criteria listed above, please understand: I think you are perfect just the way you are. Sometimes I just think it is helpful to give yourself an honest evaluation of your qualities. That being said, if you are on the same moral compass as the girl you like, attractive to her, and have a life all your own, let's proceed to some of the reasons that she is chasing Jo the Jerk instead of wonderful perfect you.

1. People date the people they think they deserve to have. The people we choose to partner with are a reflection of how we see ourselves. If we see ourselves as good people, we generally find good people to share ourselves with. If we think we are low down pieces of trash, well.... you get where this is going. Self image and self valuation are KEY to the partners we pick. With that being said, understand: You CANNOT make her realize how awesome she is. Only she can do that, and she must do it for herself. Every individual places their own value. If she thinks she's dirt, that is how she is going to expect to be treated. "What if I treat her like dirt?" you may ask. Well, she might be into you, until she realizes she deserves better, or, at the very least could be treated like dirt by someone a little bit higher up than you. Either way you will lose your chance at a meaningful relationship. And if your just looking to score and not looking for a meaningful relationship, refer to #1 in the self reflection column.

2. Mr. Two Face and the Scar He Leaves. Most girls dated the good guy. Well, they thought he was the good guy. Then in privacy a little while down the relationship road, he reared his ugly little head that he hid behind the nice guy mask and hurt her. Very badly. So now, when she sees a REAL nice guy, she assumes that's his mask and she isn't falling for that again. She may date guys who don't deserve her, but at least there are no surprises. Keep in mind, the only way to beat this monster is just to continue being the awesome guy that you are, and hope she snaps out of it.

3. Rough-housing. Some girls like the jerk for reasons that you may not be able to understand. Maybe being submissive is her thing. Maybe a guy being a jerk is what gets her rocks off? Unless you're sure that is not the case, approach with caution. And remember about the not being judgmental part here. Just because it isn't your cup of tea doesn't make it wrong. The heart wants what the heart wants. And the body wants what the body wants.

4. Status Update. That jerk may come with perks you can't understand. Perhaps she feels that he will improve her social status. Maybe he has a condo in Maui. Maybe he will let her do that thing that no one else will let her do. Maybe his sister is her best friend and she feels like she has to be with him to be family with her bestie. Before you say, "OMG what a psycho!" or "Oh wow how shallow!" remember that we left our "I'm the judge" pants at home today.

5. What's my Age again? Some girls are not emotionally mature enough to be attracted to the nice guy. They like the excitement, the drama, and the attention the mean guy brings to them. There is absolutely nothing you can do about this. Honestly though, do you want to start a relationship with someone who is emotionally stunted right now? Which brings me to...

6. Beer Goggles. You think she is perfect. You think she could do so much better. Honestly, love and attraction can blind us to some really poor qualities people possess. Take the beer goggles off and re-evaluate. Is this girl really the girl you think she is?

7. Ms. Fix it. She wants a fixer upper. A project. She wants to be the woman who can make him change when no one else has been able to. She wants to be the one and only person who can turn the evil madman into the gentle giant. She thinks she can. Because she wants to. She wants to play out Beauty and the Beast in real life. Again, nothing you can do. You don't have the beastie reputation.

So these are just a few reasons why you might not be getting love from that honey bee. With that being said remember:

It Goes Both Ways. There may be a girl reading your status update and wanting to strangle you right now. She may be thinking, "Why does he keep going after psycho bitches when I am right here!" There are plenty of guys who exhibit the same kind of behaviors as their female peers.

There is Hope... Somewhere. Somewhere is a person who deserves you just as you are in your own awesomeness.

* Note from the author

All of the above writing is under the impression that we are not talking about someone who is in serious harm because of their significant other. If you, or someone you know, is in a truly abusive/dangerous relationship then you need to get involved with a counselor instead of reading my silly blog. Keep in mind all above commentary is based solely on my life experiences and I am not an expert, psychologist, spurned good guy, evil man, or single lady (anymore). Have a GREAT night! :)

Well, it has taken a lot of thinking, a lot of wondering whether this was appropriate to write about. I'm not sure it is or isn't. However it happened, and this is my opportunity to attempt acceptance. I am a very lucky person, I have a great spouse, a great kid, and a pretty cool job. Yet I am devastated. Because tomorrow will be an anniversary for me. As will every Monday, at least for now. In February I got the best news in the world. I was pregnant with my second child. At first, all i could do was panic. I didn't have room for another child in my pitifully tiny home. I didn't have money to afford all the expenses that a new child brings. This wasn't planned, this wasn't on the agenda, and I had no idea what to do. So I did what I always do and went on my regular routine. I did tell people about it, after a month or so. I couldn't keep it to myself. Along the way somewhere, I became excited and happy. I began planning. I began the process of purchasing a bigger home. I budgeted my finances. I began to save for the newest addition to my family. I began to plan my new life. I began to dream and hope and be happy. Even when I was giving my breakfast back to the toilet I was daydreaming about a new baby to love and hold. A new sibling for my little girl. Bringing a special new life into the world to love the way I love my daughter. I thought about the smell of baby powder, the softness of new baby hair. I thought about names, and clothes, and things we could all do as a family. I walked through baby departments and examined possible cribs, high chairs, and little baby socks. I thought about my new life, with a brand new extension to my family. Of course, I was still physically miserable. All the hormonal changes attacked my body like a plague of locusts, ripping from it any ounce of health. My acne flared up, my hair went crazy. I was not the ideal person to pose for the beauty of motherhood. I had to run, often, to make it to the bathroom before giving back my breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I had pain, weakness, and severe headaches. I had to stop all the medications I had been on for the health of my baby. I missed my Mt. Dew something fierce. I didn't do everything perfect. I didn't do everything right. And lord forgive me, I complained. I complained about my aches and pains, and I complained about the stress. I did not show the kind of excitement I should have. I did not thank the lord every day for my blessing. I carried on as I do, and went to my thirteen week check up with the doctor. I waited in the room, chatting with another expectant mother about our kids, our excitement, our weird body changes. I was happy. I went in and they took out a machine to check for my baby's heartbeat. They couldn't find it. I wasn't worried, it had happened before. They would do an ultrasound and find it then. Sure enough, they took me to the ultrasound room. They laid me down and started. Then they called the doctor in. "Is there a problem?" I asked. As the doctor told me that my baby's heart had stopped beating, that my baby had died around 12 weeks, I laid there and allowed the tears to well in my eyes. I let them fall and did not stop them. My baby was dead. And all I could do was hate myself. My doctor began speaking, saying it wasn't my fault it was nothing I did... I wanted to run away. I asked for a moment and I called the people I needed to. My husband cried "No!" He wailed in the phone. Not only was my baby dead, but I had devastated the person I loved. I was a monster. I cried as the doctor explained to me the necessary procedure I would undergo. I cried through booking the appointment. I have cried since then, at least once a day. I prayed it was a dream, I prayed it was a nightmare. I prayed that they were wrong and there would be an answer. But nothing changed. Nothing will. Two weeks ago Monday, the doctor performed what she called a D&C. Evidentally they do that to remove the "tissue" as she called it. They put me under, and I woke up with an empty uterus and an empty heart. It hurts. Their are no words to describe how I feel, truly. I feel guilty, for not doing better, for not being more grateful for what I had, for not being the kind of person who gets to keep their baby. I feel like I'm being ungrateful for the child that I do have. I feel guilt mounted on guilt. I constantly rack my brains for all the things I could have done differently, all the things I should have not said, all the things I should have, for all the different ways in which I could have been BETTER. For all the ways I should be BETTER. I feel guilt for being a failure. I feel guilty for still wanting a baby. I feel guilty for feeling the hurt, the pain, the loss, and even the guilt. I feel guilty for not being stronger. It eats at me, this guilt. And I feel loss. Oh I feel it. I may have never seen my baby, or held my baby in my arms, but it doesn't change the fact that I hurt. It doesn't change the hurt I see in my husband's eyes. It doesn't change the aching in my heart, the massive gnawing in the bottom of my gut. The stinging in my eyes from holding back the tears, day in and out. I am afraid. Afraid that this is just the beginning. Afraid to ever try again. Afraid I will have to live this nightmare again. I have heard the billions of platitudes of "it's all for the best,""it wasn't meant to be,""things happen for a reason." The last one I believe. Things happen for a reason. The reason was that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't grateful enough. I can only hope for a second chance. Hope that I can prove that I will do whatever it takes to be a better mother, a better person.

The Bathing Suit Blues

So it's time to get a bathing suit.
I put it off for three years, but I'm running out of excuses. My little girl really wants to go build a sandcastle. And she is my reason for almost every idiotic thing I do. Wish me luck because it's not going to be fun.

I used to LOVE shopping for bathing suits as a child and teenager. It was a lot of fun, running around trying on different looks, and being allowed to walk around in public with about the same coverage as underwear. I always thought I looked so cute, or sexy as I got older. Frilly little pink one pieces gave way to the hibiscus decorated tankini, and then upon graduation, the slinky little bikini and bottoms that only covered half my rear (which is the only bathing suit I have left, and it says CORONA and there is no way I'm going out in THAT.)

Now I worry about everything- what if people see to much of my rear?... my boobs are not going to fill THAT up, or if they are they will overflow THAT one.. good lord. What if people see my scars? What if I'm the beached whale they make fun of?? Because the good lord knows I've made fun of more fat people in bathing suits than probably anyone else, because when I was a teenager, all 98 lbs of me thought it was a riot! Especially the ones with the audacity to wear thong bikinis and bright yellow apparel. I'm afraid I'm going to get what I dished out. Now I feel guilty and self conscious.

Yet I still can't bring myself to wear the adult one pieces. That to me is worse than being audaciously exposed. Because I feel like, if I put one of those on, I will automatically turn forty, smoke menthols, and gripe about not seeing Days of Our Lives. Plus I really don't think they are very flattering for people with a tummy. After all, if you wear a purple one piece you are drawing attention to the whole package, while if you wear the bikini at least people are only checking out the top and bottom. The middle kind of disappears in the face of such colorful fabric.

What are you wearing this summer? I'm going to look this weekend and any suggestions are welcome...