It has been ages since I wrote something for this blog. Life has been a whirlwind of activity. When it's not, the last thing I care about doing is posting here.

I'm married.
I love it.
I never imagined that there would be someone who fit me so perfectly. What an amazing thing I have been given.

I started a new job a couple months ago. I'm starting my...let's see...5th week "on the road" for work. I have one more week left in Cleveland and another 2 weeks in Minneapolis. When those are complete----HOME SWEET HOME!

This will (God willing) be my last winter in Minnesota. Husband has been applying to PhD schools where there happen to be much milder climates than freeeeeeeeeeeezing cold Northern MN.

I'm killing time during the rest of my lunch break. I ate my tuna, broccoli and pinapple and am now writing e-mails back and forth with my amazing husband. I thought about going for a drive in the ol' rental car to get out for a while, but it's all gloom and hard rain. I'm too lazy to deal with that right now.

My mission upon my 6:00 return to the crappiest Hilton ever founded is to track down a tanning salon. I'm feeling quite pastey and could use the 15mn in heaven! We have a wedding on Saturday and I want to look and feel my best.

Well, time to take a potty break before the afternoon resumes.

Hope ya'll are doing well. Drop a comment if you like.

I'm not sure what to write here. I'm working, but there is actually no work to do at the moment and I feel like posting, because I haven't in quite a while, but really don't have much interesting to say.

J and I met with the wedding planner today. She had a brief falling off the face of the earth, causing me to have a brief mental breakdown, but now all is well--I think. J says he doesn't really trust her and I am not sure if I do, but am willing to risk it on her. She made some bad choices in the past and it's hard not to remember that when you are trusting her with quite a bit of your money and one of the most important days in your life. However, like I rationalized to J--if she totally screws us over, we'll still be married at the end of the day. People will just have to eat cake with their hands and sit at random and undecorated tables in a really dark and brown Elk's lodge.

On the other hand, if she does NOT screw us over, a bunch of little things will be taken care of and the reception hall will look like a palace. I'd rather she did it or nobody did. Stupid, I know. She talks a lot--about stuff I don't really care about. J said I looked bored out of my mind when she was talking about non-wedding stuff today during our meeting. He kept waiting for a turd to fall out of my mouth.

I keep looking at the pictures of me at my dress fitting and can't believe it's FINALLY going to happen. I just want to be married to this man so bad. Our premarital counseling is very interesting and for next week we have to come with our own set of rules on FIGHTING FAIR.
Today we were cuddling during a 30 mn. break between work and school and stuff and I told him to try to "attack" me--like a rapist might--but WITH clothes on. He didn't fight fair. He licked my face. I hate that. That's going on our list: No licking of the face!

I just got home from the doc's office and found out I have bronchitis and a major sinus infection. She prescribed the "killer of antibiotics" (to quote my pharmacist). I'm going to go pop pills now and go to bed.

Love ya'll!

I'm so sick.

I've been in bed since Monday afternoon.

Luckily this turned out to be a transition week. I got a new full-time job that I start this Monday. BSU was kind enough to find a replacement, since I applied for the job before they offered me the teaching assignment. The new instructor took over today, so my last class was Monday, followed by meetings with the department chair and the "new girl."

This group of students seemed like a great bunch. Even though I'm still new at this stuff, having 3 years under my belt has really made me realize what matters in a classroom and how to balance that with learning! The people are what really matter in a learning environment. If they feel secure and respected and like what they think and say and do really matters, what follows is a piece of cake. Ending a class is always so difficult for me, because I really care about the learners as individuals. However, this is a change that is right for the time and I couldn't be happier ( well, I could if I weren't so damn sick!).

I've been thinking a lot this week about a couple people that I've lost touch with over the last couple years. I really want to reconnect and am not sure how to find them.

If by some miracle, Chad & Josephine Anderson stumble across this site, please contact me. I miss you and Drew, Dylan, and Cassie. Last I heard they were living in Illinois somewhere, but I'm hoping they have come back to the homeland and might do a google search of their old friend Stacey Steinkopf!

I'm also thinking lots about Heidi Wolf--now married Thoennes. After I complete this post I'll do a little search for her, I think she is employed by the same law firm and perhaps I can touch base with her that way. She sent me an e-mail a long time ago and I got busy and lazy and never responded. I suck. I miss her a lot. She taught me so much about life and was my greatest fan when it came to college and grad. school stuff. An educated woman who can stay grounded and still kick some major ass!

My wedding is in just over 90 days. Justin called to check on the status of my dress and they said it should be in this week. I should go into the shop and scope out the undergarment situation before I schedule my fitting--these knockers of mine are going to be bolted down and shoved together. I've never worn a strapless gown or a strapless anything in my entire life! When I was in my cousin's wedding our dresses were off the shoulder and I remember hating how my boobs looked/felt that day.

The boy and I are going to look at a townhome on Friday morning. We would be the first people living there and it wouldn't be an apartment! The rent isn't much more than Justin pays for his apartment right now and it has a garage and we aren't responsible for any maintenance or anything. If we could put our deposit down that day (we already drove by it and it looks perfect) and Justin can put his 30 day notice on his apartment when he pays rent on the first, then we'd have the entire month of February to move his stuff and most of mine into the place. THEN in March and April we can relax and after the wedding not have to worry about getting me moved out of where I now live and all that crap.

I've been working my assssssss off to pay off credit cards and my truck loan so that when we get married all I have are my student loans AND the wedding is all paid for, aside from little stuff that we are setting money aside for. It feels really good to be out from under financial burden. It's so oppressive.

Time to head back to bed. I finished my hot tea and bit my tongue SO hard it's numb when I was eating an orange.

E-mails can be sent to stein@paulbunyan.net

Be well.

Childhood: The Home Game

“Pretend you’re sad!” I commanded my brother.
“I am sad!” he whined as tears froze to his cold pink cheeks.
“But be sad without crying, you baby!” I snorted, as I worked hard to drag the dry, dead pine tree carefully, so as to preserve the few strands of tinsel that were left hanging.
I had conned my siblings into playing a little game I invented called Homeless. It was winter vacation and my mom had just thrown out the Christmas tree. My brother and I spent the three previous days building a fort in a pile of snow in the front yard. In this game, we pretended that I lived on the streets with my kids (my siblings) and we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree so we had to wait until the rich people threw their tree out before we could celebrate.
In our family, this is a tie for worst childhood game with my cousin Ben, who played Underground Railroad with his siblings and neighbors. Apparently they all fought over who got to be Harriet Tubman.
There was also the game House on Fire, which I think kids in our neighborhood played as some variant of tag, but mine was much better. Every autumn my dad threw truckloads of wood into the basement to heat the house for the winter. He would back the truck up to the lower level window and let it run while we “helped” unload it. We pretended that the exhaust of the truck was smoke from our burning house and that we had to try to get out safely (and as dramatically as possible). Running in circles, waiving our arms and screaming for help, until dad yelled at us to shut up, was our idea of fun.

I always had fun, but to this day my siblings beg to differ. They recently looked at pictures of one of the many times I made my brother be the altar boy and my little sisters be the nuns as I transformed the living room into my very own Catholic church. I once got in trouble for stealing a hymnal and service book from church so I could do the full mass when I played at home. My siblings always begged to quit as I started my sermon, so I had to tempt them by uncovering the “communion.” This usually kept their interest long enough to get through nearly the entire service.
One of my favorite games of all time was Bus Driver. I took every chair I could find in the house and lined them up in the dining room as I forced my siblings to stand outside and wait for me, the bus driver, to pick them up for school. That was it.
I can’t even begin to tell you why this was my favorite game. It is probably because one of the many career choices I chose as a child was to be a bus driver.
Looking back, I’m surprised my siblings ever played any of my games. I probably didn’t give them a choice. I might as well have been the one chasing them with a wooden spoon.

Almost

I was 19 days shy of being a bastard. My parents always told me that I was the product of a “blessed union of love in marriage.” They also told me they have been strict Catholics since the day they were born. This leads me to believe that a shotgun is where the “blessed union” part comes in when a pregnant 17-year-old marries a 21-year-old. No? Then the only other alternative is that I am a miracle baby. With my parents’ strong Catholic belief, sex before marriage was obviously out of the question—or is it just birth control that’s unheard of at the Vatican? Going along with the former, I conclude that I was conceived, carried, and delivered in the span of 19 miraculous days.
Imagine the delight of a girl, who almost graduated from high school, and a boy, who spends the rest of his days working at a boat factory to make ends meet, welcoming their beautiful pink bundle into the world! I’m sure my arrival brought tears to many an eye, but I’m doubtful they were tears of joy or celebration.
The odds were stacked against me from the day I was conceived. I can look through my mom’s old photo albums and see her striking poses at six, seven, and eight months pregnant, slamming beers and smoking cigarettes. To this day, whenever I look through those photos, my brother snidely comments, “It sure explains a lot, Stace.”
The thing is, he doesn’t realize how close things were to being different.
Apparently, not as a result of the drinking and smoking, I had to spend several weeks down at “The U” when I was born because I was hydrocephalic—I had water on my brain.
It looks like I’m somewhat of a double miracle. Not only was I almost a bastard, but I was almost a retarded bastard.

Despite my parents being married at such a young age, they thought having one child wasn’t enough and decided to have my brother Jesse a few years later, my sister Sarah a few years after that, and my other sister Jenny a few years after that. It’s hard for me to imagine that my mom had four children when she was my age now.
My mom was a homemaker until just a few years ago and gracefully grew into it from as far back as I can remember. She was a very traditional wife and mother—cooking, cleaning and caring constantly. She did them all, and still does, better than anyone I know. She was the primary caregiver during my childhood, since my dad was always working. Her method of discipline was “the stick.” The stick was a wooden kitchen spoon, about eight inches long. When fights between siblings erupted, she shouted, “I’m getting the stick!” In our younger years, it was a threat. That eventually changed.
Around 10 years of age, I was in a hair-pulling match with my brother. We were warned with the stick, but chose to ignore. A few minutes more of screaming and mom came stomping, spoon in hand, proceeded by my brother and I taking off through the other side of the living room. This made my mom even angrier and scared us—or so we thought. I had never actually been hit by the stick and wasn’t sure how it would feel, but always imagined it to be very painful. When my mom finally caught me by a hard yank of the ponytail, I realized I was as tall as she was and bigger as well.
When the spoon hit my behind, I squealed “nooo!” but started laughing as it came out. She walked out of the room without another word. I knew she was turning me over to the wolves. When I say the wolves, I mean my dad.

My dad was a workaholic growing up. I don’t remember him much from my childhood, except when he yelled at us. Once a week he stayed home with us while my mom had her “night out” to go grocery shopping. I dreaded those nights because I walked on eggshells. He was like a volcano waiting to erupt. If I saw toys on the living room floor and heard my dad’s footsteps coming, I would be sure to quickly move the toys aside, knowing my dad would step on one, hurt his foot and spend the remainder of the evening screaming at us.
I don’t think he realized how much energy he wasted being loud and angry. All he had to do was snap his fingers and point and I ran to my room crying. This further escalated into, “Quit crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!” I always wondered why parents said that, because it never worked. It only made kids (me) cry even more.
Upon growing up and getting to know my dad’s family more intimately, I began to understand why he is the way he is. His dad committed suicide when my dad was a child, leaving my grandma with three young boys. My grandma then went through marriage after marriage, soon adopting the secret nickname “Grandma Liz.”
Because my parents were so young when I was born, our relationship has always been one more categorized as friendship, rather than parent/child. I protected them from a lot of my childhood that I knew they weren’t prepared to handle as parents. This really is where the miracle comes into play I suppose, that a near retarded bastard, such as myself, could be sitting here typing this for others to read. Although, when my mom reads this, I suspect “the stick” may see the light of day again.

I MISS YOU, BEAR!

To be Young Again!

I am so in love with my Godchild! Her mommy always sends me pictures at the perfect moment. Here is one for today:

To be Alive in 2005

It's the second day in this new year and I just punched out and am happy to drag myself upstairs to rest for a while. Colds and crap are starting to take us all over and I'm trying my best not to get as bad as everyone else. Of course, it's "break" so I MUST get sick. What the hell does "break" mean anyway?

It's a break from teaching I guess, but that time has been quickly replaced with hours at the house so Justin could go home for a much needed vacation, housekeeping jobs and planning for next semester.

My cardio-kickboxing instructor is out until the end of the month. She had to have her gallbladder removed after Christmas. I hope she recovers fast so I can get back to her class. I am absolutely addicted to this stuff--empowered! I feel strong and like I could kick major ass while I'm there and for days after. I wish it were more than three days a week. I've gotten into jogging the other days and now that I'll be at BSU again next semester, will sign up for a membership there for the bitter cold days that are yet to be felt. I dread them. I hope this is one of my last winters in Minnesota. I love Minnesota, but every year I become less and less able to cope with this drastic temperature drop. This is my first winter on anti-depressants and I'm hoping that will help my tolerance.

This time of year always causes me to relfect on what I was doing last January and all of the things that have taken place in the last twelve months.

• Had a mental breakdown.
  
• Began taking Celexa for depression (long overdue).
• Was diagnosed with eating disorder(s).
• Blew smoke up therapists asses as they tried to "cure" me.
• Got a frog tattoo.
  
• Presented at a conference at NDSU and wasn't even nervous.
• Had another mental breakdown.
  
• Finished & defended my master's thesis.
• Rec'd my diploma & hung it on the wall.
• Had major surgery (first time ever in the hospital).
• Accepted a marriage proposal.
• Planned an entire wedding all by myself in less than a month.
• Had a mental breakdown.
  
• Grandma was diagnosed with cancer and passed away within about two weeks.
• Had a mental breakdown.
  
• I watched the other Grandma have a house literally moved to a field and move in a few months later.
• Taught at two brand new schools.
• Took a yoga class for the first time.
• Took a belly-dancing class for the first time.
• Bought a wedding dress.
• Learned who my real friends are (and aren't!).
• Had a mental breakdown.
  
• My vehicle's window was smashed in for the first time by a stranger.
• Came to several harsh realizations about my relationship(s) with my family.
• Accepted a teaching position for next semester at BSU.
• Paid for an entire wedding (photographer, dj, decorator, dress, hall, caterer, etc.), 4 months ahead of time, all by myself.
• Realized Justin and I should have just kept the money and gone some place far away and been married alone.
• Accepted the fact that only one person truly knows me for ME.
• Saw three men very important to me be deployed to serve our country.
• Desperately wished I could live any life but mine, just for one day.
• Spent New Year's Eve cleaning up puke and poop AGAIN!
• Had a mental breakdown.

Crazy crazzzzzzzy lists. I should rest. I became a housekeeper a few weeks ago to make some cash on the side. I go to three homes so far and bust my ass between everything else with hopes of ... of what? I guess with hopes of having some money saved up by the time we get married so I don't have to rush right back to a job. I'm really hoping we'll be moving away this summer, but nobody knows yet because if it doesn't happen, I don't want them bugging me about stuff. Wait and see what happens with Justin's plan--hopefully he'll know very soon. I'm so thankful for him.