There are some things in life that can't be fixed.

This has been an especially tough lesson for me to learn over the years, and it's one that I'm still grappling with. It's especially hard when life throws a curve ball at my loved ones, because I live so far away from most of them. I can't be there. I can't fix it.

It seems like all the stuff I read in the health magazines these days advocate "letting things go." Don't worry about anything, lest your brain cave in upon itself. Work stressing you out? Let it go. Kids driving you crazy? Let it go. All those things that you can't control, just let them go. Forget about it, go eat some ice cream, and everything will be OK.

Screw that. That's not how I function. I don't just worry about things. I fixate and stew until I get the problem solved. It drives my husband nuts, but that's how I get things done. Up yours, tranquility. I eat stress for breakfast.

Then comes along those things that can't be fixed. They are what they are and I can't do a damn thing about it. It's times like these that I sometimes wish I was one of those anti-worriers. I wish I could just let life wash over me and accept it for what it is. Maybe I wouldn't feel so helpless then.

But I don't like to let life happen; I like to make it happen. When life throws rocks at me, I tend to pick them up and throw them back. And when my loved ones are involved, I break out the catapults.


But what happens when the catapults don't work? What happens when you run out of rocks?

I guess at that point you just dig your trenches and hope for the best. And Lord, am I hoping.

Men love baby shoes, too

We've all seen it: A young woman, a young man (presumably a couple) wandering through the aisles of some big chain store (Walmart, Target, take your pick). They seem to be just killing time, happily enough, until suddenly...

"Oh my GOSH!" she shrieks. "Look at these! They are SO CUTE!!" The man smiles nervously, nods, and looks awkwardly about for an escape route. Any escape route. Or at least a Stallone movie he can look at.

That's right. They've stumbled into the baby section.

There's no escaping the inexplicable love that most women have for baby clothes. Or shoes. Or hats. Or whiskey flasks. I mean, they're just so little ... and darn adorable.

But while it's no surprise that women love these things, I was surprised today when a realization hit me like a Mack truck hits a toad: My husband, deep down, is "that woman." Minus the insane shrieking.

This occurred to me today after my husband took our son to Walmart under the pretense of grocery shopping. To be fair, I did tell him that if he was so inclined, he could swing through the toddler section and see if they had any cheap clothes or shoes. When I returned home from work, my son had two pairs of new shoes: one $5 pair of Spider Man tennis shoes with lights in them (good deal) and a pair of camouflage cowboy boots, which I know from shopping were one of the more expensive shoes on the rack.

My husband's reasoning for the camo boots: "He needed them. And they fit great, with room to grow." Fair enough. I also found out our son got two plastic animal toys for being good in the store. They were a buck a piece. Fair enough.

The kicker was when I saw the pajamas my husband bought. I had instructed him to look for sweatpants -- regular, not pajamas -- that had elastic on the ankles so our son wouldn't trip over them if they were too long. Sam showed me the "outfit" he bought and how it had elastic around the ankles. And then the price. I told him, "Those are pajamas."

Sam replied, "Yeah, but they're cute. AND, they've got camo on them. He had to have them."

 That's when it hit me. The adorable little reindeer jumper we got our son for his first Christmas season? Sam's idea. ("He needs this.") The camo pajama set from Bass Pro shops when our son was 18 months? Sam's idea. ("He needs these.") Heck, since Sam has gotten into tanning animal hides, his biggest goal in life is to make our son a coonskin robe. And, you guessed it ... our son needs that too.

I'm certainly not complaining. I love it that my husband is so into his little boy that he feels the need to dress him in 'coon hides and camouflage, because that's what Dad's into. But I can't help but look back on all those times, before our son, before I was even pregnant, when I would squeal over baby shoes, and Sam would roll his eyes.

Hey, turnabout's fair play.

Always outsiders? Perhaps.

Sometimes, I think I'll always feel like an outsider here. Well, maybe not completely. But a little.

I guess that comes with the territory of moving someplace new, though. Since I found a job in my local community instead of 45 minutes away, I have been making more connections with people. I've started feeling more like I belong here. I can go to the store and run into people I know. It's nice.

But there's a certain something ... an attitude, an outlook on life, something like that ... that I feel will always set me apart from the rest of the people here. Growing up in the East, particularly in a blue-collar, industrial region like the Pittsburgh area, you end up with a different way of looking at things than someone who was raised in the low-key Corn Belt.

Where we were raised, people are more used to living by the clock: Get up, go to work, work hard, hit up happy hour, drink hard, head home, sleep hard. No, that's not what everyone did, but that's the culture. Work hard, play hard. Out here, sure, I guess they do that. But at a slower pace. Here, they seem to live by the day, not by the hour.

My husband and I are quick to anger, quick to say, "Well screw that guy if he doesn't like it!" We don't hold all of the more "traditional" values that many people out here hold. We don't turn to the Bible for guidance. We don't go to church. We don't listen to country music. Quite the opposite.

I'm not saying the way people function out here is bad. Just different. Just not us. Our way works for us, but we're adjusting to their way, slowly. I just hope that as time goes on, we continue to find people who accept us for who we are and preferably, people we can connect with. At times, they feel few and far between.

But whatever. We'll make it. We always do. You know why? Because there's always "just us."

A brilliant day

Yesterday, I had a brilliant moment.

Yesterday, was a brilliant day.

Yesterday I went into the magazine office to attend a meeting and do some work. During lunch, I got a call from my boss, who was traveling. She offered me a full-time job. No more freelance work.

Of course, I accepted.

Not only have I loved working at this particular company, and doing the work that I do, but the salary and benefits are great. For someone who has a boatload of experience, but has never worked an "official" 40-hour week before, I was ecstatic.

My husband was, too. Finally, we can stop stressing out about our finances. Finally, between the two of us, we can save some real money so we can accomplish the things we want so much in life: A home in the country. A little ground to call our own. Opportunities for our kids. Maybe even travel a little.

At one point, not so long ago, I was so gung-ho about being a stay-at-home mom that some people might be confused about my choice to switch to full-time work. Personally, I think most stay-at-home moms would understand. I did that line of "work" (and it is work) for a while, and I loved it. I could still do it, and be happy enough. But I've found that since I went back to a paid job, even part-time, I was a happier person. I have an active mind, and was trained in a profession I love. It was hard for me to leave that, but for the benefit of my child, I did it, and I have no regrets.

I was lucky to find a new job that's close to home, where deadlines aren't as immediate, and the people who work there are so flexible and supportive when family's involved. (I don't say the last part lightly. Before I started full-time, the managing editor and editor both came to me and asked, genuinely concerned, how it might cut into my family life. I loved that.)

I've found, too, that since I've been working, I'm not as impatient and demanding about the day-to-day family stuff. I hate being away from my son all day, but instead of being worried about whether the dishes are done, I'm worried about whether he's been read to enough. When I come home from work, all I want to do is spend quality time with him and my husband.

Ah, my husband. I can't forget him. If he weren't my best friend, none of this would work. He's so supportive of me, of us, and of our goals. He's willing to keep working night shift, and sacrifice sleep so we don't have to put our son in daycare. I'm not even sure if he realizes how much that means to me. He's not just a good husband, but a great father.

I know the following weeks will be tough. Sam and I will likely both be short of sleep (him more than me) and short of free time ... hell, short of time together, even. But I'm confident we'll make it work. We're a team, and always have been.

Finally, I feel like we're moving forward in life instead of treading water. And I couldn't be happier.

Making the best of things

Vacations? What are these things you call 'vacations?'

I joke, but I've been having some discussions recently regarding traveling with kids. My son is not a good traveler and lately, as my husband and I have considered planning trips and vacations, I've been hesitant to attempt going long distances with a cranky toddler in tow.

It seems like most people's advice to me is, "Just go, they'll get used to it." And I do understand that point. But I still have reservations. Even though he's probably not, I often feel like my son is the exception to the rule. He's smart enough, but also very headstrong. If he truly doesn't like something -- like long car rides -- he does not just get used to it after a while; rather, he gets pissed. He tries to change it, and when he can't he gets frustrated, which makes him more angry. Even though he is only 19 months old, he does not just accept things he doesn't like and move on. I can relate. I'm the same way.

The thing is, I feel like I'm somehow strange for not wanting to put my child through a 12-hour road trip. It's not that I'm trying to shelter him or letting his wants rule my life. But travel is stressful, even for me, a 27-year-old adult. I guess I just don't see any point in making my son travel long distances when he's not ready for it.

There is no place I have to go to or people I have to see. Our immediate families are welcome to visit us anytime, and they do, and often. My close friends will still be friends no matter how often I see them. And finally, I don't see much point in taking a family vacation that my child won't even remember.

I think what makes me feel like an exception to the rule, though, is that I'm totally OK with this. I can wait. We'll get our time to travel. We'll get family vacations. I feel like so many people these days want to have their cake and eat it, too. They want the job, the house, the kids, the new car ... they also want the free time, the nights out, the friends, the active social life. But it doesn't always work that way, especially when you live hundreds of miles away from family and friends.

My husband and I don't have "date night." If we have days or nights out, we do it separately. We have no family and very few friends here (friendships take time to develop), so there's no free babysitting at our disposal. And for that matter, I've yet to find or hear of a sitter for hire that I would trust with my child's care. But you know what? It's all fine. I was willing to give up free time and nights out when we decided to have a child.

We have good neighbors who would watch our son in an emergency. If we want to go out to dinner once in a while, we can take our son along. Until he adjusts to traveling, we can try going to some closer-to-home parks and attractions. Or maybe try camping. When it's just the three of you, you learn to stick together and make the best of what you've got.

For now, that's enough for me.

In defense of agriculture

I recently returned from a three-day editorial meeting for the magazine I work for. Since it's an agriculture magazine, there of course was a lot of talk about what's going on in the industry these days. As someone who grew up on a farm, but is still learning much about the ag industry, I came away from the meeting with quite a few things to think about.

And, I've come to at least one conclusion: No matter what others might say, large-scale producers -- "big ag" if you will -- is a vital part of our economy and our world.

A major concern in the ag industry these days has been how consumers -- the general public -- view agriculture. There has been some media attention lately on "big ag" and the supposed evils that are associated with it: Genetically modified seeds, herbicide and fungicide use, pollution created during production, animal welfare issues and of course, the idea that big ag is merely out to overtake the family farm.

These are all legitimate concerns, and all worthy of discussion. However, the ag community is often attacked from many sides, and has a difficult time communicating what it does and defending itself. The problem isn't that farmers aren't able to defend themselves. Many could argue their side, using facts and science, until you were put straight as a ruler. The problem is that the general public -- and those doing the attacking -- has become so far removed from the farm that they usually know little, if anything, about how agriculture actually works. It's a pretty big task to not only defend yourself, but also educate your opponent from the ground up.

The situation is what it is, however, and I'm confident that ag will pull through. What bothers me most is this: These know-nothings who like to vilify big ag seem to ignore the big picture. The fact is that without big ag, people in our nation and across the world would starve. America's population alone is expected to reach 9 billion over the next few years; new acreage for raising crops is dwindling. How do we feed an expanding population under these circumstances? We can't turn the clock back on farming when there are more people demanding food.

Of course, I'm not saying that there's no place for the small farming operation. In fact, many smaller operations have managed to find niche markets that big ag just can't fulfill. There's room in our nation for all farmers. Big, small, it doesn't matter.

In order to feed the world, we need all the help we can get.

Thanks, Playboy, for making me feel old.

I recently read or heard somewhere that you know you're getting old when you start noticing that the Playmates keep getting younger and younger. If that's the case, then I must be ancient, because I've been noticing for a while now.

Before I continue, yes, my husband has had a Playboy subscription for several years. No, I don't care if he's looking at pictures of airbrushed naked girls whom he will never meet and/or have a chance in hell of sleeping with. And yes, I do read the magazine and the stories it runs are usually pretty good stuff. So there.

Anyway, one of the habits I've gotten into each month is checking to see how old the Playmate is. Sad, I know, but I do it. And each year it just gets more depressing. I actually find my spirits lifting a bit on the rare occasion when the Playmate is 23 or (gasp!) 25. A few months ago I think they ran a 28-year-old. I was practically floating on air for a day.

But this month's Miss April should have been called Miss Awful, because that's how I felt when I saw her. As I casually flipped through the pages, I noticed she was born in 1990. I realize that makes her 21, but still ...

... 1990! I remember that year!

I was 7. It was the year one of my mom's horses was born. That's my most vivid memory because I loved horses, and I woke up one sunshiney day and heard the dogs barking and I looked out my window and boom, there was a new baby horse in our pasture, and I was the first person in our house to notice. But other big things happened, too. One of my many little cousins was born that year, and many more were born in the years after that.

I guess seeing someone of their age taking her clothes off for a magazine is vaguely disturbing to me. Doesn't seem that long ago that they were running around in diapers ... or that I was running outside to greet that baby horse.

The weird thing is, I'm still young. Twenty-seven, by most adult standards, is a far cry from being "old," and I'm really not much older than the girl in the magazine. So why am I suddenly feeling like a dinosaur? Could it be the increasing disconnect I feel toward everything that is "young and hip" by today's standards? Have I reached that age where my brain has become stuck in a certain generational time warp, never to evolve further? (Side note: I still don't have a Twitter account or smartphone. Take that, Generation Tech!)

Whatever it is, one thing's for sure: I've got a lot of life left to live. I might not be young and modern anymore, but these days "older and wiser" isn't looking so bad.