Owning My Shit: My Hoare-ible Habit

Standard

Sometimes we need to be called out on our own behavior to recognize that we have not been our best selves to the ones we care about the most. When this epiphany occurs, it is often a good idea to pull away with love to gain perspective, examine, and really work on the parts of us that need improvement.

And by us, I mean me.

Excuses be damned, I am not an easy person to love. I can be moody, snarky, and I can clutch onto resentments that should have long been dissipated. I am needy. I can be unequivocally selfish.

In short, I am human. I can admit my faults and wrongdoings, but I often fail to forgive myself. And apparently, I’m not quite as forgiving of others as I would like to believe. I am capable of forgiveness, but I don’t forget. And there are plenty of times that old wounds raise their ugly heads in my brain, and I subsequently dole out harsh and unfair punishments to those who’ve already paid the price.

This, I know, is unacceptable. It’s one of the things that I dislike most about myself. I hold grudges in the worst way. At the time, I truly believe that I’ve forgiven, and can move on. But in reality? I actually don’t. There are times when I may feel slighted in the most miniscule way, and my brain blows that shit up into a colossal offense. Especially if there is a history of past transgressions. I will often regurgitate my feelings, chew them up, and spew them out again and again. It’s awful.

Apologizing doesn’t always work. Especially when I am a repeat fucking offender.

For a long time, I’ve been unaware of this pattern. But then I get a swift kick in the arse that brings it all to light for me, clear as day.

BAM!

I’m an asshole.

I’m an asshole for doing things I really don’t want to do, and then expecting some kind of compensation that is impossible to repay. I’m an asshole because I have a sharp tongue, and I can say mean things. I’m an asshole for injecting myself into someone’s problems with the intention of helping them, only to eventually roll my eyes, and bitch that they’re dragging me into their bullshit later on down the road.

I’m an asshole because I don’t even fucking know the damage I do until it’s too late. I’ve destroyed many relationships with this behavior, and somehow find a way to justify my words and actions.

See? Asshole.

This needs to change.

At heart, I really do believe I am a good person. I love deeply, and I want to be the fixer of all the things. I want to be needed, and I want to be loved. I just have a fucked up way of showing it.

It takes a strong person to maintain a relationship with me. My loved ones are aware of my flaws, but they also know that they must tread lightly, lest they fall prey to my quick temper.. Sometimes it’s silence. Other times, it’s with cruel words that cannot be taken back or forgotten.

I’ve encountered enough assholes in my life that I think I eventually just turned into one as a defense mechanism. It’s my hard shell… It’s my way of maintaining control. It’s become my ultimate personality defect.

I’m working on being a better me. I really am. But in the meantime, I need to step away from some relationships that have turned toxic, both for myself, and those involved. I want to break that cycle, and removing myself from the equation is what seems right for all parties.

I think there will always be an assholey aspect to my personality. I mean, come on… I am a scorpio. I’m going to be a little bit of a bitch; it’s just who I am.

Big props to everyone who puts up with my shit, and still kinda like me. Love y’all!

~Hoare, xo

 

 

The Move, The Mancub, and The Mom: How My Son Staying Behind Is Torturing Me

Standard

I don’t want to talk about moving home to Florida.

I don’t want to talk about the sorting and chucking of household items that needs to take place before the move, nor do I want to discuss the massive clean that needs to occur before our final move-out date. All of those things are just part of the process. They’re standard bullshit that happen when you’re relocating.

However, one thing that I really don’t like discussing is the fact that my oldest son (20) is not moving with us. But it needs to be talked about, so here goes..

I get that he’s “grown”, and for all intents and purposes, he’s an adult. Really, I do. However, he’s never been on his own, and so the thought of leaving him behind to fend for himself is terrifying. I feel like a mama bear leaving her cub.

For the last few weeks, he’s been working inconsistently for a landscaping company. He makes $9/ hour and typically only works 3-4 days per week. This is not enough to live on.

We have a car for him sitting in the driveway, ready for him to take whenever he gets his license and can pay the insurance. We have furniture to give him, and several household items that will be needed when he moves in with his band-mate. BUT, is that going to be enough?

This is our concern, Dude. (Big Lebowski reference, ftw).

Let’s go over the reasons that he wants to stay here, ok?

1. He’s been in a band for the last year and a half. They’re pretty good, and continue to improve. They have a venue where they play for the afternoon/early evening crowd once every month or two. It pays nothing, but that’s not the point. It’s experience.

He’s formed real bonds with these guys, and they all get along amazingly well. This may not not mean much to the next person, but understand that prior to meeting them, he really had no friends. He was the loner kid who spent his lunchtime in the corner, reading or playing the guitar. He was the outcast that was teased relentlessly for his long hair and sub-par social skills.

So yeah, these friends mean a lot to him. They’ve helped him climb out of his shell, and have not only encouraged his art, but also helped build his self-esteem, which is huge.

I don’t want him to lose that. God knows, he needs it. Mama can praise him all day long, but he needs some alternate sources at this point in his life.

2. He has a girlfriend. “Molly” joined the band maybe 7 or 8 months ago. She and Mancub hit it off right away, and I guess it was around Christmas when he started coming home later than usual from practice… with hickeys on his neck to boot. As his mother, I warned him to be safe, but was thrilled he’d found a young woman he had a connection with, even if she is 4 years older. I was terrified that she was just a fling, but now it’s almost June.. And here we are. She’s a fixture at our house at least twice a week, and he spends most of every weekend with her.

I adore Molly. She’s an absolutely beautiful person inside and out, is a talented singer and guitar player, and most of all, she seems to truly love my son. Of course, he’s smitten, and they can barely keep their hands off each other. It’s adorable.

How could I even begin to ask him to leave that behind? Nope. No way. I remember getting married for the first time at 19 because I was “in love”, and there’s nothing and no one that could have talked me out of it. I won’t even try to convince Mancub that there are other fish in the sea, and that he needs to follow Mama.

No.

3. He hates Florida. He hates the heat, he hates the beach, he hates the rednecks, and he hates the fact that aside from his grandparents, he has no one to go back to. What is drawing him there? Nothing.

I can’t argue with that.

Do I want him to come home with us? Christ, yes! However, how can I force this 20 year old man to leave what he has convinced himself is the best thing he’s had in his life, thus far?

No. I can’t.

Look, I’m his mother. I’m always going to be here for that kid. ALWAYS. If he needs money, I’ll send it. If he needs to come home, he’ll have a room. I won’t put him out any more than I’d put any of my children out.

He needs to make a start at his independence. He needs to find the confidence to live on his own, and what better way to find it than to take the plunge?

Again, I’ll be there to ease his transition to full adulthood to the best of my abilities, and if this isn’t the right time, he’ll come home. My oldest (Mini Me) left home to join the Navy three years ago. Had shit not worked out for her, she would have been welcome here, or I would have helped her out. Our door will always be open. God knows, I returned to the nest more than once.. with kids in tow. I would be a hypocrite if I left my kid to twist in the wind. That’s never going to happen, not with any of them.

So, if you would be so kind as to send some positive vibes, prayers, or cash his way, I’d be thrilled. 😉 But seriously… keep him in your thoughts. He’s a young man with a vision, and a talent. I know, no matter what, he’ll make me proud.

~Hoare xo

I Love the Body I’m In: Why I Don’t Diet

Standard
I Love the Body I’m In: Why I Don’t Diet

The last time I stepped onto a scale, I weighed in at 221 lbs. I’m not afraid to say it aloud, or type it out for the internet to see. As much as society would like for me to be ashamed, I’m not.

I’m not in denial. I’m not delusional. I just happen to love who I am, inside and out.

I haven’t always been fat. As a child, I was extremely thin. I can remember being embarrassed that I didn’t carry a little more weight. I envied the girls who had more meat on their bones. I always thought they were more aesthetically pleasing to the eye and the hand. Who wants to hug and caress a boney frame? Women should be soft. Curvaceous. The “fat girls” that I knew all seemed so much more confident than I was, at least on the outside. They were fun and fearless. Larger than life. I was a shy, insecure waif. I wanted to be more like them.

Breasts and a backside eluded me until I reached 13 or 14. Almost overnight, I went from Boney Maroney to Jenny from the Block. I embraced my body, and was proud of the developments that were taking place beneath my clothes. I spent hours in the mirror studying each soft curve, until I was teased by certain male family members. The changes in my body that were completely natural and expected were suddenly mocked and shamed. And so it began… decades of insecurity and modesty, all stemming from “good-natured jokes”.

As I entered adolescence, I became painfully aware that possessing a rounder, more ample body was not desirable. If I wanted to fit in (and get the boys’ attention) I was to retain a more slender physique. According to women who were thinner and wiser than me, I should prepare myself for a lifetime of calorie counting and exercise classes, lest I wind up fat and alone.

Over the years, I allowed that narrative to take control of my mind and my life. I have binged, purged, starved, and exercised until I could no longer move. I’ve watched my waistline expand and shrink, and expand again. And while the confidence I gained during those shrunken phases felt undeniably awesome, it was fleeting. Being thinner didn’t make me feel better about me, necessarily. I mean, sure.. I felt pretty good about my appearance, but the self-loathing and lack of confidence were still present. When I ditched the pounds, I held onto my poor self-esteem. Sadly, there isn’t a diet plan on the market that can build your self-worth. That has to come from within. I would muddle through depressions, suffer abuse, and endure humiliation after humiliation before I learned that lesson.

Fast forward..

I am now 43 years old. I have three grown children, a loving husband, and, for the first time in my life, the confidence to feel beautiful regardless of the numbers on a scale or the tag of my jeans. When I look in the mirror, I see a goddess. Every curve, each roll, and every stretch mark tell my story. My body and my appearance have little to do with my successes or failures, but are still a part of who I am.

For the first time in ten forevers, I embrace ALL of me.

I like to think that I eat a semi-healthy diet most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I still indulge in cheeseburgers and pizza when the mood strikes. Ya get one shot on this wild ride; I intend to enjoy it. And if I have to eat a bunch of tasteless, healthy crap in order to live longer, then I’ll take my chances.

I applaud my friends and family members who’ve either gone vegetarian or vegan. I really do. I think it’s admirable that they’ve got the discipline to commit to such a drastic lifestyle change. Me? Not so much. However, whatever you do, do not preach to me about my weight and think that you are somehow “helping” me by offering your unsolicited opinions about my health/size, etc.. You come off sounding like a condescending jerk.

Even worse are those who are maybe slightly overweight at best, but LOVE to complain to me about it. You know, as if by being a Big Girl myself, I can surely understand their plight. Look, I get it.. Anyone can feel uncomfortable in their skin, even if that person is, by all societal measures, considered thin. However, when you prattle on and on to someone who clearly outweighs you, I promise… you just sound like an asshole. Save it for your therapist, your doctor, or someone thinner than me.

As for my health, well.. that’s between my physician and me. However, I can tell you that I am not diabetic, not even close. My cholesterol levels are well below the normal limit. While my blood pressure has spiked on an occasion or two, it’s consistently normal. I’m healthy.

If you have been shamed into believing that you are the sum of your weight, and nothing more, take heart. I can’t tell you that you’ll eventually grow a bunch of confidence overnight. I can’t tell you that people will always judge you by your character, and not by the size and shape of your body. They will.

People still judge me based on my size. Every now and then, I overhear comments from friends and strangers alike, some of them very mean-spirited. But guess what? It says more about who they are, and less about who I am. I have zero fucks to give about people and their rudeness. Karma is a meaner bitch than I’ll ever be.

While the douche-cocks of the world are busy fat shaming, I’ll be over here working on building a better me from the inside out.

And I don’t give a shit if I never lose a pound in the process.

Hoare

xo

Hey White People: A Guide For Not Being A Dick

Standard

You know what white people hate talking about? Race.

As a result of some of the bullshit comments I’ve seen coming from some of my fellow white folks today in light of the uprising in Baltimore, I feel a need to say some shit. Here goes…

Don’t get me wrong, I know that there are plenty of white people out there (myself included) who can 1). acknowledge that white privilege exists, and 2). understand that race and culture overlap, and as a result help define us as individuals. However, there are even more white people who are having none of that. They want to believe that they are “colorblind” and don’t want to hear any of their African American friends speak out about their Blackness, and the issues that stem from being black in our society.

Sshhhhh… We are ALL the same INSIDE! Let’s not upset the applecart by focusing on RACE.

Well, at the risk of pissing a lot of white people off, I disagree. I think white people should be talking about race, or more accurately, white people should be listening to people of color talk about race.

Whenever there is a discussion about race, I pay attention, whether it’s at work, or on Facebook. I take note, I read comments, and I try to understand where people are coming from.

I honestly think that most white people really do want to get along and live side by side with people of color. Of course we do! No one wants to be pegged as the racist white asshole. That’s really not the case. And I don’t know of one of my white friends who have said anything horribly racist.

What I have discovered is that most white people just don’t want to hear their black friends talking about their people and the issues that plague them. OMG. We are all the same people!

Um, no. We are not.

I’m not black. I’m not latino. I’m not asian. I’m as white as they come. I have no fucking clue what it’s like to be a person of color in this world, let alone in this country. And I don’t pretend to.

BUT. When there are videos of unarmed black people being killed, I can’t pretend that it’s a fluke. I can’t logically tell myself that it’s random.

It’s not.

Black people, especially black men, are being killed like they’re fucking in season. It’s getting ridiculous. So when there are protests and riots that lead to violence and destruction, hey… I’m not shocked or angry, OK? It’s historical behavior for people of any culture to create unrest when there is injustice. Read a fucking book.

That being said, I have no clue, really. I am just a middle-aged white chick with an opinion. I see what is going on in the media, and in this country. I work with people who are harassed daily because of their appearance, regardless of race. I recognize that simply by being white, I am given a leg up when it comes to things like jobs… or credibility. And while it might benefit me, I’d rather it didn’t. I want to be judged on my own accord, not my race… Just like everyone else. However, I’m not going to pretend that my white privilege doesn’t exist.

When a person of color speaks of the injustice that they are facing, here are some things NOT to do:

* Do NOT say that you have been followed around a store just like your black counterparts have. While you might get some looks, it’s not the same, OK?

* Do NOT try to say that we are all the same. We are not. Some of us are white, some black, some latino, some asian. We are all different. Our cultures are different. The way that we are perceived by the media and society at large are vastly different. You don’t know what others have dealt with or encountered. Don’t pretend to.

* Please, please don’t tell people of color that you know how they feel. Um, you DON’T. I don’t. Allow everyone to have their own experiences and believe/respect them.

Ok, now is the time that I expect a lot of people to talk mad shit about this post. Go ahead, tell me how you aren’t that person, and you don’t see color, blah blah blah.

This is totally just my perspective of how some white people react to things like the Trayvon Martin, Jordan Davis, Micheal Brown, Eric Garner, Freddie Gray murders, and others. And the protests/riots that have followed. You can say that you don’t understand the reactions, because of course you don’t… You’ve probably never been in a situation that warranted that sort of reaction. You’ve likely never seen your people killed without reason. You’ve likely never known what it is like to be pulled over for driving while black.

Neither have I.

All I’m saying is that we need to step outside our own perspectives, and realize that our reality does not always mirror that of our friends of color.

Again, I’m just a white chick with an opinion. I just observe and speak. Don’t mind me….

xo

 

 

 

 

 

 

Newton’s First Law: Inertia Is Real, Y’all

Standard

Ok, so it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted.  I started a new job a couple weeks back, so if I could use that as an excuse, that would be great.

The new job is amazing. I really, really love it. I actually enjoy being at work. How fucking weird is that? I guess after my last job experience, anything is a vast improvement, but this one really does make me feel like I’m contributing something. And that is everything to me.

In related news, it’s been quite an adjustment being back at work. For starters, trying to keep up with the housework has been pretty much impossible. I depend heavily on H to do the daily chores like dishes, vacuuming, bathroom cleaning, and the like. He’s a Godsend. Of course, I’ve bribed him with a monetary payout (as soon as I get a real paycheck), but he’s been amazing. There have been very few days in the last couple of weeks that I’ve come home to a mess. He’s good like that. I’m a lucky mum.

However, I’ve found that even though I’m completely tuckered out at the end of the work day, I’ve still got the energy (most days) to prepare dinner. Sometimes, I can even throw a load of laundry into the wash and see it through to the end. I must say, it’s odd to me because when I wasn’t working, I rarely had the energy to do jack shit.

And then I started to think about physics, and Newton.. and that whole inertia thing. It’s quite true, actually. A body in motion tends to stay in motion…  A body at rest tends to stay at rest. I’d been doing nothing BUT resting for the last year, and while I am obviously not cut out for physical labor, I do enjoy having a purpose. And when I come home, I feel revitalized at the end of the day somehow. It’s uncanny.

One of the best parts of my new job is that I’m not punching a time clock. Holy shit. This is like a first for me. I’ve always had the type of job where I had to be there at a specified time to clock in… I hate that. I’ve found that when I have the freedom to show up as needed, I tend to actually arrive earlier than I need to. What the fresh hell is THAT about? This is new.

I tend to my responsibilities at work as expected, and always seem to find more things to do. Sometimes, *gasp* I even stay late. Wait…. what? Who am I? It’s funny how you find yourself to be more dedicated when you are actually doing a job that you enjoy. Those rumors are definitely true, people.

When I was unemployed, I could go for days just sitting around in pajamas, and not giving two shits if I got things done. I would wait until an hour before Mr. Hoare got home from work to get dressed, and make it look as if I’d been productive, but I doubt I was fooling anyone.

Now? I tend to come home and do more in those few scant hours before bed than I did all day before… And then I crash out in the bed long before I ever would before. Hell, there were days when I wasn’t working that I’d stay up all night, drinking wine and talking to my girlfriends, and playing online… Just doing fuck-all. Now I am a little more mindful of how I spend my time.

I talk to the people who make time to talk to me. If you don’t call me or text me? Well, fuck you. I don’t have time to reach out anymore. I’ve become a firm believer that the people who want to be a part of your life will prove themselves. And if they don’t, there is your sign. Let ’em go.

Over all, being a contributing member to my household and society is turning out to be a very good thing for me. I have less time to worry about stupid crap.. And even the important crap. I’ve recently discovered that I have some health issues that are to be addressed in the near future. And while I realize that they do warrant my attention, they aren’t the focus of my life. There are other things and people who are more important. My life isn’t all about my little bubble anymore.. and I like it that way.

For now, I am just thrilled to be an object in motion. I don’t see myself slowing down anytime soon. And I’m OK with that.

 

Cheers!

~Hoare xoxo

 

 

WTF Wednesday

Standard

I’m too fucking tired and cranky to organize my thoughts into complete sentences, let alone paragraphs. So what you’re going to see here is a list of shit that made me this way…

1. Came extremely close to hitting a bunch of pedestrians outside the high school this afternoon. Apparently they think that walking into the middle of the fucking street in front of my moving vehicle is a guarantee that I will stop. Um, I did today… But next time the little assholes might not be so lucky.

2. I gave some jagoff the finger for parking in front of a stop sign, because duh…. that shit is illegal as fuck and he needed to know what I thought of his parking job. I’m sure he cared.

3. It was brought to my attention that The Puppy needed new soccer cleats because three weeks into the goddamn season and they’re already destroyed. For serious, y’all… They were barely a month old. After the clusterfuck at the school, the last thing I wanted to do was head to the mall and spend $$ on cleats, but I did.

4. While  at the mall, I happened to notice that H-Man’s Chuck Taylor’s were raggedy as hell. And while I get that he likes them that way, I have to be seen with him. So there was another shoe purchase. ($$$!)

5. Then H. needed a haircut because he looked like a homeless Beatle, and again.. I have to be seen with him.  (More $$$, you guys). While sitting at the salon, I noticed that my Birkenstocks were falling apart. Literally. I was leaving a trail of rubber chunks everywhere I walked. (Can you guess who did NOT get new shoes today?)  Those Birks have held up for over a decade now. I’ll wear them til my feet come through the soles.

6. I went to the grocery store at 6pm because I’m a masochist. This is when every psycho in town is also shopping. And they all have at least two short, loud, ankle-nipping kids running amok in the aisles. (Someone please explain to me how I had three kids, because I really don’t like children).

7. I cleaned out my fridge which was disgusting, and possibly violating health codes in about 40 states. Some of the containers didn’t make the cut.  They went directly into the trash because there was no way in hell that I was opening them, let alone cleaning them. I found some cantaloupe that I had cubed up back in mid-August, and I was able to salvage that particular container. That should give you a pretty good point of reference for the condition of my refrigerator. (We’re really not gross people,  I promise).

8. I bailed on cooking dinner tonight and had H. throw a frozen pizza in the oven. I’ve got a couch to hold down, and wine to drink. Fuck cooking.

9. We’ve had a house guest for the last week or so, and he left today. This means I can resume walking around the house bra-less and stay up as late as I want and drink as much wine as I want (Like I really curtailed my wine intake while he was here.. come on).

10. I walked around all day with a syrup stain on my sweater and a glob of that sticky glue shit that I peeled off the back of my new debit card in my hair. I also stepped in dog pee twice, so there’s that.

And how was your day?

-Hoare xo

 

Liebster Award

Standard

wpid-liebster2

I was nominated by my very funny fellow blogger over at  Life with the Bearded J’s for the Liebster Award. I’m not really sure what this award is, or how it came to be, but I’m honored nonetheless! Apparently, I’m supposed to answer some questions about myself in the body of this blog. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve received any sort of award for anything, so I’m pretty excited. Thanks for the nomination, Jenny! You are awesome!

I’ve got some pretty amazing readers. I don’t have thousands and thousands of followers, and that’s OK. I’m grateful for the ones who do read. The fact that anyone is interested in my life, let alone nominating me for an award, is an anomaly to me.

Ready for this? Ok, here we go….

1. What is your favorite pastime, aside from blogging?

Doing artsy crafty things. I like to draw, but I’m not very good at it. I also love painting, but I’m even less proficient with a paintbrush than I am with a pencil or a set of markers, which is why our home is like a craft supply graveyard where projects come to die. I’m not even gonna lie… these are things I enjoy the most, in no specific order:

1. NetFlix binge days on the couch in my pajamas

2. Hot wings, beer, good conversation, and tunes on the jukebox with Mr. Hoare.

3. Watching my H-man perform with his band while having a few beers and trying not to embarrass the shit out of him.

4. Chat sessions with my Best Girls (my friends, The Mama, and Mini Me).

5. Screwing around on Facebook.

6. Making my family laugh, and my family making me laugh.

These probably aren’t considered “pastimes”, but ask me if I give a crap.

2. If you could turn back the hands of time and do one thing differently in your life, what would it be and why?

I would have started/finished my education much sooner, I suppose. However, I try not to dwell on what could have been. Every decision that I’ve ever made has led me to where I am now, and I am pretty happy here. Regrets don’t get you anywhere.

3. What is your main goal that you want to accomplish with your blog?

The goal of my blog is to share my life experiences with hopes that others find something that they can relate to… whether it be something humorous, or something that elicits an emotion. I like to think of it as a tool to connect with people. I am not a super social person, so this is how I share.

4. If you could have lunch with one person, dead or alive, who would it be?

Right now? It would be The Mama. I miss her a bunch. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen her, and that’s too damn long.

5. What inspires you to write?

Life, death, happiness, sadness, anger… I guess just emotion in general. There are thoughts and feelings that I need to get out, and for me, writing is like draining a festering wound. Words are the way I draw out what eats away at me..  Sometimes that happens to be here on my blog, but some things I just need to write for myself- privately.

6. What is your blogging routine? How do you go about creating a new blog from beginning to end?

My routine is not having a routine! I tend to write on an as needed basis. However, when I start a post, I write it out, I edit, read it again, and then repeat. It can take anywhere from an hour to a couple of days from start to finish. Of course, this depends on how many glasses of wine I’ve had…

7. What is the one thing you want the blogging community to know about you?

Honestly, I can’t think of anything that I want them to know about me that they already don’t. I am an open book, and most of the bloggers that I interact with either read my blog regularly, or at least follow my Facebook page. So, um… one thing? Yeah, I got nothin’.

8. What is your fondest childhood memory?

Going to baseball games with my family. I’ve been lucky enough to see some of the greats play.  The crack of a bat hitting the ball, the energy of a crowd, the smell of hotdogs, beer, cotton candy, and roasted peanuts… All of my best childhood memories involve those things.

9. If you were not doing what you do every day (doing the same thing is not an option) what would you be doing? (for work or for fun). 

These questions are hella hard, y’all…. I honestly don’t know how to answer this one other than by saying I’d like to be working as a nurse in a place like Planned Parenthood, or another women’s clinic. Hell, I just want to get back to nursing, period. But because I’m not going to apply for my NY license when I’m about to move back to Florida, it’s gonna have to wait.

10. Describe your first *real* date, the one with no chaperones! 

It’s been so long, I really don’t even remember.. How sad is that?

 

OK, So I know it’s super lame, but I’m not nominating anyone. Yeah, I know… I suck. But really, some of my favorite bloggers were nominated by Jenny in her post, so it would just be repetitive for me to nominate them, too. Just know that y’all are all worthy of a thousand awards, and I am thankful for each and every person who stops by my blog, my page and comments, likes it, or just lurks quietly.

Big Love to YOU!

Hoare, xoxo

Official Rules of the Liebster Award

If you have been nominated for The Liebster Award and choose to accept it, you must write a blog post about the Liebster award in which you:

1. Thank the person who nominated you, and post a link back to their blog on your blog.

2. Display the award on your blog — by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or a “gadget” on your sidebar.

3. Answer the 10 questions about yourself provided to you by the person who nominated you.

4. Nominate 5 – 10 blogs that you feel deserve the award. (They must have a less than 1000 followers.)

5. Create a new list of questions for those bloggers to answer.

6. List these rules in your post (You can copy and paste from here.)

7. Once you have written and published it, you then must inform the people/blogs that you nominated and provide a link to your post so that they can learn about it (they might not have ever heard of it!)