junk in the trunk

222 hours.

I am pulling my hair out, which might be a good thing as I have already paid a hairdresser $35 for practice wedding hair - once to make me look like Shirley Temple and once like Carol Brady, only more "mullety". Either option is not good, so bald may be the answer I'm looking for. Works for my friend, Mr. Nagel. Suggestions anyone?

My house is a wreck. Every single minute of every day for the rest of this week is booked. My office looks like a hurricane in a florist shop. My cell phone battery is losing its "umph" and is starting to die on me halfway through my days. I have the same 3 Netflix movies I have had since April. I don't think we have been home one single night all summer, to which my husband will attest!

Sushi is wonderful, but birthday sushi is especially wonderful. We celebrated with the Darling's last night and laughed a bit. After Sushi we hit Sam's (isn't that where all significant birthday celebrations conclude?) and as we were leaving with the cart full of paper towels, dog food, etc., and heading toward Miss Donna, the very efficient "check your receipt" lady at the exit door, I told Kevin to go ahead to the car and see if there was junk in my trunk. No sooner had I spoken the phrase than I regretted this badly chosen, howevermuch appropriate, wording. The guys laughed entirely too much.

My daughter is sending me soft porn hoping I will purchase something suitably sexy, not slutty for her personal shower from the examples she is sending via email. Sort of a "What to Wear, What Not to Wear" kind of thing!

Oh, and one more thing. I cooked dinner one night last week at the Darling's house. There were 2 leftover strips of steak I didn't use, so I stuck them, still rare, in a baggie in their fridge. SEVERAL nights ago I grabbed them out of their fridge to take home to cook for the cowboy. I folded the baggie over and stuck the rare meat in my purse. And forgot about it. I found it today.

I love my life.

genghis khan and the red purse

Today I blog about Philip. I think Sara should blog the following stories, as Philip belongs to her, but she says I will tell it better. Oh, the pressure . . .

So, a few Sundays ago after worship was over, Philip needed something in the office. I was in the back of the worship center visiting with friends when he found me and asked for my office keys.

"They're in my purse up on the 3rd or 4th row," I resonded, "it's a red purse. Just dig through it 'til you find them."

Philip queried, "You don't mind me going through your purse?"

"Not at all!" I replied.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I'm not a really private person, at least not about most things.

Sandy, on the other hand, is.

So you can imagine her feelings of personal violation (apparently rendering her speechless) as she stood nearby and watched Philip pick up HER purse and pillage through it like Genghis Khan and the Mongol hordes ransacking the Great Wall of China (Metaphorically, I suppose Genghis wanted "the keys" to China, so I think the analogy works.) Needless to say, they were both embarrassed. I have since bought a green purse.

A week or so after the purse incident, Philip was leading worship. At the intro, he said, "Before we begin, let's sing Happy Birthday to someone really special," and he instantly began to lead as the crowd joined him.
"Happy Birthday to You"
"Happy Birthday to You"
"Happy Birthday Dear . . . "
And just as people are realizing they don't know whose name to insert here, Philip, standing grandly at the podium, raises both his arms and points to himself as he continues,
"Happy Birthday to ME"
"Happy Birthday to Me!"
It was hysterical. But maybe you had to be there.
Either way, I think everyone who knows him would agree that Philip really is someone special!

to be or not to be

The heightened sense of enthusiasm before a new school year is always fun. Lesson plans. Expectations. Lofty goals. The excitement of things to be learned and things to be taught. This year Kevin has quite a schedule. Together, he & I are doing Spanish 2, and Joshua/Judges for Bible. ReighAnne is teaching his chemistry and his Algebra 2/Geometry (in exchange for my teaching her 4th grader reading, spelling, grammar, vocabulary and critical thinking); for the co-op portion, Kelly is teaching a college writing course, Sandy has government, Marcia economics, and I have literature. This year's reading list is: And Then There Were None (because co-cop starts before the wedding is over and I need an easy-read at the beginning!); The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; The Picture of Dorian Gray; Lord of the Flies; The Old Man & the Sea; The Great Gatsby (which we complete just in time for the Jazz Program at the Carson Center); Brave New World; Hamlet; and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead. We're taking a "Human Nature in Literature" approach to this year's curriculum and I think it will be fun.

Now, the big question is: How do I give grades to six students based mainly on in-class participation?

Double O What?

So I texted Kacey yesterday and told her I needed a superhero idea, complete with costume.

She replied, "For Mystery Night?"

I responded with something that implied it might be put to use in some kinky fashion where her father was concerned. To which she replied, "AWKWARD!"

Once she started talking to me again, she gave me these ideas:

"You could be the Bubble Boy and blow bubbles at your enemies"

"Be the Coughing Queen. You cough up clues and attack your enemies with cough syrup."

So I suggested Grammar Girl - I correct your English and diagram sentences. She added, "Then you could make Kevin the Conjunction Munchkin." (But Kevin already has his Superpower and costume, so that won't work.)

Then I decided I liked "The Conjunctionator" - My superpower is that I connect sentences, and all I say all night is "SO?" "AND?" "OR?". She said, "That's no good. You think it's amusing, but the kids won't think it's that funny. You need something sillier. If you want to be the GrammarNazi and dress up like Hitler and carry around diagrams . . . THAT's funny. All your military awards could be punctuation marks and you could tell people your mustache is a dash."

I told her she was freakin' hilarious.

Next she suggested,
"You could be the Bunny Hopper. You solve all the world's problems with a silly dance."

"The Juicer. Walk around calling everybody 'Lemonhead' and squeeze them for information. You could put one of those fruit things on your head."

"Be the Weggie Meister and walk around giving everybody weggies."

Then I suggested the Purpler . . . sneak around trying to hold everybody's hand. (It's a Camp Barnabas thing. Boys are blue. Girls are pink. The two should never make purple at camp!)

She said, "Be The Connector and give all your clues in connect-the-dots."

I told her she used to be freakin' hilarious.

"Okay, you could be The Pea Shooter with obvious implications."

"You could be Alpha Bravo and spell everything you say. When they ask what your real name is, tell them 'double O - the letter, not the number."

Okay, she's hilarious again.

"Be The Tangler and go around messing up everybody's hair. You can vanquish your enemies with aerosol hairspray."

"Be The Pickler and carry around a bottle of vinegar."

"Be a Musketeer and spray everybody with musk."

My personal favorite superhero is The Invisible Boy from Mystery Men - he's only invisible when no one else is looking . . .

It's time for the happy pills

I'm losing it. Seriously. I'm loopy from stress. I'm likely to cry for no reason, and I'm unable to process anything unrelated to the matrimonial event. Driving has become a near disaster. I'm turning the wrong way onto one-way streets, backing up without looking (and almost running over a cyclist), texting while driving (yep!), and turning north to St. Louis when I should have been going west. (You'd think the setting sun in my left window would have been an indication of a navigational error on my part, but again, I'm loopy.) If I hadn't been through this once before after the death of my sister, I'd be really worried, but I know it will pass. And SOON - 23 pre-wedding days to go.

I made the mistake of glancing over the "wedding checkbook" a few days ago and that did not help the stress level. And most of the BIG things still have to be paid for - photography, caterer, and rental items.

The guest list has climbed to 174 as of today, and I feel we will see several more in the mail before the week's end. At 8 people per table and a venue that will hold maybe 24 tables . . . well, you do the math. If you are helping with the wedding in any capacity, all I can say is . . . you better wear comfortable shoes 'cause it's gonna be a long night of standing! :o)

As for me, I've decided to go barefoot. That decision was reached after we shoe-and-jewelry shopped for 12 hours last weekend, and I came home empty-handed because I am apparently insane. (Reference paragraph #1) I think my Skechers flip-flops and a really good pedicure will be just fine . . .

I can assure you of two things: the bride is BEAUTIFUL, and the food is going to be amazing! Key Lime/Dark chocolate mini-cakes, cheesecake tarts, pistachio cream cupcakes, mint brownie bites, decadence biscotti, key lime cookies, truffles, mango/coconut patties, and 3 chocolate fountains (dark, milk & white) surrounded by fruit. And, hopefully, the wedding will be different enough to be memorable . . . including an explosive grand finale! I love being a non-traditionalist.

It's 4:15, so I'm off to the mall to shoe shop on my own. If you should find me wandering in circles muttering to myself, please call the men in the little white uniforms.

mosaic me

too much for my little brain

So just how involved is God in all of this? Is His hand in everything? Nothing? Just the "big stuff"? Just the things "for kingdom purposes"? Regardless of where you are on the deism scale, there is no denying that God allows suffering in this world. (No, that wasn't His original intent . . . ) Does He have the ability to eliminate suffering. Absolutely. Does He choose not to? Well . . . here's where it gets sticky, huh? Does He choose to heal you and not heal me? (And if so, why?) Does He keep His hands out of it and allow "nature" to take its course? (And if so, what's the point in prayer?) Does He work only in the big things and not in the small things? (If "yes", then where is the dividing line between big and small?) Or bigger yet, does He choose to "bless me" in small ways while 18,000 children die of hunger every day?

And what about all those "God things"? You know, the job you got because you were in the right place at the right time and knew the right people. Or the $400 you gave a friend who really needed it, only to get an unexpected check in the mail that very week for the same amount. Are they really "God things" or just big coincidences? (For you Seinfeld fans: "There are no big coincidences and small coincidences, only coincidences!")

If Deism is a "1" on the scale, what I believe about God falls nothing short of a "10". I believe He saturates everything. I don't believe anything is too trivial for His attention. Yes, I think sometimes He chooses not intervene because: a) we need to learn something (like patience or frugality); or b) the result doesn't matter (which job, which house, which school - it's not about the choices so much as it is about WHO you are in those choices).

No doubt, He allows suffering - sickness, starvation, poverty, depression, death. He could prevent suffering (if not, then how can He be God?), but chooses not to because . . . ??? And if he can prevent it, but chooses not to, is that the same thing as causing suffering? (Ex: Your hand is on the doorframe. I walk up and slam the door on your hand. OR Your hand is on the doorframe. Someone else bumps the door and it begins to close on your hand. I see this happening. I can stop it, but choose to let the door slam on your hand anyway. The first one is "caused", the second one is "allowed". But if I have the ability to prevent it and don't, isn't it pretty much the same thing?)

All of this causes me to ask lots of questions in my little brain. Questions I can't answer. Questions that either build faith or nullify it. Pretty deep for a Tuesday morning when I should be working on wedding plans. . .

when imaginary friends won't play with you . . .

When I was posting a couple of weeks ago about Kacey's first camp experience, I mentioned her imaginary friends. Before I get too far removed from that post to remember, let me tell the story . . .

Until Kacey was almost 7, she was an only child. Now, it's pretty "normal" for only children to create imaginary friends, and Kacey was no exception. Her "playmates" joined our family when she was around 4: Sam, Julie, and another girl or two I don't remember. I heard their names often as I listened to her play "make believe".

One day, after Sam & Julie had been part of our family for a couple of years, I walked by Kacey's bedroom and listened to her playing. She was talking to completely different "friends"! Sam & Julie were not mentioned. So I stuck my head in and asked, "Where are Sam & Julie?" Kacey replied, "They wouldn't do what I wanted, so I had to get new friends."

In retrospect, maybe therapy would have been a good idea. I mean, what does it say about you when your IMAGINARY friends won't play with you???

delusions of (summer camp) grandeur

I am going to camp on Saturday! Nine hours in a van filled with noisy kids. Seven days as a cabin co-counselor for 8 and 9 year old girls. Heat. Mosquitos. Uncomfortable beds. The smell of sweaty teenage boys permeating everything. Can I just say . . . I CAN’T WAIT! Kacey has wanted me to go to camp every year since she was 12 and this year apparently Jupiter has aligned with Mars and I am South Carolina-bound! Kevin, I might add, is not as excited as his sister. There is something innately uncool to a 15-year-old “guy” (‘cause he’s not a “boy” anymore) about his mom going to camp with him. I will try not to embarrass him more than a couple of times every day.

So, a few weeks ago, Kacey bought me, what she referred to as “the coolest Mother’s Day Gift of all time!” - a camp survival kit: Red sweatshirt, red mini-hairdryer, red water bottle, red electric fan, red rain poncho . . . you get the idea. Now, the gift itself could definitely not be considered the coolest of all time, it is the sentiment behind it that makes it cool. Maybe I should tell the whole story. It all started the summer before we left Jackson . . .

Kacey was a wee little thing. Seven to be exact, and she was going to camp for the first time. (Not PBC, but one a bit closer to home.) She was uber-excited. Talked about it every day. See, Kacey has never known a stranger. Every time we walked out the front door she would make a new friend. (Not counting her imaginary friends, but that is a VERY different story suitable for another blog day.) So camp was right up her alley. New friends, swimming, activities, singing. So, being the “cool mom” that I am, I got her all matching stuff for camp. I bought pink and yellow towels to match her pink sheets and the yellow blanket with pink buttons sewn on the top side that I made for her. We bought a pink rubbermaid container to use in place of a suitcase.

And then there were the practical things. I taught her how to do her own hair, ponytail style. We worked on it for days and days so she could get it just right and be the cutest little angel at camp. I also rolled her clothes so they wouldn’t wrinkle, and marked them according to each day. Shorts and tops rolled together with clean undies on the outside (so they could be easily gotten the night before because she would be showering each night before bed, per my instructions, thus keeping her sheets and her pj’s clean all week). Anyway, her clothes were rolled into 6 little rolls, one for each day of the camp week and secured with matching socks and scrunchies to complete her ensembles. It was going to be a perfect week.

Sunday afternoon came, and we drove to camp and got her registered. At 112 degrees fahrenheit with 99% humidity, I opted not to stay the afternoon, but to let her go on and do her own thing. As I told her we were leaving, a look of panic swept over her face. “You’re not going to stay???” No, honey, mommy is going home, but I will be back to pick you up on Friday evening. (Minor detail. What we have here is a failure to communicate. I ASSUMED she knew I wasn’t staying the week. She assumed I would be playing Tonto to her Lone Ranger in the bunk below her.) As I got in the car and backed up, I caught my baby’s face in the rear view mirror . . . crying. CRYING??? My baby doesn’t cry. Oh, what kind of mother am I???? But in my heart I KNEW she was going to love camp. I blew her a kiss and I was off. I sent her goofy letters all week. Some written backwards that she would have to read in the mirror. Some in multiple envelopes with only one word per page. I even sent her ice in a baggie so she could “stay cool”.

Friday evening did not arrive any too soon. I drove up the gravel road, envisioning my daughter running to meet me (wearing the cute little navy and green polka-dot fish outfit that was labeled for Friday with her hair neatly ponytailed). Instead, she was nowhere to be found. I checked the pavilion, the dining hall, the tennis court . . . but no. So I went to her cabin to begin loading her things into the car. And they were just as I suspected. Neat. Clean. Pink rubbermaid box tightly closed . . . with all her clothes still inside neatly folded and scrunchy-wrapped! I stuck my head out of the cabin door just in time to catch a glimpse of somebody’s nasty little child wearing . . . wearing the same clothes that Kacey was wearing when I dropped her off on Sunday!!! Only this child had matted hair and a grubby face and she was wearing a cap that she had made in the craft shack. She could have served as the poster child for "Save the Children". Her first words to me were not, "I missed you, Mommy!" nor were they "Boy am I glad to see you!" . . . they were simply, “Can I stay another week?!”

Needless to say, she loved camp. I knew she would. She continued to love it 12 or 13 more times. I think by the second year she even showered and changed clothes a time or two. Now it’s my turn. I haven’t been to camp since my counselor years during college, and Kacey has made it come full circle for me. Instead of the pink towels and sheets and rolled up scrunchies, I have an “all red camp survival kit” - the coolest Mother's Day gift of all time. And the coolest daughter a mom could hope for. (Oh, and Kacey, I bought myself a red suitcase to complete the ensemble. I knew you'd be proud.)

creatively untitled

Driving Me Crazy
I am a relatively laid-back and patient person. Relatively. Why is it that traffic makes me crazy? I find myself wanting to yell at slow drivers. Sometimes, I find myself ACTUALLY yelling at slow drivers. Sometimes I even applaud them. And while I am, by nature, a sarcastic person, I am not, by nature, a yeller. (Unless you count the ONE TIME I yelled at Kevin when he was emptying the dishwasher. He was about 5 years old. The kids remind me of this story often. Not one of my shining moments as a parent, so I would like to take this opportunity to say to my kids, "Let it go! It was like 10 years ago!") Anyway, sometimes I yell at slow drivers. Yes, I know they can’t hear me. No, it doesn't make me feel better. Kinda makes me feel petty and . . . impatient. If I get behind a slow driver when I turn onto the highway from my house and get stuck behind him until the road becomes a 4-lane, and the little blue-haired lady who is somebody's sweet grandma is driving 10 miles under the speed limit, I am losing a grand total of like 12 seconds on my way to work. Twelve seconds. For this I get impatient??? I’m clearly an idiot.

Batman vs. Dirty Clothes

I’ve been spending WAY too much time (Kevin, that’s “TOO much time”, not “to much time”) contemplating the whole Batman vs. Superman thing. I think I understand why MOST of the men in my life prefer Superman. . . they are jealous of the fact that he can undress anywhere and just leave his clothes scattered around without getting nagged.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Yeah, It's Yea
For all you bloggy, texty people: the word is spelled “Yea” not “Yay”. Yay is not a word. The Grammar Nazi strikes again.

It's a Girl Thing
Why is it pronounced "Guy-necology"? Just wondering . . .

It's Not Just for Football
Monday nights are awesome for one basic reason: clean sheets. I always wash my sheets on Mondays 'cause it's my day off. But there is nothing like crawling into smooth, clean, cool, Bounce-smelling sheets and drifting off to sleep. Especially if the cowboy is working night shift. :o)

my left foot

Copy machines and printers. They make me want to behave in not-so-nice ways. My office printer lies. Every time I command a print job, my lovely HP All-in-One printer/scanner informs me it is out of paper, or that the ink cartridge is stalled. Neither of the above is ever true. So I click “GO” again, and it works like a charm . . . except when it feeds through ALL my paper at once, causing a jam of armageddon proportions.

My computer is also networked to the laser printer in Melissa’s office . . . when it wants to be. On Thursdays it generally takes a break from normal function and prints whatever I command . . . in triplicate. (Must have belonged to the military in a former life.) Anyway, it makes me crazy. Today I tried to print photo collages. It only wanted to print yesterday’s bulletins, even though I cancelled that job three times. Picture Jane Fonda in "9 to 5" in the copy room on her first day of work. Never would print the photo collages.

Then there’s the copy machine. Demon-possession in a mechanical case. It only knows one command: PAPER JAM. But at least it tries to be helpful when it malfunctions. The Xerox E-Studio35 provides endless cartoon drawings of all possible areas where paper can become jammed within the various locations of extractable parts. Flip, flip, pull, slam, click, whack, lock, and it should be back in business, right? Not so easy. After breaking down all of the suggested sections of the machine, plus kicking it twice with my left foot, the paper jam will still remain. And it is not discriminatory - it jams for everyone at church. The funny thing is (apparently because my office is closest in walking distance to this technological monster) everyone assumes I know what’s wrong with it and how to fix it! If they knew my ineptness (or is it ineptitude?) with all things mechanical they wouldn't even bother asking for my assistance. I mean, I still use a hand-crank can opener, for crying out loud! Can somebody just buy me some carbon paper, please?

batman vs. superman

My top ten reasons why Batman is better than Superman:

10: Michael Keaton, George Clooney, Val Kilmer, and Christian Bale...vs. Christopher Reeves? What?

9: Flying car vs. red cape.

8: (For all you green people) Batman uses the resources that he has in his possession to create enough power to save the world. Superman...works at the newspaper...a business that kills thousands of trees every day. Beat that.

7: Batman fights poverty, oppression and the abuse of underground druglords. Superman just repeatedly rescues Lois from her own stupidity...and occassionally he prevents some car accidents. But seriously, he's only had one arch nemisis. How much can you do after you've killed Lex Luther?

6: Alfred. Need I say more...

5: Batman is not an avenger. He chooses to continue in the path his father began, to help the poor and oppressed of his society. When his mother and father were killed, he rose up to restore the society that forced people into the murderous lifestyles they had fallen into. Do we need a lesson in repentance and forgiveness???

4: Batman dresses in black. Like Johnny Cash, and the Men in Black - he makes that look gooooooood. Superman looks like he woke up at the circus.

3: Batman actually has a good disguise. You can't REALLY tell who he is when he has his costume on. Superman just takes his glasses off and puts some more gel in his little curl. Besides, now that there are no more phone booths, what does he do? Run into the nearest AT&T store????

2: Superman isn't really a superhero. He just came from a planet where they apparently had a lot more gravity.

1: Last but not least, HOLY TOLEDO BATMAN! He kicked Arnold's butt. Which means, he could technically take over California...but more importantly, Batman whooped up on Mr. Universe.


Now, the boys in my life all think Superman is the better choice, but they're entitled to be wrong. Besides, Mike is biased toward the Clark Kent/Superman dual persona . . . judge for yourself:

kool and the gang said it best . . .

C-E-L-E-B-R-A-T-E!

This has been a week of celebrations!

Sara's birthday was yesterday, though for Sara a birthday is a week-long event. Twenty-four hours is clearly just not enough time to acknowledge all that is "Sara"!

Greg's birthday was Tuesday, so he and Sara are practically twins (if you ignore the fact that Greg was a high school graduate by the time Sara entered the world!) We celebrated by inducting Greg into pop culture - we bought him an iPod. (The music he listens to, however, keeps him firmly rooted in the last century!)

This coming Sunday is Mother's Day. And while I am not a proponent of Nationally-forced holidays, nor to any event which encourages the wearing of flowers on one's lapel, I'm crazy about my mom and I'm crazy about being a mom, so this alone gives us reason to celebrate. Only I'm cooking for Mother's Day . . . the biggest "eating out" day of the year. But that's why I'm cooking - no long restaurant waits for us!

The biggest celebration of this week was Kacey's college graduation.
Wow. She did it and I'm so proud! She worked part-time her entire four years and kept her GPA in the 3.2something range (though it's a good thing she was only required to take 3 hours of biology!) She earned her bachelors in journalism (just like her mommy!) with minors in Bible and Geek . . . I mean Greek.

Graduation itself was fascinating. Truly. We were able to park within 3 miles of the arena, so the invigorating hike through the muddy construction-laden campus in dress shoes was worth the price of admission. The event began with the introduction of the Class of '58. Then the introduction of the new pharmacy professors. Then the introduction of the faculty. Then the introduction of all the deans. Then the recognition of all the grandparents. And parents. And siblings. And next-door-neighbors. And pets. (And they never once mentioned future in-laws, though Kacey's wonderful ones were there in full force with even the baby in tow!)

Then came the bagpipes . . . always the anticipatory-symbol of great things to come. Next somebody who is supposed to be somebody said something about other somebodies who have gone sometime before and how they need some more financial assistance to build something to honor this someone who used to be somebody. All in all, a riveting speech.

Then (drumroll please), they began announcing the graduates, in alphabetical order by type of degree, Master's first . . . Abigail Aaimes, Allison Abingdon, Abu Abu Abong, (which Greg said in his native Arab-based language translates: "come here, come here, COME HERE!") Andrea Adams, Andrew Adams, Amy Adamson, Bradley Adamson, Andrew "Andy" Andrews in absentia, Charles C. Andrews . . . and since there were only about 500 of them, this part flew by like slugs on a freeway. Finally, and with hightened enthusiasm on the part of the 11 onlookers who came to acknowledge this great milemarker in my daughter's life, her name was called. From our seats in the back of the arena she looked like tinkerbell in mourning, so we solemnly watched her march across the portable stage, shake the hand of somebody who is somebody, receive an empty diploma cover . . . AND she accomplished all this in strappy black heels without tripping over potted ferns and lost tassels even once. Amazing.

I am seriously proud of my baby girl. Check out the video (complete with cheesy midi-file "Pomp and Circumstance" music!) She's so preeeeeety!

alpha male revisited

A new day, a new conquest.


Note:
Kevin is still wearing the same shirt.

happy blogday

My baby is a year old! My blog baby, that is. Posted my “100 things” list on April 28, 2007. So, here’s what has transpired in the past 366 days:

Kevin starred in “Wilma’s Revenge” at Market House Theatre. (He played the annoying brother - wasn’t exactly a dramatic stretch for him.)

The cowboy began his post-retirement career, so, if you count his pension, Kacey’s job at the library, Kevin’s lawn-mowing endeavors, and, of course, my jobs, we became a sextuple-income family.

I was privileged to be part of Titus M.’s precious entrance into this big world,
during which time his laboring mother told me, “I hate you. I mean it. This is not funny.”

I became a literature/writing teacher for the high school and middle school co-op, and re-read several great classics like “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Silas Marner”.

I became a coffee drinker. Okay, a warm-milk-with-coffee-in-it drinker, but still . . .

I got a new purse.

We got to "vacation" in an aluminum shoebox while the cowboy competed in the Extreme Mustang Makeover in the big city of Fort Worth.

I shaved Mike’s neck - not once, but twice. (Quite possibly the most exciting events
of my entire year.)

Nathan fell in love with my daughter, and, I’m very happy to say, vice-versa.

Kevin resumed drum & guitar lessons.

I relinquished my Amish status and got a cell phone.

I learned to love dogs. Well . . . maybe that's a stretch. I learned to tolerate Topaz the wonder pooch and I even find it endearing that he brings me his toy so I will play with him when I go to "his house".

Kacey graduates next Saturday - no more tuition!!! (As I'm sure Kevin will receive a full scholarship for academics . . . or Guitar Hero.)

I discovered sushi. Which, I assume, was much like the discovery of oil: disgusting at first, but upon further investigation, absolutely essential to the quality of my life.

We are planning a wedding for the end of the summer.


You know, they say if you don't write these things down, you will forget. Maybe I should keep a journal . . .

i am both addicting and hilarious . . . you should read my blog

Over the pasts few months I have been made aware that at least 30 people I know read my blog on a semi-regular, if not regular, basis. This is both flattering and humbling, and leads me to ask one question, “Don’t you people have a life?”

It’s not like mine is all that intriguing. Come on. I blog about my latest purse, my lack of sleep, and my text conversations with Sara.
Truly, my life is way less than fascinating. I mean, this week’s highlight was a short-lived, Thursday-morning fantasy when Matt Lauer wore glasses on the Today Show. . .

But, in all honesty, I want you to read my blog. I do. I really do. Why else would I spend so much time exaggerating, finding new ways to elevate sarcasm, quoting people out of context, and taking pictures of Mike? (Who, apparently, is too ashamed to admit it he reads my blog, since he never comments.) Because I’m a dedicated blogger, doggone it! Just read your reviews and see for yourself:

Susan said... You write so beautifully

Lesli said... I love you & I love hearing your stories.

thruchildeyes said... Okay, you didn't warn me this was a tear jerker! Where are the tissues?

Sandy said . . . “we are so much alike. But you're funnier...”

thruchildeyes said... Haha! You're hilarious. Reading your blog is quite stress-relieving.

Janjanmom said... For the record, I've enjoyed the chapters of your thousand-chapter-self that you have slowly shared with me.

Maude said … I've been lurking for a while and have been really enjoying your blog.

Kacey Leigh said... Freaking hilarious.

thruchildeyes said... You are too funny. I love it.

Sara said … I laughed out loud while reading this.

thruchildeyes said... That is hilarious.

Sara said... This is really fun!

thruchildeyes said... I love this post.

Priss said … “Just wanted to let you know that I am addicted to your blog. You're just sooooo funny.”

thruchildeyes said... That is hilarious. I love the train of comments - makes me feel like part of the family.

Kevin said... you're the devil.

Kacey Leigh said... I am neither time consuming, nor nauseating.

MichaelPolutta said... Every snooze button I have ever had was 9 minutes.

. . . just 18 good reasons you should continue reading my blog. To borrow a couple of lines from Sally Field and the greatest Academy Awards acceptance speech of all time, “You like me. You really like me.”

Thanks for reading. It’s been a fun first year.

testosterone and the 5 love languages . . . . . . . . . . (subtitled: "Them's fightin' words!")

According to Dr. Gary Chapman, there are Five Love Languages:
1) Words of Affirmation
2) Quality Time
3) Receiving Gifts
4) Acts of Service
5) Physical Touch

I would like to add a sixth: Wrestling

This is how "the boys" show their affection for each other.

Yes, this happens daily.

If you don't believe me, notice that Mike's shirts are all different.
(Kevin's are not. He is 15. He owns 25 shirts. He only wears 3 of them.)

Kevin usually initiates the daily wrestling match and then ALWAYS claims, "He started it!"

You will note, however, that Mike is clearly the dominant male and proud of it. (Likely has something to do with the fact that he has a "man truck".)

tuesday top ten . . .

Top 10 Reasons I am a Bad Mother:

10) General response to my own children’s pain and suffering:
“Suck it up, weenie.” If there are no broken bones or blood you aren’t really hurt. (Now, in all fairness to me, I don’t treat anyone else this way, just my kids.)

9) I used to save $12 a month by making Kevin stand in the bathtub in his underwear so I could give him a “my mom cut my hair” haircut. (I'm sure he'll be thrilled I shared that information.)

8) I post embarrassing pictures and blog about embarrassing things my kids do (reference #9). Their humiliation is your entertainment.

7) I used to occasionally send my kids to their room as discipline. “No toys. No music. Just sit on your bed and think about what you’ve done.” Then I would forget about them. Literally. Sometimes a couple of hours would pass and I’d hear this small little “Whoville” voice from the back of the house, “m. . . o. . . m?” Of course, I always played it off as if I’d meant to leave them there. Can’t have my children thinking I’d made a mistake.

6) The words “Me and my friends” will never be uttered from their mouths without some form of chastisement - according to Kevin, I am the Grammar Nazi.

5) My kids are required to make their bed. Every day. I rarely make my bed. Yes, I know. Hypocrite. And up until now you thought I was perfect?

4) When my kids play video/computer games I go behind them and play obsessively until I beat their high scores. Even if it’s a game I don’t like to play. (Ever wonder why my kids are so obnoxiously competitive?)

3) No wire hangers! (Just kidding.) But no play-doh in the house. Ever.

2) When they became “big kids” (around 13), I would try to make them hold my hand when we would go to public places like Wal-Mart. (Which, I might add, they NEVER did.) When they refused to hold my hand, I would sing. Loudly.

. . . and the #1 reason I'm a bad mother:

1) My kids are twitchy. When people move toward them, they flinch like abused puppies ducking a rolled-up newspaper. I’m not sure what this means, but it can’t be good.

i feel the earth move . . .

Maybe the best Carole King song of all time took on a different meaning this morning as the 5.2 earthquake shook me awake. I have experienced so many (having lived in Alaska four year) that now I just enjoy them like a theme park ride. (Envision me lying on my back in bed, arms flung straight up in the air, squealing "wheeeee!"
Now stop. Don't ever envision that again. That was disturbing.)

My first earthquake experience was in the bedroom in Anchorage . . .
wee early morning . . . we didn't know what to think about the shaking until things started falling off the dresser. "Ohhhhh, an EARTHQUAKE!
That was kind of cool!"

The "Big One" was when Kacey was around a year old. My husband was
on his way home, I was standing in our living room on the second floor
of our 3-story condo. If I remember correctly, it was a 7.9 that only lasted a few seconds. Knocked me off my feet and I sat down hard in the floor. He was at a stoplight and thought someone had rear-ended him.
Pretty powerful stuff.

This morning's quake, however, has caused me to reflect on a few, rather serious questions:

1) Should we be more physically prepared for a disaster? Water, food, emergency supplies?

2) Could we be more spiritually prepared for a disaster?

3) In light of the possibility that the house could collapse from same said disaster and rescue workers would have to come dig me out of the rubble, here's the REALLY serious question: Should I contemplate the addition of pajamas to my wardrobe or do I want to be rescued "in the buff"?

Rescue worker: "Don't worry ma'am - we'll have you out of there soon!"
Me (with extreme panic in my voice): "I don't think so! That beam crushing my skull isn't really that painful. I'm just gonna huddle here until somebody brings me a pair of black pants, a sports bra, and a big blanket. But thanks for thinking of me."

Just something I might need to think about.

it's more than just tax day . . .

April 15,1865 President Lincoln shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theater
April 15, 1912 Titanic sank

April 15, 1913 Date implemented as the day income taxes were due.

April 15, 1955 Ray Kroc starts McDonald's chain of fast food restaurants

April 15, 1983 Tokyo Disneyland opens

April 15, 2005 Mike & Sara showed up at the front door of our church building on a Friday afternoon for their interview.

See. . . and you thought this was just "tax day"!

... . . . . . . . . . . (Click on the picture to appreciate the close-up version!)

What the french, toast?

Kacey was home this weekend. Kevin got up early on Sunday morning and made his sister french toast.

I would just like to point out that he has never made me toast of any nationality.

How about Chinese gymnasts as bridesmaids?

Kacey's wedding is the night of the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. She has decided to walk down the aisle to the official Olympic theme music while carrying a torch. (Of course, she is already carrying a torch for Nathan, so I guess there is double symbolism there.)

Pass the Purina - Have you noticed the latest trend in pet food for dogs and cats? Veggies. Yep. All the best brands are advertising "healthy ingredients" for Fido and Fluffy. That's good I think, because I worry our cat is getting too much protein. I always feel sorry that once she has slaughtered a big fat mouse for her entree it always takes her so long to put together a good salad to go with it. SHEESH!

540 Seconds

I don't use my snooze alarm for four reasons:

1) It's rude to the other person/persons sleeping in your room who may not feel the need to awaken at the same designated time as you.

2) My internal clock is frighteningly accurate.

3) I really don't sleep after 5:45 anymore anyway (I'm not happy about it, but apparently it's my 40-something-year-old body's way of telling me my time is limited and I better make the most of the days I have left.)
and
4) I think the snooze alarm is the ultimate sign of procrastination. "Nope, not yet. I'll get up later." If you can afford to get up later, why not just set your alarm for the later time to begin with???? However, I went back to sleep this morning for a little nap and set my alarm. When the church bells began to sound (yes, that's the sound of my alarm clock), I hit the snooze.

All that to ask this: Why is my snooze alarm time only nine minutes?