My Husband Thinks I'm Ugly

Ha! Not really. He does, however, despise my glasses. Not the fact that I wear glasses, mind you, just the particular pair of glasses that I wear. The particular pair that I've had for THREE years now. He really knows how to hold stuff in.

We spent today together running errands, having lunch, and window shopping. When he cut across traffic to whip into an eyeglass store, I wondered what he had on his mind.

Let's get you new glasses. Today.

Wow. That came out of nowhere. Being the wife that I am, I was quick to point out a few major flaws in his plan.

1. I have no appointment.
2. The money in my wallet is meant for the bank.
3. We don't have the time.

Being the husband he is, he was quick to ignore me and pull me out of the car.

So we went in and actually had a lot of fun trying on a gazillion pairs of glasses. I found a pair I liked, he found a pair he liked, and we found many that just made us laugh. I whispered to him, We're not really here to buy glasses today, are we? I can wait a while to get new ones.

He looked back at me smiling, full of what I was sure to be, affection and love for his wife who understood that paying bills was more important than new glasses. Reaching for me, right there in the eyeglass store, he pulled me close.

I have always hated those glasses you are wearing, he whispered.

What? I gasped. I've had these for, like, three years. You've never said a word.

I know, he replied. I never wanted to hurt your feelings, but they remind me of bc glasses, and I can't stand it anymore.

BC is military code (at least that's where we know it from) for birth control. He said I was wearing birth control glasses. I think we stood there for a few moments just staring at each other. He started laughing, I slugged him, and couldn't help but laugh with him. I looked in the mirror and understood exactly what he was talking about. They did resemble those hideous, heavy-framed brown glasses I was issued in basic training. Not as extreme, but definitely similar. Good Lord. What was I thinking when I picked those frames some three years ago?

We ended up leaving without any new glasses laughing the whole time. When we picked the kids up from school, we told them the story and they giggled and carried on while their dad made faces at me and I came up with every wise crack I could.

Yes. This is what we call entertainment in our house. And for the record, my husband does not think I'm ugly. As a matter of fact, he thinks I'm pretty fine.

He's just not crazy about my glasses.

Is It Morning Yet?

Good grief. I think I had too much coffee. I definitely cannot turn my mind off and the Lord knows I wish it would go into sleep mode. Today was such a whirlwind of driving kids around, writing papers, running interference, playing counselor... all that stuff that goes along with being MOM. Usually I drop into bed exhausted, physically and mentally. I guess I shouldn't have had that venti-sized Starbucks this evening.

Or the cup of coffee before that.
With the piece of chocolate cake.

Do you ever have people ask you what's on your mind, and you think to yourself Do you really want to know? Do you ever want to share what's on your mind, but you wonder to yourself What's the point?

My husband, bless his heart, asked me that question tonight. He's a wise man. He knows something is going on. He asks and I think he sincerely wants to know. But I lie and tell him Nothing. Nothing is on my mind (with emphasis on the nothing part).

So now he thinks I'm moody.
And I'm mad because he thinks I'm moody.

Well, mad is probably too strong of a word. If I'm mad at anybody, it would just be at myself. Maybe if I would have shared what was on my mind, I wouldn't be wide awake at 2:04 in the morning with the cat curled up beside me. I would be in my warm bed with my husband, not the cat. Yep. Makes me feel pretty dumb just writing this.

So what's on my mind?

Money. A book I'm reading. A snowstorm out west. Virtual worlds and reality. People that have 500 facebook friends. My student loan statement. A kid not feeling good. Hunger. Angry adults. God. Roman emperors that won't go away. Unemployment. Friends who aren't really friends. Make that two kids that aren't feeling good. Poland. Stale raisin bran. Cold feet. High gas prices.

Okay. Maybe I'm getting a bit carried away, but the first four are a definite. That and the hunger and the cold feet.

No wonder he thinks I'm moody.
I probably really did have too much coffee.
But I can never have too much chocolate.

Keeping The Cat Happy

Today is quiet.
Blissfully quiet.
Eerily quiet.

My girl is not here.

She is off having a life outside of this home. Turkey. A big weekend in the big city with her bestest friend. Give me a break. The girl is only twelve.

But what a time she is having. I loaned her my cell phone and so far, she has called me five times since yesterday to update me on all her fun. She'll never admit it, but I think she is missing her mom.

I'm missing her, too. I've spent a whole Saturday with nobody telling me how bored they are or wishing aloud that they could go shopping. I've heard no heavy sighs, no bossing the boys around, no doors shutting just a wee bit too loud.

You would think I would be in heaven.

Okay, okay. Maybe the quiet is a little bit nice. I'm glad it's not going to last, though. I don't think I'm quite ready for that. I have been a good mom, however, and followed her explicit instructions on her latest attempt to win the cat's favor. Somehow I think she'll know if I didn't fluff his pillow. That girl has got me wrapped around her finger.

Come to think of it, they all do. Crazy kids.

Just Call Me 007

So I always wanted to be a spy. There was a brief time when I was in the service that I actually underwent some mysterious questioning that resulted from a little in-house profiling... something about my security clearance and loner status and who knows what else. Whatever it was, none of it matters now. I ceased pursuing anything remotely interesting when I fell into that crazy thing called love. Plus the fact that I was told there would be times even my mom would not be able to know my location. I'm too needy for all that drama.

That's a true story, by the way, and I have no regrets. When it comes down to it, all I ever really wanted out of life was to be a wife and a mom. I suppose that's why I've always enjoyed the whole homemaker thing. Of course, espionage might have been more exciting than cleaning the toilet that I talked about yesterday, but hey... at least I'm here when the kids get home from school.

Thank goodness for books. They take me to places I would otherwise never go. My new favorite author has a whole spy series that I am absolutely hooked on. These are books I would actually be willing to spend money on... they're that good. And if you have learned anything about me, it's that I have this crazy compulsion to buy things in sets, so if there is one book or five or eight... well, I'm going to have to get them all. Right now, though, I'm just depending on my local library and my one free-hour-at-a-time nook reading at Barnes & Noble.

I spent an hour there today catching up on the fictional life of CIA Agent Mitch Rapp. (Or maybe he's FBI. Or NSA. Or another alphabet trio). Whichever it is, I definitely get caught up in it. As I was leaving I caught myself glancing over my shoulder or getting an idea of what was taking place behind me by the store window reflections. I had to laugh at myself.

But then again, I always think like that. Let me walk into any room and I will do a mental checklist of the people there before I focus on anything else. It's like my mind is wired to note certain things and then decide if something is out of place. I'm always on alert in a parking lot. I pay attention to exit signs. I watch cars in the rearview mirror.

(I'm giving away too much information here, am I not?)

Oh well. Such is life. We all have our little quirks. I don't like to think of mine as paranoia, mind you; just a heightened sense of awareness.

Yeah. That sounds so much better.

Ahhh... but that's the joy of reading. I can be traveling the world uncovering botched assassination attempts one week and then living the life of an 1800s rancher's housekeeper the next. I can typically find almost any story to match my mood and I can always count on a book to pass the time.

Even if I did choose the role of a housewife instead of saving my country by living a double life. It just wasn't meant to be.

My Toilet Sparkles

I do my best thinking while cleaning. Today the toilet had my attention and let me tell you, that room is spotless. There are some perks to having stuff on your mind, I guess.

I was thinking about our house last night. It was a typical evening. Every one was off in their own little virtual world. We had three computers going, one nintendo dsi glowing, and two televisions blabbering. Well, one tv was muted so I'm not sure if that counts or not. Actually I'm not even sure why that one was on. Some things just seem to come on automatically when anyone is home.

The point is that everyone was absorbed in what they were doing and I was having a minor pity party in the midst of it all. No one noticed.

Now this is not about me getting noticed or feeling like nobody cared. Part of me was glad that my tears went unnoticed. Of course, there was that other part that was screaming Hello!! Mother in need here!! But we won't spend any time on that.

I was just a little amazed that in a house full of people, we really had no idea what the other was thinking. It made me stop and wonder how many times my kids have been troubled or worried or maybe just lonely while I am busy reading or farming or deleting chain emails.

I love technology. I don't understand it all, but I love it. Webcams, instant chat, digital cameras... I love how all that keeps me in real-time touch with my family and friends, but I also miss handwritten letters and cards in the mail. An e-card, no matter how cute,  just can't compare with a Hallmark that comes in an envelope delivered straight to your mailbox.

I know when I send a card, a lot of thought goes into it. I use my best penmanship and always try to include a specific scripture verse or saying, anything to make it personal. I like things like that. I guess it's that human touch.

Maybe I'm just thinking this way because I needed that human touch last night. Maybe it's the Clorox fumes from the toilet bowl cleaner. Who knows.

But I think I will make an extra effort to be more conscious about what's going on around me. I would hate to miss out anybody's pity party.

Especially if it's right in my own living room.

Bragging Rights

Excuse me while I brag.
It won't take long and it will be over quick.

1. I made the dean's list. Or president's list. Whatever you want to call it, it only took me forty years to make the honor roll. Pretty exciting stuff.
2. Today is my brother's birthday. The same brother who once put duct tape in my hair and later served in the Gulf War. I think he's pretty special.
3. All of our kids were happy at the same time. The husband and I were actually able to pull off an after-school surprise pizza/movie theatre outing that pleased everyone.

Days like this don't happen very often.
How's that for short and sweet?

The Great Book Debate

I start two new classes today which for me means a whole new attitude. Again.

• I will read the assigned text, all of it.
• I will read the optional material because I know that when it's all said and done, it's not really optional. It is very much needed.
• I will answer all of my questions thoroughly and on time. I will post the proper replies.
• I will complete my assigned work before the weekend. No more procrastination.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a pretty good student. My husband brags on my GPA to just about anybody new he comes in contact with on any given day. He is my number one fan. He's also the one that keeps bring up the word master's and doctorate. I'm no fool, though. I know just what he's doing... preparing for his retirement. He has grand dreams of kicking back once I'm pulling down the big bucks. What a poor, delusional man.

He's got my back, however. And for right now, he's paying the bills. I'll let him dream whatever he wants.

Having said all that, though, I do tend to put things off. Maybe I work better under pressure. Maybe I like the time crunch I put myself in weekly. Maybe I'm just lazy.

Whatever the reason is, anytime new classes start, I give myself this big pep talk: focus, Focus, FOCUS! And then everytime, something comes up that challenges that pep talk.

It could be this blog.
Or pressing matters on facebook.
Maybe just one more load of laundry needs to be done.

Right now, it's my library book. My newest book which I am about five or six chapters into and absolutely hooked. I read too late last night. I woke up thinking about the main character. Just ten minutes earlier I was reaching for my nook when I reminded myself I had a textbook to read.

So how did I end up here? I have no idea except I was thinking maybe if I wrote about it, I would see the futility of it all. Then maybe I won't be so hard on myself.

Because let's face it, there's more excitement to tracking down a serial killer using schizophrenic and bi-polar patients than it is reading about the fall of Rome and the introduction of the Roman culture into England's mainstream population. I know, I know. I'm a history major. I'm suppose to love this stuff and I do...

Just not when there's a killer on the loose.
Or a husband calling to take you to lunch.
And there really is one more load of laundry to do.

It will all be there when I get back.

Planning For Sunday

Today I was determined to not leave the house for anything. I have a sudden fascination for football (which has us all a little puzzled) and I was determined to finish all of my homework today so tomorrow would be free for nothing but game-watching. In order to make this happen, a boycott of driving kids around had to be enacted.

And that did not make me a popular mom.

Unhappy Child #1: Upset before noon because I wouldn't take him here or there.
Unhappy Child #2: Upset after noon because I wouldn't take him here or there.
Unhappy Child #3: Upset all day because I wouldn't take her anywhere.

Now I know those kids like to run around. They have friends; they have a life. Usually I don't mind driving them around within reason. I have a life, too... well, what's left of it anyway. And my life today was not going to include traffic lights and mall parking lots.

What it did include was one paper on the Cold War and another on the Byzantine Empire. In between those were about three loads of laundry, two cups of coffee, and one Lean Cuisine. I deprived myself of fun things like Facebook and ignored my newest library book (Ted Dekker... one of my favorite authors... not easy to resist!). And I refereed about a zillion mini-throwdowns between three aggravated teenagers.

Do I make my kids sound rotten? I really don't mean to. I know I've got it made with those three. They're siblings, though. They like to push each other's buttons, and let's face it... they like to push mine, too. Okay, okay. Sometimes I like to push right back. When they started arguing over who would move out first and who would have their own room, though, I just sat back and listened. I will miss that one day.

Then they started arguing over who will take the cat. Well, actually it was just two of them arguing over the cat. The cat. The cat that nobody wants to clean up after, but everybody wants to give a treat.

The cat will stay with the one who cleans out his litter box.
And that would be me.
End of discussion.

In the end, I finished both papers in time to fix supper. One boy seized the opportunity to escape with his girlfriend and the other two eventually got over it. I planned my grocery list for tomorrow's tailgating type of menu and read a couple of chapters in my book. Now I'm thinking the best way to end this not-going-anywhere day will be an early bedtime.

I've got a lot of football to watch tomorrow.

My Stinky Clean House

The pain that began when I left the orthodontist today has evolved into a pretty bad smell.

Let me explain.

The pain was not physical... unless you count the sharp pains shooting though my chest and the nagging headache that was part of me most of the morning.

The pain was in my wallet. Or empty wallet, I should say. And not to worry, the sharp pain in my chest part is probably more of an exaggeration, but you get the idea. The headache, though, was very real.

So I did what I always do when I am bothered by something.

I clean.

I started in one corner of the living room and was stuck there for quite sometime. Normally I do a quick dusting with my handy dandy swiffer, but days like today required the use of actual furniture polish and an old rag. Then, just to be sure that I was completely too preoccupied to think about anything important, I actually removed items before I dusted. That's is a big deal for me, just ask my mom. I can still remember all the times at home when she would lift stuff to see if I dusted underneath them. Some things never change.

So I dusted and organized and dusted some more. I moved plants around and played with the cat and took a long time getting the mail. I cleaned off my dresser and counted how many Bibles I had and organized my greeting card collection. I found a long lost picture of my husband and me with our first baby boy.

Now that has been a while back.
Especially when you consider what our family looks like today.

As you can see, I get a little sidetracked but for today, that was a good thing. My cleaning spree was only interrupted by the changing out of cd's and the picking up of kids at school. By the time my husband got home from work, the house was spotless, the laundry was done, and Tombstone pizzas were baking in the oven.

The orthodontist problem, however, had not been solved.

So I decided to utilize the self-cleaning feature of my oven since it was already hot from the pizzas. Hence the bad smell. Now our (clean!) house just stinks and we still have a girl that needs braces.

Good thing the quote they gave me is good for six months. That's plenty of time to clean and organize and think.

She can have straight teeth once I finish with the attic.

Make It Stop!

When I was pregnant with my first child, I read What To Expect When You're Expecting religiously. At the same time, I bought What To Eat When You're Expecting because I had really good intentions. Then after the baby was born, I read What To Expect The First Year almost through to the end. Finally, I purchased What To Expect The Toddler Years only because I'm a little obsessive about having complete sets. I'm not sure if I even cracked that one open.

Now I'm wondering if there was a What To Expect During The Teenage Years When There Is Nothing You Can Do But Watch Your Child Struggle Through This Thing Called Life And Love.

Boy, this teenage stuff really takes a toll. I feel like apologizing to my mom all over again. I can't even get mad because there is really nothing that has been done wrong; it's just a matter of going through the growing pains.

That is, the growing pains of love.

"This is the other side of love... the rough stuff that goes along with it," I said to the child in need. "Do you still think it's worth it?"

There was a brief moment of silence and then a subtle nod of the head, "Yeah, I think it's worth it."

That reply made me happy and sad all the same time. I guess I'm as moody as a teenager. Happy because I wouldn't want my kids to miss any of the joy that love can bring. Sad because I know that the pain that comes with it is inevitable.

It has been a long night, and we still have grade cards to review, vocab definitions to study, and my own homework to finish. Good thing the youngest is in the process of baking brownies and fixing me a cup of coffee.

Chocolate will get us through.

Although that causes me to wonder who will bake the brownies when her turn comes for a broken heart.

Ooooh, now that is a thought that causes me to shudder. I don't think I've seen anything yet.

What Is It With Being Red?

First of all, I made it to Wednesday.

The sun is shining.
I have on no jacket or hoodie or other fleecy garment.
My swing still swings.
I feel 500% better just stepping out the door.
Even the cat is pleased.
And I am no way bragging or otherwise rubbing in to my northern, snowbound friends.


Believe me, I will celebrate with you the first day you sit in the sunshine. It's just that good.

Secondly, what's the fascination with red hair?

I grew up with all the jokes. I've heard all the come-on lines. My daughter teases me that I'm an "old man" magnet. There's more truth to that than I care to admit.

But seriously, does it ever stop? I wonder if my red-headed grandma put up with the same nonsense. I'm sure she did. She was a good looking woman.

I thought I had heard everything until last night. While paying our bill at our favorite dive-of-a-place-but-great-food Chinese restaurant, the old guy... the same one who is always there and always takes our money and always jokes around with my husband even though we can't understand him half the time... the same guy says he likes my hair.

Okay. No harm done.
Then he adds something that has got to be a neighbor to creepy,

Can I cut off some and carry it in my pocket?

And he's not smiling like he usually is.
I think he's totally serious.
So I look at my husband.

My bald-headed, goatee-wearing, extremely good-looking husband who can take a man down with an unblinking I'm gonna kick your a** (sorry, kids!) stare kind of man.

Who is now giving that infamous stare to the little old Chinese man and shaking his head,

No, you're not gonna do that.

The man walks away.
We leave.
And I'm slightly disturbed.

So now I think I've heard it all.
Then again, I've thought that before.

Did I mention the sunshine feels good?

Baby Steps

I think I brought my parents home with me.

• My dad's truck (well, what use to be his) sits outside our house now waiting for an almost-licensed driver to get a job.
• My daughter has the scent of my mom due to her one squirt regimen of White Diamonds (and that's not even what my mom wears).
• Our laundry even smells like Mom and Dad's house because I went out and bought the same detergent and fabric softener.

I can't tell if I'm making progress or taking many steps back.
At least I haven't talked about moving once in the last three weeks.
And I've stopped hounding old friends for information to help me feel connected.

It's almost as if I am in some kind of grieving process, as crazy as that sounds. I suppose I'm thinking that once I get to the other side of this, I'll find that peace.

Or at least a job.

It's been eighteen months since I last had a steady paycheck.
And thirty-nine months since we moved.

Not that I keep track or anything like that.

• But I sure like looking out the door and seeing my dad's truck in the driveway.
• If I close my eyes and just breathe, it's like my mom walking through the house in the morning instead of my girl.
• And the smell of the laundry is just like being back home.

Whatever it takes to me get me through to the other side.
Because the other side has got to be there.
And that is where I need to be.

Five Minutes Late

Do you ever wake up in the morning with that feeling that something is just not right? That feeling that there is just something about this day, but you can't quite grasp what that something is?

I had one of those feelings today and I'm sorry to say that once I figured it out, a few curse words formed in my mind. Not the big ones, mind you, just the ones that pop into your head when you stub your big toe or burn your finger.

In other words, when something causes you instant pain and you fight back tears.

Darn it all to h-e-double-hockey-stick.

Three years ago this morning I got a call from my mom telling me if we were coming home we better get there. I spent the whole day crying and packing for the family while making extended lesson plans for my sixth grade class from my home phone. When my husband got home from work late that afternoon, I had the kids waiting on the front porch with suitcases in hand. He drove all night and he drove fast. He took a fifteen hour drive and made it into thirteen. He held my hand while a little girl whimpered in the back.

And then he apologized like crazy later.

We didn't make it.

Five minutes late.
Five minutes.
Five stinking minutes.

I am sorry, but you have no idea how many times I shook my fist at God for this. How many times I asked Him why He couldn't have waited just five minutes to take her home. How many times I have replayed that hospital scene in my head.... so glad to have arrived. So happy to see everyone. We could see her in her bed.

And then realizing that everyone was crying. Uncles had their heads in their hands. Aunts were doubled over, turned away towards the window. My mom hugging me and telling me she was gone.

Boy, that makes me mad all over again.

Five minutes.

Her body was still warm, she just wasn't there anymore. To the day I die, I will never forget standing there holding her hand telling her we tried to get there in time. It just seemed as if time stood still.

I made peace with it all later, I suppose, and with Him. I remembered her the way she was just a few weeks earlier as she sat in the Carolina sun on my front porch. I guess that's how He wanted it to be. It wasn't about me anyway. He probably couldn't have held her back any longer. One day, I'll be the same way.

I sure do love you and miss you, Grandma. I was five minutes late, but you were right on time.

Home with the Lord, January 18, 2008

Antique Shops, Poo Paper, and Boys That Won't Help

I have a son who is all about technology. You have a question, he's got the answer. The only trick is to catch him in a mood to help. Unfortunately, that can indeed be a tricky thing. Trying to find the right time between any particular game level and an incoming text from his girlfriend can be an almost impossible task. He's on my mind because I have asked him repeatedly to help me with a computer issue. Yesterday I asked him once again. I'm getting the feeling I'm being ignored.

I have these awesome pictures on my phone I would like to transfer to my laptop. I know there's a way. I know there's something around this house to download. I know this because I've seen it. Knowing, though, isn't exactly the same thing as doing. And that is where I get stuck.

I took some pictures of our Saturday. Pictures that were going to go along with the tale I wanted to tell. Pictures that aren't going to happen right now.

For instance, I took some photos of a downtown antique store. There is one particular section that I always get lost in and it has everything to do with the Civil War. I practically drooled over the facsimile copies of the Ordinance of Secession for South Carolina. And yes, I really do stand and read all that. I take the time to look at each signature. I think about the thoughts that must have been going through a man's mind when he took the ink to paper to sign his name. The same holds true for the Declaration of Independence, but we are in the South here. For the time being, it's all about states' rights.

I looked at a large, framed picture of Robert E. Lee and asked my husband what he thought about hanging that in our home. He offered to install special lighting for it. I looked at battle maps and books on generals. I wrote down the titles of diaries I would like to search for. I fondly held buttons from Union and Confederate jackets in my hand. I presented next year's Christmas wish list to anyone who would listen. I genuinely fell in love.

I suppose all this sounds special until you consider the fact this was not the first time I had been to that store. I'll feel the same way the next time I go back. There are just some places that make you feel good.

At another shop I looked at the vintage paintings and photographs. I noticed they were all of women and wondered about each one. We then wandered into a quaint little store full of overpriced purses and scarves. Another store was all about homemade goodies baked especially for pampered pets. One cafe was found dedicated to coffee, another to breweries, another to ice cream. You just gotta love a thriving downtown.

We found an art gallery with paintings available for purchase. I snapped several photos in here. One was of our talented son standing in shock over the price tags on the pieces. That boy could so out-do any of those artists. He was mentally calculating the money he could make. We laughed together over the display of paper products made from recycled horse manure. I definitely took a picture of that. It's just too bad you can't see any of them.

Maybe I'll ask techno-boy again tomorrow for help or maybe I won't. Actually, I should probably wait until he's wanting to do something. It's at those times, I've noticed, that he is most attentive to me. He'll start hanging around acting like he's all interested in the towels I'm folding or the carrots I'm chopping. I'll wait until then to make my move. Hey, do you think you've got time to install that Bluetooth for me?

I'm betting he'll have the time.

Then I'll have my pictures of antique stores and vintage paintings.
High dollar purses and doggie treats.
Teenage boys in art galleries and strange concoctions called poo paper.

Of course, by then none of that will matter.
But at least I'll be prepared for the next outing.
It's all about the timing.

A Mom's Preogative

The cold is still here, but life goes on. With each passing day, we are getting closer to that wonderful balmy forecast of sixty degrees that has been promised for Wednesday (it was Monday, then got pushed to Tuesday. Now it's Wednesday... at least it's still in the seven day forecast). Oh well. Enough about the weather.

What really is on my mind is girlfriends. The girlfriends of our sons, that is. We had a full table tonight. Our five plus two more. I listened to teenagers giggle and carry on as they set the table. Giggle and carry on as they debated between soda and tea. Giggle and carry on about, well... anything. Apparently everything is giggle worthy when you are young and with your sweetheart.

The giggling stopped, though, when two young girls mentioned wanting to look at photo albums of the boys when they were young. As we were clearing the table, the oldest son took a moment to discreetly say Please, Mom. No baby pictures. Not tonight. Not yet.

Now I don't know too many moms who don't squeal with delight when somebody actually wants to dust off the albums and look at pictures from days gone by. One of my favorite things is doing just that. So many pictures come to mind. Pictures of two little boys playing Superman and Batman. Pictures of two little boys fresh off the dirt pile. Pictures of little boys doing little boy stuff. I love those pictures.

And I had two girls that actually wanted to see them.
And two boys that desperately did not want that to happen.
What's a mom to do?

Put them on this blog, of course.

You'll just have to forgive me, boys.
You're just so darn cute.
At least I waited till the girls went home.

Go Ahead And Laugh

I am cold.

Somewhere along the way, I got use to the southern climate and began to enjoy it. Now we have this unusual cold snap and I am hating it. Temperatures were close to forty today and at one time, that would have been a welcome sight on a January day. Now all I can think is, You've got to be kidding me.

Bring back the flip flops.

I'm making chicken and dumplings tonight for supper just to warm us up. Add that to a cozy fire, fleece blanket, and fuzzy socks, and I just might make it until time to crawl under my electric blanket set to "High". Unfortunately, come morning, it will start all over again.

This says the girl from Missouri. The girl who laughed at these southern women not so long ago for their long coats and scarves and boots when I was more than comfortable in a t-shirt and maybe a light jacket. We all laughed. Now we're all just cold.

And it's a sad state of mind when you can think of nothing else but how cold you are. I've got a paper to write on globalization and another on the fall of Rome, but all I care about at the moment is next week and warmer weather.

Maybe this is the Lord's way of making me appreciate where I'm at.
If so, I get it. We can get back to normal now.
So I can move on to something else.
Like the front porch swing.

So go ahead, my northern friends, and laugh. I know how pathetic this little ramble is. My dad was telling me about temps this morning in the negatives and single digits. I know where I come from.

The problem is my body has forgotten.

Snow Day #2

The second day of being snowed in.
Please tell me school is on for tomorrow.
I think everyone needs a break.... from each other.

Not that this day has been bad; just the potential is definitely building. Frustrations are manifesting themselves in everything from the correct care of a wireless keyboard to who left the cap off the toothpaste.

I still find it funny in the fact that the kids have actually had two snow days in a row here. Yesterday I watched my husband sweep off snow from the vehicles and sigh in defeat when he came in stomping the snow from his boots. He really thought he was moving away from all this. Then this morning it took him two and a half hours to actually get out of the ice/slush/snow-covered driveway. I almost felt sorry for him.

Neither of us slept good last night. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, a thunderous crash brought us both out of bed. Ice slabs sliding off a metal roof. At least sliding off the front part of the roof. This morning a broken flag pole and shattered landscape light testified to the force behind all that racket. Later, while sitting at the dining room table, a low rumble started once again. My daughter and I just happen to look out the back windows as the ice on the rear part of the house gave way. The only way to describe that would be a waterfall of sheets of ice raining down. Quite the sight to behold.

And that is how the day has been. Periodic cracking is heard echoing in the trees and such. Every now and then a branch or two hits the roof and goes rattling down. Every so often the silence of the house is pierced with a wise crack or two from some kid while the steady typing of fingers on various keyboards taps away. It's all just enough racket to drive me crazy.

But I won't go crazy. I have started a new book, it's almost time to start supper, and Dr. Phil usually has just the right amount of drama to distract me from daily life. The thaw outside continues, the roads are clear, and school is a sure bet for tomorrow.

Not to mention I saw a seven-day forecast that included sixty degree weather.

You won't find any snow days in that.

Blame It On Rome

No need to grab the kleenex box tonight. I've already done all the crying.
Well, not really. But I might.

The scene above is one I am really getting tired of seeing.
Except for the coffee cup and the cookies.
I will never get tired of that.

What I am tired of is Roman history.
And the empire. And all the dumb emperors.
I mean really... Constantine I. Constantine II. Constantinus. Constans.
And that's just one family of throne-hogging relatives.

I haven't washed my hair since yesterday morning and I'm in the same flannel shirt and sweats I changed into right after church. My stomach hurts from all the coffee I've consumed in the last twenty-four hours and I've had one too many cookies (okay... cake, too) for comfort food. By the time I get this degree it will take me as long to lose the weight I've gained as it will to pay off the student loans.

I'm going to blame it all on Rome.
And maybe Aristotle and Plato because I hate philosophy, too.

See, Mom? No tissues necessary this time around. I'm too tired to think deep.
But I do love you. And your grandkids are awesome. You son-in-law might need a little work, though.

Ha.

Maybe I'll be more inspired next time around.
But for now, I am done.

Right after I have one last cookie. =)

For Gene

Last night I downloaded a few free books on my handy-dandy nook. One of them was a compilation of stories written by nurses and their experiences with dying patients. I read for a while before turning out the light. My mind, though, was a long way from shutting down. I found myself reliving a night many years ago. This one is for Papa Gene.

Gene was my step-grandpa, the man my grandma married after my grandpa passed away. I don't want to give too many details of the years that led him to his final stay in a nursing home because if I do, I'm bound to mess something up. I do know that he developed Parkinson's disease and became very forgetful and disoriented with everyday life. I remember one particular hospital visit in which he called my husband back to his bedside. I can still see one shaky, frail hand pulling Heath's head down close while the other hand pointed a very stern finger at him, You get ready, Son. Jesus is coming. That piece of advice summed up his life... even the bad times at the end. He forgot many things, but he never forgot the Lord.

On his last evening on this earth, Grandma had went home to wash her hair. She promised me she wouldn't be long and I agreed to stay with him because she was worried about leaving him alone. She surely knew his time was near. While she was gone, I sat beside his bed and read aloud from the Gideon's Bible that can be found in almost every hospital or nursing home room. I remember telling him I wished I knew what his favorite scriptures were while I read from Psalms. (Later, when Grandma would give me his Bible, I would cry when I saw those same passages of Psalm 62 underlined in pencil). He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. His eyes were clouded over and I suppose to most people, he was not seeing anything. I knew different.

I remember telling him I was jealous that he was going to see Jesus before I did. I remember telling him that I knew he was seeing something that I couldn't. I remember he stopped breathing for a brief moment.

That memory is vivid because I jumped up and went to the other side of his bed. I leaned over his bedside and pleaded with him, You cannot go until she gets back. Please, please wait on her. I wasn't so much as scared of him dying as I was of Grandma not being there. As God as my witness, the man started breathing again. I sat down in the chair again with shaky knees. I don't remember if I read more or just talked, I just know I watched the clock and watched the man I knew was standing at heaven's door.

Grandma did get back. She thanked me for staying with him and told me I needed to get home to my family. It probably took me about ten to fifteen minutes to get to my car, leave the nursing home parking lot, and drive to my mom's house to pick up the kids (only a two-year old and a five-month old baby at that point). That was enough time for Gene, though. He waited on her, but this world couldn't hold him. He made it to his heavenly mansion before I ever made it home.


Gene on my wedding day, 1993

But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18)



Nuclear War (Not Your Usual Blog)

I've been studying the Cold War this week and much like the Civil War (or any kind of war, for that matter), I see things played out in my mind on a chess board. Interesting picture considering the fact that I don't play chess. My husband and boys do, though, and watching them sit at a board quietly contemplating what next move might be their last is a unique form of entertainment. Tensions are always high until finally somebody wins and somebody loses. Then they laugh and slap each other on the back and promise revenge the next round.

That's how I see the Cold War. The two players are the US and the USSR, and their game pieces on the board are their various allies. They jockey them around trying to show each other who's the boss and at the end of the game, they shake hands while secretly plotting revenge. Meanwhile, kids like me grow up watching movies about nuclear destruction (The Day After, Wargames, even Red Dawn with its Communist invasion of the US) and wonder if our end might come with a giant mushroom cloud and an incinerating heat blast or the slow, flesh-rotting effects of fallout.

I'm laughing at myself at this point considering the many stern looks I've given my middle child over his zombie fascination. Wonder where he gets that from?

At any rate, it is rather sobering to consider the devastation that man can bring about simply at the thrill of winning a game. I suppose that is the core of my fascination with history. You see that game played out so many times throughout the centuries... the only thing that evolves is the methods used to destroy. The hope is not in the game itself or even the main players, for that matter. The hope is in a people that look to a God watching a different sort of game being played out.

And that's a whole other story in itself.

Surely I am coming quickly. (Revelation 22:20)

How's That New Attitude Working Out?

For the record, my new positive attitude for the new year was tested about five minutes before I went to bed last night. My mistake was reviewing our new insurance premium. Strange thing to look at right before bed, I know, but the mail was scattered on our bed along with laundry waiting to be put away, and the envelope with our insurance company's return address caught my eye. We recently added our son to our auto insurance. Our seventeen-year old son. Need I say more?

That positive attitude was suddenly in an extreme tug-a-war with the oh-so-comfortable negative, pessimistic attitude that has accompanied me for a while now. How in the world are we gonna pay that extra? Yes, I know some of you are thinking We? How 'bout he? We all have opinions on that and I am certainly not up for debate on the subject. The boy is looking for a job in the same environment that I am having trouble locating work. He is on track for a scholarship to a technical college after his senior year doing the work he loves. Work will come. He has a whole life ahead for that.

After repeating several times in my mind positive! Positive! POSITIVE!, I turned out the light still grumbling out loud. My husband told me in so many words to "can it" and "go to sleep". So that's what I did. I slept soundly and woke up with my positive attitude intact.

And the day went pretty good. I even ventured out for a latte (courtesy of my dad's Starbuck's gift) and decided I would try the non-fat version they were pushing. Yeah. I won't make that mistake again. The pre-planned barbeque for supper was a big hit as always (even if I did have my buttons pushed a few times at the dinner table) and I even managed to stay calm while my husband headed to the attic (twice) with gun in-hand to attempt to eliminate the woodpecker that has chosen our home as his (her?) refuge. I realize I'm doing a lot of patting myself on the back here, but hey, the battle in my mind knows no relief. I take what I can get.

Now the television is on and the show we're watching is making me want to cry. I hate that. I would turn it off, but two out three kids are totally engrossed in the drama. The only good thing is that I could potentially have a welcomed cry and blame it on the tv. But then that would blow my positive attitude. And I'm not ready to give it up yet.

I still have the woodpecker to deal with.
And a husband with a gun.
And a seventeen-year old driver.

No more skinny lattes for me.
I'm going after the real stuff tomorrow, Dad.

New Dishes, Barbeque, and Andy Griffith

Well, I am still sitting on the only clear spot on the couch, but progress on the after-Christmas mess was accomplished today. The totes and boxes that littered the floor last night are now neatly piled waiting for some lucky boy to haul them up to the attic. The pine needles have been vacuumed and to celebrate having a clutter-free dining room table again, we enjoyed a steak dinner on new dishes. One problem with having new dishes, though, is having to find a place to put those new dishes.

In fact, that is the process that takes a while... finding new homes for all the new little knick-knacks that made their way to my home via Christmas presents. I got a couple of new scent warmers and it's always a challenge to strategically place those types of things in our small house, but they sure do smell good. The dishes required me to do a little rearranging of the cabinets which then required an impromptu family gathering in the kitchen for me to point out the changes that had been made (a necessary step when the kids are in charge of the dishes and don't really care if the plastic cups are mixed in with the glass ones).

All this cleaning and rearranging and organizing has been good for me, I think. I've been making a conscious effort to think positive regardless of the unchanged circumstances. Yes, I realize that we're only into day two of this new way of thinking, but it sure feels good for a change. Tomorrow might be a whole other story. My husband goes back to job he despises and the "first day back to school" will have lost its excitement for the kids. I've already got a game plan, though. It's called barbeque pulled pork sandwiches. Guaranteed to put a smile on all faces in this family.

My daughter just called out from the kitchen, I love how you organized the bowls, Mom. She's baking again. Baking and watching Andy Griffith. I don't know how many twelve-year old girls out there watch the clock for The Andy Griffith Show, but she is one of them. And if I can make her life easier in the kitchen by keeping the bowls organized, then so be it. She makes my life easier by keeping me supplied in chocolate.

I've never really been a New Year's Resolution kind of girl, but I might consider some this year:

Stay positive.
Love the Lord.
Practice patience.

Then again, I think I'll wait to see how the rest of the week goes. I can only fix so much barbeque.

Santa Forgot My Maid

After collapsing into bed around 4:00 a.m. following our two-vehicle trip back home, I came back to life around noon. Since that time, I've...

Restocked the refrigerator (not quite).
Unpacked our bags (sort of).
Took down Christmas decorations (almost).

In other words, I haven't really finished anything I started today. I did manage to get a few groceries after a rather scary experience with two-week old creamer in the fridge. My girl was looking for a particular shirt that required me to search my luggage. And the weather was so pretty that I found myself outside taking down lights and garland when my original plan was to do that tomorrow. I made the mistake of going to Lowes with my husband where I spotted some totes boxes on sale. Since I bought a few of those, I figured I might as well take down our tree and pack away the ornaments.

Then I simply ran out of steam. I looked at the Christmas-themed dishes that still need to be washed and glanced at the red and green tablecloth that is currently buried under an assortment of... well, everything and decided I didn't have the energy to even think about anything else.

So I sat down with a fresh cup of decaf and the ever-present brownie. The cat is passing the time by exploring every tote, box, and bag that currently litter the living room floor. Artificial pine needles are scattered everywhere. The only clear spot on the couch is the very place I am sitting.

Welcome home.