The Final Post

Of an eventful year.

I graduated college. 

I played with a cat.

I scrapbooked.

I survived the daughter's first dance.

I survived the graduation of the oldest.

I visited my favorite place.

I read the Twilight Series and lost a month of my life.

I resisted the allure of little, sweet kittens.

I documented yet another repair of Dodge Grand Caravan.

I waited in long line at Chick-Fil-A.

I watched the daughter cut off her hair.

I watched a son cut off his hair.

I planted.

I sat.

I played with another cat.

Here's to the end of one year.

And the coming of the new.

You just never know what might be around the corner.

So This Is What Happened

One week ago today, the parents arrived shortly after the noon hour. Many happy hugs were exchanged and many wrapped presents were unloaded. We sat. We talked. We admired the Christmas tree. Around five o'clock that afternoon, I fired up the grill and exactly one hour later, set the table with pork chops and baked potatoes and steaming biscuits. We ate and talked and laughed and worried... my mom wasn't feeling good, but after a fifteen-hour drive with a short stay in an unfamiliar hotel, who could blame her? I helped her with dishes (and can I just add how much I enjoyed that?) and her next stop was a place on the couch to rest.

And then the stop after that was the emergency room at the hospital.

By one in the morning on a damp Christmas Eve, I had the most unfortunate experience of leaving my mother in a cramped hospital room approximately nine hundred miles from her home. I had planned on staying with her; my dad had planned on staying with her; but by the time we saw the room they had set her up in for observation, we both knew there would be no staying. I'll add walking out of that hospital to one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I'm sure staying in that hospital was one of the hardest things she's ever had to endure. It was a lousy start to a much anticipated visit.

We were back at her side in the morning- at least the part of the morning where there is light, and spent the entire day waiting for somebody to enlighten us on what was taking place in or around her heart. Supper was being served when she was told she wasn't going anywhere until some test or other was performed. Another heart-breaking experience. My dad and I headed back to the house to inform a now discouraged household that Granny wouldn't be with us Christmas morning. We vowed to dress up at least one kid like Santa and take presents to her and most of all, Smile! when we visited her the next day. For the second time in two nights, I cried like a baby in a dark, quiet room while the husband repeatedly apologized for moving us so far away.

Somehow, Santa Claus still managed to stuff some goodies into the three stockings of three teenagers in the midst of all this and we all prepared the next morning to spend our Christmas Day in that cramped hospital room. I was just stepping out of the shower when the husband peeked around the corner and said, You're mom called and said to come get her. I hurriedly halfway blow-dried my hair and had just sat down to my vanity (aptly named as the place to apply makeup) when the thought occurred, Who needs makeup at a time like this? Walking out of my bedroom to a now smiling family, I jokingly told my dad, Not one word about how I look, and we were out the door and in her hospital room within thirty minutes.

And by noon on Christmas Day, we were all gathered in our living room opening presents.

Only nobody really cared about the presents anymore.

The best present was sitting in a chair and helping me with dishes once again later that night

So what happened? Not a heart attack, but a heart out of whack. Something new decided to present itself that Sunday evening. That something will be checked out more thoroughly by her own doctor back home and hopefully, with medication, that something will be kept under control and finished with interfering with her life... especially when it comes to messing up her time with grandkids.

They hit the road just a little over an hour ago. The oldest and I stood on the front porch and watched until their taillights faded into the darkness of the street. I shut the door and turned the lock and let the tears fall.

Today is my birthday.

I Know I Said Farewell Yesterday, But...

Apparently I'm not done just yet. I mean, I thought I would back away from this computer for a while and yet here I sit. Oh well. My intentions don't always match up to future actions. The parents are on the way; they just made a pit stop to catch up on some sleep last night. If all goes well, we should be seeing them around noon. At least they're finally in the same time zone as me. So here I am. Clean house. Laundry done. Presents neatly arranged under the Christmas tree. Twiddling my thumbs.

I've never been the best at waiting.

One time during a prayer before supper, a beautiful child of mine uttered these words, And give my mom more patience. My eyes flew open and I said, Quick! Take that back! Don't ever ask the Lord for more patience! I forced a laugh to relieve the shocked look on the faces around me, but seriously... do any of you out there know what I mean? There was a time when I prayed for more patience. There was also a time when I prayed the prayer of Jabez. I'll not make that mistake again. I rarely pay attention to any of the latest prayer trends that cross my path anymore. Jabez ruined it for me.

Disclaimer: Click the above link to learn more about the prayer of Jabez and please understand, if you haven't figured me out yet, that most of my comments are sprinkled (okay, DOUSED) with sarcasm. I do stand by the theory, however, that it was that prayer about expanding my territory and all that that sparked the bright idea of a cross-country move into the husband's head years ago- which is why I now think before I pray ( go ahead and laugh) and the virtue of patience is just something that I accept I need to work on. I don't ask for it.

Moving on.

I have successfully twiddled away one full hour.
A second cup of coffee. A piece of cake. Looking out the window.

I think I'll go wake somebody up.

They love me around here. =)

Over & Out

One week after that awful Friday, I dropped my kids off at the high school for their last day before Christmas Break. They were loaded down with books for their final exams, gifts and cards and cookies for their friends, and big smiles with goodbye waves for their mom. Everything looks brighter on a Friday, especially the Friday before the big winter break. I came home to the local news detailing heightened security surrounding public schools and images of candlelit vigils for lives forever changed last week.

This is why the television is off and my attention drifts between what I think I want to write and the dirt and grime between the keyboard keys. One cat is cleaning his paws while the other cat chows down at the food bowl. I can smell the spice of a candle that's not even lit and hear the howl of the unusual wind currently assaulting our house. If I'm not mistaken, the Christmas tree on our front porch has just blown over again. Fragile limbs and vulnerable pine cones periodically tumble and clang their way down our metal roof.

And I'm going for another cup of coffee.

Even with all the nonsense taking place in our world today, I am excited for this coming week. Although there are few presents under our tree this year (the fewest our tree has ever seen), I can't wait for them to be opened. As I told our kids, this is the year of The Thoughtful Christmas Gift. We surrendered our credit cards, went cash only, and the result has been a pretty much stress-free holiday for the mom. When you've got nothing to spend, there's no sense getting out. When you don't get out, there's no traffic and crowds to deal with. When there's no traffic and crowds to deal with, there's no frustration. You get the idea.

Although I would like to get out tonight.

Even Holly Homemaker needs a break from the Christmas apron.

I'm anticipating a busy week with little time to blog. If the weather and health holds, my parents will be here in a few days and of all the things I plan on doing, sitting at this desk is not one of them. Of course, all that is subject to change pending my mood and computer availability, but just in case...

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. And Everything In-Between.

Please, Load My Kid Up On Sugar And Send Them Home To Me

Normally this time of year, for the past four years, I get a little depressed (don't laugh). Maybe not so much depressed as in I can't face the world, but depressed as in mildly bummed out. I've blogged about it... you could probably look back and find at least one December post dedicated to this little stinker of a bug that sneaks up on me the week or so before Christmas.

The School Christmas Party.

Okay. Tacky or not, I loved the whole party in the classroom concept. Selfish or not, I adored the whole give the teacher a gift tradition. I miss the night-before-rush to fill all my own little red and green paper bags or plastic snowflake-themed cups with things like pencils and chocolate and candy canes to give out to the class. I miss sitting at my desk while my beloved students stood in line to watch my reaction when they ceremoniously presented me their individual gift.

Good Lord, I'm gonna cry.

And you all know it's not the gift, right?

I've still got the coffee cups and the hand-drawn cards and somewhere, I've still got the shark's tooth. Any number of my former students could walk through my house and see, though they might not remember, their own gift hanging on my wall or sitting on a shelf. From third grade to eighth grade, I really enjoyed them all.

Yep. It's that time of year again.

I think in honor of The School Christmas Party, I'm gonna fill a basket with candy canes and go visit some of the classes I've been substituting for... where I know it's party day... and where there's bound to be cupcakes and cookies and kids wildly out of control.

I think that's a splendid idea.

Obituary Of A Laptop

It's been six months since my laptop was put out of commission due to an uncooperative power button, a sincere attempt to fix it that only made things worse, and lots of....  well, I'm gonna stop right there. No need going to into all the statements that have been made to look at it or fix it or get the parts ordered. If you read my last post, then you know that we, as a family, are getting along uncommonly well. I'll spare the names and promises to prolong the peace and good humor that currently exists in my home.

However.

If I had known that my beloved laptop would still be collecting dust while taking up space behind my bedroom door, I would have gladly paid the questionable computer-fixer-guy at the flea market his requested one hundred and twenty-five bucks to fix the darn thing back in July.

Then again, it is only a laptop. Maybe I shouldn't place so much stock in the crazy gadget. I mean, it's only holding prisoner a resume or two, pictures, family fun stuff, essays, power points, and a working version of Microsoft Office. It's really not important to anyone but me. Surely my patience should be greater.

I used to think things like When I start getting a regular paycheck, I will buy a couple of new pillows and some rugs for the kitchen and maybe some jeans for the kids and definitely stock up that freezer.

Now I think to myself,

When I start getting a regular paycheck,
IF we haven't had our internet service terminated,
And the lights and water are still connected,
Assuming the refrigerator still contains a gallon or two of milk...
THEN I will have that blasted laptop fixed.

And everyone said, Amen.

What Church Is Not:

Rituals. Soundtracks. Outlines.


What Church Is:

A grown man taking his son in his arms, holding him, loving him, even after all that's been said. That same man bringing his other son into his embrace while the mother pulls the daughter up to complete the now crying, hugging, mushy group of a family. Holding his family tight and praying a prayer that I'm sure made  Jesus stand up and shout Glory!, I thought to myself,

This is church. Our living room. Silent except for sniffing. No audience. No outlines. No praise and worship band. An imperfect family seeking the wisdom of The Perfect One. A man who learned nothing from his earthly father leaning heavily on his Heavenly Father.

I gotta say, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced.



And with that, I've got to get ready for church. The building, that is.

Sunshine In The Dark

A little girl tugged on my shirt today, stood on her tiptoes, and whispered in my ear:

Jack always backtalks me, all day long, but he's not today cause he's scared of you.

Her eyes were wide. Her smile was huge.
I patted her on the back and told her I was glad to be of help.
She hugged me tight before she skipped back to her coloring sheet and crayons.

A bright spot in an otherwise depressing day.

I Could Be Something Great (If I Ever Got Out Of Bed)

I do some of my best writing at night.

In bed.
In my mind.

Complete essays. Deep insight. Intriguing theories.

Introduction.
Body.
Conclusion.

I can picture the written word clearly. I visualize the paragraphs, use good transitional sentences, and correct my grammar. I think of different opening lines and optional closing remarks. I convince myself that I'll remember it all in the morning and eventually drift off to sleep.

Then I wake up and remember nothing.

Oh, I remember tidbits here and there. It's like catching a glimpse of something great, like maybe the sun trying to peek through dark curtains on a dreary day, but never quite grasping the full, glorious picture. Such a mental block climbs beyond frustration. I really should get up when inspiration strikes, but that bed is too darn warm.

Such is the price of laziness.

Last night's masterpiece included a response to a recent blog I read via Pinterest. The young author presented her ten (or maybe fourteen?) surefire steps to a happy, healthy marriage. This female optimist has been married for three (or maybe five?) years and has no children. Judging from the pictures that accompanied her post, she and her husband are fresh out of college, attractive as in that athletic way, and in love with the world and everyone around them.

And if you know me, you can only imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind.

Well, okay... my thoughts were not that dire. I'm all for optimistic love. Really. I was there once, too. I'm still in love with the man and with the hope that never ends and with the knowledge that my God says it will all work out in the end. Life has a way of throwing those curve balls at you, though. Things you never saw coming. Things that if you had saw coming you might have cashed it in then for fear that you would never make it out alive.

But you do make it out. A little more beat up. Maybe some bruises. Definitely a scar or two. A war story all your own.

The husband says he thinks things are about to change for us. Maybe the tide is turning. He's been deep in his Bible of a night. Maybe he's reading about the end times. Maybe he's reading about Job. I don't ask. That's between him and the Lord and a direct violation of Optimistic Young Wife's Advice in Tip Number Seven (or maybe Tip Number Nine?). According to her, I'm suppose to ask him his thoughts on a daily basis.

Chuckle. Chuckle.

She'll learn and she'll tweak her own tips as the years progress and babies come and money goes. I should know. I tweak my own internal advice on a daily basis. I expect the unexpected.

And I've not been disappointed.

Now if I'd only get out of bed and transfer those nighttime writings from my mind to paper, I might actually get somewhere... and make a whole lot more sense in the process.

Bring On The Band!

'Tis the season for Christmas Parades.

Parade after parade after parade. Beauty queen of this school and that school and this game and that game. Mustang Clubs. Corvette Clubs. Old Car Clubs. Even a Jeep Club and a Haphazard-Thrown-Together-Motorcycle Club. Horses. Tractors. Random trucks with hand-painted signs announcing this, that, or other.

Marching Bands. Cheerleaders. Tap Dancers. The Jolly Big Guy On The Fire Truck At The End.

And a random, long-bearded old guy in a flannel shirt carrying the Confederate Flag.

There are days where I absolutely love where I live.

Boys With No Shirts (or more importantly, part two of a girly football game)

This post is dedicated to those of you anxiously awaiting an update on the Championship Powder Puff Football Game last night. Yeah... I'm laughing, too. I will, however, not only give that update, but also share my thoughts on half-naked teenage boys.

And some of you just sat up straighter.


First things first.

The freshmen girls did beat the sophomore team to secure their third place standing in this year's championship tournament. My girl stood her ground on defense with the rest of her team and endured the throat-clenching, hair-pulling, jersey-grabbing antics of an unorganized tenth grade offense. Final score was freshmen 12; sophomores ZERO. Woot Woot. We didn't hang around for the junior/senior game.


And now on to the more interesting stuff.

Last night was cold for our neck of the woods. We sat on a blanket (on the metal bleachers), huddled in a blanket, and watched others spend good money to warm their hands on slices of pizza or cups of hot chocolate. But even the brisk wind blowing could not stop groups of shirtless teenage boys from supporting their female classmates out on the field. On both sides, boys in pajama pants and shorts bravely faced the cold wearing nothing on top but coordinating body paint and letters proudly displaying their loyalty (F-R-E-S-H-M.... you get the idea). Hats on backwards, boomboxes playing, and flags waving, the girls were not lacking a cheerleading squad on either side.

When the freshmen girls scored the FIRST touchdown, their shirtless male counterparts made a victory lap around the track stopping only to wave their flag in the face of the sophomore boys. When the SECOND touchdown was made, the victory lap was repeated only to swap the flag-in-the-face move with all the freshmen boys dropping on the field to exhibit their strength in push-ups (to show their might over the sophomores, the daughter later informed me). While this was taking place, a sophomore boy snatched the flag of the freshmen.

Which led to a minor flag tussle.
Which got a teacher involved.
Which caused enough distraction for a freshman boy to snatch the boombox of the sophomores.
Which he promptly delivered to the group of shirtless senior boys sitting in the bleachers.
Which got another teacher involved.

Oh my goodness.

We laughed and clapped and completely forgot there was an actual game taking place on the field.

As the boombox-snatching freshman was escorted away from the scene of the crime, we went back to watching the game and the husband remarked that towards the end of the second half, the boys with only paint on their backs and chests to keep them warm were not as rowdy as they were in the beginning. The cold must have dampened their enthusiasm as hands were shoved into pajama pant pockets and they were more huddled together than chanting any great cheer. The final buzzer buzzed and the game was over. I think the boys disappeared faster than the girls who were, like last night, delivering their farewell hugs as they made their way off the field.

So, all in all, the last two nights have been a lot of fun. The daughter is already looking forward to next year and I gotta admit, I'm anxious to see what those boys come up with next.

And watching my girl play, too.

That's the most important part...

Right?

Powder Puff Dreams

For the first time in all of my kids' middle school/high school careers, we attended a sporting event for the sole purpose of watching one of our own take the field. I've never been envious of the notorious soccer mom running herself ragged to get from one game or event or class to another with all of her Nike-Reebok-Adidas wearing kids in tow, but I have to admit it was rather exciting to descend the concrete steps of those metal bleachers looking for a place to park myself. Equipped with a comfy blanket to sit on, we snatched a spot on the 50-yard line and as luck would have it, a trash-talking grandpa for the opposite team took up space right in front of us. The oldest broke open his motorcycle-riding-backpack that was stuffed with snacks, the husband began a verbal assessment of the opponent, and with the sound of a buzzer, the game was on.

Powder Puff Football.

It's the freshman year of the youngest. In the days leading up to her high school registration, she remarked to her dad that she intended to get the full high school experience. She sent me a text a few weeks ago announcing: I did it, Mom. Signed up for powder puff. What have I gotten myself into? Even as I admonished her for using her phone during school (It's study hall, Mom), I was at the same time cheering her on. You go, girl! 

So for the last week she has been at practice learning about football and taking defensive tactic training from her father. It's all been rather entertaining. She comes home from practice wound up about this sophomore or that senior and the girls who won't do anything because they're afraid of messing up their hair. She insisted we didn't need to be at the game last night because as she put it, We're gonna get killed, Mom.

Which brings me to another point.

Whose bright idea was it to pit the freshmen team against the seniors?

Yep. The senior girls took to the field in a intimidating formation that involved launching diapers and pacifiers and baby bottles at the huddled group of freshmen girls. It was rather sad and funny all at the same time. You don't need the details of the game- the seniors did win, but it was by no means a slaughter as predicted earlier by the daughter. We watched our baby girl take up her defensive stance and slightly prayed, Not the teeth, Lord. Protect the teeth ($5000 worth of orthodontics, you know). She held her own and we cheered them on. Even the trash-talking grandpa became eerily quiet as the clock wound down. When the final buzzer sounded and girls on the field hugged each other (as only girls in football jerseys can do), we gathered up our blanket and snacks and waited for our athlete to make her appearance. The husband leaned over and whispered to me, Well, at least we only had to do this one time.

Nope, I sadly shook my head. We're here tomorrow night, too. Losers play the losers; winners play the winners.

Those sophomores are going down.

Then I'll gladly hang up my soccer mom shoes.

At least till next year.

Memories, December, And Pictures To Go With It

The second of December? Good Lord. Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday I was trudging through knee-deep snow in the Rocky Mountains hoping to induce labor...  that and walking up and down a flight of steps during every commercial break of The Young and The Restless and As The World Turns (my soap opera days). I can't remember my exact due date with the oldest. I think it was November 27th at first and was later changed to December 9th, or something like that. Doesn't matter. He arrived just when he was suppose to, somewhere in the middle of those two guessing dates on the morning of December 4, 1993.

I remember the night before his birth so clearly that it's almost eerie. I'm sure I am not alone in that some memories are so exact, so right there, I swear my mind could fool myself if only for a short time. I was wearing a light blue and white-striped button down, short-sleeved shirt. The husband came home from his Army duties to a supper of Hamburger Helper Chili Mac and after the sun went down, we sat in a dark living room of our rented town home on the ugliest-couch-known-to-man looking at the twinkling lights on our first Christmas tree together. Around ten o'clock we went to bed and around eleven o'clock I knew something felt different. A few hours later, I called the maternity ward at the hospital, described what I was feeling to the friendly Air Force nurse, and was assured that I was not in labor.

She was wrong.

I remember the husband insisting we take our little baby carrier and my packed bag to the hospital when I finally woke him up and we left our home around three in the morning. I told him there was no need, the lady said it wasn't labor, and that they would probably give me something to help my stomach (keep in mind this was my first, my mom wasn't close by, and the book did not describe anything I was feeling). Ever the practical man, he said he wasn't making a trip back to get everything and he was pretty sure this was the big moment.

He was right.

That little boy showed up a little after six-thirty that morning and we made the happy calls to the grandparents. The next day, we loaded that little baby seat into the backseat of a Mustang where I hovered beside him terrified of all the passing cars on the freeway. I can still see us arriving back at our town home, setting our tiny little bundle still in his baby seat on that ugly couch, and looking at each other. We had nobody but us and I don't mind admitting that I felt utterly helpless. Nine months was suddenly not nearly enough time to prepare for our new family of three and our home felt a lot different than a fully staffed maternity ward. Thank God for that man. He sprang into action and by the end of that first hour had me settled into our not-so-ugly rocking-chair holding the most beautiful baby ever while he lined up bottles and stacked diapers and did everything else that needed to be done. It took a few more days of this same pattern before he looked at me and said, Wanna take him to see your parents?

And that's what we did... took a less-than-one-week-old baby on a fourteen-hour drive from the Rocky Mountains to the Midwest (in DECEMBER, of all times) and gave my mom and dad the surprise of their life.

One of my all-time favorite memories.

The tree we sat looking at on the evening of December 3rd.

Surprising my parents a week later.

The striped blue and white shirt and the ugly couch .

The not-so-ugly rocking chair.

Fully Awake

Today promises to be a good day. A good friend of mine is anxiously awaiting the arrival of a new grandson and I am anxiously awaiting the text that says he has arrived. The happiest days are always the days when babies make their grand entrance.

I feel better today which is another reason why it's got to be a good day. Yesterday was spent in a Nyquil-induced haze (the husband's cure-all for any ailment) and last night I shook off his offer of another dose. No, thank you. I would like to function today, if you don't mind. But then again, all that sleep I got yesterday had to have helped. Something helped. Thank you, Jesus.

Moving Forward

The turkey is behind us and the tree looms on ahead. I feel the same way about that tree as I did the turkey... so not looking forward to it, but I so know it will turn out grand. I'm gonna kick start the decorating, though. That, some lights, and few rounds of Jingle Bells ought to get me in the mood. Besides, our girl already has her room decorated... tree, lights, the whole nine yards. If I don't do something quick, somebody is gonna look like a Scrooge around here and I promise you this, it won't be her.

The family is in for a treat tonight. The weather is in the high 60s and the grill is ready for action. While grocery shopping today, I came across a steal-of-a-sale on steak. No more leftovers for us. They (the family) have been patiently awaiting the mom-back-in-the-kitchen, I'm sure. We pretty much winged it all weekend after the Thursday afternoon feast. I think all that remains is a few stragglers in the sweet potato department and a healthy piece of pumpkin pie. I'm looking forward to some charbroiled beef.

Or grilled beef. You know what I mean.

I've been reading and crocheting and settling into that winter mode. With the sun setting shortly after five or so, it's hard to do anything but slip on the pj's and turn in early. I do look forward to this time of year (much cooler weather!) and yet I also miss sitting on the porch in the evening hours. Sunshine is good for my soul. On the plus side, though, the mosquitoes have vacated the premises. At least our budget is spared the expense of bug spray.

And although I am thankful that this month of thankfulness is almost over (yeah... you don't even want to see the blog entry I did on that one and then wisely deleted), I do want to shout out my own thankfulness:

Webcams.
Skype.
The whole techno thing.

I got to see my favorite girls (nieces & great-nieces) over the weekend. My parents, too.

I'm going to do everything I can to end this year on a positive note.

Just don't hold me to it. =)

My New Favorite Turkey

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone and as much as I was dreading it, I have to admit that it was beautiful. It was just the five of us as planned, but I'm no fool... I was very thankful to have a family for whom to prepare a meal. We sat down to a candlelit table shortly after the noon hour, the husband said a prayer that was heart-wrenching to me, and the kids dutifully answered the mom-forced question of What Are You Thankful For? The kitchen was spotless by two o'clock and the rest of the day was spent in comfy pants in front of the television. As we turned in for the night, the husband stopped to hug me and simply said, "Thanks for taking care of me today."

In my book, it doesn't get much better than that.

My New Favorite Turkey

a thawed twelve pounder, cleaned out, rinsed and patted dry

rub (inside and out) with kosher salt, lemon zest, and rosemary the day before

stuff with quartered onions (unpeeled) and lemons and fresh thyme the day of

brush with melted butter; sprinkle with kosher salt & pepper

roast (uncovered) at 450 for forty-five minutes

kick down to 325 and start checking temperature after the first hour or so

rest for a good twenty minutes

Happy Thanksgiving (Then & Now)

According to my Thanksgiving Week Plan (yes, I really do have one of those on my fridge) I should be setting the table and baking pies by now. Oh well. It can wait. I became slightly distracted by our now-working computer while I was cleaning the shelves above the desk. Good thing I haven't made it to Pinterest yet... I might never make it to the kitchen.

Instead I found myself dusting a framed picture of my brother and me at my wedding and thinking back to times long gone. It was a Thanksgiving Week such as this one twenty years ago that my husband and I had what could loosely be referred to as our first date. Basically we ran into each other on a Friday night and the rest is history, but the timing of that chance meeting is rather unique, not to mention a good reminder that God always has a plan.

That was my first holiday (not counting the Fourth of July and Labor Day) that I was away from my family. I was in the Air Force, in the states, but still too far from home to make the drive. To say I was depressed and homesick would be putting it lightly (gee... I haven't changed much, huh?) and I was not looking forward to a holiday feast on base. A supervisor of mine took pity and invited me to share a Thanksgiving meal with his family. I took him up on it and ended up making it a sleepover. They had small kids, I was like a big kid, and the stash of Disney movies took us well into the night. Later that evening, by now a Friday night, we all went out for dinner and that's where I recognized somebody I thought I knew. Like I said... the rest is history.

You know, I hated not being home that year and yet I was right where I needed to be.

There's not a whole lot more I can say to that.

Happy Thanksgiving to my family who will be together this weekend.
My parents. My brother and sister in-law. My nieces and great-nieces.

Happy Thanksgiving to my friends, both near and far.

Happy Thanksgiving to the family who shares these four walls with me.
You are so worth all the cooking and baking that's about to take place.

It's time I got started.

An Unsolicited Plug for Ted Dekker and Barnes & Noble (although a few royalties sent my way would not go unappreciated)...

One of my favorite books- a book I always go back to and have reread too many times to count, is Heaven's Wager by Ted Dekker. He was one of my favorite authors at one time and still is to a point. His newer stuff is a bit... well, strange (for lack of a better word) and I abruptly abandoned him a few years back when he joined the vampire bandwagon... nonetheless, his earlier work has forever captured my attention. Heaven's Wager is part of a The Heaven Trilogy (or The Martyr's Song Series) that also includes When Heaven Weeps and Thunder of Heaven. I had hardcopies of all three books at one time, but during some reckless, pointless cleaning spree a year or so, donated them or gave them away to friends or some other ridiculous, not-so-well-planned lame action of mine.

As luck would have it, this series came up an excellent e-book offer through Barnes & Noble (see link below). I wouldn't be surprised if Amazon offers the same thing. Trust me, it's well worth the thirteen bucks and change it takes to download:

"Three GREAT Books For One Decent Price," says Angela.

What's to love about Heaven's Wager? It's a modern day story with the spirit of Job from the Old Testament. It's a moving reminder that God is at work in all things, even when it seems He has left the building. It never fails to encourage me.

There is no neutral ground in the universe:

 every square inch, every split second,

 is claimed by God and counter-claimed by Satan.

~C.S. Lewis

I know my entries can get downright depressing sometimes. Trust me, if it weren't for my parents, who also happen to be my biggest fans, my writing would probably drift a little farther to the dark side. I can struggle with wrapping my mind around what my spirit knows to be true. I don't think that's necessarily a character flaw; I just think that's who I am. I am a sinner saved by grace. I live in an upside-down world. I am just like you- I just don't sugarcoat it with fairy dust and rainbows.

Oops. There I go again. The husband says sarcasm may be the end of me one day. He's probably right.
Read the book. Tell me what you think. I'll do my best to keep my smart remarks to myself.



And as a postscript, to whoever has been backtracking and reading old entries from this rambling journal of mine, thanks for coming back. It might be my mom or a friend I just met or that faithful reader from Israel... whoever it may be, I have noticed. I know I could pinpoint you (they make an app for everything, you know), but I kind of like the mystery of it all. Remember, what my life lacks in reality, I make up for in my mind.  =)

Keeping The Foolish Out Of My Writing

A few days ago I wrote a somewhat poignant entry regarding the many, many thankful (facebook) updates I have been scrolling through- it was Day 16 at that point. I thought better of what I had written (like I usually do) and decided the wisest thing to do would be to not publish it. There is, afterall, a proverb for this very thing:

A fool finds no pleasure in understanding but delights in airing his own opinions. Proverbs 18:2

I write alot of things that never make it to the publishing button. I've been asked on numerous occasions to write a book (something my ego loves), but I never get far with it. What in the world would I write about? I've tried fiction- love to read it, hate to write it. I can't keep the characters straight and I'm bored with myself by the second chapter. I've tried non-fiction, too, but there is nothing out there that fascinates me enough that I would want to devote a book to it... that's why I go to a library. So what does that leave? An auto-biographical book-of-my-opinions type of thing. I'm pretty sure that publication would rest dead in the water.

I did write a short book years ago entitled Proverbs 31 for the Real Woman (or something like that). I never knew what to do with it, though, and have since noticed that that theme is severely overused anyway. Actually, that particular manila envelope full of typed pages is kind of fun for me to read now. I was a fairly new wife and mom when I wrote it and full-to-the-brim of that funny thing called hope. Oh, I still have hope (I wouldn't be here if I didn't), but my hope today is edged with a whole lot of truth,  I guess. I have my faith, but believe me... if I were to write that thing now, I am certain it would read differently.

Hey. There's an idea. Maybe I should do that. It could be sort of a before and after thing.
Before the end of your twenties. After the reality of your forties. Marriage. Kids. Daily wrinkle cream.

But then again, I wouldn't want to scare the young people.

Happy & Sad (Don't Know What Else To Call It)

Picture this:

The horseshoe drop-off area at your kids' high school.
Your teenage daughter dressed up for professional day to earn extra credit.
Her boyfriend walking by at the exact same time your mini-van drives up.

Keep in mind this is the same girl who typically wears a camouflage jacket and jeans and boots on any given day. She is now in a skirt and heels and looking very professional. As she recognizes the boyfriend walking up in his own camouflage jacket and jeans and boots, her only response is,

Drive, Mom! Drive!

Oh, the things that make me laugh.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We lost a member of our extended family yesterday whose passing came as such as surprise- I mean, the events leading up to it were so unexpected, my head is still whirling from it all. I suppose it's good for us all to  be reminded from time to time that life certainly is fleeting... we never know when our day may come. I know I have been looking at my own close family in a brand new light. A renewed appreciation. My heart aches for the unexpected tragedy of it all.

Life is a balancing act of the laughter and the tears.

May your laughter side always weigh more.

Take A Walk With Me

Do you ever daydream about stuff that is so far out there, it's somewhat relaxing (and fun) to conjure up scenarios in your mind that you know could never happen? I typically do this kind of daydreaming at night when I've got other stuff on my mind. For some reason, picturing myself in the craziest of circumstances- descending the steps of a private plane, for example- eases my mind and helps me fall asleep. It only takes a few minutes of pure ridiculous-ness to knock me out (and yes, I know ridiculous-ness is not  a word, but I bet you know what I mean).

The husband had no work today. I am still without work. And the oldest was sent home due to lack of work. Just think, it hasn't even been a full week since the election, but we won't go there. Instead, let's go to the river where the beauty of autumn beats any night-dreaming I may do.

This is how I spent my morning.

Just When You Thought I Was Out Of Hair Stories...

I come up with another one.

I was the only one in the house today when I left for church. I changed my shoes twice, added another layer of hair spray, and grabbed my Bible on the way out the door. I made it through one stoplight when the thought occurred to me that I really didn't want to go. Driving through three more stoplights, I made a right when I should've went straight and headed back to the house. I swapped my nice, dark green sweater for a Falcon t-shirt and an old black cardigan and popped a chicken pot pie into the microwave. I fixed up a baby shower gift for later today and flipped on The Brady Bunch and wondered what the Lord might be thinking.

You know, I've never pretended to have it all together.

Anyway.

The daughter made the decision to cut her hair yesterday. Technically, she made the decision some time ago when she began growing her hair for the sole purpose of cutting it one day. That beautiful hair is now in the form of a ponytail waiting to be mailed to Locks of Love in honor of her own battle with alopecia areata. Seeing as how I've still got the ponytail of the middle waiting to be mailed, we'll probably just make it a dual mailing event. One thing's for sure... this family ought to be saving some money on shampoo and conditioner and drain cleaners.

And yes, she loves it.

No regrets, Mom, she said leaving the hair salon.



Not a bad way to live.

My Thoughts On The Election, Steam Mops, and Those Eggs That Didn't Hatch

The Election.

Sheesh. Can I just say I'm glad it's over? My candidate of choice did not make it to the Oval Office and I have grave concerns about the man who currently sits in that seat, but... well, assuming all went according to design in terms of our electoral process, this is a democracy in which we live. I remember thinking Bill Clinton would usher in the end of the world with his second term. Granted, the current guy makes Bill Clinton look good to me, but hey... life and arguments and unemployment shall continue on.

Steam Mops.

There is something therapeutic about the steam of a plugged-in mop. Vacuuming and cleaning in general can help clear my mind, but when a dirty hardwood floor falls prey to steam and a good squirt of OrangeGLO for Hardwood Floors... well, let me just say that I feel rather accomplished right now. Oh, I know by the time the kids roll in and supper is finished and the nightly snack is consumed those floors will have lost the gleaming luster they hold at the moment, but for now, I am at peace.

Those Eggs That Didn't Hatch.

If you're lost on this one, back up to the last post (it had to do with cake, I believe). Whatever eggs I heard crackin' were not meant for me. I shut down on life-as-I-know-it for a good twenty-four hours, I guess. Even big girls need time to recover. Like the husband said, though, I'll do what I always do: Get Back Up. Probably the only ones who have a clue what the husband and I are going through (in terms of finances) are my parents and if they say I'll be all right, well then, I will be all right. Between them and God Almighty Himself, this thing can only end on a positive note.



Even another term of Barack Obama can't change that.

The Last Thing I Need Is Cake

This is what I keep telling myself as the offer of pound cake lingers in the air. I've never been one to play the weight game. I have no idea when I last stood on a scale. My jeans have always been the determining factor on where I stand as far as to eat the pound cake or not to eat the pound cake. Right now I'm pretty sure the jeans would agree with the mirror that the pound cake can wait. Besides, I'm really not that hungry. I can wait, I think, till lunch.

Maybe.

(And the fact that I was asked how I felt about substituting for a PE class should not be a sign to me at all. Right?)

The things that make me laugh.

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I wrote that a few days ago. Something happened before I got around to actually publishing it, though. I was going to ramble on about how I got to see my mid-western nieces via the webcam the night before and how that made me cry when the end button was clicked and how I get so darn homesick for my family far away. The cake incident was only a little humor to mask the tears. Oh, it happened and it made me laugh (if only to myself). Then the PE substitute thing came along which really made me chuckle. I'll tell you, there are times when I would testify that I hear the Lord laughing right along with me. That was one of those times. I have no idea what He is up to, but I'm betting it is the last thing I would have thought of... He's a genius like that.

So anyway, things might be a-changing. I have learned, however, not to count my chickens before they hatch. I'll not count 'em yet, but the sound of crackin' eggs are in the air.

And if that's the best idiom I can come up with, I better quit while I'm ahead.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oh,

The oldest is riding a motorcycle.
The middle looks like a body builder.
And the youngest has a boyfriend.

Life never stands still, does it?

Tuesday

I'm looking out on what our local weather guy has deemed a blustery day. The forecast this morning included smiling warnings to bundle up! and I've seen no less than seven stocking caps, three scarves, and one pair of mittens so far this morning. Is it really that cold out? No, but then again, I know what a blustery day is suppose to feel like. I remember the days of long johns under the clothes and the mandatory two pair of socks. I'll take southern cold over mid-western cold any day.

The weather is the big headline, though, isn't it? I hate it for the people being affected by the latest big wind to blow in off the ocean... times like this make me rethink that fictional house on the beach (the one that exists inside my head anyway). The only good that has come from the latest turn of events is that the media has something else to talk about besides politics, Lindsey Lohan, and Octomom. When you think about it, it must be pretty tough to come up with enough stuff to talk about in this constant news-hungry world. I mean, I don't ever remember thinking, Boy, I wish I could watch/read/listen to news twenty-four hours a day; but evidently somebody out there had that thought (and I bet it was the same person who decided Lindsay Lohan and Octomom were newsworthy to begin with).

Anyway.

Last night we did the parent-teacher thing and collected a few report cards. I presented this account to my mom: No Drama. No Lecture. No Tears. The two remaining school-age kids are doing very well as they muddle through their high school years. In fact, I was so relaxed afterward that I willingly watched an hour of The Voice. I'm not a fan of any kind of music show that does not include a live singer in a cowboy hat, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Actually, I think I might like that show better than the rest of the wanna-be-a-star series. Listening to the opinions of the kids as they watch it is entertainment enough. That's about as much television as I can take on a week night.

And that's about all I can do for right now.

It's just another Tuesday. Life goes on.

Fading October

Where has the month gone?

In a few short days, I'll get another paycheck.
In a few short days, I'll be back home with no paycheck.

My days go by something like this:

5:30 am.  The alarm goes off and I groan.
5:40 am.  The alarm goes off and I moan.
5:55 am.  Reality sets in.

I must get up.
I have to get up.
I am glad to get up.

8:00 am.  The kids are at school and I am where I need to be.
4:30 pm.  The kids are at home and I am not far behind them.

The front porch swing.
Good clothes still on; shoes are not.
Cup of coffee in hand. 

9:00 pm.  My day is done.

Supper is over. 
I have talked to everyone I want to talk to.
The nook battery is low.

The Lord and I discuss what the next month will bring- well, mainly I discuss it and He mostly stays silent. He sure is big on this trust thing. When the year first began, I remember thinking this will be the year everything changes. Now that the year is almost over, my thoughts are shifting towards THAT will be the year everything changes. And He is probably thinking will she ever get it?

Someday, Lord. Someday.

When I Grow Up, I Will Live In Washington State And Have Twelve Children (hysterical laughing in the background)

I am a mom of three kids. Back when I dreamed of being a mom of three kids- well, technically I dreamed about being a mom of twelve kids, but then I had one, went for two, and decided three was a good place to stop... but anyway, back when I dreamed of being a mom, I dreamed of a busy, busy world full of chocolate chip cookies and ice cold milk. My kids would love me and hug me and wish me a daily farewell with a kiss on the cheek. They would seek me out for advice and listen intently to my stories and write about me in school essays. In short, I would be the center of their world.

You can stop laughing now.

You know, for a while, that's not too far off from how it was. With the exception of the My Mom Is My Hero essay, I do believe that for quite some time I was nothing short of Supermom to my kids. I knew the dream was coming to an end, however, when one particular day the standard kiss-on-the-cheek goodbye was masterfully avoided by one of my little sweet ones. Since that time, it's been nothing but downhill and just the way it should be. I'm no longer the primary cookie baker and I can't keep enough milk in the house to offer it ice cold. While I'm pretty confident I am loved and hugs really aren't that rare, I don't know if my advice is really adhered to or merely endured. And my stories? Well, I think somewhere along the way they stopped listening.

Hence, the birth of this blog.

Twelve kids? I also wanted to marry my high school sweetheart and live in the Northwest.

I've never really been good with setting goals and following through.

For my husband of might-as-well-say twenty years,
My three teenagers who do not to shrink from my hugs,
And my newly adopted southern home,

Some of the best-laid plans really aren't the best plans at all.

In Case You've Ever Wondered, Ice Water Does NOT Promote Sleep

The husband has been having trouble with his elbow and has lately been seen around the house with a gallon-sized ziplock full of crushed ice attached to his arm. I went to bed before him last night to browse my nook, make a play or two on Words With Friends, and play a round of Scrabble (notice no reading was involved). I was fully relaxed and slightly drowsy and just getting ready to turn off the light when he walked in and put his melted bag of ice on my leg. He thought he was being funny.

He wasn't.

The bag opened unexpectedly as only a ziplock bag can do and what was suppose to be a funny move turned into a torrent of freezing water all over me. The conversation that followed is not important and probably shouldn't be repeated anyway. What is important is that after that event, I was no longer fully relaxed and slightly drowsy even though the light was now off. I was wide awake and full of thoughts that only a dark, quiet house can entertain.

Friends. There are friends and then there are good friends. I am thankful for the good friends.
Groceries. Sub sandwiches and pizza dip. Chili. Lasagna. Our meals for the next three nights.
Bills. Sometimes you just gotta know when to cut your losses and hope for the best.
Jobs. Praying. Believing. Waiting.

Fleas. Is that another stupid flea biting me?!?

Somewhere in the midst of cursing those pesky fleas and wondering if pizza dip at 11:30 at night would be a bad idea and thinking about what tomorrow might bring, I went to sleep.

A deep, dreamless sleep that lasted until the alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.
And then the thoughts started all over again. It's gonna be one of those days.

That man better not come after me again with a bag of ice. =)

Alopecia Areata: Faith, Hair, and A Girl (#4)

Yesterday the girl asked me to help her dye her hair. Her long, thick, takes-two-boxes-to-even-hope-to-change-the-color kind of hair. Why she wants to change it is beyond me, but I guess she is like any other girl, myself included. We lightened it up a bit back in the summer. She wanted to try to go a little lighter (aka blonder) "just for a while, Mom." So we armed ourselves with old shirts, old towels, plastic gloves, and went to work. I didn't look at the clock to see what time we started, but by the time I wrapped her head in plastic, I was completely worn out. My goodness, that girl has a lot of hair.

She asked me a while back if I was ever going to write anymore about her and her hair. I wonder if this counts. There's not a whole lot more I can add to the hair story (click on the alopecia areata label at the bottom of this post if you have no idea what I'm talking about). I mean, her hair was there and then it wasn't and then it was. As I had my fingers in that head of hair yesterday, though, that same familiar feeling crept up from somewhere deep inside.

Please don't ever let that happen again.

She told me last week that she was losing some eyelashes. It wasn't so much of a statement, however; it was more of a question. I could see that look in her eye that was seeking reassurance. An answer. Do you think it's that again, Mom? She didn't speak those words, but they were there just under the thinly veiled surface. At least they were to me. I have to admit, that is always in the back of my mind. I gave her the first answer that popped into my head.

It's probably from washing off your eye make-up. I'm guessing you're not very gentle.

She smiled and sighed and said I was probably right. The girl doesn't wear much make-up at all, but she is a self-taught expert on the virtues of mascara. She can tell you which little tube will give you the most bang for your buck and provide detailed instructions on how to properly apply the black goop. She is all girl. So we settled on that explanation and moved on and talked about other things.

I'm telling you, though, I watch that girl's head like a hawk, probably more than she knows. There have been times when I have noticed a little receding of the hairline taking place. For instance, the husband and I both saw it again about four years ago after we moved and our beloved grandma died. Although not much is known about this unexplained hair loss, stress is believed to be some sort of a trigger. All I know to do is not make a big deal out of it and speak the same scripture from the second part of Nahum 1:9... this affliction shall not rise up a second time.

What more can you do? And what more can you say?
Her hair is beautiful, but her true beauty lies within. That's all any of us can hope for.

The Curse of the Opossum

I am thankful for the husband every day, but I'm especially thankful for his presence any time there's an insect problem or a backed-up sewage system or an uncooperative vehicle. As of last night, I have one more interesting item to add to the list.

A renegade opossum.

We had just went to bed when the middle knocked on our door with the unusual announcement of a opossum on the back porch. The back screened-in porch. Where the cats were. Yeah... that got our attention real quick.

He was right. As we looked out our back door, there was the freakish-looking, always-creeps-me-out, blood-red eyes of the uninvited guest looking back at us. His (her?) focus was on the cheap, dry cat food I had just put out for the cats. When the weather is nice, we will sometimes leave the indoor cats on the protected (or so we thought) back porch. Of course, there's that pesky hole that's been in the bottom of the screen door for forever, but that shouldn't have been a problem, right?

Wrong.

You can only appreciate the humor that followed if you have been there before or have a good imagination or know our family. The husband grabbed his .22 while the middle rescued the indifferent cats from whatever tragedy might have been waiting. The opossum took one look at the now-armed man and scurried through the hole by which he (she?) entered. In no time, this stealer-of-the-cat-food was cornered, angered, and was no more (and we'll interrupt this description to excuse those of you who might be horrified at the thought of one less opossum on this earth).

What was funny is the fact that just as the shot was fired, I was headed to the room of the youngest to tell her not to panic. About that time, she met me with big, questioning eyes. All I offered was a simple explanation:  Dad. Opossum. Back porch. She shrugged her shoulders in acknowledgement and headed back to bed. That made me laugh. Evidently nothing is surprising in this family. The middle assisted in the burial, the mystery of the recent trash can scavenger was solved, and we all went to bed.

Where I dreamed I was a friend of Barack Obama and a University of Georgia football fan.
And now you know why I called this little tale The Curse of the Opossum.

Horrible, horrible dreams.

It's All The Husband's Fault

Well, my mind has been on home lately.

Guess I best get these thoughts out of my system so I can move on.

Last night all three kids scattered and left the husband and me to ourselves. We went to our favorite little barbecue place and sat outside side-by-side at a picnic table eating and watching traffic go by. This is one thing I love about the south, I said indicating the enormous sandwich I was partially through, the barbecue. I love mustard-based barbecue. Who knew?

That and the tea, he said. I always told you there was no other place you could get this kind of tea. With that remark, we lifted our sweet teas and toasted one another to the weight we have both put on in the last five years. There's always a price to pay, you know.

I listened as he told me more stories of growing up in the Deep South (more south than where we are right now... apparently that's important to note). He always hated Midwestern winters and always stood a little straighter at the sight of a Confederate flag and always said he wanted to move home one day. It's just too bad that his idea of home and my idea of home are almost a thousand miles apart.

Oh well. Been there, done that.

So today, in my hometown, my mom sits with my dad while my brother and his wife visit. There's a festival taking place that turns that little bitty town into a massive crush of too many people. I don't miss that part so much, just the part where we would walk to town in the mid-to-late afternoon and buy fried foods and look at overpriced booths with no money in our pockets (that would've already been spent on funnel cakes).

I miss listening to my dad sing songs that make no sense and hearing my brother laugh and watching my mom putter around in the kitchen. Sheesh. I'm gonna have to put the brakes on this one. This is getting nowhere fast. But you do understand, if you've been around this virtual spot for very long, why I look forward to fifteen-hour trips home (takes longer the older we get) and why Saturdays are the absolute worst for me and why I have a label dedicated to homesickness.

Some things will never change.

And just to be clear, the title is a joke between the man and me. I knew what I was getting into the day I said I DO almost twenty years ago. If anything, blame it on the accent. That's what caught my attention. =)

If You're A Faithful Couponer, I'll Apologize In Advance

You know, I think about coupons. I'll browse through them every now and then, cut carefully around the dotted lines, and set 'em aside with the very best of intentions. On the rarest of occasions, I'll even actually redeem the blasted things. For the most part, though, all those coupons are good for are cluttering up my desk and collecting dust.

Please don't tell me about binders and page protectors or even handy little wallet-sized organizers that I can file by the expiration date. Believe me, I'm all about dividing stuff and color coding and artsy little labels. I can organize till Jesus comes back and have fun doing it, but all the little crafty ideas of this world will not motivate me to utilized the penny-pinching power of the coupon. I simply don't have the patience.

I know, I know. The convenience of technology. Coupon sites and coupon printing and coupon clubs. No thank you. I've done the e-coupon thing on my grocery customer tracking loyalty card... that's worked every blue moon or so. It's just that most of the time when I actually get to the store, the generic brand (without the coupon) is still cheaper anyway, thus reinforcing the fact that my computer time could have been better spent on more meaningful tasks like facebook or pinterest or blogging.

Yes, I've moaned and groaned because we're tight on money. That may never change. On the plus side, though, I'm not complaining about paper cuts or the cost of printer ink or the impatient lady behind me in the check-out line who let me know in more ways than one she was not impressed with my four-inch binder of coupon glory.

Yeah... so that's never been me. But I have seen those same ladies taking up space in the aisle while they sort through their couponopedia. Of course, I can't brag about how much I've saved either or stock my would-be garage with enough deodorant to supply the entire western hemisphere for the next thirty years, but hey... we've all got our goals in life, right?

And if you're one of those ladies, you're probably telling yourself that I'm just jealous.
You could be right. I think I'm about out of deodorant. I know I don't have a coupon for that.

A Itchy, Scratchy Check-Your-Ankles-For-Bites Flea Tale

For somebody who doesn't seem too interested in what I do, that girl of mine sure keeps up-to-date on my blog posts:

Haven't posted anything in a while, huh, Mom?
I did just the other day, Daughter.
Humph. Guess I missed that one.

I think she secretly admires her mother.

We have been engaged in the Battle of the Fleas at our house. It doesn't happen very often around here, but when it does... whew! Those little pests are hard to kick. I spent my morning yesterday washing and vacuuming and spraying everything in sight while the cats were banished to the screened-in porch. When the kids got home from school, I paid two of them twenty bucks each (payday!) to wash and soak the cats in a Dawn dish soap bubble bath and remove and wash all the furniture on the back porch where they had been hanging out all day. They were glad to do it. I was glad to pay it. I call that a win-win situation.

The flea status as of this morning looks favorable. One cat looks entirely flea-free while the other one (all black) is a little harder to tell. I think I am gonna let 'em back inside to at least part of the house (no bedroom access included). I've got a couple of flea bombs lined up for later this week and I'm keeping that flea killer spray as handy as a six-shooter pistol in a hip holster. I'm wishing I had a walnut tree nearby. When we lived back in the Midwest, my grandma swore by keeping walnut branches (with the leaves) stashed under the furniture to ensure a flea-free home. I don't where she got that idea- maybe my grandpa? -but we lived in the country with a dog and multiple outdoor cats and never really had a problem with fleas.

Sheesh. I can hear the pitiful meowing coming from just outside the backdoor.
Even I can't take that kind of pressure. Release the hounds felines!

I've got my sharp-shooter ready.

And The Low-Balance Alert Says...

$17.20 in our checking account.

Chuckle, chuckle. Cry, cry.

Meanwhile, the NFL refs got what they wanted and we still can't afford tickets to see our favorite team. Same goes for George Strait. He announced his final tour and the girl and I talked about trying to see him next year. I checked out ticket prices for a venue near us... yeah, that's not going to happen either.

On the plus side, I have managed to make a $56.00 grocery trip made at the beginning of the week carry this family of five through the end of the week. Thank God for potatoes. From side dishes to soup to just a plain old baked potato to go along with chili, they can stretch out any budget.

Of course, I may want to leave potatoes out of next week's meal planning.

Even I could use a break.

For My Family. You Are Loved.

This picture isn't the best in the world. In fact, it's pretty sorry. But, if you could've seen it from my point of view- and heard the sounds that went with it... well, you would understand why I grabbed my camera and tried my best to peer out a cracked screen door while keeping the cats from bolting so I could try to capture the moment.

If you could see it clearly, you would see a girl sitting in an adirondack chair (the Lowes plastic version) embroidering a quilt block. She's in a flannel, plaid shirt with her hair pulled back in a curly ponytail. That's her oldest brother to the right. He's still in his work clothes and tinkering around on a motorcycle he recently bought. The brown and tan truck is his pride and joy and a gift from his grandpa. Their voices drift up this way (toward the house), although I can't make out a thing they are saying.

To the right of the oldest is a shed you can't see. Inside, the middle is faithfully going through his fitness regimen in which he writes down his goals on a dry erase board I bought him. Every now and then I can hear the clinking and clanking of his weights as they go up and down. The tail end of the blue truck that you see is most likely where the husband is working this evening. The fall air is beautiful, the insect repellent is at hand, and they all seem content in their world.

I was cleaning up the kitchen and thinking about Mary Todd Lincoln when I looked out the window. Odd twist there, I know, but lately I have been somewhat obsessed with the former first lady. Was she insane or was she merely a victim of the time period in which she lived? I am in the midst of one book about her now and have two more waiting in the wings, all from different perspectives. So, I was thinking of her grief regarding the death of yet another one of her children when I wiped my hands on a towel and turned off the kitchen light.

And caught a glimpse of my family,
Which produced this blurry image,
That prompted a time of gratitude.

Hope you don't mind.