Well-Timed Moments

So when your kids ask about your blog, you listen.

Your ears perk up. You blush with feigned humility. You feel special.

I mean, come on... if the kids think I must write, well then-
It is for the children, after all.



Yeah. I'll shut up already, but seriously, two out of three really did ask. With that in mind, we'll make this a test run and see if either one of them have any questions, comments, or otherwise. It should make a good story anyway.

We live in a house of somewhere around twelve hundred square feet. With one kid out of his teenage years (I need to update that blurb on my bio) and the other two kids well into the teenage life, it mostly feels like we are five adults sharing a sometimes very crowded space. Throw into the mix only one television (and antenna tv at that), and there are only so many places to hide when you would rather not face the world. So, when one is having a difficulty of sorts, we all know about it and we all share the pain. Last night when the pain for one became all too evident, a pow wow ensued with grievances aired, pep talks offered, and affirmations given. In the end, three kids celebrated their God-given sibling bond with a late night trip to the meeting place of all meeting places, Walmart.

And I have yet to figure out the allure of that.

At any rate, I found myself in my usual spot on the couch, book in hand, and settled in for the evening. The husband succumbed to the pull of online video gaming/you tube searching/mindless jump surfing and tuned out the world. The tv was off. The house quiet.

And Vince Gill began to sing.

I looked up from the glow of my nook book to see the husband looking at me. Granted, I had to put on my glasses to be certain he was looking my way, but when the blurriness adjusted to 20/20 vision, he had indeed pulled the jack on the headphones and motioned me to the dance floor, otherwise known as the living room floor rug.

While the kids walked the aisles of Walmart, the parents danced to bona fide country music. At one point I looked at my worn, pink fuzzy socks and chuckled at the sight we must have been to the cats who looked lazily on from their vantage point by the fire.

Now, twenty-four hours later, I sit in the same spot on the couch, the same worn, pink fuzzy socks on my feet, and the television on for a change. Before me is the husband, his back to me, an virtual mafia/swat team contest in the heat of battle capturing his attention. The Dick Van Dyke show has taken over what was a Wonder Woman movie and from time to time a kid wanders through the living room.

And all I'm thinking is,

Shouldn't you people be at Walmart?

I Think You Dreamed That

Look, I don't know what to tell you.

Maybe it's the season. You could blame it on homesickness.
Or the weather or the fact that I've been sick.

I know that last post said I was done. Finished. Signing off. Believe me, it was with every purest intention within me that I wrote those words. I knew what I was doing. No hesitation in the least.

And yet here I am.

I have absolutely no idea what I am doing.



There's nothing new under the sun, is there?

The End

I am officially bringing this blog to a close.

Thanks to all who have read and wondered and accepted. If my life were a book, it would have been over a long time ago. Save your bookmark for another story. There's always another one on the bookshelf.

Thanks again,
Angela

Facebook and Other Worthless News

My blogging machine seems to have run out of steam. I'm beginning to think that the whole thing was necessary to get me through those workless years. Now that I'm back to full-time, I might have more to write about, but also a whole lot more people to offend. It just doesn't seem worth it.

Speaking of offending people, I shut down my facebook account and started a new one. My previous account just had too many issues that the faceless facebook people were not being of much help to fix. The final straw was a rather lengthy form they had me fill out detailing all the glitches I was experiencing. When I hit submit, a new window opened informing me not to expect any help or a reply... my information would simply be used for future facebook improvements.

Yeah. A lot of good that did me in the present.

I think I'm ready to join the husband and venture off the grid.

My Life As A Woodpecker

Yesterday I sat on my front porch talking to my dad on the phone. As I talked, I watched a woodpecker beat his tiny little head on the tree that shades the front of our house. Granted, I understand the basics of woodpecking (?) and know that it was not necessarily the head the woodpecker was doing the pecking, but you get the general idea.

Or maybe you don't.

Just go with it.

I watched that bird and thought to myself,
Give it up, little buddy. You're not gonna get anywhere.

But that's not right, is it?

That bird is going to get exactly what it's after. All that pecking and pounding is for a reason. It may seem ridiculous to us, and yet that pesky little creature has a God-designed mission in life. As long as he sticks to the tree and not my cedar-sided house, I have no reason to break out a pellet gun. No reason to interfere.

I watched that bird and thought to myself,
Pound away, little guy. You're on the right track.

Do you ever feel like you are beating your head incessantly on a brick wall and nobody is paying attention? Maybe they're watching you and thinking, When is that woman ever going to learn? Maybe they're watching you and thinking, Man, she makes me feel better about myself.

Maybe they're watching you and have Tylenol on stand by.

I'm thankful today for friends who wait patiently with pain reliever in hand.

When Your Kid Buys You Dinner

It reminds you of everything that's gone RIGHT in your life.

We may never have money, but we will always be RICH.
Thanking God every day for the peace He has poured upon our household.

Our cup runneth over.

Aggravation

I am watching a football game and rapidly losing my good sense of humor. I blame it all on the husband. I could have cared less about football until he moved me to a place where football is king. Now my Saturdays are spent on the college side and my Sundays with the NFL. My only saving grace is we are antenna-only television so if it's a mid-week game, I don't have access.

Thank God.

Another interception. My good humor is gone.
I've made good use of the red power button on the remote.

I might as well get back to laundry... at least that's something I can control.


Until next weekend anyway.

Breathing Life To Dried-Up Bones

A joyful heart is good medicine, 

but a crushed spirit dries up the bones. 

Proverbs 17:22

I came home grumpy. Irritated.
Wanting to pop something with a BB gun.

And that's the mild version.

The husband put up with me for a while before he asked ,

What in the world is wrong with you?

I said I just wanted to hear some good news. Did he have any?

He had none. This is his week of no work. No work equals no pay. No pay presents unique challenges to paying the bills. Challenges to paying the bills creates a treasure hunt of sorts for things to sell on craigslist.

It's never a dull moment around here.

So anyway, he listened and more importantly, he understood my mood. We fired up the grill, made supper, and fed the kids. It was around that time that my phone rang. It was my dad.

We talked. He told me stories. I laughed. It was exactly what I needed. I repeated the same stories to the husband who (strangely enough) didn't laugh near as much as I did. He washed dishes. I dried. He asked me if I was all right. I looked him in the eye and said yes.

Somehow, in the midst of that unexpected laughter, I found hope.
In hope, I found peace. And in that peace, I found rest.

God's not finished with us yet.

(Fiery) Memories of My Grandma

Tomorrow is Way Too Old Wednesday (aka Senior Citizen Day) at our school. It's all in good fun... just another way to celebrate Homecoming Week and get away from the same old-same old. I've spent the last hour or so looking through my closet and the kids' closets and have discovered a few things about myself.

1. Trying to dress old is lot of hard work, and

2. I have a lot of old looking clothes from which to choose.

I'm not sure what that says about me and my (fading) sense of style, but all this old talk had me thinking about my grandma and how she would dress.

Long-sleeved shirts. Polyester pants. Curlers.

And the occasional ball cap.

Here she is with the oldest clearing away brush from our land. I would bet good money she had a matchbook tucked away in those jean pockets. That little lady was notorious for tossing a lit match in order to clear the land. The husband had to chase her around more than once with a garden hose in his hand. Oh, that still makes me laugh. Anyone who knew her knows how much she loved working outdoors.

She loved to quilt and sew and fish and garden. She would put anything in the freezer rather than throw it away. I remember one time she offered us tea... frozen in a ziploc bag. She would freeze milk if she thought it would spoil before she was able to use it all. She saved peanut butter containers and whipped topping containers and tubs of butter containers. She was not one to waste.

Her house often smelled of boiling onions or cabbage or beets.
Her refrigerator was typically full of a variety of leftovers.
She really did always have something in her cookie jar.

Good grief, I miss that woman.

Yes, tomorrow I will be thinking of her. My entire outfit is modeled after something I think she would approve. I may be missing the scent of mothballs, but I'm hoping to have fully captured her style.

Nothing fancy. Everything practical.

I'll just leave my matchbook at home.

My Co-Pilot & Me

If you've followed this blog for any length of time, you probably understand that the youngest is my grandma all over again. Always busy. Usually sewing. Frequently baking. For the last few days she has been tucked away in her room alternating between cleaning, reading, and sewing a stack of quilt blocks. She's out of the house at the moment, but the tunes from her radio can still be heard drifting through the open windows. A song caught my attention and made me think of our road trip last week.

And for the record,

I do not promote girls in in orange shorts, 'shine, or "lightin' one up."

I gotta tell you, though, if we sang this song once, we sang it at least twenty times on our thirty-one hour road trip with the girl and me. She is the official bleeper of any and all curse words and Dr. Pepper is our substitute of choice for any mentioned drink of an alcoholic nature (this is my daughter we're talking about here).

We sure had a lot of fun.

We were tired. We got kinda loopy. We missed an exit once.

We saw a motorcycle fatality which was a sobering sight.
We saw Dale Jr's racing team which was driving way too fast.

We yelled "HOT DOG!" one too many times.

We were stuck in construction work,
stuck in rush-hour traffic, and
stuck in a car for way too long.

I can't wait to do it again.

Thanks for joining me, little lady

Coming Down

I've been on a cloud lately.

High above it all. Swinging my feet in the breeze.

Then the wind blew. Or the bubble popped. Or the cork uncorked.

(And no, I have not been drinking).

Just thinking.

A week ago I was gearing up to head home. I was anxious and excited and packing. The daughter and I drove and drove and drove until we cleared five state lines and crossed into the land of the free. We left the interstate system behind and said goodbye to traffic lights. We watched the land change shape and the sky grow larger. Life slowed down.

The weekend was spent with family and laughter. I was reminded of what a chore it is to take two toddlers to Walmart. I was reminded of what it was like to sit at a table of my aunt's home cooking. I was reminded of how much I miss my brother.

We somehow managed to cram in a whole lot of everything,
and yet none of it felt rushed.

It just felt right.

Time doesn't stand still, though. The daughter and I had to re-pack and cross those same five state lines again. The sky became cluttered and the weather a little warmer. I'd say I was glad to be back, but...

Well, I already miss my parents and my brother and the chitter-chatter of his little granddaughters. I don't know when I'll get to see them again, but I'm guessing it will be a while.

And that just makes me sad.

My cloud ride is over.

So Much Cooler Online

I have spent the better part of this morning reading blogs from all kinds of women (rarely men) from all parts of the country. Some make me laugh. Some make me hungry. A few inspire me to do something crafty and a few cause me to shake my head in disbelief. One thing they all have in common, though, is they all entertain the heck out of me.

I love people. No, I am not a people-person and I have not momentarily lost my mind, but I really do love people. Real people. The people who admit their faults and laugh at their mistakes. People who know they're not perfect and aren't afraid to tell you about it.

It all makes me feel unusually normal.

Blogs are not like facebook or twitter. For instance, on either one of those you might find some random, attention-seeking post like,

I CAN'T BELIEVE THE NERVE OF SOME PEOPLE!!

On a blog, you'll get that story in detail. In fact, if you've read any particular blog long enough, you start to feel like you actually know the people. You (or at least I do) will find yourself nodding in agreement with the shenanigans surrounding everyday people in everyday life.

On a blog, you won't just find a picture of half-eaten food on a obvious restaurant-style plate (those photos have always driven me insane)- you'll get a story about why that particular dish is picture-worthy. You won't get a series of "check-ins" or "self-portraits". You really only get what that particular writer feels is worth taking the time to write and let's face it, your daily stop at the gas station  or your boobs peeking out from your new lace cami is probably not gonna top the list of important things to write about on any given day.

Whoops. I did it again... caused another pair of eyes to roll heavenward. I can almost hear the fury of clicks as people scurry away from what I deem worthy to publish to the virtual screen. I'm probably just jealous. I can't check-in at the gas station or take fitting-room pics with my stylin' pink, Pantech dumbphone. Otherwise I would probably join the masses- though I seriously doubt it.

The moral of today's front porch story? Don't judge other bloggers based on me. Scroll around. You're sure to find someone who shares your interests. Blogs are a lot of fun. They're real. And hey, if you don't like 'em, just move on the next one.

I've lost lots of readers that way. =)

A Different Kind Of Heaven

By this time next week, I should be just about to the front door of heaven.

Heaven on earth, that is.

It's been over six years since we left home. I will never be convinced that was the right move (and definitely not a smart move), but the Lord has been good to us. To be fair, I know He's not done with us yet. I'm sure His ending is a better one than I could ever come up with, but right now I just want my mom.

You all know I love my porch and the weather and the sweet tea. There are definitely perks all around me. I gotta tell you, though, I could have that same porch and the same weather (right now anyway) and the same sweet tea back home. Home just isn't home when your mom (and dad!) aren't right around the corner.

I've been thinking about moms quite a bit lately. I see whiny moms, nice moms, bossy moms, and pretty moms on a daily basis. Although they all have their differences, they all share the same trait: weariness. I have not met one mom yet who isn't exhausted. Let's hear it for moms everywhere.

Do you know I still have a little box of notes my mom would write me from way back when? She worked two jobs and during that time period, our only real form of communication was little notes left on the table. I'm kinda glad we didn't have facebook or texting back then. I couldn't keep that in a box. It's sad (to me) how little things like handwritten notes have been lost to an easily deleted message on a screen.

Hmmmm. Now that's something to think about, isn't it?


Heaven on earth.

I absolutely cannot wait.

My Husband Made Me Cry

And he didn't even mean to do it. I know he didn't.

I'm a mess.

I'm tired. I don't like my backside. The dark spots on my face are multiplying.

Are you feeling better about yourself yet? =)

Oh well. I've made an appointment with that handy doctor of mine that I pay forty bucks a month for unlimited access. So far it's worked out quite well. No co-pays. Email day or night. No wait time in the office (yes... I did just say that). Anyway, since most types of blood work are included in my subscription, I figured I'd see if the old hormones are out of whack or if the iron levels are low. It's time to be proactive. Better to do that than drape the mirrors in black cloth.

The tears, however, I don't know if I can do much about. I sat on the couch earlier and watched the older son help the younger son with his tie (senior pictures tomorrow). When I mentioned that his collar needed straightening, the older stepped back and said, "Sooner or later you're gonna have to take care of this stuff yourself. I'm not always going to be around."

To which I stood up, straightened that collar, and said,

"No, but your mama always will be."

My babies are growing up.

No wonder I'm looking a little worn.

Of Obnoxious Brides And Clueless Politicians

Darn this nice weather.

I woke up in a bad mood. Maybe it was due to an overload of Bridezillas on Netflix last night (not good, I know). Maybe it was due to that teleprompter-reading-commander guy we've got in the big house and that ridiculous, threat-ridden virtual speech I caught a few minutes of on the late news (manipulation, for sure). Maybe it's because we once again have no hot water and I simply cannot bear the thought of a cold shower (get over it, I will). At any rate, when my eyes opened my first thought was of a for sale sign and a moving truck, but here I sit on this blasted front porch.

The air is cool. My cat is beside me. A string of motorcycles just went cruising by. Those old men looked pretty darn happy, if I do say so myself. It's quite difficult to stay in a bad mood.

I gotta tell you, though, those bridezilla women are crazy. It's like a train wreck that I can't look away from... I know I shouldn't watch, but good grief... do people really act that way? All that stress and drama wrapped around what some girl thinks perfection should look like. I just don't get it, but then again, I've never understood the pressure of having the perfect wedding. I would rather shoot for the perfect marriage (which we all know ain't gonna happen) than strive for an hour or two of me "being the princess for the day" while those around me are made to feel like cra--

Back away from the Netflix and nobody's gotta get hurt.

And what about our head guy? The guy in the big house? His eyes were bouncing back and forth so much reading that teleprompter that it was hard for me to follow a word he was saying. He threatens to shut this down and shut that down- even had the nerve to say that if the other side doesn't get on board with what he wants, "the soldiers, even those serving overseas, will not receive their paycheck come October 1st." Really? I don't believe him, or any other politician for that matter. I've not seen or heard one smack-talker who will ever convince me they have a clue what is going on outside their glass walls, at least not at this particular moment in time. That entire group of overly-paid, public-elected officials sit in padded leather chairs and blah-blah-BLAH-blah all the day long while we can barely afford one family pack of GROUND BEEF a week.

We have never lived in a home where the American flag is not displayed. We have honorable discharge papers under our belt and military achievement awards on our wall. We pay our income taxes, our property taxes, our vehicle taxes, and what will soon be our healthcare taxes-fines-whatever. We abide by the law.

It's enough to put a person in a horrifying, bad, bad mood...

Except for this wonderful, refreshing cool breeze. The cat is looking inside the boys' bedroom window. I don't know what he thinks he's gonna see... there won't be anybody moving on that side of the window for a while yet. I can hear the husband rattling around inside the house. I've been blessed with a man who knows how to wield a wrench and isn't afraid to use it. He's fixed that water heater before, Lord knows he can do it again. I've got a kid who helps buy groceries, a kid who wants to serve his country, and a kid who is just plain happy.

A God who gives me hope.
So much for that bad mood.

I just hope those bridezillas get their act together quick.

Marine Post: Take Two

From last Monday:

The younger son said to me earlier,

I think you're about as good as a forty-year old can get.

I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it made me laugh nonetheless. The fact that he shaved a few years off my age didn't hurt either. You gotta wonder at times what goes through the minds of these kids.

It would appear that a military recruiter has set his sights on that boy of mine. Not surprising in the least, if you know him at all, but still a tadbit troubling from the mother point of view. I think about my own mom and wonder what she thought about such things- she went through it twice. I think about my estranged mother-in law and feel a foreign twinge of empathy- she was told her firstborn had signed up only hours before he actually left AND it was on Thanksgiving Day.

Yes. The firstborn I went on to marry, but that's another story.

For now, it's time we invite that recruiter over for supper.
We've got the Army and Air Force covered.
Let's see what a Marine brings to the table.

We're always up for entertainment.


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


And today (Saturday, the 21st):

I wrote and posted that earlier and took it down only hours after it went public. I guess I was second-guessing what I was putting out there and not wanting any one comment to influence the boy one way or the other (or influence my thoughts, to be more exact). It always amazes me how the things I think will get the most attention don't get much at all and the things I think will bore the reader to death generate the most feedback. That particular post certainly kicked off a lot of interest almost immediately. Anyway, as is the usual with me, I've had time to process my thoughts and am ready to move on with life... at least for now.


Whatever will be will be.

Living The Dream (I'm Just Not Sleeping On It)

I looked back to see when I posted the (rather boring, I'm sure) entry regarding The Great Mattress Experiment. The date was June 25th. I had hoped we would make it at least three months. I'd say we will, we won't have much choice, but things are definitely changing in the world of air.

Once we got the amount of air figured out- a little compromise and a lot of give and take, I can honestly say that thing slept like a dream. Very comfortable. No more back pain. Even my left hip sighed in relief. We would have to periodically add air (not much, just a little about every week), but other than that. it has held up well. In the last few weeks, however, the husband and I have noticed that although holding the air is not a problem, the flattening of the mattress is... in other words, it seems like the sides are trying to bulge out while the middle sinks in. Not by a whole lot and the mattress is still quite firm, but enough that you almost feel like you could be lying on the edge of a softly, sloped ditch. And last night especially, I noticed that when the man  of the house came to bed, I felt like I was perched on one of those big, fluffy balloon-type things that people will use to launch another person into a high flying leap into a lake. Plus, my hip hurt all night. I did not sleep well.

Thus the reason for another rather boring post about air mattresses.

Oh well. We are in no position to look for something else. I'm not even sure how the water bill will get paid this week. The husband has unexpectedly went from working every week to working every other week and I can assure you that a mattress (air or no air) will not be on our priority list. I told somebody the other day that it seems like we take a few steps forward only to be knocked back about five. My first thought this morning as I rubbed the dull ache in my leg was about a particular check that has been floating around in that space between writing it and clearing it... if it's gonna hit the bank anytime soon, it will most definitely be this week.

Who's up for more Hamburger Helper?

That would be us. Tired of the same old-same old and yet very grateful for what we have. Not as much as some, but more than a few. God always provides. Milk. Bread. Coffee. Cream. Even the air for our great experiment and the electricity to power up the pump. Thank you, Lord, for even that.

You have definitely made this one interesting life.

Nobody Likes A Dud

I confess that I talk to my cats. No big surprise there. I also talk to myself, yell at the lady driving in front of me, and have ridiculously long conversations with people who I know... in my head. In other words, I can talk all the day long with almost anybody, if only I don't have to actually talk.

This thought occurred to me a few weeks ago when I found myself in a situation surrounded by people. Some I knew. Some I barely knew. Some I had never seen before in my life. In these situations, I'm the person you'll find sitting alone against the wall or quietly in a corner. I'm not necessarily looking for sympathy or for someone to take pity and try to draw me out of my solitude... mostly I am just observing and listening. I typically don't feel the need to join in.

Here's what I don't quite understand, however. I can be listening and know that I have something worthwhile to contribute, but I don't. It's not so much because I think what I have to say is unimportant; it's mostly because I don't want to bother. Whether it's the person talking who I don't want to bother or merely bothering myself in having to actually partake in a social activity, I have yet to figure out.

Case in point.

I listened to a man talk about outlaws in his family. Boy, do I have some outlaws. I can trace my dad's family back to a Pony Express rider and captivate an audience for hours about family members who have been ran out of town after town after town (and we're talking frontier towns here). I heard the same man talk about the Cherokee blood in his family. The husband has all sorts of interesting stories about his ancestors. Shoot, between his family and mine, the Civil War could keep me talking for an entire evening and most of the next day. The point is, and I think you get it, I've got things to say that you won't find retweeted a thousand times over or headlining some celebrity gossip show. Those are the conversations that wear me out and leave me wondering what in the world ever happened to quiet time.

I just don't do well with people. Put me in front of a crowd, give me a microphone and a topic, and I'm surprisingly charming (snickering kids in the background). Give me a white board, colorful markers, and a class full of students daring me to teach them something, and I'll rise to the challenge. Present me with an online forum with people from all around the world and I'll find some witty way to get my point across. Look, just give me one or two people (three at the most), something to eat or drink and a laugh or two, and I'm good to go.

Just don't put me in a backyard and leave me to make small talk on my own. Unless there's a cat involved, I promise you I'll just look like the disappointing dud in a group of fiery firecrackers.

Of course, I'll still be around when the smoke clears...


Hey, I might be on to something there. =)

Having The Queen Over For Coffee

My dreams have been rather twisted lately, something that tends to happen when I immerse myself in places other than reality. I've spent the better part of this weekend in Elizabethan England and as a result, Queen Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley have invaded my dreams. I'm pretty sure that Sir Francis Drake was a student of mine last night and somewhere in the midst of the dream-like confusion, I think I was giving a pep talk to Fanny Price of Mansfield Park (as dreams tend to do, I skipped a few centuries without giving it a second thought). Anyway, this is what happens when I have one too many lattes and spend too much time with PBS on Netflix.

Happy Labor Day To Me.

(And to you, too, of course. May your grill be hot, your feet propped up, and your pajamas still on).



Bring on the fall!

Hey! Aren't You The Lady Who Called Me Names?

Recently I experienced what I like to call a full-circle moment.

A mother (who shall remain nameless) of a former student (who shall also remain nameless) and I happened to cross paths. After staring at me for a long, awkward minute, she said,

Aren't you Mrs. So-And-So?

That I am, I replied. I had to admit to myself that I had no clue who this woman was (it's been a while), so rather than play along and act like I had it all together, I asked her to help me out with her name.

She said her last name and my mind raced back into time.

A time when I was the unfortunate focus of a small group of mothers who evidently had too much time on their hands. A time when their teenage daughters complained of unfair treatment...

...and I'll pause here to clarify the unfair treatment dealt with obviously unimportant academic issues (sarcasm!) like plagiarism and unfinished homework and forged parent signatures...

But I digress.

For one horrible week, my character was assaulted and my name was whispered one too many times in the corridors of a school-

And once again, my mind wants to dredge it all up again.

Get to the point, right?

This mother from years gone by stood and chatted with me about kids and schools and life. She asked about my kids and I asked about hers and after a few minutes of small talk, we prepared to part ways. That's when she paused, turned back around, and this particular circle became complete.

She hugged me. Thanked me. And totally caught me off guard.

Beginning.
Middle.
Closure.

I love it when things come together.

Crazy Butterfly

I fell asleep on the front porch swing only to awake with a jolt (and practically flipping myself out of the swing) while trying to fight off a crazed butterfly in my half-asleep, half-awake zombie-like state. Laughing to myself and silently thanking God that no one was around to witness my near collapse onto the wood floor, I tucked my arms inside my shirt (pesky mosquitoes), pulled the neck of my shirt over my ear (pesky buzzing of mosquitoes), and quickly resumed my afternoon nap on an unusually pleasant late summer day.

It's what I like to call a perfect Sunday.

Coffee. Church. Lunch. Friend. Snack.

Nap.

I vacuumed just to be sure I could say I did something, kicked the rinse/spin cycle on the load of laundry from yesterday, and hit the touch-up button on the dryer so the husband doesn't think I let his work clothes sit in a pile all weekend. I wouldn't want him to think I am lazy or anything.

Is it bedtime yet?

I am plum wore out.

Did Somebody Say Lucky Charms?

I am in the mood to eat.
Cereal. Brownies. Pizza. Chips. Crackers. Hot Pockets.
Unfortunately, I am not the least bit hungry, so therefore... I wait.

I wait for bed. I wait for the morning. I wait to be hungry again.

If I had chocolate syrup, I would stir up a glass of chocolate milk. If it were not almost nine o'clock in the evening, I would brew up a cup of coffee. If the elastic in my pants would give just a little bit more, I would eat anyway.

I mentioned the above thought to the husband earlier and he just looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and poured himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. He has lost quite a bit of weight these past few months and is more than pleased with himself. I confess that I have more than once pondered the prospect of secretly feeding him weight-gain powder with his nightly supper.

Not that I'm jealous or anything.

I just want to eat.

A Glass-Is-Half-Full Kinda Day

The day is rainy. My feet are tired.

And for some reason, I feel like rambling... but in a good way.
I don't think I have a complaining bone in my body right now.

Well, except for one.

If I were to complain, it would be about a lack of coffee in my house, but that won't last. A trip to the store is a definite for the agenda tonight. So see what I mean? Not really worth complaining about.

Hold on to your seat for now. I'm about to make a rather staggering announcement (well, for those who know me anyway). I can't believe I am about to say this. My heart feels rather fluttery at the very thought of admitting it. Even now I am pausing to think if I really mean what I am about to confess.

And please don't hold it against me later.

But here goes.

I am very, very fulfilled right now in my life. I have a job that I like, that I didn't think I would like, but I like it very much. I am busy with little time to think, eat, or make more than one trip to the bathroom a day (and most of you know what I mean) and I absolutely love it.

My kids are growing up. They start school on Monday, the last two, that is. I followed the youngest around during her open house last night and was amazed at her confidence. I do believe she is about to rock the sophomore world. The middle is an official licensed driver and ready to conquer his senior year. The oldest continues to work faithfully and help out when needed. They are growing up and I am growing older and for some strange reason, that fills me with peace.

I finally drive a car that does not sputter and moan and blink warning lights at me.

I pet cats that are finally flea free.

The funny thing about my rather twisted sense of optimism is the view I have from where I sit. Laundry hangs where I last left it on Sunday (or maybe Saturday). The miscellaneous socks and sheets I left on the couch over the weekend are still there. My desk is cluttered. The carpet has not been vacuumed. I can't even think about the mess in my bedroom right now.

And yet it will all be there in the morning...

After I've had the required cup of coffee.

My Boy Is Gone

Years ago there was a mother who knelt before her six-year old son and whispered these words,

If you'll just put on that gown, I'll buy you that dinosaur you've been wanting.

The son replied with a silent shake of his head.

If you'll just put on that gown, I'll buy you that Power Ranger you've been wanting.

Again, a silent and solemn shake of the head.

If you'll just put on that stupid gown (said through gritted teeth), I'll buy you ANYTHING you want.

Time stood still.
The mother waited.
The boy pondered.

And then replied with a silent shake of his head.

The mother gave up. The son had won. Within minutes the procession song played and the boy marched. The only boy in a small group of girls. The only boy without a white cap and gown.

And the mother could care less.

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

Yep. That was me. Not one of my finer parenting moments, I can promise you that, but a moment to be remembered nonetheless. I wanted so badly to see the perfect picture that I almost missed a perfect moment.

I've never forgotten that.

The slap to my parenting face came when his name was called and he walked across the stage to accept his kindergarten diploma. I can remember holding my breath to see if he would actually make that walk or not. When he did take those first steps and managed to shake the hands of the three adults onstage, the fact that he was not decked out in his graduation attire became utterly meaningless. A major accomplishment had just taken place. He had not been manipulated into something he was not comfortable with, and yet he had stepped up to the plate and made an uncomfortable walk across a stage in front of a crowd of people. It really was a big deal. Later, after the congratulations and pictures and cake, when it was just him and me, he put on that cap and gown and let me take a picture. Even to this day that is one of the most precious photos I have in my possession and I wouldn't share it for the world.

A private moment. An understood compromise. A lesson learned.

Why am I thinking of a Sunday afternoon that took place a little over twelve years ago? Because yesterday another moment grabbed me and for a brief moment, locked me in a time warp where time stood still and reversed itself all in the same instant. I watched that same boy, with a senior year schedule and textbooks in hand, walk down a hall in search of his locker. His back was to me, his shoulders straight, his confidence high. I blinked and caught a glimpse of my little six-year old and my eyes began to water.

My boy is gone and a man has taken his place.

Time goes by too darn fast.



And not to be forgotten, the youngest successfully earned her driver's permit yesterday afternoon. It's no wonder I was the middle-aged woman standing in a high school hallway shaking my head and wiping away a tear. I'm just like my mother. =)

Lost Cats & Sewing Machines

I'm slightly disgusted with people right now- no one family or work related, by the way- so I thought I'd reach down into the depths of my positive-thinking compartment (yes, I do have one of those hidden away by years of dust and neglect) and find something uplifting to talk about on a blog that I've not done much with lately.

Whew. How's that for a sentence?

I started with a time of confession with the daughter. Exactly one week ago I wrote a short entry pertaining to her cat that I saved in my archives, but did not publish. It went something like this:



If I were a cat, where would I be?

I'm not kidding here. I came home to a house that should have two cats lounging on the clean laundry, and I can only find one. This is not a good thing when you've got the youngest away and you're in charge of her cat.

Not a good thing at all.

I've checked every nook and cranny. I've shook the treat bag. I looked under the table, under the chairs, and on top of the washer. I've called here kitty, kitty in a pitifully sweet voice (which does no good considering this particular cat doesn't like me much). If that cat is here, she is keeping her presence under wraps.

She has to be here.

The doors were locked. The windows shut. Unless we've had a cat burglar (which makes me chuckle), that cat has got to be in the confines of this house. The other cat is of no help. He just looks at me with total disinterest and jumps on the table as soon as I turn my back. Heck, for all I know, Old Man Cat might have taken care of Young Feisty Cat himself. Even so, I'll still be the one to take the blame.

I simply must find that cat.

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

The cat was found hiding inside the couch, of all places (torn lining.... who knew?). She made herself known only after the oldest roamed the neighborhood posting signs. We made a pact not to tell the daughter. The time was right this afternoon, however, so I confessed my lack of cat-sitting skills and we moved on.

Which, in a round-about way, brings me to my feel-good story.

I was cat-sitting last week because the youngest, that daughter of mine, was away on a mission trip. The details of the trip and the troubles that attempted to hold her back are not as important as the outcome. On her last day there, she called me to talk about a sewing machine that she helped a lady set up in her home. Now I don't know if this is as big of a deal as what it was to me, but let me ask you,

How many young teenage girls do you know who understand sewing machines? 

Apparently this particular lady had been in possession of this machine for a few years with no one to show her how to use it. Along comes my girl, who for all intents and purposes had been wondering about her place on this trip, and presto! She set things up and gave a few how-to instructions. If that's not God putting you in just the right place at just the right time, then I don't know what is.

It all makes me think of Queen Esther, my favorite of favorites in the Old Testament, and therefore gives me that feel-good feeling that comes from closing the drawer on the negative and spending some time with the positive.

In my book, that's a good place to be.

Embarrassment

Embarrassment. Noun. A feeling of self-consciousness, shame, or awkwardness.

Often times I will look up definitions of a word to see if that is really the word that I want to use. Years ago I had the privilege of sharing adjoining classrooms with a lady whom I respectfully referred to as my human dictionary (and she knows who she is). Anytime I wasn't sure how to pronounce a word or had a question to the meaning of a word, she was my go-to-girl (first grade teachers are awesome like that). At any rate, in the wee hours of this Wednesday morning, I was in bed staring at a ceiling and thinking about the word embarrassment.

And now here I am. No sense lying in bed when a person can be up writing.

Yesterday I unwittingly found myself caught up in the midst of something that reminded me of an audition for a high school (no, middle school) drama class. I ended up embarrassed, fighting back tears (which didn't work, by the way), and wanting to fall into the proverbial hole in the ground. Escaping to the place that all grown women know to escape to, I was washing my hands at the bathroom sink and took one backward glance at the mirror on my way out the door.

And there it was. A long, piece of toilet paper stuck to my pants.

Why am I telling you this? To make you laugh, I guess. It certainly made me laugh. All I could think was that on top of everything else that had just happened, that would have topped it all. My mind flashed back to a moment in junior high when that very same thing occurred and, unfortunately, I didn't know about it until some merciful girl caved to pity and pulled me aside in the hallway. As I stood yesterday in the bathroom with just me, the Lord, and my reflection in the mirror revealing that tag-along-paper, I thought about the girl I was all those years ago and the woman I am now.

I was unsure of a lot of things then. I'm unsure of a lot of things now.
But at least I've got the good sense to check the mirror before I walk out the door.

May you have that good sense as well. =)

The Importance Of Letting Your Kids Know What's Going On (And A Plea To The Government To Turn The Lights On)

Long title, I know. Sometimes I just cannot make up my mind.


Last night the husband woke me up in the wee hours of the morning. After about fifteen minutes of debating the pros and cons of staying at home or going to the hospital, we chose life (somewhat exaggeration) and headed to the emergency room. I wondered aloud if we should wake the kids and tell them what was going on. Keeping in mind that our three are in their mid-to-late teens, with one on the verge of escaping the teenage years, he said to let them sleep. As we went out the front door and I climbed behind the steering wheel, I once again said, "I think I'll run back in and tell [the oldest]." With a face distorted by extreme pain, he shook his head no and simply said, "Drive now. Text later." And so we went.

Downtown is confusing enough to me in the daytime. Drape it with the cloak of night, and it becomes extremely confusing to this former one-stoplight-town kind of girl. The homeless wander in bigger numbers and the curbs- especially the curbs by the local hospitals, become crammed with people who, for whatever reason, have no place to lay their head (or choose not to). Add to the mix a government facility that is evidently saving money by shutting the lights off at night, and you have an one frustrated woman and one hurting man. By the time we located the dimly lit emergency room doors of the VA, that woman was on the verge of tears and that man could barely walk.

And somewhere in the midst of all that my phone rang.

It turns out at least one child heard the front door open and shut while another child heard the muffled groans of their dad. Not knowing what was going on, they woke up the other child and quickly discussed the possibility that something had happened to their parents. Now, you can blame their thinking on television or movies or the nightly local news, but the three of them put into action a plan that the husband has drilled into them in case they are ever in any doubt of their safety or those around them. I won't go into the details because then I might have to endure a lecture pertaining to the concept of a need-to-know-basis, but it goes without saying that he has prepared us all in the event of any unwelcome trouble in our home. I'm not saying it's a perfect plan, but it is a plan.

So anyway. The phone rang with a voice of panic on the other end. I assured them that we were all right, with the exception of their dad who was in the process of being whisked away in a wheelchair. I, in turn, received a brief lecture by at least two out of three kids informing me of the importance of letting them know what was going on. I couldn't have agreed more.

In the end, the husband was taken care of and the kids proved that they have paid attention to everything their dad has taught them and brainstormed some practical suggestions of their own to add. As he was falling into his drug-induced sleep, I told him that very thing.

"Good kids," he said. "We have good kids."

Amen to that.





Psst... it was kidney stones, in case you were wondering.

And Today's Forecast Is...

Rain.

Imagine that.

The weather always makes for fascinating (?) conversations, does it not?
Extreme heat; severe drought. Record cold and record snow. Tornadoes. Hurricanes. Dust storms.

Rain.

I cannot remember the last day when we did not have rain at our house. It's come to be expected, like the daily afternoon coffee that I know I will enjoy (even at this moment, as a matter of fact). But enjoy the rain? Not so much anymore.

Oh, it has its advantages:

The weather is cooler. The grass is greener. The flowers and the trees are thriving.

It also has its disadvantages: weeds, mosquitoes, washed out yards and driveways and roads.
Swollen lakes. Flooded homes. Water moccasins and alligators and other creatures of the river on the move.

Consider this combination of the good and the bad: I'm sitting outside on a front porch that faces the west on a mid-July afternoon because the weather is cool. This has not been known to happen since we acquired the property in 2007. At the same time, I am fighting mosquitoes while the rain drips off a metal roof. The air is humid. The cats are lazy.

Is that a gnat in my coffee?

And so it goes. Next year we may very well experience the typical dry, hot summer and long for the wet days of 2013. The weather can be a fickle beast.

Much like my old man cat.
Some things just are expected.

Wet Cats & Country Music

We are the home for two cats.
Two very, MAD cats at the moment.

I would take a picture, but out of respect for their self-esteem (do cats have such I thing?), I will refrain. Let's face it, nobody looks pretty coming straight out of a bath... especially a cat.

That daughter of mine is a trooper. She jumped right in and gave the first one, the old and clawless one, a Dawn-infused soapy bath without too much excitement. For cat number two, the younger one with claws, she sported a long-sleeved shirt at the advice of her older brother and fearlessly battled the flying suds for the one she loves.

And once again I cannot help but wonder,

How in the world did we end up with animals in the house?

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

Summer marches on our house. In our neck of the woods, it's been nothing but rain every day. The sun will shine for brief moments and if you're lucky, you might catch a glimpse of blue sky before the clouds close in. Our grass has never been so green. Seriously. That's the plus side of our rain-soaked forecast. The down side? It's almost impossible to get that green grass mowed. Oh, and if your job happens to involved the outdoors, like the husband's... well, that just throws another curve into the already curvy road of life and bills.Typically at this juncture of July I would be complaining about the heat.

I know. Some people are just never happy, huh?

Speaking of bills and never being happy, I'm thinking of taking my education to the next level. I figure I've got student loans that aren't going anywhere anytime soon, the rates (for new loans) just shot up anyway,  and hey, who knows what might be around the next corner.  I keep thinking there's got to be something more.

Which makes me think of a song that brings me to this video.

Don't worry. I have no plans of hitchhiking or running away and I am happy, but if I ever do pack a suitcase, I'm taking my mom with me.

Right, Mom? ;)

Labor Pains

The buzzing of my phone woke me up about ten minutes ago. I was in the midst of a dream- a very good, afternoon nap kind of dream. Now I am trying to keep my eyes propped open with the help of a Starbucks (k-cup style) and the glow of this laptop.

Happy Fourth of July.

I actually went to sleep about an hour ago thinking about the Fourth and the marketing ploys of all things patriotic. I love the military. I was in the military. I believe in the military... but Independence Day is for all Americans, not just those who wear the uniform; and like Memorial Day, it's a chance to teach our children that we are not celebrating the invention of the hot dog. I look at it as a time to reflect upon the history of this great nation. A time when ordinary people- civilians and soldiers alike- stood up and fought for the dream of freedom.  A time to remember how we came to be and to reflect on how far we've come. Look at it as a mother reflecting on the labor pains she endured to give birth. We've all heard those stories (and even told a few of our own) as birthdays come and go. Let's give America a chance to retell those stories.

Patrick Henry* was considered a radical during the revolutionary years and remains one of my all-time favorite men of history. He was not a soldier and by most accounts, was pretty darn lazy until he found something he was passionate about... America. His speeches prior to 1776 were considered treasonous against Great Britain, but nonetheless packed a powerful punch. Even today, in my moments of private frustration, I often find myself reciting his words:

...we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations; and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave.... Gentlemen may cry, Peace! Peace! but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

How cool is that?

Nathan Hale is remembered for his dying words, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." He was a teacher turned spy in 1776 and if you read the CIA's report on him (seriously), you'll see that they considered his espionage skills as "lacking."** Really? I suppose that any spy captured and killed might be considered lacking in something, but... sheesh. Let's give it up for those school teachers.

I could keep going, but I have a feeling I might have lost some of you at that remark about the military. Remember, I'm all for honoring those who serve and have served our country; I'd just also like to see equal time given to our past.

The cause. The revolution. The victory. 

I'd like to see patriotism taught as something more than buying paper plates and swim trunks bearing the image of the American flag. I'm not positive how I feel about that as it is... but that's a story for another day. 

As for today,

George Washington, Nathanael Greene, Thomas Paine.
Paul Revere, Ethan Allen, John Adams- the father and the son.
Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Adams, and even ole Benedict Arnold.

Hey, every good party needs somebody to talk about.



Happy Birthday, America.





*http://www.ushistory.org/declaration/related/henry.htm
http://www.history.org/almanack/life/politics/giveme.cfm

**https://www.cia.gov/news-information/featured-story-archive/2007-featured-story-archive/nathan-hale.html

Watermelon Memories

In my mind there is a picture and in keeping with my usual way of doing things, it is a picture I cannot find.

Ten bucks says it's in the same place that wedding album is...

Anyway.

In that picture are three little kids sitting at a Little Tikes table. They are dressed in swim attire and sitting inside a garage as they drip and dry and eat watermelon. If I remember right, one has a leg kicked up, one is ready to take a bite, and one is just plain laughing. It's the picture I think of when I think of the Fourth of July.

As you know, holidays always make a me a bit sappy. I think of how our kids have grown and how much I miss my own family and well... it can be easy to get locked into what use to be. Thankfully, for you anyway, I'm not so far gone that I can't see the life taking place around me.

The oldest just traded his dirt bike for a boat. I don't see a lot of that boy as it is; now I'm assuming I'll see even less of him. But you know what? He's happy and healthy and free. He's a joy to watch (even if that watching forces me to stay up late some nights).

The middle is so sure of who he is... all I know to say is that there's a part of me that's jealous of that confidence. To see the change that's taken place in that boy is nothing short of miraculous- and there was nothing ever wrong to begin with- but the last year has been marvelous to watch. 

The youngest. She met me at the door yesterday with a cup of coffee, a freshly baked brownie, and a smile. To someone who is drowning in the slippery slime of doubt right now (that would be me, not her), that random act of kindness completed my day and offered me hope. 

Three kids. Growing up before my eyes and yet forever young in my heart.

And seeing as how I can never seem to find the pictures, that's a good thing.

The Great Mattress Experiment

Because our mattress situation has sunk (ha!) to the point of becoming desperately desperate, the husband and I succumbed to desperate measures over the weekend (and no, I did by no means overuse the word desperate there). It is what it is. We didn't turn to credit cards or in-store financing- although the temptation has been great- we simply asked ourselves what we could afford at this time in our lives. The best we could come up with?

An air mattress.

We went to Walmart where only crazy people on a Saturday venture (the only description that fits people willing to stand in one of three check-out lines open in a thirty-eight register store) and bought a queen size, comfort plush (oooh) air mattress for forty dollars. We discarded our old mattress with little ceremony and placed the air bed on top of the box spring. On top went our well-used, four-inch foam/pillow top and away we went. The electric pump is built in to the head of the mattress so it is rather handy to use- gone are the days of the bicycle or foot pump.

I immediately took a nap. It really did feel that good.

Then night came along and the husband joined me.

It no longer felt that good.

When he climbed in, my side went up (and there's really not a huge difference in our weight- just enough to make a difference, I guess). For two nights he slept like a baby while I teetered on the top of an over-sized balloon. Last night I told him something had to give... namely the air in that bed. He let some air out and I agreed to put some back in and we finally reached something of a compromise. We laughed to ourselves as we considered the concept of the Sleep Number bed (so that's what the fuss is all about) and said our good nights.

Good grief, did I ever sleep good.

My hips don't hurt, at least the way they usually do of a morning. The mere fact that I am up blogging before I go to work says wonders... not to mention the fact that I am announcing to the virtual world that I actually sleep on an air mattress by choice. I honestly don't know how long we'll be able to ride this cheap and quick fix that we've stumbled upon. It might get old really quick. It might be over in the next few months, but until my paycheck picks up again, it's not a bad decision.

Even if it is a decision based on a lot of hot air. =)

My Friend Has Died

Okay, so I didn't really know him, but stick with the story.

The husband has grown weary of my whining- at least that's what the glazed look in his eyes tell me-

so off to blog land I go.

RIP Vince Flynn. On my list of favorite authors, he's right up there at the top.

*Photo (and other info in this entry)  from his website: http://www.vinceflynn.com/inmemorium.html*

I've read all of his books. Some more than once. I've got 'em in hardback, paperback, and e-back (book, that is). With a disclaimer to say there is language involved, I would recommend them to anyone who likes a lot of action and very little romance.

You gotta admire this guy. He was diagnosed with dyslexia as a young kid and received more than sixty rejection letters while attempting to publish his first novel Term Limits (which would go on to be a New York Times bestseller, by the way). With the exception of Term Limits, the series revolves around Mitch Rapp, a CIA super agent who is part of an operation that doesn't officially exist (or something like that). Every one of Flynn's books would end up becoming a bestseller, and here's a little tidbit of information that's pretty cool... Memorial Day was considered so accurate, it was reviewed by the Pentagon before its released. 

When the husband, who has heard me talk about Mitch Rapp one too many times, told me last week that Vince Flynn had died, I felt like I had lost a friend. Silly, I know, considering I never even met the man, but I think we get to know someone through the things that they write. And when we read a lot... well, that makes for a lot of friends.

So anyway, I just wanted to share with you the passing of a friend. In honor of him, I've started American Assassin (book one in the Rapp series) again.

It helps to ease the pain.

Let's Talk Depression

Do you ever wonder what our relationships might be like if we really took the time to care? Do we really have any idea what the average person is going through on any given day? Think about the person you pass in the grocery store aisle. Or the person sitting next to you at the corner red light. What about the person you work with? The person you live with? I think too often we are content to take someone's "I'm fine" reply and move on, not giving a second thought to the fact that maybe they really didn't mean it. Maybe they are really dying a slow death inside and don't want to bother you with the messy details.

Maybe they know you really don't want to be bothered with those messy details.
Depression is not pretty. Mental illness is unsettling. Life is pretty darn twisted at times.

But what are we if not our brother's helper?

Look, I by no means have it figured out. The only psychology I ever studied was the little required to complete a bachelor's degree in history and I promise you, it wasn't that much. I've never been into health care or mental care or any other kind of care for that matter, but I like to think that I do care. And I can tell you this- (brace yourself)- sometimes a Jesus pep talk is not the quick fix that we would like it to be.

I've witnessed the dark side of depression. Not the side where you cry uncontrollably or sit quietly and watch a marathon of Lifetime movies, but the side where for all intents and purposes, you are functioning on a reasonably intelligent level on the outside while methodically planning your demise on the inside. That's the scary side. Those are the people you might come in contact with on a daily basis and never even know it.

That's why we need to listen.

Seriously, people. Don't discard someone else's troubles. Don't just pat 'em on the back and tell 'em you'll pray for them. Yes, those actions are important, but that can't be where we stop. And it goes both ways... I firmly believe that when we try to pretend that we've got it all together and Jesus has never left us wondering, well... I mean, really. Who are we fooling?

Sometimes when I write what I write, my mom will shoot me a quick email:

What was that all about? Are you all right?

For that reason, I do my best to temper my topics and word choices. I love my mom too much to worry her, but I also love those people in my life too much to just write about flowers and sunshine. Life can be rough. Period. People hurt people and some people hurt those people badly. Let's try to be a little more sensitive to the souls the Lord has put in our life. They just might be there for a reason.

Let's not miss it.

A Waste Of Time

I splurged over the weekend and bought myself the Nook HD+, passing down my Nook Tablet to the youngest. She's happy. I'm happy.

I have yet to read a book.

Let me put it this way... one review for a particular game app said this,

It's the ultimate time waster.

No kidding. I've got the next-in-line book ready to go. I see the cover every time I hit the power button, but I can't see to get past some game where you "throw" wadded-paper balls into a trash can basket. I've played this game not only in the office setting, but also on the moon, in the snow, and in the woods. I'm telling you, the ultimate time waster is right on the money.

Wait a minute.

My last post was all about being lazy. I hate for you all to get the wrong impression about me.

I worked today. I went to the store.
I finished a load of laundry and cooked an awesome dinner.

Granted, I did the last two things in my pajamas, but hey...

I like to do things in style around here.

Even waste massive amounts of time.

On A Scale Of 1~10, Just How Lazy Are You?

The youngest asked if I had written a blog entry lately and my answer to her was no... lack of inspiration. After I said that and really thought about it, I knew it was more a matter of an excessive amount of laziness. To say I am not inspired on a daily basis would be a lie. To say I deal with laziness on an hourly basis would be more to the point. Consider this,

My bathroom is atrocious.
Yes. I said atrocious.
Atrocious: adjective. Horrifyingly wicked.

It needs to be bleached, swept, and steamed. The shower liner needs to be changed. The basket of hair stuff I never use needs to be removed. The many jars of wrinkle remover need to be alphabetized. I really think the spider living among the muck ought to be evicted.

On the other hand, the kids' bathroom? Spotless. Sparkling. It even smells fresh. That youngest of mine takes the cake. She couldn't sleep one night so what did she do? She cleaned their bathroom of all things. My grandma was surely doing a jig in heaven over that one.

She, the youngest, is in her room now embarking on some craft project. The middle, Mr. Hulk himself, is in the shed perfecting his physique. The oldest is half under his bed cleaning things out. Seriously. I looked behind me and all I saw was a foot sticking out. I should really take a lesson from these kids.

Then again, I am only on my twenty-seventh load of laundry for the weekend.
Okay... maybe just the fourth or fifth, but you get the idea. Thank goodness for the muscle of Whirlpool.

So, yes. I am inspired. I'm inspired by these kids of mine who stay busy and shower their dad with love on Father's Day. From pocket knives to t-shirts to his favorite box of cookies, the man with a lousy excuse for a father has turned out to be a remarkable father, and our kids are always faithful to remind him of that.

I'm inspired by my own dad who always has time to talk to me on the phone.
I'm inspired by my nephew in-law (is there such a thing?) who lets his little girl help wash a car.
I'm inspired by a couple of teenage boys I know who press on with no earthly father to guide them.

And, yes. I do have a streak of laziness. Bathrooms just aren't my priority.
Although if that spider invites a few house guests, my priorities will change very quickly.

I'm not that lazy. =)

The Easiest Kind Of Makeover

I don't know that I'll ever be comfortable teaching my kids to drive. It's not that they're bad drivers. In fact, it's quite the opposite. We're on two out of three right now and I'll admit that I have yet to grip (too tightly) any arm rests. I suppose it's just the fact that when they are behind the wheel, they are the ones in control. I think that's the part that bothers me a little. It's just not natural... and yet it's exactly the way life should be unfolding. We're in no big hurry to get driver's licenses around here (the middle just turned seventeen, the same age the oldest was when he got his), but like everything else, I suppose, you just can't stop time from marching on.

The youngest may not be driving yet- though she reminds me almost daily that the time for her permit is just around the corner. Nonetheless, she has embarked on something new and something of her own. Blogging. She promises me that her own ramblings will revolve around no one in our family (of the human species anyway). Crafts, sewing, cooking, and the ever-present cats take up most of her time. She has a writing style somewhat like mine, only more entertaining without a doubt. I don't know if she'll stick to it or if it's just something to occupy her summer with, but it will be fun to read no matter how long it lasts. You can look her up HERE.

And finally, with the coming of the summer months, I thought it was time to lighten up the look of my own blog. A quick makeover never hurt anybody.

Besides, pink has always been my favorite color.