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!