Moonflowers On My Casket*

My daughter and I had a conversation last week that carried over into a conversation I had with my mom this week. It was one if those pity party/pep talks in which you try to convince yourself that money isn't everything. Now don't get me wrong, I know money isn't everything, but I also know how easy that lie can come to rest on your shoulders if you're not careful.

No one in my family has a smartphone. It's probably not that a data plan for a family of five is totally out of the question- although I do like to eat more than ramen noodles and pork and beans on any given night. It's just something that I find totally unnecessary for our family. I gotta be honest anyway... I'm not sure I want the world at my fingertips. I like to avoid the world as much as possible, remember?

There is not a car in our driveway with under one-hundred thousand miles. In fact, one of them proudly sports over two-hundred thousand well-used miles. Sure, they're mostly missing all the bells and whistles of the newer generation. The motors are more than a little grumpy most days and the moans and groans each vehicle makes reminds me of an old man with a bad case of arthritis. Hey, at least we've got character.

Brand name clothes for us come from Target. My daughter pointed this out and I had to laugh. She's right! We've never been one to spend over forty bucks for a pair of tennis shoes (and even that's a stretch). Our kids appreciate the shopping spree of a thrift store and Christmas comes early when we shop at the mall. Sure, we appreciate the high quality of something nice, but sometimes that something nice can (and does) come right off the Walmart rack.

I've drank the ice-cold water of a spring from an old mug hanging on a tree. I've watched moonflowers open at night and breathed in their perfume. I've picked lilacs in full bloom to fill a mason jar on my table. I've seen the sun rise over the Atlantic.

I've stood on top of a mountain.
I've worked inside a mountain.
I've even slid down a mountain road (unplanned!) in the snow.

I love dirt roads and the sound of dead leaves crunching under my feet. I save letters from my grandma and notes from my mom and random scraps of paper from my dad. I cherish a letter my brother once wrote me. I really do have a list of twenty-five things to do before I die.

There are truly things that money cannot buy. There are experiences that cannot be bought on credit and memories that cannot be repossessed. Sometimes it's good to have those conversations and to remind one another that a smartphone will soon enough be outdated. New cars will eventually rust. Clothing can be as fickle as a cat in the morning.

Moonflowers, though?

Now that is something to experience.
They'll just have to bury me at night.



*For entertainment purposes only. Send me away with pink roses in the sunshine, please.

Things I Keep Inside

There are times I write because I need to and if you're not a writer, then you won't understand that. You may run because you need to; or shop because you need to; or eat that pan of brownies because you need to... okay, so we can all fall into more than one category on that one. Running? Not guilty. Everything else? Yes, yes, and yes. At any rate, there are times when I am so burdened, the only way out is to write. Yes, I keep a journal hidden by my bed, but that journal (spoiler alert!) is mostly empty. I don't know why I put things out there the way I do. I know I'm nothing special. I know it's not all about me. But I do know that I'm not alone in the things I struggle with. I'm a Christian, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mom, a friend, a lover of cats. Shoot. If all that isn't enough ammunition for trouble then I don't know what would be. You don't know how many times I have written things here only to delete it as soon as the whole thing is close enough to grammatically perfect as it can be.

What will people think? My mom will worry. They'll really figure out I'm crazy.

Yeah... well, whatever (to use a grossly overused word of the last decade).

So, I guess I share because I know I'm not alone. Maybe you can relate. Maybe you can lie and say that you don't. Maybe you're a twenty-five year gigolo from Singapore who has no idea how he ended up on this website (bad example, I know). Whatever your thoughts, please know that I'm not looking for advice or sympathy or a number for the therapist who did wonders for your sister in-law.

I'm just being me.

And this is how I feel today.

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

I am overwhelmed.

My heart aches. It is too much to bear.

I am overwhelmed.

There's a physical pressure bearing down on me. If I sit still, my heart heaves up the sobs from within. If I move around, things get done but they're done in a fog. I'm really not sure what room I'm cleaning or why I'm there. I prepare a feast just to know that I've done something worthwhile.

We are drowning, the husband and I. Love does not conquer all; it certainly does not pay the bills. It does endure, however... that it does. We may be sinking, but we sink as one. There's a tragic Titanic-laced reference in that, I'm sure. We huddle together as the flood rushes in.

He looked at me today and simply said, "I wish we could just go back to what was normal." Then he dipped his head and kept the tears at bay. I know what he means. Five- no, six years ago, our lives were normal. He had his career; I had mine. We had the little white house minus the picket fence. Our biggest financial worry was a forty-thousand dollar mortgage.

And that's enough personal information.

Are we alone? Of course not. I stood at my dining room window today and looked out over a barren, January-drab landscape and told the Lord it was too much to bear. I wondered how many other haggard women and weary men and young people and old people have spoken those same words today. I wonder how many have simply given up.

The sun will surely rise tomorrow. Even now, a faint whisper of a flame struggles to break free of the smothering blanket that has rested upon my stubborn spirit this eighth day of January. This is why I write. And this why I prefaced this rather depressing glimpse into my life the way I did. It's not for everyone, but it is for someone. I'll hang in there if you will. The Lord tied that knot in the rope just for people like us. I have resolved to hang onto that knot until He pulls us out of this mess, but that doesn't mean I won't cry while I write sometimes.

Or eat brownies.



Hey... we all have our ways of dealing with life, remember?

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.

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.

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.

Dodge Caravan Meltdown

At the request of the husband, I am posting these pics online for all the world to see. We have a 2003 Dodge Grand Caravan 3.8L Sport (?) that we bought back in 2008 with around 48,000 miles. The odometer currently reads around 108,000 thoroughly-enjoyed miles. With this vehicle, we have something of a love-hate relationship.

We love it because it's paid for and has been for some time.
We hate it because there is forever something going wrong.

Transmission.
Transmission again.

Fuel pump. Front struts. Rear shocks.

There are times when we'd like to throw in the towel and send the blasted thing into some dark, dank, caravan ravine; but for the most part, the husband does all the work himself and all we are out is the cost of parts and a steady supply of pain relievers. Besides, when all things are at the top of their game, the van runs great.

A month ago, though, that ugly gremlin that lives under the hood began to rear its head once more. A constant vibration with no obvious cause and little incentive to pull a hill at 35 mph. It has since sat useless in our driveway except for the daring run the husband made to Auto Zone one night to have it hooked up to a diagnostic computer. No real surprise there... the diagnosis revealed that there was indeed something wrong, but listed a rap sheet of possible causes.

So the man has replaced the plenum (intake, I think) gaskets, valve cover gaskets, mass air flow sensor,  oxygen sensor, throttle positioning sensor, spark plugs, spark plug wires, and the fuel injectors. Nothing changed. Tonight he came in tired and frustrated and silently ate the potato soup and grilled cheese I set before him. He walked back out after doing some reading online and five minutes later summoned me and my camera.

This is the fuel injection wiring harness. What's left of it anyway. Even a non-mechanic, non-electrical girl such as myself can guess that I shouldn't be seeing exposed wires.

He was dumbfounded and a little shocked that we hadn't experience any fire problems and kept repeating the same phrase, "I have never seen this before." I was still stuck on the word fire.

Fire?

I am so buying a Mustang once I get a job. =)

My Gas Tank Is Happy

The air is practically chilly outside... kinda weird considering it's the end of June and triple-digit temps are on the way. For now, though, I have half the windows flung open and cool breezes streaming in. Anything to air out the house and give the a/c a break.

Speaking of the a/c, our electric bill has gone up.  Thanks to the handy-dandy online electric usage tracker that our provider provides (chuckle), I've compared our current usage to this time last year and can see no changes on our part. It's the cost of electricity that has gone up according to the handy-dandy pie chart and that handy-dandy pie chart shows an increase per kilowatt hour of twenty-three percent. Good grief. I'm going to have to be more diligent about unplugging things that are not in use (groan from the children). One more thing for me to add onto the mom patrol hour.

Gas in our neck of the woods was at an astounding low of $2.84 yesterday. Funny how that actually feels like we're getting a break. It sure helps with me feeling not so guilty about driving here or there. The middle has some longboarding plans for today and I really have no good reason not to drive him where he needs (or wants) to be. There's a bookstore nearby and a coffee shop conveniently located right inside... a perfect place to kill a couple of hours. He's happy. I'm happy. The gas tank is happy.

Wow.
Cool breezes.
Happy thoughts.

If it wasn't for that darn electric company increasing their profits,
this could almost be a perfect day.

A Rite Of Passage

Today was a sad day for the oldest. After supper, we sat at the table together, just him and me. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. He sighed heavily. He dug in his pockets. He sighed once more... then he handed it over. His first insurance payment for his truck. Happy day for me. Sad day for him. Do you know what all I could do with that money? he asked. Only all too well, was my response. Now don't get me wrong, his attitude was awesome. He knew this day was coming and even had it marked on the calendar. I had told him he could break it up through the month, but as he said, One way or the other, it's still gonna be the same amount. So he relinquished the funds to be applied to our insurance bill and then started talking about taxes. He showed me his pay stub and asked if everything looked all right.

Yep, I assured him. Welcome to the working man's world.

Apparently him and his brother (that would be the middle) have been solving our nation's debt problem while sitting in the drive-thru line. They did some quick calculations based on the tax they were being charged on their dollar menu burgers, multiplied that by the people living in our country, and determined that even if everyone only purchased dollar menu stuff on a daily basis, that should still be enough to run the country. Now I hope you're not grabbing a note pad and a calculator to de-bunk their theory... the fact they were even thinking that way made me laugh. They are so their dad. We swapped a little tax trivia regarding the early years of America, discussed typical household bills, and reminded the youngest once again why she's not getting a cell phone.

He left to help the middle wash the dishes. The youngest left to feed the dog. And I was left with his money feeling half-guilty for taking it and half-relieved for having it, but I also felt a twinge of pride in there. Pride for a boy who's not a boy anymore. He's learning how to hold down a job, budget his money, and pay his own way. He appreciates help when it's available, but doesn't expect it. He understands that sometimes walking out of Radio Shack empty-handed is necessary if he wants to have gas money at the end of the week (and believe me, the boy loves Radio Shack). He's learning... even if it is a little sad at times.

Nobody likes to say goodbye to their cash.

Wanted: A Good Job For A Good Man

Once again I find myself sitting across the table from my husband (reminds me of this time not long ago). His pen is poised in mid-air, his brow is wrinkled as he thinks. Every now and then he sighs heavily and looks at me, trying his best to smile. I watch as he tries to think of the right words. I look up stuff on my laptop when he asks. I've made copies of diplomas and discharge papers and social security cards and anything else that might pop up. And all I can think is, Please, Lord. Let this be the one.

Have you guessed it yet?
Another job application.

He's not afraid of anything. The only thing that worries him is his age. Not gettin' any younger, he says. Maybe not, but you sure are getting better, I reply. That makes him smile for real. Is there any man that doesn't want to be the stud-kinda-hero to his wife? He's talking to a friend of his now on the phone. A good guy he wants to use as a reference. He won't write anybody's name down who he doesn't call to let them know. This is probably about the fourth time he's called this particular guy. I can almost hear the questions the other guy is asking.

How ya doing anyway?
Not too bad.
No luck with a job yet?
No, but I'm still looking.
You holding up okay, though?
Heck, yeah. I've lost weight and my blood pressure is down.

That's the truth, too. Since he got out of that cubicle, he's lost a good fifteen pounds or so and may very well be off his blood pressure meds within the next month. He's less stressed, honestly does smile more... just that absence of a steady paycheck that's the kicker.

His phone call is over.
His pen is back in hand.

Hey, honey? Find me Bob's phone number, will ya?

Please, Lord. Let this be the one.

Coffee Break

If this is Wednesday, it feels like a Friday after a very long week.  My whole week is out of whack. When Monday slipped by without the usual Monday events (that would be the dusting and vacuuming and doing  laundry), I knew I was in trouble. In between running around today, I managed to make half a dent on the dishes and wrangled a ham into the oven. Since I only have about fifteen minutes before I make my fourth run of the day to pick up a couple of kids from school, I thought this would be a good time for a coffee break.

And that's when the thought occurred to me.

If I was working right now, I would miss out on random moments like the one I had today. The details of the circumstances leading up to this moment are really non-essential, but suffice it to say that I made an impromptu trip to the high school to pick up the oldest. We ran the errand I needed him present for, made a pit stop at McDonald's for an early lunch, did a drive-by at the local tech college so he would know where to park when he makes his own drop-in later after school, and got him back to school in time for his favorite part of the day.

I made it home in time to fix the husband lunch, kicked the dryer on for the five-minute wrinkle knock-out, and sat down to pay (or at least think about) some bills. The phone rang with the weak voice of the youngest on the other end of the line. Mom? Can you please come get me? For parents out there like us who rarely have a kid miss school or call for an early pick-up, this is one of those situations where you don't have to think twice. If she's calling, there's a reason. Within a half hour I had her back home where she promptly made herself cozy with a bowl of chicken soup and a good book.

(And there's no way she would let me post a picture of that).

So now I sit for a moment.

Kids taken care of. 

No boss to contend with.

Ham smelling good in the oven.

Now if there's just some way I could figure out how to collect a paycheck at the same time, life would be sweet (well, sweeter anyway).

And to the middle, you've not been left out. Give me this evening and you'll have a chocolate cake by the time you get home from church. I did promise you we would celebrate the Hershey guy's birthday, right? Any reason for chocolate, buddy. Any reason at all.  =)

Hanging On

I've got one cat at my feet and another one sitting on my leg. I'm starting to feel a little bit weird... it's like I sit down and they all start to gather. For the sake of my reputation, we will not be getting another cat.

I typically like Mondays, but I gotta say this one was no good. Yesterday went downhill after church and today was spent recovering emotionally. Yeah. It was that bad. Some days are just lousy.

Now we sit here watching some Japanese game show. Monday night entertainment at its finest. I would prefer something chocolate to add to the mix, but settled for marshmallow cereal instead.

The youngest cooked supper (very good).
The middle is playing guitar (not bad).
And the oldest is washing his truck (in the dark).

Meanwhile, the husband and I are just trying to hang on. Remember I said a month or so ago that September would be an interesting month? Well, things are shaping up for that to be the case.

You all pray for our job situation, would ya?

I really, really like our house. =)

Diet Is A Dirty Word

The house has been cleaned thanks to a girl who is hoping for some mall spending money and a brief moment of guilt that found me relaxing in the a/c with a new book while the husband is out in this ridiculous heat. As a result, the counters are spotless, the floors shine, all furballs have been vacuumed, and stray papers have been tossed. That all should last until about six o'clock tonight, or until the oldest finishes nuking his mac-n-cheese.

After tonight I will once again be a married woman. My wedding rings have been hidden away at the jewelers awaiting a re-sizing that has been a few years in the making. A couple of weeks ago, my husband got tired of seeing me without a wedding band and promptly hauled me (and the rings) to the jewelry store. In the past eighteen-plus years, my ring size has increased and it got to the point where I could no longer just blame it on periodic swollen fingers. My ring finger was measured (no wonder they didn't fit anymore), a new diamond selected (the husband's idea, I promise), and the bill was paid (while he looked the other way).

Of course, that was the same week the same husband lost his job.
Timing is everything, isn't it?
At least we have a ring to pawn if we need to.

Ha! Like that would ever happen. Other things would go first. I'm thinking every electronic gadget for starters (sorry kids), but like I tell the family, let's not dwell on such things now. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. At any rate, tonight is the night we pick up the rings. I told him he would have to put them on my finger and mean it this time (another joke). The original plan was to have a nice dinner out. Now we're thinking more along the lines of a shared gyro and fries at the food court in the mall. It's all about priorities.

House payment.
Electric bill.
Then maybe we can eat.

Speaking of eating, what is about a clean house that makes one kid want to cook while another eats chips in the living room? I would say something, but I'm thinking of coffee and cake and my cozy spot on the couch. Yeah. That's the ticket. Coffee with rich creamer and a piece of butter cake slathered with chocolate frosting while thinking about a set of rings that no longer fit. Hey, at least I see things for how they are: I'm not afraid of the truth; I'm just slow to react to it sometimes.

I won't think about that today.
I'll think about that tomorrow.
Wasn't I suppose to be starting a spin class sometime?

Now the house no longer smells lemony fresh. There's a strange, toxic mixture of the beforementioned mac-n-cheese and doritos now combined with the distinct odor of ramen noodles. Can somebody please crank up the Glade Plug-Ins? When does school start? Drat these kids who always want to eat.

Wait a minute...

I think I was going for a piece of cake.

Angry Music

I'm a country girl at heart, but I tend to listen to whatever sounds good and suits my mood. Right now the middle is listening to angry music. And I do mean, ANGRY music. Thankfully, I think it was getting on his nerves, too, because he just changed it to less angry music. Little miracles everyday.

The morning has been spent searching for cheaper insurance rates, cheaper internet service, cheaper everything. I have come to the conclusion, however, that we are pretty much at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to cheap anything. Going any lower would completely eliminate whatever it was I'm trying to save money on. At least I tried.

Summer is slowly winding down as the kids face their last few weeks of freedom. I still can't get over how early school starts anymore. Some schools in our area head back Aug. 3, others Aug. 8. Our three have until the Aug. 15. Before that we have registrations (and none on the same day, of course), fees to pay, and supplies to buy. It's a racket, I tell you.

racket: noun, an organized legal and yet totally unfair activity, such as ridiculously long supply lists or the extortion of money from struggling families by threat of not letting your kids enroll in school.

Okay. So I tweaked the definition a little. What can I say? It's how I feel. My own supply lists were always kept to the bare minimum. Paper. Folders. Pens. Pencils. Kleenex. The rest is just personal expression. We've got lists now that require coordinated folders and tabs and highlighters and paper towels and clorox wipes and copy paper. I have to admit that for the first week or so, I completely ignore much of the list to see what we can get by with not getting.

Yes,  I've turned into one of those parents.
And yes, I know teachers buy alot (if not all) of their own supplies.
But I've taught for free and next-to-nothing and have done the same thing.
Just like in life, we make do with what we have.

Anyhoo, I've completely strayed away from the original topic of angry music. The house is quiet now except for the clicking of three separate people on three separate computers (myself included). Muffled gunfire escapes from a closed bedroom door where the latest invasion of aliens are meeting their demise. The afternoon is winding down and the time for afternoon coffee is fast approaching.

Today while making my bed, I thought Why do I want a job anyway?
I have my housework, my schoolwork, my sleepy cat.
And then I remember: school supplies, registration fees, utility bills.
Insurance, internet, phone, groceries, teenagers.

Wonder if I can spare a buck for a lottery ticket?

Finding The Happy

If I have to put a For Sale sign in our front yard at this point, I think I might scream. Three years ago, I would have been jumping with excitement. Two years ago, I would have been on my knees thanking the Lord. Even one year ago, I would have been happily ignoring the protests of my kids and been on the street myself handing out flyers. But now? Just the thought of it gives me an instant headache.

And no offense to my family and friends back home either. I'm simply not up to going through all that again. The thought of packing makes me cringe. The sheer image of a moving truck with its bottomless gas tank makes me cry. The idea of starting over again somewhere else makes me want to run away (and we all know that includes a rental bike shop on the Atlantic coast). There just seems to be nowhere to hide.

This unemployment thing sucks. I hate the uncertainty of it all. Yes, we're fine for now, but I'm a person who likes to plan ahead. I need to plan ahead and know that everything will work out just fine. Funny how that has never been as important to the Lord as it is to me. I suppose it's like we tell our own kids: You don't need to worry about it. Daddy has it all under control. Easily spoken words, huh?

The oldest is on his own job search and I'm glad to see him doing it. Not because I expect him to help us out (although the boy would give us his last dime if we asked for it), but because I know he'll need his own stash to do things that every seventeen-year old boy wants to do... drive his truck, take his girlfriend out to dinner, buy his mom a Starbucks. He is so happy most of the time. I want him to stay that way.

I knew today's mood swing was coming. When I sat down to pay a few more bills to take us (almost) through to the end of the month, the dread started gnawing away at me and I feel silly for going down this road. My husband has more than taken care of us. Like he told his former employer when they gave him the pink slip, I may not be good with math, but I am good with money. He does plan ahead.

It's just that ole not knowing creeping in. I'm back to checking job boards a gazillion times a day and I know better than to be doing that. A person can really only do so much. Attitude is everything, I suppose. That and prayer. I have the mind of Christ and hold the thoughts, feelings, and purposes of His heart (1 Cor. 2:16). I am a believer and not a doubter. And chocolate helps, too.

Are things all that bad? Not really. The mind can be a powerful ally, though, or our own worst enemy. The husband is out doing all he can, the boy has spent at least thirty minutes on a Subway application, and it's time I close down the pity party. There's too many good things going on my life to be consumed by the negative (you did catch the new baby post yesterday, right?). You can't go wrong with that.

Besides, if I take any more Excedrin, I might be considered an addict.

God Himself has said,

I will never leave you without support or forsake you or let you down.

I will not, I will not, I will not (yes, this really is repeated THREE times)

in any degree leave you helpless or relax my hold on you... assuredly not!

Hebrews 13:5, Amplified

My Provider

Sometimes I can be in the middle of the most ordinary tasks when the Lord catches my attention. Today it was in the midst of picking up and sorting through clothes and shoes and newspapers on my side of the bedroom floor (I've got the corner wall that is a notorious random-stuff collector).

I listen to internet radio most days. I like the variety that pops up and the few-and-far-between commercials to deal with. This song followed Total Eclipse of the Heart that was preceded by the likes of Redneck Woman and You Give Love A Bad Name. I'm not sure what would have followed it because as far as I was concerned, the music time was over.

Last night, we could not even rent a movie for lack of funds. This morning, I was able to go to the doctor and get a prescription filled thanks to the early deposit of my husband's paycheck. The movie was not needed. The doctor visit was. I guess I was just reminded of His perfect timing. I don't know that we'll ever have more than we need, but we always have just what we need when we need it.

(And I've spent time with prosperity preachers and their teaching, so save your wisdom there. It means nothing to me to see pastors and their assistants and their assistant's assistants drive around in foreign models and vacation in exotic places while the rest of the financially-strapped congregation struggles to keep the church lights on and feed orphan children).

But we won't go there.

I'm not against riches. I would like to try it. In fact, I've always wanted to be a main character in a John Grisham novel. It's typically a rags-to-riches story where the main guy earns his ka-billions through less than ethical standards. He gets to play hard, spend most of it, get caught, and still escape to the Caribbean where he has even more millions stashed away in Grand Cayman. Not that I support illegal tax evasion, mind you, but I do support every person's chance to live the high life at least for a short time (and not at the expense of credit card debt).

Anyway, I have once again veered off the path I had originally intended. I was reminded through that earlier song that God is always there. My husband and I had the most in-depth conversation the other night on the front porch (the one where I was tempted to shoot a fly with a .38). We were looking back on the last (almost) four years and how the Lord has been at every turn we have made. Even if it was the wrong turn, He was there to turn us around to get us back on the right track. Our house sold when it shouldn't have, we found a house that we loved that nobody else wanted... even with the whole job loss thing for me, I've been available for the kids when we've had no one else to fall back on. I could go on, but a look through all the entries of this blog will more than enough support the theory (no, the belief) that we serve a God who cares and loves and saves. And by the way, I learned all that from my Grandma Faye.

She would love all the talking I do about her.
I can see her smiling just as plain as day.
And for the record, she would agree with me on the prosperity thing.
Just thought I'd throw that in.

P.S. If you liked that video, look up this Joplin version.
No matter where I live, I'll always be a Missouri girl.

Strange Days

It's been a day of strangeness.

A day of pain.
A day of cake.
A day of bonding.

The pain came in the form of my wrist and my daughter's mouth. I realize how scary that may sound. My right wrist hurts to the point that I broke down today and bought some sort of wrist-support thing. It feels better with it on and yet looks a tad bit tacky. I'll take the feel good part for now.

My daughter took her first step towards braces today. I signed papers and promised to pay... can't wait to see how that works out. She is happy and excited and a little bit nervous, but mostly is distracted by pain tonight. She's nursing those new spacers with a little help from a chocolate shake.

The cake part came after school when I took the kids by Starbucks for a freebie kind of celebration. We each got a drink and a sweet treat. I just reheated my coffee that I never got around to drinking earlier. The sweet treat I'm saving for tomorrow morning.

And the bonding came out of an unfortunate situation, but a good time of sharing nonetheless. Being a mom is hard. Being vulnerable is scary. But I think being a teenager in today's world beats them both. All I can do is pray and talk to the cat and shine the floors.

Remember, I do my best work when I'm troubled.

On a side note, we had Chinese for dinner tonight and the guy who likes my hair offered us $500 for a clipping of it. Twice. And he even pulled out scissors. So I'm thinking next time we go back, I will be prepared with a small token of Chinese good luck. We'll see if that offer still stands. In fact, I'm thinking we may have just found a way to pay for those braces.

Wouldn't that be something else?

Stranger things have happened.

My Toilet Sparkles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How's That New Attitude Working Out?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Give Me An *A* And Call It Good

Oprah has her favorite things. Martha has her good things. May I present my list of Things I Would Rather Not Deal With Right Now:

1. Progress Report
2. Sensitive Teeth
3. Progress Report
4. Phone Bill
5. Progress Report

I guess you can see where this is going. Progress Report Day is rarely a joyous occasion around here and it just barely beats the Actual Report Card Day. One thing about me... I'll never beat you over the head with my A+ student (although I do have one. Just so you know). No, around here, anything that has to do with a check-out-how-your-kid-is-doing thing can either go one way or another. Sometimes it's a sigh of relief and sometimes it's a painful experience. Whatever the reaction, it always has a way of making me appreciate summer just a little bit more.

I hated grades as a kid. I hated grading as a teacher. Nothing compares, though, to how much I hate grades as a parent. The whole grading thing is overrated. And yet so needed. It's just a part of life, kid. Do your stuff, get over it, and move on.

And since when did I develop sensitive teeth anyway? I'll tell you when... when I started going to the dentist on a regular basis, that's when. Before that (all those years before that), I had no complaints. Seriously, none. Now it seems that everytime I go for a check up they find another reason for me to come back. And now my teeth hurt. Just on the sides, just in the back, but they hurt. The only solace I have is that hot stuff like coffee doesn't bother me; only cold things like ice in my tea. The dentist said I was brushing too hard. I said he scared me with all of his dire warnings. Dumb dental insurance.

My husband just interrupted my tooth issues by asking me if I remember what it was like to be a teenager. "Barely," I say. "Well, I remember it pretty well, " he replies. That's all that is said. We look at each other, look at one kid's backpack on the table, and sigh heavily. This too shall pass. Darn progress report day.

And then there's the phone bill. Yeah... not even gonna think about that now. I changed my plan today anyway to allow for all those pictures I've been receiving of a certain baby girl. At least that's one thing I can change.

We take what we can get. No grading required.

A Tale of Shampoo

I spent at least fifteen minutes in the shampoo aisle today trying to figure out what would be the best buy. I needed shampoo and conditioner, my daughter needed shampoo and conditioner, and one son needed shampoo (no thanks to the conditioner). Do I even need to mention how quickly that stuff adds up? I've heard all the pros about buying salon-quality products and believe me, I get it. I mean, I don't get it as in actually paying the higher prices for the stuff, but get it as in I really do think there is a difference. My hair feels better, behaves better, and (according to my husband) smells better. Unfortunately, salon quality does not fit a Suave budget.

So I stood there trying to read the fine print regarding how many ounces are in a bottle versus the cost. I ignore all the promises about what any particular kind can do (Sleek! Shiny! Curly! Wavy!)... my thought is that it's all the same in different colored bottles. After much time and thought and sniffing of the different scents of fruity goodness, I had five bottles in my cart that satisfied my economy requirement.

This same scenario was repeated in the toothpaste aisle, the shaving cream aisle, and the paper towel aisle. Don't get me wrong, I'm not that indecisive about most everyday items; but my teeth are suddenly sensitive, my husband is picky about his shaving products, and my daughter is still a little miffed that I don't use the paper towels that her science project proved was the most absorbent. Most things are a no-brainer for me: brand name toilet paper, dishwasher detergent, coffee, and mayonnaise; store brand everything else. We all have our little quirks.

For now, though, the shopping is complete until we run out of everything at the same time again. Then I will once again be that lady taking up space in the aisle with calculator in hand. All that trouble just to save a few bucks... hey, I gotta fund my Starbucks habit somehow.