A word

I am so sexy right now, that I pretty much want to marry myself. Perhaps it's the fumes from the hairspray and the nail polish. I am wearing more ornamentation than my fake tree at Christmas. Can you say "Bling"?
Tonight is the bridal shower.
Tomorrow, I assume there will be pictures to share.
You should check back then.

Danger: Don't rock the boat

I have news.

So, Tim and I had in mind a courthouse wedding. A quick speaking-of-the-vows for a local magistrate, with no hoopla.

But a friend thoughtfully suggested an equally quick ceremony at our very own church, by a pastor who would be more inclined to view the sacred ceremony of matrimony as a prayerful sacrament.

Good idea.

We called up our favorite pastor, and started to plan.

But, we had to meet with the Powers within the Church, who would offer us Holy Pre-Marital counseling, albeit at an accelerated pace. Usually, they like a good four months of counsel prior to a church wedding. They said that an exception would be made for us, allowing us to complete the process after our marriage. We went in yesterday to talk to a pastor about our romance, our riveting sex life, and our previous marriages.

And today we got a call.

Unfortunately, our church can't marry us, unless we're willing to postpone our marriage for four months.

After answering all those questions about sex, they realized that they've got to turn us away, because, after all, they've got to have standards.
We've known each other for two and a half years, we're both committed Christians, We've dated for a solid year, we've done loads of research and study regarding second marriages and blended families, and we've saved sex for our wedding night. It's not as if this is a shotgun marriage; we've been planning for a year.
If we had been sleeping together, un-biblically divorced, or simply co-habitating, why then the church could marry us. Especially if we were living together with kids, then they'd be in a hurry. But, boy, do things by the Book, and...

I'm not bitter.

Not really.

Just annoyed.

I am not a real enthusiast about modern church, you know. It sure messes with people who just want to live for Jesus.
Our favorite pastor was put in a terrible position because of bureaucracy.
That should not be.
Tim and I are back to plan A.
That should not be, either.
I miss house church.

Those Voluptuous Puritans

My Bridal shower, that bawdy event, is coming up. My girlfriends, Christian women all, are going to harass and embarrass me, for their own jolly thrills. And also for mine. We are going to have a blast. I've been thinking of risque tidbits that I can share about each of them as the evening progresses. Turnabout being fair play, and all.

I had to fill out a questionnaire from the church, for pre-married people. Those church folks asked rather a shocking number of questions about sex.
Are we having it? Have we had it? How do we feel about it? and When was the last time we each did....er...it? I am feeling a smug surge of jocularity over my answer to this particular question:
"What has been your sexual relationship with each other?"
To which I gleefully replied, "Enthusiastic Expectation!"
I hope they appreciate my sense of humor.

There's always that question, too, about how my first marriage ended. I never know how to give a concise answer without sounding terribly trite, or flat out untruthful. "Oh," I usually say, "he abandoned us for a life of drugs and criminal activity. Meth, mostly." Then, whomever I'm talking too, will nod and sigh, as if the word 'meth' explains everything. Perhaps it does.

But, we were talking about sex.
Which is a nice change of topic from my usual complaining about how swamped I am. Allow me to remind you how dreary that topic can be: My brother and his wife are coming into town this weekend for a visit. They will be staying here, so I should clean. I have a hair appointment, a pedicure, and also a bridal shower to attend. Just this weekend. There's the normal work routine, and a stack of bills that need my attention. Have I mentioned the yard work and the packing?

So, you can see why I am lingering over sex.
Or rather the discussion thereof.
Or something.

The 'H' word

Tuesday has arrived with sunshine, and a messy house. I'm a-workin' on my coffee, and listening to the local Christian radio station.

Tim and I have been doing a daily devotion for couples. It's been a great source of discussion. We've been using this nearly a year already, which will have us done with the book the first week of September.
Todays discussion is on the evils of TV, which I suspect will be a robust conversation. In case you haven't heard, I have raised my boys without a TV, and my dearly beloved man owns six or eight of the things.
I hate TV.
HATE it.
Except for 24. That's now my show. See, this Summer, while it's not on, Tim and I have been getting the old seasons of the show for me to watch. I'm all sucked in like it's a soap opera. Now I've seen seasons 6 and 7, and I think we're going to get season 5 next.
But, as I was saying....I hate TV.
Well.
Perhaps you would like to be a fly on the wall for that discussion.

We have still not found our dog. Don is out hanging signs all over the place, in the hope that someone will return her to us. That poor kid. Years ago, when we moved into this house, our dog ran away and was killed by a car a week before we moved. Now my kids think we're jinxed.
We are moving in two weeks.
I should pack something. Which is a whole 'nother topic. Don't you hate it when people say "whole 'nother"? I hate that, too. Bad English should not be tolerated.

Do you know what else I hate?
Hay fever.
Teenagers who drink milk from the carton.
Photos in which I am fat.
Dark roots in my hair.
Car trouble.
Weeds.
A busy schedule.
Video games.
Complainers....Umm.

I'm going back to bed

Some days suck.
Like today, for instance.
The dog dug a hole under the fence and ran away. We can't find her.
I said something yesterday that I wish I could take back.
My parenting is sufficient for small children, but seems to be largely inadequate for taller kids.
I had to work today.
.....It doesn't seem so bad when I put it that way.

It felt rather unpleasant as I faced it moment by moment. Then, there were the downer phone calls. An acquaintance was hospitalized after a grand mall seizure.
My brother may not come for a visit after all. Work ran long, and so I missed out on spending time with my mother. Stuff like that.

On the bright side, I do have a nice ring.

I have nothing remotely funny to say. I find that to be disappointing. No doubt you'll agree.
Feel free to be comical in the comment section.

Home Sweet New Home

Here is the view from the addition:


Here is a view of Tim's Ride:

This is what a hot tub looks like:

Here's the view of the addition from the back yard:

And here's the front door:

I am so excited to live in this lovely home.

Livin the dream

I didn't think it was remarkable, that a mom would be accessorized while cooking breakfast. We grew up with June Cleaver, after all. Michael has two buddies over this morning, and they commented at some length regarding my dress, and jewelry, and the Orange Juice in a wine glass. Life is just too short to be tacky, in my opinion. Besides, have you ever worn a maxi-dress? It's better than throwing on a pair of sweats. It as comfortable as being naked, if you want the truth. Now you know why they are so popular.

It's Friday, which brings me joy. This weekend should be a blast. Besides the usual freaking out over all that needs to be done, we are going to a concert. A rock concert. Journey and Heart are playing together. I think that everyone probably knows Journey songs, right? I just can't think of any right now.

.........Just right this very moment I hung up on a telemarketer. Do you hang up on those people? I don't think it counts as rude to slam the phone down when someone is calling to interrupt my life to give them money. Do you think it's rude?

I had the loveliest conversation this morning with Jenine. She is a vibrant, joyful mom of 8. The whole Jon and Kate people have nothing on Jenine. You TV people should do a Mike and Jenine Plus 8 show. She's so cool. This lady just gave birth to AnnaLee Grace, and their eldest is off to college in a few weeks. Jenine home schools, and cooks every meal from scratch. Also? She's terrifically sexy, and I'm not even gay. She's beautiful and intelligent, and a fantastic dancer. I might have to hate her. Maybe if I spend some time with her, she'll rub off on me.

At least I'm accessorized.

Three weeks, and counting

It's good that I have blogging to fill my time. Else, what would I do?
My rooms are getting cluttered, as rooms are prone to, in the immediate expectation of a move. I have eliminated bureaus, but not the contents of the drawers. I've pulled pictures off the walls, but they are needing to be moved to their new home. There are stacks of books and papers that I need to go through before packing. I was thinking that I'd much rather go shopping, or something.

Yesterday was a 15 hour day at Tim's, trying to care for the Limping One. The Un-compliant Limping One. The One who kept wanting to jump to his feet, and do laundry, or cook. Seriously, what man in his right mind would forgo an opportunity to lay around and be served by a willing woman all day? I offered to feed him grapes and fan him by the pool. His industrious nature is one of those man things I appreciate so much about him. I can't stand sedentary people. You know, people who blog all day. Tim gets stuff done.
While he was sitting still-ish, we settled on the food for the reception. Check that off the list. We're making fantastic progress on that list, in fact. Which is a good thing, considering that The Big Day is very nearly here.

So, today, I need to bustle about getting things done around here. Where do I begin?
My lawn mower is broken, and so I have half a mind to send the kids out there with scissors. That would keep them out of my hair while I clean and pack!

Off to do....something.

You're not it

I spent three hours in the waiting room, while he was in surgery.
I'm getting good at waiting rooms.
Fortunately, the magazines there were all current, so I am all up on Michael Jackson's kids, and that Jon + Bimbo- wife- eight= story. I did a lot of reading in three hours.
When I switched from coffee, to water from the cooler, the doctor finally entered the waiting area. She explained that the surgery had gone well, and that he should be fine, and would I like to go back to the recovery room?
He was smiling, at least. It was a sleepy, drugged smile.
There was my man all hooked up to an IV, in a hospital gown, and a blood pressure monitor. He was incredibly hot, in that hospital bed. How is that possible?
It was a planned surgery to repair his knee, and he was able to go home right away.
We spent the day by the pool, with me trying very hard to do everything for him without seeming like a mother hen. He was very gracious, despite the fact that I must have been annoying as can be.
The good doctor commanded that Tim not be left alone for 24 hours. Which, I felt was a legitimate eccuse for me to spend the night. He did not agree. Alas.
Now, I'm at my own home, and very tired indeed.

Next loved one in the hospital is a rotten egg.

Marching Forth

Is is possible to workout less than I have been? I think not. It would be possible to eat less, though, and that is an option I need to consider.
Stress is not good for me.
As Cher so wisely taught us, "the beat goes on." And so it does.
I'm watching the days slip into the recent history. That once overwhelming list, is getting accomplished, bit by bit.

Yesterday at work, I announced my two week notice.

We're getting down to the very last few days of my Single Parenthood. What a relief.
I understand well the pressure of being responsible for myself. There are benefits to that, sure. But I'm relieved to place myself, and my children, under the care of a good man.
And he is a good man. I go about my days with the delicious suspicion that no woman alive is loved as much as I am.

We were learning about the whole biblical concept of the Two becoming One. The speaker was pointing out that there is the death of the individuals, and the emergence of an entirely new entity. "I" cease, and "Us" quickens. The echo of that transformation will reverberate through all of our world. That is new, and frightening, and exceptionally beautiful.
So I am mindful of those little things which will no longer be my lot. The king sized bed to myself? No more. Leaving the dinner dishes 'til morning? That ain't gonna happen. Girlfriends over to drink wine and giggle 'til all hours? Not really.

I would like to be better, for him. I'd like to be more like him. Tim challenges me, and teaches me, and loves me so well. Somebody pinch me....I get to be his wife!

And the countdown continues.
The beat goes on.

"Eyes like the sea after a storm"

The Princess Bride is the best movie of all time. I was thinking of lines from it, just this morning:

"I'm not a witch, I'm your wife!"

"'We'll never survive.' 'Nonsense, your only saying that because no one ever has.'"

"There's a shortage of perfect breasts in the world, 'twoulnd be a pity to damage yours."

I was actually thinking of the great line from Prince Humperdink, where he is telling the Count how busy he is, and he says something along the lines of:
Prince Humperdinck: [sincerely] Tyrone, you know how much I love watching you work, but I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it; I'm swamped.
Count Rugen: Get some rest. If you haven't got your health, then you haven't got anything.

How about this one, "People in masks can not be trusted."

What is your favorite line from that movie?

You know how I'm real humble? Well, surprisingly, I'm on this Greek goddess kick. I can't make up my mind whether I want to be Aphrodite, or Hera. It's a tough decision.

This is what I'm thinking my hair should do to go along with the Greek goddess dress.



I don't like gladiator sandals. They aren't pretty. I'm thinking that if I'm to be a goddess, I can wear any shoes I want. Or maybe none at all. I'd be a barefoot beauty, if I were a real goddess.

Why can't I just dress up a little, like a normal person? Not me, I have to go in costume.
Are you all familiar with my cape?


How about my hat collection?


My wigs?


It isn't natural.

So, here I go again. I'm on Broadway, and it's not even a public, televised ceremony. It's private, for Pete's sake.

Does Tim know what he's getting into? That is your question.

Fortunately, Tim is a tad bit flamboyant, too. I'll have to get a photo for you of his Pimp-Daddy vehicle.

The fruit of my womb

My children are perfect.

They never slam doors, or over react by crying and throwing a two-year-old fit for no apparent reason at all.

They never, ever say bad words. Ever.

They are always good examples to the little children I babysit, even to the one who fell out of a tree in my front yard this morning and had to go off to the Emergency Doctor for Four stitches after I called his mother away from her job at the hospital in the middle of her workday.

They always pick up their trash, and joyfully help with the chores. Their rooms are a vision of personal excellence.

They bathe regularly, especially my eldest. "Mr Clean" we call him.

My children are perfect. It must be on account of how I am such a perfect mom.

Oh, and I've got beachfront property for sale, real cheap, in Arizona......

Dressing Bridezilla

I think I found my dress.
Allow me to repeat: I THINK I FOUND THE PERFECT ABSOLUTELY MOST WONDERFULEST DRESS.

It just came to my doorstep, via the UPS man. I look slender and 20 and also very tan. It's rather Grecian, don't you think?
Now we need to find me some shoes, and a veil-like thingy.....continue shopping, Dani!

I actually have another three dresses coming in the mail, so we'll see if one of them is more perfect. Can you imagine? That would be very confusing. Maybe I'd have to get married multiple times.

Whirling Dervish

I'm going to go lounge by the pool this afternoon. In truth, I have 87 gazillion emails in my inbox, and 72 million messages in my voice mail. If I owe you some manner of response, please know that it's very likely that I love and appreciate you and I am not going to get back to you until September.

Tim is having a procedure on his knee next week. Which is great, given how we are real bored this Summer, with absolutely nothing to do. I'm glad I've had so much practice sitting in waiting rooms, while people I love are sliced and diced.

Who is sarcastic?

Also, I think I have a wart. Warts are not very ladylike. How do you get them? Mine is on the palm of my hand, which I find both gruesome and fascinating. Wouldn't that be gross if I got lots of them on the palm of my hand? I'd be like a braille message. That gives a whole new meaning to the term "talking with my hands."

Oh dear.

I'm glad we've had this little talk.

What Stress?

Just for kicks, I looked online for the kind of stress test where they look at the major events in my life over the past year. Do you know the kind I mean?
I am so far off the charts, it's not even funny. And it's not the past year so much as just this Summer. Child's illness and hospitalization, move across town, marriage, change in job/ income, child going off to school for the first time. You know, stuff like I experience in spades.
Mostly, I feel validated.
The inner workings of my head feel like a pressure cooker. I'm kind of out of touch with my sense of humor as I go about my day. And I keep forgetting things that are important. Plus, I've been grinding my teeth and breaking out like a teenager.
You wouldn't think that anticipation of good stuff would be so stressful, would you? The whole marriage and move thing is very exciting, but it does represent a significant alteration to normalcy.
I think that the key to my sanity thru this time is likely to be found in good sleep, vigorous excercise, and large chunks of quiet time.

In other news, though, all of you faithful readers keep emailing me dresses to buy. That is very helpful! Maybe I should just post the rest of my to-do list, and see what you people can get done.

Companionable Silence

Yesterday, I went on a date. It was the Longest Date that Tim and I have ever had. It was a twelve hour date. I liked it.
At lunch time, we sat under rather disappointing cloud cover to eat our lunch. The patio is lovely this time of year, and despite the lack of sun, the day was quite warm. We'd been to the farmer's market downtown, where we had wandered through the vendors, holding hands. I was noticing, as we functioned in the crowd, how well we've learned to read each other. With the smallest motion, and nary a word, he said, "Please hold this bag, while I pay for the bread." Or a slight nod of his head tells me, "Those people over there are bizarre." A squeeze from his fingers lets me know that he is changing directions in the crowd, and would I like a cup of coffee? It's a sort of intimacy that holds such value to me, because I've never quite had it before. Well, except with Kara, but she doesn't hold my hand very often.
We put lunch together, after we got back to his home, and moved the small feast out to the patio. There we sat, enjoying the fresh bread we'd just purchased, and wishing the clouds away. We were enjoying that kind of quiet where you don't need to say anything at all. Yet, he'd chuckle, and mention something that had tickled his fancy from the morning. Or I'd make a random comment about something in my head, and he would nod and smile.
The sun finally did put up a robust fight against the grey. It was hot enough to lay by the pool, and the sun played a lazy game of hide-and-seek. Tim read on his lounge chair. I dozed on mine.
I completely ignored the huge to-do list that was growing back at my house.
Today is going to have to be different. Since yesterday was a serious day of rest, I am hoping that God won't mind if I dash about working my fanny off this afternoon, to make up for the leisure of Saturday.

I need to deputize all of you out there in blogland to find me a wedding dress. I need a white sundress, a bit dressier than an everyday dress. I can not wear the empire waist style. It needs to be under a hundred dollars. It needs to be comfortable in a hundred degree weather, and I need to look like a twenty-year-old when I put it on. So, go forth, fellow shoppers. See what can be found.

The marriage bed is holy, and undefiled

Shopping for a mattress is a completely appropriate thing to do with a man one is about to marry.
When Cathy and Asia were here this weekend, they recommended a mattress made of that heavy memory foam stuff. These things are too heavy to lift, and too expensive to afford, and I totally want one.
Last night, Tim and I went to the local furniture store to test drive mattresses. He would fling his body in the air, and land on a mattress with a bounce, before thrashing about to assess the firmness, and support, of the article in question. Then, he'd editorialize, get up, and go do the same thing on the next bed in the line.
I was vastly amused. As was the salesman, come to think of it. He followed us at a less-than-discreet distance, no doubt wondering where this grown man got so much energy for leaping from bed to bed.
Tim wants a firm surface. By "firm" I mean that he wants to sleep on concrete. Me? I'm more genteel. I prefer to sink into a cloud to pursue my REM.
There was one mattress that was hard on one half, and soft on the other. Which is not a bad idea. But, I'd really like to provide him some incentive to visit my side now and again. I'm just sayin'.
The memory-foam thing was wonderful. It's one of those that you can drop a bowling ball on, and the thing doesn't shimmy. This provided no little challenge to Tim, who did his leaping thing several times, to see if he'd bounce. He didn't.
Tim asked me, as we lay there on the bed, (in a public room with a salesman watching), if I liked the bed. I told him that I thought I actually loved it, and that I pretty much would like to marry it. Or at least to sleep with it. Which I thought was downright hysterical. The salesman didn't even crack a smile; I hate it when people don't get my jokes.

My big goal for the day is to pretty up Michael's records of scholastic achievements. It's like revising a resume. I have to put together this impressive dossier on his years of home education, so he looks like an advanced and motivated learner, worthy of the program he's applying for. Basically, I have a snow job to pull off. All those chores he does? Home economics, baby. Listening to the radio? Musical appreciation. Bedtime stories? Comparative World Literature. Camping and hunting just became forestry and zoology. When I am done with this portfolio, they're gonna offer me a teaching job.
I watched an introductory video for this school, and I totally want to attend it myself. It's part of the International Baccalaureate program, whatever that means. I think it means that he'll have a lot of homework. Michael, the jock-turned-intellect is very enthusiastic at the thought of going to school. Don is thrilled to death at the prospect of being the only child at home.
It's funny to me to watch the way this seems to be evolving all at the hand of God. I can really get a glimpse of how this would ease the transition to our new and improved family, for each of the kids. Don will likely need more of my attention for a while, and this would certainly meet that. Michael is needing more Independence. Tim and I will need some time to ourselves. His two kids will be in school full time this year, but Faline will be home educated the following year. Aaron will finish out elementary school, and then we'll figure out what is best for him.
I am going to have 4 kids, and 3 of them will be in public school. Clearly God has a sense of humor.

...in a single bound

I'm so glad I'm a faithful blogger.

Last weekend was a blast, because Cathy and Asia were in town. I took no pictures at all, despite the fact that I bought new batteries for my camera. Sorry about that. Asia mostly fired deeply personal and incisive questions at my patient husband-to-be with the worthy goal of ascertaining his suitability to marry me. Consequently, they are now fast friends. They discussed much of this riveting information on the tennis court, where they were very happy to hit a ball about between topics. Unfortunately, Tim's knee was less than thrilled with the strenuous excersise, and is now swollen up as big as Texas. Cathy and I shopped, as any friends would.

My entire freaking existance has taken on a life of it's own, and I am sort of swept along in the tide. Among the significant, and life changing, transformations underway, is the new and alarming possibility of my child attending a real High School. Michael has decided that he wants to attend some Ivy League College, and Lacrosse is largely to blame. However, he is also appreciating the need for academic excellence, and is interested in a new School as a means of accomplishing this. This school, if he's accepted, would be really hard, academically agressive, and completely over his head. I think it's a fantastic idea. I am meeting with the officials to apply on Friday. Also, I am freaking out. Normal people cry when their baby leaves for kindergarden. Not me. My kid will leave at the age of 14 instead of 5.

In the bride department, I can not find a dress. It's very annoying. All dresses on the planet have an empire waist, which makes me look pregnant. All white dresses on the planet cost upwards of a million dollars.

I have to eliminate and pack, and I don't have any time to do so. I guess I am getting some things done, little by little. But, there's a heck of a lot that needs to be dealt with. My house is just so full of junk!

The reception planning is also on the table. Once we get bunches of RSVPs back, we'll have to start thinking about food and wine. And cake. And flowers. And renting tables. And the fact that all these people are going to be in my new house....which is all freaking me out.

Mostly freaking out is kind of the theme.


So, let's summerize. I am getting married, doubling the amount of children I have, moving, enrolling my eldest in school, signing the boys up for football, planning a reception/honeymoon/wedding, working, paying bills, being a single mom, and trying to find a pretty white dress. All of this while freaking out.

But enough about me. How have you been?