Kelly's Korner

2012, I hereby resolve....

2012-01-07T19:01:00.001-07:00

Oh, for Pete's sake.
I've complained about my weight for years, on account of I needed something to write about. I'm such a whiner! Today, I looked in the mirror and saw a 40-something woman wearing a size 6 with a muffin top. It wasn't pretty. In truth, I always feel fairly smug, as long as I'm in the single digits. But, stuff is redistributing as I get older, and IT AIN'T GOOD. So...
I hereby resolve to lose weight.
I HEREBY RESOLVE TO LOSE WEIGHT.
New Year's resolutions might be a good idea, after all.

I need to lose weight to stoke my vanity. My vanity is suffering because of the way my clothes fit. It's not comfortable because of the muffin top. The second reason is so that I will be in good shape for that inevitable open-heart-surgery. That's a short term goal, and a long term goal. That's good, right?

I kind of made a secret sort-of resolution to blog regularly, but if I mention that here, I'll really have to do it. I kind of want to, though. I'm working up to writing a book, since I have such a lot of riveting topics to expound upon. Whatever. Maybe I'll blog more.

I also resolve to monthly set aside money in my kids' savings accounts.
Amen.

That's three resolutions. Actually, since I want to lose 25 pounds, I think that makes it 27 resolutions. That's really a lot. I'm impressed with me. Do stay tuned for the consequences of my enthusiastic declarations.

In other news:

Call me. Call Me! Really, I am Blondie. (If you don't understand that reference, I am not going to take the time to explain it. Google "Deborah Harry", and let's move on.)

My Mother called me today to relay a story about how Everyone agrees that I am the one to call in an emergency. This is based upon a recent incident wherein my Grandfather left his briefcase at the airport. In a panic to find it, my mother called me. I called the airport, they held it for me, I went down and collected it, and returned it to my Grandparents. Mother, who is my biggest fan, can not get over this feat of Sherlock Holmes-like intellectual prowess. Mother is a shy, retiring sort, who tells this story to friends, neighbors, and countrymen alike. I rescued her, and my grandparents, Single handledly! I confess, if you leave something at the airport, I know exactly what to do. In any other circumstance, however, I make no guarantees. You give me a jingle, if you like, but if airport security isn't involved, your fate is any one's guess.

As I get older, I find that I am more predictable, and less fun. This was announced to me via my mirror, just yesterday, after a somewhat extensive hair coloring project. (I learn a lot from my mirror. Perhaps I just spend too much time in front of my mirror, and so that's where I am when thoughts occur to me. Should I resolve to be less in my own reflection? The mirror seems such an appropriate place for reflection, after all.)
Anyway.
I colored and highlighted my hair. It was a detailed project that I'd worked up to with a great deal of preparation and forethought. The result? Looked exactly like I had prior to the effort. I am so boring! I used to dye my hair black or pink, and never feel regret. These days, I've grown conservative in apperance. I am so lame.

Maybe I should resolve something regarding that...? Next year. I'm going to be very busy with my 27 resolutions for now.

What are yours? Your resolutions, I mean...

I Heart Kindle

2012-01-04T07:48:00.000-07:00

It's really embarrassing. How is it possible that a simple electronic device can cause me such swells of rapture? This new little kindle, which Tim bestowed upon me Christmas morning, is my constant companion. Reading is my passion. This Kindle-thingy also plays MP3s, so I can don earphones and listen to Norah Jones while reading. What could possibly be better?
Currently, I have 6 different books going.
One way that I justify all that time spent with my nose in a book, is to demand of myself that I walk on the treadmill while doing it. My goodness, but that has increased my treadmill-time! I had gotten very lazy in this department, ever since the running was placed off-limits. Now that I can read while I walk, I am finding that the walking has far more appeal.
My daughter also got a Kindle for Christmas, and she has been sitting, reading, for untold hours. This has the effect of eliciting my ire. It's quite childish on my part, if you must know. I, frankly, resent that she gets to read, while I have to operate a household. It isn't fair. Watching teenagers flaunt idleness while I work is rather a pet peeve of mine, to begin with. If they are looking smug about it, it just makes me grumpy. Especially if their chores aren't done.
The boys have been reading a ton this holiday break, as well. They fell into The Hunger Games series. Actually, Michael needed the third book, and couldn't get it at the library, so we bought it on my Kindle. It took about 30 seconds from the time he said, "Mom, I really need this book!" I typed the name in to my wondrous device, and hit the BUY NOW button. And there it was. The seemingly obvious flaw in that plan, was that he then assumed possession of my Kindle until his book was thoroughly read. That was really not well-thought-out on my part.
I love that the kids all like to read. Reading is good for a person's brain. Don't you think? Also good for our brains is that game I bought the family for Christmas: Scrabble.
I love Scrabble, but you have to know that we play with cheater's rules. What I mean is that we use Dictionaries to aid our spelling and word selection. Here is another opportunity to employ our Kindles. There's a Dictionary built in to the thing, and it allows one to begin typing a selection of letter, for which it anticipates words. This has the lovely effect of giving one Scrabble options that one had not considered. I figure it's educational for the kids. They work on vocabulary, dictionary skills, and spelling. Love.
No doubt, I will find yet more ways to fold my new Kindle into my life. Gosh, Amazon should pay me for my glowing review! Just think, all this text, and I haven't even mentioned what books I'm reading.....

Aortic Aneurysm

2011-12-28T08:23:00.000-07:00

My own health is annoying me. I'm perfectly healthy and vibrant. I'm energetic and happy, with a hearty appetite.
Except for the one thing.

I have a condition that no one can see, for Pete's sake, how is that any fun?
When I was first diagnosed, back in June, with an aortic aneurysm, I was compliant as can be with all the doctor's restrictions. Mostly, I ate raw almonds and raisins because of the no-salt content. It was a bit panicked, to be sure, but I was convinced that a time-bomb was ticking away within me. In the past few months,I have gradually meandered clean off the wagon.

It's not like I'm salting food, or running a marathon. In truth, I would probably be better off by running and lifting some weights in defiance of my doctor. As it is, I don't enjoy the wimpy excuse for exercise that I am now allowed....so I don't do any at all. My hips are growing wide, and my heart is growing week. This can't be what the doctor ordered! It's becoming increasingly apparent that I need to embrace the slower pace, and actually get moving.

Food is really not bad without salt. There are lovely salt substitutes. The trouble comes in that anything remotely processed includes enough sodium to spike any one's blood pressure. I must avoid anything that comes in a can or in a box. And anything pre-seasoned. Or served at a restaurant. See? Raw almonds and raisins are an easy answer. Not only is salt the very devil, but cholesterol is bad, too. This is found in anything that tastes good. Butter, cheese, meat, eggs...don't even mention desserts.

In a moment of self-pity, just the other day, I was surfing the web on the topic of this medical condition. Now, I really think that the Internet is a fascinating place to research medical issues. Terrifying, perhaps, but fascinating. In my cyber-wanderings, I happened upon a chat-board-thing. What do you call them? It's where people all post their story on a particular topic, and commiserate in their misery. It was wonderful.

The first fellow talked about how he used to be a cyclist, who loved to push the limits of his physical strength, before he was diagnosed. He was so frustrated with all the limitations placed upon him...I had found a kindred spirit! I spent about an hour reading through all these postings by people with varying levels of information regarding their own condition. Some had no idea what an aneurysm was. Some had tons of research and experience to boast of. Most of them talked about the sense of carrying an invisible threat with them always.

I was delighted to hear the thoughts and experiences of other real people who deal with this phantom. But, it isn't a phantom, is it? It's rather a Thorn in the Flesh. At some point, here, I need to learn the art of folding it into my life, without obsessing over it. It isn't going to go away.

Although aortic aneurysm is in the Top 15 Leading Causes of Death in the US, one can't help but note that the mortality rate over-all is somewhat higher (hovering near 100%). With this in mind, it seems sensible to take precautions, without worrying over-much. An occasional jog, or a special occasion dessert, would likely be worth any risk. There is, after all, some consideration for quality of life.

With this in mind, I shall leap from my netbook to my treadmill. While I shall restrain myself from running, I may just jog. And if I perish, at least I'll die happy.

True Beauty

2011-12-27T09:58:00.001-07:00

We have a dear friend who has cancer. His symptoms have progressed beyond such medical advancements as Chemo, and he is steeling himself for his Last Stand in this battle. He is quite beautiful, in the way of one who knows suffering.
We had occasion to see him for a few moments the other day. Just a few minutes in his presence has the power to alter perspective, and rearrange one's priorities. It was, by far, the most powerful few moments of my Christmas Experience.
His wife is one of my dearest friends in the world.
She stands by her husband's side with a fragile desperation, tightly wrapped with determination and grace. What else can she do, after all? She's being changed by this process as much as he is.
Such an experience is, as my mother always says, "too painful to waste." There is so much to learn about what really matters.
My thinking is very often upside-down.
Take, for instance, those 10 pounds I'd like to lose. Too much meat on my bones means that I eat well. I'm a healthy momma. There is no cancer impeding my digestive system.
I have too much on my plate in other ways, too. I am busy. Yet, the very fact that I can get all wrapped up in tasks, means that I do not have an all consuming tragety that forces me to be still.
I'm thankful for what I have. Thankful for my life, my family, and my health.
I am thankful, too, for the truth offered by harsh circumstance.
Cancer is only one possibility. There are so many other ways that you and I are forced to our knees. That's the point, too. When we are forced to our knees, our whole world has a chance to align with our Creator, and those He has given us to love.
To quote my ever-quotable mother, again, "Suffering can make you bitter, or it can make you beautiful."
My dear friends are beautiful despite.....no...because of the Cancer. May you and I be as blessed.

Birthday Week, the briefest of updates

2011-12-12T07:57:00.000-07:00

Four of the six people who live in this house have birthdays this week.
Tim and Faline share today as their birthday. She's 14, he's Not.
Friday Don will be 15.
Saturday Aaron will be 10.
So, I have that to look forward to.
It's bound to be a busy week. Besides the shopping and the eating-of-cake, I have to paint Aaron's room, go to Christmas programs at school, and help the teens get ready for semester Finals. My house is guaranteed to be a disaster zone by Friday.

A sort of god-complex

2011-12-06T07:11:00.001-07:00

Tim got home from work a little early, yesterday. He asked me what I'd done all day. This question is baffling. I had no idea, on first reflection, what I did yesterday. The time had passed with a stunningly low level of apparent productivity, yet I had been occupied in constant activity.

In thinking it through, I decided that my mundane tasks were more important than I'd realized. During the day, while Tim is at work, I go about Making Things. This is how I fill my time.

Yesterday, for instance, I made breakfast, lunch and dinner. I made a mess. I made my bed. I made myself presentable. I made my children do their chores and schoolwork. I made my husband happy, I made my children grumpy, I made some phone calls. I made a trip up to my son's elementry school, where I made copies for the teacher, and I made arts-and-crafts for the students. I made time for each of my children. I made time to read and pray. After dinner, I made my son do dishes. I made the kids go to bed. And, finally, I made some peaceful time for Tim and I.

I am a creator.

In the wise words of my Granny Ruth, "A man may work from sun to sun, but a woman's work is never done."

Oh. I have a blog?

2011-12-05T07:04:00.001-07:00

In anticipation of a Kindle for Christmas, I've downloaded a kindle reader app on my little netbook. This allows me to read a vast array of free books, right on my computer screen. For some reason, I find this facinating. I realize that the not-free books could really get me in trouble. You can purchase a book with a click of the mouse, and never see the exchange of money. This is brilliant on Amazon's part. It's bound to be expensive on my part.

My daughter and I have both put a kindle at the top of our wish-list for Christmas. We are both avid readers. She's totally easy to shop for. Books, clothes, and beauty products. The girl after my own heart!

The boys are each very different in terms of what they want. Michael begged and pleaded for a hunting rifle, back in the Fall. He swore it could be his Christmas present, and he'd never ask for anything else. So, he got his big gift months ago, and I think he's starting to realize that Christmas morning is going to be a bit of a drag. Poor kid. Aaron is still exuberantly wishing for toys from Santa, though I suspect he's figured out that Santa may not be entirely real. (I never told my kids that Santa was real, because I thought lying to my own children was just morally reprehensible. Aaron, however, has grown up with a stubborn faith.) Don wants clothes and music, and apparently is hopping-against-hope for a longboard.

All the Christmas prep has kept me pretty busy. We're really about done with our shopping, though. I need to focus on stockings.

Christmas morning falls on a Sunday, which in this family means Church. The kids are not enthusiastic about having to go to the House Of Jesus...on His Birthday. They seem to think that acknowledging the focus of our celebration is a hinderance. Actually, they seem to think that the focus of our celebration is them and their gifts.

I've been working on The Christmas Letter. For some reason, things change so quickly around here that I am struggling to keep the letter current. I've got to do a final edit, and get that sent out.

Next weekend is our company Christmas Party. I'm very excited about that. Now that Tim has a job, we get to add this annual social event to our calendar. I'll need to lose the customary ten pounds, and get a new dress.

A new week yawns before me, and I've got a gazillion things to do. With all that goes on in the simple running of the household, I neither blog, nor read email. I'm really behind in that department. There are probably 75 emails that I haven't looked at, and I am certain to be earning a reputation as a total flake. However, feeding 4 children and a husband is consuming the bulk of my time. That, and parenting the children. Who will chase them around and force them to do their chores, if I'm staring at a computer screen? You see my quandry.

19 shopping days left 'til Christmas.
1 hour 'til breakfast
5 hours 'til lunch
10 hours 'til dinner
The race is on.
Happy Monday, Friends.

A glimpse of real Love

2011-11-17T07:13:00.001-07:00

"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend."- Didn't Jesus say that?

I was working-out in the garage yesterday morning. (We have a lovely home gym in one bay of the garage; it's quite adequate.There's TV, stereo, cardio machines, and all kinds of weights and benches. Not like a garage at all. Besides, Tim keeps the garage incredibly tidy.)
So...
There I was, working my pitiful muscles, when I had a thought.
It must have been a result of increased blood flow to the brain. It went like this:

In the garage, on the incline bench, with the music blaring, I looked over and saw Tim's beautiful car. Tim is funny about his car. It's a totally custom Ford Expidition, with a Unique paint job. We affectionately call it the "T-Rex." He loves it, as only a man can love a vehicle. The thing is, he lets me drive it. He takes my car to work, because the heater is unpredictable, and it's freezing to drive. This act of personal sacrifice is more than enough proof of his love for me.

When I met Tim, 5 years ago, he looked like the ultimate man of leisure. Nice cars, lovely home, great kids....perfect life.

It occured to me in that moment that Tim gave me his magical life. He used to drive that Warm T-Rex, sculpt his considerable muscles in the garage, stay home all day, and cook every night. Now I have steped in to his life, and he has gone off to work and support us, to make it all possible.

He gave up his life for me.
He gave up his life to me.
What kind of love is that? I am so awed by the gift, so cognisant of the responsibility. I am so in love, and so very blessed.

The latest on being a normal housewife

2011-11-16T07:34:00.000-07:00

This is Tim's second full week of work, and I know more of what to expect. Last week I missed him rather a lot. The kids need more of me when he's not here, so I feel a bit drained. However, ever the opptomist, I am game for the new routine. Mostly.

Things in the house have settled down a bit since I last posted. (I've never met a crisis that lasted very long.)There's still lots going on, though. All of it in the form of children, school, and housework. Three of my favorite things.

Tim no longer brings me coffee in the mornings. Alas. My days of being spoiled are a thing of the past. He's out the door at 6:30 am, and so that's when I pry my eyes open and glare at the day. I jest...it's actually easier to get up, now that I've switched to decaff. Who would have thought? I am no longer dependant upon the caffine to wake me, so my brain begins to function almost immediately.

I bought a crockpot at Costco. I'm pretty much in love with my crockpot. Tim no longer cooks every night of my life, so I am compelled to magical feats of culinary wonder.

The kids really do require more than I expected during the day. They need to be driven to their various classes, of course, so that's a lot of pillars in my day. But they need more from me emotionally than they did before. I help with homework. They bicker amongst themselves rather a lot. They want to each ask me seperately, and repeatedly, what our plans for the day are. They are messy and needy. The whole thing wears me down a bit, by the time Tim gets home. I'm an awesome mom, huh?

It's an adjustment, for sure.

I always thought I could be Super Mom. This fantasy persisted until my eldest reached about 10. Now, I live in the confidence that I've no idea what I'm doing. I pray that my children won't need too much therapy when they are adults. I pray that I will love them enough. I pray that I won't wring their necks. I pray that they would be nice to each other. I pray that I would be nice to them. Parenting is really good for prayer.

I'm going to go pray, in fact. Then I need to refill my cup o' decaff, and begin parenting.

Personal crisis involving Kleenex

2011-11-08T07:32:00.002-07:00

Oh.
Hi...

When I haven't written for a few days, the blinking cursor on the blank screen seems quite accusatory. I did beging writing the other day, but it was melodramatic and maudlin, so I slammed the netbook shut and pursued vigorous baking.In fact, I've been in the kitchen a great deal since Tim started his new job. I've made lots of cookies for the kids, and dinners for the family. I love cooking for people who love eating. It's such a validating experience.

There's been way too much to do around here. With Tim leaving early for work, I am getting up really early. Then I'm productive before the kids even get out of bed, and I like that morning quiet time. I am finding, though, that I have no time to sit down all day. It's making me even more grateful for the past couple years, where I was on a sabbatical as much as Tim was.

There's been more than housework going on, though, and no mistake.
-Health issues of loved ones
-friend's marriage crisis
-And my own personal favorite....My Teenager.

Let's discuss
My teenager ( I have three, but only one causing me grief at the moment) Is stressing me out. This kid has always been well-mannered, sweet-natured, if slightly bossy, and beautiful. (Come to think of it, that could describe more than one of my children.) Anyway, this child is making abominable choices. By abominable, I mean that the choices are bad enough that I am not going to tell you what they are. They are that bad. I am telling you this much because there is not room between my ears for much more than that, so it neccessarily limits my creative powers regarding blogging.

I'm not much of a weepy sort, but lately I've had some of those gasping, sobbing, hicupping crying jags. I wish I was like one of those movie stars that looks glassy-eyed and lovely with tears streaming down her face. This is not my experience. My nose runs, my eyes turn bright red and swell shut, and I can't breathe. I look like a zoombie.

So, the other night at the dinner table, one of the kids said something that made me start to laugh (an ironic, somewhat hysterical laugh) and then I started to bawl. While laughing. You know how that is? Well, my 9-year-old, who is Clueless in a charmingly childish way, thought this was terribly funny. He started laughing loudly and with delighted appreciation for what he said were my "tears of joy." Now, everyone else at the table knew that joy was not a factor, so they started laughing at how clueless Aaron was (Michael singing "If I only had a brain!)...which he interpreted as mutual family jocularity....by that time, it was. Now Aaron thinks the phrase "tears of joy" is a punchline guaranteed to get a laugh, so he says it every time he senses the merest hint of a glassy eye. It's bound to be a family joke for years to come.

There's more to tell, but it's now time to get going.
I'm so glad we had this little chat.

Turning over a new leaf

2011-11-02T08:53:00.002-06:00

My diet has improved markedly since my Diagnosis. But, my overall relationship with food is downright unhealthy. I expect more from food than from my husband.
This is what I was thinking about during Second Breakfast, which was not about nurishment, but more about heat. I'd eaten a banana and a yogurt earlier, and found the effect to be unsatisfactory. So, I made nice, hot oatmeal and toast. This infusion of carbohydrates was also warm enough to snuggle with,while perched upon my barstool.
It occured to me then, as I philisophically evaluated my eating habits, that perhaps those 10 extra pounds are a function of high expectations. I expect food to satisfy, energize, entertain, and comfort. It must make me feel warm, happy, and vibrant, while keeping me slim. Food should serve me as encourager, be asthetically pleasing, and thrill my soul.
I want food to love me back.
There is a whole section of my local library devoted to this very topic, so I know I am not alone in this. And that is some consolation.

In other riveting news: Tim got The Call. He starts work tomorrow morning, so this is our Last Day Together. He and I were trying to find a word that means "the end of a sabbatical" and the best we could come up with was "Reality."

Today we have parent-teacher-conferences, but very little else. Today is an end.

Tomorrow is a beginning. The alarm will go off at 5:30 am......

I have no title for this, as my brain is frozen

2011-11-01T09:16:00.000-06:00

Tim is still not working. He has been hired, you understand, but he doesn't actually go to work. We are curious to see when that call will come that involves an invitation to join the workforce. There are so many details involved with being hired these days; it's quite complicated. They have paperwork and drug tests and background checks. I think he's thrown them off with his perfect Self.
Meanwhile, we wait.

Yesterday was my least favorite holiday, if you are dying to read my thoughts on the matter, click HERE.
Michael and Don watched some scary movie, Aaron and Faline dressed up as me and collected candy. They did. Aaron wore my old clown outfit (have I told you about how I used to work as a clown? I was "Jewel, the Court Jester"). Faline wore an old prom dress with my black cape and gloves, she looked like she was going to the opera. Is it weird that my kids need look no further than my closet for suitable costumes?

Recently, I had occasion to read an article about the singer Katy Parry. She was explaining how her parents raised her to view Halloween, which sounded exactly like my own children's experience. They saw it as a pagan event with no redeeming qualities, and they certainly didn't celebrate it. I totally concur. I was wondering if the similarity means that my children are going to turn out like Katy Parry. She's very rich, which may be lovely, but she's not quite the moral standard I'd like my own children to be. I wonder if her parents are proud. I only hope that if my children grow up to sing about sex and partying all the time, they get paid as well as Ms Katy does. It's more likely they wouldn't get paid at all.

I was just explaining to my cardiologist that having teenagers might be affecting my blood pressure. Now, Cardiology would be a lucrative profession. They had a bill for over a hundred dollars, just for taking my blood pressure and chatting. Certainly we were chatting on a specialized topic, but it was rather brief, as chats go. My blood pressure, you'll be happy to know, has responded nicely to the medications I'm on. I did ask my doctor why such a minor little issue as I have has impacted my daily life so much. There are so many restrictions upon me, that I end up thinking too much about what I can't do, what I can't eat, and the coffee I can't have. She corrected my misconception by explaining that while my aneurysm is mild, it is my no means a minor issue. It's rather un-minor. I did not ask if that makes it major.

That's about all I have to say. Which means that I need to get out of bed and see about breakfast. Getting out of bed is less welcoming than it ought to be on account of the no caffeine, and also the no heat. My handsome husband is opposed to turning on the heat anytime prior to the first of November. Today is the big day, then, but the house is freezing cold this morning. Alas.

He who spears and cooks

2011-10-31T09:11:00.000-06:00

Michael had mentioned that his buddies were going to meet here on Saturday morning. They were going to play in a lacrosse tournament, and the guys thought this would be a convinient meeting spot. We were not surprised, then, to hear deep-voiced adolecent males prowling our home at the ungodly hour of 8:30 am.

Tim and I stayed snug in our bed... When what to our wondering ears should appear, but the sounds of actual cooking out there! Michael, who usually finds the construction of a sandwhich to be beyond him, was banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. He managed to cook eggs, toast, and waffles for 8 guys. When I later expressed my wonder, he said, "Mom, anyone can crack an egg." Anyone can not, apparently, clean up after himself.

In church on Sunday, we heard about the importance of names. Specifically, of course, the Name of God. I was inspired to look up the meanings of my four children's names to see if anything of their true nature is thereby revealed. Their name meanings sound like Indian Names:

God-like famous Spearman
Gift from God who Supplants mighty Chief
In charge with Honor
Mountain of Strength who is Like God

...I did notice that there was nothing in there about being obedient or tidy. Everything else makes sense, except the Spearman part. We considered somewhat ribald interpretations, which I tried to combat with the reminder that this is a "Godlike" Spearman. Perhaps he'll hit whatever he aims at?
And what's with the "Supplanter"?
Tim and I both turn out to be warriors, he with Honor, me as a protecting shelter. Funny, since we don't ever fight each other.
You should look up your name. And your kids. I'd love to know what they mean...

Rockin the kitchen

2011-10-28T08:36:00.003-06:00

In the mornings, I sit in bed to read my bible, my email, and my blog before I face the day. It's a peaceful, reflective time for me. I sip my decaff in the quiet.

Tim, who starts his new job next week, is in the kitchen doing dishes. He is also blaring Justin Timberlake "Bringin Sexy Back." Not just every man would clean a kitchen to this album at 8:30 in the morning. The "sexy, sexy, pump that body" lyrics are impeding my prayerful sense of peace. However, they certainly make me smile. I think it's a crack-up that my refined man jams to a dance beat.

I would have done the dishes last night, but the evening got away from us. We went to a lacrosse game in which Aaron was playing and Tim was coaching. We got home rather late, and didn't manage to eat dinner until 8:30. The dishwasher was already full of dirty dishes, so I left the dinner dishes for my Disco Man's Morning Routine. Actually, I envisioned myself getting to them this morning....what was I thinking?

We've been relishing each day as though it were our last. Tim and I have gone out to lunch, bought stuff at the mall, spent lazy afternoons...all in anticipation of losing these unstructured days together. Two years of spending every moment together has been a treat for which I am most grateful. For a couple starting out late in life, it's been the best possible scenario. It's allowed us to develop our relationship beyond the typical two-year marriage, I think. I know him better than I would have if he'd been at work every day.

Now, of course, we get to adjust to a whole new way of life. That's something we've been thinking about a lot. I really like my husband, dang it. I'd prefer to keep him home with me. But, I wish he'd turn the music down.

Skype to m'lou

2011-10-26T09:02:00.001-06:00

My dear friend Patti moved away over year ago, and I'm having a hard time dealing with that. She used to live around the corner from me, and we were in each other's homes daily. This makes her home in Connecticut seem like the other side of the world.
So, yesterday, I got a wild hair and downloaded Skype.Have you tried this? You can have a Star Trek Video conversation on the computer. Like, you can actually see the other person! Love.(Cathy, do you have Skype?)
It's a very distracting sort of conversation. I found that I was so thrilled to see Patti's sweet face, and her new haircut, and her kids and husband,,,,that I was having a hard time thinking of things to actually say. Plus, also, too...I could see myself in the little window thingy, and I kept wanting to play with my hair. It was like being on TV. The extrovert in me was a bit giddy with the experience.
My family, who are all about as technologically backwards as me, kept coming up behind me to put their face in the frame on my TV show to say HI to Patti.
When I got off the Skype, I wanted to call Patti on the phone, so we could talk about all the things that slipped my mind with the wonder of seeing the person I was speaking to. It was that distracting.
However, it was also so very fun that I then had to Skype Kara, who only lives across town. Oddly enough, Kara didn't have a Skype account, but her daughter did. Her daughter is, like, 9.
With Tim going off to work and Abandoning Me, I could have all kinds of Skype fun to keep me occupied. In fact, I could have lunch with the ladies, long conversations, and great girlfriend time without ever leaving the house!
Who loves her computer?

The growing pains of change

2011-10-25T09:12:00.000-06:00

My husband is leaving me for a job. He actually got hired, and will venture out one day this week to begin his new career. We're not sure which day he'll start, so here we hang in anticipation.
Tim, my husband, is a slender fellow. He is one of those eaters who is perfectly content with one helping at dinner. If he's not quite full, he simply decides to eat again later, if he gets around to it. I, on the other hand, don't consider dinner Eaten unless I am full to bursting.
Tim forgets to eat during the day when he's busy. I remember to eat every time I pass the kitchen.
Tim doesn't really snack. He will prepare an entire meal, consume a little, and be perfectly satisfied. To watch me graze, you'd think I live in fear of an impending food shortage.
Which brings me, eventually, to my point.
With him working all day, he's going to forget to eat on a regular basis. This will make him thinner. If he gets thinner, I will look larger. It is a husband's responsibility to be more substantial than his wife at all times! I firmly believe this. Perhaps "firmly" is an ill-chosen adjective.
Being trapped in a house with my offspring all day is going to make me eat more. This does not bode well for my figure, nor for my self esteem. Clearly, Tim is at fault here. If he would stay home and pamper me, then I wouldn't have to worry about such things.
Worry isn't good for me, either, and it tends to make me shop.

Currently, I am sitting in bed with my netbook on my lap, whilst my handsome husband lifts weights in the garage. Who is serious about keeping their weight in line, eh?

I'm actually kind of excited about this new phase in life. I don't relish the daily separation from Tim, but it's going to be new and different. My vision includes an efficiently run household, and a vigorous work-out schedule. Perhaps lunch with the ladies now and then. In fact, I may have time to actually have girlfriends again. Ever since being married, my friendships have rather suffered. It's a shame, because I have some fantastic girlfriends.
My goodness, there is bound to be much to write about, what with all the change and eating and friends. When will I ever have time to parent?

What's wrong with you?

2011-10-24T11:21:00.000-06:00

Do you ever have those moments in a social setting where you are funny and engaging, and just on ? I didn't have one of those this weekend.

In fact, I was not real impressed with Me this weekend, truth be told.
Years ago, I read a great book in which the main character lamented her own flaws. She knew of someone's complaint against her, and she was greiving because her own awareness was more weighty than the other person's. Even though other's suffered from her flaws, she always suffered more. I felt like that.

I had to apologize to my mother, and confess to my husband, and then I had to have a glass of wine.

I talk too much. I say the first thing that I think, even if it doesn't need to be said. I also manage to insult a wide variety of folks with very little effort. I'm judgemental. Plus, I draw way too much attention to myself. Other than that, I'm lots of fun. Aren't you just dying to spend some time with me?

Once the five-day-long headache began to lift, I felt somewhat kinder. Headache is not much of an excuse, though. When I'm tired or hungry, or in any way less than 100%, the first thing I do is start saying things I shouldn't. It's very predictable, really.

But enough about me. How have you been?

Domesticity, two views

2011-10-20T11:06:00.000-06:00

It's slow going without coffee, and no mistake. Decaff provides a convenient illusion, but it sure doesn't help me to spring from my bed.
I have a headache this morning from a new medication I'm on. Once one has a diagnosis, there are wheels that begin turning in the wide world of doctoring. One encounters more medical interference, and not less. It's a function of being Over 40, I guess.

Tim and I are relishing the days this week, because he's going to go back to work. For the past 5 years he's been on a sabbatical from gainful employment. He chose to leave work in order to be Super Dad to his kids after his first wife died, but he always knew he'd go back to work one day. Now that day has come.

He's been looking for a job for the past couple of weeks, and we've been talking a lot about what changes we'll see once he is no longer home all day. I will have to do some work around the house, perhaps. For instance, I will have to get my own decaff in the morning, instead of having it sweetly delivered to me in bed. How shall I cope?

It's been such a treat to have him home all the time. Our marriage has been like a really long date. We do everything in tandem. I like him, a lot. I like his company and his humor, I love that he works so hard, and I have, frankly, loved being spoiled. Our situation has made marriage very easy.

So, I'm curious to see what this new phase will be like. In truth, I am both excited about this new adventure, and a little wistful at the thought of the end of an era. Now, I get to move into June Cleaver mode. I shall bake and wear pearls. See if I don't! My house will always be clean, my children will always be happy, and I will always have fresh lipstick on when my handsome husband sails through the door in the evening.
Tim has been teasing me with a reverse image. He's painted me as a chain-smoking, soap-opera-watching, white-trash who screams at her kids. I'll tie a handkerchief over my unwashed hair and kick the dog. This, I find to be a very amusing image.

Change is around the corner. I don't mind, though. Life with this man is a joy, so I can only imagine that new circumstances will simply reveal new aspects of that.
Once my headache goes away, I'll be downright cheerful about potential change. Until then, I'll see if Tim will refill my coffee cup, so I don't have to get out of bed.

Swelling, Rapture, and not a little Delight

2011-10-18T12:03:00.000-06:00

Well, I won't be writing on weekends, nor on days I have doctor appointments. Clearly.
In breaking news, my cardiologist has stricken caffiene from my life, and so I approach the computer this morning with a foggy head. How do you people function without coffee? Why do you bother? Such lack is likely to impede my writing entirely. Though, happily, not today.

I found myself in an antique store this weekend, and very nearly spent some money. Antique stores are glorious places, full of mystery and beauty. All of those lovely old things cause me to covet. I found a dictionary stand that I still might go back for. It was on sale. Anyone who knows me, knows that I love dictionarys. The thought of having my 1828 Webster's Original Replica elevated on a stand, and permanently open for ease of access, causes me swells of rapturous delight. One must embrace one's swells of rapturous delight. Mustn't one?

Ease-of-access and my love for books have brought me around to considering a Kindle. By "considering" I mean that I have chosen the one I want, and given strick instructions to my husband regarding what he is to have awaiting me on Christmas morn. The thought of having all of the books I love on my person at all times causes me more swelling of delightful rapture. (Actually, those words can be used in a variety of combinations, and can produce a slightly bawdy image. Perhaps I should refrain from further poetic explaination of rapturous swelling-inducing delight.) I just get happy about books.

E-Readers have always seemed a betrayal to eons of books. Reading is, in my opinion, a sort of relationship with the writen word, involving commitment, undivided attention, and the act of holding close the object of literary interest. An electronic device seems rather impersonal and counterfeit. However, I am getting over my reservations. The blissful possibility of holding all my favorites in my hand at one time, moves my interest in reading from "relationship" to downright "Romance." I carry with me that list on books which I shall download immediately. It turns out that a great many of the books I love were published rather a long time ago. In the world of E Readers, such books are free of charge. The only thing better than old books full of beautiful words, is a free collection of such.

The foray into an antique store was a spontanious diversion this weekend. I find that unexpected detours are a staple of my days, as my time is ruled by the needs of my children and husband. I had taken two of my kids to the movie theatre, to meet with their cousins. The cousins were running late, and the antique mall was situated adjacent to the theatre. I seized the opportunity.

It is difficult to make plans of any kind, when there are several other people involved. With 5 other people in the house, who have individual lives of their own, and whose plans intersect with mine, I find that I seldom have a day go as I'd planned. It's easier if I don't plan, but I'm not good at that. By nature, I am a planning-control-freak who wants to also plan a little spontanious fun. Riding the tide of daily circumstance stresses me out.

Stressing out is bad for my heart.

Shopping relaxes me. As does reading.

I really need to go buy that Dictionary stand, don't I? My life depends upon it.

Facebook and Prayer

2011-10-14T08:31:00.003-06:00

Facebook is about the oddest form of communication, if you think about it. Folks post random thoughts, or mundane details of their day, and "friends" can then comment. It becomes a virtual conversation about nothing. It's an artificial substitute for relationship.
I don't know how many friends you have, but I'm pretty sure it isn't 352, or whatever the sidebar on your facebook claims. I have only about 6 real friends, myself. Very few of the folks I've virtually friended actually care about me at all.

Texting is a bit odd, too, though I like it. It's nice to throw a needed bit of information to some one's phone, without getting sucked in to a whole conversation.
And yet,
Conversation, in the olden days, was much different. When you talked on the phone, you were anchored to the wall, so you couldn't do much else. Conversation was something of an art, involving subtlety, finesse, thought. Friendships involved the investment of time, and communication was either verbal or required the effort of a written dialogue.
No longer.

A gal I know posted on facebook the other day, asking friends to "send good thoughts" toward her husband. I wasn't sure how to do that. Even if I could formulate a cheery sentence in my head about him, the question of sending it...?

Which made me think that perhaps all people pray. I have always known that religious folks do, but I had never considered that it's a part of being human.
What if a function of humanity is that need to influence the course of events in those we love?
What if we're created with a desire to telepathically communicate on a cosmic level (if you will allow the Star Trek concept).
What if facebook-type communication is a gross distraction from the type of intercourse we ought to be having? (Yes, the word "intercourse" can be used of conversation, and not just of sex. Although, now that you mention it, sex in our culture is similarly affected. So many folks settle for tawdry and cheap, rather than pursuing that powerful passion that matrimonial commitment brings to the Act. What an apt analogy. Thank you for bringing it up.)

Anyway...
So, if all people pray...or if they need to, because it's intrinsic to their being, how ought it to be done?
It seems to me that it must resemble conversations of old, rather than facebook one-liners. Perhaps people fall in to the habit of "friending" God, rather than investing in a deeply committed, and mutual exchange with Him.
I wonder if our culture's careless attitude about sex, the flippant definition of friendship, and our misunderstanding of connecting with the God of Creation are all a part of the same fundamental wound?

Have you ever dropped to your knees in anguish over the heart-rending decisions of someone you love? When you know they're self-destructing, and you can't do a thing about it....your only hope is that God will hear the cry of your heart, and intervene...? That, I think, is part of what prayer is meant to be. Such anguish of soul changes us, and the bible teaches that it can even move the Hand of God.
What if all communication, with God and with others, could change us? It would be a far cry from what we've grown used to.

That's what I want. I want to be deeply impacted by the communication in my life. I want to speak when I have something to say, and listen as if I am about to learn something important.
I want my relationships to matter, and I really want my prayers to be effective.
Amen, and amen.

In which I wax poetic on the subject of friendship

2011-10-13T08:25:00.004-06:00

I had the privilage to visit with an old friend last night, over tea. Tea is becoming my evening drink of choice now that wine is not so much an option for me. Tea lacks some of the soothing qualities of wine, but one must make due with what one has.

By "old friend," I mean that she is knocking at the door of 50, and also that I've known her for quite a number of years. I begged her to tell me of her ailments, so as to comfort me in my affliction. The best she could do was to note a twinge in her hip. Really? How does one get to be 49 years old with nothing more than a need to stretch?

I've found a change among my friendships, since I got married two years ago. Tim is really intent upon being my very closest confidant, and he is satisfied to have me as his best, and only, friend. Because of this, my friendships with the Girls have become irregular. Although I am full-to-bursting with my marriage, I would like to maintain my girl friendships. It's not a simple matter. Besides my romance, I also have the relationships with four children who draw on my energy reserves. By the end of the day, I am often so done with people in general that the thought of having to have another conversation can make me withdraw into a funk. Who ever met an extrovert who was overstimulated by too many people?

Of my friendships, I find that the easiest ones are those I never talk to. Which you'd think would defeat the purpose. Those ladies who are in happy marriages, with bustling households, are the low-maintenance kinds of friends with whom I talk every month or two. Of those in this category, I trust that the years of investment will carry us through this particular phase in life, and they opperate with a similar notion. Friendship is no longer group activity on the weekends, with giggling gossip. It's more a matter of meaningful touchstones to strengthen one another for the demands of life. It's quite beautiful.

I've never been one to look at friendships as a passing fancy. No, I see them a bit more as a marriage of sorts. Take Cathy, for example. I've known her since 1989. She matters to me, really matters. We only catch up a couple times a year, yet it's always as if no time has passed. She knows me, and I know her. I think it's because our core values are really the same, and we've invested enough to have that credibility to speak truth into one another. Love that.

Friendships ebb and flow through the years, though, and that can be a real challenge. It's worth fighting for, I think. Even when core values are confused, or circumstances change, I think that friendships are worth the effort. It's a marathon, rather than a sprint, so the eternal perspective is essential.
...And that's a race I can still run.

A suitably dramatic end

2011-10-12T08:31:00.004-06:00

Blood pressure monitoring becomes fascinating over 40. A jolt of caffeine can have an impact. Crackers can move the dial. Cardiovascular exercises.....perhaps it's anything that begins with a "c". Yes, that sounds about right. Children begins with a "c", and I know they effect my blood pressure.

I bought a blood pressure monitor that fits on my wrist. I press a little button, and it gives me a read-out of blood pressure and pulse. It's quite diverting.

The thing is, I don't have high blood pressure.

The thing is, I need it to be low blood pressure. Otherwise, my aneurysm could expand and rupture, and I could perish in a dramatic and sudden manner. You've no idea how such a death appeals to me. Not like I want to die, you understand. It's only that I accept the inevitability of death, and I'd like the event to have some aplomb.
Ironically, my life post-diagnosis has been structured to avoid such a death. I eschew salt and cholesterol. My caffeine intake is limited, as is any alcohol indulgence. I no longer run, and can't lift weights above 30 pounds. I own a blood pressure monitor and a Cardiologist, and one of those pill boxes like a Christmas Advent Calendar. (The pill box is silver plated, and engraved. It was a gag-gift from my sister on the 40th birthday. Who knew I'd employ it in all seriousness a year later?)
So, I'm rather an old lady. Give me a minute and I'll be doing water aerobics.

It's really irritating, to be honest.

My future holds the assurance of surgery, though the goal is to forstal that by a decade. Meanwhile, I eat salad and refrain from sudden movements. And I complain.

Who am I?

2011-10-10T09:04:00.003-06:00

I visited my blog this morning, and had trouble logging in. After months away, I could not recall my user name and password. It took several tries to crack my own code, but here I am at last.

If I am, indeed, to begin writing again (and I think I'd like to), perhaps a review is in order. It's been so long since I wrote regularly, and the cast of characters in my daily life has changed a bit. My marital status, health condition, and daily occupation has all changed since the days when I wrote regularly.

I have been married now for two years and two months, which pitiful brevity seems to detract from any credibility regarding our beautiful joy. Newlywed status means that we have not yet weathered the stresses of a real marriage, so we can't possibly have much to say. Perhaps that's so. Perhaps not. Our marriage is a very happy one.

We have four problems.

The bible says that Children are a blessing from the Lord, and I believe that to be true. The blessing is in large part due to the molding of a parent's character, and to those shining moments when a child excels. These are the moments which keep one from homicide.

Michael is our oldest, and he is rapidly approaching 17. He lives for Lacrosse, drives a truck, and is deathly terrified of a clean room. He hunts wildlife and pretty girls.

Don is the second in line, and he is almost 15. He was born sweet and funny, and also quite tidy. Now he is an angst-ridden Eminem fan. I hold out hope. Don plays guitar and lacrosse.

Faline is a teenager, too. She is due to turn 14 in December. This makes her expensive and unpredictable. She loves fashion and animals. She plays lacrosse and piano.

Aaron is 9, with a birthday coming up. He is noisy and giggly, and completely uncoordinated. He personifies uninhibited-ness. He's learning piano, and plays lacrosse.

In truth, they are wonderful people. They are also the constant driving force of all we do. Their school and hobbies take our time and money. Their emotional needs require our thought and attention. They are the axis around which our world spins....or, is lacrosse the axis around which our world spins? The line blurs.

Just because I feel like writing. Don't get used to it.

2011-04-16T21:25:00.003-06:00

There's several things that I am not good at, but I manage to ignore them. It is not often that I am forced to confront areas where I am really lame.
Except today.
Today I had opportunity to examine at length, and fully embrace, an area where I am an absolute failure.
Multi-tasking.
I cannot multi-task.
I found myself checking-in boys who had registered online for lacrosse tryouts. Some were on the list, some where not. General chaos and confusion were the order of the day. People were asking me questions, papers were in danger of blowing away, kids were surrounding me, responsible adults were expecting me to know what was going on.....and my I.Q. descended into the single digits. I would answer questions with whatever tidbit sprang to mind, quite often seemingly random, and entirely useless, bits of information. It was really pretty bad.
It was a situation where I wanted to be composed and organized, yet I was neither.
It's one of those things about me, though. It's why I dislike Vegas. All the sound and lights and sitimuli leave me reeling with over-stimulation, such that I can't think.
Tim tells me I need to learn to delegate in situations like that. No doubt he's right. If only I could think of that when my brain isn't working.

It's all uphill from here

2011-02-22T16:06:00.002-07:00

I tried to register for the Most Difficult Race in the NorthWest. It's called The Race to Robie Creek, and it's quite a big deal. It sold out in 21 minutes.
No doubt, if I had succeeded in paying these people for two months of anticipation, I would have awoken this morning with buyer's remorse of the worst kind.
It's a 13.1 mile race through the foothills of Boise during the heat of mid-day. It's suicide.
I bought new running shoes as a sort of consolation prize.
Instead of buyer's remorse this morning, I awoke with an appetite. I needed to apply myself to the consumption of calories because my training has depleated me such that Dinner hour finds me ravenous.
I ran five miles yesterday, for which I felt exceedingly proud. The pride lasted about fifteen minutes, which was how long it took me to mix my protien shake and get logged on to the Robie Creek Website. Five miles is woefully inadequate in the face of a half-marathon, uphill.
Clearly, I am not over the fact that I couldn't register.
They have technical issues every year, or so I'm told. Registration opens at precicely noon, and only 2,100 fortunate souls are accepted. The website can't quite handle the onslaught.
I suppose that any half-marathon I run this year will seem easy by comparison. Maybe I'll get in next year.
Maybe not.
Meanwhile, training allows me to eat more, which is a delightful problem to have!

Raise your glass to the New Year

2011-01-15T15:15:00.004-07:00

This blog has become a distant memory, which seldom crosses my mind. Indeed, the thought occurred to me this morning to visit my blog, but the thought did not occur of it's own accord. Mother was scolding me for not blogging anymore. She told me that Yvonne dislikes it when I neglect my blog. We can't have that. I would do all in my power to keep Yvonne happy. She's a special lady, is Yvonne. So, I decided to visit my blog.

A very nice pastor surprised me this past week by telling me that he'd been reading my blog. I wasn't certain that this was a good thing, so I took a bit of time this morning to read. Kind of a survey over my most recent writings to see how radically I may have incriminated myself.

As I was reading a bit, I was confronted with a frequent reminder of my inability to spell. It's a glaring void in my intellect which has caused me no small embarrassment. Alas. You would think that one so afflicted would embrace the technological wonders of spell-check. Unfortunately, about the time I am wrapping up a composition, my mental powers usually precede me to the next activity on my agenda, and so I skip the editing.

My time is largely spent gazing in adoration at my husband. This keeps me quite busy. It does not, however, keep me slender. He is a marvelous cook, as you may recall, and so it is incumbent upon me to consume his caloric preparations with all the enthusiasm of a healthy wife. Who is now become a somewhat chubby wife.

It is fortunate that I can apply this inherent enthusiasm to any pursuit. And so I have embraced a weight loss regimen. I exercise, with my ipod. And I log every morsel to pass my lips, in a notebook I have set aside for this purpose. This is a fascinating study in my own psyche. I find that I struggle to be honest with myself. I would rather not write down that I have eaten chocolate, for instance. So I write one piece, instead of two. Or I'll mooch off of Tim's drink, so I don't have to write that I had one. It's about the most senseless lying problem you've ever heard of!

Weight loss is quite popular this time of year. My mother firmly believes that each family has an allotted number of pounds to share among them. This explains why she gains, while I lose. Or why she loses while I gain, which would likely be her preferred scenario. I found this concept to be vastly amusing, and also surprisingly plausible. The fact that I have been thus-far successful in my weight loss may perhaps indicate that a note of apology may be in order. "Dear Mother, I am so sorry to have been the cause of your recent weight gain. Please, just go on ahead and do some shopping, as your clothes are soon to be completely inadequate. You may expect another 14 lbs to arrive upon your...er...doorstep. Much love, Kelly."

Oh! How fortuitous! I remembered the spell-check!

How does your garden grow?

2010-10-30T21:10:00.004-06:00

We always go grocery shopping on Fridays, because we are People of Habit. Not "habit", as in blogging regularly, but "habit" in a looser sense.
We go to a succession of stores, depending on the weekly advertisements. We visit a few stores so that Tim can do his shopping, and use his vast selection of coupons. Sometimes he lets me push the cart.
Other times, like this week, I simply sip my Starbuck's and gaze adoringly at him while he does all the work. It is my job to look nice and keep him company.
So, there we were in the meat isle (meat market?)
An elderly lady with a mischevious smile approached me and said,
"My dear, I learned something forty years ago:
There are tulips in the garden and
there are tulips in the park
but the tulips that I like
are the two lips in the dark!"
She sagely patted my arm and moved slowly away. I stood there watching her leave while I laughed out loud. Tim glanced 'round from his steaks to ask, "Did you make a new friend?"
I said, "Yes, I suppose I did. She must have noticed something about the way I look at you." And I told him her little rhyme.
It must be true what they say, that wisdom comes with age, because that lady was right on. Tulips are fantastic!

Vampire Needed

2010-10-14T17:24:00.002-06:00

I've decided that the reason my liver is inadequate relates to an inefficient transportation system within my veins. I did not come to this alarming conclusion all on my own.
Rather, I did, but not entirely without provocation.
The provocation arrived in the person of a very kind nurse.
This nurse was presented with the daunting task of obtaining a blood sample from the arm of yours truly. Any time I must face a medical professional who has not yet drawn my blood, I feel compelled to open with a brief caveat. It goes like this, "Please be prepared for a challenge,as I have no discernible veins. You have three tries, and then you're done."
They always smile and nod in a patronizing way. It's very predictable.
This nice nurse lady first poked about at the center of my inner elbow with a finger. Apparently most people have a vein there. Oddly enough, I do not. She then ventured to the outer reaches of that area where she developed enough confidence to want to attempt to actually sink a needle there. It didn't work. She did not, however, remove the needle. Convinced that she was near, this fine lady began to twist and maneuver until hitting a rather sensitive nerve. I was nerved, she was un-nerved. I would rather have been her.
She decided that more caution may be in order, so we worked together at a tourniquet/flexing exercise designed to plump up my feeble lines. She dug in her bag for a tiny little baby-sized needle, which she called a butterfly. I think this was to make it sound harmless. Fortunately, this little poker had far less of a bite. It also was no more successful than the first go-round. I was thrilled with the lack of agonizing pain, and so was more inclined to feel optimistic.
Sweet nursing lady was having a bad day. She seemed to feel that this inability to drill sucessfully for blood, when blood ought to be so plentiful, was indicative of some shortcoming on her part. I was not overly worried about it, as this sort of thing has happened to me on more than one occasion. It's awfully fun.
So, the "third time is a charm," as they always say.
They are wrong. Why do they say things like that?
The third time involved another grown-up sized needle, and elusive veins. I called it quits, and the disappointed lady admitted defeat.
She told me that in 10 years of drawing blood, she had never failed. In fact, she had never ever come across veins that she couldn't...well...come across. I am a freak of nature.
You know what's funny? I cut myself shaving in the shower this morning, and bled like an amputee. I should have called the nurse.

Dead on a Wednesday

2010-10-13T21:43:00.003-06:00

My BFFs went to a graveyard tonight, without me.

Which reminds me of something funny my Mother said.

Mother is an effervescent communicator. She is always so enthusiastic about a subject change. Mother lit up and leaned in, and said, "Do you know who is buried in the Saratoga Cemetery?" When Mother has a tid-bit like that, she looks all amazed, with big eyes.

Faline and I looked at each other, and said "no."

"Jack Brown!" She authoritTIVELY ANNOUNCED. ( I was gonna erase the 'caps lock' there, but it actually seemed accurate.)

Faline and I glanced between ourselves with a hint of bewilderment, and came up empty.

Mother sought to enlighten us, "He was a black man from the Civil War.... Actually, he wasn't buried there, it was his wife and children."

I have no idea how she knows that, nor why she sought to educated us with this random bit of knowledge.

Neither have I any particular idea why my friends are in the graveyard tonight. Although, I am glad they are not dead. I actually thought they might die, all at once, which I would find very inconsiderate.

My BFFs are all off to the East Coast on a Girl's Only trip. I love these women from the depths of my being; it's a sisterhood. Yet, I decided to stay behind with my husband. He and I are determined not to spend a night apart, except under the most horrific circumstances. It's a hard thing to be away from my friends, and a part of me is dying not to be there.

But I wouldn't change my decision, even if I could. I'm with Tim.

I still feel like a chunk of my heart is off with the girls.....You know, in the cemetery, dying, and entirely deprived of wine.

In which I extol the wonders of coffee, again

2010-10-09T09:59:00.003-06:00

I'm on my third cup of coffee, already, and I haven't even gotten out of bed yet. If I were Empress of the World, I would make every day Saturday so that All people could enjoy this luxury. Tim brought me my first cup at 9. He refilled my cup after he put the bacon on to sizzle. He brought me a third before he began his voluntary role as Saturday Short-order Cook.
I've smiled and sipped and thought and prayed and read. Now I'm blogging. Soon, I should get up. No doubt my breakfast will be ready by then, made to order. Hate me.

If I were Empress of the World, I'm pretty sure I would not be any more spoiled than I am right now. Although, my clothing allowance might be more. It might not.

Truly, I have nothing much to say, beyond how fantastic coffee and Tim are.

Bottoms Up

2010-10-07T19:53:00.003-06:00

Coffee matters to me more than is perhaps entirely healthy. We've previously discussed my delight in the fruit of the vine. I am a celebrant of all things beverage. You'd suppose such as I would be well-hydrated and possibly slim.

Today I made a lovely concoction for myself; a vigin Cape Cod. This amounted to Cranberry juice with crushed ice and a cocktail umbrella. The real adult beverage has a bit of Vodka thrown in. I am, as you know, exploring ways to add more creativity to my beverage opptions, while keeping the alcohol content to a minimum. The virgin Cape Cod was too sweet. Not that that stopped me.

I find that alcohol is not really something that I crave. What I want is the specialness of a drink. I got straws at the dollar store that have those paper parasols right on them, and those help. I also found plastic stir-sticks shaped like pink flamingos, and those help too. I found that anything blended with ice lifts my spirits. Chosing the right glass is fun; anything tastes better in crystal.

Kara came over for lunch today, and we ate in the dining room with china and candles and music. It was lovely. She had a real Cape Cod, and seemed tickled that there was an umbrella on her straw. She talks about football even at a ladies luncheon. She is entirely obsessed with BSU football. But she's also fond of my cooking, so that enthusiasm covers a multitude of sins.

But we were talking about drinks.

Which makes me thirsty.

Boo

2010-10-02T16:30:00.004-06:00

I think that Halloween is macabre and quite demented.

We were in the grocery store today, and I was watching Tim do all the grocery shopping for the week with his list and his coupons. Love that man. I was admiring all the fresh produce, and also Tim's legs. This time of year is such a celebration of harvest. I'm all for pumpkins and squash and apples, and the like. I'm all for Tim's legs, too, if you want to know the truth.

On the way to the store, there was an add for one of those corn maze things. They were announcing that the local corn maze and haunted outbuildings had people screaming in terror. This was designed to woo the general public into an enthusiastic visit. It was apparently working, as the children in our car were all ready to sign up. How is that a good thing? Is that supposed to make me load up the kiddos in the SUV, and dash on out for a night of fright? If fear is the goal, I can just serve the kids cooked spinach, and make them scrub toilets. I guarantee there will be screams of terror. And my way is cheaper.

Who designed a holiday around death and fear? Have you thought this through? There are skeletons and gravestones and occult activity, punctuated with lots of candy. It's weird, is what it is.

I love costumes. Have you seen my closet? Many of my normal clothes are quite costume-ish. I own a full-length black velvet cape which I wear in public, for goodness sake. I'm pro-costume. Last year, Tim and I were Caesar and Cleopatra for Patti's 40th birthday party. Can't we have a holiday about life and joy and candy, with costumes?

Having faced my share of death and fear, I simply wonder at the cultural hoopla over Halloween. It's so convoluted.

We practice it now, though. I didn't for years. While my boys were little, we developed our own weird traditions. We'd use no electricity on Halloween, and we'd light all the candles. Then, we'd surreptitiously peek out the windows at the neighborhood children. It was fun.
Tim has always taken his kids trick-or-treating, so once we got together, my boys got to go too. Because that's how committed I am to my conviction.

This year, being the mom of 4, it is my responsibility to outfit these kids. Faline is going to be a gypsy. Aaron is the grim reaper (!?), and Michael and Don are going as "Flowseidon" (like Poseidon, only the god of Lacrosse). I am channeling Minnie Mouse this year, because I found the cutest polka dot shirt, short skirt, and really trampy red patent leather stilettos at the thrift store. I was trying to get Tim in suede fringe and denim to let his inner cowboy fly, but he wasn't embracing the "Brokeback Mountain" vibe. He'll come up with some kind of costume, though. You'll see.

Life, joy, candy, and costumes. Let's do Halloween my way this year.

Habits are funny things

2010-09-30T13:54:00.000-06:00

Kara recently announced that life is too short to drink cheap wine. Now, while I am inclined to agree with the ideology of that statement, the particulars are less than what I can embrace.
If I open a good bottle of wine, I feel compelled to steadily work on it until it's gone. That doesn't necessarily mean that I drink it all in one evening, although that has been known to happen. If one paces oneself, one can begin while setting the dinner table, and finish after the late evening news without ever compromising one's sobriety.
One's liver, however, now that's a different story.
I always figured that as long as I was not drinking like a fraternity brother, I was good. If I was not drowning my faculties, I figured I was not drowning my liver either. Apparently my liver disagreed.
I told my doctor, when he asked, that I drink like a European. We have wine with dinner, of course; Red or White paired with our entrees. My doctor kindly explained that some raging alcoholics can down a fifth of vodka daily for 50 years with no liver damage, while some more sober types can't handle a daily glass of red. I fall into the latter category.
Who knew?
I needed to drink less.
Tea does not excite me, and I dislike soda.
Beer is nasty, and also a potential threat to my liver.
Diet coke is fine, but it keeps me up if I drink it in the evenings.
Perrier is gross.
Juices have too many calories.
Crystal Light is too sweet.
What do people drink in the evening when they don't have wine?

I allow myself to have something lovely just a couple times a week. But not too much at a time.

So I've taken to drinking cheap wine.

I can't justify opening a bottle, when all I want is a glass, so I buy those cute little tiny 4-packs. That way I can open one teeny tiny bottle, and nothing goes to waste. Now I drink once or twice a week, rather than once or twice per day.

And I need a good non-alcoholic beverage for the other evenings. Any suggestions?

A dignified piercing

2010-09-26T17:12:00.005-06:00

I finally darkened the door of a tattoo parlor. Shocking at my age. Although, in my defense, I chose one in Eagle (an upscale neighborhood) rather than an establishment on the seedier side of town.

I've talked about getting a tattoo for years, but was never willing to commit. Ink under one's skin seems so permanent; and the artistic submission requires such absolute trust. I'm not really comfortable giving that kind of submission under the best of circumstances. Bestowing it upon some pierced and tattooed stranger is a bit of a reach.
But I went.
The purpose of this particular visit was to acquire a tastefully subtle piercing. Jewelry makes me happy.
Although,
I know a woman who voluntarily pierced twin peaks (shall we say?) of decidedly feminine and extraordinarily sensitive tissue. I confess to a certain fascinated horror at the contemplation of that particular procedure. I've seen the handiwork, though, and it does lend an exotic flair.
For myself, I was after something....else.
I chose a navel piercing. A delicate diamond gracing my waistline...just there...to draw the eye inward, and contribute to the illusion of a tiny waist.

My sister, Amanda, took me, and promised to hold my hand.

The proprietress greeted me with a look of disdain reminiscent of a teenager rolling her eyes. After hearing my intention, she explained that this kind of thing hurts, and often results in "some pretty gnarly infections" that may take up to a year to heal. Then she turned her back to me and went about her noble and valuable tasks. If she expected to throw me off with this kind of rude and appalling behavior, she nearly succeeded. My inner rebel took over, though, and I decided that a snot-nosed-brat was not going to keep me from my goal. She was, however, going to wield the piercing tool.
This sort of piercing is not to be undertaken lightly. Nor ought it to be undertaken without a round of antibiotics.
There is a clamping tool employed on the flesh prior to the actual impalement. This I was not prepared for. I averted my eyes, grimaced in agony, and squeezed the fragile bones in my little sister's hand.
"Kelly, she hasn't really started yet," Amanda whispered.
Which was strictly true. The clamp was uncomfortable in the way that childbirth is uncomfortable. They pull all this flesh way out from the body and snugly secure it with clamps for the purpose of aligning the piercing implement.
Then she drove the stake through my skin. It didn't break through without resistance. Indeed, my valiant flesh put up quite a fight, before the little nail was gained passage. That was unpleasant.
"You gonna faint?" the tattooed woman thoughtfully inquired.
I was actually closer to punching her in the nose, but that hardly seemed fair.

Amanda paid for my fun, as my 40th birthday present.
It was quite a little adventure. I'm glad I did it.
I have had repeated "gnarly" infections.
And I will never,
ever,
in a million years,
get a tattoo.

Check me for ticks

2010-09-24T19:52:00.002-06:00

Tim is a really classy guy. He dresses well, prefers the finer things in life, and accessorizes his clothing. He also has discovered an appreciation for Country Western music. This tickles my funny bone. I grew up in Idaho, and Tim's a California boy. I grew up going to rodeos, and he grew up a fashion model. I'm very glad he's straight. When he puts on tight jeans and Cowboy boots, I just think he's sexy.
Last night we went to see Brad Paisley in concert with about 12,000 people in Wranglers.
It was a great concert.
Brad Paisley just seems like a super nice guy, and a heck of a guitar player.
Darius Rucker was one of the opening acts. Do you know who he is? He was the lead singer for Hootie and the Blowfish. I have loved his music for years. He sang old songs and new ones....and then he sang Prince's "Purple Rain." Another thing about Tim is that he is Prince's Biggest Fan. Ever. Tim has seen Prince in concert 8 times. I am not even making that up. So, when Darius Rucker launched into that classic hit, I thought he was going to lose Tim right there. However, I think he maybe did the song better than Prince. Don't tell Tim I said that. Seriously, though, it was amazing.
The whole evening out was fun. We took Michael out with us. Michael is getting to be almost like a real person. Who knew a 15-year-old was going to be such a delight? Having both Michael and Tim with me was like having two dates.
Before the concert, we went out to dinner, where we had an interesting experience. If you call being flipped-off and cussed-out "interesting." Which I do. There were two women at the table adjacent to ours. We were paying them no mind whatsoever. Suddenly, they arose, without ordering, and made their way to the door. We would still not have noticed them, had they not begun to stare at us with daggers in their eyes, and mouth vile words at us, while gesturing enthusiastically with their middle fingers. It was quite a display. There was pointing and glaring, and general unladylike display which left us in no doubt as to their sentiments. We were baffled as to their cause. Then they stormed out of the restaurant. That was it.
Maybe they didn't like Californians. Or women with two dates.

I am Gulliver, and tied down by little people

2010-09-23T15:11:00.004-06:00

I think I'll take up fishing.
One thing I've learned about myself, since being married, is that I really really need alone time. I am never alone. Sometimes I go into the little toilet closet thing and close the door and turn on the fan, just so that no one will bother me. Sometimes I go sit on a pool lounge behind the hot tub after dark so no one can find me. I get annoyed because people come looking for me anyway. Fishing sounds like a very solitary endeavor. I could learn to like that.
Yesterday Kara and I hung out for a couple hours over a plate of salt-encrusted french fries. Today I am swelled up with water retention. Kara's a good friend. One of the first things she said to me was, "You're Gorgeous!" Good friends say things like that. I never want to be alone when Kara is telling me I'm gorgeous.
I never want to be alone when I'm with Tim, either. Although, Tim's lots of fun to be alone with.
It's those dang kids. They are everywhere.
How can I love them so very much
and also want to have an hour
uninterrupted
and silent
with no one but Tim in my personal space?

I love being a mom. My kids are so fantastic. Really. I wouldn't have thought I'd be the type who needs alone time, on account of being a super-extrovert. But, geez, I get grumpy.
Tim takes his fishing pole and a cold drink, and heads for the river, a couple afternoons every week. He stands on the bank and watches the water go by. I could do that. Except, the moment I decided to go, all the kids would want to come too. It always works that way.
Maybe skydiving....

In which I get in trouble for my renegade theological viewpoints. Again.

2010-09-12T17:57:00.003-06:00

This morning, in church, I had a sort of out-of-body experience. Now, I don't know if that's a sin, but it's sure a tad New Age for the environment. I'd never really had an out-of-body experience before, so maybe that's not quite what I mean. What happened was that I heard the pastor say something I've heard a gazillion times before, but I heard it as though for the first time.
It sounded weird.
He was introducing that Holy Sacrament of Communion, and he was talking about the scrap of cracker, and thimble of cheap juice, as the "Lord's Supper." I thought that if that was all Jesus had for dinner, it's no wonder he was so thin.

I don't mean any disrespect, and I am not the least bit flippant about this. In truth, I do think that the whole process is a ceremonial remembrance that has terrific meaning. It just struck me that someone who had never seen this before would be baffled.

I've always been grateful that the tiny bit of juice is so small, frankly. It tastes gross. It is to remind me of the blood that Jesus shed on the cross. The cracker-thing has no flavor, yet it is representative of the broken body of my Lord and Savior. Jesus didn't institute "The Lord's Supper" this way. He apparently ate a hearty meal with good wine, good bread, and good friends. It was that, He said, which was to remind us of what He did next.
The bible tells the story of His crucifixion from several perspectives.
History concurred.
There's this violent death which makes my skin crawl....but there's more even than that.
There is this story I read somewhere years ago about a monk walking in a field. He came across a hill of ants, busy as they are wont to be. The monk was well aware of the farmer, plowing the field, who was soon to destroy the hill of ants. The monk looked this way and that, in a vain attempt to find some way of warning the creatures of their impending doom. His voice did not attract even the smallest pause from the tiny ants, as they were too small to recognize that the thundering sound he made was coherent speech. The only way he could save them was if he could become one of them and warn them in a voice they could understand!
And.
Then.
He realized in a moment: that must have been what God did by becoming flesh and blood.
It is this remembrance that Jesus called us to.
I wondered, in church today, if we've forgotten the important parts.
If I sat with people I love, eating really fantastic whole-grain sourdough, and drinking a Petite Syrah....ah....that sounds divine! What if the focus of such a meal were to remind me of that God Who Became Flesh? Of my own need for help to be what I'm designed to be. What if EVERY meal was to remind me of that? Jesus actually says, "As often as you eat this bread and drink this cup," you tell His story.
I can't help but realize that I am fond of carbohydrates and also of the fruit-of-the-vine.
If I approach each meal as an opportunity for gratitude, and solemn remembrance, and also as an act of worship....would I be a drag at parties? I don't really think so. Jesus wasn't. He caught a lot of flack from the religious leaders of the day for looking like a party animal. The bible says they accused Him of being a glutton and a drunkard.
My point, albeit a wandering one, is that I think communion is something we do three times a day. Only, perhaps not with wine at every meal. Or if you are Kara, who eats only at gunpoint. What if Christians were less tasteless-cracker-and-gross-juice, and more linger-at-the-table-with-good-wine-and-friends? What if they were less uptight, and more like Jesus? I'd like Christians more.

It also occurred to me that perhaps where the bible says (1 Cor 11) that taking communion wrong makes you ill, refers to eating habits, as much as to hypocrites. Just a thought.

Anyway...I'm starving. I'm going to see what my man is cooking for me for dinner, and I'm going to think on this while I eat. Just in case that's the real communion, and what we did in church was God's way of getting me thinking.

Gravity is a man

2010-09-09T12:24:00.005-06:00

There was a middle aged woman in my mirror this morning. That was unsettling.
I attained my 40th birthday this Summer with a sense of accomplishment and optimism. Tim smuggly informed me that "the wheels come off at 40," which I took to be an amusing colloquialism, and not a resounding gong of certain forboding. Alas. Who knew the reality would begin immediately?

So, there I stood, confronting that middle aged reflection.
It needed makeup, badly. But not too much makeup, because makeup gets caked in the creases.
And, it needed support. 40 means that there is a redistribution of available self to puzzling, and sometimes alarming, areas. Take, for instance, back fat. This phenomeonon has nothing to do with over-weight, and everything to do with over-40. It is, in my opinion, unkind.
So far, my neck has stayed smooth, though I expect that will change. And my upper arms don't yet waggle. But there's a drooping atop the knees that brings to mind an elephant. There's other droopings, too. I honestly think that Gravity is a man because it's persistant, reckless, and its had its hands all over every woman I know.

I read somewhere, years ago, that older women are more sexy and confident. I think this is true. It may be self-delusional because our eyesight is going. Maybe it's the lack of a memory. Perhaps it's that everyone around is also aging, and I no longer compare myself to fasion models and celebreties.
I think it's got a lot to do with a better knowing of one's self. I'm a lot more comfortable in my own skin, and I'm much easier in my expectations of what I ought to be. Heck, if my jeans fit without a muffin-top, I'm having a good day.

If you look closely at the teenagers and the covers of your magazines, you see hungry girls who aren't ever sure if they're pretty enough. You see tiny waists, and smaller minds. You see a future that will take their bodies just where mine's a-goin.'
The defining factors, though, are those things you can't see. A pretty face certianly doesn't make a woman kind, and I suspect great legs won't make her sexy.

My momma's 60, and she's dang hot. It's mostly because she's a good woman, with a kind heart, and also great hair. Maybe great hair is the secret.

Whatever the secret, I think I'm middle aged now. I'll keep you abreast (if I can keep one at all) of the changes as they manifest. I know you're just dying to hear.

Boise State

2010-09-08T12:06:00.003-06:00

Boise is a small town, that thinks it's cosmopolitan. Not unlike a lapdog with a guard dog self image.

In Boise, we take football very seriously. You may have seen the recent hoopla all over ESPN and Sports Illustrated. We love our college team. It's something of an obsession, truth-be-told. Everyone puts flags on their cars on game day, like they did with red/white/blue after 9/11. It's a show of support that makes the entire town seem like family. I painted my toenails blue.

Monday evening was the big game between BSU and Virginia Tech.
The best part of the game, was watching Kara.
At our house, we had a party. The men all sat on the back patio with the TV and the cigars.
We women sat upstairs and watched Kara scream at the TV. She has two phrases to yell. If the team did something poorly, she would say, "that's ok," (clap, clap), "that's ok."
If they did something good, she would shout, "That's what I'm talkin about!"
If they did something really great, she would stand up and scream, "That's what I'm FRICKIN talkin' about!!!"
She was fascinating.
By the thrid quarter, we were begging her to find a new phrase. Something. Anything. We were making helpful suggestions, being inventive. She just couldn't manage creativity when the moment was right. It was like some instinctive muscle memory, or something. She just kept screaming that same phrase over and over again.
But it worked, I guess. Our team won.

Boise is crazy about BSU football. Especially Kara. But you know that now, because...that's what I'm talkin about.

How funny am I?

2010-09-06T20:30:00.001-06:00

I was reading old posts, because I crack myself up. You have got to go read this right away. Then tell me I'm not just as funny as can be. I dare ya.

On what I did this Summer....

2010-09-05T17:45:00.008-06:00

Every September, when I was a kid, teachers everywhere forced a dreadful writing assignment upon the youth of America. "What I did last Summer."
It was always my opinion that the only thing worse than Math was writing that one was forced to do. I could never think of what to write. Not unlike blogging, come to mention it.
I used to blog every morning, first thing, with coffee. I used to evaluate my daily happenings in terms of their blogworthiness. Is that a word? And I'm so far out of the habit. The upside of not writing for a year or so is that no one is likely to be reading. That way, I have no pressure.

We did a lot this Summer. How come I never had Summers like this when I was a kid? I could have written great papers with this kind of material.

Michael ran off to Denver, first. We sent him on a road trip with a car full of teenage guys. Don't judge me too harshly...the alternative was to go ourselves, and that just sounded like too much smelly-lacrosse-players too be any kind of fun. They were supervised by a very vigilant mom, so we didn't lose any sleep. He had the time of his life.

We went to Maui in July. It was a marvelous trip with a brief visit to California on either end. That's because we drove to California, and flew from there to Maui. We flew back into CA, and drove home again. We have lots of family in California, see, and we wanted to see just how much love we could spread around in a very short window of opportunity. Time with family should always be reprieved by a stint in the tropics; don't you agree? It makes one far more congenial than one might otherwise be.

After our return from Maui, we stayed with my grandparents. This is one place in the world that always feels like home to me. They were delightful. Everyone was, really. We have fantastic family. I think we would be far better houseguests if we uncluttered our next trip.

The problem was all the house-hopping we did. Which, surprisingly, reminds me of an unrelated story.
My Aunt and Uncle were missionaries for many years. They were financially supported in this endeavor by the people in churches all over the Northwest. Every four years they would venture back to the States for a Summertime visit with everyone who supported them. This meant a transient lifestyle for several months to a year. It meant sleeping in other people's homes, and eating other people's food, and being nice to strangers all the time. Can you imagine how hard that would be? I mention this only because visiting several different families on the bookends of our Hawaiian vacation gave me no little appreciation for their former plight. We had our four kids, my one sister, and quite a bit of luggage. We tried to be kind of quiet, to not make a mess, and to sleep in strange surroundings. It was taxing.
The people we got to see were great, though. I like them a lot. I sure wish they'd come visit us here. Where I can sleep in my own bed.
Anyway.
Maui wasn't a bit difficult to enjoy.

In fact,the only thing there that I didn't like at all was the snorkeling. Snorkeling totally freaked me out. I'm normally kind of a daredevil. That little mask-thingy suffocating my nose, while strange fish dive about under my feet, which are trapped in things I can't walk in, all while being suspended in waves which were entirely unpredictable.....? No thank you. I vastly preferred acquiring tan-lines and sand in my suit. These activities were supplemented by vigorous shopping, and not a few margaritas.

Clearly, I wasted no time in styling my hair. This was a trend which seems to have become well rooted in my daily regimen. Alas.

You would think that all this excitement would be sufficient for one Summer, and you may well be correct. We sallied forth, however, into an additional time of family bonding. Always the overachievers....we ventured forth to explore Yellowstone National Park.

Tim fished a lot.

The kids evaluated potential threat from an ermine living near our cabin.

Tim found this branch, which amused him no end. If he turned the branch one way, he could be an elk. The other way, he was a bison. That man's a keeper, I tell ya.

Michael's shore fishing was thwarted by the canoe full of his siblings. He was mostly pretty good-natured about it.

..........Sheesh! That was a lot of Summer. Now we're home, and back to school, and I'm tired of writing. Pity, since there's more to tell.
Perhaps I'll blog again soon.
Perhaps not.

Vacation

2010-05-26T08:59:00.002-06:00

I am of two minds when it comes to traveling.
I love to go.
I love to come home.
The sheer amount of time we'll be zipping hither and thither this Summer is, quite frankly, making me a tad weak in the knees. Or making my knees knock. I'll have to research appropriate idioms.
Yesterday we received the happy news that Michael made it onto the team that will go to Denver to show off for college coaches. He is bursting with pride, as only a teenage boy can. Our consideration now is whether we ship him off with near-strangers for a long weekend with other Ego-ridden young lacrosse players, or do we go along ourselves. Personally, I think we should go for the fun of it. If we leave the other munchkins home with my sister, perhaps we could even enjoy some quiet couple time. Maybe. Michael is working to earn the money he needs to finance his rather expensive LaX habit.
The trip to Hawaii is really standing as the axis of our Summer. Everything else is spinning around that. My shopping, for instance. Gone are the trips to TJ Maxx for home decorating. Now I sit enthralled before the computer virtually shopping for swimwear, and merrily filling my "shopping cart." As If. Swimwear shopping should only be done virtually, in my opinion. Especially when you are knocking on the door of your 40th birthday.
Which reminds me...My Birthday Month is June. You'll want to plan ahead.

Leaping into Summer

2010-05-25T15:36:00.002-06:00

Raise your hand if you missed me.....
There is no guarantee that I will ever blog again, but today I felt like posting a little howdy-hello.

Facebook was an addiction for approximately a day and a half. Who has time to maintain that? I kept hearing from people I used to know. These are folks I'd love to chat with. The reality is, though, that I hardly have time to chat with my own family, so Facebook really doesn't work for me.

Lacrosse is over for the regular season. This frees me up a bit. However, now it's time for travel season. SO far, we have California, Yelowstone, Maui, Camping, and possibly Denver on the list. It's going to be one of those Summers that flies by.
Remember how I was going to run a half marathon? Well, I did it. It took me 2 hours, 35 minutes, and 6 seconds. 13.1 miles is a long way to run. It was fun, I'm glad I did it...now I'm looking for the next thing to do. Maybe I'll learn fencing.
Tim's into fly fishing and Guitar right now. I need a new hobbie.

The kids are loud and busy. This is a product of their ages. They prefer action to stillness and activity to rest. They'll grow out of that, I suppose. Meanwhile, they are wearing me out.

That's your update de jour. We'll see if I manage to post again in the near future.

Lame Blogger

2010-04-12T08:56:00.002-06:00

So, I got sucked-in to facebook.I didn't mean to. Only, everyone I know makes comments about facinating things that have occured on that thing, and I figured they were all losers for wasting time that way. And then, my mother got a facebook page. My Mother! I can not be less with-it than my Mother. She's 60, for Pete's Sake!So, I had to log in and see what all the fuss was about.
I began hearing from people I knew long ago, and now I'm hooked.
Only, this blog-that-I-never-write-on-anymore is linked to it. Since I never write anymore, I'm looking pretty lame. I just figured I'd acknowledge that.
Someday, perhaps, I'll be a riveting blogger again. But not today.
For the time being I'll not be posting....but, you probably already knew that. No doubt, once you stop checking to see if I've writen, the Muse will visit, and I'll be writing again.
Until then.....

TV

2010-03-22T19:57:00.004-06:00

I am feeling somewhat better after my Charlton Heston/Rush Limbaugh breakdown on Sunday. It comes of watching TV (the breakdown, not the feeling better.)
On Sunday, I was wondering what was happening with the health care vote thingy, so I decided to turn on the telly. This is not something I had ever done before in the house. That's the truth. Anyway, I was astonished to find that there does not appear to ba a power button anywhere on the TV. Nor are there any other buttons or dials. Who designed that? I found two remotes, which seemed neccessary since one turned the thing on, and the other controled volume. Changing the channel was a drama unto itself. But I managed. Then I sat in awe as the Political People debated and voted. It was very irritating, and I was wishing that I had something handy to throw at the TV.

There is one regular show that I watch. '24' Tim got me into it when we were dating, and now I'm all sucked in. Monday evenings are set aside for our show. We gather 'round the TV and bond like a 21st century family. Is is wrong that my children watch 24? Probably.

Tim just told me that there is a new season of some reality fight show begining. 'Ultimate Fighter.' He loves that one. I think it's really stupid. Who wants to watch a bunch of overgrown adolecents have half of their speech bleeped out while they stuggle to exalt their egos? I'm just sayin.'

TV is of the Devil. I'm convinced. Except for 24.

Angry at Politics

2010-03-22T13:49:00.004-06:00

Well, Shoot.
You know how I am loath to blog about political nonsense. But my gun-owning, conservative, tea-partying self has something to say.
Obama, you suck.
Palosi, you too.
I do not want the government to take over my bank, my health care, the auto industry, or any other aspect of my life, or the private sector. It used to be that folks who made unwise business decisions ended up closing shop, rather than being bailed out by Big Brother. It used to be that Americans were free to decide what services and products they wished to purchase, rather than being forced by Federal Government. It used to be that we had a government For the People, and By the people.
Those days are apparently over.
Shame on you Democrates in Washington. If you want socialism, I'll buy you a one-way ticket out of My Land of the Free. GO AWAY.

Oh, I'm just not very happy about politics today.

Blooo-ue Moon and the Evil take over of America

2010-03-21T13:36:00.003-06:00

You know how I think that TV is of the Devil? My opinion does not extend to movies, except for rated 'R' movie. Those are certainly of the Devil.
We watched New Moon last night.
Rather, I watched it, and Tim rolled his eyes dramatically until I suggested that he move out to the patio so he could watch basketball, which he promptly did. I loved the books in spite of myself. The movies just are really terrible. Does anyone besides me notice that none of the people can actually, you know, act? Am I the only person who thinks Edward looks malnourished and disheveled? In the books he was sort of an old fashioned and noble hero who was strikingly attractive. How come that didn't make it onto the movies?
Maybe the story just doesn't translate onto the big screen. As it played out in my imagination while reading, the whole thing worked. More or less. On the screen it looks ridiculous.
That's my opinion.
I'll see the next movies, though. 'Cause I'm hoping they get better.

Are any of you watching Washington today? I have strong opinions on all that, too. We'll see how the "vote" goes today. I may be complelled to write about politics and evil dictators tomorrow. You never can tell.

The first day of Spring

2010-03-20T17:43:00.002-06:00

I spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon with Jenine. She came over to do my hair for me, as she does about once a year. I am fairly goofy about my hair. I am paranoid that some wicked stylist will cut off several inches, so I seldom darken the door of a salon. Stylists do that, you know. They hate to see simple long hair. Something within them makes them want to cut off all that length. Jenine has never removed more than the merest whisp of the tip of my hair. Love her. Now, here's the thing. I hate to inconvienence her. So, I only call her when I've done a really bad thing with the color of my hair. Take this time, for instance. I recently tried to highlight my hair at home (I refuse to pay an evil stylist a gazillion dollars to do it.) My hair ended up resembling leopard print. Seriously splotchy. (Is that dark with yellow spots, or yellow with brown spots?)
Every time I call Jenine over to repair my color and give me a trim, she says the same things. Such as, "why do you always do this?" Or, "Just call me next time." I always say the same things about how I'm trying to save money and I hate to bug her. We pretty much don't need to talk.
She labored over me for about 4 hours. Like giving birth. Bless her patient, ever-loving heart. Someone remind me to call her before it comes to that again. I'm fairly certain she wouldn't volunteer to birth any of her 8 children more that once. What gives me the right to cause her that much labor?
My hair looks cool. It's all light and Spring-y. Very unlike the look I had going before her loving care.

I totally forgot to tell you about the Alice in Wonderland movie, didn't I? It was good. Not great, maybe, but few movies are these days. I read the book to my kids a few years ago, and that book is always better. The movie seemed pretty true to the heart of the story, if not to the actual plot. The Queen of Hearts was fantastic, the good queen was so totally not. The Mad Hatter was good, I thought, though I kept seeing Jack Sparrow. I liked Alice, and I want her hairstyle. (That's what I'm aiming for, Jenine. K?)

We're currently sitting on the patio, pretending it's warmer than it is. Tim is watching the basketball nonsense that dominates Men in the month of March. I am obviously blogging. What are you doing?

Today

2010-03-12T07:49:00.002-07:00

Mother, who loves all her daughters equally, gave me a new excuse to avoid running. She said, "Honey, you just don't have the build of a runner. You're more, er, feminine in shape. Now, your sister, she's built like a runner." (read, "Honey, them's childbearing hips. Your skinny, young sister is kicking your you-know-what.)
It's not like I need any more excuses, as I haven't run out yet. Get it? I haven't Run out....?
I did run a couple days ago. I got about 6 mailboxes down the street before I realized that it was too cold. I walked home.
So, I'm feeling confident about the race. Who wouldn't? How hard can 13 miles be?

In other news, we have a lacrosse tournament today. If you happen to be in town for the Tablerock Shootout, come say "hi." I'll be the one yelling my lungs out.

Ok, duty calls. I need to go straighten my daughter's hair....

Belly up to the bar

2010-03-09T11:07:00.003-07:00

My no-alcohol Lent is teaching me a thing or two.
The grandest epiphany at the moment is that I am something of a mindless eater and drinker. I sit down to dinner, eat until the food is gone, and wish there was more. I drink the same way.
I set in to a glass of wine because it is 5 pm, and then I continue sipping on one thing or another until bedtime. I don't get drunk, and I don't get fat, but the problem is the same despite the lesser results.
My Glorious and Amazingly Wonderful Husband is very different in his handling of food and drink. When he is hungry, he thinks about what he would most like, and then he makes it, and eats one serving of it. When he is finishing up one meal, he is usually mulling over what the next one will be.
I eat all of whatever is on the table, and finish off the kids' plates, and then realize that I'm too full, so I put on my sweats. I suck.
Tim drinks alcohol this way, too. He decides what wine would be perfect with his meal...or perhaps a beer. Then he drinks it and enjoys it and moves on. I begin with whatever is cheap and open, and drink because it's 5:00.
Lent has been a great opportunity to examine this habitual approach to my relationship with culinary delights. In truth, I think Tim likes food more than I do, because he really takes thought and time to enjoy it.
Kara eats like Tim does, I think all really slender people do.
There are issues here worthy of a spot on Oprah, I'm sure. The bottom line is that this is one more place in my psyche that is not fully submitted to my Creator. It's not rebellion, exactly, it's ignorance. I can't really claim that anymore, though.
And that opens a whole can of worms, doesn't it?
If I believe that God designed me and set me off into the world for purpose, I need to be deliberate in all I do. This means that there is no room for idle (idol!)habit. My conduct needs to reflect the purpose for which I was designed. I am stamped with the image of this Great Creator God. Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and render to God that which is His.
That means that I may never eat or drink the same way again.
Sheesh.
Being a Christian is hard work.

Time Management

2010-03-03T16:20:00.003-07:00

You are all clearly dying to know what I've been doing to keep myself so busy. SO, I'll tell you.
I've been Avoiding Running, which is practically a full time job. I'm getting some top notch work-outs in the process, though. On Monday, Dani and I ran up and down the bleachers at a local school. We did this for the better part of 45 mins. It was a challenge. Yesterday I woke up quite sore, with a soreness more sore than a soreness ought to be. I dreaded today. The second day is always the worst, you know. Today, I wince to ascend stairs, I weep to stand on my toes. For some reason, the exertion taxed my calves in a sadistic way. They hurt. Perhaps I was running on my toes. I've been also doing lots of martial arts and weight training. I'm very athletic, but I am still avoiding running. The Half Marathon is in two months. I am going to have a heart attack and die in two months. Just so you know.

But Lent is going well, so I have that going for me. You know, of course, that I gave up alcohol. I'm redicovering all kids of other drinks. Ginger ale, sparkling water, fruit smoothies. The only time I really miss the alcohol is when I have a bad headache, or the kids are bugging me.

We've been planning vacations, too. We are going to California; Maui,Hawaii; Yellowstone National Park; Somewhere in Virginia; and Paul, Idaho. I know you envy me that last one, eh? It's for my friend's daughter's wedding. We need to find ourselves a reliable housesitter. Any names spring to mind?
It's lots of planning.
You saw Maui on the list, so you know I am shopping for swimwear. That is time consuming, and also depressing.

Lacrosse season is upon us, so we've been going to pre-season games and practices with the younglings. I love lacrosse as a game. I'm like one of those freaked out football fans. I wear my team colors, paint my skin to match, and scream like a coach from the sidelines. I have yet to be ejected from a game, but the season is just beginning, so there's a chance it will happen.

That's what I've been doing. You?

Wasn't there a movie about Lent? Or was that Lentle?

2010-02-17T20:54:00.004-07:00

One of my friends just said to me today, "I saw on your blog that you are Protestant. Does that mean I'm Protestant, too?" She didn't know she was, but she is. Isn't that wonderful? I wish I didn't know that I was Protestant. That would give me more to think about.
Like Lent.
Today is the beginning of Lent, and I have given up alcohol. I'm really doing fine. I mean, other than the shaking and the cold sweat. Just kidding.
Besides the Lenting, and the tea drinking, I am also still in training for that half marathon.
It's hard work. For instance, today I walked two miles. It's gonna kill me, this training.
I'm really bad about the actual running. I whine, and avoid and do other things, and then I wonder why I am not doing better. In truth, I trained a lot today, just not with the running part. I rode a bike for about 15 mins. Walked briskly for half an hour. Worked a heavy bag for half an hour. Did weight training for 45 mins. I'm not really what you'd call a slacker. Except for the part where I was supposed to run 6 miles today, and I didn't.
I'm sure the race will be no big deal, since I'll be in fantastic shape. Right? I am running about 2 days a week. Sometimes.

I'm Protestant, a slacker, and female. Good thing I'm not single, eh? No one would have me.

Holy Lent, batman!

2010-02-15T21:07:00.003-07:00

Being Protestant, I have never done Lent. Fat Tuesday, yes, but not Lent.
One of my problems with the reformed church, as a whole, is that it lacks the pomp and circumstance that ceremony and liturgy can bring. Protestants go to church in jeans and a baseball cap. They worship in gymnasiums. They take communion with white grape juice.
I want some incense in my life. A few stained-glass windows. Some beauty in my worship.
Once, long ago, I got to go to a midnight service on Christmas Eve. The pastor was a very flamboyant gay man, who did not speak from Scripture. He told some metaphorical story about a vase broken on the driveway. However, there was an organ and a choir, there was incense and a processional. There were candles and stained glass. I had no trouble meeting God amid such beauty, despite the questionable sermon.
I don't believe that Christianity has all that much to do with Jesus and Salvation. But, I do believe that Salvation, and Jesus, have everything to do with beauty.
Which is kind of a tangent, given that I was going to discuss Lent.
Lent:
It's this 40 day fast in preparation for the celebration of Easter. It's a way of setting aside something that is a normal part of one's day in observance of the need for redemption. Love that. It actually ends up being about 46 days, because Sundays are off-days. For instance, I am giving up all alcohol. But, on Sundays I can have wine with dinner. The reason is that Sundays are to be a reminder of the celebration for which we are preparing. Isn't that the coolest thing? I learned about it on wikipedia.
Or however you spell it.
So, I'm going to give this a whirl.
There are numerous things I hope to accomplish, besides the preparation for Easter. I rather suspect I'll lose weight, if wine is not a part of my evening routine. Also, I really just think that the 40 days of no alcohol will be a good way to clear my head. In truth, I don't drink to get drunk, but I do drink regularly. I think it's maybe a good thing to distance myself from it. It's going to be good.
No fat Tuesday, though. That would not be good.
What are you giving up for Lent?

A Scholar with no Ship

2010-02-13T21:30:00.005-07:00

Apparently it's time to start thinking about college. Who knew? My eldest was invited to a college recruiting thing today. It's all about his mean lacrosse skills, see. There were about 75 high school boys from the entire State of Idaho, and only two of those were freshmen. My kid was one. Who is a proud mom? Did I mention that it really was an invite only thing?
My brain is spinning. Michael got to show off his skills this afternoon with the group, and there was a meeting for the parents tonight.
College? It's expensive.
Unless his ship comes in, there is going to be an uphill battle for this scholar. In the entire country, there are, like, 120 scholarships total given out every year. This ain't going to be his ticket to a free education. It's a sport for rich kids. Alas.

While Michael was at the deal this afternoon, the rest of us went to the Boise Art Museum. What ever happened to Art that is nice to look at? Isn't that kind of the point? Apparently not. This was an exhibit about robots, and the theme seemed to be large-breasted robots. I kid you not. There was even an 'adult' film playing featuring animated robots. It had a little sign which cautioned parents that there was 'mature material which may not be suitable for children'. Duh. By the time I noticed the warning sign, the kids and I had seen enough to make our own determination.
Art?

Also, may I just channel my Mother for a moment? What are teenage boys coming to? All of the boys at this college recruiting meeting this evening were wearing ill-fitting clothes and stocking caps. They looked like street urchins. I doubt they had bathed. What are they thinking? Here they were to meet a man who has power to recommend them to college coaches, and they didn't run a comb through their hair? I'm thinking, "Thanks for making it so easy for my kid to stand out." I required Michael to wear a collared shirt. I also insisted that he approach the speaker after to shake his hand and thank him. I did not see any other students who did that. Where are the parents?
If you are a parent....require personal hygeine, and basic good manners from your children. Please. Also, it is not appropriate for a young man to wear a grungy ski hat inside a building. Why do they want to? My boys want to.
What ever happened to good breeding?

I thought my greatest worry was getting this kid through 9th grade. Clearly, I was wrong. Now I have to think about getting him into a dynamite Lacrosse-playing college. I suspect it will take more than a firm handshake, and a clean shirt.

Photos from California

2010-02-04T20:46:00.005-07:00

Tim and I were out of town last weekend, in California. My grandfather sent out a few photos from our visit today. Dani pointed out that Tim and I are beginning to look alike, as old married couples are wont to do. Indeed, we are.

This is Tim with his dad, uncle, and grandfather. Grandpa is 100 years old!

I like my husband. Lots.

Jenine made me shop

2010-02-03T20:41:00.002-07:00

When you are going to run a half marathon, and you are me, you carefully evaluate your clothing options for training.

Everyone is more motivated when well dressed.

This conviction led me to a rather impromptu shopping spree this very afternoon at the local Fred Meyer. One would not expect that Fred Meyer would inspire uncontrolled spending. Well.

I am now the proud owner of some seriously killer running shoes, which, in my defense, were on sale. I also got several outfits to wear with my new shoes. By "several" I mean that I purchased a motivating new wardrobe intended to convince everyone that I am, in fact, a Runner.

This spending is Jenine's fault.
Here's how I worked out the question of blame...

See, Jenine is also training for the Big Race. She, who recently gave birth, is a total stud. When she called to inform me that she ran five miles today, where as I only ran four, I knew that I needed new clothing.

My 20-something sister, Dani, is also training for this race. She also recently gave birth, but she's in her 20s, so she can do anything.
We, who are knee-deep in our thirties, have more of an uphill battle. By "we" I mean Jenine.
I, as you recall, am rapidly approaching 40. I am just going to be really proud of myself if I can finish the blasted 13.1 miles in the dust of Dani's and Jenine's amazing running-ness. This is why I needed cool clothes and fancy running shoes. Obviously, I am not fool enough to try to compete with Dani, and I can't really even compete with Jenine. This is why I created a new Fashion Category, so I can feel better about my old self.

The race is May 15th, so you are likely to be hearing about it from time to time. Gripping story lines are what I'm all about. Who wants to train with me?

Here's what I've done this week: Monday Dani and I ran 4 miles in 45 mins. I was busy aching and recovering yesterday, although I did lift weights. Today, I ran, and walked a total of 4 miles in 50 mins. The walking part is because I was tired of running, and I can do anything I want. I did lift weights today, so that should help.

Mostly, I have been running distance twice a week, and interval training three other days. I do weights 4-5 days a week.
Fascinating, no?

Inspire me with your training secrets.

swimmin'

2010-02-02T19:51:00.004-07:00

Swinsuit shopping last year was a matter of baiting the hook. I was single until August. However, I wanted to make sure to whet his appetite...well...as much as a woman-pushing-40-with-stretch-marks possibly can. (I just typed that confession on the public internet. Oh, dear.)
Last year, I wore a bikini.
This year, I am looking at swimwear with an eye to profound modesty. I have a daughter, see, and swimwear should cover her knees to neck.
Ah, what a little perspective can do.

I think that swimwear can really track the course of a woman's life.

There's that heady rush of independance as a teen, when we women realize the power of cleavage...and the bikini becomes a way of flexing our muscle (so to speak). My daughter will not be allowed, of course.

Then, as a young mom, modesty becomes a practical matter. I remember looking for swimwear I could nurse the baby in, without feeling fat and potpartum. That was swimwear with a batik pattern, meant to dizzy anyone brazen enough to look for long.

Once the kids were older, and I'd lost the baby fat, I found that gravity had come to stay...and I discovered Land's End. Their swimwear costs a fortune and provides support. I had a "swimdress" that I could have played tennis in without a blush.

And then,

and then....

I decided that no one was looking anyway, so why not get some sun? I bought a bikini (well-supported and overpriced). And I relaxed a lot. My stretched- out stomach faced UV rays for the first time since the late '80's.

I met Tim. All of a sudden, I had swimwear for swimming with my friends (bikini) and swimwear for Tim's pool (swimdress). I was modest right up until he expressed interest, and shared his Prince Album collection.

....Have you heard Prince? I started buying string bikinis.

And then, I had a daughter.

What am I going to wear this Summer? No idea. But I know what my girl is going to wear this Summer. There will be exactly NO cleavage. Swim Dress, baby.

On what I did this weekend

2010-02-01T21:22:00.002-07:00

I ran four miles today with my sister. It was the first time in years that I had that euphoria that comes from running. It's like a drug. My sister is 25, as you'll recall. She was very gracious in pretending that she was keeping pace with me. She could have kicked my butt, no doubt.

Tim and I were in California for the weekend. We hung out with my grandparents, his grandpa, and his folks. But mostly my grandparents.
See, My grandparents love me. They have poured into my life more that all other people combined (save my mom). They are worthy of my respect. When I was looking for a man...I was looking for a man like Granny married.
This was the first time my Tim had met my grandparents.
It was Very Good.
As an extra bonus, the sun was shining. Love that.

We sat on the patio in the sun. Granny and Grandpa in their winter sweaters, me and Tim in Summer clothes. We soaked up the sun and talked about things that really matter. We talked about the kids, and the past, and the church, and the news. The hummingbirds dived through the air around us, and we exalted in relationship.

Relationship is God-like. It is what He designed us for, and it flows through our veins.

I love the relationships I have. They are a gift.
I love my grandparents.
I love my man.

My music

2010-01-22T22:10:00.002-07:00

It has recently come to my attention that fans the world over, meaning Kara, often check this blog to see what's what in the world of music. I thought I'd take a little time to update the music selection just a bit.
I will give it a little more attention in the next few days, but there are a few new ones to start you off.
In fact, you can scroll down to the very bottom of this page to see what I have on my list. Click on what you want to hear, and it will play for you. Then, you can scrub your bathroom with good music. Like Kara does.

A brief complaint

2010-01-20T21:16:00.003-07:00

It's stormy outside; windy, mostly. I think California has sent their weather our way.
The day has felt hectic, though that's not really the case. Every thing was more difficult than I wanted it to be.
It was one of those days when the kids repeatedly asked "why" when told to do something.
The ice maker in the fridge gave out.
I think the problem was me...well, not the ice maker. I am hearing annoyances louder than they are. Perhaps I am grumpy.
Every time I sat down to take a deep breath today, a child magically appeared with a need.
There's something that tells me I should go back to bed. I'm restless and irritable, and ice-less.

My marathon training program had me running 3 miles today, but the very suggestion pulled a sob from my throat. I decided to go easy on myself, and so I walked it instead. That counts, right? I walked fast.

I couldn't walk fast enought to escape that mood, though. It's still here.
Perhaps I'll be faster asleep, eh?

Oh, look at the time!

2010-01-19T06:43:00.001-07:00

I have not given the week ahead even the most frivolous overview, on account of my Mother-In-law and her visit. It is my custom, upon a Sunday evening, to diagram the week ahead, and post an artistic rendering upon the 'fridge. That way I know exactly what is expected of me and my schedule day-by-day. That way the children have an answer to the incessant "what are we doing tomorrow?"
Not so much this week.
Is it Sunday? Monday?
No idea.

The meeting this weekend with my husband's-late-wife's-mother went great. I like her rather a lot. She brought along her sister-who-is-not-really-biologically-related. They like wine, which adds considerably to general conviviality and conversation. Not to mention the raucous singing that we did while Tim was cooking dinner. We pulled out, first an old hymnal, then an interesting piano book full of various tunes. "Little Brown Jug," "My Country Tis of Thee," "Just like the girl that married dear old dad." Oh, we sang! They are my kind of people.

I faintly recall something about a half marathon. Am I supposed to be running now- and-again? I logged 2 miles on Saturday, so I have that going for me.
The thought of springing from my bed to energetically propel my aging flesh down the street, is enough to make me sob.
I think I hate exercise.

I recently heard from a gal I used to know who recently discovered my blog. (Hi Tracy! Welcome!) After reading for the first time, she helpfully offered me several pieces of advice on weight loss. It occurred to me that I must sound like rather a large woman in despair of losing weight. At first consideration, I found this somewhat shocking, but then I began to chuckle.
I do expend rather too much energy on the subject of dress size. I'm not sure why I do this. Perhaps it's that I find the topic such rich fodder for humor.
I'm not a very big person. I do tend to fluctuate in a typically female fashion. Currently I wear a very comfortable size 6, but I prefer those items of clothing that boast a "4." I'm quite vain in this way.
There are days...years even, when I am 8, or 10. My self esteem does suffer during those periods of time. It's just that I am not tall enough to carry double-digits. It isn't pretty on me.
Actually, I love to workout. It's just the running that I find tedious. It's very efficient, but I find it boring. I am in the market for an MP3 player, as I believe I've mentioned. I think that will help.

I also love food. This is why the running is such a helpful addition to my daily routine. It encourages my waistline not to store much excess. Otherwise the 4's aren't even an option in the vanity sizes.

Parenting the masses

2010-01-18T15:47:00.002-07:00

I was reading back through blog posts I wrote long ago, back when I used to be funny. I found one that made me laugh, because it is about the man I ended up marrying.

We went out to dinner last night, to a very nice restaurant, and we took the children. For some reason, we allowed the kids to sit at the opposite end of a rather long table, and I was exhausted as a result.
Tim and I sat huddled with his mother-in-law and her sister at the grown up end of the table, with a bottle of wine. My attention was unfortunately divided between the conversation around me, and the antics by the children.
Aaron, who is eight, and energetic, was squirming in an effort to escape his manners. My glares in his direction fortunately kept him in his seat, if barely. Don was encouraging any bad behavior, so I shot him numerous evil eyes, also. He just flashed smiles at me in return.
The other three adults at the table were blithely ignorant of the crimes being committed by the two youngest boys, though how they managed such an indulgent state is beyond me.

I find that the penetrating glare is an effective parenting tool. In fact, I particularly enjoy subtle weapons in my war against childish misbehavior.

When I was a little girl, my mother kept a wooden spoon in her purse. It was an ever-present threat to the possibility of a spanking. Spankings weren't thought of as abuse back then, and you could pretty much smack your kid in public whenever they needed it, (a practice that might bear resurgence, in my opinion.)
So, Mother had this wooden spoon in her purse, and all she needed to do was to look me in the eye, and then look to her purse, and back to my eye. It produced in me a fear of the Lord which immediately altered my errant behavior. Such is the effect I am trying to produce.

It works on some of the children better than the others. Which is to say, that Aaron is the only one I have a prayer of influencing in this fashion. The other three are either bigger than me, or very close to it. The only hope I have of inspiring in them a come-to-Jesus moment, is if He will condescend to Appear Personally.

In truth, they are all very obedient, and I am thankful for that. I'd love to have teenagers intimidated enough by their wise and powerful parents, that a look of disapproval would be adequate incentive to stay on the straight-and-narrow. Alas, I do not think that my evil eye has quite that much effect.

The older children are of an age now where they are inclined to think for themselves, and that is most inconvenient. Gone are the days when I am privileged to chose their hairstyles, their clothing, and their interests. I find myself the proud parent of
one girl who will not wear dresses,
one boys who loves video games,
and one young man who loves the outdoors.
Thinking for themselves, indeed.

And so I am become a student of their individual selves as well as a teacher to them. It's an honor, and wonder. It's a learning experience. It is a process that teaches me every bit as much as it teaches them, and certianly sometimes more. I love, love, love being a mom. Even an inept one.

An exercise in futility

2010-01-15T16:34:00.002-07:00

Tim's mother-in-law is coming to town tomorrow, which is not to say that my mother is coming over. Tim was married previously, and widowed, so this Mother-In-Law is his late wife's mom. I've not met her before.

Perhaps you can imagine how intimidating this meeting is for me. I am married to her late daughter's husband, and raising her grandchildren. I don't stand a chance of being remotely good enough.

I'd like the house to look like a show home, and I'd like to lose 15 pounds. I freshened up the color on my hair first thing this morning. I painted my nails, all 20 of them. And now I am cleaning the house. The thing is, that as I clean, there are several children, two dogs and a cat, who are working as vigourously as I at opposite purpose. It's making me crazy. Why are they such messy creatures, children?

So, I'm nervous about meeting this woman. Tim says that I have no need to be nervous, because she's a great lady. But, really, how would you feel?

So, now I'm blogging rather than cleaning, which is not designed to improve the state of my house, but works wonders for the state of my mind.
Wish me luck....

No Title springs to mind

2010-01-13T21:49:00.003-07:00

I have absolutely nothing to say this evening, which is unfortunate. I feel certain that if I had anything to say at all, it would be vastly amusing.
Alas.

I have been in a funk for some reason. I suspect it has something to do with the persistant cloud-cover, and also the fact that I'm not sleeping enough. It never fails, you know, No matter how tired I am in the afternoon, by 10pm I'm perky and talkative. Could be the coffee I drink in the afternoon. Or perhaps the fact that the children are off to their beds and I can Finally Think. Maybe.

I actually fell asleep on the couch this afternoon while Tim was making dinner. (Giant stuffed pasta shells, if you must know. With salad and a sultry red wine.) I could not keep my eyes open. But now? Vivacious.

Also, too...I'm shopping for an Ipod. Or an Mp3 player. I don't know what I want, but I need music. I think I might like an mp3, because I prefer Windows Media to Itunes, but what do I know? I just think it's rediculous that people will pay so much money for the blasted things. I keep losing them on Ebay because I won't pay over 50$. I need advice.

Discuss:

Running and Health care reform

2010-01-10T20:59:00.006-07:00

My darling-very-young-sister-who-is-20-something invited me to run in a half marathon with her. Naturally, since the weight training, and the martial arts, have not reduced me to a size 2, I said "yes."
That's not quite what I said.
What I actually said was somewhat less committal. I told her that I really don't know if my body will go for thirteen consecutive miles, but that I'm game to train for it. So I turned what I do on the treadmill into an aggressive training regimen. I'm quite proud of myself, really. I've kept to the plan all week long.

And my sister? The young one? Her daughter, my beautiful niece, was hospitalized this week for croup. Did you know that croup could be life-threatening? I didn't know that before this little adventure. It was terrible. She's ok now. She got to go home this morning. She's 2, and adorable, and there she was in the hospital.
My poor sister! These things are always hardest on the mom.

Our family does spend a lot of time in hospitals. Why do we do that? In the past year, we've been there for my niece, my nephew's birth, my son's ruptured appendix, my cousin....who else? It's ridiculous. We need some kind of frequent flyer punch-card. We're beginning to know the staff on a first-name basis. I even have favorite menu items picked out from the cafeteria.

You don't think that a half marathon will land me in the hospital, do you?

Fiesta, Siesta....whatever

2010-01-03T21:56:00.002-07:00

The kids are back to school tomorrow, and that means that we will have to get up to an alarm clock in the morning. I've grown self-indulgent and lazy over the past 2 weeks. We slowly wake about 8, and sip coffee in bed until after 9. The kids don't get out of bed until way too late. We are going to go into shock as the schedule sets in at 6 am. Ugh.

Tomorrow is an important day in Boise, Idaho. The BSU Broncos are playing in the Fiesta Bowl, and the entire town will be dressed in blue and orange. We're having a party. I don't know why the town goes so crazy for the home team. I didn't attend Boise State, but I'll be screaming at the TV, for sure. I don't even really care much about football, but the hype and excitement is really too much fun. Also, there will be food. I love football food.

This weekend we went to the local Lacrosse Store and bought everyone new Lacrosse sticks. My daughter will be playing this year, and so I'm learning all about girl's lacrosse, which is entirely different than boy's. We had the whole family in the backyard tossing around a LAX ball this afternoon.
We are an athletic bunch.
It would be nice if I could consistently catch the blasted ball.
It would be nice if Michael could throw it without putting large holes through the fence. It's one of those expensive, special-order fences. And now it looks like swiss cheese.

The kids go back to school in the morning. My head is spinning with all I want to do with a quiet house. I want to clean like a whirling dervish. I want a killer work-out. I want to sit in stunned silence and gaze upon the empty house.
...But then I remembered that I homeschool. Which kind of puts a damper on things. Only one of them is currently home educated, though, so that cuts down on the daily drama.

I'm so bipolar. I love peace and solitude, and also I love having the kids at home. Love them, love my space. I'm torn.
Tim and I have already started planning the remodel for when the kids move out. Michael is the first to go, so we'll make his room a smoking room; humidor, wing back chairs, special ventilation, a fireplace.
Don's next, so that's my library; floor to ceiling shelves and a library ladder. Faline leaves, and we get a home office.
Aaron's room is my project room; sewing machine, scrapbooking stuff, you know the type.
Empty nesting will be a busy time for us.

It's a good thing I'm so cohesive in my writing this evening, no? Very smooth and well-thought-out.

Random. That's what I am.
I need to go to bed. The morning's going to come early.

BSU
Go Big Blue!

Children are a blessing

2010-01-01T20:27:00.003-07:00

I was momentarily inspired to write, but it seems to have passed. Our computers are located in the same room as the TV. All of the children gather 'round the TV in the evenings and argue over who gets to play next. Arguing over gaming systems is the favorite pastime of the youth in the house. It's very irritating. This is why I lose any inkling of inspiration once I enter the room.

I used to really like silence, as I recall.

This morning, as Tim and I were working out, (We have this fantastic home gym out in a bay of the garage) Three of the 4 children came out and began to help themselves to the equiptment. I couldn't get to any of the things I was wanting to use because of the children. On the one hand, I want to encourage them to excercise. On the other hand, I want to pursue my own fitness in peace. And quiet. But, NO. I gave up and chose to do push-ups in the living room.

I'm growing very fond of public schooling. When will they take the kids back? Monday?

Just right now I need to take a minute and pray for Jenine, who has 8 children. I'll bet she hasn't had a moment to herself in 18 years.
To think, I have always wanted lots of children, too.

Oh, dear. I have to go put these little miracles in bed, so I can think.

Today

2009-12-28T21:45:00.002-07:00

The Red decorations are down, and the tree is in pieces by the trash in the back yard. I am soooo over Christmas. Love to get that taken down ASAP.

Tonight at dinner, we lingered by the candlelight, long after we'd finished eating. We were drinking a really excellent white wine, since fish was the main course. I love fish. Tim is a great cook. Have I mentioned that I have not cooked dinner once since being married? I am way spoiled.
We lingered because we were talking. Tim and I get into these robust and vigorous conversations that escape the clock. We talk for the longest time.
I'll tell you, I love being loved by this man. He makes me feel like an exotic treasure.
But the friendship is one of my favorite elements here. He seems to genuinely like me, and that makes me feel like a Person. He acts like he thinks I am smart, and funny, and interesting. Maybe he does. Weird.
I'm liking this a lot; This relationship is a blast. Do you know, we still haven't argued? We've been married only 4 months, but we've been friends for nearly 3 years. I love that we don't fight. It's peaceful and effortless to be Us.

We're shopping for carpet. Our bedroom is in need of something fresh upon the floor, as our canine has a vomiting issue. We got samples of carpet today from the Home Depot. I was trying to talk him into hardwood flooring. I have always wanted it, myself. We got the price quote, though, and we both said, "I love carpet, actually!" Wood is pricey.
So, now it's a question of color. We both like the chocolate brown, and also the dusty blue. I'll bet we go with the brown.
We are also toying with a patio enclosure. That would go so nicely with the new patio heater, and also with the cigar smoking.

I'm happy. You know? Happier than I ever dreamed of being.
Pinch me.

Emanuel, God with us

2009-12-26T10:10:00.003-07:00

Some mornings it seems that God peels back the merest corner of the fabric of Heaven to allow the light of His Shekinah to illuminate the mundane details of my life. I catch my breath at the revelation of the landscape in such perspective.
These four children entrusted to me by my Creator, are important in the face of Eternity. My housework becomes Holy, my love for this husband becomes worship. My life is infused anew with Purpose.
It is true every day, though I am not always mindful of it.
How beautiful it is, how powerful, to feel the weight of Providence upon my plans for the day.

We spent our first Christmas together yesterday. As a blended family seeking unity, we gave a great deal of thought to new and old traditions. Our planning bore fruit!

We cautioned the children not to wake us before 7. At 7:03 there were feet on the stairs, and wispers in the livingroom. Tim had never done stockings for his kids before; I had four grotesquely overstuffed stockings laid out before the hearth. The children each scooped up their loot, and came to open them on, (and in), our bed. We lingered with two adults, four children, and lotsa stuff, for the longest time. All of the children were laughing and anticipating presents to come, and Tim and I sat there sipping coffee with hearts full to bursting.
The presents were perfect, the livingroom littered with paper.
Michael got lacrosse stuff, Faline got a camcorder and a bike, Don was on an Xbox 360 theme, and Aaron was thrilled with Legos and Nerf guns.
In the afternoon, we went to see the new Sherlock Holmes movie, which I loved.
By evening, we were all mellowed out, and content to eat leftovers.

Now, I am jonesing to put away all the Christmas clutter, and take down the tree!

In which I offend only Liberals

2009-12-17T15:32:00.006-07:00

My baby sister is graduating from college tomorrow. She will hold a degree in Nursing, and I am extremely proud of her. We love her so much that we're going to sit through one of those long commencement exercises. You don't do that for just anyone. We like her, though. Plus also too, Mother is taking us all out to lunch after.

Today was the Christmas program at the elementary school. I pulled out my cell phone and recorded Aaron and His Personality, as he gyrated to the music. Oh, that was a happy boy. He was on stage....with an audience....and it's his birthday. What could be better? I have to figure out how to post that to this silly blog so you can giggle at his antics. I was laughing so hard at one point that Tim said he might not allow me to go to the next school program.

I'm relieved to have all the household birthdays behind us. It's been a non-stop party around here for the past week, and I am just ready to settle down to Christmas.
Tim is older, Faline is older, Don is older, and Aaron is too. Does that mean that Michael and I are younger?

O, and... The title? I was just being random. But next time I might offend someone on purpose, you never can tell.

Did you hear?

2009-12-14T20:23:00.003-07:00

One of the downfalls of blogging, is that one can not adequately communicate tone. Which is unfortunate.
Mother loves me, and my total confidence in that is the reason I joke about her "hating me." She doesn't hate me.
My sisters and I frequently joke about who is the favorite, based on who is talking to her more. I, for instance, hardly talk to Mother since being married. She razes me about this, but it's all good teasing.
If something was genuinely wrong between mother and I, I would certainly not blog about it. Seriously, what kind of person do you think I am? I write about snippets of life that I find amusing. Then, people comment, which is likewise amusing. Usually more so than my original text.
Our family has lots and lots of love. Granny has no favorites. Mother has no favorites. I, however, have favorites. I'm not telling who they are.

Badly

2009-12-10T21:46:00.002-07:00

Mother hates me. She told me that I am "not even funny anymore", which in Mother language means that I am out of favor.
I called Mother this evening. This was approximately the second time I've called her since being married. (I even told her that I'd been listening to Rush Limbaugh....did that restore me? It did not. I only listen to Rush because Tim is a conservative radio junkie. Personally, I think that Politics are stupid. I should be president.)
So, I called Mother. My new daughter asked to speak to Mother as soon as I got on the phone, which made her the favorite instantly.

Does your mother have a favorite?

Mother always says that she never has a favorite, but she always does. Usually it's Dani, because she keeps having cute little babies.
Next week it'll be Andi because she is graduating from college. I am never her favorite anymore. Sometimes my husband gets to be her favorite, because he is handsome and retired, and he gives her that smile. She loves him then.
I was going to tell you something of substance about that phone conversation, but I forget what.

Can we talk about Tiger Woods? Seriously. Do you know how many confessions of infidelity I've heard on the radio, or TV, since his flagrant adultery has come to light? Is it really so common to betray one's spouse in such a way? You'd think so. I feel so bad for his wife.

Did you know it's really bad grammar to say "I feel badly"? That implies that you are somehow ineffective in your emotions, rather than having sad emotions. I feel "badly" that Mother hates me, which is to say that my emotions are not up to the task... I'm no good at feeling.
I feel "bad" when I'm not Mother's favorite, which would be more accurate.
Deep down, she will always love me best.

I'll always be Granny's favorite. And that's something, after all.

My flow of thought is non-existant. I feel bad about that.
Time for bed, I guess.
G'night

A moment to myself

2009-12-09T20:27:00.002-07:00

Between this moment and the celebration of Christ's birth, I plan to host 5 birthday parties, celebrate one graduation from college, and throw a rather large Christmas Eve Dinner. My head is spinning. No one should be allowed to be born in December. It's very inconvenient.
Mostly, I love people born in this month. I'll bet there is some astrological nonsense about that.

I haven't had a lot of time to just think for a while. It's thinking that is so good for blogging. That, and amusing associates. When one knows amusing people, one has so very much material. I haven't had a lot of time to just think...that was really my point. I need more thinking time.

So much has changed in my world,and it's more than circumstances. My whole reality has changed. Every single person I talk to comments that they never talk to me anymore. It's true. I am always with my husband, or in the car with various children. Life is so sweet right now, and I know that I am blessed beyond measure.

If I had time to think, I would revel in silence. I would read. I would listen to music. I would sit, and just be.
And then, I am sure, I would write.

I thought I'd say "hello."
Hello.

Halloween

2009-11-14T19:03:00.002-07:00

I am a little tardy in posting this, but it's Patsy's fault. She took the great photos and did her magic with them. Then, I had to steal them from her site!

I am too lazy to link. Go to her link in the sidebar for more of her pictures....

In which I speak of inelegant things

2009-11-11T17:18:00.002-07:00

We have a dog who is very old, deaf, and vomits frequently. Given my squeamish nature, this can be somewhat inconvenient. For instance, the dog puked up a stunning Mount Everest of grossness the other day, and I left. I left a note for Tim saying something to the effect of, "Your dog threw up. I do not attend to such things. Good luck with that. And also, I love you." Which went over better than you might expect. We are, in fact, still happily married.
My Daddy came to visit today. Approximately three seconds after his arrival, the dog...Tim's Dog...ralphed at his feet. Unfortunately, Tim was not home at the time, and I could not leave Daddy, the dog, and the vomit. Therefore, I did that which was my most surprising act of selflessness for the day: I cleaned it up.
It won't happen again.
Dogs suck.

Aren't you glad I chose this event to blog about?

A Smokey Ghost

2009-11-03T16:28:00.002-07:00

In the wee, small hours of the morning, I pried one eye open to a shrieking alarm. Tim sprang from the bed, to the alarm clock, and back again, before my second eyelid was raised.
Only, it wasn't the alarm clock.
It was 1:30 am, and I was foggy and confused. If the alarm was going off, then the clock should say 6:30.
It took Tim some serious, and very patient, explaining before I realized that the alarm was the sound of the smoke detector....again....and that the fact that it had ceased when Tim turned the alarm clock off was pure coincidence. He grudgingly got up and went to turn the alarm clock back on.
After the smoke alarm thing the first night, Tim had changed all the batteries. They should be quietly protecting us from errant smoke, not interupting a perfectly good nights rest. I have no idea why these things are tormenting us.
Any suggestions?
If they scream at us again tonight, I am going to be very grumpy indeed.

Identity crisis

2009-11-02T18:40:00.004-07:00

I totally need to reinvent this blog. What in the world shall I write about? I'm not very funny these days. I'm no longer single. I'm all smarmy-in-love, and working hard at being a mom and wife. How boring is that?
The details of my day are not worth the writing.
Except
Something happened last night.
At 3 am the smoke detector went screaming. I bolted out of a deep sleep, paused to take inventory of my modesty status, and dove into the house at large. Aaron was sreaming for daddy, and barely audible over the alarm. I went to his room. Tim stumbled into conciousness and was searching for a fire before his mind even registered that he was awake.
There was no fire.
We ended up with a febrile child in our bed for the rest of the night. His fever hardly seemed adequate to have sounded an alarm. It was adequate to prevent further sleep, however.
Back when I was single, I'd have to encounter those smoke detectors from time to time. Mostly, they would chirp when the batteries would die. I would swat them with a broom, until they dropped to my feet in silence. My old house needs new smoke detectors, for this reason.
Tonight I am dizzy on my feet. Sleep is a welcome prospect. All four children seem like Energizer bunnies. Why don't they get tired?

I am going to bed.
What should I blog about next?

Blurred lines

2009-10-25T19:20:00.002-06:00

I wore an Ivory twinset to church, with jeans. They are long jeans, that accommodate heels very nicely. When I wear my brown boots, I am only a couple inches shorter than my husband. It changes my perspective, being taller. I can look him in the eye.

When the lights were dimmed at church, as we were singing, Tim and I sat shoulder to shoulder, as we always do. Shoulders- pressed- together feels like holding hands, for all I can feel his thoughts thru the connection.
He was wearing ivory, too. A sweater.

I chuckled in a momentary thought, that the colors and the fabrics were so similar that I could not tell where I ended and he began.
So often, in an epiphany like that, the thought congeals so quickly. I realized that the blurred line between us is exactly the point. It's where we're headed. As a new couple, we are, perhaps, in an accelerated growth phase. Maybe we won't always change so rapidly. But the direction in which we're moving is toward Oneness. There should be a day, down the road, when I can't really see where he begins, and I end.

Every time I see some new truth about marriage, I wonder how it applies to the analogy of Christ and the church. Because I'm really holy that way.

What if my relationship with my Lord was such that it was growing toward a unified oneness? What if I got to a point with Him that I could not be at all sure when I ended and He began? That would pretty stunning. I'd probably be so amazing that I could board a chariot of flame, and ride straight through the gates of Glory. But, that kind of Oneness is also the goal, isn't it? That's where I want to be headed.

Marriage, once again, serves as a picture of the design God has for His Romance with me. The Bride of Christ. Make it so, Lord.

Oh, Gag me with a spoon. Or: How to make your wife feel like a treasure

2009-10-22T19:34:00.005-06:00

All these years I have lived without a bunch of things that now center my general happiness. How ever did I make it?

I know I keep telling you about how nauseatingly happy I am, but it's quite true. Perhaps you will look deep into your marriage and find that new life can be breathed into it...or else you can pour a large mixed drink and go read another blog.
But, as I was saying.....

I like sleeping with a window open at night, rather than locking the house up like a tomb so no stranger will break in and kill me in the night.

I like that when I wake unexplicably in the night, there is a warm and friendly body near who keeps all my fears away, even while he's sound asleep.

I like that I wake in the arms of someone who thanks God for me every day...in my hearing.

I like that he doesn't get mad at me. Ever.

I like that my car gets filled with gas every week....even when I don't realize I'm on empty.

I like that unexpected eye-contact in the middle of the day always makes my breathe catch.

I like that bills get paid, and I don't have to worry.

I like that he looks at me, touches me, and talks to me, as if I have the best figure, most amazing hair, and brilliant mind in the world.

I like that the yard work gets done, and not by me.

I like that dinner is planned a week ahead, and that he always cooks....and that he enjoys my company at the grocery store, even though I am largely useless.

I am so happy. And also spoiled.

What?
Sorry. It's all true, though.

Rewind

2009-10-14T14:33:00.004-06:00

My long over-due pictures are finally here for you to see. There is some question as to whether anyone still reads this blog, but whatever.
On the 14th of August, I was married to that one guy I've had a crush on for so long.

This is me and my daughter-to-be. Yes, I really use curlers. Did you think my hair was naturally curly?

Kara came to be our slave. See her laboring over Faline's hair?
No curlers, there.

Check out how happy we are in white....

Michael was the best man. I think I told you that already. Look at how grown-up he looks:

"You may kiss the bride"

Don was the photographer.

Mr. and Mrs.

Why blog?

2009-10-11T16:34:00.003-06:00

Blink
blink
blink

The curser is just blinking at me atop an empty page. It's been doing so for days.

It's not that I have little to say, but rather that there seems to be too much.

Life is immesureably sweet just now, and the observations that I would offer to you are more exquisite than might be easily believed.
I could tell you of the minor irritations of daily life, and those make for fine humor.

It's a quandry.

I still like Tim, in case you were wondering. Marriage is fun.

The kids are doing normal kid type stuff, and they are the focus of most of what we do.

I was thinking that marriage in the middle of one's life is something I must highly recommend. It's just easier to figure out how to love someone else, when you are well aquainted with yourself.
We're doing well. Better than I had expected. Blending these two families is a rich and varied challenge, but one that seems to be managable.
My friend Asia would no doubt love to see all that's going on here. As would any family counselor. But, it's working.

In other news,
Have you ever stubbornly clung to a guilty conscience? It's lots of fun, in a self-mutilation sort of way.
I did that quite recently.
I had a sin to confess (not a very interesting one, so don't get all excited. And, no, I am not going to tell you what it was.)
I didn't want to confess, though. So the blasted nagging in my head grew louder and louder. It became one of those things where every time I turned on the radio, the issue was being proclaimed....when I closed my eyes, I thought of it...I had no peace at all. It was very irritating to be me.
Like so many of those things, I had made it way bigger than it needed to be. The moment I confessed, it turned out to be no big deal at all. I carried that around for 5 months, (because I am stubborn, and also an idiot), and it was no issue for the person I felt I had wronged.

Personally, I am ready for a second honeymoon. No, not because of that. I want to get away. I'm going to go look at Southwest.com

In which I speak of God....and also Tim

2009-09-27T21:19:00.003-06:00

I'm not writing very much, but there's a lot on my mind.

One thing that strikes me lately, is the whole function of marriage. There are a gazillion things about it that I am thinking about. God designed this to model His relationship with His people, and that's an intimate picture.

One of the things I notice about the way Tim loves me, is that he delights simply in having me near. I think there's something of God in that. Tim likes to know that I am choosing him above anyone else, and that I am always accessible to him. Don't you think that God maybe feels that way, too? What if God takes a manly delight in having his bride close enough to touch? If God wants to know that if He has something to say, His bride will be within listening range? Gosh, I don't usually think about God as being heart-warmed by my presence.

Tim covers me with a veil of protection that I am aware of, even when he's not in the house. His responsibility for me, and commitment to me, are constant and reliable. Why do I so seldom realize that these attributes are true of God, too?

There is an intimacy in understanding and communication, between Tim and I, that I think God also means to have with me. What if I could know what God was thinking from a glance, so to speak?

Marriage is really powerful. I do not understand it, yet.
What I do know, is that I have never been so loved.
Or, rather, that I have grossly underestimated God's love for me.

Athletics and beauty...or lack thereof

2009-09-18T10:55:00.003-06:00

The football game last night was vastly amusing. I've read about parents who become belligerent at their children's games, but I don't think I've ever had a chance to appreciate the phenomenon up close and personal. Fascinating! One mom was really the ringleader, and she was seated right in front of me. She started yelling at the coaches to put other kids in the game, since he seemed disinclined to play more than a handful of his 50 kids. In a flash, other folks had joined in the yelling. Some were yelling at the coach, some were yelling at the yellers. I was wide-eyed and fascinated. It didn't last long, and we got our attention back to the game. Fabulous side-show, though.
Mother was at the game to help cheer Michael on. She can be quite amusing, herself. The part where she was down on the grass, snuggled into the thin bit of shade, peering between the chairs in front of us, was pretty funny. So was the part where she was joking about hiding from the son of one's youth, and thought to clarify that she had said "son" and not "sin." I don't think you could hide from either in the slim shadow of a lawn chair.
The evening flew by, as I knew it would. Michael's team won 20 to 6. It was brutal. Faline then played her first Volleyball game, on the other side of town. I was dashing over hill and dale through evening traffic to get to her game in time. Dinner was Taco Bell at 8:00. I'm sure that's very good for my figure.
Speaking of my figure:
Is it possible that I am gaining weight? I think I might be. It's on account of how Tim eats so much. You wouldn't think his caloric consumption would affect me so, but it does. When he's eating, I feel compelled to eat, too. This is a very slender man, but he can eat massive quantities of food. It isn't fair. Plus, he keeps loads of high calorie snacks in the house. It's very cruel. I'm gonna need to get me some self control.
Oh, also, too, (this idea flows naturally from the last. Not.) I got my new driver's license with my new name on it. The picture was revealing. Did you know that I have stringy, limp, lifeless hair, with no discernible style? Why didn't you tell me? I came home and plugged in a curling iron fast as can be. So, later in the day when we joined Costco, and I got a new photo with my member's card, my hair looked decent. You people need to point these things out to me.

Thursday's drivel

2009-09-17T15:15:00.002-06:00

For years, there was no reason to shave. Razors are irritating little things, and in so many ways. The irritate my skin, my budget, and my schedule. It's become an important part of my day, though. If stubble is allowed to accumulate on my legs, I will be neither pretty, nor smooth. And so I shave. I have several friends who shower twice weekly. I can't figure out how they do it. Perhaps that's because I'm still fairly new to sharing my self with a man in such close proximity. Perhaps poor hygeine gets easier over time.
I'm still complaining about being tired, though no one is paying much attention to my whining anymore. God never intended for me to function on a mere six hours of sleep a night. Yesterday, I fell asleep on the couch in the living room, with my husband and children talking to me. They tiptoed out and let me sleep for an hour.

Tonight, I have to attend a football game at 4 and a volleyball game at 6:30. I'm a serious parent now that I have four kids. I cheer on more sports teams in a week than Brett Favre does in 5 years. It's crazy. How did these kids turn out to be so dang athletic anyway?
Crud. Now I have to go.
More another time....

As I was on my way to Michael's room...

2009-09-14T11:18:00.002-06:00

It's really hard to think of things to say here when I get out of the habit of writing.
I'm tired from too little sleep. Growing fat from too many eats. Deleriously happy from being in love. Marriage is lots of fun.
Also, I am learning to golf. Rather, I am learning how Not to swing a golf club. It seems cruely wrong that smaking a tiny white ball should be so technical. I suck at it.
Now that I'm not a welfare mom anymore, I drive a BMW, and golf. Tim bought me my own clubs and a glove-thingy to wear. I look like Michael Jackson, armed with a club.
I have four kids now. Have you heard? Bedtime is my favorite time of day. The oldest and youngest go to bed about 9:30, and the middle two have lights-out at 10. Ten O'clock is when I pour a glass of wine, and put on my music. From the time my feet hit the floor in the morning, until the kids retire, I am mostly running. Well, except now, since I am blogging. I'd actually like a nap, but I can't sqeeze it in.
I came upstairs to make Michael's bed and clean his room. See how I got derailed at the computer? Michael is least capable of keeping his room clean. It's quite a distinction around here.
I'd better get back to it.

For Pete's sake

2009-09-08T18:24:00.002-06:00

Clearly, I have undergone a significant life change. It's affecting my ability to blog. That, however, is about the only complaint I have. Otherwise, all is going swimingly.
This past weekend was The Party of the Year. We had our reception, complete with out-of-town family, long lost friends, and catering. I had convinced Tim to leave the pool uncovered for this occation. It's so pretty when it's uncovered. Every teenager at the party, (and there were not a few), ended up in the swimming pool, fully- clothed. Now that I think about it, that was better than it could have been. They could have stripped for the occasion, and that would have been worse. Personally, I found screaming wet teenagers to be quite festive, if somewhat unexpected and damp.
My wedding dress got ruined at the party, which was less upsetting than it sounds. I was sitting on a piece of patio furniture, whose back legs were unfortunately settling into soft soil. The decent was abrupt, and it precipitated my baptism in a very drinkable red wine. Alas. I liked that dress.
There were people at that party from all over the span of my life and Tim's. There were people I haven't seen in years. One really should host a party like this from time to time. It's like a "This is Your Life" TV show. Remember that? You don;t really need to wait until next time you get married, though. Have a party now. I have about 3 cases of wine left over. And rather too much of the catering. You people didn't eat nearly enough.

As I was walking through the happy haze of matrimony

2009-08-27T19:50:00.004-06:00

I'm really tired. I was remembering fondly what quiet, and alone-time, feel like. My glass slippers are still in place, it's just that there are so many Televisions and children on all the time around here. We only have four between us. Kids, that is. We have way more TVs than that. It's a lot of stimulation.

Don asked me today why I am so very tired.
"What have you been doing all night?" He blithely queried.
Michael rolled his eyes so grotesquely, that I feared he might damage himself.

I'm tired. The ice maker is stil noisy all night, there's still a man in my space, and the aforementioned man needs about an hour and a half of sleep each night to function. I need 10 to 12.

Marriage is great. We get so much done, the two of us. You can't imagine how much housework is getting done. And also child-shuffling. Moving and feeding younglings is a big part of our daily routine.
Neither can you imagine how far behind I am on, oh, everything. I owe phone calls, thank you cards, and emails. I'm a loser. A tired loser.

And Dani, I have a card for you at home. No, really.
Back in June, at my birthday, everyone kept telling me that they had a card for me at home. It became kind of funny, really. In truth, I am usually the one who throws myslef a huge old party. This year, with the whole hospital stay and everything, I sort of cancelled my birthday. Now I've cancelled Dani's and also Bentley's. If your birthday has not performed according to your expectations this year, it is likely my fault. Sorry about that.

I was going to say something else. It was probably going to be really funny. I just can't remember what it was. Dang it.
I'll let you know if it occures to me.

Patience, Grasshopper

2009-08-25T17:12:00.002-06:00

It's hard to imagine why I don't have time to write just now. Today, I've been on the phone discussing insurance, utilities, and can I just say how very much I HATE QUEST TELEPHONE...? May I say that online?
The boys are at football practice, Tim is assembling a stationary bike, and the younger two are at-one-with-the-screen. TV screen, that is.
I thought I'd say hi.
Marriage is great. I don't know what you all complain about all the time. He cooks, cleans, and adores me. What could be better?
Seriously, I have no creativity for a post. I thought I'd drop in and bore you before going to collect stinky kids from practice.
I'll write more one day real soon.

Matrimony, Day 5

2009-08-19T14:09:00.004-06:00

I particularly loved the way my last post was articulate, spelled corretly, and informative. Clearly marriage has addled my brain.
Being married to a muscle machine means that my mornings are filled with protein and physical exertion. The home gym helps. I may be flabby today, but soon I expect I'll look like Barbie for real.
The kids are having a blast. Michael is training like a machine, himself, with two-a-day football practice. Don is mostly watching TV, when he's not begging to have Austin come over. His football practice begins tomorrow, so I expect his life to change radically. The other two are not reallyfinding their lives altered all that much, I suppose.
I'm finding myself to be quite sleep deprived. Tim needs an average of an hour and a half of sleep every day, and I need something closer to ten. Moving always makes it weird to fall asleep. Here, I am in new surroundings, in a strange bed, and right next to another human being. Plus, the ice maker in the fridge is really loud at night. Last night I think I passed out from sheer exhaustion.
That's what coffee is for, right?
I like marriage, still, which is promising. I went to jump in the car this morning to pick Michael up from practice, and found that Tim had filled the gas tank when I wasn't looking. That's a glorious thing. I hate the gas station. Plus, my Grandpa always filled the gas tank for Granny for years and years. So, in my mind I associate that act of kindness with a stellar husband.
Plus, he always brings me coffee in bed.
And he cooks dinner every night.
Hate me yet?
Life is sweet.

bloggong married

2009-08-17T16:49:00.002-06:00

So....What's new?

It's Monday afternoon. I am sitting happily at the computer with the keyboard before me. I wonder what I should write about?
I do have pictures from the wedding. I'll post those one day real soon.
The wedding was exactly what a ceremony like that ought to be: short and to the point.
"Do you?"
"I do."
"Do you?"
"I do."
"Kiss her and be done with it."
There was a little more to it, but not much. My new daughter was the maid of honor, and my old son was the best man. Don took photos, and Aaron sort of hopped from chair to chair around the perimeter of the room. It was all over in seven minutes flat. Gosh, Tim was handsome.
Then, we dropped off the kids.
Came home, just the two of us,
.....and played Monopoly all night.
Just kidding. What did you think I was going to say?

Married life is great. Take today, for instance. I took the kids on a walk to the library, read books to them in the living room, and fed us all lunch. Tim payed bills, and did important man stuff, to keep the family all running smoothly. You married people take that stuff for granted, but those of us who have done it all on our own for a hundred years can see the beauty and the relief that such an afternoon might bring.
There's other benefits, too, of course.
Like, he keeps telling me I'm beautiful. I like that a lot.

I'll tell you more about all that's going in in the next couple of days. For now I thought I'd just check in and say "hi."
Hi.

Here comes the Bride

2009-08-14T07:18:00.002-06:00

I'll bet you didn't expect to hear from me today.
I am getting married this afternoon, after morning football practice. Two-a-days begin today for Michael's team. He is very excited.
I slept well, surprisingly, and awoke with a prayer on my lips. How in the world am I going to sleep with another person in my bed? I don't suppose one is terribly worried about actually sleeping, at first.
I was working on my quiet time this morning, which was very difficult. I kept trying to read my bible, but the words were not gelling into coherant thoughts as my eyes skimmed the page. So, I tried to pray. It was "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" So, maybe God will delight in that prayer. I know I did.
I freshened up the polish on my fingers and toes. I'm going to clean my ring.
The plan is to shower and shave and primp and stress, after I take Michael to his first football practice. I wonder if I'll be able to eat?

So many of you have called, or texted, or commented, or emailed to let me know that you are thinking of me. I appreciate that so very much. I am well behind on corrospondance, and likely to remain so for some time. I love you, and I thank God for such an amazing group of people in my life.
I am very happy. Thank you for your prayers and well-wishes.
May God be glorified in this marriage, and may I lose ten pounds by one o'clock.
Amen.

The End, and a Beginning

2009-08-13T09:44:00.006-06:00

It's time to shift gears for me. I am planning to take one or two loads over to Tim's this morning, and then clean up around here a bit. By afternoon, I intend to relax. My big plan for the evening is to paint my nails. I need to chill out.

I was reflecting this morning on a verse from Second Timothy, wherein Paul writes, " I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith." I can say that, regarding this period of my life. I was married in 1992, and endured a most grievous time. You have read my various tales of my husband's abandonment, drug use, and the ensuing horrors. He left in '99, but we were not officially divorced until 2002.
I've been alone, then, for a decade. My days have been largely joyful, though sprinkled with financial stress. God Himself has provided for us, often miraculously, always faithfully.
I have minor regrets; things I'd love to do over.
But not a lot.
Overall, I see that God has given me a tremendous gift in the challenges of the past 18 years. He has given me a deep and abiding awareness of my own ignorance, sinfulness, and limitations. This is crucial. I have always been Strong, Intelligent, Determined, Self Righteous, and Proud. I'm kind of a brat. So, the world benefits from a good 18 years of humiliation and discipline applied liberally to my psyche.
And now I have finished with this phase of my life, and am ready to embark on a new one.
I pray that I might remember the hard-won lessons of the past. I would like to take with me all the humility, and none of the baggage.

................All of the above was written this morning, when I was fresh from my time with the Lord. It was early, still. I was all spiritual, and hopeful, as I faced the day. Allow me to bring you up to date on the events so far.
So, Kara came over this morning and helped me with the general insanity, in the hopes of being done before my patience ran out. She is an angel, and a godsend. Her car was loaded to the rafters, as was mine, and we set off to Tim's to deliver the abundant contents of my closet, to his. When, what to my wondering ears....I rounded a corner, and heard the the flap-flap-flapping sound emanating from the driver's side front of my vehicle.
A flat tire.
Very flat.
Dead flat.
So Kara came to add the contents of my car to her own, and to deliver it all to Tim's. I sat and waited for Tim and the AAA man. Tim changed the tire while I sat in the shade. The AAA guy arrived to find the job done.
I have to tell you that a flat tire, on a day like today, is enough to send one to the fetal position to suck one's thumb. Although, now it seems kind of harmlessly amusing.
I still have not begun that relaxing thing I was planning to do today. Neither have I showered. Nor cleaned my surroundings. Other than that, my day is going swimmingly.

I have moved all of my clothes into Tim's closet. Bless his heart. I have way more clothes than him, in case any of y'all had money on that little bet.
Now I am going to shower...and then go to see a movie with Tim and the kids. To start that relaxing thing.
This is my wedding weekend, after all.
I'm on to a new and exciting phase of life.
I'm go glad to have finished strong.

The Queen of Denial

2009-08-12T17:37:00.003-06:00

Thank you for checking in to see how I am doing. The going-crazy is progressing nicely. I am moving in a day and a half, which seems rather soon to me. I can't, for the life of me, figure out why I am not packing.
Yesterday I decided that every single item of silky-smooth, and delicate, clothing I had needed to be laundered in preparation for matrimony. An arduous task involving hand washing, and hanging to dry. During this riveting undertaking, I realized that one can't justify packing and moving pantyhose with runs in them. Although one can apparently justify storing them since the early 90's, but I digress. So I have to inspect each pair of nylons, before washing and hanging to dry. Does anyone wear nylons anymore? Why do I own them?
There is something of my Mother in me which forces me to wash things before packing them. I did this the other day while Kara was trying to pack all my fragile tea things. I was scrubbing all the porcelain at the sink so it could be sparkly before being enshrouded in newspaper. Because I'm sure the newspaper won't leave ink on it, or anything.
So, every doorway in my home is crowded with hangers draped with drying undergarments. Because that's a sensible use of my time and space.

Tim and I have been running around, checking things off our list, madly. And The Big Day is nearly here. On Friday I shall be "Mrs".

I am wanting to bury my head in the sand, my nose in a good book, or run off to the movies. Anything but move. It's very overwhelming, this change thing.
On Saturday, I started in with tears before I even got out of bed. It's not that I'm sad, far from it! Life is a fairy tale right now, but it's a really drastic switch of everything. I'm moving across town, changing my name, giving up my privacy, doubling my number of children. I'll have a new car, house, identity, school system, and economic situation. I'm thrilled. I'm also spinning. Saturday, I started crying in the morning, and couldn't quite get a grip. Has that ever happened to you? I walked into Tim's house, and tears started to stream down my face. I ordered half a sandwich at lunch, was given a whole, and lost it again. That poor man must have thought I'd lost my mind. Everything's great, I'm just entirely overwhelmed.

And I still have to pack. The boys are all moved in already. It's just my stuff that's got to go.
I'm going to go do something about that. Any. Minute.

Daily details

2009-08-09T07:49:00.002-06:00

I'm out of practice with the whole shopping thing. For the past decade, 35 bucks spent at the Goodwill constituted a shopping spree. But, I think I'm getting the hang of it.
In the past couple of weeks, we've been buying stuff. I have to tell you that furniture stores, and Mall retailers, become far more interesting when you're looking to buy, than they are for the discontented Browser.
Yesterday, for instance, we bought a sofa. We got to pick out fabric, and custom order the thing. I heart my fabric. We won't see the actual product until sometime in October.
We also bought his wedding ring. I am so not over the fact that I get to marry Tim from house church!!!! How did I get so lucky?

It's been raining here. My tan is fading. It's blue-jean weather. Which has been great since I haven't worked-out since early Spring. This has been the oddest Summer on record, in my book. School begins in about three weeks, and I'm really looking forward to that routine. We'll try Summer again next year.

I have visions of married life dancing in my head. In my imagination, marriage looks like this:
Sleeping in the arms of a handsome man,
rising early to freshly brewed coffee and a clean house,
a vigorous exercise hour once the kids are off to school,
and then a leisurely homeschool routine.
Can you just hear the music swell?
After the kids are all happily home again from their various schools and sports, we will lovingly gather around the bountiful table prepared by my Man Chef.
Once the dishes are washed and dried by the children, we will look to the man of the family for evening devotions,
and then tuck the children into an early bed,
that we might enjoy what's left of our evening.
While he rubs my feet.

Oh, shut up.

We'll have two in football, one in volleyball, two at elementary school, one at high school, and one homeschooled. We have two dogs, one cat, four cars, and a lizard.
If we see each other at all, it will be in passing, as we run from one event to another. When we finally tumble into bed at night, we'll be tired as any long-married couple. Perhaps I should reevaluate my expectations.

The house is still a shambles, though the garage is somewhat organized. My yard is in dire need of an energetic work crew, and a large sum of money. And there's packing yet to be done.
But, today, I am going to go lay by the pool, since the rain has cleared. I will be wearing a white dress on Friday, and I need to freshen up my tan.
One has to keep one's priorities straight.

Moving on up, to the Eastside. To that Deeeluxe apartment in the sky

2009-08-06T09:45:00.004-06:00

I started moving yesterday.
Kara came over and assisted me with the packing of my various fragile things. It's kind of her specified job whenever I move. Love her.

Poor Tim. He cleared out the guest room, so that I could begin to pile my belongings in there. It would be so much easier to move one household into an empty house. In this case, I am moving all my stuff into an existing home. Integrating all of my belongings is likely to be a more careful process than it would be in a conventional move.

Ornamentation is my delight, and Tim is a minimalist. I drape surfaces in lace and knick-knacks, he keeps all surfaces clutter free. I group art and shelving on every wall....he has one picture in the entire living room. There is going to be a period of adjustment. For him. He has yet to gain a real appreciation for the usefulness and beauty of doilies. Poor man.

I took my hats over to his house. Have you seen my hat collection? I threw away three as a nod to simplifying.

Tim and I had a conversation in which we discussed the appropriate allocation of his-and-hers closet space. He says he's willing to go as far as 50%. I asked for the entire top shelf, which he granted me. He doesn't use it, and it's ideal for my hats, purses, and scarves. I have a lot of accessories, and now they adorn the top of his closet. They look really nice up there, if I do say so myself. Now I need to bump his clothes off of the hanging bar, so I can get the rest of my stuff over there.

Don has been systematically, and efficiently, moving himself into his room there. Love that boy. He will carefully pack two boxes, go unpack them, and bring the boxes home to reuse. He is orderly and deliberate.
And then there's Michael.
I looked in the one box Michael has so far managed to pack to be moved into his new room. "Haphazard" is one word for what I found. "Biohazard" would be another. The box was a jumble of loose CDs, empty candy wrappers, and dirty socks. If Tim allows this teenager to survive, it will be an act of mercy beyond my wildest expectations.

Meanwhile, this house is a jumble of stacks and piles. Every room has pockets of odds and ends, which are begging to be addressed.
...Which reminds me of what I really ought to be doing. So, I guess I'll go do it.

Moulon Rouge Deux

2009-08-03T14:41:00.003-06:00

Jessie is the ultimate party thrower. She hosted, catered, and otherwise ensured that I had the very most amazing bridal shower that ever there was.

Here's a few of my very oldest friends in the world. We were enjoying the photography rather a lot. Except for Heidi, who looks surprised, or fearful, or something.

There are my sisters: Amanda, Danielle, and Bentley.

And this is me with my mom, and Kara with her mom. The mother/ daughter mix always adds to the fun. Especially when the conversation would turn risque, and Kara would not make eye contact with her mom. That was fun. Of course, my Mother is the one who taught me to be risque....she may have taught Kara, too, come to think of it.

Moulon Rouge, Part I

2009-08-02T20:47:00.002-06:00

Despite the fact that I have no pictures, yet, I do have the best friends in the world. Evidence of that was grandly displayed at the Beautiful, and slightly scandelous, bridal shower on Friday night.
There were those feather boa thingys, and champagne, and food, and rather a lot of ladies. I am rich in my variety of friends. There were sisters and mothers, homeschool moms and lacrosse moms, dedicated Christians, and even my two favorite lesbians.
Jessie opened our time with a prayer of thanksgiving and dedication to the God of Creation.
These women, whether they love the Lord, or not, had the opportunity to hear that God is Faithful, and that He is the Giver of Good Gifts. The entire evening was a celebration of romance. God's best is worth waiting for.
This time in my life is so joyful. People seem drawn to that. It's been a chance to tell, over and over again, of all that God has done.
You're still thinking about the fact that I said "lesbian," aren't you? I don't know why those girls put up with me, but they are very respectful and gracious to my bible believing, right-wing ways. I love them, and I pray that they see something of Jesus in me. Plus, they are sweethearts, and I quite like them.
But, as I was telling you, I have great friends.
There was this room full of people. Some I'd known for 2 years, some for 35, most somewhere in between. I felt so surrounded by love in that room. Nevermind that my mother flunked the test called "How Well Do You Know Kelly?" She did. She flunked. Mother, remember all those times I shouted "You just don;t understand me!"? Well, turns out I was right.
Who won that, anyway? I can't remember who won. It was one of those bridal shoower games. There was one where they quized me about Tim, to see how well I know him. I got a 50%, so don't be judging Mother too harshly. I plan to study the half I don't know after the wedding.
Speaking of the Wedding!!!! Did I tell you how our scandal rocked the church? Celebate Christian Couple Denied Church Wedding.... Well, now we're back to being married there by our favorite pastorish person!
So, that's good news.
Have you ever seen so many links in one blog?
.....Now I'm totally off track and distracted from reading all my old blogs while trying to link for this one. I'm giving up. I'll be back tomorrow to tell you all about the stuff I acquired at the stimulating party on Friday night.

Pattti's Pretty Picture Prep:

2009-08-01T07:32:00.003-06:00

The bridal shower was really more fun than any party has a right to be. I shall give you the grizzly details once I have photos to go along with my story. Patti took a gazillion pictures, and I took zero. We'll wait for hers.

In a related story:
We are now back to being married at the church. This is an exciting new development. Tim had himself a heart-to-heart with one of the Pastors in Charge, and explained the irony of our situation. That Tim is level headed and articulate.
We'll be in premarital discipleship for the next months, and we'll still get married in two weeks. That's the deal.

I'm off this morning to get my hair trimmed. Perhaps also my roots will be touched up. My hair is very, very bleached out from sun and chlorine. And also from bleach. You will see evidence of this in the upcoming photos.

To all of you who have said, "Hey if you need any help, just give me a call." Now is the time. Beginning bright and early this Wednesday, my moving and cleaning kicks into high gear. I need Yard help, Packing fragile things help, Truck driving loads to donate help, And general pep talks.

Alrighty Then. I need more coffee before my sister picks me up for the Salon....

A word

2009-07-31T18:05:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-29T20:41:00.005-06:00

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.