40 Days

You know it's 40 days until Christmas, right?

I'm not ready. I'm really NOT ready.

Usually by this time of year I have at least half of the gifts bought. I haven't bought ONE dadgum thing yet. I don't even have a firm grasp on what my children desire this year. I really don't care to buy them ONE THING, to be honest. Why should I? I'll just have to clean it up.

I don't want to drag out the tree and the ornaments and the lights and all that hoo haa that goes along with a commercialized Christmas. I don't want to make a list and check it twice. I don't want to dress the kids up, take them for their annual visit with Santa, cajole them to smile for the picture. I just want to skip all that nonsense this year.

I used to love Christmas. I love everything about it. I love the true meaning of it. But I've gotten so burned out trying to "do" Christmas the world's way. I'm tired of it. No cookie exchanges, no Christmas parades, no pageants, musicals, class parties, gifts for "fringe" people (teachers, mailmen, secretaries, etc.)

I just want to quit Christmas this year.

I want to gather my family up and escape to a secluded location and really celebrate the meaning of Christmas. The meaning that's not widely marketed.

I want to give gifts to people because I WANT TO, not because it's expected of me. I want to grab a handful of angels off the Salvation Army Angel Tree and buy for them instead of my own kids, who truly do not need a thing. I want to GIVE IT AWAY this Christmas.

So why do I feel like I can't do that? Why am I stuck?

Blog Challenge: Rite of Passage

Write about a rite of passage. It can be your own experience or someone else's. It can be an event that you're anticipating, or one you're anticipating for your child. It can be a long forgotten memory, a touching ancedote, or a funny story.

I had to search my brain for something to blog about given this assignment. I don't know why it was so hard. It just befuzzled me a little bit.

What I want to write about came to me a few minutes ago when I was doing the dishes. I don't know what reminded me of it, but I couldn't wait to finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down to write.

I turned 16 on February 5, 1989. I don't remember exactly when I went to get my license (and there are no pictures or anything like that... 'cause my mom's not a scrapbooker like me!), but I'm sure it was the same day or the same week, at least. I passed on my first try (barely!) and that was it. I became a licensed driver.

About a week later I got to drive the car (a 1984 white Ford Thunderbird) by myself. I drove it from my house to my high school (which was about a 5 minute drive, really...) I was on the yearbook staff, and we sponsored the Miss Rendezvous contest (the beauty pageant). I know it was a Saturday, because we were decorating the gym that day for the pageant that night.

Oh, I was thrilled!

I was scared to turn on the radio. I did everything so carefully. I was petrified, but I got through it. I got better and better at driving, and eventually felt comfortable turning on the radio.

Fast forward to August 16, 1989. I was cruising with my younger sister. We had just been to the video store (I think) to get a video, and we took the long way home. It was raining. We (of course) had the radio up loud.

We were sooooooo cooooooool.

Then I saw them. Red lights in the rearview mirror. Dang it.

I was given a ticket in the amount of $110 for going 56 mph in a 35 mph zone. I was lucky he didn't double ticket me for driving too fast for conditions. I got a small lecture, and I drove home slowly, embarrassed, ready to quit driving altogether.

When I got to the house, my mom asked me to turn around and go back to the grocery store (this was before cell phones...) I threw the ticket at her and said, "I don't know if you'll want me driving after this!"

She was disappointed, and that's all I needed to hear. I lived to please my parents, and could see the disapproval in her eyes. She knew that I was already punishing myself more than she could, so she was brief with her scolding. She said she would cover the cost, and that I didn't need to tell my daddy. I'm sure he found out eventually, but I never told him. HIS disappointment in me would have been too much to bear.

One of these days I'm sure I will get another speeding ticket. I haven't had one since I was 16 (I was pulled over one time in Mississippi on the way to see my future husband in Memphis... luckily I had a gorgeous roommate that knew how to flirt, and I didn't get a ticket...)

I still love to crank up that radio, and I admit I drive a little fast. My favorite times to be in the car are when there is NO ONE else with me. I blast my favorite songs and pretend I'm 16 again.

And in a cooler car, 'cause somehow the minivan thing just doesn't align with the music.

The song I love most? Jack & Diane by John Cougar Mellencamp.

My favorite line?

Hold on to 16
as long as you can
Changes comin' 'round real soon
Make us women and men

And to quote Shania Twain...

Man, I feel like a woman.

Blog Cop Out

I haven't felt much like blogging since I got home from Texas.

I'm flat out exhausted. It was like one looooooooong slumber party, and I didn't want to miss a minute. I stayed up all night on Saturday, into the wee hours of Sunday, ate brunch, crashed.

My body is still craving sleep. I've hit the bed early every night this week trying to get some of that 24 hours back. Ain't working. I'm still a zombie.

So forgive me if I haven't blogged. Today you get the blog cop out. Someone else's original questions with my answers.

What color is your room?

My room is a golden yellow. When we built this house we were told we could choose five colors tops. Each additional color would cost $200. So most of the upstairs is painted this golden yellow. It's nice, but I want to change the color in the kitchen to a rusty red.

Do you give your pets birthday and Christmas presents?

They're lucky if I remember to give them food. Before we had children I used to treat the cats to soft food on holidays, but I don't do that anymore. I'm a pitiful pet owner.

What color nail polish do you most often wear?

I have short fingernails. I pick at them. Toenails, too. I've never been able to grow my fingernails to a glamorous length.

Several weeks ago I got a pedicure and chose an OPI polish called "Lincoln Park After Dark". I liked it so much that I bought some on eBay. My fingernails and toenails are now currently that color. It's so purple it's black!

What's your favorite sexual position?

Is this really something you want to know about me? Methinks not.

I know you all have had to eat one of the Hamburger Helpers, Chicken Helpers, and Tuna Helpers. Which flavor is your favorite?

The one I don't have to cook.

No, really. I don't care for the tuna or chicken helpers. I like any of the beef ones, but I would have to say the stroganoff is at the top of the list.

Is that supposed to reveal some deep, dark secret about me? What a silly question.

When you fasten your pants do you button first of zip first?

I usually button first.

Leno or Letterman?

Depends on several things, really.

Who's the guest?
Is Leno doing Headlines? (If so, I choose Leno)
Who's running the rerun?
Did something (like a sporting event) push one back meaning the news is still on on that particular channel?)

I'd say 7/10 times I go with Leno, but will be switching to Letterman when Conan takes over. He's a little twit.

Which of the following characteristics would you rather have? You can only choose one. Nice Exciting Loving Hot

Nice. That's my gut choice, but now I'm thinking I might prefer to be loving, 'cause being not nice is where the laughs are.

Okay. Loving. Lord knows I'll never be hot (unless it's over 100 degrees outside...)

If I asked every person that you've kissed, they'd say that your kisses are tentative, wild, intense, or sweet?

I don't know. Really? I don't know. That's a weird question.

Do you kiss on the first date?

Not anymore, 'cause I'm married. If my husband takes me on a nice date, he's definitely going to get past first base. If'n I don't fall asleep first.

Blog Challenge: Scared

With Halloween upon us, tell us about a time in your life when you were scared. Shaking, screaching, frozen, trembling, crying, sick-to-your-stomach, whatever scared. Maybe you were a child, maybe you were an adult, maybe it was a nightmare, maybe it was a job interview. Whatever. You've been scared before.
Tell us!

There isn't really much that terrifies me. Most bugs that I was afraid of when I was younger don't really bother me much anymore. I don't care for snakes, but the non-poisonous ones I can tolerate. I can handle most critters, I guess.

What I'm truly scared of, really REALLY scared of, is flying in an airplane.

I haven't always had this fear. I have flown to Spain. I've flown to Los Angeles, to New Orleans, to Miami, to Washington, DC, to Orlando (many times), and to Belize (even braving a little airplane whose engines were so loud I couldn't carry on a conversation with my friends!)

Flying never bothered me until one day in late March, 1997. My husband and I were returning from a four-day Caribbean cruise. We were aboard the filing-for-bankruptcy (at the time) AirSouth flying back from Miami. It was the most turbulent flight I've ever experienced. We were in the middle of the flight and people had unbuckled their seatbelts (the captain had turned off the seatbelt sign) so several passengers actually hit the roof of the plane. People were screaming and calling on Jesus. It was not fun.

After that experience, I swore it would take a miracle to ever get me on board a plane again.

Then we all suffered through the horrific events of 9/11. That was the nail in the coffin for me. NO MORE FLYING. Zip. Nada. Nothing. Nope. Not. Me. FOR-get it.

Until my husband convinced me to fly to Orlando in January 2005. We wanted to take our two oldest children to Disney World, and my husband was adamant that he wasn't thrilled about making a 16-hour round trip drive.

Hmph.

He won. I flew. I didn't like it, but it was only an 85-minute jaunt and I survived it.

Then we took all four of our children to Orlando in December 2005. We did okay on that trip, too.

My husband and I flew again to Disney World for our 10th anniversary in January 2006. I didn't want to go without my kids. It scared me to think that my children could be left orphans if our plane crashed. I'm still here, but that one was a nail biter.

The time for me to fly has come again.

I have to get on a plane (a TINY plane) on Thursday.

This time I'm going to Texas without any of my family. I'm flying on a TINY plane. (Did I already mention that it's a TINY plane?)

I do NOT like tiny planes.

I know I'll have a blast once we get on the ground in Texas, but that nearly 3-hour trip on a seemingly model-sized airplane is FREAKIN' ME OUT.

Freakin' me TOTALLY out.

Massaged, Facialed, Pedicured... Oh, My!!

I just got finished enjoying a spa day with mi hermana (my sistah). We went to Santa Fe Day Spa in Birmingham, Alabama and got the treatment, I tell you. It was HEAVEN.

Let me back up a little. After having lunch with my husband, my sister and I went to Scrap, Etc. in the Patton Creek area of the Galleria. I had a blast in there, picking out some new Basic Grey papers (Fruitcake and Dasher!) I fondled it and drooled over it and loved it and bought way too much of it. I can't wait to get home and use it!

Okay, back to the spa. I got a deep cleansing facial from Tiffany (loved it). She extracted the blackheads from my pores and gave me the skin of a 15 year-old. I am determined to find a good place at home to get a monthly facial. I'm also going to find the moisturizer Tiffany recommended and buy stock in it. It was "alishus" (as my kids say...)

After the facial Tiffany took me to a locker to store my stuff and told me she was taking me to see Matt for my massage.

Wha? Huh? I didn't know there were girls named Matt.

See, my sistah had booked us with female masseuses (maseese? I dunno...) I've never had a massage from a man that had not previously impregnated me. Weird.

I said, "Um, I thought I was getting a female masseuse?" Tiff said, "Oh, well, she's overbooked."

So, Magic Fingers Matt it was.

I put on my iPod and pretended he was a woman with man hands. It wasn't too bad. I got through it. Though, in retrospect, I might've made a different underwear selection if I'd known Magic Matt was going to be touching my thighs. Instead of purple gingham cotton I might have selected something... um, well, less Mom-like. (Do I own anything like that?)

Note to self: bring SexyBack to the undies drawer upon returning home...

After Magic Matt finished rubbing on me it was time for my pedicure. And this weren't just ANY pedi. 'Twas a SPA pedi.

That means they put your feet in a soapy whirlpool and you sit in a chair that vibrates. NIIIIIIIIIICE.

Except the girl didn't get that I was trying to read a magazine. She kept talking to me. The worst part was when she told me I have viral warts on my feet.

LURVLY. That's exactly what a girl wants to hear. Viral warts.

Apparently, I can get them lanced at my family MD's office. But the pedi girl can't scrub on them.

Understandable.

And after all the spa loveliness my non-scrappin' sistah even acquiesced when I asked to go by Hobby Lobby. I bought some Basic Grey ribbon. I was happy.

Scrap store, spa treatments and Basic Grey ribbon.

It was a good day.

Man, I hate it when He does that...

Okay.

I'm still whining about my mother-in-law being here for 2 months. So shoot me. I have the right, don't I?

But I read my Bruce & Stan book this morning and I've decided that I (1) need to quit reading the Bruce & Stan book or (2) quit whining about my mother-in-law.

Hmph.

The title of today's entry in my book? Make Someone Happy.

Yeah. Uh-oh.

"Personal happiness is most easily gained by bringing happiness to others." (emphasis mine). As if it weren't clear enough the first time I typed it, it somehow got erased and I had to type it again.

OKAY, GOD. I GET IT. Don't make me type it again.

Mostly the entry is about not trying to place your happiness in things, but the last paragraph just settled on my chest like one of those dental x-ray aprons. It's heavy, man. Heavy.

"A better way to gain happiness is to do things for others. Make others happy, and the happiest person will be you. Make others happy all the time, and your happiness will turn to joy."

God has spoken. It's time to shut up about my mother-in-law. I gotta make like Nike and Just Do It.

Blog Challenge: Do Over

This week's blog challenge:

In golf, there's this thing called a Mulligan. Basically, if your golfing buddies agree to let you have it, it's your chance to try again without a penalty. It's a do-over. We don't get many Mulligans in life. But if we did... if there was one Mulligan you could take - one do-over - what would it be?

I had to think about this one. I really can't say that there are a lot of things I'd do differently in my life, because in one way or another, I've grown and stretched as a result of things that have happened. I really had to consider my answer to this question. I came up with three things.

The first one is silly, really. It's juvenile and I am embarrassed to even mention it.

I had my first date when I was in 9th grade. I went to see Mike Warnke, a Christian comedian, with a boy on whom I had a decent sized crush. He was funny, played the piano and spoke 5 languages. I was so excited to go out with him!

I acted totally dorky on the date. I didn't act like myself. Instead I acted like a stupid airhead, which was so not who I was.

He didn't ask me out again. I'd like to have that night back to prove I was a mature person that he would ask out for a second time. I saw him a few times in college and thought about asking *him* out, but I didn't have the courage.

Fast forward about 15 years or so. I had a c-section with my 3rd child. He was breech and I chose not to have him turned.

When I was 35 weeks pregnant with my 4th child, the ultrasound showed that she was large. The doctor suggested we schedule a repeat c-section, because most likely the baby would be large (I'd already had 3 children over 9 pounds.) I was really, really devastated. I knew my 4th pregnancy was my last, and I really wanted to try to have a VBAC. But, I listened to the advice of my doctors and tried to be at peace with my decision.

When Lillian Grayce was born, she weighed 9 pounds, 10 ounces. She was my second largest child weight wise. She was a tiny thing, though. All of the 0-3 month size clothes I had for her just hung on her. That wasn't the case with her 9 pound, 11 ounce sister. Camryn came out of the womb wearing 3-6 month clothing.

I knew the instant I saw Lillian that I could've pushed her out with no problem. I know it. I wish I had insisted on a VBAC. I just didn't have the b*lls to defy the doctors.

So those are my do-overs. With 33 years of living behind me, I guess 2 do-overs isn't bad, eh? I'm satisfied with most of the decisions I've made along the way. They've made me who I am.

As Iron Sharpens Iron

I have this book that I keep in my toilet area (how's that for an introductory sentence?) It's called Keeping God in the Small Stuff and it was written by Bruce and Stan (Bickel & Jantz, but they write as Bruce and Stan). I gave this book to my Stan for Christmas in 2001. It sat on his bedside table until we moved to our new house. That's when I put it in the bathroom, 'cause that's just about the only quiet place I have to read and contemplate spiritual matters.

So, when I forget to read a day's entry, I go back and catch up. I've been sick and haven't kept up with the entries, so I caught up today. October 18's entry was about friends.

"Finding a True Friend" is the title of the entry. The quote at the top says, "Select friends based on their character, not their compliments." Bruce and Stan exhort: "You are now at a stage when you get to select your own friends. Don't let it happen by default. be very intentional about it. Look for friends that will raise you up to a higher level; avoid the people who will pull you down to theirs." And then they close with one of my favorite Bible verses; it's one I used to contemplate and pray over when I was searching for a mate. Proverbs 27:17 says, "As iron sharpens iron, a friend sharpens a friend." I looked for a mate who would sharpen me, so I should be looking for the same in friends.

To be honest, I don't have many friends. I have a lot of friendly acquaintances, but I can count on one hand the number of true friends I have. I'm related to two of them (my husband and my sister.) The other two are my friend Malinda and my college roommate Christi.

I miss Christi. There are days when I crave spending just 10 minutes in her presence. I have not laid eyes on her since her wedding day, which was July 18, 1998. I don't know her two precious girls, but I know they look just like their beautiful mom from the pictures Christi sends with her Christmas cards. I wish she lived closer. She lived in Texas for years, and she just recently moved to Tennessee. That's a little bit closer, but still not close enough. Maybe one day God will allow us to live close enough to be able to share our lives with one another. Until then I will have to be content with cards and letters and emails and phonecalls. Nothing makes my day like a good laugh shared with Elmer (she calls me Bubba... it's a long story that involves putting together a computer work desk...)

Malinda is the kind of person that sharpens me. She calls and emails me when she thinks about me. My oldest 2 children are the same age as her 2 kids, and they're good friends, too. She offers to let my kids spend the day with hers and vice versa, because we realize that sometimes moms just need a break.

Malinda is the person who encouraged me to go back to scrapbooking after I'd quit because *I* thought it was too hard and intimidating. She showed me the simple way to create memory books. She patiently waited for me to find the inspiration I needed to start, and she's encouraged me in it ever since. We just get each other.

Malinda might have to move. Her husband's company was bought by a larger company and his job will most likely be eliminated. She is almost certain that they will not be able to stay in this area. They will probably move to Birmingham, because they have family there. I will miss her terribly, and it's just dawning on me how much I will miss her. She is one of the few people I can really be myself with. She doesn't care if a curse word slips, and I feel totally comfortable with her. I know she won't divulge my secrets.

Friends like those are hard to find, and I might lose one. I'm a little down.

Asked and Answered

I started this entry on Friday and finished in on Saturday. I'm a bit wired, 'cause I was at a scrapbooking workshop tonight with actual, real live grown-ups! Anyhow, random questions... asked and answered...

What is your favorite flavor of ice cream?

It's a tie. I love mint chocolate chip and chocolate raspberry truffle. If it's a Blizzard, it has to be chocolate covered cherries or Butterfinger. If it's a milkshake, chocolate, and NOT malt. Ick.

What was the last thing you ate?

A leftover cheeseburger from Wednesday night's visit to Outback Steakhouse. I didn't eat dinner before the scrap workshop, because I hate to sit and scrap when I'm full. So I warmed up the cheeseburger when I got home. It was tasty.

What CD is in your CD player right now?

I don't really use a CD player much anymore since I have an iPod. The CD player in the car has my daughter's musical practice CD in it for the Christmas musical she's doing at church. She has a solo!

The last song that was playing on the iPod tonight was "Hazy Shade of Winter" by the Bangles.

How many keys are on your key ring?

Um, since I keep them hanging on the gearshift in the car, I don't know exactly. I have one of those uberfab (and overworn) Lance Armstrong-type bracelets on my keyring ('cept mine's not yellow... it's pink and says, "Live. Love. Scrapbook.") I attached it to my keyring so I can wear my keys on my wrist when I'm not carrying them in my purse. Anyhoooo... I'd guess that there are 4 or 5 keys on the ring. There's my house key, my van key, hubby's truck key and a key to my parents' house. Surely there's more than that, though?

How much money do you have in your wallet?

Too much. I don't use credit cards. I use mostly cash, so I always have too much cash on me. I don't dare say how much.

List two bad habits that you have. Now tell me which one you would be willing to give up first.

I bite my fingernails. I've always done it. My grandmother even used that bitter stuff on me when I was little and I just licked it off. It tasted like ear wax, but it wasn't so unpleasant that it made me stop biting (and, um, I don't care to discuss how I know what ear wax tastes like...)

Hmmm... my other bad habit.... I guess I'd have to say that I'm bad about interrupting people when they're talking. I don't mean to. Really.

What spice or seasoning is your favorite?

I loves me some cinnamon. Cinnamon toast. Cinnamon in my oatmeal. Snickerdoodles. Streusel topping.

I also like salt. It's so simple and inexpensive but flavors things so well.

What's your birthstone? Would you change it?

Amethyst. I don't know that I'd change it. What would I do with all of those birthstone rings and things? Anyways, I love purple, so it's perfect.

If you had one day to live, what would you do?

I'd stay in my PJs and play with my kids all day long.

Do you know what your name means?

Which name? I have 2.

Beth means "House" in Hebrew. For example, "Bethany" means "house of figs". "Bethel" means "House of God". Oh, and I'm just Beth. I'm not Elizabeth or Bethany. Just Beth.

My other name is Mommy.

Mommy means:

caregiver
teacher
chauffer
facilities manager
cook
dishwasher
laundress
janitor
counselor
accountant
nurse
party planner
historian
photographer
negotiator
buttwiper
diaper changer
love

White & Nerdy... or Not

I took the nerd test today. As it turns out, I'm not nerdy at all. I'm a little upset. I think nerd is the new cool.



Hmph.

I want to be nerdy again. I feel like I've lost my identity.

Third Joke

I subscribed to the '"Word a Day" e-mail at www.urbandictionary.com. Today's e-mail gave me a chuckle. I have been guilty of telling the Third Joke one too many times.

A "Third Joke" is when someone says something funny, someone else feels the need to follow it with something that may or may not also be funny, and then a third person, trying to keep up, follows up with a third quip, which by this point is most definitely no longer funny. It is important for others at this point to call "Third Joke" out loud to point out the third individual's social error, to embarass them for killing the funny. A truly unskilled individual can Third Joke on the second quip.

Bob: "And then I said, 'That's not my fish!'" Haha!

Bill: "A halibut tale!" Haha!

Ted: "I smell fish!" Ha.. um.

Bob: "Third Joke, Ted."

Blog Challenge: Inside/Outside

Pick a day this week, and blog about what's going on outside and what's going on inside. I'm thinking in literal terms: outside your house and inside your house. Or outside your place of business and inside it. But if you want to get creative, feel free to blog about YOU - what's going on inside as opposed to what you're allowing the world to see on the outside.Extra points for posting photos! If you can't post photos, then do your best to illustrate with your words. Give us a clear visual of what's happening inside and out! Don't worry about your house being messy, or your outside being boring. Document a day this week, just as you're living it. Tell us about the sounds outside and the sounds inside... or what the squirrels are eating and what you're eating... or what the temp is out there and how comfy you are inside... or what needs to be done outside and what needs to be done inside.Whatever. Be creative. Just blog about inside/outside.

Okay. I'm picking today.

Right now I'm sitting in my den with my laptop perched on a pillow in my lap. Everyone is heading to the kitchen table to sit down and eat lunch. The house smells like bad sauerkraut because my husband cleaned out the refrigerator while he was making lunch and put the sauerkraut down the garbage disposal. My 8 year-old daughter is refusing to come to the table because the smell of the bad kraut is making her gag. Funny. It's making my mouth water.

Outside it's a beautiful, sunny day. The temperatures, I believe, are hovering in the mid-60s. I don't know for sure, because I was in bed until around noon. I'm still sick. The marshmallow in stuck in my larynx has gotten smaller, but it still feels like someone poured jet fuel down my throat and then lit a match. And now my ears are starting to throb. Woo hoo.

I'm dressed in my lounging pajamas because, well, I'm lounging. I do not want to move from this couch. A neighbor came to my door about an hour ago, asking me to sign a petition. I'm sure I looked SO PRETTY. I'm sure I can't look that bad (I am clean, wearing clean underwear and deodorant), but I feel nasty. Sickly and nasty. My outsides look better than my insides.

My insides are a total mess. My mother-in-law found out last week that she has 4, possibly 5 blockages in her heart. She will be having open heart surgery on Thursday the 19th.

Outwardly I appear to be the loving, sacrificing, supportive wife and daughter-in-law. I should win an Academy award, really. Best Performance by a Daughter In Law pretending that all of this is going to be F-I-N-E.

I have so many emotions about what's about to happen with my mother-in-law. It is no secret that I do not think the best of her. I do not HATE her. She did produce my wonderful husband, so for that I am grateful. I'm just constantly preturbed by her. Just little things, really, but I have a very low tolerance for her.

So the fact that she will possibly be living with us for two months is driving me insane. I know that we built this house with its downstairs suite in case something like this ever happened. I just seriously didn't think it would happen this SOON. I'm not ready to have her in my house for such a long period of time. Not ready at all.

And I feel completely, utterly, sinfully guilty for having all of these feelings. I mean, if MIL didn't come here, where would she go? She has a sister, but she works. She has a brother, but he's not really the caretaker type. She has a daughter, but she's in Georgia. She has another son, but he doesn't have any room for MIL. So it's us. We (*I*) get the job of taking care of her. BUT I DO NOT WANT TO DO THIS. I don't want her here. I don't. I DON'T.

I'm selfish. I like my routine, and this is totally blowing all of that familiarity and sameness that I thrive on to pieces. I know I'll grow. I know this will teach me something. I know the kids will love having Nana here.

I'll get through it. I just have to deal with it. Put on my big girl panties and play nurse for two months.

I sincerely hope I don't get daughters in law like me. But I probably will.

I am a BIG BABY

I have a sore throat.

I went to see the doctor today (who, by the way, eerily resembles Dr. Miranda "The Nazi" Bailey from "Grey's Anatomy".)

I do not have strep throat.

I do have a bacterial infection. I was given amoxocillin pills as big as Jolly Ranchers. Where's the logic in THAT? "Hmm... she can't swallow worth a darn, so let's load 'er up with some big arse horse pills." Crazy keen logic there, doc.

So I'm waiting for the horse pills to work their elfin magic on me throat. So far I'm still feelin' like I have a marshmallow crammed down my larynx. I'm even talking funny-like.

I'm such a baby. But I feel B-A-D.

I want my mommy. Or Patrick Dempsey in some rugged boxer shorts.

Sista Souljah

I talked to my sister Brooke last night. She's a little bit down. A stoopid boy broke her heart.

He has to be an idiot. I know she love(d?) (s?) him, but any boy who would break up with my sister is a fool. Stoopid, stoopid boy. And yeah, I know I'm not spelling stupid right. STOOPID is a higher level of STUPID.

My sister is smart. She's beautiful. She's wicked funny. If I was a man, I'd wanna date her.

Foolish, foolish boy. I hope your new Barbie doll has some sort of sexually transmitted disease. Or, better yet, finds out she likes Midge dolls better than Ken dolls.

My sister is younger than me, but I always made her do the scary stuff when we were kids. She always had to go downstairs and turn off the basement light. I always made HER go into the closet where the breaker box was to turn off the pool pump (I was too scared of the camel crickets...wouldn't you be?!?) Brooke always took the blame for stuff, too. (Um, sorry 'bout that, Neener.)

My sister is the one that whispered and giggled with me in the darkness, under those heavy quilts in our double bed. She's the one who would touch her popsicle toes to my leg at night to hear me yelp. My sister was also my accomplice one year when we took 2 small boxes out from under the Christmas tree and hid in our closet to open them weeks before Christmas. And she is the one I missed terribly when I moved into my own room the summer before 6th grade. I missed her so bad I cried myself to sleep every night for a week, even though it was MY decision to change rooms.

My sister has laughed with (and at) me, cried with me, yelled at me and counselled me throughout the years. She's the best sister in the world. There are days when I crave her company. C-R-A-V-E it like chocolate.

My sister has done was I was too chicken to do. She pursued a career. She got her master's degree and uses it to do a job she loves. She helps people on a daily basis, and she enjoys it.

I took the easy way out of life by getting married and having a family. I was too afraid to pursue a dream. I chose the security of a marriage and family over the fear of figuring out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I settled.

My sister soared.

And yet, she tells me she's jealous of my life. If only she knew how envious I am of her solitude. Her serenity. Her freedom.

*I* am the one that envies her. She's got it going on, y'all. One day, ONE DAY, some not-so-stoopid boy will discover the hidden treasure that is my sister, my neener, my bestest friend. And she'll be his. And I'm afraid she won't need me anymore.

And then what will I do?

I was thinking just today
About how we used to play
Baby dolls and make-up
Tea parties, dress up
I remember how we'd fight
We made up and laughed all night
Wish we were kids again
My sister, my friend

I've Retreated

This past weekend I got away from home. I retreated with a bunch of gals I'd never met (and one I had) to the town of Helen, Georgia. It was a BLAST.

I am a part of a great online community called ScrapShare. I can't really think of the appropriate words to describe this community. But, if I ever run away, I want to run away to the town of ScrapShare, USA. If only such a place existed!

Anyhow, back to the retreat.

About 18 or so of us gathered at Unicoi Lodge for a weekend of scrapbooking. As I unpacked and settled in to start working, it hit me: I'd forgotten to bring the photos I needed to finish my wedding album. I was mad at myself for being so careless (I had made a LIST, after all!), but I decided to just finish what I had brought and make myself available to whomever needed help.

I think I enjoyed myself more working on other people's layouts. I helped my friend, Malinda, finish an entire album and get halfway through another one. I loved it. It was so much fun! I also was entrusted with some photos of a new friend, Bev, for whom I did two double page spreads. I was honored that these two ladies would consider my work worthy enough to be in such a precious family heirloom.

It's been a long time since I was in the presence of adults (without kids!) for longer than an hour or two. This weekend really refreshed my soul. As we drove away from the lodge, I said to Malinda, "I think I finally remembered how to have FUN again. I haven't laughed so much in a long time." I needed that. I needed to laugh until my jaws hurt. I needed camaraderie. I needed to just be needed and feel needed and appreciated by someone other than my family. Thanks, Georgia girls.

I can't wait to go to Texas next month to meet more ScrapShare sisters and have MORE fun, but it's those Georgia girls that I'm longing to be with again...and soon!

Choco Taco -OR- Why Tide To Go Doesn't Make a Good Drumstick

Let me paint you a picture.

On the first Thursday of each month it is my responsibility to pick up a huge order from Taco Bell and deliver it to my 8 year-old's school. They don't serve hot lunch, so parent volunteers bring special lunches on Tues/Wed/Thurs.

So today I'm standing at the counter waiting on my order, chatting with the cashier. I jokingly said, "Now, the delivery person gets a free Choco Taco, right?" You know that way you have of saying something so it seems like your joking but really you hope they take you seriously, and then when they do you have to act all coy like you were just kidding? Yeah, well, that's what I was doing. So the nice cashier boy goes and gets me the Choco Taco. SCORE!



I get the food back to the car and drive off as I'm ripping open my Choco Taco. I'm trying to be oh-so-careful, because I have not proven myself to be the cleanest eater whilst inside a moving vehicle. I already had Coke splatter down the front of my shirt from an overfull cup I snagged at Chick Fil A (getting my daughter's lunch, 'cause she's not a fan of Taco Bell.)

About halfway to the school I polished off my Choco Taco and caught sight of a huge chocolate blob on my shirt. Right. Between. My. Hooters. Smashed. Ever done one of those art projects where you drop paint on the paper and then fold the paper in half to get a smushy symmetrical paint image? That's what happened to me. Chocolate blob butterfly right between the mammaries. LOVE. LY.

So I go digging in my bag for my Tide To Go, thinking I'd be able to apply it while driving (yeah, I know. I'm not bright.) I decided that wouldn't work, but I kept the tube in my hand anyhow.

I'm playing my iPod in the car, 'cause it's what I do when I'm driving. "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" started playing, and I'm groovin', using my Tide To Go as a pointer. Yeah, I let that devil have it with my Tide To Go stick. I'm glad my life isn't like "The Truman Show". It's not, is it? You'd tell me if it was, right?

The next song is even better. "Brick House" by The Commodores. "She's a brick howwwwse." I'm on drums again. Oh, yeah. Shake it down, shake it down, shake it down now...

Then a REAL drum song comes on. From the "Drumline" soundtrack. How PERFECT is THAT? So, right in the middle of my drum solo, the Tide To Go stick cracks. Tide To Go. Everywhere.

Blech.

The moral of this story is: when someone offers you a free Choco Taco, politely refuse. And for heaven's sake, don't try to go all Tommy Lee on your steering wheel with a stick of Tide To Go.

It's All in How You Ask

Just now my 2 year-old daughter brought a book to me and said, "Read me, Mommy."

I opened up the front cover and saw a big magenta scribble that undoubtedly came from a crayon.

"Did you color in this book, Lillian?"

"No."

"Lillo, did you color on this page?"

"No."

Lillian Grayce, did you huggah on this page?" ("Huggah" is 2 year-old for "color".)

"No."

"Who colored in this book, Lillian?"

"Me."

"Do you have stinky pants, Lillian?"

"No."

"Lillian, do you have poops?"

"No."

"Lillian, bring me a diaper. You stink."

"Okay. Wipes, too? Need cream, Mommy."

Days of Elijah

Have you ever listened to a song that gave you goosebumps? I have a list of songs that give me that reaction.

This is one of them:

Days Of Elijah (words and music by Robin Mark)

These are the days of Elijah,
Declaring the word of the Lord:
And these are the days of Your servant Moses,
Righteousness being restored.
And though these are days of great trial,
Of famine and darkness and sword,
Still, we are the voice in the desert crying
'Prepare ye the way of the Lord!'

Behold He comes riding on the clouds,
Shining like the sun at the trumpet call;
Lift your voice, it's the year of jubilee,
And out of Zion's hill salvation comes.

These are the days of Ezekiel,
The dry bones becoming as flesh;
And these are the days of Your servant David,
Rebuilding a temple of praise.
These are the days of the harvest,
The fields are as white in Your world,
And we are the labourers in Your vineyard,
Declaring the word of the Lord!

There's no God like Jehovah.
There's no God like Jehovah!

Our church choir has sung this on a few occasions, and this past Sunday it was included in our praise & worship time.

I.LOVE.THIS.SONG.

I put the Twila Paris version on my iPod and I crank it at least once a day. It just LIFTS ME UP.

Here's the story behind the song: Take a few minutes and read it. It gives me hope.

During the last few days and weeks I have stared open-mouthed at the TV screen night after night as I watched the evening's news. Things seem awful. There is true evil in this world, and at times I know the question is asked, "Where is God during all of this? Why does He let this stuff happen?"

I love this quote from Robin Mark as he explained how he came to write "Days of Elijah":

That these are not days of God stepping back and allowing the world and the church to roll uncontrolled towards eternity, but rather days when he is calling on his body to make a stand, to offer right praises and to declare that He is totally in control.

God's there. He's there. He has a plan. He's calling us as Christians to stand up and be the truth in the middle of lies. We are to shout loudly the hope of God in the middle of despair. We're beacons of light in a world of darkness. We're the city on the hill (Matthew 5:14 "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.")

There is no God like Jehovah.

Ode to My Husband...

Finally, someone has penned a song about my beloved hubby. Thank you, Weird Al.

Provided By MetroLyrics

No Consequences

No Consequences

"If you could live one day without consequences, what would you do?"

Gosh. The possibilities.

No consequences. Nobody finds out what I've done. Nobody knows. Nobody gets hurt. What WOULD I do?!?

If I had a day with no consequences, I would spend most of it without my children. Sorry, guys.

I only have 24 hours. Let's get this party started!

First I'd hop onto a private jet, which I would've rented for the entire day. I'd fly to some secluded, private beach and rent one of those little huts that sit right in the middle of the water. I'd lay in a hammock in the sun for a few hours, reading a book. The most delicious, calorie laden breakfast would be served to me on the deck of my hut. Fish would swim beneath my feet as I dined. There would be croissants, omelets made with the finest cheeses and eggs, pastries dripping with cream cheese and icing. Banana bread, blueberry muffins, Fruity Pebbles, Captain Crunch (both berry and peanut butter varieties!) WHOLE MILK, powdered donuts, and tons of Coca Cola served straight from GLASS bottles. I'm salivating.

After the beach I'd get back on the plane and head to some snowy place in the mountains of Colorado. I'd spend a couple of hours in an open field, tearing up the snow on my snowmobile. Then I'd relax in the hot tub for awhile to get warm. There would be a masseuse there to massage my aching muscles for about 2 hours. After the massage I'd enjoy all my favorite foods. I'd have to have egg rolls from Ming's Chinese restaurant, Stromboli steak sandwiches from Pasquale's, Cheeseburgers and seasoned crinkle fries from Milo's, Monte Cristo sandwiches from Bennigan's, Beer Cheese soup from Baby Doe's, Southwestern Egg Rolls from Chili's, Toasted Ravioli from The Olive Garden, Sensational Seven chocolate cake from Red Lobster (which they don't serve anymore!), ChimiCheesecakes from Applebee's, Mushroom Filets with Caramelized Onions from City Range, steak Fajitas from Cantinflas, The Peddler's salad bar (with unlimited vienna sausage!), potato salad from Mutt's BBQ, orange rolls from The Club in Birmingham, Johnny Ray's BBQ sandwiches, Bavarian pizzerts from Pizza Inn, Hibachi steak & shrimp with fried rice (and lots of shrimp sauce!) from Miyabi, a Caesar salad from ChopHouse 47, and one of my grandmother's homemade chocolate pies. I'd wash it all down with pitchers of amaretto sours.

After that feast I'd head back to the states. I'd pick up my husband and we'd spend a few hours at DisneyWorld in Florida (having rented it for the day, of course!) We'd ride TestTrack and Soarin' and Tower of Terror and Expedition:Everest a gazillion times each. I'd even ride Mission:Space since there are no consequences! We'd dine at the chef's table at Victoria & Albert's. We'd order EVERYTHING on the menu along with their best wines and champagnes. We'd spend an hour in the finest suite at the Grand Floridian... wink, wink.

I'd drop hubby off at the house (someone has to be with the kids!) I'd fly to the world's largest scrapbook store (wherever that is!) and buy them out. I'd hire a professional decorator and organizer to come redo my scrap room. They'd stay and redo the entire house as well. The house would be completely redone and decorated. Everyone would get new furniture. I'd replace everyone's linens with high thread count ones. I'd buy fluffy luxury towels (bath sheets!) for each bathroom.

I'd do some major shoe shopping. I'd replace my entire wardrobe. Heck, I'd replace everyone's entire wardrobe! (Woo hoo! new outfits for the kids from Gymboree, Hanna Andersson and April Cornell!)

I'd buy a new convertible black Saab with a killer sound system. I'd buy an iPod for my sister. I'd book an Alaskan cruise for my parents and a European cruise for myself and my husband. I'd have a pool put in the back yard. Landscapers would come and make my backyard look like The Secret Garden.

My sister and I would see every show on Broadway twice. Then we'd hop over to Chicago and get lucky enough to attend the taping of Oprah's Favorite Things show. Then I'd go appear on Jeopardy, The Price is Right and Wheel of Fortune.

I'd take abused children away from their parents and give them to people who would love them.
I'd pay off my parents' debts and build them a new house.

And after that, I'd be home in time to eat a simple dinner of fish sticks and macaroni and cheese with my kids. I would hug them and tickle them and kiss them, because I would realize that I missed them terribly. They'd tell me about their day and we'd giggle. We'd all crack up when someone burped. We'd make banana splits with everyone's favorite toppings and we'd read books until the kids' eyelids got heavy. My husband and I would tuck the kids into bed and we'd go to bed and whisper to one another in the dark until we fell asleep ourselves.

Then get up at midnight, because I'd realize I hadn't taken time to pee, and I'd feel weird because I couldn't recall a single minute from the day before except eating diner with my kids and falling asleep in my husband's arms.