Monday, April 30, 2007
Thank goodness our country does not have this.
Thanks to God who has allowed our country to be free and to Jesus who has set me free!
May I never take it for granted.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
OK. Bad hair is pushing it a bit.
So, I got to thinking about what else I could do to "contribute" ahem to society. Just be patient, folks. 'Kay? I am sure this little montage of nonsensical trivia will pass.
Whenever one of our enemies does something that is threatening our freedom, democracy, and pursuit of good hair, I'll just say, "Don't make me come over there."
That's only if "The Look" doesn't work. See, I'm all about diplomacy to a point. So first I'll try a less forceful approach. My policy may or may not follow this order. (I'm a mom and the leader of the free world. My policy is subject to change right along with my hair color.)
1. The Look.
2. The Threat.
3. The Countdown. "1, 2, 3, don't make me count to 5..."
4. The I'll Put the Fear of God in you.
Domestic Policy (and I don't mean who does the housekeeping)
-The first order of business is Labor Day. No one can wear white after this holiday. It just isn't done.
-Next is hunger in the US. No one will go to bed hungry unless they sassed their Mama.
-Everyone is required to take a course in manners and must carry a license as proof. If you are rude to a waitress in a restaurant or you decide to blow your nose in the middle of Pastor Bill's Easter sermon, you are required to pay a fine of $100 which will go towards the waitress's tip or the offering plate.
-Every US Citizen gets a birthday cake on their birthday. That's final.
-On a more serious note, if you have ever hurt a child, tried to hurt a child or even thought about hurting a child, (I'm a mom. I can read minds) I will personally come over there and follow the steps of the "Foreign Policy" only I will skip steps 1-3 and go straight to the Fear of God part.
Don't make me count to 1.
-Every person who serves or has ever served in the US military will never go hungry.
Unless he sassed his Mama.
-Every US citizen is required to take a course to learn the real sacrifice our military make. In order to complete the class, they must write "Freedom isn't free" 500 times while singing the National Anthem. (yes, they would have to learn the words.)
It is illegal to whine.
Pantyhose and uncomfortable support garments are banned.
No person will be discriminated against based on their race, gender, religion, Alma Mater, or NASCAR affiliation.
And just because I am in a good mood, I declare every Friday as Carbohydrate Day. See ya at Krispy Kreme!
Friday, April 27, 2007
1. During the interrogation process, if the crook won't talk, lock him alone in the room with a screaming toddler who refuses to eat. The only food available to feed the kid is beets and tofu. The crook must either talk or get the kid to eat.
That bandit will sing, I tell ya.
2. Once you've gotten the criminal to confess, he must wear the required prison uniform-
Support hose, a girdle, and a bridesmaid's dress. These were used in medieval torture chambers throughout Europe.
3. After diving for the bride's bouquet and ripping his pantyhose, he must be forced to participate in the following domestic tasks:
- Taking down 1960's vinyl wallpaper
- Removing mystery stains from upholstery
- Vacuuming the mini-van of a soccer mom and identifying all the molded objects found under the seat
- Paying all of the bills of a household on time through illness, vacation, and a death in the family.
- Sheepishly taking a pewk-stained comforter to the local cleaners
- When filling out the form for the cleaners, fill in "Child's Vomit Odor" in the needs special attention portion.
- Seek the help of any reputable repair man while spouse is away on business and the washing machine and every single toilet in the house are all broken. And everyone has the flu.
4. Watch every single episode of Teletubbies and The Wiggles.
5. Wake up at 5:00 AM Pacific Time in order to secure reservations for the Disney Breakfast with Cinderella at Disney World.
6. Take out a second mortgage in order to purchase the official Disney Cinderella dress-up outfit and the official glass slippers made of official Disney plastic so that the screaming toddler can be dressed appropriately for the Cinderella breakfast.
7. Wake up at 4:00 AM the day after Thanksgiving in order to stand in line at Wal-mart so that you can fight with 200 other sleepy moms over this year's new Cinderella toy that your toddler wants for Christmas because she had breakfast with Cinderella and now she wants nothing but Cinderella everything and I'm sorry, but Belle just won't do.
8. Assemble the Cinderella toy on Christmas morning after removing 100 plastic bread ties and the remains of a mystery stain on the box which may or may not be considered forensic evidence related to an alleged dispute with an alleged mom who thought she was going to get the last of this year's new Cinderella toy at Wal-mart but boy, you showed her.
9. Go to the post office. This may seem like cake to you, but it is pure torture to me.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A totally different Starbucks and we actually got out of the car. Call us adventurous!
So we were there sipping our liquid doughnuts when a clean cut gentleman walked in with dark classes, a badge and a gun. Christy leaned over and whispered to me,"He's FBI."
She pointed over to another man waiting for his coffee and said, "He's FBI, too."
As we chatted about kids and school, more men in dark glasses walked in. Between sips of coffee, Christy would pause to say, "He's FBI, too."
I finally stopped to ask,"Wait. Is there some kind of FBI office close by? I'm starting to get a little paranoid."
She informed me that there was indeed an office nearby. She then pointed out that one of the agents in the coffee house was married to her former boss and that "I hope he doesn't recognize me. I look AWFUL and I would just hate for him to go home to his wife and tell her he saw me out like this!"
There are criminals with their mugs on display in post offices everywhere evading capture. I'm pretty sure that most of them are not in Starbucks ordering a triple venti mocha, but hey- who knows? There are in fact, moms who look like they just rolled out of bed, sleepily rubbing their eyes, plotting to overthrow laundry stains while avoiding detection of a local FBI agent.
So we did what most women would do in our situation. We slipped out the side door- not to evade capture, but to avoid the possibility of one FBI agent telling his wife that Christy was out in public in her yoga pants and no make-up.
Adventurous and stealthy. Just call us Thelma and Louise.
After getting up and eating pancakes, my daughter curls up under the quilt with Big Fat Cat.
"Look, Mommy. I'm playin' the Cat-Tar."
"It's time to get dressed for school."
"I can't. I'm in charge of the Kitty Cat Spa Foundation."
One day recently when hubs came home from work...
"How was your day, Daddy? Did you check columns and columns of numbers that someone else checked and that someone will check after you?"
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Daughter- "Ummm... her hair."
Me- "What if she doesn't have pretty hair or what if she doesnt' have any hair? Can she still be pretty?"
Me- "Then what would make her pretty?"
Daughter- "Her attitude."
Me- "Anything else?"
Daughter- "Her voice."
Me- "What does a pretty voice sound like?"
Daughter- "Like yours."
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Margaret lives in a small town about a 30 minute drive from Waycross, the epicenter of the dangerous fires burning as I type. Margaret's little town may only have two red lights, but it does have more than a few beauty shops.
But that simply won't do.
Margaret called all of her brothers to ask one of them to drive her all the way to Waycross to get her hair done because come fire or high water, she was gonna look good. Folks in Waycross are fleeing for life and limb, sleeping on cots in churches and elementary school lunchrooms.
But Margaret needs a shampoo and set.
I don't know if one of the brothers gave in and actually drove her into the smokey haze of danger. I sure hope not.
If it wasn't so ridiculous in a time like this, it would be funny.
Southeast Georgia, a place near and dear to my heart, is being threatened and partially destroyed by fire. Firefighters are working around the clock and they are exhausted.
Some of my family have been forced to leave their homes. Please pray for the people, property, the firefighters and for the awesome wildlife and vegetation. If you have ever been to the Okefenokee Swamp, you know its unique beauty.
As of now, my parents (who currently live in Albany in Southwest Georgia) are here visiting and we cannot even get through the phone lines to check on our relatives who are dealing with these fires. Those who have left, are safe, but, the fire is spreading and more people may have to leave. That is the news we are waiting for.
I'll keep you posted.
As memes go, I've decided to make my own list of some of my 7 favorite songs. (There are just so many!) You may be a little surprised at a few and can I just say that a list of ONLY 7 is very hard for me. I love music. All music. Well, almost all music. I am not fond of the offensive stuff- you know, the stuff they play in the elevator. ;>)
1. Something About You- Level 42. If you weren't a teen in the 80's, you have no idea what I am talking about and if you were, you may still have no idea what I am talking about. I would bet you would know if you saw the video- the one with the train and the clown. Are you lost yet? I love the medley. It makes me want to sing with the radio in the car or Old Navy, or wherever I am.
2. The Rain- Oran "Juice" Jones. Feelin' crunchy like cornflakes without the milk. If you have heard it, you are laughing. right. now.
3. The One- Elton John. This was our wedding dance song. I love the lyrics. No one can write like Elton.
4. Georgia- Ray Charles. I'm a sap. And please, for the love of Pete, bless your heart, Michael Bolton, you just cannot compete with Ray.
5. Been Caught Stealin'- Jane's Addiction. For some reason, this is funny to me. I know. I'm weird. (I don't think it is meant to be taken seriously.)
6. Battle Hymn of The Republic- Makes me cry. every. single. time.
7. Cowboy Take Me Away- Dixie Chicks. They may not be PC, but they can sang. Until they deny Jesus, I still like them. Sorry folks.
These are just a sample of my favs. If you want to do this meme, leave a note in the comments.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Would all of you please lift them up in prayer? I am sorry I can't go into the details, but God knows and He loves them all.
Thank you, dear Internets! Y'all are awesome.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
BooMama is having a little contest over at her house and as Martha would say it is More Fun, More Fun! The deadline for entries is tonight @ 6:00 PM Central Time.
The post is funny in its own right, but the comments, Sweet Mercy! You'd better make a trip to the ladies' room before you start reading.
Best I can tell, the comments are proof that a southern woman does not let invitations or personal tragedy interfere with her opportunity to have good hair.
It's all about priorities, people.
Where? Virginia, My Town, Your Town, Our Town
When? April 16, 2007, Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
How? Evil overcomes the heart of one in a fallen world
Why? The evil seeks to devour and destroy.
Who? College students, faculty, his son, her daughter, your son, your daughter,
His Sons and Daughters
His Amazing Love
May God be with the families who grieve the loss of their children today.
*photo courtesy of Associated Press
Monday, April 16, 2007
So here goes...
Nothing will prepare you for Mommyhood. No book or manual or parenting class. Though they have good intentions, even our own mothers cannot prepare us for Mommyhood.
Since the day we told them, "You are going to be a grandma!" they have been there for us. They listened to us complain about morning sickness and rejoice at the first fluttering feelings of life growing inside our tummies. They saw us get bigger, and bigger, and bigger... and may I just say, they could have kept those observations to themselves? Ahem.
But, that's what they do. They're mothers.
Mothers are there when we go into labor- whether it is on time or surprisingly early. They try to tell their daughters about the pain. But, Oh. Sweet. Mercy. No one on God's green earth can prepare you for that.
Let me take a moment, on behalf of you and myself, to thank the inventor of the blessing from the pharmacy- the Epidural. Bless you, Ye Great Inventor of Numbing Gold. Bless you.
Okay. So no one, hard as they tried, prepared us for labor, but, somehow we made it through. The pain. The tears. The fear.
Because no one can prepare you for the love. The love a mother feels when she sees that tiny life God has given her. It is a love that you never knew before. A sweetness. A mystery. A miracle.
Nothing will prepare you for the quiet moments in the soft light as you hold your tiny baby to your heart. Nothing prepares you for the days you spend watching her sleep or play. The laundry and the dishes pile up and amazingly, you just don't care.
No one can warn you about the dangers of the world. No one will explain the fear you will feel when she is so sick and you just don't know what to do. Nothing prepares you for the fever that just won't break, or the arm that did, for the drive to the emergency room in the middle of the night, or the long, tearful prayers for healing.
No one can prepare you for the days, the nights, the years ahead. Your baby girl will go to sleep tonight a tiny, fragile expression of God's Love. Before you know it, one morning she'll wake up a toddler, refusing to eat. One day she'll be on her way to Kindergarten, then First Grade, and so on.
And one day, our little girls will call us to say, "Mom, you're going to be a grandma!"
We'll try to give them advice and they'll ignore us. We'll try to prepare them for what is ahead. The pain. The fear. The love. We'll try to prepare them for Mommyhood, but we won't be able to.
That's Okay. That's what we'll do. We're Mothers.
Just remind me not to tell them how big they're getting.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Here is one of them-
Is she cute or what?
The idea is to encourage our little girls to express their fashion creativity in a modest way, while expressing their faith and learning about The One who created them. The dolls come with a small Bible and a journal. There are some really cute accessories and one of the dolls even has her own "blog."
If any of you have these for your little girls, leave a comment. I'd love to hear about them. For more info about these cute dolls, go here.
Kudos to the inventors of these cute little toys!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Thanks, Denise, for your caring comments. They were very thoughtful and compassionate. I appreciate the chance to clarify. :>)
Hang on a minute. I need to clear my throat for this one...
So I was at my local coffee house this morning purchasing my liquid doughnut. Most of the time I go through the drive thru because I am dressed like well, a bum. But not immodestly. This lovely, lovely woman named "Betty" is usually there each morning and I look forward to seeing her at the drive thru window. She is friendly and bubbly and over the age of 3o.
This morning I ordered my usual Venti Mocha and drove around to wait for my delightful blend of hot cocoa and caffeine. (Genius!) As "Betty" cheerfully greeted me and took my money I was not-so-cheerfully greeted by the flash of a tattoo and undergarments of the Mocha Maker.
Picture this. I am sitting in the drive thru- eye level to this young woman's backside. Her shirt is hiked up in the back and I can see her tattoo just above the edge of her waistline. If I had not turned away so quickly, I also could have read the brand name of her undergarments. I came to be awakened by espresso and sugar, not the tacky backside of a twenty-something tart.
Express yourself somewhere else.
When the delightful Betty started to hand me my coffee, I politely said to her, "Please tell that girl to pull up her pants."
Betty turned and saw what I was talking about and then she quietly slipped away out of sight. I am guessing she said something to a manager. She returned to the window with a smile, handed me my mocha and with a wink she said,"It's taken care of. I agree."
There is actually a point to this rant, which is this. I am going to start complaining to management when I enter a store and employees are scantily clad with piercings in places that shouldn't be pierced, tattoos inappropriately displayed and undergarments showing. Hello! That's why they are called undergarments. They go under clothing. They aren't the actual clothing itself.
Most of the time I just roll my eyes or walk away, but after this morning I've decided to speak up. It is up to the customers who enter these establishments to at least try to make a difference. I will always try to make my complaints known in a polite manner instead of what I really would like to do.
Like reach in the drive thru window and jerk that girl's britches up so hard that she would have suffered from an atomic wedgie.
But I held back. I was nice. Frank and honest, but nice.
It's just a good thing it happened before I had my mocha.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Yes, Kate Spade.
I can't help The BooMa, although I would love to oblige. To tell you the truth, BooMama is so popular that I would think we would all be asking her for Kate's cell number so we could text message her. Or maybe Boo is just holding out on us, seeing as how she is so humble and all. That's why we love her.
So, if any of you out there reading this happen to know or think you know someone who may know Kate Spade or hey, maybe you are actually Kate Spade (yeah, right) head on over to BooMama's blog and fill her in on all the low down. (And Kate, if you are reading this, "What's up, my homegirl?")
Big Mama's drug post has put me in some sort of tragic gangsta mode...
I have to tell y'all about my most recent celeb encounter. I say most recent because there have been several in my life. One was years ago when my husband and I were in Dulles airport and we saw Prince.
Well, it wasn't actually Prince then. He was The Artist formerly known as Prince. He was really not even an artist; he was a symbol.
So we saw what appeared to be the symbol formerly known as Prince escorted by two very large scary looking bodyguards. (Not Kevin Costner) And our conversation went something like this:
Hubs- "Look! That guy thinks he's The Artist formerly known as Prince."
Me- "It is The Artist formerly known as Prince."
Me- "Yes Huh!"
Interrupted by passenger walking by as The Artist leaves our sight, "Yes. It was him. He was on my flight. They let him get off the plane early."
Add the fact that the symbol formerly known as The Artist formerly known as Prince was close enough to hear our entire conversation and you can imagine why it has been one of the funniest moments in our marriage.
Back to my most recent encounter.
I was in Target one afternoon looking SUPER FLY with no make-up, a top knot for a hairdo and sweats. Let me be specific- I was wearing this shirt:
Then I saw him. Emeril Lagasse. Yes, m'am. I did. He pushed his little red cart right next to my little red cart, but I think my little red cart had more stuff in it. By the time I realized it was him, he had vanished into the housewares department and I was standing there like a deer in headlights with a bewildered look on my face.
"Yes. It's him," another shopper said. Apparently she could read my bewildered look.
"I think it is. I heard him talk. He has a distinct voice," I said to her as she pushed her little red cart.
I didn't want to approach him and be all paparazzi or anything. And, let's face it. I was in Target looking fine in my sweatpants and "the shirt." What was I going to do? Run up to him and say, "BAM! Can I have your autograph?" What would the man think?
Who is this deranged woman with that horrible top knot and exactly what kind of novel is she writing?
So I decided to lay low and just stare from afar. Oh, you know you would have stared, too! I went to the check-out lanes with my own little red cart and watched as he unloaded his little red cart. Then he did the most amazing thing! He bought paper towels! IN BULK!
I am in the know when it comes to the paper product purchasing of the rich and famous. It's an untapped tabloid market these days.
The brand? Wouldn't you like to know... I like to keep some things a secret. That's what makes me so mysterious... and weird.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
(In a low whisper) "Mommy, I saw a Royal Potty."
"A Royal Potty. Come see."
"Why are you whispering it? Because you didn't want to say potty?"
"Yes. Come see!"
Indeed it was a portable potty seat for a little one. And it was quite royal.
The Fisher Price Royal Potty Stepstool
While petting Maggie, the big-fat-cat.
"Maggie, I'll be nice to you... even though you're squishing my guts out."
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Hubs- "What's the deal with Stan?"
Me- "What? Stan?"
Hubs- "Yeah. What's up with Stan?"
Me- "It's StanD. Not Stan!"
Hubs- "Ohhh. I thought it was some kind of catch phrase, "That's Allstate, Stan."
Me- "That's Allstate's StanD."
Me- "You thought they were trying to get Stan to buy insurance. There is this one guy out there who refuses to buy Allstate and his name is Stan."
Hubs- "Yep. Now, that's focus advertising."
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Molly Amelia was born this morning, weighing 5 lbs., 5 oz.
Mom is doing well and Dad was present for the birth.
Thank you for your prayers, internets!
Friday, April 06, 2007
Sadness is not an emotion or a feeling. Sadness has breath and life. It stares you down with dark, piercing eyes. Sometimes it sneaks up on you in an unguarded moment. Sometimes you can see it in the distance, creeping slowly towards you until the hour comes when it strangles you in its dark, deathly hold.
Survival comes when you break free from the strangling, gasping for breath until the sadness runs away, hiding from the Light.
God is The Light.
Over 2000 years ago, this kind of sadness covered Mary, the mother of Jesus, and John, the beloved disciple. Sadness overwhelmed them as they stood helpless at the foot of The Cross watching their Christ slowly die. They were helpless to save Him, but He was not helpless to save them.
The darkness came and sadness hung thick in the air. Its weight crushed them. It was the kind of sadness that crying doesn't relieve. The tears come until one can cry no more and the heavy sadness makes it hard to breathe.
The Father and The Son were separated for the first time as my sins were laid upon Christ's beaten back. He held them on His weary shoulders, naked and humiliated, hanging in the dark sky on display for the fallen world. They mocked Him and spat on Him. All because of me. And you.
He had the power to save Himself but He used it to save the world.
From the sadness. From death. From eternal darkness.
And as He promised, the sadness left. The darkness was overcome with The Light. He rose from the dead in all glory so that we can be with Him one day in heaven.
Where there shall me no more tears, no more sadness, and no more darkness.
Just pure, saving, life-giving Light.
Without going into details about T's condition, I would just like to ask you to-
* Pray for her, the baby, and the family that is comforting them.
* Please pray that the medical staff will make the right decisions and make them in a timely manner.
* Pray that God will be glorified through it all.
Thank you for all of your prayers.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
I didn't think I was a thinker. But I guess that makes me a thinker, or does it?
Seriously, I do like a good discussion with hubs and friends about life, liberty and the pursuit of chocolate but I seldom write about those things.
Except the chocolate.
Thanks, His Singer, for thinking of me.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
All alone on the side of the road.
You are the forgotten one.
The right one.
The left one.
I just don't know.
I just keep on driving.
Wondering, "Where is your sole mate?"
I never stop to pick you up.
Or offer you a ride.
I just keep on driving.
A few times, I think I may have run over you.
(Sorry about the tread marks.)
Surely, you must be lonely there.
On the side of the road.
Or the highway.
Or the curb.
Caught between two lanes of traffic.
Trapped in this pothole called Life.
The mystery shuffles on.
And still, you wait.
Like all the others.
The flip flop.
Carry on, lonesome one.
And I had to grab it (and pay for it, of course!) because I knew that Mrs. Dryer herself had a very touching story waiting for me to read between the pages.
I started to tell the cashier, "Yep. My friend wrote something in there... well she isn't really a friend, she is a blog friend and I have never met her, but we've emailed and I love her blog, and she is a sister in Christ, so yes... yes, she is my friend."
But the cashier looked like she was collecting two checks- One from Target and One from Social Security.
So I thought she would just say, "What, honey? What's a blog?"
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
No, really. I need to clear my throat. It's the Hack and Wheeze.
I'll spare you the rest of the details. Let's just say that I don't know why the Good Lord decided to make our bodies produce oddities that come from the nostrils and lungs.
And I hope you good folks already ate dinner.
Speaking of dinner, let me tell y'all more grossness from our house. I think I just invented a word.
At exactly midnight Sunday, the digital clock struck a digital twelve and my daughter hurled in her sleep all over our bed. All. Over. Our. Bed. With. Me. In. It.
My very southern comforter in all its magnolia blossom glory has a teeny tiny little label sewn into the seam where the magnolias meet with some lovely dogwood blossoms in a delightful display of southern comfort without the liquor. (I'm Baptist.)
Dry clean only.
I do have one ounce of mercy in me and I did not take the hurled upon not-so-comfortable comforter to the cleaners. I washed it in the washing machine like a good Mama does and it is now air drying in the bath tub as I pray that someone was just trying to play a joke on me when they placed such rigid laundering rules on my bedding.
Just as the lovely carriage turned back into a pumpkin, my daughter threw up and then she wanted the details.
"Mama, what did I just throw up?"
"Chicken Ya Ya (that's chicken nuggets to you rookies) and salad."
"And the ketchup on my chicken?"
"Yep. That, too."
"Now that my stomach is all empty, can I have something to eat?"
It's just a buffet of disgusting information at my house.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Jazz. Sanjaya, you must never, ever sing that song ever again because that song belongs to The English Patient in my head and you ain't no English patient. You don't even look ill. Please, sweet mercy, go to college and make your parents proud because I just can't take any more. Bless your heart. I know your Mama is so proud of you. I'm just sayin.
And did y'all know that Elvis is alive? I saw him today while house hunting. His full size poster was plastered on the wall of what could be used as a guest room or an office but is currently being used as a Sewing Room/Elvis Shrine.
As my Mama would say in a whisper, "To each his own. I didn't care for it."
Bless his heart.
Monday, April 02, 2007
My sister-in-law really needs your prayers. Her water broke and she is 6 weeks early. Her husband is across the world right now serving his country. He was supposed to be home this week, in plenty of time for the birth.
My in-laws are driving down to be with her as I type. I am many hours away myself.
The baby's heart rate is fine. Please pray for T and the baby, and for Daddy-to-be who is far away right now.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
I love to read things by Abraham Lincoln, Eleanor Roosevelt, Mark Twain and Erma Bombeck. I started to list one or two, but there were just too many to choose from.
So, here are a few of my own. They will surely leave no mark on your life or your floors.
Quotes by Melanie @ This Ain't New York
"I am tired of reading about successful women with briefcases, Botox, and million dollar bank accounts. Show me a woman who can get a two year old to eat dinner and remove ketchup stains from natural fibers. Now, she's my hero."
"If I had super powers, I would wave a wand over my house and make it look like the after pictures on all of those Extreme Makeover Home Shows, only prettier."
"If a mother were ever President, they would have to do away with the Oval Office.
"The only women in history who were remembered for being skinny were starving to death."