Be dazzled.

I have to tell y'all the rest of the story about the white flowers and how, most of the time, when I can remember what on Earth I am supposed to do, I tend to be the reliable Mom.

Except for the time I missed a school meeting for parents of exceptional kids because I FORGOT. Go ahead and give me my itinerary for that guilt trip.

Anyway.

Yesterday when I met daughter for lunch, it was only after she had asked her daddy the night before and he said he couldn't go. I knew this as soon as she asked me, but I didn't even hint that I had figured out her plight.

I asked Hubs, "Did she ask you to go to lunch with her first and you said you couldn't?"

"Yep."

"That's what I thought."

Not that I feel rejected or anything.

When I showed up at the lunchroom to meet daughter, Chick-Fil-A kids' meal in hand, guess who was walking with the class alongside daughter?

Yep, Hubs.

Daughter was tickled to death to have both Mom and Dad at lunch. Everyone probably thought it was her birthday and we were just too cheap to send in cupcakes.

Apparently, hubs managed to get his work done and was able to get away at lunch. He knew I was going, but decided to go anyway. It was a quiet family affair in the midst of the cafeteria chaos.

I turned to daughter and said,"You know, I told your grandmother that your daddy is the sequin vest, all shiny and sparkly and fun. And I am the old, worn out sweatshirt, all boring and tired, but reliable and warm."

Hubs just laughed and, after an explanation of the analogy, daughter laughed, too.

Then I said,"Really, Daddy is a sweatshirt that has been bedazzled because he is really reliable, but he is fun and sparkly all at the same time."

Daughter thought this was a hoot and said,"Daddy! You've been bedazzled!!"

Yes, but did he bring any flowers?

;>)

Boy. I'm just glad it wasn't orchids.

Last night, about this time, I got an interesting request.

"Mommy, I need to bring either one or two white carnations to school."

Keep in mind that the little person making the request was actually supposed to be asleep and I was sitting at the laptop in my pajamas.

"When do you need the flowers?"

"Um, tomorrow or the next day would be good."

(deep sigh)

"It would have been helpful for you to tell me earlier today when I could have stopped somewhere to get the flowers. Now we have to get up early tomorrow and go to Publix to buy some."

"I'm sorry."

"Ok. Go to bed. Do you need a dozen cupcakes, too?"

Giggle, giggle.

Fast forward to this morning in Publix less than an hour after they opened and before the retirees have even completed their morning walks. (Too early.)

Thinking to myself, "I hate carnations. I know what experiment they are doing, the one with the food coloring. How am I going to find a white carnation at the grocery store at the crack of dawn before I've had a full cup of coffee..."

"Honey, we may not find carnations."

"That's OK. The teacher said white roses work pretty good."

Thinking to self, "Roses from Publix for a school project."

"I don't see any carnations or roses. They have daisies and mums."

"Actually, the teacher said any white flower will do."

Muttering to self.

"Which ones do you want?"

"Daisies."

Pay for bouquet of white daisies.

Thinking to self, "Much better than carnations."

Meet daughter for lunch, hours later...

Teacher- "Thanks for the white flowers. I asked the kids to bring in one or two if they could. Now we will have enough to try different colors. It is such a neat experiment for them."

Sit down to eat with daughter-

"Mommy, I was the only one who brought flowers in today."

Smile.

So this lady walks into a card shop.

"Hello, may I help you?" asked the twenty-something clerk.

"Yes, I would like a birthday card," said the lady.

"We don't have birthday cards," said the clerk.

Puzzled, the lady replied,"What do you mean you don't have birthday cards? This is a card shop. Isn't it?"

And the dialogue continued.

"Yes, this is a card shop, but we stopped carrying birthday cards because we feel that it offends the people who come in here and do not want birthdays, do not celebrate birthdays or do not have birthdays."

"Huh?"

"Now we only carry Happy Day cards. Let me show you..."

"I don't want a Happy Day card. I want a Happy Birthday card."

"You can squeeze Birth in front of Day on the Happy Day cards."

"Wha??"

"Oh, wait a minute...let me get a pen." (slash, slash)

"There. I crossed out Happy on the Happy Day cards. I don't want to offend anyone who comes in here and doesn't feel happy. I wouldn't want to upset them. You can buy a Day card."

Lady stands speechless.

"Ooops. Wait a second." (slash, slash)

"There. I crossed out Day. I don't want to offend anyone who works the night shift or any of the bats and possums."

"Or better yet. Why don't you just not buy a card? There is just too much energy wasted in signing and reading a card. Take one of these."

Hands something to the lady.

"What's this?"

"It's a seedling. Go plant a holiday tree. I hear they used to have something to do with someone's birthday."

:>)

I knew her when...

My sweet, talented friend Nancy has just added some new pieces to her gallery.

I am sitting on the sofa writing about stray cats and vegetable injuries and she is busy creating things like this.

Visit her blog to see some of her new works and take a peek at her entire gallery in the sidebar.

I hope one day she'll remember the little people like me.

(sigh)

;>)

Bon Appetit! Medic!

Yesterday I was at Publix trying my best to find anything remotely nutritious that did not include turkey, cornbread or sweet potatoes.

Because I've had about enough of that for a while... or at least until Christmas.

So I decided to get gourmet (not) and make a pasta dish with shrimp and a creamy sauce and even warm up some croissants which made me want to walk around saying things like,"Oui, oui, Mademoiselle....Ratatouille...French Dressing."

I am so refined.

Then I got all uppity and decided that I would cook an artichoke. Not in the can. Not in a dip. A fancy, fresh artichoke.

I am seriously considering writing a letter to someone because they need to post a warning on those artichokes. I reached for one and as I arrogantly put it in my cart, the little green thing stabbed me right there in the produce section next to the asparagus and the zucchini, with small children watching.

It was quite dangerous and I think others should be warned. You know, those artichokes have been known to kill people.

I even warned the cashier,"Look out for that artichoke. It is prickly. I poked myself."

That sentence alone should tell you why the artichoke is still on my kitchen counter awaiting a brilliant roasting recipe with a balsamic something or other and why maybe I need to stick with recipes which call for things like turkey, cornbread and sweet potatoes.

Miss Congeniality takes on a whole new meaning.

All I can say about this girl is Bless Her Heart.

And I don't care where she is from, this girl has some Southern blood in her. Any girl who can survive pepper spray and hives and still keep that kind of height on her hair deserves a crown.

I'm just sayin.'

Shop 'til you pull something.

In Ye Grand Ole American tradition, I joined the other turkeys yesterday for some shopping on the day after Thanksgiving.



Also Known As- The one day of the year when even the sweetest old lady can turn into a monster while diving for the last Elmo on the shelf at Wal-mart and all at the hour of 4:00 AM.



I think these same women are the ones who will hurt you while trying to catch the bride's bouquet. In fact, Black Friday shopping is training for catching the bride's bouquet. If it weren't for the fact that there was no chiffon or taffeta, I would have thought I was a bridesmaid all over again.

But I have never been in the early crowd. No. I'm a late shopper. I usually show up around 10:00 or 11:00 AM. You pros out there are probably aghast, but I just can't get up that early for any sale. Unless the stores start handing out espresso and diamonds for free, I will be all snug in my bed when the last Elmo leaves the shelf at 4:05 AM.

I found some pretty cute items and managed to get some Christmas shopping done. I can't say what because I never know who is reading this blog, but let's just say that nearly everyone in my family was represented in my shopping bags.

I've been looking for a new stainless flatware set for us and I found a really pretty one for 50 % off. Score! I am so happy with it. Hubs and daughter looked at me strangely and rolled their eyes when I came home and sat at the kitchen table, carefully unwrapping the new,shiny spoons and forks and squealing with excitement.

It doesn't take much, folks.

Give my daughter a few years or so. She'll understand. Hubs? He'll never get it. He's a man. He can't help it.

At the end of my shopping spree, I really could have shopped more, but the silverware was literally weighing me down. You should have seen me at one of those benches in the mall, trying to balance the weight of it all in both hands.

A man was sitting at a bench across from me, watching me struggle. He probably thought,"I'll bet my wife has that much stuff by now."

I managed to balance the goods so that I could hobble off to the car which, of course, was parked at the opposite end of the mall. It's a good thing, too. I could have really hurt myself. You know, shoppers have been known to pull a muscle or throw a back out from not using proper shopper body mechanics.

The only other place you see an injury like that is at a wedding.

;>)

The table is set.

This Thanksgiving we stayed at home, just the three of us. I still cooked the turkey with all of the fixings, along with some pies.

I told my daughter a few days ago, as we were getting ready for the day, that she could decorate the table. She designed the no-sew runner and place mats for us, and helped me pick out the dishes we would use.

While making the place mats, she asked about a Bible verse to write on them. I took the opportunity to show her how to use the concordance, and we looked up "thanks."

After searching through several verses, she chose this one-

"And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry." 1 Tim. 1:12

And so we set the table. With store bought linens alongside handmade ones, wedding crystal with Grandmom's wheat dishes and depression glass. A hodgepodge of items with meanings of their own. Some memories- old. Others- new.

Even though we set the table for three, there is room for more. I hope that I would always make someone feel welcome at our table, in our home. I always want to have a place for someone else.

Especially for Jesus. My hope is that I would always make room for Him at our table. I hope that I would welcome Him if He arrived on our porch as a hungry man or a lonely widow. As a loved one in need of comfort, a relative in need of a kind word, or a neighbor searching for a friend.

I hope that I would welcome Him always. In thought. In word. In deed. In giving thanks on this day and every day.

Thank you, Jesus for everything you have given. Thank you for my salvation. Thank you for my husband and my beautiful daughter. Thank you for parents who took me to church. Thank you for sweet friends I can call on in the night. Thank you for all you have done. I didn't deserve any of it and that is what makes me thank you even more.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Got the Thanksgiving Jitters?

If you are up late tonight, making a pie and trying to figure out why on Earth that bird has not thawed yet, let me just give you a few helpful tips.

If you forgot an ingredient in something, don't worry. Wal-mart is still open.

The goal is not perfection. No. The goal is to keep everyone out of the ER and Uncle Ray off of COPS.

Remember, you aren't your grandmother. I have no idea how she did it. My only guess is that there was something in the water back then that made her have more energy, more sense, and more cooking skills.

Martha Stewart makes it all look soooo easy. She has one secret. It's called "staff."

If you are still up and reading this, stop now and check that bird. It should have thawed by now.

Happy cooking!

Michael W. Smith- Blogger Preview

Check this site for a great opportunity to decorate for Christmas
while listening to Michael W. Smith and then blog about it.

How cool is that?

Thanks to Michael W. Smith for this great offer.

The wisdom of a young cowboy

I saw this yesterday and it brought me to tears. Get a tissue before you listen.

If you are a little down this Thanksgiving, if you have lost a loved one, if you are struggling in your marriage, if you are going through a divorce or a serious illness, just remember there is a God who loves you.

Just run to Him.

Click here to listen to Logan.

How much for a trade-in?

Yesterday morning hubs found what one could call a surprise on the bathroom rug and on a towel, although we wouldn't call it a surprise, because Maggie has been quite consistent with her kidney related issues- the ones in which the Vet ran a complete panel of tests and said there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. Well, at least not physically.

So I tossed them both in the washing machine. (The rug and towel. Not Maggie and the Vet.)

Then the intruder arrived on the porch, all sweet and nice and purring and lounging on my wicker furniture without leaving a stain.

Last night when we went to bed, I told hubs that I was putting Maggie in the garage.

He said,"ALL NIGHT?"

"Yes. It's not cold outside."

"Poor, poor Maggie. She is getting banished to the garage."

"Well, she needs to quit going on the rugs."

So this morning I let her in and she let out a moan and a groan in an Oh, The Trouble I've Seen fashion that would have alerted the Humane Society. She didn't stop griping until she got to the kitchen so that she would look sweet and impress me so that I would feed her.

It's all about her.

I tell you what. This cat of mine. She is like the little old lady in the fur coat who has spent her entire life managing the ladies' rummage sale and now she suddenly decides to get a convertible and ride around in Paris shopping for high heel shoes and drinking Perrier with lime. Then she arrives at the family reunion with a new boyfriend who is at least 25 cat years younger than her, and they are both sporting tattoos that say,"Simba" and tiger's eye belly button rings.

If they had belly buttons.

Listen up, Maggie. There is a sweet, short haired replacement with better bladder control and manners waiting outside on the porch. You'd better start losing that mid-life crisis of yours, or the garage will be the least of your worries.

In case you are new to my blog, please know that Maggie could be going on my husband's pillow and I wouldn't give her up. My pillow? Well... ;>)

That Noah!

Here is an update on my porch, my day, and an overdue photo of a cardboard watercraft.

Daughter is out of school and, other than one errand this morning, our day was completely open for some extraordinary entertainment. We planned our Thanksgiving table decor AKA excuse for crafting and we watched the intruder on our porch.

Daughter found him lounging on the wicker love seat. We decided to let him stay. He looked harmless enough. I took out the trash later and found him nestled with one of the scarecrows in a wicker chair. When I tried to snap his picture, he jumped down and gave me this pitiful look-

Right after he rubbed his head on my foot.

Notice the flip flops. I realize it is November, but it is still flip flop weather where I live.

So, anyhoo.

I went outside again and this time our little intruder wanted to go back inside with me. I guess the wicker wasn't comfortable enough for him.

When I told him, "No, sweetie. You have to stay out here. We already have a kitty cat. You can hang out on our porch and we won't bother you," he gave me this look-

The "I can't believe you are giving me the It's not you, it's me routine. "

Nothing like being rejected by a cat that you just rejected.

Ouch.

On another note, here is the long overdue Noah's Ark photo from Trunk Or Treat. I know. It is so lamely late. I promise that the photo is crooked, not the ark. Either that or I need the tires checked.



Exactly how many cats did Noah take on the ark? I wonder. All of their descendants end up on my porch.

If I ever go missing, just send out a team of stray cats. They always seem to find me.

Comment of the Week # 9

This week's award goes to Annie for her sweet comment to this post.



"That is so sweet. I loved sleep overs as a little girl. I even try to have big girl sleepover parties every once in awhile. When the universe conspires and all the daddies can watch all the babies. I call the extra children in my life my born of the heart babies. They just grow in my heart until it gives birth to an awesome love." -Annie


"Born of the heart." I love that! :>)

Portion size is in the eye of the beholder.

After all of the talk about my people and their large portions, it got me to thinking.

The women in my family can put away some groceries.

And I do not mean in the pantry.

Now that I think about it, none of us are rail thin. Most of us have had our moments of "Don't she look good?"s, but for the most part, we are all prepared for winter.

And that's all I will say.

My grandmother, Mama's mother, was very tiny when she passed away. She wasn't always that way. She had put on a little weight (the Southern way of saying one needs a girdle) and then she had bypass surgery which put the Fear Of God in her. From that point on, she ate like a bird.

She would take tiny bites off of a potato chip and then put it down. Who puts down a potato chip? She would always say she was getting full and when you offered her something from the table she would say,"Oh. Just a temp." That was her word for a small portion. (Like half a bite.)

But put a plate of fried catfish or popcorn shrimp in front of her and it was no holds barred. Granny could eat some fish. Oh, yes she could. Whenever our family had a fish fry, Granny could nearly beat my Daddy in the number of catfish fillets consumed.

Did I ever mention that my Daddy is also skinny as a rail? He is the only man I know who can actually tighten his belt after a large meal. Why, oh why did I not inherit this gene?

My daughter runs a close second to Daddy these days when it comes to eating a platter of catfish. The child will eat an adult entree complete with cheese grits and hush puppies. (And she is skinny as a rail.)


Granny would be so proud.

I'm off to the chair...

Checking in to say hello and thanks for your fashion advice. I am off to get my hair done, and it is only Thursday.

I still have to share the Road Trip with y'all. Combine that info with the beauty shop scoop I am soon to learn, and we may be on to something...

See you in a bit-

Stuck Between Maternity and New York City

It has become apparent that I am out of touch with today's fashion.

I was out shopping today, looking for some clothes for church. Something. Anything modest and decent and fashionable and cheap.

At this point, I'll go for two out of three.

Seriously, if it were not for Big Mama's Fashion Fridays and my sweet friend Christy (who has a local ladies' boutique) I would have no clue what was in style these days. Let me take a moment to thank these dear ladies for their charitable offerings to my wardrobe poverty. You are too kind.

I've never been one to follow the trends. I usually know what is in style, but I tend to go conservative and classic over super trendy. But today I realized that I have forgotten what defines classic.

Unless a v-neck top and capri pants are considered classic. If that is the case, well, somebody call Vogue, I am a fashionista.

I have nearly every color of plain t-shirt, long sleeve and short sleeve, in my dresser drawers. Some of them are my "good" ones, which means they do not have bleach stains on them. These are reserved for going somewhere. The stained or otherwise "not good" ones are reserved for yard work, painting projects, and cleaning the kitchen sink.

Can you stand the excitement?

I do have a few new items (thanks to Christy) but I need a few more. I have lost a few pounds and now I must buy new clothes out of necessity. (Yeah. That's the reason.)

What I realized today is that I must have been on a deserted island for the past eight years or so, because from the time I was pregnant to now, all of the cute, easy stuff is just gone. I realized today that if Forrest Gump had been with me he would have said, "Fashion is tough."

And then he probably would have just run, run away because that is what Jenny told him to do and if you had seen me in some of those flouncy wrap dresses today, you would've have run, too.


So, here is the deal. I need your help, Internets. If you are in your thirties, what on Earth do you wear? Where do you find clothes that fit?

Are any of you stuck in postpartum fashion failure or are you one of the lucky ones whose fashion sense snapped right back, along with your figure?

And if you are one of the lucky ones, please know that I don't hate you. Really.

(Grrrr....)

Works For Me Wednesday: Local Sales

While reading a magazine today, I happened upon this site.

Here is how it works-

Register your zip code to find out the sales at local stores.

You can even check out deals on groceries!

View weekly ads and flyers.

(Sounds like a great tool for those after Thanksgiving sales.)

I hope to use the site to find the best deals on Christmas gifts. Check it out!

See Shannon for more great tips this Wednesday.

Thank you, Peter Pan

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. In addition to the menu planning and the turkey purchasing, I decided to start my list of Thankfuls.

wink wink

If you are new here, please don't think me disrespectful. Sarcastic and nuts, yes. Disrespectful and ungrateful, no.

wink wink again

I am thankful for the following, in no particular order:

1. Indoor plumbing

2. Make-up. (Such big miracles in such tiny packaging)

3. Diet Coke

4. Dyson (moment of silence in respect for Mr. Dyson himself)

5. Saltine crackers (They do wonders for nausea and soup, but not necessarily at the same time. Unless the soup made you sick.)

6. Peanut Butter

7. Lycra

8. The big toe. Without it, we would all be off balance. Yeah, you would.

9. Aretha Franklin. Her music makes me smile no matter what. It also makes me want to dance, which is why I am even more thankful for #8.

And the list goes on...

Blog Comments??

Several of you have said you are having trouble leaving comments on my blog. If you are having trouble, would you please email me at the email address in my profile? I think it has something to do with Google.

I don't allow anonymous comments. Having registered commenters helps with the SPAM content and keeps the language appropriate.

Feel free to email me. I may not answer immediately, but I do always read them and answer eventually.

Thanks for your patience!

:>)

When giggles turn to dreams

They are sitting in the floor right now, eating popcorn and watching Air Buddies. My two girls.

One of them I actually gave birth to and the other, well, I would have given birth to her too, if her Mama hadn't done it already. I have several other "children" like her. Children of close friends, best friends. Sweet children that I would have picked for my own, given the chance.

This other girl of mine has brown hair with curls and waves that fall gracefully on her shoulders. Her curls turn to tendrils when she has played and giggled past her bedtime, or when she has gotten too hot in the sun. Her eyes are brown and large, puppy dog eyes, which fit her; she adores all things canine.

Including the great wolf.

Ever since I can remember, she has loved the wild, yet gentle nature of the wolf. An unlikely devotion for a child.

And I remember so much.

I remember her playing with my little girl in our backyard, helping her blow out the candles at many birthday parties, the two of them riding the carousel at the mall.

I remember her very first spend-the-night, how I set up a tent in the living room. The girls watched patiently, then climbed in and peered out at the television. After many OK, girls. Go to sleeps, this other child of mine said softly in the dark, "Miss Melanie, I wanted to sleep in the magic bed."

So the three of us gathered our pillows and blankies and furry friends and went to my little one's room, where I set up the magic bed (trundle) and both of "my" girls drifted off to sleep.

And tonight, I will be able to share more memories with them, even though they may not know I'm listening. I'll hear their giggles and their quiet girlfriend moments through the door. After many Go to sleeps, they will drift off to sleep (finally) and I will do the same.

Sweet dreams, girls.

Sweet dreams.

Comment of the Week #8

Yo, Linda! This week's award goes to you!



"Way to keep it real, Rocky Balboa." - Linda



You crack me up.

Dear Mrs. Ingalls,

I am sitting here at a thing called a laptop (a small computer that sits on your lap) while my daughter builds a log cabin out of popsicle sticks for school.

Huh? Oh, a laptop is really cool (not chilly) and you can go wireless and take it with you in your SUV or your minivan (those are cars, like wagons without horses) to Starbucks (where you pay five bucks for coffee) and email or blog with your friends on the Internet (another computer thing) which was invented by Al Gore (he lost the election and now he has invented Global Warming.)

Huh? Wha???

What's a computer?

Hmmm... kind of hard to explain.

Anyway, I have a question. How did you build a log cabin without HGTV? Or did you Google it?

:>)

So much for goodness and mercy.

I was out shopping with my daughter yesterday, looking for some new clothes. She needed a new coat because it has dropped below 50 degrees, people! Here in the South, that's cold.



We can brave the heat, but don't make us put on a scarf. No, M'am. Scarves are for the retailers to mark down after Christmas because no one in their right mind down here buys them because, hello, half of the time it is 80 degrees when we are opening our Christmas gifts.



Daughter and I found a new coat and some really cute church clothes. As we were leaving, it was still early, but already dark outside.



When we walked out of the mall to our car, I took her hand and said,"Stay close to Mommy. It is dark. Mean people come out at dark."



She gripped my hand and looked up at me to say,"Why do they come out at dark?"



"Well, they come out in the day, too, but for some reason they come out at dark because they think they are brave. Really, they aren't brave. They just think that because it is dark that no one will see them. But God does."



"Oh."



"But don't worry, we are safe. And if anyone ever tried to mess with my little girl, I would punch them in the mouth."



"Cool!"



Not the best story to tell after this post, but I do try to keep it real, folks.

Hello, My name is...

I was sipping some citrus-flavored mineral water at a party when she asked me.

It was a Let's get together and chat, have some tasty appetizers, listen to a presentation about home-based business, and then browse through a catalogue of gorgeous items while considering our budgets because some of us do not work home-based, mall-based, or otherwise-based kind of party.

And I do love me some tasty appetizers.

And shopping from my neighbor's easy chair.

So she asked me. She wasn't the first. Someone else at the party had asked the same thing.

"What do you do?"

As I swallowed my sip of citrus-flavored mineral water, I paused for a moment, considering her possible response, and I answered, "I am a Stay At Home Mom."

"Oh."

Several years ago, I would not have left it at that. I would have recited my resume of accomplishments, some fairly remarkable, but most not. I would have explained the whys and the how's and the maybe one days.

But not anymore.

Oh, I could tell her what I do. I do laundry. I do dishes. I do the floors. I do the grocery shopping. I even do windows, on occasion.

I get up in the morning, still sleepy from the night before, and I roll out of bed and shuffle to the coffee maker. I start warming the frozen pancakes for breakfast and then trod up the stairs to wake my sleepy daughter for school.

I trod back down the stairs, trying not to trip over the cat who thinks she is supposed to be the first one fed. Then I check on the microwaved pancakes, pour on the syrup (I don't skimp) and set the plate at the kitchen counter, calling upstairs for my sleepy daughter to come down to eat or we will be late this morning.

Meanwhile, my husband is getting ready for work and I am trying to make sure he has clean clothes, and tell him a quick Good Morning before he rushes out the door.

Once I get the sleepy daughter to eat, get dressed and brush her teeth and do a good job or you will end up at the dentist with a cavity, I head out the door in my sweats, no make-up, except for some under-eye concealer and take my daughter to school before I start my day of doing laundry, doing dishes, and doing the grocery shopping.

But the woman at this party eating spinach-artichoke dip doesn't really want to know all of that. She doesn't really want to know what I do. What she really wants to know is who I am.

For some women, who they are is so tightly woven into what they do, that they soon lose who they are. When asked, they say, "I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a teacher. I am a doctor." Yes, they are all of those things, and all of those things are so very important in forming who they are.

And what about me? I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a Stay At Home Mom. I am a Sunday School teacher. I am all of those things, but lately, I am learning and listening and seeing that there is only one job, one identity that is truly important.

I am His.

So when I am doing the laundry and the dishes, and even the windows, my prayer is that I will reflect what Christ would have me be through Him. I fail miserably, mostly when I try to do everything in my own strength. It is when I give it all to God, that His Love shines through, not mine. Only when I humble myself and remember what I am not, can I share with other people what an awesome God He is.

My prayer, my hope, is that when people meet me, they won't wonder what I do, or who I am. They won't even want to know anything about me, but somehow through my faith and failures in this imperfect life I live, they will want to know The God who helps me through it all.

They will only see Him for Who He is. They will see His goodness. His mercy. His love. And they will turn to Him and say, "Nice to meet you."

I feel like such a dumbbell.

If you ever want to feel really, really stupid, just attend a Spelling Bee.

At first you'll sit there all smug with your shoulders back and your spine straight when it all begins.

"AWWW... the first grade words. They are soooo EASY! I remember that!"

Then you realize it is only the warm-up rounds and it has been thirty years since you have been in the first grade. Even then, you were reading about Spot running and running and running (that dog never stopped) and how Jane kept seeing Spot running and running (that Jane needed to get a life.)

Kids today are reading real books with real plots, learning phonics and words like "discombobulated."

OK. That last word? Notsomuch.

The Bee was in a church and the hosts were phenomenal. Hospitality at its best. However, I don't know if it was a matter of timing or what, but somehow the church bells didn't know that there was a spelling bee going on.

Maybe they thought it would be over within an hour and then the bells would chime away in a big, pomp and circumstance finale, but these kids were smart and it took a while for the eliminations. So when a sweet little boy stood up to spell his word, the bells began to ring.

And ring.

And ring some more.

Fortunately, the judges were quite fair and gave the young man another word.

He began to spell again and then the bells rang. Again.

And played a hymn.

OK. One more try. One more word. Here goes...

Another hymn.

I started to get out the hymn book and just sing along, but my daughter would've died. Instead, we all waited and the young man waited patiently yet again for another word.

Until the bells stopped playing.

In the silence, we all watched, slumped down in our seats, feeling a little less smug and less-than-confident in our own spelling skills as the young man, with his shoulders back and his spine straight spelled his way to second place.

And on to the State Spelling Bee.

Comment of The Week #7

This week's award goes to Susanne for this comment-



"We used to have a black cat that got "loaded" on cooked carrots. We'd feed them to her just so we could laugh as she walked and rolled around like she was drunk. Really weird."



A cat drunk on carrots. Good stuff.

R-O-A-D T-R-I-P

We've just returned from a Spelling Bee and I have much to blog about.

I will catch up with all you I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T-S later when I have time to get my thoughts together...

The trials of parenthood. And tender morsels.

When we first brought her home, we should have known. She cried all the way. She kept sticking her little nose through the air holes in that cardboard carrier telling my husband The News.

I had wanted a cat for a long time. We decided to wait until we were settled into our own house and we had looked at the animal shelter several times. One day I saw Maggie- a little, fluffy black kitten in a cage all by herself, away from the other kittens. (Looking back, this should have been a sign.)

The day we first met her, we didn't adopt her. Instead, we walked away and decided to keep looking. All the while, I knew I was in love with that black ball of fur.

My husband returned to the shelter a few days later, planning to surprise me with a kitten. Little did he know, that same black kitty was still there. Another family had taken her home and returned her within the short time we had seen her. He thought it must be meant to be.

And I was surprised. What a thoughtful gift. A sweet little kitten for a crazy cat lady.

Maggie had the kind of health problems most strays suffer, so we nursed her back to health. She was a bit malnourished and just needed a lot of TLC.

She has always been a big eater, ahem. At first the vet said she was trying to catch up on being malnourished, but we figured it out later- she just liked to eat. Not any food. DRY FOOD. This cat was weird.

Early on, in an effort to give her a treat, I bought canned cat food, even "human" tuna. She wouldn't eat it; she just turned up her nose and tried to bury it. The canned food would have helped with the hairballs, but no, this cat wasn't interested.

Until that fateful day, years later, when a small can of addictive goodness arrived in the mail.

It was a free sample of Fancy Feast Elegant Medleys. I laughed but decided to give it a try. She lapped it up. Then went back looking for more. We all were in shock. This must be some pretty special cat food.

What started out as an innocent treat has become an obsession and a learned response that only Pavlov could understand. Because of her kidney related issues, canned foods are just a treat, not a staple good. So whenever Maggie hears any pop-top can opening, she goes insane.

Insane. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she even hallucinates in little kitty cat hallucinations of warm, sunny windows and clean litter boxes.

Now she even starts to twitch when she sees me pull out the paper bowls. Seriously, I think I need to call The Cat Whisperer. Not only do I have to sneak around the kitchen to have my Campbell's soup, I can't even use paper goods.

We've considered a twelve step program, but since Maggie is a cat, you can't get her to do one step much less twelve.

So, I am warning all of you, Internets. Stay away from gourmet cat food. And please, for the love of Garfield and Morris and all of the other orange, annoying cats, stay away, far away from anything labeled with a savory broth.

This may very well be the new gateway drug.