I was telling Hubs the other day about the times I have cried while watching the news. Oddly enough to some, election results have made me sob. I cried watching the tragedy at Waco, the Oklahoma City Bombing, and the OJ verdict.
I cried watching the images of Katrina and the Tsunami of 2004.
You could say I'm a blubbering mess.
But, I also cry at happy things, too...
Like when my daughter was born and I could not believe it was all over. And just beginning.
Or the many, many times in church when God brought me to my knees over the awesomeness of His Love.
Tears are funny. Sometimes the taste of them reminds us of pain, sometimes grief, sometimes joy or laughter.
The Bible tells us that God has kept all of our tears in a bottle. That image is amazing to me. I've always thought that people save things in bottles that are precious to them. I suppose our tears are precious to God, special enough to save and keep, to hold and look at, reminders of our humanness.
I picture rows upon rows of bottles in God's closet, not in the literal sense of course. Rows of different bottles made of different colored glass. Some of them with corks, others caps. All of them are filled with tears. Each tear represents something in our lives that God fully understands. He looks at our tears with complete compassion and love.
Somewhere in the midst of millions of bottles, I imagine a tiny bottle without a cap made of rose-colored glass and filled with tears. One tear is from a broken heart in high school, one from a news broadcast, and the other a birth. The bottle rests on a shelf in a closet and there on its label it reads, "Melanie."
And that just makes me want to cry.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Art Linkletter, eat your heart out.
Today was my last day of teaching Sunday School. It was bittersweet in that I really need the time that I normally use studying and planning to get ready for our move, but I am going to miss the kids.
Pre-K and Kindergarten children require so much energy, yet they are one of the most rewarding groups to teach. One moment a child is throwing paint at you and the next he is giving you a bear hug.
And one more thing. They are hilarious!
I give you some quotes I have heard over the years of teaching 4 and 5-year olds in Sunday School and VBS.
After seeing that my assistant (a woman in her 60's) brought Hershey's Kisses for a treat, a little 4-year old boy said, "Tell the Grandma teacher not to give me chocolate. It gets me jacked up."
While making a collage of what we would serve Jesus for dinner, a little girl turned to me and said, "Sometimes I drink beer."
On Palm Sunday, I wanted to introduce the beginning of the Easter story. I asked the class, "Who can tell me what is important about Easter?"
The Music Minister's daughter, a Bible scholar at the ripe old age of five, raised her hand and said," What is so important about Easter is that when you put the candy in the plastic egg you have to put tape around it or all the candy will fall out."
Guess who helped dad fill Easter eggs for the egg hunt.
While reviewing the story of the Israelites' freedom from Egypt, I asked the kids if they remembered which country they were freed from.
With wide eyes and total confidence, one girl raised her hand and said,"America!"
One year during VBS our Minister of Youth and Education was giving the salvation message on each age group's level. He was a little nervous talking to the preschoolers and a friend shared some blocks with him to use as an object lesson. (By the way, he had no need to be nervous. He is awesome!)
He went through each of the ABC's of salvation on their level, just to plant the seed in the children's hearts. He used the blocks for each letter.
A- Admit
B- Believe
C- Confess
He didn't notice that there was a picture below each letter on the blocks. (You know where this is going.)
When he finished the message, he asked all of the preschoolers, "What does 'A' stand for?"
They all yelled, "Apple!"
I am so glad that salvation does not involve a ball or a cat. Aren't you?
Pre-K and Kindergarten children require so much energy, yet they are one of the most rewarding groups to teach. One moment a child is throwing paint at you and the next he is giving you a bear hug.
And one more thing. They are hilarious!
I give you some quotes I have heard over the years of teaching 4 and 5-year olds in Sunday School and VBS.
After seeing that my assistant (a woman in her 60's) brought Hershey's Kisses for a treat, a little 4-year old boy said, "Tell the Grandma teacher not to give me chocolate. It gets me jacked up."
While making a collage of what we would serve Jesus for dinner, a little girl turned to me and said, "Sometimes I drink beer."
On Palm Sunday, I wanted to introduce the beginning of the Easter story. I asked the class, "Who can tell me what is important about Easter?"
The Music Minister's daughter, a Bible scholar at the ripe old age of five, raised her hand and said," What is so important about Easter is that when you put the candy in the plastic egg you have to put tape around it or all the candy will fall out."
Guess who helped dad fill Easter eggs for the egg hunt.
While reviewing the story of the Israelites' freedom from Egypt, I asked the kids if they remembered which country they were freed from.
With wide eyes and total confidence, one girl raised her hand and said,"America!"
One year during VBS our Minister of Youth and Education was giving the salvation message on each age group's level. He was a little nervous talking to the preschoolers and a friend shared some blocks with him to use as an object lesson. (By the way, he had no need to be nervous. He is awesome!)
He went through each of the ABC's of salvation on their level, just to plant the seed in the children's hearts. He used the blocks for each letter.
A- Admit
B- Believe
C- Confess
He didn't notice that there was a picture below each letter on the blocks. (You know where this is going.)
When he finished the message, he asked all of the preschoolers, "What does 'A' stand for?"
They all yelled, "Apple!"
I am so glad that salvation does not involve a ball or a cat. Aren't you?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Is this what it's like for the other moms?
This week we are having VBS at our church. Other years I have volunteered by decorating, teaching, directing, floating, or otherwise being sucked into the volunteer vortex.
This year I was on the Decorating Committee. That's it.
Crickets chirping.
Aside from the planning meetings, the hours painting waves and the ELEVEN hours of decorating in which we did not even get finished and I had to leave my good friend Stephanie with the rest of the decorating because I was attending a wedding (insert guilt here), I've pretty much had nothing to do this year in VBS.
We missed Monday because we were coming off of a travel-induced coma and Mama needed her sleep. So, Tuesday was my daughter's first day. I walked her in, stayed for worship rally and then after only 30 minutes I walked out.
Y'all just don't know. It was weird.
Stephanie did the same and as we walked to the parking lot, we turned to each other and said,"This feels strange."
I said, "I kinda feel like..."
"A heathen," she finished.
"Well," I said," I was going to say slacker, but heathen may be the better word."
Not to say that all of the other mothers who just drive their kids to Bible School and drop them off are heathens. No, not at all. I'm just sayin' that, for me, it was very strange.
Nice, but strange.
So today I stood with Stephanie and helped welcome the kids to just help out. You know, I am completely comfortable with not being there all day, every day. I have no problem just decorating and painting waves and building rock walls out of PVC pipe and paper. I have no issue with that at all.
Ahem.
In fact, I just might go to Target or Wal-mart tomorrow.
Right after I repent and turn from my slacker, heathen, non-volunteer ways.
Seriously, it's a good thing I'm saved by grace alone because our PVC pipe and paper rock wall ended up looking a lot like Snuffleupagus.
;>)
This year I was on the Decorating Committee. That's it.
Crickets chirping.
Aside from the planning meetings, the hours painting waves and the ELEVEN hours of decorating in which we did not even get finished and I had to leave my good friend Stephanie with the rest of the decorating because I was attending a wedding (insert guilt here), I've pretty much had nothing to do this year in VBS.
We missed Monday because we were coming off of a travel-induced coma and Mama needed her sleep. So, Tuesday was my daughter's first day. I walked her in, stayed for worship rally and then after only 30 minutes I walked out.
Y'all just don't know. It was weird.
Stephanie did the same and as we walked to the parking lot, we turned to each other and said,"This feels strange."
I said, "I kinda feel like..."
"A heathen," she finished.
"Well," I said," I was going to say slacker, but heathen may be the better word."
Not to say that all of the other mothers who just drive their kids to Bible School and drop them off are heathens. No, not at all. I'm just sayin' that, for me, it was very strange.
Nice, but strange.
So today I stood with Stephanie and helped welcome the kids to just help out. You know, I am completely comfortable with not being there all day, every day. I have no problem just decorating and painting waves and building rock walls out of PVC pipe and paper. I have no issue with that at all.
Ahem.
In fact, I just might go to Target or Wal-mart tomorrow.
Right after I repent and turn from my slacker, heathen, non-volunteer ways.
Seriously, it's a good thing I'm saved by grace alone because our PVC pipe and paper rock wall ended up looking a lot like Snuffleupagus.
;>)
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Works For Me: Easy Ice Packs
I recently learned this tip from a nurse.
For an easy ice pack which will stay cold longer, fill a Ziploc bag with green Palmolive Original dish washing liquid. (I double bagged mine.) Place in the freezer. The Palmolive forms an icy gel and stays cold longer than ice. It molds easily to the area needing an ice pack.
Quick and inexpensive!
Updated to answer your questions.
1. Fill any size Ziploc or Hefty bag (I like the one with the one zip) with the Palmolive. Fill until almost full, making sure you can still close it.
2. Place that closed bag inside another bag of the same size. This will double bag it for any leaks.
3. Place in the freezer flat. This helps mold the ice pack.
4. You can refreeze it as needed. The bag will show signs of wear first. So if you want it to last longer, use a really good bag- like freezer strength. I am not sure of how long it will last compared to other ice packs.
What is great is that it is easy, uses items on hand, and it stays cold longer.
5. Some of you mentioned that you were glad you could use it with kids. Just remember that it is dish washing liquid and still toxic, although it is easier on clothes.
For more tips, see Shannon.
For an easy ice pack which will stay cold longer, fill a Ziploc bag with green Palmolive Original dish washing liquid. (I double bagged mine.) Place in the freezer. The Palmolive forms an icy gel and stays cold longer than ice. It molds easily to the area needing an ice pack.
Quick and inexpensive!
Updated to answer your questions.
1. Fill any size Ziploc or Hefty bag (I like the one with the one zip) with the Palmolive. Fill until almost full, making sure you can still close it.
2. Place that closed bag inside another bag of the same size. This will double bag it for any leaks.
3. Place in the freezer flat. This helps mold the ice pack.
4. You can refreeze it as needed. The bag will show signs of wear first. So if you want it to last longer, use a really good bag- like freezer strength. I am not sure of how long it will last compared to other ice packs.
What is great is that it is easy, uses items on hand, and it stays cold longer.
5. Some of you mentioned that you were glad you could use it with kids. Just remember that it is dish washing liquid and still toxic, although it is easier on clothes.
For more tips, see Shannon.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I'm gonna threaten her with an ankle bracelet, complete with flea repellant.
With every trip we take there is the dreaded drive to the kennel where I have to bail Maggie out of jail. At least that's how she sees it.
When my daughter and I walked in the kennel's office, the sweet lady at the desk asked if she could help us.
How much time do you have?
I told her I needed to pick up Maggie and she pulled the chart. I peered over the counter to read the notes and this is what I saw-
"Very, very angry."
"Not a happy cat today."
"Aggressive."
"Ask owner to get out of cage."
Sigh.
The lady at the desk attempted to comfort me and said,"Don't be alarmed. Many cats are upset to be here. I'm sure she is Okay."
Um, she must be new.
"Oh, I'm not alarmed. She acts like this every single time she comes, only it gets worse. I don't know what her problem is. She used to love the kennel and the attention. Then one day she became an old lady and turned into cranky pants," I explained.
She walked us back to the cat room. It was lunch time and two of the kennel techs, bless their animal loving hearts, were playing solitaire on the computer.
They recognized me as the mother of Maggie, the cat who forces them to register for night classes in cosmetology and happily said,"OH, here comes MAMA!"
I entered the cat room, prepared for Attitude.
Instead, Maggie heard my voice and began to meow- instead of hiss like a venomous viper- as I made my way to her cell, I mean cage.
I put her in her carrier and said to the kennel techs, "Bye-bye, very brave ladies."
"Oh, we're not that brave," they said with a chuckle.
Then I hauled Miss Congeniality out of prison and off to her very cushy life on parole. Martha Stewart never had it so good.
When my daughter and I walked in the kennel's office, the sweet lady at the desk asked if she could help us.
How much time do you have?
I told her I needed to pick up Maggie and she pulled the chart. I peered over the counter to read the notes and this is what I saw-
"Very, very angry."
"Not a happy cat today."
"Aggressive."
"Ask owner to get out of cage."
Sigh.
The lady at the desk attempted to comfort me and said,"Don't be alarmed. Many cats are upset to be here. I'm sure she is Okay."
Um, she must be new.
"Oh, I'm not alarmed. She acts like this every single time she comes, only it gets worse. I don't know what her problem is. She used to love the kennel and the attention. Then one day she became an old lady and turned into cranky pants," I explained.
She walked us back to the cat room. It was lunch time and two of the kennel techs, bless their animal loving hearts, were playing solitaire on the computer.
They recognized me as the mother of Maggie, the cat who forces them to register for night classes in cosmetology and happily said,"OH, here comes MAMA!"
I entered the cat room, prepared for Attitude.
Instead, Maggie heard my voice and began to meow- instead of hiss like a venomous viper- as I made my way to her cell, I mean cage.
I put her in her carrier and said to the kennel techs, "Bye-bye, very brave ladies."
"Oh, we're not that brave," they said with a chuckle.
Then I hauled Miss Congeniality out of prison and off to her very cushy life on parole. Martha Stewart never had it so good.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Places
Over fourteen years ago, a handsome young man waited at the end of an aisle for a young woman, joyous in her naivety, nervous in her ineptitude and sincere in her love for the one who waited.
The two of them smiled wide when their eyes first caught sight of one another. Although friends and family filled the room, the sanctuary felt empty, quiet, peaceful. The musicians played the chosen hymns but the bride and groom heard nothing but the soft spoken words of each other.
The handsome man offered his arm to the young woman as she gently wrapped her hand around his arm. She still remembers the feeling of his strong arm beneath his dress uniform on her fingers.
The mothers had been seated, as were the grandmothers. Friends were ushered to their seats. Bridesmaids had walked down the same aisle, flowers in hand. A flower girl, with a hand full of blossoms, made her way to her place. Groomsmen stood with hands clasped...
Saturday evening my daughter and I entered a small chapel tucked beneath a Tennessee sky and nestled in The Smokeys. As soon as I stepped in, I saw the handsome young man I'd married over fourteen years ago. He was dressed in a tuxedo and waiting for the signal to take his place as a groomsman.
We exchanged smiles and I was escorted down the aisle to my seat. My daughter was escorted as well by a young gentleman in a small tuxedo- just his size.
We listened to the musicians play as the grandmothers were seated, then the mothers. Bridesmaids walked down the aisle holding lovely bouquets of flowers which matched the beautiful swags that hung gracefully from the ends of the Chapel's pews. Groomsmen stood perfectly straight, hands clasped. My husband was among them, standing with friends of the groom.
The groom who was my husband's best man over fourteen years ago.
And then the doors opened as the musicians played. Guests rose to their feet as the bride entered the sanctuary. She was beautiful. As she made her way down the aisle, the groom never took his eyes off of her.
Music played, a minister spoke, a mother recited, friends read, but the bride and groom knew nothing and no one else but each other. A kiss was shared and the two of them began a lifelong journey together.
Each filling a place that had not been filled before.
One they never knew was empty.
To "Dave and Scully", (or M and T,) God bless you as you begin your life together. We were honored to share in such a special and sacred occasion.
The two of them smiled wide when their eyes first caught sight of one another. Although friends and family filled the room, the sanctuary felt empty, quiet, peaceful. The musicians played the chosen hymns but the bride and groom heard nothing but the soft spoken words of each other.
The handsome man offered his arm to the young woman as she gently wrapped her hand around his arm. She still remembers the feeling of his strong arm beneath his dress uniform on her fingers.
The mothers had been seated, as were the grandmothers. Friends were ushered to their seats. Bridesmaids had walked down the same aisle, flowers in hand. A flower girl, with a hand full of blossoms, made her way to her place. Groomsmen stood with hands clasped...
Saturday evening my daughter and I entered a small chapel tucked beneath a Tennessee sky and nestled in The Smokeys. As soon as I stepped in, I saw the handsome young man I'd married over fourteen years ago. He was dressed in a tuxedo and waiting for the signal to take his place as a groomsman.
We exchanged smiles and I was escorted down the aisle to my seat. My daughter was escorted as well by a young gentleman in a small tuxedo- just his size.
We listened to the musicians play as the grandmothers were seated, then the mothers. Bridesmaids walked down the aisle holding lovely bouquets of flowers which matched the beautiful swags that hung gracefully from the ends of the Chapel's pews. Groomsmen stood perfectly straight, hands clasped. My husband was among them, standing with friends of the groom.
The groom who was my husband's best man over fourteen years ago.
And then the doors opened as the musicians played. Guests rose to their feet as the bride entered the sanctuary. She was beautiful. As she made her way down the aisle, the groom never took his eyes off of her.
Music played, a minister spoke, a mother recited, friends read, but the bride and groom knew nothing and no one else but each other. A kiss was shared and the two of them began a lifelong journey together.
Each filling a place that had not been filled before.
One they never knew was empty.
To "Dave and Scully", (or M and T,) God bless you as you begin your life together. We were honored to share in such a special and sacred occasion.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Home again
We are home after a long drive and too many stops at Cracker Barrel. All in all, it was a good trip.
The wedding was beautiful.
More later...
The wedding was beautiful.
More later...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Goin' to the chapel
Not me.
I'm already married.
Nope, we are heading out in a few days to Dave and Scully's wedding. We are excited to meet Scully for the first time. (Sorry to call you Scully on THE BLOG, just protecting your privacy.)
And, guess what! I found a dress. It is black, simple and it was on sale. Yes, M'am. It is an evening wedding and hubs will be in a tux. Daughter helped me pick out the handbag, a light silver (not too shiny.)
She said, "You don't want to be all black. You aren't going to a funeral."
I love her.
We were out today picking up some last minute items, prescriptions, and so on. We also made a stop at Chick-fil-A. You can't go to the mall without going to Chick-fil-A. It's like going to Disney without visiting Cinderella's castle. It just isn't done.
Tonight, I overheard daughter telling her Daddy about her day and I overheard her say this-
"I've said 'y'all' a lot today, Daddy."
That sweet girl of mine.
I'm already married.
Nope, we are heading out in a few days to Dave and Scully's wedding. We are excited to meet Scully for the first time. (Sorry to call you Scully on THE BLOG, just protecting your privacy.)
And, guess what! I found a dress. It is black, simple and it was on sale. Yes, M'am. It is an evening wedding and hubs will be in a tux. Daughter helped me pick out the handbag, a light silver (not too shiny.)
She said, "You don't want to be all black. You aren't going to a funeral."
I love her.
We were out today picking up some last minute items, prescriptions, and so on. We also made a stop at Chick-fil-A. You can't go to the mall without going to Chick-fil-A. It's like going to Disney without visiting Cinderella's castle. It just isn't done.
Tonight, I overheard daughter telling her Daddy about her day and I overheard her say this-
"I've said 'y'all' a lot today, Daddy."
That sweet girl of mine.
Template changes
For some unknown reason, some of my pictures were difficult to load.
I am using a blogger template for a clean slate and to make posts a little easier to read.
If you check back and things are all cattywampus, that's why.
I am using a blogger template for a clean slate and to make posts a little easier to read.
If you check back and things are all cattywampus, that's why.
Monday, June 16, 2008
My, how the times flies when your feet are aching.
I just got back from decorating for VBS. We left the house 11 hours ago.
ELEVEN HOURS.
My daughter did not even whine. She spent the day with her friend, playing, watching movies, making crafts and eating Happy Meals that we got them for lunch.
Did I mention I have been gone eleven hours?
I had spray paint up my nose, y'all. How does that happen?
There should be a warning on the can which reads,"Hey, lady who is not as good at multi-tasking as she was 5 years ago, don't spray this in the wind on crumpled paper making a rock wall or it could go up your nose or on your clothes or on your friend's shoe."
But in order to get all of that on the can, the print would have to be way too small and I couldn't read it anyway.
I'm just sayin.'
ELEVEN HOURS.
My daughter did not even whine. She spent the day with her friend, playing, watching movies, making crafts and eating Happy Meals that we got them for lunch.
Did I mention I have been gone eleven hours?
I had spray paint up my nose, y'all. How does that happen?
There should be a warning on the can which reads,"Hey, lady who is not as good at multi-tasking as she was 5 years ago, don't spray this in the wind on crumpled paper making a rock wall or it could go up your nose or on your clothes or on your friend's shoe."
But in order to get all of that on the can, the print would have to be way too small and I couldn't read it anyway.
I'm just sayin.'
Why I drive a Big Gulp
I've driven a Camry for the last eight years. Over the years, Cam and I have had some tender moments. We've shared laughter and tears, traffic jams, Diet Coke spills, upset tummies, and a package of McDonald's apple dipper caramel sauce that formed a molecular bond with the back seat.
It's been fun. But, just like all fun, it must come to an end.
Sorry, Cam. I'm trading you in for a newer model.
We have looked, researched, contemplated, considered and reconsidered. A few weeks ago we finally took the plunge and bought a new vehicle.
When we started shopping for cars, my biggest issue was space. There are only three of us, but we seem to have a lot of stuff. Ask my closest friends and my patient husband; my trunk is always full of somethingorother. I have gotten a little better about keeping it clean. (Hubs would disagree.)
My close friend, T has teased me about it. I've been known to have a treasure box full of candy during Bible School season, Hello Kitty band-aids, Sunday School craft supplies, bags of clothes ready for Good Will and even other items that other people would give to me to pass on to needy people. (For some reason, they think I know just where to take them.)
In fact, one time our church received donations of toys after a severe hurricane. There were so many donations that my friend Steph and I ended up hauling them to a local agency. Inside one of the donation boxes was a game of Lucky Ducks. Anytime I hit a speed bump or rounded a curve too fast, I heard "Quack, quack, quack" from the trunk.
So, where was I?
Oh, right. Space. We bought an SUV.
I know all about gas prices. I drive my daughter to and from school every day. I have to stop and fill the tank on a regular basis.
However,I live in America and for the time being, I am able to choose what I buy (within my means), when I buy it, and I can shop around for the best price and quality.
I can purchase a non-fat venti mocha, add the whip from Miriam or save our money and spend the same amount on a gallon of gas. Neither are a bargain, but for now I can choose. (Silly, isn't it that we complain about paying $4.00 for a gallon of gas but we'll pay the same amount, plus tip for a drink that we'll guzzle faster than any Hummer could.)
But, all of that could change.
I can drive our new Honda Pilot because I still love the workmanship of Japanese cars or I could one day purchase a car made and designed by a US auto maker, all because I am able to shop around and nothing but my checkbook and family budget dictate anything different.
That could change.
I can haul Lucky Ducks or used clothing to a faith-based relief organization or I can load the back with Vacation Bible School treasures or even Bibles and drive all over town.
But, that could change.
I can drive my daughter to school or we can stay home and homeschool. We could just ride around for the fun of it.
All of that could change.
We can drive to church and give an offering, to the mall and purchase something with the money we've saved. We can also use some of the money we have saved to send to our sponsored child, donate to the local homeless shelter, or give to a family member who needs help with their medical expenses. All of this because, for now, my husband's income is not taxed (too) excessively.
That could change.
One very important Tuesday in November, I am going to hop in my new Honda Pilot, bring daughter along as I always do, drive to the polls and cast my ballot for the next American President.
All because I can. For now.
But, all of that could change.
It's been fun. But, just like all fun, it must come to an end.
Sorry, Cam. I'm trading you in for a newer model.
We have looked, researched, contemplated, considered and reconsidered. A few weeks ago we finally took the plunge and bought a new vehicle.
When we started shopping for cars, my biggest issue was space. There are only three of us, but we seem to have a lot of stuff. Ask my closest friends and my patient husband; my trunk is always full of somethingorother. I have gotten a little better about keeping it clean. (Hubs would disagree.)
My close friend, T has teased me about it. I've been known to have a treasure box full of candy during Bible School season, Hello Kitty band-aids, Sunday School craft supplies, bags of clothes ready for Good Will and even other items that other people would give to me to pass on to needy people. (For some reason, they think I know just where to take them.)
In fact, one time our church received donations of toys after a severe hurricane. There were so many donations that my friend Steph and I ended up hauling them to a local agency. Inside one of the donation boxes was a game of Lucky Ducks. Anytime I hit a speed bump or rounded a curve too fast, I heard "Quack, quack, quack" from the trunk.
So, where was I?
Oh, right. Space. We bought an SUV.
I know all about gas prices. I drive my daughter to and from school every day. I have to stop and fill the tank on a regular basis.
However,I live in America and for the time being, I am able to choose what I buy (within my means), when I buy it, and I can shop around for the best price and quality.
I can purchase a non-fat venti mocha, add the whip from Miriam or save our money and spend the same amount on a gallon of gas. Neither are a bargain, but for now I can choose. (Silly, isn't it that we complain about paying $4.00 for a gallon of gas but we'll pay the same amount, plus tip for a drink that we'll guzzle faster than any Hummer could.)
But, all of that could change.
I can drive our new Honda Pilot because I still love the workmanship of Japanese cars or I could one day purchase a car made and designed by a US auto maker, all because I am able to shop around and nothing but my checkbook and family budget dictate anything different.
That could change.
I can haul Lucky Ducks or used clothing to a faith-based relief organization or I can load the back with Vacation Bible School treasures or even Bibles and drive all over town.
But, that could change.
I can drive my daughter to school or we can stay home and homeschool. We could just ride around for the fun of it.
All of that could change.
We can drive to church and give an offering, to the mall and purchase something with the money we've saved. We can also use some of the money we have saved to send to our sponsored child, donate to the local homeless shelter, or give to a family member who needs help with their medical expenses. All of this because, for now, my husband's income is not taxed (too) excessively.
That could change.
One very important Tuesday in November, I am going to hop in my new Honda Pilot, bring daughter along as I always do, drive to the polls and cast my ballot for the next American President.
All because I can. For now.
But, all of that could change.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Happy Father's Day
In honor of the day that we all give Dad a tie or something that includes fire and food, I just want to say, "Happy Father's Day" to my husband and to my own Daddy.
You both make childhood fun.
You both show your daughter that you love them.
You both show your daughter that you love Jesus.
You both can grow some serious gardens.
You both have taught me how to fix something just in case in needs fixin.'
I love you both.
Now, go and take a nap.
You both make childhood fun.
You both show your daughter that you love them.
You both show your daughter that you love Jesus.
You both can grow some serious gardens.
You both have taught me how to fix something just in case in needs fixin.'
I love you both.
Now, go and take a nap.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I could use a nice Yeti.
We flew to Charleston. On a plane and everything. I've flown before, but it has been a while. I'd forgotten how much I don't like it.
Hubs travels with work and he complains about the flying part. He doesn't mind going somewhere; he just doesn't like getting there.
Hey, Hubs. Me, too.
The last time he traveled, he was seated next to an elderly woman who needed assistance with her seat belt. Bless her heart. This time he was seated smack dab in the middle of daughter and me. We just needed assistance with snack. Hubs travels with a backpack as his carry on and it can come in handy when your daughter wants to watch a DVD or your wife starts to feel a little queasy and needs some salty pretzels to settle her stomach.
That Hubs can be quite useful when he puts his mind to it.
The trip to Charleston was somewhat uneventful, aside from the glitch where the airline seated us in completely separate rows with a minor and the few moments when I wanted to hurl. Besides those two, you know, minor details, the trip was great.
The trip back home was different altogether. In a word- HYSTERICAL.
It may have been that we were all very tired or it may have been that we were suffering from baby toes withdrawal, but something about the trip home was funny. Every single thing that happened was funny.
The people on the plane. Funny.
Del Griffith was seated behind me and he kept kicking my seat. He talked incessantly and I am guessing he was trying to sell shower curtain rings to the guy sitting next to him. Neal Page, I feel your pain.
Del's less friendly cousin was across the aisle from me. (I love an aisle seat. Lots of room. Just protect your funny bone from the beverage cart.) Del's cousin was, ahem, big boned. Just as he was about to get in his seat, he leaned over to put his carry-on under the seat and I just happened to turn my head. It was a full moon right there at 10,000 feet.
Hubs and I could not hold it in. We laughed like school kids. He was laughing at me, not with me.
Fortunately, I don't think Del's cousin caught on to our humor. He was too busy fiddling with his seat belt.
During the flight, daughter fell asleep. Hubs and I dove right in to the crossword puzzle, and then on to the finest shopping in the air.
SkyMall magazine.
I have to ask y'all something. Have any of you ever ordered anything from SkyMall? If you have, please let me know in the comments.
I just don't get it. What is so appealing about shopping on an airplane? Is it boredom or that you don't have to find a parking place? Some of the items are hilarious.
Like the Yeti garden statue. You can impress your friends, offend your neighbors or just freak people out with this Big Foot statue. Can't you just picture it scaring away the plastic flamingos?
There was this patch of fake grass for your puppy to relieve himself. I have that. It's called a rug.
The flight was long enough that we looked through the entire catalog. We laughed until we cried.
I bet Del could sell a few of his shower curtain rings if he just listed them in SkyMall magazine.
Hey, Del. Watch out for Sasquatch.
Hubs travels with work and he complains about the flying part. He doesn't mind going somewhere; he just doesn't like getting there.
Hey, Hubs. Me, too.
The last time he traveled, he was seated next to an elderly woman who needed assistance with her seat belt. Bless her heart. This time he was seated smack dab in the middle of daughter and me. We just needed assistance with snack. Hubs travels with a backpack as his carry on and it can come in handy when your daughter wants to watch a DVD or your wife starts to feel a little queasy and needs some salty pretzels to settle her stomach.
That Hubs can be quite useful when he puts his mind to it.
The trip to Charleston was somewhat uneventful, aside from the glitch where the airline seated us in completely separate rows with a minor and the few moments when I wanted to hurl. Besides those two, you know, minor details, the trip was great.
The trip back home was different altogether. In a word- HYSTERICAL.
It may have been that we were all very tired or it may have been that we were suffering from baby toes withdrawal, but something about the trip home was funny. Every single thing that happened was funny.
The people on the plane. Funny.
Del Griffith was seated behind me and he kept kicking my seat. He talked incessantly and I am guessing he was trying to sell shower curtain rings to the guy sitting next to him. Neal Page, I feel your pain.
Del's less friendly cousin was across the aisle from me. (I love an aisle seat. Lots of room. Just protect your funny bone from the beverage cart.) Del's cousin was, ahem, big boned. Just as he was about to get in his seat, he leaned over to put his carry-on under the seat and I just happened to turn my head. It was a full moon right there at 10,000 feet.
Hubs and I could not hold it in. We laughed like school kids. He was laughing at me, not with me.
Fortunately, I don't think Del's cousin caught on to our humor. He was too busy fiddling with his seat belt.
During the flight, daughter fell asleep. Hubs and I dove right in to the crossword puzzle, and then on to the finest shopping in the air.
SkyMall magazine.
I have to ask y'all something. Have any of you ever ordered anything from SkyMall? If you have, please let me know in the comments.
I just don't get it. What is so appealing about shopping on an airplane? Is it boredom or that you don't have to find a parking place? Some of the items are hilarious.
Like the Yeti garden statue. You can impress your friends, offend your neighbors or just freak people out with this Big Foot statue. Can't you just picture it scaring away the plastic flamingos?
There was this patch of fake grass for your puppy to relieve himself. I have that. It's called a rug.
The flight was long enough that we looked through the entire catalog. We laughed until we cried.
I bet Del could sell a few of his shower curtain rings if he just listed them in SkyMall magazine.
Hey, Del. Watch out for Sasquatch.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Baby toes in the sand
I spent the week getting lots of sugar from my sweet niece, Molly. She is 14 months old and I just can't believe it. Watching her giggle and grin at my own sweet girl was just precious. The two of them strengthened a bond that formed long before Molly entered the world.
We flew to Charleston, SC, one of my favorite places on the planet, and then drove down to Edisto Island, one of my new favorite places on the planet, where we met Molly, Grammy, and B-Pop. My sister-in-law, T, had to head back home before we could arrive.
Y'all already know a little about why I love Charleston. Now let me tell you about Edisto Island.
Imagine a place where you can visit the beaches of the Atlantic, spend evenings perched atop a widow's walk and watch the sun set behind sherbet- colored houses. You can walk to the beach from an old family home that has probably been passed down for generations. There is a picture of the lady of the house framed in the hall, posed in a 1950's swimsuit, smiling with a friend, and sitting on the same Atlantic beach.
There are tourists everywhere, but if it were not for their Edisto Beach t-shirts, they'd just blend in with the locals. Everyone buys their groceries from a little Piggly Wiggly on the one, main road because you are nearly an hour from the closest super store.
I'm only 38 years old and I'm ready to retire there. Well, if I had over a million dollars. Until then, we can just visit.
The funny thing is that I live on the Florida Panhandle now. (Yep, I just divulged some personal information. Shocker!) While I would never in a million sea shells trade the white, pristine Gulf beaches for the grey, muddy Atlantic, I loved Edisto for the lack of tacky tourist feel.
It was a wonderful trip to the beach, a different beach, but the beach isn't why we went. It was those sweet, chubby baby toes.
They'll get you every time.
We flew to Charleston, SC, one of my favorite places on the planet, and then drove down to Edisto Island, one of my new favorite places on the planet, where we met Molly, Grammy, and B-Pop. My sister-in-law, T, had to head back home before we could arrive.
Y'all already know a little about why I love Charleston. Now let me tell you about Edisto Island.
Imagine a place where you can visit the beaches of the Atlantic, spend evenings perched atop a widow's walk and watch the sun set behind sherbet- colored houses. You can walk to the beach from an old family home that has probably been passed down for generations. There is a picture of the lady of the house framed in the hall, posed in a 1950's swimsuit, smiling with a friend, and sitting on the same Atlantic beach.
There are tourists everywhere, but if it were not for their Edisto Beach t-shirts, they'd just blend in with the locals. Everyone buys their groceries from a little Piggly Wiggly on the one, main road because you are nearly an hour from the closest super store.
I'm only 38 years old and I'm ready to retire there. Well, if I had over a million dollars. Until then, we can just visit.
The funny thing is that I live on the Florida Panhandle now. (Yep, I just divulged some personal information. Shocker!) While I would never in a million sea shells trade the white, pristine Gulf beaches for the grey, muddy Atlantic, I loved Edisto for the lack of tacky tourist feel.
It was a wonderful trip to the beach, a different beach, but the beach isn't why we went. It was those sweet, chubby baby toes.
They'll get you every time.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Still alive and kickin'
Just checking in to let you know I am still alive.
We have been on vacation, WITHOUT INTERNET at home and I have no idea how long I will even be able to be online this evening. The internet people will be here tomorrow to fix the problem permanently.
In the meantime, every time I get online I feel like some diver who isn't sure how much oxygen he has left in his tank.
MUST BREATHE NOW.
Will post later... I hope.
We have been on vacation, WITHOUT INTERNET at home and I have no idea how long I will even be able to be online this evening. The internet people will be here tomorrow to fix the problem permanently.
In the meantime, every time I get online I feel like some diver who isn't sure how much oxygen he has left in his tank.
MUST BREATHE NOW.
Will post later... I hope.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
The Library Post
I used to love the library but, now I hate it. I have no idea when it happened. It's like going gray. One day you wake up Brooke Shields and the next day you're Bea Arthur.
When I was little, I loved going to the library. Mama would give me a book limit and I'd have a hard time sticking to it. I would carry my stack of books to one of the kid tables, plop it down, and count. One, two, three... aww, I have to put some of them back.
The public library was my quiet, organized, dusty playground.
Somewhere between Blue Lagoon and The Golden Girls, the library became my stifling, musky torture chamber.
The weird thing is that I love book stores. Love them. (The coffee helps.) My husband finds this odd. He can't understand the difference between the public library and a book store.
Oh, there's plenty.
Book store employees. They are hired for their pleasantry. Every now and then, one of the applicants rejected from the post office gets in and infiltrates the ranks. More often, book store employees are friendly, helpful and happy to be there.
Librarians. They are grouchy. They are are there because they like books and organization, not people. They can't understand why you need help finding a book. They have memorized the Dewey Decimal System. Why can't you?
In a back room, behind a stack of National Geographic magazines, covered with an old, chenille bedspread, sits the card catalog. They keep it for the day it will be used again because, this computer trend is just not going to last.
Insert plea for understanding here. For the love of Barnes and Noble, if you are a librarian, I am sure you are lovely and sweet and friendly and you do not wear orthopedic shoes. The fact that you are blogging puts you into a whole other librarian category. Your mere presence improves the Librarian Gene Pool. Stay strong, my rebel friend.
Organization. This one may be what gets me the most. The library is one of the most organized places on earth. There is a place for everything, everything in its place.
Yet this is what drives me crazy.
Here's the kicker. I can't find a thing in the library. I have to go to a computer, type in a subject or author or the name of the book. (I don't even know what book I want.) If that doesn't work, I have to crack the code of the Dewey Decimal system and find the right section, then turn my head sideways to read the titles. In the meantime, the librarian, who has every shelf memorized, does not even ask if I need help.
Give me a book store with huge labels like "History" and "Fiction." They've even got "Home Decorating." All I have to do is walk in, look up, read the gigantic signs and walk over to the shelf. And, get this! Some of the books are shelved so you can read the cover. Genius! I don't have to croon my neck. If I still can't find what I need, the pleasant employee will actually assist me, and she smiles. Wow.
All this, plus coffee.
There is a least one person out there who is thinking, "But the library is free."
I know. But, so are shots at the Health Department and you won't see my lining up for those either.
I'll just stick with my book store with its happy lighting and lattes. You can have the public library with its fluorescent bulbs and public water fountain.
Say "hi" to Maude for me while you're there.
When I was little, I loved going to the library. Mama would give me a book limit and I'd have a hard time sticking to it. I would carry my stack of books to one of the kid tables, plop it down, and count. One, two, three... aww, I have to put some of them back.
The public library was my quiet, organized, dusty playground.
Somewhere between Blue Lagoon and The Golden Girls, the library became my stifling, musky torture chamber.
The weird thing is that I love book stores. Love them. (The coffee helps.) My husband finds this odd. He can't understand the difference between the public library and a book store.
Oh, there's plenty.
Book store employees. They are hired for their pleasantry. Every now and then, one of the applicants rejected from the post office gets in and infiltrates the ranks. More often, book store employees are friendly, helpful and happy to be there.
Librarians. They are grouchy. They are are there because they like books and organization, not people. They can't understand why you need help finding a book. They have memorized the Dewey Decimal System. Why can't you?
In a back room, behind a stack of National Geographic magazines, covered with an old, chenille bedspread, sits the card catalog. They keep it for the day it will be used again because, this computer trend is just not going to last.
Insert plea for understanding here. For the love of Barnes and Noble, if you are a librarian, I am sure you are lovely and sweet and friendly and you do not wear orthopedic shoes. The fact that you are blogging puts you into a whole other librarian category. Your mere presence improves the Librarian Gene Pool. Stay strong, my rebel friend.
Organization. This one may be what gets me the most. The library is one of the most organized places on earth. There is a place for everything, everything in its place.
Yet this is what drives me crazy.
Here's the kicker. I can't find a thing in the library. I have to go to a computer, type in a subject or author or the name of the book. (I don't even know what book I want.) If that doesn't work, I have to crack the code of the Dewey Decimal system and find the right section, then turn my head sideways to read the titles. In the meantime, the librarian, who has every shelf memorized, does not even ask if I need help.
Give me a book store with huge labels like "History" and "Fiction." They've even got "Home Decorating." All I have to do is walk in, look up, read the gigantic signs and walk over to the shelf. And, get this! Some of the books are shelved so you can read the cover. Genius! I don't have to croon my neck. If I still can't find what I need, the pleasant employee will actually assist me, and she smiles. Wow.
All this, plus coffee.
There is a least one person out there who is thinking, "But the library is free."
I know. But, so are shots at the Health Department and you won't see my lining up for those either.
I'll just stick with my book store with its happy lighting and lattes. You can have the public library with its fluorescent bulbs and public water fountain.
Say "hi" to Maude for me while you're there.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
School's Out For Summer!!
Daughter and I are sitting here on the couch watching Spongebob and having a gummie bear taste-test guessing game.
This is the life. And I don't even really like gummie bears.
Later, we will spend the day finishing up the waves for VBS and shopping for shoes.
Somewhere along the way I might get a non-fat venti mocha, add the whip.
Yes, M'am. Summer has arrived and she's got her tankini on.
This is the life. And I don't even really like gummie bears.
Later, we will spend the day finishing up the waves for VBS and shopping for shoes.
Somewhere along the way I might get a non-fat venti mocha, add the whip.
Yes, M'am. Summer has arrived and she's got her tankini on.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Making Waves
This is to prove to the rest of the VBS Decorating Committee that I am in fact at home tonight painting my delegated murals of ocean waves instead of attending the VBS Decorating Committee meeting.
Um, right after I blog about it.
I've been known to make waves in my time but not in the literal sense.
Unless you count the time that daughter and I were sitting on a sandbar and I grabbed what I thought was a really cool shell from beneath the sand.
Turns out the really cool shell was someone's home.
I screamed and flicked the homeowner, a crab that had a serious grip on the end of my finger, right back into the water. Daughter walked on water and ran to the shore.
Then she turned around and, after making sure I was fine, said, "Mommy! Stop that! You're freaking me out!"
I am so glad this year's VBS theme does not include cranky shellfish.
Um, right after I blog about it.
I've been known to make waves in my time but not in the literal sense.
Unless you count the time that daughter and I were sitting on a sandbar and I grabbed what I thought was a really cool shell from beneath the sand.
Turns out the really cool shell was someone's home.
I screamed and flicked the homeowner, a crab that had a serious grip on the end of my finger, right back into the water. Daughter walked on water and ran to the shore.
Then she turned around and, after making sure I was fine, said, "Mommy! Stop that! You're freaking me out!"
I am so glad this year's VBS theme does not include cranky shellfish.
Monday, June 02, 2008
She lived.
I was watching Hope Floats last night, curled up on the couch, waiting for the scene when the Mama drops the teacup, anticipating a serious cry, when one of my other favorite scenes came on.
Big Delores.
Poor Bernice, bless her heart, accidentally hits Big Delores with a volleyball and thereby puts her own life in danger.
After all, Big Delores has a gang. It's called "Big Deloris." (love that line)
The moment when Travis and Bernice's sweet friend help her up off the ground after she has been pounded by Big Delores is a precious picture of childhood friendship. Funny how some of my favorite movie scenes involve some kid getting beat up or rescued from being beat up. Maybe it's because I was bullied as a kid...
Everyone was afraid of him. He was much taller than the rest of the class and he liked to use his height to lord over us. One day, we were at recess, playing on the monkey bars, when the bully came over and yelled for us to get off. Everyone hurriedly climbed down and ran away.
Everyone but me.
Just as I tried to get away, he pulled my hair and gave a quick yank. He literally pulled my hair bald-headed. Yep, he was a regular gentleman. Well, I wasn't completely bald but I did have a bald spot big enough for Mama to show to the bully's daddy.
Oh, yes she did.
The boy lived in our neighborhood and after I got home from school and explained to Mama what happened on the playground, she promptly put me in the car and drove me to the bully's house. I can remember standing in their front yard while Mama pointed to my bald spot as evidence. The daddy didn't care (big surprise) and the bully went virtually unpunished.
Mama calmly led me back to the car and drove home. Now that I'm a Mama myself, I can't imagine how my own Mama restrained herself the way she did. I think I would have pulled that daddy's hair bald-headed.
Looking back, I think he was already bald. Maybe Mama got to him after all.
;>)
Big Delores.
Poor Bernice, bless her heart, accidentally hits Big Delores with a volleyball and thereby puts her own life in danger.
After all, Big Delores has a gang. It's called "Big Deloris." (love that line)
The moment when Travis and Bernice's sweet friend help her up off the ground after she has been pounded by Big Delores is a precious picture of childhood friendship. Funny how some of my favorite movie scenes involve some kid getting beat up or rescued from being beat up. Maybe it's because I was bullied as a kid...
Everyone was afraid of him. He was much taller than the rest of the class and he liked to use his height to lord over us. One day, we were at recess, playing on the monkey bars, when the bully came over and yelled for us to get off. Everyone hurriedly climbed down and ran away.
Everyone but me.
Just as I tried to get away, he pulled my hair and gave a quick yank. He literally pulled my hair bald-headed. Yep, he was a regular gentleman. Well, I wasn't completely bald but I did have a bald spot big enough for Mama to show to the bully's daddy.
Oh, yes she did.
The boy lived in our neighborhood and after I got home from school and explained to Mama what happened on the playground, she promptly put me in the car and drove me to the bully's house. I can remember standing in their front yard while Mama pointed to my bald spot as evidence. The daddy didn't care (big surprise) and the bully went virtually unpunished.
Mama calmly led me back to the car and drove home. Now that I'm a Mama myself, I can't imagine how my own Mama restrained herself the way she did. I think I would have pulled that daddy's hair bald-headed.
Looking back, I think he was already bald. Maybe Mama got to him after all.
;>)
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