Great Photo

Head over to Southern Girl's Guide To Almost Anything.

You will love this photo!

Thank you!

His Singer over at His Unfinished Work has given me a lovely prize,

The Little Alien That Could AKA The Thinking Blogger Award.

Updated to add- A big thank you to Southern girl, too!

I didn't think I was a thinker. But I guess that makes me a thinker, or does it?

Hmmm...

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.

;>)

Ode To The Ones Left Behind

I've seen you many times.
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.
The sneaker.
The boot.

Carry on, lonesome one.

Carry on.

I Knew Her When...

I was in Target today and guess what I happened to pass by.



This.

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?"



Congrats, Shannon!!!

Viva Las Vegas and all that jazz.

Ahem.

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.

Anywho.

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?"

"Your dinner."

"But what?"

"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.

Prayer Request Update

My sister-in-law is doing well. Had an ultrasound this morning. The baby's weight is looking good, heart rate good.

Will keep you updated. Thanks for all of the prayers!! It means a lot, Internets.

:>)

Need Prayer

Calling all Internets-

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.

Thank you,

Yep, I birthed her.

"Mommy, guess what I'm drawing."

Scribble on the Magna Doodle.

"A snake."

"Nope."

"Hmmmm..."

"DNA!"

"Uh-huh. That's a double helix."

"But whose DNA is it?"

Quotes

There's a Quotes Contest going on. The contest is closed, but you can still head over there and read some great quotes. I love me a good quote and I have searched for some of my favorites. I couldn't find just one.

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.

There are no corners for Congress to go to Time Out."

"The only women in history who were remembered for being skinny were starving to death."

A Whole Lotta Nothing

1. I have invented a new move that could get Sanjaya voted off. It's called the Hack and Wheeze.

2. Daughter just told me her eyeball is about to pop out and she can't see or hear so good.

3. OTC meds, please start working.

4. Orlando must have nuclear level pollen that we folks up here just ain't used to.

I'm just sayin, y'all.

5. We've pretty much given up on the "Bless You" etiquette around here. After it's been said 50 times in the past hour, it starts to feel like your mama telling you how pretty you are over and over again while you have an outbreak of acne and the frizzies. Kind of loses its effect.

6. Right now I am watching the "Have You Seen This Snail" episode of Spongebob which, pathetically has become my favorite.

Happy Weekend to the Allergen Free.

Stop Building Your Six-Year-Old's Vocabulary

When we returned home from our vacation I had a nice surprise waiting on our doorstep- a package of goodies from my mother-in-law. It was filled with some very pretty pillows, some cute note cards, odds and ends of newspaper articles and recipes and my new, very serious, literary interest-

Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like A Skank And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom by Celia Rivenbark.

My mother-in-law isn't trying to correct my parenting. She thought I would enjoy the irreverent southern humor of Rivenbark. (There are a few "words" scattered throughout. It's a shame, too. It could have been equally funny without them.)

The book is pink with a little girl on the cover blow drying her hair into oblivion. So it stands to reason that my own little 6 year old would ask me, "Mommy, what's a skank?"

To which I reply,"Someone who dresses trashy."

"What's trashy? Tacky?"

"No. Someone who isn't modest."

"Oh."

"And skank isn't really a word you should be using."

Maybe the next book by Rivenbark will be "Stop Reading Books With Vocabulary On the Cover That Could Make Your Six-Year-Old Sound Like A Skank" or something like that.

Thanks, to my mother-in-law, in all seriousness, if that is possible at this point. It is a funny read- one that I will be tucking in the bedside table. (BTW- she did tell me there were a few words here and there inside the cover that my daughter may not need to see, but I didn't even think that she would be so quick to read the cover. Shows how smart I am.)

And Nanc- guess what I will be passing on to you? I'll send it in a brown, unmarked envelope.

:>)

I need a vacation from vacation.

I'm pretty sure that whenever Hemingway had writer's block, he went to Orlando.

Sea World. Disney. Universal. Tacky. Tourists. Galore.

We just returned from Sea World and the longest car ride evah. Something about long car rides forces the vehicle to shrink as mileage increases. You leave the house in an SUV and arrive at your destination in a Ford Echo. And, my-oh-my, what snacks and fruit cups can do when you are trying to entertain a child in the back seat.

Not to mention movies, movies and more movies.

How did we ever go on vacation in the 70's? I don't remember watching Spongebob 20 times or drinking 100 Capri-Suns. All I can remember is asking my parents "How many more towns?" and sleeping, completely supine and without any car restraint whatsoever, in the back seat of a Chevrolet Caprice with light blue, vinyl seats, while listening to "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" on the radio.

I can remember that my mom always said how she hated that song (with the devil and all) but listened to it anyway. And, I just loved, loved, loved it because it was all about Georgia and even then I knew Charlie Daniels could rock.

"The Chicken in the Bread Pan Peckin' Out Dough,
Granny Does Your Dog Bite, No Child, No! "

Profound.

So, anyhoo. We spent a few days at Sea World and made a day trip to Silver Springs (a post of its own).

Can I just say that my daughter has fallen in love with the stingray? If we could have bought a discounted ticket, we could have just spent the entire two days at the Stingray Lagoon because you can not only view the stingrays, you can pet them.

Yes, slime and all. And I should know. I touched a few of them myself. I have to say it was kind of cool to actually touch one. (There was also a sink nearby for some serious handwashing.)

We did the usual Shamu and Dolphin shows and the cute Pets Ahoy show with rescued dogs, cats, ducks, a pig, a rat, and a skunk. It was great.

Near the end of our trip, my allergies flared up and now I have officially lost my voice. My daughter started having the sniffles too, and today she has a fever. Thankfully, we are home.

The fish survived our absence after the purchase of a highly technical Betta fish tank filtration system and feeding device. (It would have been a lot cheaper to replace a dead fish, but a Mama does what a Mama has to do.)

The cat didn't cause any injury to the kennel workers. She did hiss the first few days, but they say she gave up the fight and started being nice.

And hubs? He is recovering from all of the driving.

It was fun to get away, but I'm glad to be back. :>)

I'll be back...

Signing off for a little R & R with the family.

Enjoy these wonderful days of Spring!

:>)

Adventures in House Hunting

I've joined the organization known as People for the Ethical Treatment of Ugly Houses, also known as PETUH.

We are house hunting. Can I just say that I love, love, love my realtor? No offense to any realtors reading this, but I have not always had the best experience with real estate agents. At times, I've felt like I've been in the middle of a used car lot with a middle-aged man with a middle-aged spread to match, learning about the benefits of anti-lock breaks and Sure Coat paint,promises of NASA- level gas mileage, and a new car smell that lasts forever.

And shopping is supposed to be fun.

But this realtor? Love her. We are close in age, both have little girls we adore and share a love for laughter. And laughing, we did.

Our first house was in a quiet neighborhood where little Southern ladies named Dorothy and Margaret walk their cute little dogs along the sidewalks, enjoying the shade of the oak canopies. I'll bet if you walk in one of these homes, you would be welcomed by the smell of a pot roast in the oven and potpurri on the coffee table.

Just lovely.

The house we viewed had been on the market for a while and was a "fixer upper." In a nice price range for the neighborhood, it was worth seeing. When we walked in, we were impressed by the older, unique architectural features and nice hardwood floors. The kitchens and bathrooms could use some updating, but so far, not too much work.

We ventured down to the lower level and I immediately smelled it.

"Ooo, I smell mildew," I said.

"Me, too," she said.

We walked on and saw the real reasons this house was a "fixer upper"- water damage. Then, my realtor turned to me with a look of anguish on her face.

"I smell mold. I feel it in my chest," she said.

"Let's get out of here!" I said, fearing that she was about to have an asthma attack.

We returned to the truck and breathed in some good, clean, toxin free air. She assured me that she was not going to require an inhaler or an epi- stick, and we continued on our search.

The next houses were very charming. All were a little older, but in wonderful neighborhoods. There were some pleasant surprises like a granite countertop in one bathroom, a gorgeous patio with a view and one home on a quaint little pond.

There were a few exceptions. Like the bathroom in top to bottom 1970's brown. I could picture Marsha brushing her hair at the sink... "98, 99, 100! Jan! Where are my Go Go boots?! "

Then there was the very, plush, 1/2 inch of nap away from shag bedroom carpet that I wanted to reach down and pet. "Good, dog."

While attempting to enter one home, we were nearly attacked by a bird. It swooped down from its perch on the porch in a fighter pilot maneuver. For a moment, I thought the realtor actually crouched down behind me. The house was great, but the bird? It was waiting for us on the back step as we tried to exit the backdoor. Oh, yes M'am it did. OK. Maybe it was another bird, but does that make it any less creepy?

We left the Tippi Hedren house and headed off to the very last house of the day.

And, honey, we saved the best for last.

The neighborhood? Perfect.

The house? Not so much. Let's just say that the realtor looked frightened when we drove up in the driveway.

She turned to me and said, "I think this is the house I showed months ago. If it is, you don't want it. Let's check it out and see."

Oh, we checked it out- after we stood to the sides of the door, knocked and said,"PETUH! Come out with your hands up!"

It was that bad. My realtor opened the door, took one peek, and closed it. No kidding. It may have been the reflection from the algae in the fish tank inside, but I am pretty sure she turned green.

I had no idea that Real Estate involved HazMat training.

And, in case you're wondering, we did see a few nice homes and one particular home that was absolutely beautiful. But those kinds of houses don't make for good blog material.

I'll keep you posted on our quest. Who knows? Maybe we'll see a house that has a Rear Window with a view.

Bada Bing! (couldn't resist)

;>)

What to do when you stub your pinky toe.

Have you ever had a migraine? Or better yet- have you ever given birth? If you have experienced excruciating pain of any kind, you know that pain is relative.

Pain is relative to the person who is experiencing the pain. I didn't say your relatives are a pain. Maybe they are, but let's get back to the point and I do have one although it will take me several run-on sentences, a few metaphors and a dash of sarcasm to get to it.

I have a fairly high threshold for pain. It takes a lot of pain medicine to eliminate my pain and it really takes a lot of pain for me to even request pain medication. I'm tough like that.

But don't make me change my routine. It's like I'm on this treadmill, the little rat in the wheel, just huffing and puffing and trying to reach the proverbial cheese; I'm doing the best I can. Don't stop the wheel. I just might trip over my own little rat toes and fall flat on my pudgy rat belly.

I don't handle stress very well. What is stressful for me may not be stressful for you. What is stress for someone else, may not be stress for me. Stress, just like pain, is relative. I didn't say your relatives are stressful. Maybe they are...

Imagine a steel cable and a long piece of fishing line. If you hang a 20 pound weight on a steel cable, the cable is strong enough to handle the weight. Hang that same weight on the fishing line and chances are, the fishing line will snap. (I'm not talking about the deep sea big game fishing line that could pull in a prize winning swordfish. I'm talking about the average, my Daddy just retired and he's getting a boat so he can fish for catfish and brim fishing line.)

The weight is the same, but the tool holding the weight is very different. The 20 pound weight isn't stressful to the steel cable, but the poor brim fishing line just might need some Prozac.

So, why am I sharing this? Well, I haven't been fishing, but Mama, she needs some Prozac. We have been going through a lot of changes and decision making in our family and my little Brim Buster is just about ready to break.

But, I know what to do. Certainly, I always turn to God in prayer and listen to Him through His Word. I talk to my husband, family and my very dear friends. (Can I just say that those friends are worth more than their weight in Prozac?!)

And I do one more thing- I talk to my doctor. I am not making light of the situation.

OK. I am. My sarcasm is a pathetic coping mechanism. I tell people these things so that maybe someone reading this will seek help for herself. I realized years ago that I need medication. Some people are able to manage their lives with therapy alone, but I cannot. It's OK. It doesn't make me a weak person. In fact, it takes a lot of strength to admit you need any kind of outside help when life just gets to be too heavy.

What I really want to share with you is that when your little fishing line just can't hold the weight, get help. Talk to someone. Talk to your doctor. Talk to a therapist. Just don't try to pull in that big catch all by yourself.

If you know someone who seems to be under some sort of weight herself, be a friend. Don't try to understand why her "fishing line" can't pull in a minnow. Just know that it doesn't. She may or may not want advice. One thing for sure- She needs you to just "be there." Assure her that she doesn't have to carry the weight alone. Encourage her to get some help, whatever type of help is right for her.

No matter what weight you are trying to carry, just realize that we are all very different. We all need different methods of coping and we all need to recognize those differences in ourselves and in others. Be encouraged and know God loves you and He cares for you, whether your stress is a new job, a new baby, or a new hairdo.

It's all relative.

Sometimes we have a baby and we need to "breathe." Sometimes we have a headache and we need an aspirin. And, sometimes we may just stub our pinky toe and we need an epidural and the entire Pain Management Team.

Hey, doc! My epidural wore off...

Linda does it again.

Linda over at 2nd Cup has given up coffee for Lent and I am not sure what she is drinking in its place.

Ahem.

You must go now, dear ones, and read Sunday's post about school musical programs. It is laugh out loud funny!

Quiz Answers

1. Hunt For Red October- Way to go, Melissa!

2. Seinfeld- George pretends to be a marine biologist. Lynne- You go, girl! Any Seinfeld nut is a friend of mine. :>)

3. Forrest Gump

4. Fried Green Tomatoes- Evelyn says this to her husband. She prepared him a "low cholesterol meal" for Valentine's Day and he asked her if she was trying to kill him.

5. King of The Hill- Peggy Hill to Bobby. (There are so many classic Bobby Hill lines. Hard to pick just one!)

6. Steel Magnolias

7. Friends- Ross to Rachel. If it hadn't been a comedy, they could have named it Knots Landing.

8. Toy Story- Woody

I gotta go....there's a snake in my boots...

Movie and TV Quotes Pop Quiz

Do you remember these?

1. "I will live in Montana. And I will marry a round American woman and raise rabbits, and she will cook them for me. And I will have a pickup truck... maybe even a "recreational vehicle." And drive from state to state. Do they let you do that?"

2. ""The sea was angry that day, my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli."

3. "The best thing about visiting the President is the food! Now, since it was all free, and I wasn't hungry but thirsty, I must've drank me fifteen Dr. Peppers."

4. "If I was gonna kill you, I'd use my hands."

5. "Mom, I'm fat."
" No, honey, you're not. You're husky. It says so on your jeans."

6. "Miss Truvy, I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair. "

7. "We were on a break!"

8. "Somebody's poisoned the waterhole!"

Answers tomorrow... Have Fun!

Where in the world is Melanie Diego?

OK.

I'm still here. In case any of you had nothing better to do and were wondering why I have not pitifully attempted to amuse or inspire anyone with my Kindergarten level writing in a few days, let me explain. I've been busy with The Thing Called Life.

Blah Blah Blah

Like trying to decide whether we will stay in our rental, buy a home, what to buy, where to buy, what color bath towels to hang... OK not that. Much prayer and gnashing of teeth is happening at my house.

So, in an effort to prove that I am alive and kickin' I offer you this proof:

My Pitiful Attempt At A Post Which I Wrote In The Car, But Not Literally As I Do Not Multi-task While Driving Unless You Count Applying Lipstick And Listening To My Daughter's Philosophy On Life

The title itself could be a post because it is so long and boooorrrinngggg....

Here goes-

Proof That I Am A Product Of The 80's

1. I get excited when I hear Thriller on the radio. I spent one entire summer glued to MTV waiting for them to play the Thriller video again. When it came on, I called all of my friends and told them to,"Turn on the TV! Thriller is on for the 300Th time today!! Don't miss it! Oh My Ga- Do you see those dance moves? AHHH! He is going to break through the door!"

Ahhhh. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Ahhhhh. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

And if you don't hear Vincent Price in your head right now you are probably too young... sigh...

Yes, people. I knew Michael before he became a freak.

2. I cannot style my hair without using hairspray. At least one whoosh over the top of my head.

3. When I can't find someone, I am tempted to say,"Bueller, Bueller."

4. I have tasted New Coke.

5. I have heard Eddie Murphy sing.

6. I understand that a Flock of Seagulls may or may not have anything to do with birds.

7. I know that Big Country had a song called Big Country on an album with Big Country written on it, but I don't remember where they were from. (somewhere you can ride four wheelers, apparently)

8. I always wanted to party like it was 1999, but I didn't know that I'd have to stock up on food and fear the end of the world... ahem.

9. I remember when Sarah Jessica Parker was a brunette.

Square Pegs, Square Pegs, Square Square.

10. We did not use acid as a drug. We washed our jeans in it. It made it much easier to rip them.

I didn't personally wash them in acid. I bought them already washed in acid, which means I paid (well, my mom paid) for someone to wash them in acid. That is so much more pathetic. I think if I had access to acid or other corrosive material, I probably would have done it myself. Scary.

11. Jellies are shoes, not condiments for toast.

12. I saw Sinbad and Rosie on Star Search.

13. I know what Paula Abdul and Arsenio Hall have in common.

14. I used to think that computers could "think" and talk to you.

15. I lived without the Internet.

OK. That last one? Nearly sent me into a panic attack. You mean we actually existed and managed to live a normal, balanced life without google? Who knew?

16. Then there's this display of fashion mistakes-





Happy Weekend, Y'all!

More moments in the car

Daughter- "Mommy, sometimes I'm idealess."

Mommy- ""You're what?"

Daughter- "Idealess."

Mommy- "Oh. That's called writer's block."

Daughter- "And sometimes my brain works faster than my fingers can write and I say, 'Stop it! Slow down!!"

Mommy to herself- That hasn't happened to me in a while...

;>)

His Eye Is On The Sparrow

Yesterday my daughter and I went to the park. It was just one of those days where you absolutely must go outside or you would burst. The weather was perfect and you could feel Spring on your skin.

While we were there, we enjoyed the birds and giggled a lot. Something about sunshine and songbirds makes you giggle.

It began to get dark and we started walking back to the car (a long trek at this park). As we made our way back we happened upon an area where some teenagers had enjoyed a picnic. And left their cans and garbage behind.

We still had a long way to walk and were without any type of bag. Still, my daughter insisted that we pick up every single can and scrap of plastic strewn about this area of the park. She was worried about the birds and the animals getting caught in some of the plastic or being harmed by the garbage left behind.

Our arms were full and may I say- I wound up with drips of Dr. Pepper, Mt. Dew, and beer (yuck) all down my t-shirt. We gathered an empty box of Girl Scout cookies, too. The Girl Scouts would have been disappointed.

Two cans were left. There was absolutely no way we could gather them in our already full arms. (I made sure my daughter did not carry any beer cans. I had all of the really disgusting trash.)

My daughter began to cry,"What about the birds? Mommy, can't we come back? Can't we walk to the trash can and come back and get these cans, too?"

"No, we can't, Sweetie. It is getting dark. We are the only ones here and it just isn't safe for a Mommy and her little girl to be out here alone," I said, my heart breaking at the sight of her tears.

She continued to cry as we walked back to our car, loaded down with someone else's trash.

I turned to her and said,"We just have to pray that God will send someone else to pick up those cans, too. He sent you here. He loves that you care about His Earth and the animals. He is smiling right now. He will take care of it."

My words seemed to comfort her and we kept walking, the sun quickly sliding down behind the horizon. As we walked along, we found an empty box someone had left behind. We put all of the trash we had gathered in the box and continued on, reaching the trash can and our car.

When we got in the car, after some serious Purell sanitizing, I shared with her how I have learned to trust God. When I am overwhelmed and think that I have to be the one to save the world, I have to remind myself that God has a whole army of Christians working for Him. Many times in my life, I have worked on a project or struggled to help someone and I've tried to do it all by myself. It is so frustrating to feel like you are working alone. When I have faith and give it all to God, I am so comforted knowing that He is in control and He will prevail.

"Just say a prayer and He will take care of it," I said.

"I already did, Mommy," she answered from the back seat.

We drove home and I suddenly realized that I need to literally practice what I preach. I have had so many things weighing heavy on my heart lately. I have allowed doubt to fill the space where faith should dwell. Right then, I said a silent prayer, asking God to "take care of it."

This morning I received an email letting me know that God had indeed "taken care of it."

My first thought was about the birds- the sparrows that He loves. He cares for them. Surely, He will care for me, His Child. I am reminded that I am worth more to Him than many sparrows. (Luke 12:6-7)

Thank you, God, for taking care of me and for providing all my needs. I just want to take this moment to praise You.

Psalms 84

"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of Heaven’s Armies.
I long, yes, I faint with longing to enter the courts of the Lord.

With my whole being, body and soul, I will shout joyfully to the living God.
Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow builds her nest

and raises her young at a place near your altar,

O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, my King and my God!
What joy for those who can live in your house, always singing your praises.
What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord,

who have set their minds
on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
When they walk through the Valley of Weeping,

it will become a place of refreshing springs.

The autumn rains will clothe it with blessings.
They will continue to grow stronger,

and each of them will appear before God in Jerusalem.
O Lord God of Heaven’s Armies, hear my prayer.
Listen, O God of Jacob.
O God, look with favor upon the king, our shield!

Show favor to the one you have anointed.
A single day in your courts is better than a thousand anywhere else!

I would rather be a gatekeeper in the house of my God

than live the good life in the homes of the wicked.
For the Lord God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory.
The Lord will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right.
O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, what joy for those who trust in you."

Medicare, Marmaduke, and Miatas.

I think I may have discovered a phenomenon.

I was out today running an errand and I saw an elderly lady walking her dog. The dog was a cute little pup, walking as fast as his little legs could carry him. This is when I realized something. The age of a person is reversely correlated to the size of their pet.

For example, when you are a kid you love puppies and all dogs, but what are the typical family dogs that Santa brings? Labs, Golden Retrievers, German Shepherds, and Rottweilers.

Yep. When you are a kid, your dog is big. Even our favorite cartoon dogs were big- Marmaduke and my personal favorite, Scoobie Doo. You can't get much bigger than a Great Dane!

So, there we are, growing up with this big dog. We throw the ball for him. We take him for walks. He pulls us over with the leash while lunging for a squirrel. Our dog is just one, big bundle of fun.

Then we leave home, get a job and our own apartment. They don't take big pets, so we get a medium sized dog like a beagle or a poodle, or a cute mutt from the pound.

Before we know it, we are retiring and moving off to Florida and our dog of choice is a Bichon Frise.

The opposite is true for the car we drive. As we age, the size of the car gets bigger. This has happened to me. My first car was a cute, sporty Toyota Paseo. I was so cool. Now I drive a Camry and our next vehicle will most likely be a mini-van.

What do old people drive? Cadillacs. Yes, the older you get, the larger your vehicle becomes. Why is this? Do we need the room? What are we hauling around besides our dentures and our depends?

I guess if I live to be 100, I'll be driving around in my RV with my tiny, tea cup Chihuahua in my lap, hanging his tiny tea cup tongue out the window.

Let the good times roll.

Extreme Sports in the Womb

They say that babies can experience a lot in the womb. They hear and feel much of what we hear and feel when we are pregnant. This may have a lot to do with the reason my daughter won't eat potatoes.

When I was in my first trimester I had a lot of nausea. I never threw up. I just wanted to. For about a month all I wanted was potato products from Sonic. One day I ate tater tots and fries for two separate meals. I use the word "meal" loosely. I went nuts with the spuds. Maybe it was the starch, or maybe the salt. I don't know, but it worked. I

After the urge to purge went away, I craved certain foods like Chinese, Mexican, anything spicy, turkey sandwiches and Cheetos (had to be at the same time), and Brach's chocolate covered peanut clusters.

If it were possible, I would write a thank you note to the person who united the peanut with chocolate. This was pure genius. And to take roasted peanuts, pile them all on top of one another in a football-style tackle, then smother them in rich chocolate?

Sweet Mother of Pearl.

Most normal people would buy the bag of Brach's chocolate covered peanut clusters and it would last them, oh, a few days or maybe a week. I was pregnant. It lasted me for the ride home.

Yes, M'am. I ate an entire day's worth of calories en route from Wal-mart to my house. Sometimes I would pace myself, saving a few for when I got home, so I could drink a tall glass of skim milk with them. I went with the skim to keep my girlish figure.

To this day my daughter loves Cheetos and Reese's peanut butter cups. She has just recently discovered the negative nutritional goodness of Girl Scout cookies- peanut butter patty.

If Homer Simpson is reading this post, I promise you that he is drooling right now and yelling for Marge to bring him a snack.

Just as the pregnancy potato products had an adverse effect on my daughter's taste for spuds, I fear that one day she will have some unusual aversions without knowing why.

Let me explain.

When I was about 7 months pregnant, we visited the Outer Banks. My husband wanted to see one of the lighthouses so we decided to take the "ferry" on over.

Now, what do you think of when I say "ferry?" You think of a normal barge type water craft, don't you? Oh, no. You are so very wrong. This particular ferry was a small, teeny, tiny, minuscule fishing boat. This boat was so small that if you actually did go fishing in it, you would have to leave the fish behind because there wouldn't be enough room for you and the fish to go home.

The weather was cold, damp, and windy and the water was rough. It was white capping like the foam on your cappuccino. The ride was a very long 15 minutes. The driver completely ignored the fact that my belly was the size of a nuclear reactive watermelon and decided to keep his tight schedule.

The faster he went, the more the boat bounced. Boom. Boom. Boom. My bottom kept bouncing up and down, over and over. I thought for sure I would go into labor. When we arrived on the island to see the lighthouse, I cried like a scared, mom-to-be. We asked the sweet, retired park volunteer if there was any other way back.

The lady brought me a chair, gave me some Coke, and said,"Shug, the only other way out of here is by helicopter. Do you need me to call one for you?"

Now I had to decide if I wanted to take the chance going back with Captain Pogo Stick or request that the state park personnel call a chopper in to save me from premature labor and a nervous breakdown.

I went with the boat ride. Only this time, the Captain was a little more understanding. He must have told his first mates back at the dock about this huge pregnant woman he almost sent into labor. My guess is they gave him a piece of advice- Give the woman a seat on the back of the canoe along with a huge cushion and slow down.

So we made it back safely. It ended up being a wasted trip anyway. My husband was disappointed that the lighthouse was closed and he couldn't actually go in it. He was grateful that I didn't have a baby right there on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

I managed not to have a nervous breakdown or severely injure Captain Pogo Stick.

My daughter was fine, but I have a feeling she will never, ever want to go bungee jumping.

I don't mean to brag...

Oh, yes I do!

Just when you think your week is really starting to stink (literally) with smelly fungi sprouting in the yard, Newman losing a package and did I mention that my sink stopped up last night...

Anyhoo.

Just when you're having a no good, rotten, terrible, bad day, you find out that this poem won First Place in the State Creative Writing Competition.

Oh, yes M'am. Mama has been burnin' up the cell phone with this one.

And the Internet. And the local papers... OK, not the papers.

And did I also mention that I carried this child for 9 months and birthed her after a gazillion hours of labor and an epidural that wore off?

I did?

OK. I have been known to repeat myself.

It's my blawg and I'll brag if I want to.

;>)

Hello again, Newman.

Newman and I aren't getting along.

Newman lost a package that I "returned" but I wasn't really returning it. I was refusing delivery, because it took Newman over 2 weeks to deliver a package I had ordered from a "certain company" that supplies novelties and delightfully cheap crafts.

And I LOVE delightfully cheap crafts.

It was supposed to take a week for Newman to deliver said package. I was under a time restraint. The crafts were for Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving was fast approaching. The company offered to overnight a second package to me at no charge, using another shipping company. That package arrived on time and intact. The company suggested that I refuse deliver for Newman's package, because it would be the easiest method of handling the situation.

Boy, were we naive.

I actually drove to Newman's "office" and refused delivery, handing the slow and damaged packaged to him personally. Newman, in Newman's typical tone, was not even apologetic for the slow delivery or the fact that the package was damaged and partially opened.

Fast forward 3 months. The company has not received the returned package and now wants to charge me for the delightfully cheap crafts or have me mail the package to them. (The crafts I don't have from the package I never even opened.) In several phone calls, the company has suggested that I talk to Newman.

Newman.

Well, I did talk to Newman. Only Newman told me that it was out of his hands, since I was refusing delivery, there were no services involved and therefore nothing Newman could do. Newman advised me that I should have paid to prove the mail return, even though I was not actually mailing anything and in Newman's own words,"there were no services involved."

It's just like Newman to charge me for a service I am technically not receiving.

That Newman!

Tomorrow- Why I hate the library.

I am just full of joy today. Can ya tell?

Consider this my PSA for the day.

If you see these in your yard,

do not poke them with a stick.

The grass is always stranger on the other side.

It's always a learning experience at our house.

Last night we were getting ready to go out for dinner when my daughter ran in the house to say,"Mama! Come quick! Snake eggs!"

Just as a reminder, we live in a rental house in your average, Edward Scissorhands, I can knock on the neighbor's door without leaving the house suburbia. We don't really know our neighbors that well, which, at times can be a good thing.

We also don't understand the complexity of their landscaping.

Our neighbor has a large, nicely landscaped area adjacent to our house. There are native plants and outdoor lighting and what appears to be snake eggs.

Daughter and I ran outside and found Daddy looking over the eggs in question. I ran up next to him and there they were- white egg-shaped somethings all nestled in the mulch. What's more, it looked like there were tiny, orange legs inside the eggs.

EEEWWWW!

The three of us stood over the egg nest and just threw out ideas-

"I don't think those are snake eggs. Snakes don't have legs."

"But, what is it? Alligator? Turtle? Birds?"

"Mama, I don't want you and Daddy to get bit!"

"This is totally grossing me out."

"Maybe they're dinosaurs... Mama's just kidding."

Then I poked at them with a stick because, well, that's what you do when you find something gross and you don't know what it is.

We encouraged daughter to go in and wash her hands so we could go to dinner. As she was inside, husband and I discussed the oddity in the neighbor's yard. We were certain that whatever these eggs were, they were not going to hatch now. Nothing could keep them warm and well, I had poked them with a stick.

So we headed off to dinner, still puzzled. I was praying that whatever was about to hatch in my yard was not deadly and that the Chinese restaurant we were going to did not have any crab claws or bird parts on the buffet.

EEEEWWW!

On the way there, we entertained the idea that the eggs could be a plant, a mushroom, or something alien. At the mention of "alien" my daughter said some kid did it, "probably a boy!" We finally managed to change the subject, have a nice dinner, then return home.

To the stench. The retched stench.

We pulled in the driveway, got out of the car and looked at each other, wrinkling up our noses.

"What is that smell?"

"Smells like a paper mill!"

"Must be sewage."

You see, after careful investigation on the trusty Internet upon our return home, I found out that our eggs were not eggs at all. They are nasty, disgusting, smelly, octopus stinkhorn mushrooms. They grow in mulch in perfect conditions, and it seems that right now it is a perfect condition.

And, poking them with a stick is the last thing you want to do when you have stinkhorns growing in your yard or your neighbor's yard. Kicking them doesn't help either. The stench will catch a summer breeze and ride around for miles, sticking its tongue out at people as it goes by.

Nah-nah-nah-nah-nahhhh!

So we don't have snakes or alligators or birds or aliens incubating next door. We have putrid, smelly mushrooms. I would have welcomed a nice, friendly rattler any day.

Update- I promise that I will take a picture and post it tomorrow.

Y'all, Come on in!

It's a Blog Party!

Are any of you allergic to cats? Just let me know. I'll put Maggie in the garage. We had some friends over once who didn't tell us ahead of time. They came over for dinner and the poor man started to wheeze and his eyes watered up. I felt just terrible. We put the cat out but it was too late. Our friend ended up going home early.

So, just let me know. Mama always said to make sure my guests are able to see clearly and breathe. That's just a standard of hospitality where I come from.

I lit some candles to get rid of the boiled shrimp smell. We had shrimp for dinner. Now it just smells like vanilla shrimp.

Feel free to have a Diet Coke, some sweet tea, or some coffee. I'll fix it for you. There are some finger foods in the dining room. Please, help yourself.

Oh, and excuse the fingerprints in the fudge. My daughter helped herself to some while I was in the kitchen... let me put that away right now...

Welcome! I am so glad you stopped by my little blog. That begonia on my porch has bloomed for a solid six months! It looks a little anemic and grey, though. The hyacinths haven't lost a single bloom and they have stayed a vibrant lavender. It's really amazing; I've never been able to grow a thing. My husband is the gardener in the family.

I love to write about everyday things. I really love to find humor in everyday things. Humor is what keeps me sane. And, let me tell y'all, I am teetering on the edge. I love being a wife and mom. God has blessed my life so much.

If you are new here, just make yourself at home. Have a seat and stay for a spell. You are welcome at our house any time!

Here are a few of my favorite posts:


This is what happens when my imagination gets loopy.

This is what my life has come to.

Dear OSHA

Our family's Marilyn

A Novel for Meme? Why, bless your bloggin' heart!

After the storm...

He is still with you.

Please go here-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uHdcyue0bSw

for some encouragement. I am having problems posting a video for some reason today.

Please pray for those recovering from the storms in Alabama, Georgia and Missouri.

Our hearts are with you.

This Is A Message From the Emergency Broadcast System

It has rained all day and there are tornado watches all over the southeast.

I can't help but think about this story-

Get the flashlight. I feel a drizzle.

Where's my purse?

American Idol- The Girls Rock!

I don't know if this will start to be a trend or not, but I have to blog about the girls tonight.

'Cause the ladies are rockin' the house!

Sorry Guys!

This is the part of AI that I like. I hate the auditions phase- too many hurt feelings, nasty remarks, and broken dreams. What can I say? I'm a softy.

Gina- Great song choice. I think this is her musical style. Love the red on her, too. Better vocals than last week.

Alaina- Better than last week. Vocals were off, but tough song. Brave to take on that song! Lots of energy.

Lakisha- (I'm a little partial because she is my favorite!) Oh my! Back up singers already?! You go, girl! OK. Midnight Train to Georgia? One of my favorite songs!!! I'm feelin' a little homesick... this lady has my vote!

Melinda- My other favorite. Great voice. Great smile. Fabulous.

Antonella- Tough song to sing. I think most of the contestants should stay away from Celine, Mariah or Whitney unless you are in the Top 5. Off tempo. Better than last week.

Jordin- Rocky start and difficult transitions. Still, a great singer with strong vocals. Beautiful dress. Not my favorite performance from her, but still one of my favorite contestants so far.

Stephanie- Difficult song to keep tempo. Hard to get into. Great voice and a lot of talent. Just needs to find her niche. One of the top 5.

Leslie- Soulful voice. I like her style. Needs a little fine tuning, but I like her sound.

Haley- Started out strong, wavered a little. Strong voice.

Sabrina- One of my favorite songs. A little off. Brave to take on this song! Strong voice but needs to vary volume.

My picks? Melinda and Lakisha are still my favorites. Here's the thing- There are some good voices and some phenomenal voices. Hard to compete. I think the ladies need to each find their own strength and go with it. Make it their own and fine tune their unique abilities.

I'm pretty sure the winner is going to be one of the ladies! Some of the best talent since Seasons 1 and 2.

New Blog Carnival!

There's A New Carnival In Town

Trista over at The Pumkin Patch is hosting a great blog carnival called Tasty Thursday. Each week, you can post a great, new recipe you would like to share with other bloggers. She asks that you have already tried the recipe and that it passes your "taste test."

Head over to Trista's and grab the really cool button. Leave a comment and tell her you are participating. Tomorrow is the first day!

Thanks, Trista!

A Letter to Oprah...

Dear Ms. Winfrey,

I want to take this moment to thank you from the deepest part of my soul for building the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy for Girls.

I realize that you will probably never read this. But, I have to write it anyway.

As the mother of a young girl, I seek The Lord's Guidance in how to bring her up to be a courageous, educated, loving young woman. Her father and I have prayed over her as we carefully consider all of the possibilities for her future.

I always thought I was aware of the many opportunities for Americans. I thought I was grateful.

Until I saw the faces of South Africa.

I saw the smile of a young girl and the tears that softly fell from her face when you told her you would pay for her to attend a university.

I saw the eyes of a girl as she strained to see her homework by candlelight.

I watched my television, in my suburban, comfortable home and saw a young lady who wakes at 4:00 AM each day, walks across town in fear for her life, then rides a bus for an hour just to go to school.

I saw the faces of mothers, fathers, and grandmothers who struggle to feed their families, who live in small shacks without running water or electricity.

I saw how one woman can reach so many by sharing her success. But this has nothing to do with money.

You have shown me that one person can give so little, but it can mean so much. In the midst of tragedy, a simple gesture of kindness is worth a fortune.

A hug.

A smile.

A helping hand.

Hope.

Thank you, Ms. Winfrey, for showing me that I can give all of these things to young children and to my own daughter. I cannot give the millions that you may give, but I can love a child. I can show them they are worthy. I can give them praise when no one else has confidence in them. I can treat them with dignity and honor.

And for that, I am forever grateful.

Sincerely,

An American Mother


If you did not view the Oprah Winfrey Special about her new school for young girls, I encourage you to visit her website.

Modern Wonders of My World

There is a really cool site you can visit to vote for The Seven Modern Wonders of the World. Check it out and cast your vote.

In the meantime, I decided to list my own Seven Modern Wonders of the World.

In complete seriousness, of course.

Ahem.

1. Pop Rocks

2. Disney World

3. Pizza Delivery

4. Washable markers and crayons

5. Disposable d*apers

6. The car seat/baby carrier/stroller combo

7. Chicken nuggets

Deep. :>)

(For the record, I haven't used the baby items in quite a while!)

Back To The Future: A Fun Meme

I think all of us are suffering from some sort of nostalgia neurosis. There are so many of us posting about our teen years, the prom, big hair, bad acne, and just plain gaudy attire.

So I figure I'll just go with it.

I saw this meme over at Big Mama's and decided to play along.

Favorite Song From Childhood: "I Love" Click and listen. It is really sweet. Mama used to sing it to me. She never liked the "bourbon" part. :>)

Favorite High School Dance Song: Pretty much anything Miss Janet wanted to sing. I tried to learn all of her dance moves. And let's not forget Paula Abdul, before she was sparring with Simon.

Senior Class Song: "Lean On Me" (I think!) I remember it being the one I didn't vote for.

Favorite Rock & Roll Song: I like the guitar solo in the beginning of "Hot for Teacher" by Van Halen. I don't feel tardy.

Favorite Disco Song: Hmmm... this one is hard. I like the songs from Saturday Night Fever. Classic movie.

Favorite Country Western Song: "The Dance", Garth Brooks. Makes me cry every time.

Favorite Pop Song: I don't listen to pop much these days, but I love Gnarls Barkley "Crazy" and I like Kelly Clarkson

Favorite All Time Love Song: Hello! The entire Chicago and Air Supply collection.

Favorite Break Up Song: "Hard Habit to Break". And don't make me sing it for you in Winn Dixie.

Favorite Make Out Song: Um, what? I have no idea what you are talking about.

Song That Always Makes You Cry: Besides "The Dance", "Held" by Natalie Grant always makes me bawl like a baby.

Song About Your Kid/s: "Isn't She Lovely" by Stevie Wonder. "My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride

Song That Reminds You Of Your Husband: "The One" by Elton John- our wedding dance

Favorite Gospel/Praise Song: I still like the old time hymns. And I like "Crimson" by Nichole Nordeman. It gives me chills.

Favorite Ringtone on Cellphone: Don't laugh. I have a new cellphone now with a regular ringtone, but my old cellphone played "Play That Funky Music Whiteboy" and I loved it! I miss it. I need to search for it and add it to my new phone.

Have a great weekend! I will be on a bloggin' break for a few days. I might just have to rent The Breakfast Club and work on my break dancing...

Amber Alert Cancellation

The Amber Alert for Clay Moore

has been cancelled.

The child has been recovered and is safe.

Continue to pray for him and his family.

Praise God!

We were hip to be square.

I've been reading some great posts by Linda and Roxanne about the prom. Be sure to read Linda's post for her story about obedience to The Holy Spirit's tug on her pocketbook and a beautiful prom dress fit for a princess. Roxanne's post reminded me of my own prom experience and made me laugh out loud.

I was so excited about going to my junior prom. How many times does a girl get to wear a pageant dress, big hair and rhinestone jewelry out in public?

Mama and I shopped for a dress all over Albany, but the one we finally found was at The Bridal Barn in Moultrie. If memory serves me right, the dress shop was shaped like a barn. But this wasn't just any dress shop. This "barn" was stocked with wedding gowns, mother-of-the-bride dresses, prom and pageant wear, and of course, lots of accessories.

It was like I had died and gone to Southern girl heaven smack dab in the middle of an old cow pasture.

My dress was crimson red with white satin bows on the shoulder, a sweetheart neckline, and a white ruffle inset at the hem. Just darling. And the shoes? Dyed to match. What else?

Class-y!

My prom date, whom I will call Tim, was a really sweet friend and I had planned to ask him to the prom if he had not asked me first. He worked after school at a local video store and saved his money for months to take me to the prom.

His boss offered to let him drive her car so that we could ride in style. I can't remember the make, but it was a big, white sedan with a bench seat in front. Just before the prom, Tim's boss was in a wreck and he was worried that he wouldn't have a car to drive. I'm not sure why he didn't borrow his parents' car, but my guess is that they needed it that evening. His boss assured him that the car would be repaired in time for the prom.

Just before Tim picked me up, my parents took the typical "Pose here in the front yard, honey, you look so grown up in that red dress" pictures. I still have the photos. I had just colored my own hair with Sun In, the at home haircoloring kit which involves the spraying of chemicals from a hairspray bottle and "setting the color" with a blow dryer. What person failed chemistry and invented this product?

I thought I was cute. Oh, yes I did. Red dress and orange hair. AND pearls with rhinestones.

Fancy.

So Tim picked me up and gave me the most beautiful orchid wrist corsage. Mama pinned on his boutonniere, and took more "Awww... don't they look nice?" pictures. We got in the car and to my chagrin, the front seat was covered with a huge bedsheet.

To cover the blood stains from the accident. Tim apologized for the blood stains and promised me that it was OK to sit on the seat. I guess I should be glad I was wearing a red dress. (By the way- His boss? She was perfectly fine.)

We met some friends for dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town (public appearance in formal wear!) and then headed for the dance. The room was all decked out in 80's glitz, with tacky, low budget decorations, a "theme" and really bad punch.

As we slow danced to a 1980's ballad, Tim conjured up all of the courage he had and whispered to me, "You sway like a Georgia Pine."

I think he hoped I would swoon at his romantic line, but instead I just smiled, held in my giggle and kept dancing. It was a sweet moment of teen awkwardness.

After the dance, we went to a local lake that is nestled in a quiet neighborhood. The lake is bordered by quaint park benches, families of geese and migratory ducks. We strolled along the placid waters, looking on as the lake reflected the moon. The humidity hung thick in the night air. It was a quiet, peaceful evening.

Then the geese attacked my dress.

This information is probably documented in a yellowed, dusty National Geographic archive, but I will go ahead and tell y'all this- Geese are highly agitated by the sound of crinolins bustling in the wind.

My only hope was to seek safety on a park bench where I could quiet my crinolins and pray that the geese would just give up. They squawked and pecked at my hem, flapping their goosey feathers. Tim finally shooed them away and they swam off with their precious gosslings.

I was Causing A Commotion as the Lady In Red.

Don't Get Me Wrong. I Had The Time of My Life.

I know. That was Bad.

:>)

No geese were injured in the making of this memory, but my red taffeta dress suffered minor damages.

Happy Birthday, Nancy

Some friends remind me of gourmet coffee, quiche', fancy clothes, a night out at the movies or intellectual conversation.

Nancy reminds me of gas station cakes.

In the South, you can buy anything at the gas station. We've got your petro, your engine oil, your over-priced milk, the regular conveniences. We like to go the extra mile because we are all about hospitality- even at the gas station.

We also hate to see anyone go hungry. So in the local, small-town, Southern gas station you can fill your tank and your stomach. You'll find everything from fresh fried chicken with all the fixin's to sandwiches. In South Georgia and Alabama you'll find some of the best boiled peanuts.

But, if you're lucky, you'll find a mouth watering, girdle busting, 7-layer cake.

Yes, m'am. Nothing beats a cake from the gas station.

We were visiting Nancy and the family, having dinner and catching up on lost time. Our kids were off playing, picking up right where they left off and the men were talking shop. As always, Nancy was preparing a delicious meal (fajitas- yum!). On the kitchen counter, perched on a lovely glass cake pedestal, was the most tempting caramel cake.

Nancy said,"It is left over from (hubs') birthday."

Impressed, I asked, "Wow! Did you make it?"

"No. It's from the gas station," she replied.

This wasn't just any ole gas station cake. This was one of Dean's cakes from Dean's Cake House out of Andalusia. If you are in Alabama or the surrounding states, I urge you to stop reading right this minute and click on the link to see if you can purchase one of these cakes in a fine gas pumping establishment near you. Dean's delivers their cakes fresh and supplies grocery stores and gas stations all over the fine State of Alabama and some of the surrounding states.

OK. Go now. Then, come back...

Are you back? Good.

So Nancy explained that she loved, loved, loved Dean's cakes and when she discovered they delivered to a gas station in the next town over, she was just giddy with the thought that all of those bad carbs were available. Convenient, too.

If we learned anything from rebuilding after the War, it was this- put all your good stuff in one place so that if you ever have to run from Sherman again, you can load up on fried foods and sugar and fill both fuels tanks in your pick-up truck.

All they need to do is add some ammo and a few 8 tracks of Merle and Dolly. Bring on the nukes, enemies of the State! We're ready!

Our family was about to move to the little town where Nancy and her family were living. Needless to say, I was delighted to hear about the gas station cakes. Forget the closet malls and good shopping. I need icing.

We've had many fine meals with Nancy and the family, but this meal stands out in my mind for so many reasons. Nancy had really started to serve healthy foods (minus the cake) and asked if we ate whole wheat tortillas.

"Why, yes we do," I said. (We'll eat any type of bread wrapped around meat.)

"What about Enova oil?" she asked, "Do you think it will bother y'all?"

"Why, no," I replied.

Ain't it just like a good hostess to show genuine concern about the possibility that the meal she is about to serve will potentially cause bouts of diarrhea and intestinal distress?

Then Nancy sent her hubs to clean the dining table with Clorox wipes. Well, because the table is where Gilbert likes to sleep sometimes. Gilbert is their cat that deserves her own post because Gilbert is schizophrenic.

The table was sanitized, just in case, and the lovely place mats really made everything look so charming and inviting. To Gilbert. We walked back in the dining room and found that Gilbert had pounced onto the table and found the best seat in the house- right there on my place mat.

I felt so loved.

Nancy graciously grabbed a new place mat from the drawer and we all sat down to eat.

In walks Alli.

Alli is their lab. She is very sweet, but at the time was still in her puppy phase. Nancy and her hubs had tried everything they could think of to train this dog. They resorted to an obedience collar (they are perfectly safe), only the collar had not become very effective because every time they tried to activate it, they realized their little girl had turned it off.

Picture this-

All of us eating fajitas cooked in Ex-lax, wrapped in rubber, I mean whole wheat tortillas, at a fine dining table set with lovely place mats and a mentally disturbed cat, engaged in serious, political and social conscious conversation (not) while a playful puppy begs for thinly sliced grilled meat.

Then, Nancy's husband turns to her and asks,"Where is the remote?"

Because nothing says hospitality like shocking the dog during a meal.

Lucky for Alli, Nancy's daughter had deactivated the collar and the remote control didn't work. It was quite comical, really. The meal, the conversation, the menagerie of hosts.

And at the end, we all had a piece of cake for dessert, a little slice of caramel heaven, straight from the gas station.

Happy Birthday, Nancy!

Classic!

I am so glad Tammy at Family Doin's does not have writer's block. This post is a hoot.

Check it out! I'm dreaming of a white potty

When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

:>)

Writer's Block

If my writer's block were tangible, it could stop a Hummer goin' whatever warp speed a Hummer can go and then WHAM!

See. It's really, really bad.

I am very close to writing about watching the grass grow, which would be difficult being that it's February and the grass is well, dead.

So, what's new with you and your lawn?

Why "This Ain't New York?"

Someone asked recently what I have against New York; the people up there are nice, really.

Well, truth be told, I have nothing against New York or Northerners in general. (I married one!) But when I started to blog, I had to come up with a name that described what it meant to me to grow up in the South, in a family rich with small town folks with simple, yet colorful lives. Our family is laid back and casual, and sometimes even unrefined. We speak with not-so-eloquent accents in slow drawls and we drink our tea sweet and cold.

While trying to describe this place I call home (no matter where I live), I could definitely think of what it isn't- New York.

That's how I came up with the name and it has stuck ever since.

This is my original explanation and my very first post as it appeared last June-

"If this ain't New York, then where am I?"

So, for all you New Yorkers out there, welcome to my little corner of the blog world!

Theoretically Speaking From The Sofa

While watching "While You Were Out"-

Daughter- "You don't see many TLC trucks driving around."

Hubs- "No, you don't."

Daughter-"Maybe they were here, but they didn't do a very good job."

Hubs- "Maybe... or they came and redid our room and made it look exactly the same."

Daughter-"Maybe... wanna do some art?"

Mommy- type, type, type.

For Mommy Dearest

How Many Famous Rays Are From My Hometown?

Ray Charles

Ray Knight

Ray Stevens (lived there as a teen)

Rayon

:>)

Sadness In the Baby Department

Y'all know that my sister-in-law is having a baby girl. I could just burst with excitement and my daughter is about to explode.

So we have a lot of fun looking at all the cute baby stuff.

We were in Target today. They are having their baby sale. The store was filled with moms-to-be and moms and dads pushing strollers with sweet little bundles of joy. It was nostalgic for me as it wasn't that long ago (at least it seems) that I was in stores like Target looking at bibs and onesies, picturing how the little outfits would look on my little baby girl.

With all of the wonder and wide-eyed babies strolling by, it was this conversation that really broke my heart-

A mom-to-be was shopping with a friend. They looked pretty "hip" and if you asked my daughter she would have said they were wearing stylish pants. :>) Both looked like average shoppers, just searching for a great find.

The two of them stood in front of the bib display, the ones with phrases like "Princess Drool" and "Thank Heaven For Little Boys."

The mom-to-be turned to her friend and said,"I want a bib that says, "Blank you. I blanking rock!' Forget this 'I love Mommy' crap!"

My heart broke. It really did. I can just picture in my mind the life that little baby will have. I truly was not trying to judge, but what kind of environment is that for a child? I could tell by her tone that she wasn't joking. She was completely serious.

So tonight after I tuck my daughter in to bed and we say our prayers, I am going to say a silent prayer for that tiny baby who is yet to be born. And his mom.

Randomness of Trivial Unimportance

1. One of the neighbors mulched the Stop sign.

2. My daughter told me that "Ladies who work wear stylish pants."

Ahem.

3. This morning I purchased toilet paper, paper towels, and napkins- all in bulk. So much for saving the trees. Although, I also purchased 2 cards which were partially post-consumer.

4. The handmade valentines I mailed to my husband's grandmother were a hit at the assisted living home where she lives. They were all trying to decide how to hang them on the wall in their rooms. Final decision- Scotch tape. Sweet. :>)

5. I don't want to see a glue stick for a while. Refer to #4.

6. I have been working on a few new bumper stickers for y'all-

"If Mama ain't happy, it's probably your fault."

"Southern is a state of mind. Trouble is I'm not sure what state my mind is in."

7. They should rename Lean Cuisine "Appetizer for fat people." (I happen to be eating one right now.)

8. I have decided that Starbucks and Target are in cahoots. The Target people want you to walk in, buy a mocha, get all hyped up on java and GO MAD!

"LOOK! STUFF I DON'T NEED AT AN INSANE 90% OFF!"

9. Did you know that the stores already have swimsuits? Do they not know that there are people in Indiana eating out of cans?

10. Must go now... I need some stylish pants.

Have A Heart

National Organ Donor Day: February 14

Thousands Are Waiting. One Can Help.

In the next 24 hours, 77 people in The United States

will receive organ transplants.

In that same amount of time, 19 people will die waiting for a transplant.

The sad truth is that there just aren't enough people willing to donate.

Since learning about sweet Kelli and what she and her family are going through, The Lord really pressed upon my heart to learn more about organ donation.

I have shared with my husband my wish to be a donor at my death. He has agreed to honor those wishes. Other than signing the back of my driver's license, I really have not done much more to share my willingness to donate.

In an effort to promote awareness about Organ Donation, and in honor of Kelli and the many others waiting for a transplant, I will be posting the "Organ Donor" button in my sidebar.

I am asking you to consider joining me in this campaign to promote awareness. You are welcome to right click on the button and post it on your blog.

You may also link to this post for a quick reference.

On my quest to become more informed, I have found some valuable *information that I would like to share with you-

Who is eligible to donate?

Anyone over the age of 18 who has indicated their intent to donate. Persons under 18 must have the consent of a parent or guardian. Medical suitability for donation is determined at the time of death.

What can be donated?

Organs: heart, kidneys, pancreas, lungs, liver, and intestines
Tissue: cornea, skin, heart valves, bone, blood, blood vessels, and connective tissue
Bone marrow/stem cells, umbilical cord blood

Do I have to donate everything on this list or can I select what I wish to donate?

You may choose and designate on your donor card what you wish to donate.

Can I still have an open casket at my funeral?

Yes. Donation does not interfere with having an open casket service. Surgical techniques are used to retrieve organs and tissues, and all incisions are closed.

Will there be any costs to my family?

No. Your family will only pay for your medical and funeral costs. All donation related costs are paid by the recipient or their insurance provider.

Will my wishes be carried out?

Even if you sign a donor card, it is essential that your family know your wishes. Your family may be asked to sign a consent form in order for your donation to occur.


How do I become an organ donor?

• Talk to your family
• Register with your state donor registry, if available. (See the national link below and follow the instructions to find your state's registry.)
• Sign a donor card and carry it with you
  

For more information about organ donation, state registries, and to download a donor card, visit http://www.organdonor.gov/.

Canadian residents may visit The Organ and Transplant Association of Canada.

Remember, you can't take it with you.

*Information taken from OrganDonor.gov

My Forever Valentine

When I was a teenager, I always hated Valentine's Day. It was fun in elementary school with the tiny folded cards of Tweety saying things like, "I tink I taw a Sweetheart!" But once you enter the pimple-prone pre-teen years, Tweety and his friends, well, they just don't make your heart skip anymore.

I was never the girl who had a steady boyfriend. I did have a few boyfriends, but not like some of those popular girls, you know, the cheerleader-types who always seem to have a "fella" as Mama would say. My best friend was one of those girls. She was always wearing some article of clothing that didn't belong to her- a class ring, a jacket, or some other ill-fitted garment that was the property of her fella.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't exactly ugly, unless you count the time I tried to have my hair cut like Dorothy Hamill and I looked more like Luke Skywalker. Oh, and the braces didn't help much either.

I was pretty cute, if I do say so myself; I was just not in the Steady Boyfriend Clique' at the time. I spent my weekends at the mall with the girls shopping at Claire's for bright red beads and matching wide belts, you know, to wear over our oversized sweaters. Then we'd eat pizza or go to Chick-Fil-La and heckle the other kids from school who had to work that Saturday.

We were sweet like that.

What I'm saying is that in all my teen angst days, I can't remember having a boyfriend for Valentine's Day.

Do you hear the violins now? Give me a tissue, please...

No boyfriend. Age 14. Tragic.

One year my parents, in the relentless pursuit to impress their parental devotion to me, sent me flowers at school. Can you imagine? I know they did it out of pure, parental torture, I mean love, but FLOWERS FROM YOUR PARENTS! Can you be more embarrassed?

As if!

I got the call from the office over the intercom. (This was back when they allowed flower delivery at school right before Al Gore invented the Internet.) I was probably daydreaming in class about Kevin Bacon or Ralph Macchio, chewing my pencil and looking up at the ceiling tile when the secretary announced that "Melanie has flowers in the office."

Melanie! That's me!

Oh, who could have sent them? Is it Kevin? Maybe Duran Duran finally got my fan letter. I wonder if it's roses!

I remember that it was raining at lunch when I walked the breezeway to the office to claim the floral expression of devotion from my future husband. (I was 14, remember?) I can't remember exactly what the flowers looked like, but I remember finding them among other floral and helium arrangements of affection on the secretary's desk. Nestled in my flowers was a tiny box of chocolate mint candy.

Flowers and candy. He knows me so well.

Then I read the card. My heart sunk when I read the signature,"Love, Mama and Daddy."

I knew they meant well. They did. But at the time, that knowledge didn't make me feel any better. It just made me think, "I am the poster child for the teen cut down of all time- Only your mama loves you."

It didn't keep me from eating the chocolate.

And I realized that it really was a sweet gesture. At 14, or at any age really, sometimes you are just confused about true love and valentines.

Sometimes, even as adults, we don't understand that we can have a "Valentine" forever.

Jesus. He loves me every day, not just on February 14. He doesn't show His Love for me by sending roses or cards. He expressed His Love for me and for you over 2000 years ago. He stretched out His Arms on a cross, and after much suffering, suffering that we cannot even comprehend, in the most extraordinary expression of love for all mankind, He died.

He died for me. He died for you. He died and rose again so that we may live with Him in Heaven one day. And you know the best part? We don't have to send Him a card or roses, or do anything to show our love for Him. All we have to do is receive this offering He made for us all those years ago. That's all we have to do. Really! It's True!

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God.

Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.

Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.

This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son

into the world that we might live through him.

This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son

as an atoning sacrifice for our sins." 1 John 4:7-10 NIV

If you are feeling alone this Valentine's Day, know that you are loved. You are loved by the One Who Is Love.

Flowers will die. Cards will fade. But, the Love that Jesus Christ has for you, will endure forever.

All you have to do is open your heart and believe.