I am sitting here at a thing called a laptop (a small computer that sits on your lap) while my daughter builds a log cabin out of popsicle sticks for school.
Huh? Oh, a laptop is really cool (not chilly) and you can go wireless and take it with you in your SUV or your minivan (those are cars, like wagons without horses) to Starbucks (where you pay five bucks for coffee) and email or blog with your friends on the Internet (another computer thing) which was invented by Al Gore (he lost the election and now he has invented Global Warming.)
Huh? Wha???
What's a computer?
Hmmm... kind of hard to explain.
Anyway, I have a question. How did you build a log cabin without HGTV? Or did you Google it?
:>)
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Friday, November 09, 2007
So much for goodness and mercy.
I was out shopping with my daughter yesterday, looking for some new clothes. She needed a new coat because it has dropped below 50 degrees, people! Here in the South, that's cold.
We can brave the heat, but don't make us put on a scarf. No, M'am. Scarves are for the retailers to mark down after Christmas because no one in their right mind down here buys them because, hello, half of the time it is 80 degrees when we are opening our Christmas gifts.
Daughter and I found a new coat and some really cute church clothes. As we were leaving, it was still early, but already dark outside.
When we walked out of the mall to our car, I took her hand and said,"Stay close to Mommy. It is dark. Mean people come out at dark."
She gripped my hand and looked up at me to say,"Why do they come out at dark?"
"Well, they come out in the day, too, but for some reason they come out at dark because they think they are brave. Really, they aren't brave. They just think that because it is dark that no one will see them. But God does."
"Oh."
"But don't worry, we are safe. And if anyone ever tried to mess with my little girl, I would punch them in the mouth."
"Cool!"
Not the best story to tell after this post, but I do try to keep it real, folks.
We can brave the heat, but don't make us put on a scarf. No, M'am. Scarves are for the retailers to mark down after Christmas because no one in their right mind down here buys them because, hello, half of the time it is 80 degrees when we are opening our Christmas gifts.
Daughter and I found a new coat and some really cute church clothes. As we were leaving, it was still early, but already dark outside.
When we walked out of the mall to our car, I took her hand and said,"Stay close to Mommy. It is dark. Mean people come out at dark."
She gripped my hand and looked up at me to say,"Why do they come out at dark?"
"Well, they come out in the day, too, but for some reason they come out at dark because they think they are brave. Really, they aren't brave. They just think that because it is dark that no one will see them. But God does."
"Oh."
"But don't worry, we are safe. And if anyone ever tried to mess with my little girl, I would punch them in the mouth."
"Cool!"
Not the best story to tell after this post, but I do try to keep it real, folks.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Hello, My name is...
I was sipping some citrus-flavored mineral water at a party when she asked me.
It was a Let's get together and chat, have some tasty appetizers, listen to a presentation about home-based business, and then browse through a catalogue of gorgeous items while considering our budgets because some of us do not work home-based, mall-based, or otherwise-based kind of party.
And I do love me some tasty appetizers.
And shopping from my neighbor's easy chair.
So she asked me. She wasn't the first. Someone else at the party had asked the same thing.
"What do you do?"
As I swallowed my sip of citrus-flavored mineral water, I paused for a moment, considering her possible response, and I answered, "I am a Stay At Home Mom."
"Oh."
Several years ago, I would not have left it at that. I would have recited my resume of accomplishments, some fairly remarkable, but most not. I would have explained the whys and the how's and the maybe one days.
But not anymore.
Oh, I could tell her what I do. I do laundry. I do dishes. I do the floors. I do the grocery shopping. I even do windows, on occasion.
I get up in the morning, still sleepy from the night before, and I roll out of bed and shuffle to the coffee maker. I start warming the frozen pancakes for breakfast and then trod up the stairs to wake my sleepy daughter for school.
I trod back down the stairs, trying not to trip over the cat who thinks she is supposed to be the first one fed. Then I check on the microwaved pancakes, pour on the syrup (I don't skimp) and set the plate at the kitchen counter, calling upstairs for my sleepy daughter to come down to eat or we will be late this morning.
Meanwhile, my husband is getting ready for work and I am trying to make sure he has clean clothes, and tell him a quick Good Morning before he rushes out the door.
Once I get the sleepy daughter to eat, get dressed and brush her teeth and do a good job or you will end up at the dentist with a cavity, I head out the door in my sweats, no make-up, except for some under-eye concealer and take my daughter to school before I start my day of doing laundry, doing dishes, and doing the grocery shopping.
But the woman at this party eating spinach-artichoke dip doesn't really want to know all of that. She doesn't really want to know what I do. What she really wants to know is who I am.
For some women, who they are is so tightly woven into what they do, that they soon lose who they are. When asked, they say, "I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a teacher. I am a doctor." Yes, they are all of those things, and all of those things are so very important in forming who they are.
And what about me? I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a Stay At Home Mom. I am a Sunday School teacher. I am all of those things, but lately, I am learning and listening and seeing that there is only one job, one identity that is truly important.
I am His.
So when I am doing the laundry and the dishes, and even the windows, my prayer is that I will reflect what Christ would have me be through Him. I fail miserably, mostly when I try to do everything in my own strength. It is when I give it all to God, that His Love shines through, not mine. Only when I humble myself and remember what I am not, can I share with other people what an awesome God He is.
My prayer, my hope, is that when people meet me, they won't wonder what I do, or who I am. They won't even want to know anything about me, but somehow through my faith and failures in this imperfect life I live, they will want to know The God who helps me through it all.
They will only see Him for Who He is. They will see His goodness. His mercy. His love. And they will turn to Him and say, "Nice to meet you."
It was a Let's get together and chat, have some tasty appetizers, listen to a presentation about home-based business, and then browse through a catalogue of gorgeous items while considering our budgets because some of us do not work home-based, mall-based, or otherwise-based kind of party.
And I do love me some tasty appetizers.
And shopping from my neighbor's easy chair.
So she asked me. She wasn't the first. Someone else at the party had asked the same thing.
"What do you do?"
As I swallowed my sip of citrus-flavored mineral water, I paused for a moment, considering her possible response, and I answered, "I am a Stay At Home Mom."
"Oh."
Several years ago, I would not have left it at that. I would have recited my resume of accomplishments, some fairly remarkable, but most not. I would have explained the whys and the how's and the maybe one days.
But not anymore.
Oh, I could tell her what I do. I do laundry. I do dishes. I do the floors. I do the grocery shopping. I even do windows, on occasion.
I get up in the morning, still sleepy from the night before, and I roll out of bed and shuffle to the coffee maker. I start warming the frozen pancakes for breakfast and then trod up the stairs to wake my sleepy daughter for school.
I trod back down the stairs, trying not to trip over the cat who thinks she is supposed to be the first one fed. Then I check on the microwaved pancakes, pour on the syrup (I don't skimp) and set the plate at the kitchen counter, calling upstairs for my sleepy daughter to come down to eat or we will be late this morning.
Meanwhile, my husband is getting ready for work and I am trying to make sure he has clean clothes, and tell him a quick Good Morning before he rushes out the door.
Once I get the sleepy daughter to eat, get dressed and brush her teeth and do a good job or you will end up at the dentist with a cavity, I head out the door in my sweats, no make-up, except for some under-eye concealer and take my daughter to school before I start my day of doing laundry, doing dishes, and doing the grocery shopping.
But the woman at this party eating spinach-artichoke dip doesn't really want to know all of that. She doesn't really want to know what I do. What she really wants to know is who I am.
For some women, who they are is so tightly woven into what they do, that they soon lose who they are. When asked, they say, "I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a teacher. I am a doctor." Yes, they are all of those things, and all of those things are so very important in forming who they are.
And what about me? I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a Stay At Home Mom. I am a Sunday School teacher. I am all of those things, but lately, I am learning and listening and seeing that there is only one job, one identity that is truly important.
I am His.
So when I am doing the laundry and the dishes, and even the windows, my prayer is that I will reflect what Christ would have me be through Him. I fail miserably, mostly when I try to do everything in my own strength. It is when I give it all to God, that His Love shines through, not mine. Only when I humble myself and remember what I am not, can I share with other people what an awesome God He is.
My prayer, my hope, is that when people meet me, they won't wonder what I do, or who I am. They won't even want to know anything about me, but somehow through my faith and failures in this imperfect life I live, they will want to know The God who helps me through it all.
They will only see Him for Who He is. They will see His goodness. His mercy. His love. And they will turn to Him and say, "Nice to meet you."
Monday, November 05, 2007
I feel like such a dumbbell.
If you ever want to feel really, really stupid, just attend a Spelling Bee.
At first you'll sit there all smug with your shoulders back and your spine straight when it all begins.
"AWWW... the first grade words. They are soooo EASY! I remember that!"
Then you realize it is only the warm-up rounds and it has been thirty years since you have been in the first grade. Even then, you were reading about Spot running and running and running (that dog never stopped) and how Jane kept seeing Spot running and running (that Jane needed to get a life.)
Kids today are reading real books with real plots, learning phonics and words like "discombobulated."
OK. That last word? Notsomuch.
The Bee was in a church and the hosts were phenomenal. Hospitality at its best. However, I don't know if it was a matter of timing or what, but somehow the church bells didn't know that there was a spelling bee going on.
Maybe they thought it would be over within an hour and then the bells would chime away in a big, pomp and circumstance finale, but these kids were smart and it took a while for the eliminations. So when a sweet little boy stood up to spell his word, the bells began to ring.
And ring.
And ring some more.
Fortunately, the judges were quite fair and gave the young man another word.
He began to spell again and then the bells rang. Again.
And played a hymn.
OK. One more try. One more word. Here goes...
Another hymn.
I started to get out the hymn book and just sing along, but my daughter would've died. Instead, we all waited and the young man waited patiently yet again for another word.
Until the bells stopped playing.
In the silence, we all watched, slumped down in our seats, feeling a little less smug and less-than-confident in our own spelling skills as the young man, with his shoulders back and his spine straight spelled his way to second place.
And on to the State Spelling Bee.
At first you'll sit there all smug with your shoulders back and your spine straight when it all begins.
"AWWW... the first grade words. They are soooo EASY! I remember that!"
Then you realize it is only the warm-up rounds and it has been thirty years since you have been in the first grade. Even then, you were reading about Spot running and running and running (that dog never stopped) and how Jane kept seeing Spot running and running (that Jane needed to get a life.)
Kids today are reading real books with real plots, learning phonics and words like "discombobulated."
OK. That last word? Notsomuch.
The Bee was in a church and the hosts were phenomenal. Hospitality at its best. However, I don't know if it was a matter of timing or what, but somehow the church bells didn't know that there was a spelling bee going on.
Maybe they thought it would be over within an hour and then the bells would chime away in a big, pomp and circumstance finale, but these kids were smart and it took a while for the eliminations. So when a sweet little boy stood up to spell his word, the bells began to ring.
And ring.
And ring some more.
Fortunately, the judges were quite fair and gave the young man another word.
He began to spell again and then the bells rang. Again.
And played a hymn.
OK. One more try. One more word. Here goes...
Another hymn.
I started to get out the hymn book and just sing along, but my daughter would've died. Instead, we all waited and the young man waited patiently yet again for another word.
Until the bells stopped playing.
In the silence, we all watched, slumped down in our seats, feeling a little less smug and less-than-confident in our own spelling skills as the young man, with his shoulders back and his spine straight spelled his way to second place.
And on to the State Spelling Bee.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Comment of The Week #7
This week's award goes to Susanne for this comment-
"We used to have a black cat that got "loaded" on cooked carrots. We'd feed them to her just so we could laugh as she walked and rolled around like she was drunk. Really weird."
A cat drunk on carrots. Good stuff.
"We used to have a black cat that got "loaded" on cooked carrots. We'd feed them to her just so we could laugh as she walked and rolled around like she was drunk. Really weird."
A cat drunk on carrots. Good stuff.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
R-O-A-D T-R-I-P
We've just returned from a Spelling Bee and I have much to blog about.
I will catch up with all you I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T-S later when I have time to get my thoughts together...
I will catch up with all you I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T-S later when I have time to get my thoughts together...
Thursday, November 01, 2007
The trials of parenthood. And tender morsels.
When we first brought her home, we should have known. She cried all the way. She kept sticking her little nose through the air holes in that cardboard carrier telling my husband The News.
I had wanted a cat for a long time. We decided to wait until we were settled into our own house and we had looked at the animal shelter several times. One day I saw Maggie- a little, fluffy black kitten in a cage all by herself, away from the other kittens. (Looking back, this should have been a sign.)
The day we first met her, we didn't adopt her. Instead, we walked away and decided to keep looking. All the while, I knew I was in love with that black ball of fur.
My husband returned to the shelter a few days later, planning to surprise me with a kitten. Little did he know, that same black kitty was still there. Another family had taken her home and returned her within the short time we had seen her. He thought it must be meant to be.
And I was surprised. What a thoughtful gift. A sweet little kitten for a crazy cat lady.
Maggie had the kind of health problems most strays suffer, so we nursed her back to health. She was a bit malnourished and just needed a lot of TLC.
She has always been a big eater, ahem. At first the vet said she was trying to catch up on being malnourished, but we figured it out later- she just liked to eat. Not any food. DRY FOOD. This cat was weird.
Early on, in an effort to give her a treat, I bought canned cat food, even "human" tuna. She wouldn't eat it; she just turned up her nose and tried to bury it. The canned food would have helped with the hairballs, but no, this cat wasn't interested.
Until that fateful day, years later, when a small can of addictive goodness arrived in the mail.
It was a free sample of Fancy Feast Elegant Medleys. I laughed but decided to give it a try. She lapped it up. Then went back looking for more. We all were in shock. This must be some pretty special cat food.
What started out as an innocent treat has become an obsession and a learned response that only Pavlov could understand. Because of her kidney related issues, canned foods are just a treat, not a staple good. So whenever Maggie hears any pop-top can opening, she goes insane.
Insane. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she even hallucinates in little kitty cat hallucinations of warm, sunny windows and clean litter boxes.
Now she even starts to twitch when she sees me pull out the paper bowls. Seriously, I think I need to call The Cat Whisperer. Not only do I have to sneak around the kitchen to have my Campbell's soup, I can't even use paper goods.
We've considered a twelve step program, but since Maggie is a cat, you can't get her to do one step much less twelve.
So, I am warning all of you, Internets. Stay away from gourmet cat food. And please, for the love of Garfield and Morris and all of the other orange, annoying cats, stay away, far away from anything labeled with a savory broth.
This may very well be the new gateway drug.
I had wanted a cat for a long time. We decided to wait until we were settled into our own house and we had looked at the animal shelter several times. One day I saw Maggie- a little, fluffy black kitten in a cage all by herself, away from the other kittens. (Looking back, this should have been a sign.)
The day we first met her, we didn't adopt her. Instead, we walked away and decided to keep looking. All the while, I knew I was in love with that black ball of fur.
My husband returned to the shelter a few days later, planning to surprise me with a kitten. Little did he know, that same black kitty was still there. Another family had taken her home and returned her within the short time we had seen her. He thought it must be meant to be.
And I was surprised. What a thoughtful gift. A sweet little kitten for a crazy cat lady.
Maggie had the kind of health problems most strays suffer, so we nursed her back to health. She was a bit malnourished and just needed a lot of TLC.
She has always been a big eater, ahem. At first the vet said she was trying to catch up on being malnourished, but we figured it out later- she just liked to eat. Not any food. DRY FOOD. This cat was weird.
Early on, in an effort to give her a treat, I bought canned cat food, even "human" tuna. She wouldn't eat it; she just turned up her nose and tried to bury it. The canned food would have helped with the hairballs, but no, this cat wasn't interested.
Until that fateful day, years later, when a small can of addictive goodness arrived in the mail.
It was a free sample of Fancy Feast Elegant Medleys. I laughed but decided to give it a try. She lapped it up. Then went back looking for more. We all were in shock. This must be some pretty special cat food.
What started out as an innocent treat has become an obsession and a learned response that only Pavlov could understand. Because of her kidney related issues, canned foods are just a treat, not a staple good. So whenever Maggie hears any pop-top can opening, she goes insane.
Insane. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she even hallucinates in little kitty cat hallucinations of warm, sunny windows and clean litter boxes.
Now she even starts to twitch when she sees me pull out the paper bowls. Seriously, I think I need to call The Cat Whisperer. Not only do I have to sneak around the kitchen to have my Campbell's soup, I can't even use paper goods.
We've considered a twelve step program, but since Maggie is a cat, you can't get her to do one step much less twelve.
So, I am warning all of you, Internets. Stay away from gourmet cat food. And please, for the love of Garfield and Morris and all of the other orange, annoying cats, stay away, far away from anything labeled with a savory broth.
This may very well be the new gateway drug.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
This is the day.
It has been busy around our house with the ark setting sail. (Or would that be a launch?) Hmmm...
So, I wanted to share some thoughts with all of you, dear Internets, on this day, the day with which I struggle each and every year.
Our church had a festival this evening with Trunk or Treat, games and free food for all. At first I struggled with whether or not I should participate. Some of you may remember this post.
I prayed. I prayed a lot. I respect our leadership. I truly do. Our pastor has a love for people and a real heart for all to know Christ. He is the type of pastor who wants to go to the people, to meet them where they are and tell them the saving message of Christ.
I kept thinking about the struggles I have with this day, many of the things that go with it, and about my own Sunday School class. All of them would be there. Should they see their teacher?
And I prayed some more.
In the end, I felt led to participate. I felt God tugging at my heart. I thought about those Sunday School kids and how they should see their teacher support the outreach ministries of the church. And believe me, folks. This event was truly an outreach ministry.
Tonight, hubs, daughter and I passed out over 600 bracelets with a message about God on all of them.
That's 600 kids, with probably 2 parents (you do the math) who I otherwise would have never met. Who knows how many of them will decide when they are searching for a safe haven, a place where people love them with A Love that is beyond compare, to choose our church as that place?
And you know what else? I was in the car this morning after seeing some not-so-friendly costumes at a local business and I thought to myself, "This is the day that The Lord has made."
I will rejoice and be glad in it. I am not going to let anything or anyone prevent me from rejoicing. Nope. Not this day.
Even though I still would love to see our churches have festivals on other days, I know there are so many kids out there, some of whom walked by my trunk and held out their precious little hands, who otherwise would not have stepped onto the church grounds if it had not been for tonight's festival. I am thankful for the opportunity to smile at them and offer them a message of hope and of love.
So now you know why I have been working on the ark. My prayer is that these many people, some of them lost, will not remember a simple, cardboard replica of God's amazing promise and grace. Nor will they remember a saved-by-grace, middle-aged woman, still growing in her faith, still struggling with the answers, sharing the message of God's amazing promise and grace.
My prayer is that somewhere, tucked down deep in their hearts, is the message of God's amazing promise and grace.
And tonight I am going to pray for them all. All 1800 + of them.
So, I wanted to share some thoughts with all of you, dear Internets, on this day, the day with which I struggle each and every year.
Our church had a festival this evening with Trunk or Treat, games and free food for all. At first I struggled with whether or not I should participate. Some of you may remember this post.
I prayed. I prayed a lot. I respect our leadership. I truly do. Our pastor has a love for people and a real heart for all to know Christ. He is the type of pastor who wants to go to the people, to meet them where they are and tell them the saving message of Christ.
I kept thinking about the struggles I have with this day, many of the things that go with it, and about my own Sunday School class. All of them would be there. Should they see their teacher?
And I prayed some more.
In the end, I felt led to participate. I felt God tugging at my heart. I thought about those Sunday School kids and how they should see their teacher support the outreach ministries of the church. And believe me, folks. This event was truly an outreach ministry.
Tonight, hubs, daughter and I passed out over 600 bracelets with a message about God on all of them.
That's 600 kids, with probably 2 parents (you do the math) who I otherwise would have never met. Who knows how many of them will decide when they are searching for a safe haven, a place where people love them with A Love that is beyond compare, to choose our church as that place?
And you know what else? I was in the car this morning after seeing some not-so-friendly costumes at a local business and I thought to myself, "This is the day that The Lord has made."
I will rejoice and be glad in it. I am not going to let anything or anyone prevent me from rejoicing. Nope. Not this day.
Even though I still would love to see our churches have festivals on other days, I know there are so many kids out there, some of whom walked by my trunk and held out their precious little hands, who otherwise would not have stepped onto the church grounds if it had not been for tonight's festival. I am thankful for the opportunity to smile at them and offer them a message of hope and of love.
So now you know why I have been working on the ark. My prayer is that these many people, some of them lost, will not remember a simple, cardboard replica of God's amazing promise and grace. Nor will they remember a saved-by-grace, middle-aged woman, still growing in her faith, still struggling with the answers, sharing the message of God's amazing promise and grace.
My prayer is that somewhere, tucked down deep in their hearts, is the message of God's amazing promise and grace.
And tonight I am going to pray for them all. All 1800 + of them.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Comment of the Week #6
The Comment of the Week goes to Julie for this quote about Atlanta-
"I will never forget getting stuck at a Subway with a friend of ours who lives in Atlanta because the time had passed that we could drive anywhere. Apparently there are certain times that no one who lives in Atlanta will go anywhere! I dont know where all the traffic comes from since everyone is waiting wherever they are for "rush" hourssss to be over. We went to the World of Coke on our honeymoon. I thought it was great."- Julie
I am sorry for laughing at your expense, Julie but the image of you being stuck at Subway because no one- even from Atlanta- would drive at that time of day cracked. me. up.
Classic Jeff Foxworthy moment!
"I will never forget getting stuck at a Subway with a friend of ours who lives in Atlanta because the time had passed that we could drive anywhere. Apparently there are certain times that no one who lives in Atlanta will go anywhere! I dont know where all the traffic comes from since everyone is waiting wherever they are for "rush" hourssss to be over. We went to the World of Coke on our honeymoon. I thought it was great."- Julie
I am sorry for laughing at your expense, Julie but the image of you being stuck at Subway because no one- even from Atlanta- would drive at that time of day cracked. me. up.
Classic Jeff Foxworthy moment!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Gettin' to the church on time.
Daylight Saving Time ends next week in the US, unless you live in a few US States and Territories that never started it.
Those rebels.
So don't turn back time tonight, folks. Save that hour for next Saturday.
I was almost one of those people who turned back the clock tonight thanks to my calendar. Thankyouverymuch, Calendar Maker People for not listening to Congress and almost making me late for teaching Sunday School, a class of kindergartners who would have been saying, "Where's Miss Melanie? I want snack."
Those rebels.
So don't turn back time tonight, folks. Save that hour for next Saturday.
I was almost one of those people who turned back the clock tonight thanks to my calendar. Thankyouverymuch, Calendar Maker People for not listening to Congress and almost making me late for teaching Sunday School, a class of kindergartners who would have been saying, "Where's Miss Melanie? I want snack."
Friday, October 26, 2007
Please Pray for Linda...
Linda had her wisdom teeth removed and is now having complications. She is seeing the dentist again this morning.
Please pray for her and leave her some encouraging words on her blog.
Thanks,
Please pray for her and leave her some encouraging words on her blog.
Thanks,
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Where's Mr. Edwards when you need him?
I decided to take a break from the crafty, glue gun goodness to give y'all an update on the pond.
We have beavers.
Our neighbor on one side of us has, I mean had, some gorgeous tropical plants and lush, green landscaping. She now has several banana tree stumps and a bald patch on her lawn.
It seems that beavers have a sweet tooth for bananas.
And St. Augustine grass.
Yesterday I found our dock's outdoor lighting taken apart. Seriously. These guys took one outdoor landscape light and disassembled it. I am guessing they need batteries for the sound system they are installing in their Neighborhood Pond Condominium.
The sound system will be so sweet with the other neighbors' landscape lights, and the lily pads from her gold fish pond.
It's like they have their own little Trading Spaces going on out there.
The neighbors with the gold fish pond decided to install motion flood lights to try to deter the beavers. The other night, one of the lights came on and our neighbor said,"Look! There's the beaver!"
Motion lights don't even scare off these critters. They just help illuminate all the goods awaiting them so that they can fill their little beaver loot bags while wearing their little beaver ski caps. Nothing stops these bandits; they make raccoons look like Boy Scouts.
Our yard has not suffered much damage. We have sort of a retaining wall that I think is keeping them from coming in the yard. Either that or they just come to our house for their Duracell batteries.
I'll bet they are out there right now, lurking on my blog on their little wireless laptops.
(sigh)
We have beavers.
Our neighbor on one side of us has, I mean had, some gorgeous tropical plants and lush, green landscaping. She now has several banana tree stumps and a bald patch on her lawn.
It seems that beavers have a sweet tooth for bananas.
And St. Augustine grass.
Yesterday I found our dock's outdoor lighting taken apart. Seriously. These guys took one outdoor landscape light and disassembled it. I am guessing they need batteries for the sound system they are installing in their Neighborhood Pond Condominium.
The sound system will be so sweet with the other neighbors' landscape lights, and the lily pads from her gold fish pond.
It's like they have their own little Trading Spaces going on out there.
The neighbors with the gold fish pond decided to install motion flood lights to try to deter the beavers. The other night, one of the lights came on and our neighbor said,"Look! There's the beaver!"
Motion lights don't even scare off these critters. They just help illuminate all the goods awaiting them so that they can fill their little beaver loot bags while wearing their little beaver ski caps. Nothing stops these bandits; they make raccoons look like Boy Scouts.
Our yard has not suffered much damage. We have sort of a retaining wall that I think is keeping them from coming in the yard. Either that or they just come to our house for their Duracell batteries.
I'll bet they are out there right now, lurking on my blog on their little wireless laptops.
(sigh)
Noah had how long??
I will be back later.
I've got some crafty stuff to do.
It looks like this ark may just set sail...
:>)
I've got some crafty stuff to do.
It looks like this ark may just set sail...
:>)
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
WFMW- Scrubbing Sponges
I have started using a different scrubber-
Chore Boy Non-Metal Sponges with soap pad.
I have one in the kitchen and one for the bathroom. It works great for soap scum and for pots. The great thing is that they don't fall apart like other plastic scrubbers and even when the soap runs out, you can still use it.
Love these!
See Shannon for more tips this Wednesday.
Chore Boy Non-Metal Sponges with soap pad.
I have one in the kitchen and one for the bathroom. It works great for soap scum and for pots. The great thing is that they don't fall apart like other plastic scrubbers and even when the soap runs out, you can still use it.
Love these!
See Shannon for more tips this Wednesday.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sometimes I think I should become a dog person.
I don't know much about physics or the natural order of the Universe, but one thing is for certain around here.
Road Trip= Maggie's Reluctant And Borderline Violent Stay At The Kennel
I picked up Maggie yesterday after taking my daughter to school and after my Grande Non-fat Pumpkin Spice Latte because it is finally feeling like Fall and I require at least a double shot of espresso before getting Maggie from the kitty cat hotel.
We keep trying to tell her it is like the spa, only the massage includes a temperature reading, but she ain't buyin' it.
Maggie has been having some kidney problems which have been controlled by a special diet. (By special, I mean expensive.) Periodically we have her kidney function checked through a blood test just to be sure she is doing fine. So far, so good.
But lately, Maggie has been having some kidney-related issues on our bathroom rugs. It first began when we moved into the new house, so I thought she had to get used to her new potty box location. She is trained to ask to go out to the garage to the conveniently located potty box. She has done this since she was a kitten and without a kitty door. (They are smarter than you think, folks.)
After a long night in the garage Maggie stopped her kidney-related issues on the bathroom rugs and started asking to go out like a good kitty should.
Until my husband came home from his trip.
You would have thought I had been giving her Pumpkin Spice Lattes. I was washing rugs every day. Oh, and my husband's clothes that he left on the floor. Yes M'am, she did.
The crazy cat lady in me knew this was all behavioral but what if it wasn't? I would have felt really low if all of these kidney-related ISSUES that require multiple trips to the laundry room were all signs of kidney failure. So we asked the vet to check her out.
All kidney function tests- Normal
Maggie- Not normal
The vet asked me a series of questions to rule out any other problems.
Does she have to go down any steps to get to the litter box? No, and the box is right outside the laundry door. This cat runs up the stairs all day looking for our daughter. She is not suffering from arthritis.
Have you changed litter brands? Some cats do not like a new scent. It is the same brand, but could be a different scent. (I don't sniff it in Target before putting it in the cart. I go with odor control.) Besides, she does her other business in there without any problems.
Are there any other cats that could get in the garage? No. We don't even have our cars in there.
In the end, we decided what we knew all along. Maggie is just being bratty.
When I mentioned my husband's return from a trip, the vet just smiled. He said,"Put your husband's shoes next to the litter box and then see where she goes."
Don't worry, honey. I won't do that to you. The vet was just kidding... I think.
Road Trip= Maggie's Reluctant And Borderline Violent Stay At The Kennel
I picked up Maggie yesterday after taking my daughter to school and after my Grande Non-fat Pumpkin Spice Latte because it is finally feeling like Fall and I require at least a double shot of espresso before getting Maggie from the kitty cat hotel.
We keep trying to tell her it is like the spa, only the massage includes a temperature reading, but she ain't buyin' it.
Maggie has been having some kidney problems which have been controlled by a special diet. (By special, I mean expensive.) Periodically we have her kidney function checked through a blood test just to be sure she is doing fine. So far, so good.
But lately, Maggie has been having some kidney-related issues on our bathroom rugs. It first began when we moved into the new house, so I thought she had to get used to her new potty box location. She is trained to ask to go out to the garage to the conveniently located potty box. She has done this since she was a kitten and without a kitty door. (They are smarter than you think, folks.)
After a long night in the garage Maggie stopped her kidney-related issues on the bathroom rugs and started asking to go out like a good kitty should.
Until my husband came home from his trip.
You would have thought I had been giving her Pumpkin Spice Lattes. I was washing rugs every day. Oh, and my husband's clothes that he left on the floor. Yes M'am, she did.
The crazy cat lady in me knew this was all behavioral but what if it wasn't? I would have felt really low if all of these kidney-related ISSUES that require multiple trips to the laundry room were all signs of kidney failure. So we asked the vet to check her out.
All kidney function tests- Normal
Maggie- Not normal
The vet asked me a series of questions to rule out any other problems.
Does she have to go down any steps to get to the litter box? No, and the box is right outside the laundry door. This cat runs up the stairs all day looking for our daughter. She is not suffering from arthritis.
Have you changed litter brands? Some cats do not like a new scent. It is the same brand, but could be a different scent. (I don't sniff it in Target before putting it in the cart. I go with odor control.) Besides, she does her other business in there without any problems.
Are there any other cats that could get in the garage? No. We don't even have our cars in there.
In the end, we decided what we knew all along. Maggie is just being bratty.
When I mentioned my husband's return from a trip, the vet just smiled. He said,"Put your husband's shoes next to the litter box and then see where she goes."
Don't worry, honey. I won't do that to you. The vet was just kidding... I think.
Monday, October 22, 2007
I-75 AKA The Real Reason Scarlett fled Atlanta
I think it was Dorothy who said, "There's no place like home."
I have no idea how she walked around in those uncomfortable looking, red sequin shoes, but she was so right.
We just returned from a long weekend getaway to Hotlanta. To be clear, I had fun. Lots of fun. But anytime we go out of town for more than, say... a day, I am ready to come home. I like my own bed. I like my own bathroom. I am just a teeny bit whiny when it comes to home.
This might suggest that one day we could be the um, proud? owners of an RV. But, no. My husband and I would then have to eat crow because we have made fun of every single RV on the Interstate.
Mostly, we like to make fun of the names of the RV's like "Roughing It Smoothly" (actual name, by the way.) The only reason I think we would ever purchase one of these recreational vehicles is just so we could park it in our relatives' yards and say, "Now that there's an RV."
But a funny quote from a National Lampoon movie is no reason to spend 100 grand on a motor home with a micro fridge and faux wood trim.
So we just stick with the hotels with free breakfast.
But I digress.
I grew up in South Georgia. From an early age, I was taught the dangers, the hazards, the horror stories, the urban legends. About the tragic endings of innocent, happy lives and about the special ones who were spared from it all.
I'm talking about Atlanta traffic.
People who do not live in Atlanta or the Metro area try, at all costs, to avoid it completely. I think that if you ask my Daddy, he could tell you how to get from Alabama to South Carolina through Tennessee just to avoid the Atlanta traffic and still make good time.
And if it's really good time, it would be railroad time. Yes, M'am. You have really done well to make railroad time. Seeing as how we were driving into Atlanta, Daddy, I am ashamed to say that we did not make railroad time.
We visited the Georgia Aquarium and World Of Coke, both of which I highly recommend (even though they are in the heart of Atlanta.) My husband is much more brave than I so he drove and I navigated.
I have found that when you are giving directions, if you don't really know what you are doing, keep unfolding the map. The more you unfold, the more competent you appear. Once the map is completely unfolded, you must then flick it a little, as if you are trying to straighten out the creases or just shake some sense into it. This really makes you look like you know what you are doing. If this doesn't work, tell the driver that it must be an old map and somehow the streets on your map do not match the streets in real life.
Because we all know that they change the streets in Atlanta on a daily basis. And that someone is working on the Guinness World Record for Longest Time To Complete Road Construction because I-75 has not been finished since the time we went to Helen when I was 8 years old.
I have to give my husband credit. He is sooooo patient. And I am a pretty good map reader, folded or unfolded. No one screamed. No one cried. No one died. These are good goals while driving in Atlanta.
The Aquarium was phenomenal. The layout was great. Unlike some museums or theme parks, every exhibit takes you back to a central location so you don't have to walk from one side of the attraction all the way to the next and then back again. Mr. Architect Designer Man- you are a genius. Please talk to the Disney people. Thank you.
The Georgia Aquarium is home to whale sharks, beluga whales, jelly fish, an octopus, and much more. There are a few hands on exhibits that my daughter loved. I loved the fact that there were guides pretty much everywhere reminding people to handle the animals gently. Although it is self-guided, there are plenty of people available to answer questions.
My daughter carried a little journal with her everywhere we went and documented what she saw. She even stopped to draw some of the creatures. It was so sweet and the journal will surely be a treasure for her to keep.
During our World of Coke visit, we sampled more soda than should be legal. They have flavors from across the globe. My favs were from South Africa. We also watched a small assembly line bottling Coke and then we were able to take one home for free as a souvenir.
One night we ate dinner at The Varsity Downtown. The Varsity has been around for decades and is the largest drive-in in the world. Their chili dogs and onion rings were fab. We topped ours off with a chocolate shake. Even though my husband referred to his dinner as a "gut bomb" he still said it was good.
While eating her own hot dog and fries, our daughter said,"What is so cool about this place?"
(sigh)
Hubs and I just laughed and told her she would think it was cool one day because it is famous and one day she will be watching a show about it on Food Network and say,"HEY! I've been there!" or ""HEY! My parents dragged me there once on vacation."
Her favorite meal was at Carrabba's. Not necessarily historical or regional, but they do bring kids a ball of pizza dough to play with while they wait on their meal. She carefully wrapped it and we brought it home with us.
We drove all the way to Atlanta for a ball of pizza dough.
We could've just stayed home and made railroad time.
I have no idea how she walked around in those uncomfortable looking, red sequin shoes, but she was so right.
We just returned from a long weekend getaway to Hotlanta. To be clear, I had fun. Lots of fun. But anytime we go out of town for more than, say... a day, I am ready to come home. I like my own bed. I like my own bathroom. I am just a teeny bit whiny when it comes to home.
This might suggest that one day we could be the um, proud? owners of an RV. But, no. My husband and I would then have to eat crow because we have made fun of every single RV on the Interstate.
Mostly, we like to make fun of the names of the RV's like "Roughing It Smoothly" (actual name, by the way.) The only reason I think we would ever purchase one of these recreational vehicles is just so we could park it in our relatives' yards and say, "Now that there's an RV."
But a funny quote from a National Lampoon movie is no reason to spend 100 grand on a motor home with a micro fridge and faux wood trim.
So we just stick with the hotels with free breakfast.
But I digress.
I grew up in South Georgia. From an early age, I was taught the dangers, the hazards, the horror stories, the urban legends. About the tragic endings of innocent, happy lives and about the special ones who were spared from it all.
I'm talking about Atlanta traffic.
People who do not live in Atlanta or the Metro area try, at all costs, to avoid it completely. I think that if you ask my Daddy, he could tell you how to get from Alabama to South Carolina through Tennessee just to avoid the Atlanta traffic and still make good time.
And if it's really good time, it would be railroad time. Yes, M'am. You have really done well to make railroad time. Seeing as how we were driving into Atlanta, Daddy, I am ashamed to say that we did not make railroad time.
We visited the Georgia Aquarium and World Of Coke, both of which I highly recommend (even though they are in the heart of Atlanta.) My husband is much more brave than I so he drove and I navigated.
I have found that when you are giving directions, if you don't really know what you are doing, keep unfolding the map. The more you unfold, the more competent you appear. Once the map is completely unfolded, you must then flick it a little, as if you are trying to straighten out the creases or just shake some sense into it. This really makes you look like you know what you are doing. If this doesn't work, tell the driver that it must be an old map and somehow the streets on your map do not match the streets in real life.
Because we all know that they change the streets in Atlanta on a daily basis. And that someone is working on the Guinness World Record for Longest Time To Complete Road Construction because I-75 has not been finished since the time we went to Helen when I was 8 years old.
I have to give my husband credit. He is sooooo patient. And I am a pretty good map reader, folded or unfolded. No one screamed. No one cried. No one died. These are good goals while driving in Atlanta.
The Aquarium was phenomenal. The layout was great. Unlike some museums or theme parks, every exhibit takes you back to a central location so you don't have to walk from one side of the attraction all the way to the next and then back again. Mr. Architect Designer Man- you are a genius. Please talk to the Disney people. Thank you.
The Georgia Aquarium is home to whale sharks, beluga whales, jelly fish, an octopus, and much more. There are a few hands on exhibits that my daughter loved. I loved the fact that there were guides pretty much everywhere reminding people to handle the animals gently. Although it is self-guided, there are plenty of people available to answer questions.
My daughter carried a little journal with her everywhere we went and documented what she saw. She even stopped to draw some of the creatures. It was so sweet and the journal will surely be a treasure for her to keep.
During our World of Coke visit, we sampled more soda than should be legal. They have flavors from across the globe. My favs were from South Africa. We also watched a small assembly line bottling Coke and then we were able to take one home for free as a souvenir.
One night we ate dinner at The Varsity Downtown. The Varsity has been around for decades and is the largest drive-in in the world. Their chili dogs and onion rings were fab. We topped ours off with a chocolate shake. Even though my husband referred to his dinner as a "gut bomb" he still said it was good.
While eating her own hot dog and fries, our daughter said,"What is so cool about this place?"
(sigh)
Hubs and I just laughed and told her she would think it was cool one day because it is famous and one day she will be watching a show about it on Food Network and say,"HEY! I've been there!" or ""HEY! My parents dragged me there once on vacation."
Her favorite meal was at Carrabba's. Not necessarily historical or regional, but they do bring kids a ball of pizza dough to play with while they wait on their meal. She carefully wrapped it and we brought it home with us.
We drove all the way to Atlanta for a ball of pizza dough.
We could've just stayed home and made railroad time.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Comment of the Week #5
This week's award goes to Carrie for her warning about infomercials. Yes, Carrie, I think I lost a few brain cells after all of those OxyClean commercials. But my laundry is impeccable. (wink)
"Sorry you had allergies last night, but really glad you found Field of Dreams... those infomercials could send you into a coma, if not kill you." - Carrie
"Sorry you had allergies last night, but really glad you found Field of Dreams... those infomercials could send you into a coma, if not kill you." - Carrie
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
He will hear you call out in the night.
We went to church tonight for prayer meeting. My daughter was in the other building singing her sweet little heart out and learning about God's Wonderful Word while we sat there among other believers making our requests.
Requests for prayer. Prayer for family, friends, people who are hurting, people who are healing, for somebody's mother, somebody's son, for our church and our community, for our nation, our military. The list went on and on.
Our pastor had us bow our heads and we prayed as we felt led, some of us silently and others aloud. As the saints poured out their hearts unto The Father, with eyes closed and heads bowed, we heard praise and petition, sobbing and sorrow. There we were. Together. In. His. Name.
In the midst of all of this power there was a peaceful quiet. As sorrows were revealed amid prayers to Him, our hearts broke for the people who are hurting, the people who are healing.
And I thought. This is how My Lord feels tonight.
Surely if this pain brings me to tears, His Precious, Loving Heart must ache at the sound of His children crying out.
I thought about the sound of my little one in the night, calling out from the darkness of her room, "Mommy... I need you." How I stretch with sleepy eyes and walk to her room to check on her and see what is wrong. A fear. An illness. Or a just because.
God is like that. He hears us in the night when we call to Him. Only He doesn't have to rub sleepy eyes or grab slippers in the night, because He never sleeps. He is always there, listening and watching over us.
God loves you. He hears your voice. You can call on Him day or night. In fear. In illness.
Or just because.
Requests for prayer. Prayer for family, friends, people who are hurting, people who are healing, for somebody's mother, somebody's son, for our church and our community, for our nation, our military. The list went on and on.
Our pastor had us bow our heads and we prayed as we felt led, some of us silently and others aloud. As the saints poured out their hearts unto The Father, with eyes closed and heads bowed, we heard praise and petition, sobbing and sorrow. There we were. Together. In. His. Name.
In the midst of all of this power there was a peaceful quiet. As sorrows were revealed amid prayers to Him, our hearts broke for the people who are hurting, the people who are healing.
And I thought. This is how My Lord feels tonight.
Surely if this pain brings me to tears, His Precious, Loving Heart must ache at the sound of His children crying out.
I thought about the sound of my little one in the night, calling out from the darkness of her room, "Mommy... I need you." How I stretch with sleepy eyes and walk to her room to check on her and see what is wrong. A fear. An illness. Or a just because.
God is like that. He hears us in the night when we call to Him. Only He doesn't have to rub sleepy eyes or grab slippers in the night, because He never sleeps. He is always there, listening and watching over us.
God loves you. He hears your voice. You can call on Him day or night. In fear. In illness.
Or just because.
I don't FEEL smarter.
Funny thing. I keep eating Smart Ones and I still can't do Algebra. (The fact that I say "do" Algebra should be a clue into my mathematical skills or as Napoleon would say SKIIILLS.)
Seriously, I just finished the bite size portion of Asian cuisine (and I do use the term cuisine loosely) and now I am attempting to write a post.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Hmph.
Maybe they should call them Uninspired Ones.
Seriously, I just finished the bite size portion of Asian cuisine (and I do use the term cuisine loosely) and now I am attempting to write a post.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Hmph.
Maybe they should call them Uninspired Ones.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Perhaps it is time for an interference.*
I have said before that my husband and I quote Seinfeld all the time. We can relate almost everything in life to Seinfeld.
And if you are not a Seinfeld fan, this post will leave you totally lost.
If you are, you will know I have lost it.
These were a few conversations we had yesterday...
After daughter asked for some soup.
Hubs said, "Did he crumble any crackers in it?"
During a discussion about skin cancer and how my mom kept me out of the sun as a child to prevent wrinkles later down the road...
"Mama never put sunscreen on me. Sunscreen came later when I was a teenager. It was all about the shade."
"And then there's Maude."
"That was a good episode."
"You gotta see the baa-bee!"
"When in fact a certain something is all that it should be and more."
"You know, Elaine, sometimes you say things just to be nice."
(CHUCKLING OUT LOUD)
While out to lunch at a Greek restaurant.
Hubs to the waiter- "The hummus and grape leaves are good."
Waiter- "Good."
Me- "Why are you telling him? I am sure he cares if our hummus was good."
Hubs-"Huh?"
Me- "Don't you remember when Elaine tells the waiter that the soup is good and Jerry asks why she would tell the waiter and that the waiter doesn't care if the soup is good?"
Hubs- "I don't remember that one."
Me- "I think it was Elaine. Maybe it was George. Anyway, it was funny."
I know. We need to get out more. ;>)
*Kramer- "Is this the interference?"
Jerry- "InterVENtion!"
Episode- The Pez Dispenser
For a link to all of this classic TV about nothing, click here.
And if you are not a Seinfeld fan, this post will leave you totally lost.
If you are, you will know I have lost it.
These were a few conversations we had yesterday...
After daughter asked for some soup.
Hubs said, "Did he crumble any crackers in it?"
During a discussion about skin cancer and how my mom kept me out of the sun as a child to prevent wrinkles later down the road...
"Mama never put sunscreen on me. Sunscreen came later when I was a teenager. It was all about the shade."
"And then there's Maude."
"That was a good episode."
"You gotta see the baa-bee!"
"When in fact a certain something is all that it should be and more."
"You know, Elaine, sometimes you say things just to be nice."
(CHUCKLING OUT LOUD)
While out to lunch at a Greek restaurant.
Hubs to the waiter- "The hummus and grape leaves are good."
Waiter- "Good."
Me- "Why are you telling him? I am sure he cares if our hummus was good."
Hubs-"Huh?"
Me- "Don't you remember when Elaine tells the waiter that the soup is good and Jerry asks why she would tell the waiter and that the waiter doesn't care if the soup is good?"
Hubs- "I don't remember that one."
Me- "I think it was Elaine. Maybe it was George. Anyway, it was funny."
I know. We need to get out more. ;>)
*Kramer- "Is this the interference?"
Jerry- "InterVENtion!"
Episode- The Pez Dispenser
For a link to all of this classic TV about nothing, click here.
At least I'm not allergic to corn.
I woke up about an hour ago after going to bed at 7:30. That would be before my child even thought of brushing her teeth. And before all the old folks thought of taking out their teeth.
Don't worry. Hubs tucked her in, so you don't have to call CPS on me.
It was about 7:00 when it hit me. It started as a sore throat. Then my head started to stop up with goodness knows what, one nostril, then the other nostril, then back to the first one. It just wouldn't make up its mind!
Allergies. Dreadful, mean and hateful allergies. They either make me sleepy or keep me from sleeping. And breathing.
So now I am awake in the wee hours of the morning, checking email and blogging. And watching every, single, low-budget infomercial ever made in film school 101.
Much to my surprise and shall we say, um, glee? I find Field of Dreams. Baseball and Kevin Costner when he still had hair.
If I could breathe, this could be heaven.
Don't worry. Hubs tucked her in, so you don't have to call CPS on me.
It was about 7:00 when it hit me. It started as a sore throat. Then my head started to stop up with goodness knows what, one nostril, then the other nostril, then back to the first one. It just wouldn't make up its mind!
Allergies. Dreadful, mean and hateful allergies. They either make me sleepy or keep me from sleeping. And breathing.
So now I am awake in the wee hours of the morning, checking email and blogging. And watching every, single, low-budget infomercial ever made in film school 101.
Much to my surprise and shall we say, um, glee? I find Field of Dreams. Baseball and Kevin Costner when he still had hair.
If I could breathe, this could be heaven.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Scarecrows: Updated
Now they have names!
Thanks to Roxanne for naming my scarecrows.
Meet Daisy (Country Girl) and Camille (City Girl.)
And, just to be clear- I didn't make these from scratch. I bought some scarecrows, redressed them, and repainted their faces. It is actually pretty easy. Even if you don't repaint the face, you can update them and make them unique by throwing on a funny hat or old clothes.
Because you asked, here are the ladies on the porch having tea.
A Country Girl
and A City Girl
I'll bet they are talking about their blogs. ;>)
I'll bet they are talking about their blogs. ;>)
Craft Update
In case you were wondering...
The scarecrows are finished! Yeahhhh. I have a city girl and a country girl having tea on our front porch. It was fun.
Noah's Ark- ahem. Not so finished. We are given the choice of what theme to go with for our trunk and I chose Noah. My goal is to use a Bible story. That was a good, kid friendly one to me. Unless I can find some gopher wood, I may have to change my mind on the story.
We'll see...
Y'all have a good Sunday!
The scarecrows are finished! Yeahhhh. I have a city girl and a country girl having tea on our front porch. It was fun.
Noah's Ark- ahem. Not so finished. We are given the choice of what theme to go with for our trunk and I chose Noah. My goal is to use a Bible story. That was a good, kid friendly one to me. Unless I can find some gopher wood, I may have to change my mind on the story.
We'll see...
Y'all have a good Sunday!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Well, don't I feel special?!
My sweet friend, Linda awarded me with this button after reading about the cubits and the crafts and the seasonal decor. Oh, the cubits, Linda! ;>)
Thanks for the lovely candied apples! They are much prettier than ones I would make AND no calories!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Mom Remembers
Loni over at Joy In The Morning left me a comment after this post. Her son Matthew died nearly three years ago after participating in the choking game.
Please visit Loni's blog and leave her some words of encouragement, read her story and learn about others who have lost children to this deadly activity.
God Bless You and your family, Loni.
Please visit Loni's blog and leave her some words of encouragement, read her story and learn about others who have lost children to this deadly activity.
God Bless You and your family, Loni.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
And Noah loaded the animals in the ark, one potato, two potato.
In the true blog tradition, I am going to share my day with y'all.
Here goes.
Try to stay awake, please.
This morning I painted a dolphin in my daughter's room. Her room is slowly getting finished, first with jellyfish, glow in the dark fish, and today a dolphin. It turned out pretty cute, if I do say so myself. Most importantly, she liked it. She also pointed out to me that all dolphins need a buddy.
I responded, "I know they do, but I was having a hard time fitting that one where he is, so you will have to be his buddy."
Next up- A sea turtle and a sting ray.
I am also in the middle of redecorating some scarecrows for my porch and I'm all tapped out of vintage clothes for them to wear. So I headed off to the local indoor flea market for some bargains and some inspiration.
Oh, and I have signed us up for this little thing called Trunk or Treat at church (more on that later) where we are expecting up to 1500 children. Yep. Can you say,"FREAK OUT?" Normally I have planned, sketched and started making something for this type of project by now but I am having difficulty with the logistics.
The theme I am going with is Noah's Ark. Has anyone out there every tried to turn the trunk of a Camry into an ark? Oh, the cubits!
So I'm at the indoor flea market hoping for a treasure, a gem, some tiny bit of inspiration among all the Elvis posters and the spoon rests that say "Florida." All I could find was a wooden box that said "Taters."
Taters do not inspire me. Unless I am eating the taters, then maybe the carbs could give me a surge of energy straight to my brain cells, inspiring me to build a boat full of animals out of a Toyota.
Or not.
I left the flea market with nothing. No treasures. No inspiration. No Taters. Nothing.
And that was my day.
Here goes.
Try to stay awake, please.
This morning I painted a dolphin in my daughter's room. Her room is slowly getting finished, first with jellyfish, glow in the dark fish, and today a dolphin. It turned out pretty cute, if I do say so myself. Most importantly, she liked it. She also pointed out to me that all dolphins need a buddy.
I responded, "I know they do, but I was having a hard time fitting that one where he is, so you will have to be his buddy."
Next up- A sea turtle and a sting ray.
I am also in the middle of redecorating some scarecrows for my porch and I'm all tapped out of vintage clothes for them to wear. So I headed off to the local indoor flea market for some bargains and some inspiration.
Oh, and I have signed us up for this little thing called Trunk or Treat at church (more on that later) where we are expecting up to 1500 children. Yep. Can you say,"FREAK OUT?" Normally I have planned, sketched and started making something for this type of project by now but I am having difficulty with the logistics.
The theme I am going with is Noah's Ark. Has anyone out there every tried to turn the trunk of a Camry into an ark? Oh, the cubits!
So I'm at the indoor flea market hoping for a treasure, a gem, some tiny bit of inspiration among all the Elvis posters and the spoon rests that say "Florida." All I could find was a wooden box that said "Taters."
Taters do not inspire me. Unless I am eating the taters, then maybe the carbs could give me a surge of energy straight to my brain cells, inspiring me to build a boat full of animals out of a Toyota.
Or not.
I left the flea market with nothing. No treasures. No inspiration. No Taters. Nothing.
And that was my day.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Dangerous Activity Among Our Teens
Have you heard of The Choking Game?
It is a "game" kids are playing where they either choke a friend and then release them, or choke themselves and release the ligature. The goal is to feel a so-called high after passing out.
This activity is extremely dangerous and kids are dying across the country. Their friends are telling them it is safe and that "No one dies from passing out."
Take a minute to read about this deadly activity, its slang terms and warning signs.
It is a "game" kids are playing where they either choke a friend and then release them, or choke themselves and release the ligature. The goal is to feel a so-called high after passing out.
This activity is extremely dangerous and kids are dying across the country. Their friends are telling them it is safe and that "No one dies from passing out."
Take a minute to read about this deadly activity, its slang terms and warning signs.
Monday, October 08, 2007
The Nina, The Pinta, and The Day Off Of School
My daughter's friends were over yesterday playing and giggling and squealing and having a screaming contest (outside.)
They came inside to do some crafts at the kitchen table. The conversation turned to Christopher Columbus.
This conversation was overheard-
"Tomorrow is Columbus Day. Do you get the day off of school?"
"No. Do you?"
"No."
"Then why do we even learn about Columbus if we don't get the day off?"
"Yeah!"
You may award me with the Educator Of The Year Award now. Thankyouverymuch.
They came inside to do some crafts at the kitchen table. The conversation turned to Christopher Columbus.
This conversation was overheard-
"Tomorrow is Columbus Day. Do you get the day off of school?"
"No. Do you?"
"No."
"Then why do we even learn about Columbus if we don't get the day off?"
"Yeah!"
You may award me with the Educator Of The Year Award now. Thankyouverymuch.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Comment of the Week #4
This week's award goes to everyone who commented on the WFMW Backwards Edition!
I asked for some new ideas for school lunch and y'all left some AWESOME suggestions. If you missed the post, take a minute to read through the comments for some great ideas for kids' lunches.
You guys are the best!
I asked for some new ideas for school lunch and y'all left some AWESOME suggestions. If you missed the post, take a minute to read through the comments for some great ideas for kids' lunches.
You guys are the best!
Saturday, October 06, 2007
I imagine that Torre must have said,"This Ain't New York."
This is proof that Deet is your friend whether you are in The Deep South or at a Yankee's game in Ohio.
Girls, even your husbands will appreciate this article.
;>)
Girls, even your husbands will appreciate this article.
;>)
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Why My Lawn Has A Mohawk
It was quite the celebration at our house.
An Extravaganza really.
The spaghetti sauce simmered in the crock pot all day, the house was cleaned from top to bottom, and then our much awaited "guest" arrived.
My husband is home.
Home? Did I even mention he was gone? No. The paranoid Praise the Lord and Pass the ammunition part of me would never divulge such information. Just think of me as that weird aunt who always locks her doors, watches America's Most Wanted and quite possibly has the tip line on speed dial. You know, that aunt. The crazy one. With all the cats.
Hubs has been out of town on business and it has been a real trial for us. There have been lonely moments and lots of tears. I have missed him so much. I've missed the little things about us- the silly Seinfeld jokes, the late night talks, and all of those blessings I often take for granted.
I've learned a lot. I've learned to depend on God and to trust myself with His help. I've learned how much I do not need my husband and how much I really do all at the same time. My love for my husband has grown.
Along with the grass.
Let me tell y'all about my history of lawn issues. I have never been afraid of "man's" work. I will check the oil and change a tire. Let's face it- sometimes changing a diaper can be much more difficult, not to mention dirtier. So, mowing the yard is nothing.
When we first married I bought a used mower. It was what I would call a starter mower. It was what my husband called a lemon. I bought it for fifty bucks thinking I had found a real bargain. After seeing it, my husband told me we had been ripped off. It required special attention. In order to start it, you had to hot wire it- literally. My husband specifically told me he did not want me to try to start the mower. The wires were much too close to the rapidly rotating blade and he was afraid I would lose some fingers in the process.
And I prefer to keep all my fingers.
Later on, when my husband went on a business trip and the grass just continued to grow and grow (despite all my efforts to stop it), I decided it was time to buy a new mower. I was all proud of myself until I realized I had to assemble it. All. By. Myself.
And I did it. And kept all my fingers. Look Ma! All hands!
This time when hubs left for his trip, I was prepared to cut the grass. The sweet neighbor's son mowed the smaller front lawn and I mowed the larger backyard.
With a push mower.
It should be called the "push with all your might and work your calf muscles into a twitching frenzy while the mower chokes and sputters to a stop because SWEET MERCY who on earth decided to plant this thick St. Augustine grass?" mower.
Not one, but two of my neighbors had pity on me as they watched me struggle to cut the grass that I had just cut a week ago, good grief! They kept begging and pleading with me to please use their self-propelled mowers,"Please! We can't stand to see you suffer any more."
All the while I was thinking to myself,"How much easier can it be? Seriously, how much better can a self-propelled mower work?"
Then I had a taste of the bittersweet moves-smoother-than-butter mowing goodness. I gave in and used the neighbor's mower.
To this push mower-
You are dead to me.
And to this self-propelled mower-
An Extravaganza really.
The spaghetti sauce simmered in the crock pot all day, the house was cleaned from top to bottom, and then our much awaited "guest" arrived.
My husband is home.
Home? Did I even mention he was gone? No. The paranoid Praise the Lord and Pass the ammunition part of me would never divulge such information. Just think of me as that weird aunt who always locks her doors, watches America's Most Wanted and quite possibly has the tip line on speed dial. You know, that aunt. The crazy one. With all the cats.
Hubs has been out of town on business and it has been a real trial for us. There have been lonely moments and lots of tears. I have missed him so much. I've missed the little things about us- the silly Seinfeld jokes, the late night talks, and all of those blessings I often take for granted.
I've learned a lot. I've learned to depend on God and to trust myself with His help. I've learned how much I do not need my husband and how much I really do all at the same time. My love for my husband has grown.
Along with the grass.
Let me tell y'all about my history of lawn issues. I have never been afraid of "man's" work. I will check the oil and change a tire. Let's face it- sometimes changing a diaper can be much more difficult, not to mention dirtier. So, mowing the yard is nothing.
When we first married I bought a used mower. It was what I would call a starter mower. It was what my husband called a lemon. I bought it for fifty bucks thinking I had found a real bargain. After seeing it, my husband told me we had been ripped off. It required special attention. In order to start it, you had to hot wire it- literally. My husband specifically told me he did not want me to try to start the mower. The wires were much too close to the rapidly rotating blade and he was afraid I would lose some fingers in the process.
And I prefer to keep all my fingers.
Later on, when my husband went on a business trip and the grass just continued to grow and grow (despite all my efforts to stop it), I decided it was time to buy a new mower. I was all proud of myself until I realized I had to assemble it. All. By. Myself.
And I did it. And kept all my fingers. Look Ma! All hands!
This time when hubs left for his trip, I was prepared to cut the grass. The sweet neighbor's son mowed the smaller front lawn and I mowed the larger backyard.
With a push mower.
It should be called the "push with all your might and work your calf muscles into a twitching frenzy while the mower chokes and sputters to a stop because SWEET MERCY who on earth decided to plant this thick St. Augustine grass?" mower.
Not one, but two of my neighbors had pity on me as they watched me struggle to cut the grass that I had just cut a week ago, good grief! They kept begging and pleading with me to please use their self-propelled mowers,"Please! We can't stand to see you suffer any more."
All the while I was thinking to myself,"How much easier can it be? Seriously, how much better can a self-propelled mower work?"
Then I had a taste of the bittersweet moves-smoother-than-butter mowing goodness. I gave in and used the neighbor's mower.
To this push mower-
You are dead to me.
And to this self-propelled mower-
You are like the beacon in the night guiding this drifting ship into the house where the A/C is on and the tea is cold and sweet.
I love you. Almost as much as my husband.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Backwards Edition
Genius Shannon has come up with another brilliant idea- For this WFMW, we ask a question and the reader leaves tips in the comments.
Here is my latest dilemma-
What are some creative school lunches? My daughter does not like sandwiches and it is getting tougher and tougher to be creative and healthy. During the cooler months, I send soups and the like in a thermos.
Any other tips that do not require a thermos?
Visit Shannon for more WFMW!
More later on the suspenseful "guest." I promise! :>)
Here is my latest dilemma-
What are some creative school lunches? My daughter does not like sandwiches and it is getting tougher and tougher to be creative and healthy. During the cooler months, I send soups and the like in a thermos.
Any other tips that do not require a thermos?
Visit Shannon for more WFMW!
More later on the suspenseful "guest." I promise! :>)
Update- Amber Alert
Monday, October 01, 2007
A little explanation is in order...
If I seem to be "out of sorts" or more weird than usual, or if you are wondering why my posts have been extraordinarily boring lately, it is because I am awaiting the arrival of a very special guest, so to speak. (No, I am not expecting a baby!)
One could say I have been a bit preoccupied with things like house cleaning and grocery shopping.
And let me tell you that I do not occupy myself with those things very often.
More later...
In the meantime, you have to read about Linda's celeb encounter. I tell ya, I am starting to think I should move to Muncie.
One could say I have been a bit preoccupied with things like house cleaning and grocery shopping.
And let me tell you that I do not occupy myself with those things very often.
More later...
In the meantime, you have to read about Linda's celeb encounter. I tell ya, I am starting to think I should move to Muncie.
Car Seat Safety: Kyle David Miller Foundation
Most of you have probably seen the video warning parents about the dangers of some car seats for young children, urging the use of a 5 point harness.
Kyle's parents now have a foundation in honor of him, hoping to reach more parents and save children's lives.
Take a look at the great things being done.
Our hearts go out to the Miller family for their loss. Thank you for reaching out to others in the midst of your own tragedy.
Kyle's parents now have a foundation in honor of him, hoping to reach more parents and save children's lives.
Take a look at the great things being done.
Our hearts go out to the Miller family for their loss. Thank you for reaching out to others in the midst of your own tragedy.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Comment of the Week # 3
The Comment of The Week was in response to this post. The award goes to The Diaper Diaries and honestly, the award goes to her daughter for the great quote below...
"Great questions. I have to say I was flipping channels and came across Days Of Our Lives which I haven't watched since high school (which was, let's just say, a while ago, or more accurately-Marlena as the devil ago). I swear I could have started watching again without missing much.
I did notice Patch was back.
My daughter was in the room and said, "Why is there a pirate on this show? Is he going to say Argh?"
I have to say we could use a few more pirates on daytime TV. ;>)
"Great questions. I have to say I was flipping channels and came across Days Of Our Lives which I haven't watched since high school (which was, let's just say, a while ago, or more accurately-Marlena as the devil ago). I swear I could have started watching again without missing much.
I did notice Patch was back.
My daughter was in the room and said, "Why is there a pirate on this show? Is he going to say Argh?"
I have to say we could use a few more pirates on daytime TV. ;>)
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Your Cell Phone Could Save A Child
If you own a cell phone, take a minute to read this.
Sign up for Amber Alerts on your cell.
The text message you receive while you are out running that errand or stuck in traffic could save the life of a child.
Go now.
Thank you-
Sign up for Amber Alerts on your cell.
The text message you receive while you are out running that errand or stuck in traffic could save the life of a child.
Go now.
Thank you-
Friday, September 28, 2007
A little list that we all could do without.
I hate lists, but when you're in a writing funk, a list can be your best friend.
Your very best friend.
So here is what I have been doing this week while not on my soapbox. In list form...
1. Trying to reach the troop leader, a responsible Girl Scout representative, anyone in brown or green with a vest full of patches.
2. Painting sea life on my daughter's walls. It is turning out to be so cool that I may just move in there. I am using glow-in-the-dark paint to highlight the jellyfish and I even painted a school of fish that only show up in the dark. She calls it "the secret school of fish."
Next on the painting list- a sea turtle
3. Trying not to melt from the sweltering heat. And isn't it almost October? Sweet mercy.
4. Planning a lesson for my 4 and 5 year olds' Sunday School class. I am loving teaching them!
5. Looking for clothes in all the wrong places for a pair of scarecrows I plan to put on the porch. Right now they are dressed and painted but I am going to make them my own by repainting their faces and dressing them in some fine, thrift shop apparel. (I have made one before and it was so fun.)
6. Did I mention I love anything remotely crafty?
Y'all have a fun weekend. Crafty or not crafty!
Your very best friend.
So here is what I have been doing this week while not on my soapbox. In list form...
1. Trying to reach the troop leader, a responsible Girl Scout representative, anyone in brown or green with a vest full of patches.
2. Painting sea life on my daughter's walls. It is turning out to be so cool that I may just move in there. I am using glow-in-the-dark paint to highlight the jellyfish and I even painted a school of fish that only show up in the dark. She calls it "the secret school of fish."
Next on the painting list- a sea turtle
3. Trying not to melt from the sweltering heat. And isn't it almost October? Sweet mercy.
4. Planning a lesson for my 4 and 5 year olds' Sunday School class. I am loving teaching them!
5. Looking for clothes in all the wrong places for a pair of scarecrows I plan to put on the porch. Right now they are dressed and painted but I am going to make them my own by repainting their faces and dressing them in some fine, thrift shop apparel. (I have made one before and it was so fun.)
6. Did I mention I love anything remotely crafty?
Y'all have a fun weekend. Crafty or not crafty!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Thirteen things I wish I could put on my refrigerator
1. My daughter's smile.
2. The feeling I get when I see her do the right thing when she doesn't know I am looking.
3. Her spontaneous hugs.
4. A Fall day outside when we find leaves or just decide to dig in the dirt.
5. The moment we released a butterfly after watching it grow as a caterpillar and form a chrysalis.
6. The look on her face when her Daddy comes home from work.
7. The moments she tells me how much she loves Jesus.
8. The peacefulness of her sleeping.
9. The sounds of giggles as she plays with her sweet friends.
10. The scent of her soft, baby hair after a bath.
11. The overwhelming, drowning joy just moments after her birth.
12. Every card, every drawing, every Play-doh sculpture she has ever made.
13. The humble gratefulness to God for giving me just a moment with one of His precious children.
2. The feeling I get when I see her do the right thing when she doesn't know I am looking.
3. Her spontaneous hugs.
4. A Fall day outside when we find leaves or just decide to dig in the dirt.
5. The moment we released a butterfly after watching it grow as a caterpillar and form a chrysalis.
6. The look on her face when her Daddy comes home from work.
7. The moments she tells me how much she loves Jesus.
8. The peacefulness of her sleeping.
9. The sounds of giggles as she plays with her sweet friends.
10. The scent of her soft, baby hair after a bath.
11. The overwhelming, drowning joy just moments after her birth.
12. Every card, every drawing, every Play-doh sculpture she has ever made.
13. The humble gratefulness to God for giving me just a moment with one of His precious children.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
More Stuff I Don't Understand: Boring Edition
Other than the fact that I am in a bit of a writing funk and am a bit loopy from sinus medication, I really have no other excuse for this pitiful post.
Except that I am, in fact, very strange.
But most of you have figured that out by now.
Here are a few world-changing, life-enriching issues that have kept me up at night. (Not really. I blame blogging and HGTV for that.)
1. Why is it that my my make-up bottle promises to reverse the years and turn back time, but it always seems to take me back to when I was in high school or last month when a hormonal surge caused my face to become a photo-op for Proactiv Solution?
2. Why hasn't the school playground run out of sand? It seems that all of it has ended up in my car. How does the sand spontaneously replenish beneath the swings but will no one will spontaneously vacuum it out of the backseat of my car?
3. Why must children automatically turn their shoes upside down after taking them off? Is it like the "bread will always fall butter side down" theory? Does gravity make a Nike shoe tip instantly and spill sand and small pebbles into my car or my living room floor?
4. Why is it that my cat will spend all of her waking hours grooming herself but she will not even attempt to cover the awful prize she has left in her litter box?
5. Why must the Brady family fight the DiMera family all on their own? Hasn't the Salem Police Department ever heard of the FBI?
I'm just sayin.'
Except that I am, in fact, very strange.
But most of you have figured that out by now.
Here are a few world-changing, life-enriching issues that have kept me up at night. (Not really. I blame blogging and HGTV for that.)
1. Why is it that my my make-up bottle promises to reverse the years and turn back time, but it always seems to take me back to when I was in high school or last month when a hormonal surge caused my face to become a photo-op for Proactiv Solution?
2. Why hasn't the school playground run out of sand? It seems that all of it has ended up in my car. How does the sand spontaneously replenish beneath the swings but will no one will spontaneously vacuum it out of the backseat of my car?
3. Why must children automatically turn their shoes upside down after taking them off? Is it like the "bread will always fall butter side down" theory? Does gravity make a Nike shoe tip instantly and spill sand and small pebbles into my car or my living room floor?
4. Why is it that my cat will spend all of her waking hours grooming herself but she will not even attempt to cover the awful prize she has left in her litter box?
5. Why must the Brady family fight the DiMera family all on their own? Hasn't the Salem Police Department ever heard of the FBI?
I'm just sayin.'
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Bullies don't get invited to birthday parties.
A follow-up to this post.
Mrs. Johnson's third grade class knew all about Johnny.
He had picked on Susie, had a few of his bully friends beat up Bobby, and he had threatened the entire Kindergarten class. Nobody liked Johnny. He was just plain mean.
Johnny went to another school across town. The kids in Mrs. Johnson's class heard that Johnny and a group of mean kids had vandalized the neighborhood. In fact, they were pretty sure that Johnny had stocked an entire arsenal of dirt clods and slingshots in his own backyard. No one really had proof, but everyone just knew.
One day, Billy, a little boy in Mrs. Johnson's class, had a birthday party. It was supposed to be the best birthday party ever with balloons and prizes, a jumpy castle and Happy Meals for all. All of the kids in Mrs. Johnson's class were invited. Everyone was so excited.
Then Johnny showed up.
The kids were shocked.
But then they learned that Billy had invited Johnny.
Invited Johnny?
When Billy's friends asked why Johnny had been invited, this is what Billy said...
"Everyone in our class is so nice and Johnny is so mean. I want Johnny to see what it is like to be nice, to not be a bully. He should be at a party where everyone is allowed to play with all the toys and everyone gets a goody bag at the end. Just because Johnny doesn't have parties like that, doesn't mean I shouldn't invite him.
Johnny might learn something about being nice. And while he is here, we can ask him about all the dirt clods and slingshots he has hidden in his yard, and about the time we all heard he and his friends spray painted the neighborhood with graffiti."
One brave little girl stood up in the middle of the play area and said...
"Do you seriously think just because you invite Johnny to this party that he will act nice and learn how not to be a bully?
What makes you think he doesn't have a few dirt clods in his pocket right now? And what if a kid in our class decides to beat up Johnny at this party? What will Johnny do then? Will he use his bully power to get other kids in his neighborhood to come and beat up the kids at our school?
And what about us, Billy?
We are your friends.
Don't we matter to you?
What were you thinking, Billy?"
Then Billy said,"I don't know. All I cared about was the really cool presents."
So Mrs. Johnson's entire third grade class decided to be nice to Johnny at the birthday party. Everyone was on their best behavior. Billy gave Johnny the best seat at the party and let Johnny have the first piece of birthday cake. Even though Johnny said hurtful things to the other children at the party and lied about the dirt clods, he was allowed to be first in line at the jumpy castle and he was given the very best goody bag when it was time to leave.
Other classes heard about the birthday party and how Johnny had been invited, even treated like a guest of honor. They began to think that maybe, just maybe Johnny was not so bad. If Billy had invited him to his party and the entire class had been so kind to Johnny, then maybe Johnny was actually their friend. Maybe Johnny wasn't a bully after all.
And all the while, Johnny had gone back home across town, goody bag in hand, and returned to all of his mean, little bully friends. He and his friends were just as mean as they were before.
And they all had a good laugh about the birthday party while they made new dirt clods and slingshots in Johnny's backyard.
Mrs. Johnson's third grade class knew all about Johnny.
He had picked on Susie, had a few of his bully friends beat up Bobby, and he had threatened the entire Kindergarten class. Nobody liked Johnny. He was just plain mean.
Johnny went to another school across town. The kids in Mrs. Johnson's class heard that Johnny and a group of mean kids had vandalized the neighborhood. In fact, they were pretty sure that Johnny had stocked an entire arsenal of dirt clods and slingshots in his own backyard. No one really had proof, but everyone just knew.
One day, Billy, a little boy in Mrs. Johnson's class, had a birthday party. It was supposed to be the best birthday party ever with balloons and prizes, a jumpy castle and Happy Meals for all. All of the kids in Mrs. Johnson's class were invited. Everyone was so excited.
Then Johnny showed up.
The kids were shocked.
But then they learned that Billy had invited Johnny.
Invited Johnny?
When Billy's friends asked why Johnny had been invited, this is what Billy said...
"Everyone in our class is so nice and Johnny is so mean. I want Johnny to see what it is like to be nice, to not be a bully. He should be at a party where everyone is allowed to play with all the toys and everyone gets a goody bag at the end. Just because Johnny doesn't have parties like that, doesn't mean I shouldn't invite him.
Johnny might learn something about being nice. And while he is here, we can ask him about all the dirt clods and slingshots he has hidden in his yard, and about the time we all heard he and his friends spray painted the neighborhood with graffiti."
One brave little girl stood up in the middle of the play area and said...
"Do you seriously think just because you invite Johnny to this party that he will act nice and learn how not to be a bully?
What makes you think he doesn't have a few dirt clods in his pocket right now? And what if a kid in our class decides to beat up Johnny at this party? What will Johnny do then? Will he use his bully power to get other kids in his neighborhood to come and beat up the kids at our school?
And what about us, Billy?
We are your friends.
Don't we matter to you?
What were you thinking, Billy?"
Then Billy said,"I don't know. All I cared about was the really cool presents."
So Mrs. Johnson's entire third grade class decided to be nice to Johnny at the birthday party. Everyone was on their best behavior. Billy gave Johnny the best seat at the party and let Johnny have the first piece of birthday cake. Even though Johnny said hurtful things to the other children at the party and lied about the dirt clods, he was allowed to be first in line at the jumpy castle and he was given the very best goody bag when it was time to leave.
Other classes heard about the birthday party and how Johnny had been invited, even treated like a guest of honor. They began to think that maybe, just maybe Johnny was not so bad. If Billy had invited him to his party and the entire class had been so kind to Johnny, then maybe Johnny was actually their friend. Maybe Johnny wasn't a bully after all.
And all the while, Johnny had gone back home across town, goody bag in hand, and returned to all of his mean, little bully friends. He and his friends were just as mean as they were before.
And they all had a good laugh about the birthday party while they made new dirt clods and slingshots in Johnny's backyard.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Freedom of Speech?
Whether you are reading this blog, the paper, watching Fox News, CNN or reading the Washington Post...
Whether you are listening to Talk Radio, a sermon, or the speech of a president- any president...
Remember that Freedom of Speech must come with responsibility.
As the listener of the speaker, you must also use responsibility.
You have a responsibility to consider the facts, all of them.
Consider the source.
Consider the motive.
And consider this-
That freedom is not guaranteed, only protected.
That freedom, like life, can be taken in an instant.
And that it is the lives of those protecting our freedoms that we must consider.
What will you choose to do with your freedoms?
How will you remember those who stand ready at this very moment to protect them?
How will you thank those brave ones?
Consider their freedoms.
Consider the overwhelming responsibility they shoulder each and ever day...
For you.
For me.
For our children.
For the people who love them.
For the people who hate them.
These brave ones stand ready to protect them all.
I ask you this-
Where is their Freedom of Speech?
Whether you are listening to Talk Radio, a sermon, or the speech of a president- any president...
Remember that Freedom of Speech must come with responsibility.
As the listener of the speaker, you must also use responsibility.
You have a responsibility to consider the facts, all of them.
Consider the source.
Consider the motive.
And consider this-
That freedom is not guaranteed, only protected.
That freedom, like life, can be taken in an instant.
And that it is the lives of those protecting our freedoms that we must consider.
What will you choose to do with your freedoms?
How will you remember those who stand ready at this very moment to protect them?
How will you thank those brave ones?
Consider their freedoms.
Consider the overwhelming responsibility they shoulder each and ever day...
For you.
For me.
For our children.
For the people who love them.
For the people who hate them.
These brave ones stand ready to protect them all.
I ask you this-
Where is their Freedom of Speech?
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Comment of the Week #2
The Comment Of The Week goes to...
Shannon @ Idylwild for her comment to this post.
"Oh, hon-eee. I dated Bud, too, only his name was (I am not making this up) Tater and the truck was green."
Hat tip to Shannon. John Deere Cap tip to Tater. :>)
Shannon @ Idylwild for her comment to this post.
"Oh, hon-eee. I dated Bud, too, only his name was (I am not making this up) Tater and the truck was green."
Hat tip to Shannon. John Deere Cap tip to Tater. :>)
Friday, September 21, 2007
Blueberry French Toast Bake
Updated to add-
Visit this website to purchase the entire cookbook with this recipe and many others like it. Thanks, Nancy for the link!
Fall is in the air and when it is, I love to have something warm and yummy for breakfast.
This morning I made this casserole for us and I wanted to share the recipe with you. It is from an awesome regional cookbook I have. Take the time to make the syrup. It is soooo worth it.
Blueberry French Toast Bake
one large loaf French bread, cubed
8 ounces cream cheese, cubed
8 ounces fresh or thawed frozen blueberries
2 cups milk
6 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, melted
1/3 cup maple-flavored syrup
cinnamon to taste
Brown Sugar Syrup
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup light corn syrup
salt to taste
To prepare the French Toast-
Sprinkle half of the bread cubes in a greased 2 quart baking dish. Add cream cheese cubes and blueberries. Top with remaining bread cubes.
Combine milk, eggs and vanilla in a bowl and mix well. Pour over the layers in the baking dish and press down lightly to saturate bread with liquid. Combine butter and syrup in a bowl, mix well. Pour over the layers and sprinkle lightly with cinnamon.
Cover and chill at least 2 hours. (Overnight is great!) Bake at 325 for 30-40 minutes or until golden brown and bubbly.
To prepare Syrup-
Combine brown sugar, cream and corn syrup and salt in a small saucepan. Cook over low heat until smooth, stirring to blend well. Do not boil. Serve with French toast.
Visit this website to purchase the entire cookbook with this recipe and many others like it. Thanks, Nancy for the link!
Fall is in the air and when it is, I love to have something warm and yummy for breakfast.
This morning I made this casserole for us and I wanted to share the recipe with you. It is from an awesome regional cookbook I have. Take the time to make the syrup. It is soooo worth it.
Blueberry French Toast Bake
one large loaf French bread, cubed
8 ounces cream cheese, cubed
8 ounces fresh or thawed frozen blueberries
2 cups milk
6 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, melted
1/3 cup maple-flavored syrup
cinnamon to taste
Brown Sugar Syrup
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup light corn syrup
salt to taste
To prepare the French Toast-
Sprinkle half of the bread cubes in a greased 2 quart baking dish. Add cream cheese cubes and blueberries. Top with remaining bread cubes.
Combine milk, eggs and vanilla in a bowl and mix well. Pour over the layers in the baking dish and press down lightly to saturate bread with liquid. Combine butter and syrup in a bowl, mix well. Pour over the layers and sprinkle lightly with cinnamon.
Cover and chill at least 2 hours. (Overnight is great!) Bake at 325 for 30-40 minutes or until golden brown and bubbly.
To prepare Syrup-
Combine brown sugar, cream and corn syrup and salt in a small saucepan. Cook over low heat until smooth, stirring to blend well. Do not boil. Serve with French toast.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Kid Nation?
I know I am opening a can of worms, here, but I have to ask.
What do you think about Kid Nation?
If you are not familiar with the new reality show, go here to find out.
Personally, I find it cruel. Sure, it makes for good ratings and sure, kids are tougher and smarter than we acknowledge.
But, in a day when adult issues are forcing some of our kids to grow up faster than they should, we have to draw the line somewhere.
Let them be kids! Give them opportunities to shine as kids. That's what makes them so special.
Here's an idea. How about adults acting like adults. Hmmm....
What do you think about Kid Nation?
If you are not familiar with the new reality show, go here to find out.
Personally, I find it cruel. Sure, it makes for good ratings and sure, kids are tougher and smarter than we acknowledge.
But, in a day when adult issues are forcing some of our kids to grow up faster than they should, we have to draw the line somewhere.
Let them be kids! Give them opportunities to shine as kids. That's what makes them so special.
Here's an idea. How about adults acting like adults. Hmmm....
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Monarch Migration
Last Fall we observed an abundance of Monarchs migrating through our area. After searching the web, I found this great site where you can help track their migration.
Once you have a sighting, you can log it on the website. It is so amazing to see God's creatures traveling miles and miles to one safe and warm haven in Mexico.
You can also link to other migration sites like the whooping crane. Even if none of these creatures migrate through your area, you still will enjoy sharing their journey.
Have fun!
Once you have a sighting, you can log it on the website. It is so amazing to see God's creatures traveling miles and miles to one safe and warm haven in Mexico.
You can also link to other migration sites like the whooping crane. Even if none of these creatures migrate through your area, you still will enjoy sharing their journey.
Have fun!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
This One Is For The Moms
The original, unedited post was published January 10, 2007. I wanted to share this again because lately, I feel like we all need a little encouragement.
Let me give you a peek inside my world.
Before I had a child, I had a much cleaner house. I ate right, at least on occasion, and I sometimes even went for a walk and broke a sweat. Now, most of my sweating is a side effect of the anti-depressant I take or the pre-menopause that I am convinced I have begun. Yes, I am only 36 years old. Since having a child, I have much more fatigue, anxiety, brain fogs, and cellulite and much less fashion sense.
Ain't life just grand?
I would never, ever, in a 100 million years, ever go back to those former days if it meant that I would not be a mother. I absolutely adore my daughter and I am thankful for motherhood. Every night, when I tip toe in her room and look at her sweet face there nestled on her pillow and snuggled against her bunny, I say "thank you" to God above that He allowed me, undeserving me, to be her mama. I kiss my little girl's forehead and smell her sweet breath, thinking on the scent of her baby's breath, and the image of her resting peacefully in her crib. I pause and consider that these moments are fleeting, like a train leaving the station right there before my eyes.
I just wish I could be perfect.
Everyone has room for improvement, but I have room for an extreme makeover. From my organization skills to my culinary choices, the networks could do an entire mini-series on me.
I used to really beat myself up. Some days, I still do, but for the most part, I have decided that God made me the way I am. He certainly wants me to strive to be my best, but He wants me to be my best for Him, not for everyone else, and definitely not for am image that is plastered on TV, magazines and movies.
I've decided that I do have gifts and abilities that are worth sharing. I can remove stains that would make most people run away screaming. I have the insane ability to memorize phone numbers. In spite of the brain fogs, my mind is a steel trap when it comes to mothering memories and entire episodes of Seinfeld.
Go ahead. Quiz me.
I can make a chicken salad that my husband loves, an awesome pan of biscuits without measuring and I can create just about any casserole your heart desires with a vegetable, grated cheese, Hellman's mayonnaise, a can of cream of something soup and a pack of Ritz crackers. Look out, Rachael Ray.
In spite of all of these incredible, somebody-call-Guiness talents, I still feel a little down some days. Perhaps it is because I eat peanut butter from the jar or I forget to keep my eyebrows tweezed, or it's because my laundry appears to reproduce overnight. (Maybe this is a reason we are supposed to keep things separate.)
Yes, I am an average, under dressed, overweight mother of one. I have a lot of room for improvement, but I am learning to be more comfortable in my own skin, as saggy and acne-ridden that it is. Acne in my thirties. Who would have guessed?
When I am dead and gone and my husband has buried me after following the written instructions for my funeral that I have left for him in a special file in the filing cabinet, including songs and what to wear (for me and for him, yes, I'll still be picking out his tie), I hope my epitaph may read:
"Here lies Melanie. She never climbed Mt. Everest or took part in extreme sports. She never fit into her size 4 jeans again. She had no desire to travel to exotic parts of the world or launch into outer space. Her house was clean, but lived in. Her hair was combed, but her roots were visible. Her waist, well we don't know where it went.
But, her husband remembers her kisses and the smell of her perfume. As a wife, she tried her best to honor him, to support and share his dreams, and to always treat him like the man that he is. She made him lunch, not everyday, but now and then. When she did, she included a note on a napkin or a lipstick kiss. She may not have kept her college figure, but she always dressed and acted like a lady.
Her daughter remembers her hugs and the smell of Noxema on her face when she tip toed in her room to kiss her forehead. She pretended to be asleep sometimes, snuggling her bunny and feeling her mama's loving eyes watching over her. As a mother, Melanie told her daughter about Jesus and manners. She told her and showed her how to give to others. Her daughter can remember the murals on her bedroom walls, the times her mama sent cupcakes to school, went on field trips, and made crafts with the class. She remembers her Mama staying up late at night with her when she was sick, giving her yucky-tasting medicine and singing to her in the darkness.
Here lies, Melanie. She wasn't anything out of the ordinary. She was just a mom, just a wife, but she was special to those who loved her and to those she loved."
I hope you feel special today. You are special to many people around you.
Have an incredible, ordinary day.
Let me give you a peek inside my world.
Before I had a child, I had a much cleaner house. I ate right, at least on occasion, and I sometimes even went for a walk and broke a sweat. Now, most of my sweating is a side effect of the anti-depressant I take or the pre-menopause that I am convinced I have begun. Yes, I am only 36 years old. Since having a child, I have much more fatigue, anxiety, brain fogs, and cellulite and much less fashion sense.
Ain't life just grand?
I would never, ever, in a 100 million years, ever go back to those former days if it meant that I would not be a mother. I absolutely adore my daughter and I am thankful for motherhood. Every night, when I tip toe in her room and look at her sweet face there nestled on her pillow and snuggled against her bunny, I say "thank you" to God above that He allowed me, undeserving me, to be her mama. I kiss my little girl's forehead and smell her sweet breath, thinking on the scent of her baby's breath, and the image of her resting peacefully in her crib. I pause and consider that these moments are fleeting, like a train leaving the station right there before my eyes.
I just wish I could be perfect.
Everyone has room for improvement, but I have room for an extreme makeover. From my organization skills to my culinary choices, the networks could do an entire mini-series on me.
I used to really beat myself up. Some days, I still do, but for the most part, I have decided that God made me the way I am. He certainly wants me to strive to be my best, but He wants me to be my best for Him, not for everyone else, and definitely not for am image that is plastered on TV, magazines and movies.
I've decided that I do have gifts and abilities that are worth sharing. I can remove stains that would make most people run away screaming. I have the insane ability to memorize phone numbers. In spite of the brain fogs, my mind is a steel trap when it comes to mothering memories and entire episodes of Seinfeld.
Go ahead. Quiz me.
I can make a chicken salad that my husband loves, an awesome pan of biscuits without measuring and I can create just about any casserole your heart desires with a vegetable, grated cheese, Hellman's mayonnaise, a can of cream of something soup and a pack of Ritz crackers. Look out, Rachael Ray.
In spite of all of these incredible, somebody-call-Guiness talents, I still feel a little down some days. Perhaps it is because I eat peanut butter from the jar or I forget to keep my eyebrows tweezed, or it's because my laundry appears to reproduce overnight. (Maybe this is a reason we are supposed to keep things separate.)
Yes, I am an average, under dressed, overweight mother of one. I have a lot of room for improvement, but I am learning to be more comfortable in my own skin, as saggy and acne-ridden that it is. Acne in my thirties. Who would have guessed?
When I am dead and gone and my husband has buried me after following the written instructions for my funeral that I have left for him in a special file in the filing cabinet, including songs and what to wear (for me and for him, yes, I'll still be picking out his tie), I hope my epitaph may read:
"Here lies Melanie. She never climbed Mt. Everest or took part in extreme sports. She never fit into her size 4 jeans again. She had no desire to travel to exotic parts of the world or launch into outer space. Her house was clean, but lived in. Her hair was combed, but her roots were visible. Her waist, well we don't know where it went.
But, her husband remembers her kisses and the smell of her perfume. As a wife, she tried her best to honor him, to support and share his dreams, and to always treat him like the man that he is. She made him lunch, not everyday, but now and then. When she did, she included a note on a napkin or a lipstick kiss. She may not have kept her college figure, but she always dressed and acted like a lady.
Her daughter remembers her hugs and the smell of Noxema on her face when she tip toed in her room to kiss her forehead. She pretended to be asleep sometimes, snuggling her bunny and feeling her mama's loving eyes watching over her. As a mother, Melanie told her daughter about Jesus and manners. She told her and showed her how to give to others. Her daughter can remember the murals on her bedroom walls, the times her mama sent cupcakes to school, went on field trips, and made crafts with the class. She remembers her Mama staying up late at night with her when she was sick, giving her yucky-tasting medicine and singing to her in the darkness.
Here lies, Melanie. She wasn't anything out of the ordinary. She was just a mom, just a wife, but she was special to those who loved her and to those she loved."
I hope you feel special today. You are special to many people around you.
Have an incredible, ordinary day.
Monday, September 17, 2007
You Might Be A Redneck's Girlfriend
When we went on our last road trip, we rented an SUV. Compared to my Mommy Camry, I felt like I was driving a tank. Let me tell ya. It was COO-WEL.
Yes, M'am. That was a niiiiice truck.
So now I've got the fevah for a new vehicle. I was feeling a little warm and clammy before, thinking about a new mini-van or a small SUV, but after driving a Chevy on I-75 alongside the diesels and the hummers, I am completely febrile for a new car.
Somebody give me a Tylenol.
All of the gas- guzzling, ozone-depleting, all-terrainness reminded me of a guy I dated in college, before I met my husband. I will call him "Bud."
My hubs loves to tease me about Bud because Bud was the typical redneck.
Bud spoke reaaallly slowwwwllyy. He was a real gentleman. He opened doors for ladies and even for women who didn't act like ladies. He loved his mama. But most of all, Bud loved his truck.
And Bud had a niiicce truck.
It was a red Nissan, always sparkling clean. You could picture a dog (probably a hunting dog) riding in this truck with his tongue hanging out, barking at people in BMW's at red lights. Bud didn't have a dog, but if he had, I am sure it would have gone out with us.
We only dated for a few months. Most of the time we would see a movie or go out for dinner. After dinner, we would always go shining for deer. If you don't know what that is, let me explain...
Shining for deer is illegal when used for hunting. I am not sure if it is allowed for cruising, or for taking your girlfriend out on a date. It is also not the kindest or most humane activity in the world. Shining for deer is taking a flood light or other bright light and riding along the edge of the woods, looking for deer.
I.E. Deer in the headlight
Now that you are beginning to have a mental image of us out blinding Bambi with a huge flashlight, let me add one more image.
Sometimes a truck with a bench seat does not have a cup holder, and even if it did, come on people, a redneck gentleman with a southern girl by his side? Seated on a bench seat out shining for deer? Now why would you even need a cup holder?!
Because I was the cup holder.
The dip cup holder.
I'm just helpful like that.
Yes, dip cup. We're not talking French Onion. We're talking about the carcinogenic kind- Skoal.
So you can see why Bud did not end up being The One. My Prince. My Knight In Red Shining Armor With Chrome Hubcaps. I mean, with all of that romance, a girl can only take so much!
Yes, M'am. That was a niiiiice truck.
So now I've got the fevah for a new vehicle. I was feeling a little warm and clammy before, thinking about a new mini-van or a small SUV, but after driving a Chevy on I-75 alongside the diesels and the hummers, I am completely febrile for a new car.
Somebody give me a Tylenol.
All of the gas- guzzling, ozone-depleting, all-terrainness reminded me of a guy I dated in college, before I met my husband. I will call him "Bud."
My hubs loves to tease me about Bud because Bud was the typical redneck.
Bud spoke reaaallly slowwwwllyy. He was a real gentleman. He opened doors for ladies and even for women who didn't act like ladies. He loved his mama. But most of all, Bud loved his truck.
And Bud had a niiicce truck.
It was a red Nissan, always sparkling clean. You could picture a dog (probably a hunting dog) riding in this truck with his tongue hanging out, barking at people in BMW's at red lights. Bud didn't have a dog, but if he had, I am sure it would have gone out with us.
We only dated for a few months. Most of the time we would see a movie or go out for dinner. After dinner, we would always go shining for deer. If you don't know what that is, let me explain...
Shining for deer is illegal when used for hunting. I am not sure if it is allowed for cruising, or for taking your girlfriend out on a date. It is also not the kindest or most humane activity in the world. Shining for deer is taking a flood light or other bright light and riding along the edge of the woods, looking for deer.
I.E. Deer in the headlight
Now that you are beginning to have a mental image of us out blinding Bambi with a huge flashlight, let me add one more image.
Sometimes a truck with a bench seat does not have a cup holder, and even if it did, come on people, a redneck gentleman with a southern girl by his side? Seated on a bench seat out shining for deer? Now why would you even need a cup holder?!
Because I was the cup holder.
The dip cup holder.
I'm just helpful like that.
Yes, dip cup. We're not talking French Onion. We're talking about the carcinogenic kind- Skoal.
So you can see why Bud did not end up being The One. My Prince. My Knight In Red Shining Armor With Chrome Hubcaps. I mean, with all of that romance, a girl can only take so much!
Sunday, September 16, 2007
If the mothers ruled the world...
Fox wouldn't have to edit out the foul words of an Emmy winner, or cut away from her speech on stage.
Troops and their mothers would not be used for anti-war propaganda.
No one would dishonor the life's work of a General.
But wait...
Mothers can "rule the world" because
it is the hand that rocks the cradle that rules the world.
Who or what rocks the cradle of your children?
Troops and their mothers would not be used for anti-war propaganda.
No one would dishonor the life's work of a General.
But wait...
Mothers can "rule the world" because
it is the hand that rocks the cradle that rules the world.
Who or what rocks the cradle of your children?
Comment of the Week
Sometimes the comments are so much better than the blog material.
Today is the first Sunday I will award "Comment Of The Week."
Kudos to Steffj89 for her great comment to this post.
"We live far enough out in the country that my hubby gave me snake shooting practice....now I am not 100% sure where or when I will have call to use this...how do ya trap one in your house while ya go get the gun? and chances are if i am seeing one in the yard if the guns not on me I am too far away from him anyway.
The result of the snake shooting practice...if it had been a live snake rather than a garden hose it would have had time to eat a village before *I* actually shot it. I did ok with the rifle, but the pistol i am supposed to use??? i couldnt hit the tree 4 feet in front of me and its about 2 ft around....LOLOL" Steff
Steff, I sure hope you have a blog. If not, please start one. You are a hoot! :>)
Today is the first Sunday I will award "Comment Of The Week."
Kudos to Steffj89 for her great comment to this post.
"We live far enough out in the country that my hubby gave me snake shooting practice....now I am not 100% sure where or when I will have call to use this...how do ya trap one in your house while ya go get the gun? and chances are if i am seeing one in the yard if the guns not on me I am too far away from him anyway.
The result of the snake shooting practice...if it had been a live snake rather than a garden hose it would have had time to eat a village before *I* actually shot it. I did ok with the rifle, but the pistol i am supposed to use??? i couldnt hit the tree 4 feet in front of me and its about 2 ft around....LOLOL" Steff
Steff, I sure hope you have a blog. If not, please start one. You are a hoot! :>)
Friday, September 14, 2007
She shall bruise his head with her mop handle
Just when you think all is calm at the pond, you find a snake in your living room while your husband is at work.
Yep. A snake. It was a baby snake, but that doesn't really make the situation any better, unless you take into account that his little reptilian mouth was too small to bite my pinky toe.
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention in some previous posts- The pond out back? Um, it has been home to water moccasins.
I decided to identify the snake before killing it. One needs to know the odds of a venomous bite or, you know, death before one tries to remove a creature that may or may not be deadly. Sadly enough, I am learning about the patterns of snakes.
Stripes- good.
Blotches- sometimes good, sometimes very, very bad.
Diamonds- bad
Bands and Cross bands- Depends on the colors. Red and yellow could be friendly or deadly. So, you are supposed to remember this-
"Red touches yellow will kill a fellow."
It's like a sick, little nursery rhyme that you never want to read to your kids.
This snake had blotches. In order to determine whether he was a harmless water snake or a deadly water moccasin, I was supposed to look at the shape of his head and his eyes. I am no snake expert, but it is my opinion that if you are close enough to a snake to decide whether his eyes are oval or round or hazel with flecks of gold, you are too close.
The possibility that it was deadly was enough ID for me. I grabbed the broom, and in one quick tactical maneuver-like motion, I swooshed it (that's a real snake expert term) near the door and away from furniture to prevent the snake from evading me in a secret snake hide-out. After swooshing, I commenced to smooshing. (more snake expert talk)
Pretty much, I beat the thing to death with the mop handle. It wasn't until I hit it with a Biblical head-crushing jab on its creepy little head, that it died. There it lay, dead as a doornail, right there in the foyer.
Yep. A snake. It was a baby snake, but that doesn't really make the situation any better, unless you take into account that his little reptilian mouth was too small to bite my pinky toe.
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention in some previous posts- The pond out back? Um, it has been home to water moccasins.
I decided to identify the snake before killing it. One needs to know the odds of a venomous bite or, you know, death before one tries to remove a creature that may or may not be deadly. Sadly enough, I am learning about the patterns of snakes.
Stripes- good.
Blotches- sometimes good, sometimes very, very bad.
Diamonds- bad
Bands and Cross bands- Depends on the colors. Red and yellow could be friendly or deadly. So, you are supposed to remember this-
"Red touches yellow will kill a fellow."
It's like a sick, little nursery rhyme that you never want to read to your kids.
This snake had blotches. In order to determine whether he was a harmless water snake or a deadly water moccasin, I was supposed to look at the shape of his head and his eyes. I am no snake expert, but it is my opinion that if you are close enough to a snake to decide whether his eyes are oval or round or hazel with flecks of gold, you are too close.
The possibility that it was deadly was enough ID for me. I grabbed the broom, and in one quick tactical maneuver-like motion, I swooshed it (that's a real snake expert term) near the door and away from furniture to prevent the snake from evading me in a secret snake hide-out. After swooshing, I commenced to smooshing. (more snake expert talk)
Pretty much, I beat the thing to death with the mop handle. It wasn't until I hit it with a Biblical head-crushing jab on its creepy little head, that it died. There it lay, dead as a doornail, right there in the foyer.
After disposing of the remains in the big green garbage can (my version of the East River), I got on the Internet and ID'd the dead critter- A water snake. Poor, harmless, dumb as dirt to slither into this girl's house snake.
May it rest in peace.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Thirteen Things You Will Never See On TV
1. Britney hosting Thanksgiving dinner with Martha Stewart.
2. Billy Graham Crusades bloopers and outtakes.
3. The Barbara Walters/Apprentice Special
4. Vera Wang on What Not To Wear
5. The Project Runway Last Minute Costume Making Challenge
6. Dateline Investigates: Lost Socks In The Dryer
7. PBS Special: Methane Gas- How Chili Cook-offs Contribute to Global Warming
8. Rock, Paper, Scissors- America Chooses Their Next US President
9. Extreme Home Makeover- The White House
10. Dancing With The Stars- Chicken Dance Edition
11. A commercial for air
12. Special Offer: Gallon of Gasoline- Buy One Get One Free
13. Made For TV Movie- Webster's Dictionary
2. Billy Graham Crusades bloopers and outtakes.
3. The Barbara Walters/Apprentice Special
4. Vera Wang on What Not To Wear
5. The Project Runway Last Minute Costume Making Challenge
6. Dateline Investigates: Lost Socks In The Dryer
7. PBS Special: Methane Gas- How Chili Cook-offs Contribute to Global Warming
8. Rock, Paper, Scissors- America Chooses Their Next US President
9. Extreme Home Makeover- The White House
10. Dancing With The Stars- Chicken Dance Edition
11. A commercial for air
12. Special Offer: Gallon of Gasoline- Buy One Get One Free
13. Made For TV Movie- Webster's Dictionary
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I'm so glad she doesn't want anyone to feel left out.
"Mommy, I feel sorry for the juice box."
"Why?"
"No one wants a juice box anymore. Everyone wants a CapriSun. If someone has a juice box and their friends all have a CapriSun, the one with the juice box says, 'Ah, Man! I gotta juice box."
"It's Ok. There are still some kids who like the juice box. I think the preschoolers still drink them.
;>)
"Why?"
"No one wants a juice box anymore. Everyone wants a CapriSun. If someone has a juice box and their friends all have a CapriSun, the one with the juice box says, 'Ah, Man! I gotta juice box."
"It's Ok. There are still some kids who like the juice box. I think the preschoolers still drink them.
;>)
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The day that changed everything.
September 11.
A day that changed so many lives forever.
We all know where we were that day, but I want to ask you this- Where are you today?
Today could be the day that changes your life for eternity. Watch this and search your heart.
Blessings,
A day that changed so many lives forever.
We all know where we were that day, but I want to ask you this- Where are you today?
Today could be the day that changes your life for eternity. Watch this and search your heart.
Blessings,
Monday, September 10, 2007
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Now I will just speak into my shoe phone.
Here's a question for you fellow bloggers-
Do you ever feel like you are living a double life? Like you live in two different worlds- the blog world and the real world?
I have a few friends and family members who read my blog, but most of them never comment. I don't know if it is because they save those comments for emails or if they feel like they are not part of that "life" or maybe they just haven't figured out yet how to log on to Google. (Hey, friends and family- I can tell when you visit the blog. My site meter shows it. Just a little bloggy agent tool we geeky bloggers use.)
Most of my friends don't read my blog. Most don't even know about it because, well, why should they? They all lead normal, respectable lives and do productive things like cut the grass and take out the trash while I'm inside sitting under dim lighting trying to adjust my template.
Then there's that moment. That moment when I am talking to a friend about something that happened and I know I've already written a post on it, so what I really want to say is,"Hey. Read my blog. I just wrote about that."
But I don't say that because I know she would give me "that look." The look that says,"What on earth are you talking about? You have a what? Isn't that like a website? And what makes you think your life is interesting enough that anyone would want to read about it?"
So I let the moment pass and say nothing. I've decided not to bring that particular friend "to the other side." She may just go there and figure out just how weird I really am or she may just go there and never return.
Some days I am a blogger and some days I am just the old, offline me.
It's like a James Bond movie, only I don't look nearly as smart as those James Bond girls.
Ahem.
How about you?
Do you ever feel like you are living a double life? Like you live in two different worlds- the blog world and the real world?
I have a few friends and family members who read my blog, but most of them never comment. I don't know if it is because they save those comments for emails or if they feel like they are not part of that "life" or maybe they just haven't figured out yet how to log on to Google. (Hey, friends and family- I can tell when you visit the blog. My site meter shows it. Just a little bloggy agent tool we geeky bloggers use.)
Most of my friends don't read my blog. Most don't even know about it because, well, why should they? They all lead normal, respectable lives and do productive things like cut the grass and take out the trash while I'm inside sitting under dim lighting trying to adjust my template.
Then there's that moment. That moment when I am talking to a friend about something that happened and I know I've already written a post on it, so what I really want to say is,"Hey. Read my blog. I just wrote about that."
But I don't say that because I know she would give me "that look." The look that says,"What on earth are you talking about? You have a what? Isn't that like a website? And what makes you think your life is interesting enough that anyone would want to read about it?"
So I let the moment pass and say nothing. I've decided not to bring that particular friend "to the other side." She may just go there and figure out just how weird I really am or she may just go there and never return.
Some days I am a blogger and some days I am just the old, offline me.
It's like a James Bond movie, only I don't look nearly as smart as those James Bond girls.
Ahem.
How about you?
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
But she did not cry for help.
Yesterday I was running errands, purchasing paint for our home office, browsing a teacher's supply store in search of Sunday School supplies. Basic, mundane tasks we all do. It was just another extraordinary day.
When I'd finished everything I needed to do, I had a little time to waste before picking up my daughter from school. So I decided to stop at TJ Maxx to fill the time. As I passed the children's clothing on my way to housewares, I saw a little girl weaving in and out of the clothing racks. She couldn't have been more than three years old.
"Where's her mom?" immediately came to mind and I stood there looking for a woman or anyone who seemed like they would "match." We've all done this. We see a child wandering around or playing with something in a store and our eyes start to scan the area, searching for the grown-up to whom they belong. Most of the time, we find the grown-up and then we hear,"Get back over here. I can't see you."
Only this time I couldn't find the "match." The little girl kept wandering through the racks, past the baby clothes, and on into another department. I looked around. Still no grown-up. Not able to find an employee closeby without taking my eyes off the lost girl, I knelt down and asked the girl, "Sweetie, where's your mommy?"
"I don't know," she said.
"We need to find her," I said.
"OK"
"What's your name?"
"muttered words"
"What, honey?"
"muttered words"
Still no grown-up. No one had noticed that I- a complete stranger- had stopped to talk to a small child who does not belong to me.
"Let's find your mommy. We need to find a person who works here."
"OK."
Then, the absolute worst thing happened.
She followed me.
I didn't take her hand because I did not want her to really trust me. I had wished that she would scream, "Stranger! I want my mommy!" I wished that she would have stood there, frozen in that spot in the aisle, refusing to go anywhere with a person she did not know, a person who (this time) had her best interests at heart, a person who was in fact someone's mommy, but not hers.
Instead, she followed me. She did not make a peep. She followed me all the way to the front of the store. All the way to the front of the store. Then she stood there with me in line at the registers until I could speak to a clerk.
Still no grown-up.
The clerks were extremely helpful and immediately took her hand. Before they did, I knelt down again to this little girl to tell her that these ladies work there, "see their badges?" and that it was OK for her to go with them to find her mommy.
Soon, the three of us deciphered the muttered words of a little girl to learn her name. Soon, an announcement was made over the store's intercom. I watched as a clerk walked around the store with a tiny, lost hand in her firm grip. Soon, a lost child and her mommy were reunited.
There was no search party.
There was no press conference.
Only the sounds of metal hangers sliding across clearance racks and the grateful sigh of a shopper who just happened to stop in the store to fill the time before picking up her own little girl.
While I wanted to stomp in a rage in the face of this mom who, for what seemed an eternity, did not know where her daughter was, I took a moment to pray. I thanked God that this little girl was safe and I asked Him to protect her. Then I drove to my own daughter's school and sat in car line. The end of a busy, mundane, task-filled day.
This morning I saw the news about a mom who left her child in her car all day while she was at work taking care of other people's children. She sobbed on camera as police interviewed her. The images were heartbreaking. It doesn't really matter what I feel about her or the mom who lost her child in the store; something is wrong.
Something is terribly wrong.
While I do not believe that "it takes a village" to raise a child, I do believe that the villagers should help each other. The women of the pioneer days and even my grandmother's days did it right. They helped each other with household chores, watching each other's children, and mentoring one another.
Moms, if you are overwhelmed, if you are doing too much, if you are trying to please everyone all the time, stop. Take a moment to prioritize. Take a moment to breathe. Take a moment to ask a friend or a neighbor for help.
If you know someone who seems overwhelmed or exhausted, a mother or father who could use a helping hand, offer help. Offer to pick up their child from school or give them a ride to soccer practice, or plan a play date at your house so the mom can have some time to herself. Tell her you care about her and her children.
She may never ask you for help, but you can hear her cry. When you do, answer it.
A child's life may depend on it.
Edited To Add-
If you are a mom needing support and friendship of other moms, here are a few great organizations to check out. Search for a group near you. Meet moms just like you and give your kids a chance to make some new friends. We need each other, ladies!
MOMS(Moms Offering Moms Support)Club
MOPS- Mothers Of Preschoolers
When I'd finished everything I needed to do, I had a little time to waste before picking up my daughter from school. So I decided to stop at TJ Maxx to fill the time. As I passed the children's clothing on my way to housewares, I saw a little girl weaving in and out of the clothing racks. She couldn't have been more than three years old.
"Where's her mom?" immediately came to mind and I stood there looking for a woman or anyone who seemed like they would "match." We've all done this. We see a child wandering around or playing with something in a store and our eyes start to scan the area, searching for the grown-up to whom they belong. Most of the time, we find the grown-up and then we hear,"Get back over here. I can't see you."
Only this time I couldn't find the "match." The little girl kept wandering through the racks, past the baby clothes, and on into another department. I looked around. Still no grown-up. Not able to find an employee closeby without taking my eyes off the lost girl, I knelt down and asked the girl, "Sweetie, where's your mommy?"
"I don't know," she said.
"We need to find her," I said.
"OK"
"What's your name?"
"muttered words"
"What, honey?"
"muttered words"
Still no grown-up. No one had noticed that I- a complete stranger- had stopped to talk to a small child who does not belong to me.
"Let's find your mommy. We need to find a person who works here."
"OK."
Then, the absolute worst thing happened.
She followed me.
I didn't take her hand because I did not want her to really trust me. I had wished that she would scream, "Stranger! I want my mommy!" I wished that she would have stood there, frozen in that spot in the aisle, refusing to go anywhere with a person she did not know, a person who (this time) had her best interests at heart, a person who was in fact someone's mommy, but not hers.
Instead, she followed me. She did not make a peep. She followed me all the way to the front of the store. All the way to the front of the store. Then she stood there with me in line at the registers until I could speak to a clerk.
Still no grown-up.
The clerks were extremely helpful and immediately took her hand. Before they did, I knelt down again to this little girl to tell her that these ladies work there, "see their badges?" and that it was OK for her to go with them to find her mommy.
Soon, the three of us deciphered the muttered words of a little girl to learn her name. Soon, an announcement was made over the store's intercom. I watched as a clerk walked around the store with a tiny, lost hand in her firm grip. Soon, a lost child and her mommy were reunited.
There was no search party.
There was no press conference.
Only the sounds of metal hangers sliding across clearance racks and the grateful sigh of a shopper who just happened to stop in the store to fill the time before picking up her own little girl.
While I wanted to stomp in a rage in the face of this mom who, for what seemed an eternity, did not know where her daughter was, I took a moment to pray. I thanked God that this little girl was safe and I asked Him to protect her. Then I drove to my own daughter's school and sat in car line. The end of a busy, mundane, task-filled day.
This morning I saw the news about a mom who left her child in her car all day while she was at work taking care of other people's children. She sobbed on camera as police interviewed her. The images were heartbreaking. It doesn't really matter what I feel about her or the mom who lost her child in the store; something is wrong.
Something is terribly wrong.
While I do not believe that "it takes a village" to raise a child, I do believe that the villagers should help each other. The women of the pioneer days and even my grandmother's days did it right. They helped each other with household chores, watching each other's children, and mentoring one another.
Moms, if you are overwhelmed, if you are doing too much, if you are trying to please everyone all the time, stop. Take a moment to prioritize. Take a moment to breathe. Take a moment to ask a friend or a neighbor for help.
If you know someone who seems overwhelmed or exhausted, a mother or father who could use a helping hand, offer help. Offer to pick up their child from school or give them a ride to soccer practice, or plan a play date at your house so the mom can have some time to herself. Tell her you care about her and her children.
She may never ask you for help, but you can hear her cry. When you do, answer it.
A child's life may depend on it.
Edited To Add-
If you are a mom needing support and friendship of other moms, here are a few great organizations to check out. Search for a group near you. Meet moms just like you and give your kids a chance to make some new friends. We need each other, ladies!
MOMS(Moms Offering Moms Support)Club
MOPS- Mothers Of Preschoolers
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Thirteen School Forms They Really Want You To Sign
It is the beginning of the school year and, as Nancy has mentioned, time for all of those tedious and often redundant school forms.
Here are a few forms that school officials really want to send home, but are too afraid to ask.
;>)
1. The "I Will Participate In All School Fundraisers With Enthusiasm And Pure Joy" Form
2. "I Will Not Complain, Pitch A Hissy Fit or Even Twitch When I Find Out Some Parent Sent Their Kid To School With Lice, Strep Throat, An Intestinal Ripping Virus Or Even Anthrax"
3. "I Will Not Hold Up The Car Line By Applying Lipstick Or Other Last Ditch Effort Cosmetic Enhancement"
4. "When It Is Time For Class Parties, I Will Sign Up For Something Other Than Plates And Napkins"
5. "I Will Not Purchase Mugs, Tacky Apple Decor Or Cookie Mix For Teachers' Gifts"
See Addendum
6. Addendum: "I Will Give Cash For Teachers' Gifts"
7. "I Will Smile Graciously When The PTA President Stands Up In A Meeting (In Her Naive Ambition) And Suggests That I Will Have To Purchase Even ONE MORE TUB OF COOKIE DOUGH"
Has she not seen my thighs?
8. "I Will Really Mean It When I Tell My Kid That The Bratty Girl Who Knocked Her Down On The Playground Probably Just Isn't Getting Enough Attention At Home And Just Needs To Learn How To Get Attention In A Postive Way"
Bless her mean, snot-nosed little heart.
9. "I Will Not Give My Child Sugar, Caffeine, Or Any Other Legal Stimulant Just Before A Standardized Test"
10. "Our Family Will Only Take Vacations During Designated School Holidays"
11. "When I Eat Lunch With My Child At School, I Will Eat The School Lunch Provided And Savor The Culinary Creativity Of The Salisbury Steak For Years To Come"
12. "I Will Cry Tears Of Joy When My Child Asks For Help With Algebra"
13. "I Will Forever Praise The Educational Contributions Of The Criss Cross Applesauce-Bubbles In Your Mouth Method"
Here are a few forms that school officials really want to send home, but are too afraid to ask.
;>)
1. The "I Will Participate In All School Fundraisers With Enthusiasm And Pure Joy" Form
2. "I Will Not Complain, Pitch A Hissy Fit or Even Twitch When I Find Out Some Parent Sent Their Kid To School With Lice, Strep Throat, An Intestinal Ripping Virus Or Even Anthrax"
3. "I Will Not Hold Up The Car Line By Applying Lipstick Or Other Last Ditch Effort Cosmetic Enhancement"
4. "When It Is Time For Class Parties, I Will Sign Up For Something Other Than Plates And Napkins"
5. "I Will Not Purchase Mugs, Tacky Apple Decor Or Cookie Mix For Teachers' Gifts"
See Addendum
6. Addendum: "I Will Give Cash For Teachers' Gifts"
7. "I Will Smile Graciously When The PTA President Stands Up In A Meeting (In Her Naive Ambition) And Suggests That I Will Have To Purchase Even ONE MORE TUB OF COOKIE DOUGH"
Has she not seen my thighs?
8. "I Will Really Mean It When I Tell My Kid That The Bratty Girl Who Knocked Her Down On The Playground Probably Just Isn't Getting Enough Attention At Home And Just Needs To Learn How To Get Attention In A Postive Way"
Bless her mean, snot-nosed little heart.
9. "I Will Not Give My Child Sugar, Caffeine, Or Any Other Legal Stimulant Just Before A Standardized Test"
10. "Our Family Will Only Take Vacations During Designated School Holidays"
11. "When I Eat Lunch With My Child At School, I Will Eat The School Lunch Provided And Savor The Culinary Creativity Of The Salisbury Steak For Years To Come"
12. "I Will Cry Tears Of Joy When My Child Asks For Help With Algebra"
13. "I Will Forever Praise The Educational Contributions Of The Criss Cross Applesauce-Bubbles In Your Mouth Method"
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Therefore I live vicariously through my friends.
Y'all have to read about Nancy's Labor Day Weekend.
Hint: A woman named Paula, a cool "Dawg" and a not-always-tactful British guy.
Fun!!
Hint: A woman named Paula, a cool "Dawg" and a not-always-tactful British guy.
Fun!!
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
A Lesson in Dental Hygiene
"Mommy, the teacher has a brown tooth."
"A brown tooth?"
"Yeah, it's brown. Like a cavity."
"Maybe it is a filling. Some fillings can be dark and look brown."
"No. It's all yucky. It's a cavity. She said so."
"Really...Oh... Well, maybe she didn't get to go to the dentist when she was young."
"NO! It's not in her mouth! It's in a box in our classroom!"
"A brown tooth?"
"Yeah, it's brown. Like a cavity."
"Maybe it is a filling. Some fillings can be dark and look brown."
"No. It's all yucky. It's a cavity. She said so."
"Really...Oh... Well, maybe she didn't get to go to the dentist when she was young."
"NO! It's not in her mouth! It's in a box in our classroom!"
Monday, September 03, 2007
Mom VS. Survivorman
Survivorman- Battling flesh-eating bacteria
Mom- Cleaning the family bathroom
Survivorman- Seven sleepless nights in the Rain Forest
Mom- Countless sleepless nights of ear infections, strep throat and worrying "Why hasn't she come home yet?"
Survivorman- Charred scorpions for dinner
Mom- Happy Meal leftovers
Survivorman- Days without basic hygiene
Mom- Days after bringing home baby- When did I last take a shower?
Survivorman- Making a shelter out of palm branches and 2 ft. of twine
Mom- Making a fort out of the couch, Daddy's chair and a really big quilt
Survivorman- Starting a fire with the wax from an old piece of chocolate, an old soda can, and a ray of sunlight
Mom- Putting out fires left and right
Survivorman- Looking for food in the jungle while evading cannibalistic natives
Mom- Grocery shopping with the kids
Survivorman- Trekking across snow and ice in Canada and giving his one leftover piece of Carabou carcass to the team of biting, growling sled dogs.
Mom- Hauling the kids in the van to the park and giving up her sweater to the kid who refused to wear his jacket because "It's not cold, Mom!"
Survivorman- Squashing bugs
Mom- Squashing bugs
Survivorman- Eating squashed bugs
Mom- Stopping kid from eating squashed bugs
Survivorman- *No food, no shelter, no fresh water, no tools... no camera crew.
One man - alone in the wild for seven days with only his wits and stamina to sustain him.
Mom- No food without cartoon characters, no juice without cellophane wrapped straws, no time to herself...no camera crew (thank goodness!)
One woman- alone, at home or in the mall, or the doctor's office or at school or in line at the DMV, for 18 years with only the advice of half-witted friends and neurotic relatives with good intentions and a cup of stale, cold coffee to sustain her.
*Quote from the Survivorman website
Mom- Cleaning the family bathroom
Survivorman- Seven sleepless nights in the Rain Forest
Mom- Countless sleepless nights of ear infections, strep throat and worrying "Why hasn't she come home yet?"
Survivorman- Charred scorpions for dinner
Mom- Happy Meal leftovers
Survivorman- Days without basic hygiene
Mom- Days after bringing home baby- When did I last take a shower?
Survivorman- Making a shelter out of palm branches and 2 ft. of twine
Mom- Making a fort out of the couch, Daddy's chair and a really big quilt
Survivorman- Starting a fire with the wax from an old piece of chocolate, an old soda can, and a ray of sunlight
Mom- Putting out fires left and right
Survivorman- Looking for food in the jungle while evading cannibalistic natives
Mom- Grocery shopping with the kids
Survivorman- Trekking across snow and ice in Canada and giving his one leftover piece of Carabou carcass to the team of biting, growling sled dogs.
Mom- Hauling the kids in the van to the park and giving up her sweater to the kid who refused to wear his jacket because "It's not cold, Mom!"
Survivorman- Squashing bugs
Mom- Squashing bugs
Survivorman- Eating squashed bugs
Mom- Stopping kid from eating squashed bugs
Survivorman- *No food, no shelter, no fresh water, no tools... no camera crew.
One man - alone in the wild for seven days with only his wits and stamina to sustain him.
Mom- No food without cartoon characters, no juice without cellophane wrapped straws, no time to herself...no camera crew (thank goodness!)
One woman- alone, at home or in the mall, or the doctor's office or at school or in line at the DMV, for 18 years with only the advice of half-witted friends and neurotic relatives with good intentions and a cup of stale, cold coffee to sustain her.
*Quote from the Survivorman website
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Shhh...Mum's the word.
Updated to add- Pictures to follow when it is all done. :>)
It feels like it's the middle of July, but according to my calendar, it is the 2ND of September. Therefore, I have begun decorating for my second favorite time of the year (nothing beats Jesus' Birthday!).
Yes, M'am. It is time for Fall.
I packed up the Summer pillows from the porch and put away the gardenia wreath from the door. Even the cushions in the wicker chairs are different. I will let y'all in on a little secret- OK. Come a little closer... those cushions on my porch that look brand new are just the same ones, only loosely covered with an old tablecloth and fabric remnants. I'm cheap.
And I am already scheming about what I'll use for Christmas cushions.
So the white wicker chairs and settee have new, ahem, cranberry cushions to match the wonderfully inexpensive mums I found at Home Depot.
Shameless plug- Home Depot has HUGE potted mums at the unbelievable price of $2.49! Hurry now while supplies last.
Plus, if the mums were not enough, I found some great deals on cute Fall Decor at JoAnn's Fabrics. Cute! Reusable! Cheap! Good Stuff, People!
So now we can sit on the porch next to the scarecrows and the fall leaves as we wipe the gallons of perspiration from our brows and swat the mosquitoes. Yeah. Fall may not be in the air, but it has arrived on my front porch.
It's a cornucopia of autumn whimsy.
It feels like it's the middle of July, but according to my calendar, it is the 2ND of September. Therefore, I have begun decorating for my second favorite time of the year (nothing beats Jesus' Birthday!).
Yes, M'am. It is time for Fall.
I packed up the Summer pillows from the porch and put away the gardenia wreath from the door. Even the cushions in the wicker chairs are different. I will let y'all in on a little secret- OK. Come a little closer... those cushions on my porch that look brand new are just the same ones, only loosely covered with an old tablecloth and fabric remnants. I'm cheap.
And I am already scheming about what I'll use for Christmas cushions.
So the white wicker chairs and settee have new, ahem, cranberry cushions to match the wonderfully inexpensive mums I found at Home Depot.
Shameless plug- Home Depot has HUGE potted mums at the unbelievable price of $2.49! Hurry now while supplies last.
Plus, if the mums were not enough, I found some great deals on cute Fall Decor at JoAnn's Fabrics. Cute! Reusable! Cheap! Good Stuff, People!
So now we can sit on the porch next to the scarecrows and the fall leaves as we wipe the gallons of perspiration from our brows and swat the mosquitoes. Yeah. Fall may not be in the air, but it has arrived on my front porch.
It's a cornucopia of autumn whimsy.
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