Entertaining angels, fully aware.

Friday night we got a phone call from our friend David. He was close by and called to ask if he could come for the weekend.

Of course, we said,"Yes!"

Then I explained to him that the only condition was that he was not allowed to bring my child any ants, frogs, sea monkeys or larvae of any kind unless he wanted to sleep outside by the pond with the beavers.

Oh, I'm kidding. The beavers would never let anyone share their pond.

Seriously, I didn't mention the conditions because he would just laugh and ignore them anyway.

So he arrived on Saturday following a long drive on the Interstate. At one point, he called us for directions. When he explained where he was, I warned him to slow down because of all the speed traps. It was at that point that he laughed and reminded me that he is a federal agent.

And it was at that point that I was reminded that he could pretty much bring any kind of larvae into my house that he wished.

(I kid again. He is a federal agent who upholds and obeys the law... ahem...)

He also just returned from Iraq on a reserve tour of duty and let me just say right here how very proud we are of him. (By the way, he wasn't called up; he volunteered.)

The other great thing about this friend of Hubs is that, besides the fact that he is one of the best friends Hubs has ever had and is like a brother to me, and that we know we could call him at any time of the night or day and he would come running or speeding down the Interstate, bringing our daughter ants, sea monkeys, or larvae of his choosing, no matter where he is on the planet- abroad as a Marine or here as an agent, he is protecting my little family in some form or another, and for that I am eternally grateful.

I'm pretty sure that the sentence above breaks more grammatical errors than allowed and possibly violated some kind of federal law. Good thing we know someone in the FBI.

Seriously, Dave, in case you are reading my blog or observing it as part of some super, secret surveillance, I 'd like to take this bloggy moment to eloquently say, "You Rock."

And please don't send us any more packages labeled "Department of Agriculture."

Pray for Baby PJ

Dear Internets, please join with me and spread the word...

My dear friend has asked that we pray for her sister-in-law, Beth. Beth is having complications with her pregnancy and her Baby PJ may be born this week. Beth is only at 29 weeks.

Will you please spread the word, but most of all, Please Pray?

Thank you,

Because this is my Father's world.

For you people who did not attend or do not plan to attend some kind of Earth Day or Arbor Day or Earth Day/Arbor Day Combo (do not have children in elementary school), um... can I come live with you?

Daughter's class had a field trip to A Combo today and I agreed to go along. You see, my field trip attendance streak is something akin to Seinfeld's vomit streak and I do not want to mess it up. I have not missed a single field trip since she was the tender age of three thankyouverymuch.

I've been to aquariums, museums, the pumpkin patch, the rodeo, McDonald's, the theatre, and many, many playgrounds with lots of sand.

Oh, and the rodeo and McDonald's was a combo of its own; the McDonald's visit included a drug bust.

Try being a chaperon on that trip and explaining to the moms who were at work or at the spa or wherever they were why we had to literally form a human wall between barefoot children playing in the human gerbil play equipment and guys from the hood being patted down by the Police.

And yelling, "LEAVE your Keds in the shoe cubbies, kids! Someone might start shooting!"

Or why you chose to sit in the booth because it provided more bullet protection.

Big Kindergarten Fun.

A field trip is like going through rush in a sorority that no one wants to pledge.

By now, I should be a Kappa Delta Mama Jama.

Here's the thing. I love spending time with my child, but I am also paranoid. I can always picture that some creepy person is out there. They are lurking in the shadows or behind the slide and I am going to be there to protect my child. Therefore, I must go to help the poor teacher who has obviously lost her mind.

Plus, you never know when you need to form a Human Wall.

So, today was no exception. I joined the class, along with several other parents, as we toured the Earth Day/Arbor Day Combo and learned how to care for the Earth.

You might be surprised, but I could be considered a crunchy conservative. I believe in God and I vote conservatively, but I still want to protect wildlife and take care of the planet because I believe in the God Who created it.

I'm just sayin.'

The exhibits today were excellent. I learned a lot. Daughter learned a lot. It was a lot of fun and no one was arrested. At least, not to my knowledge.

After all of the instruction on saving the birds from balloons and how to measure the diameter of a tree, I made sure daughter was lined up for the bus and I left to get ready for Girl Scouts.

We had our own little Combo event to take care of; we planted flowers at school.

The girls were so sweet and it was all going well until our little smart third grader found a baby bird, fallen from the nest. Everyone rushed to comfort him and we watched as he opened his tiny bird mouth, gasping for air.

We wrapped him in a pillowcase to keep him warm, thanks to the quick response of our other troop leader. She also phoned a local wildlife rescue agent who was ready to take the baby. His nest was on the edge of the roof, too high for us to return him.

So, we watched. His breaths became more labored and the girls peered over him. The grown-ups there just glanced at each other, knowing what was about to happen. And then it did. The little bird stopped breathing completely.

The girls had been playing and planting their seedlings. I didn't want to upset them right then and there, so I ushered them over to another activity and promised to watch over the bird.

I quietly took him to the car, still wrapped, planning to bury him when we got home.

I did finally tell the Scouts what happened. Most of them handled it very well. I assured them that they did help the little bird. They were with him when he died.

We came home and daughter watched as I dug a deep hole in the back yard. Her two friends next door joined us, and we buried the tiny baby bird. One by one they gingerly placed small stones in the fresh dirt and we stood over the spot in respect for a tiny, precious life.

It was surreal. Watching the end of a life given by The Creator after spending the day celebrating His Creation.

A day of celebrating His Creation with booths run by people wearing flip flops and hoping that they know The One who created the planet they are desperately trying to save.

And that through His Creation they will see that they are the ones He is so desperately trying and wanting to save.

Yeah, I'd say it was A Combo kind of day.

Spam?

Has anyone received Spam email from a thisaintnewyork email address?

It was reported that I sent out Spam to someone.

Please be assured that I never send out Spam. When I do email someone, it is only with pertinent information or in response to a comment.

If any of you have received Spam from someone using a thisaintnewyork address, please leave me a comment.

In the meantime, my email support is trying to figure this out.

Thanks!

One could call it a light bulb moment.

Driving back home this morning, after dropping off daughter from school, I was in the right lane.

There was a car in front of me and a police car in the left lane, driving slowly. ready with radar to make a U-turn and go after someone in the oncoming traffic.

The car ahead of me kept slowing down, waiting for the policeman to speed up or change lanes. It was like a very slow and lawful game of chicken.

I was thinking about the car ahead of me,"Just pass the cop. You are still going the speed limit. It is OK to pass a cop as long as it is at the appropriate speed. Come on, people."

Then I realized the following:

I am brave enough to pass the cop but not to go the the gym.

What's wrong with this picture? Other than my flabby arms?

Observations and Amusements

1. No matter who you vote for this November or how you feel about last night's debate, you have to admit that is is exciting to see a woman and an African-American man on stage in this great nation of ours debating and discussing politics because they are running for President.

For President!

America, I Love You.

2. If Starbucks is on the Go Green/Save the Trees bandwagon, why do they have three layers of paper on a coffee? (cup, label, thermal sleeve)

OK. I get it. They are probably recycled, but STILL.

3. When changing your template, consult an expert first. They will save you a lot of pain and palpitations.

4. My old email is doing weird things, so if you need to email me, check the new one listed in my profile. (Not an observation or amusement, just an FYI)

5. The grass is long. The weeds are outta control. Need to mow. Today. And get off the computer.

6. My husband will appreciate the surprise.

7. Check all of the pockets on your kid's lunchbox. Sometimes they stuff paper and tiny food scraps in little places where fuzzy things will grow.

8. I can feel summer around the corner and I can't wait!

9. Shannon is having a giveaway contest.

The winner will get a cool THOUSAND BUCKS.

Go see Shannon today before the contest ends!

Um, why are you still here?

Flaky

I'm feeling a little nostalgic this week. Can you tell? Really, I think I should write a Hallmark commercial for one of those sappy, family Hallmark Special Presentations.

PSA- Your eyes are not playing tricks on you. I'm playing around with my template, so do not be alarmed. You didn't OD on the cold meds...

Daughter and I had a special afternoon. We had an appointment after school and then I promised to take her to Carraba's. Carraba's is her favorite restaurant. It is a pretty good drive from our house, so we have to plan ahead to eat there. She has asked to go for a while now and, every time we mention eating out, we really don't have the time to make the drive and back and still go to bed at a decent hour.

But, today was different.

After the appointment, we headed to the restaurant for an early dinner. A very early dinner.

She already knew what she wanted- chicken tenders and buttered pasta. Yum.

As we waited, our server brought us some bread. As soon as I opened the napkin to get a piece for each of us, I saw the heel and thought about my husband.

My husband eats the heel. He isn't a heel.

Anyway.

He was at work and couldn't eat with us, so the heel just sat there in the bread bowl all rejected.

Ever since I've know him, hubs has eaten the heel. He knows I don't like it. If there are two pieces of bread left and one is the heel, he will give me the "good" piece and eat the heel. He likes the heel, but he would eat it even if he didn't.

Can I just say that I love that I have a man that will eat the heel? That is oddly romantic to me.

So I missed him there in Carraba's with a lonely heel and a lonely me.

(sigh)

However, the cheesecake was very good. And cheesecake doesn't have a heel or a real crust, so everyone is always happy.

Umm, that is all.

Mornings

It is unusually cold this morning, a crisp coolness under a sunny sky.

We were plodding methodically through our morning routine.

Coax daughter to wake up.

Call upstairs again. And again. And again.

Toast the bread, make lunch, pack a snack, check the backpack.

Listen to daughter's footsteps up the stairs, the sound of a spin toothbrush, the slide of the dresser drawers, searching for socks.

We were off.

On the way, we chatted about the cool weather "in April?" We listened as our favorite Christian radio hosts joked with each other and played inspiring music.

I drove the usual route to school, red lights, school buses, traffic.

Five minutes until the bell.

I pulled up to the building and parked instead of going through car line. We both got out, gathered her things, and I wished her a "Wonderful day."

She ran off, and as her hair bounced over the top of her pink backpack, I thought to myself, "Oh. I forgot to kiss her good-bye."

Then she paused, turned around, looked back at me and blew me a kiss.

I blew one back and smiled.

Good. Morning.

Big Mama's Party

Well, I'm a day late and a flip flop short. Big Mama hosted her Fashion Fiesta yesterday. I was a little busy, but I'm finally getting around to telling y'all how boring my closet is.

We are supposed to post pictures but if we wait for me to do that, the Spring Fiesta just might become a Fall Fiesta, so you can use your imagination...

My wardrobe (if you want to call it that) consists of many, many V-neck t-shirts from Target. I think I have every color except for brown. Hubs hates brown and it pretty much makes me look like I am about to pewk when I wear it up against my face.

I also am a big fan of capri pants. I like to have several in khaki or black. (very exciting!!)

My favorite item right now is a cute denim skirt that falls just below the knee. It can be dressed up with a denim jacket or down with, you guessed it, a v-neck t-shirt.

I have two pairs of gaucho pants in a stretchy fabric that are very, very comfy. The fabric is a little dressy, so I wear them teaching Sunday School a lot. I wear them WAY TOO MUCH. One pair is brown and I have a secret feeling that my husband may just want to burn them.

Flip flops are what I wear the most. I also love any other slide, mule type shoe.

Seeing a pattern? Comfort.

As for accessories, I wear simple silver earrings most of the time, sometimes a necklace or bracelet.

Visit Big Mama for other posts which are much more inspiring! In the meantime, I'll be here in my Hanes t-shirt with stains on it, yoga pants, and my No Nonsense socks (one has a hole in it.)

Our Daughters

I've been reading a new blog, Stuff Christians Like. If you haven't read it, you should check it out. Good stuff. Jon, the author, humorously writes about the quirks of being a Christian.

I wrote Jon the other day and said, "You know what? Christians like Hannah Montana.

Before I go on, let me say that I have never met Miley Cyrus and I am sure she is a lovely girl...

At age fifteen, she's been labeled the new "good role model" for girls. (That's a huge weight to carry on a young teen's shoulders.)

But this isn't really about Miley. It's about a trend in entertainment for children, young girls specifically.

Take a close look at the television shows for kids today. The only shows targeting young kids feature young boys, not girls, in the starring roles. Even then, the young boys are portrayed as "heartthrobs."

Excluding animation, the most highly marketed movies for young kids, especially young girls, feature teen characters. Granted, the movies are considered "clean," but the characters are teenagers. We see clothing, linens, accessories, toys and more featuring these teenaged characters.

Teenagers.

Why are teenagers the entertainment focus for elementary age kids? Why can't eight-year-old girls watch shows and movies about eight-year-old girls?

From that moment in the doctor's office when we discover we're expecting a girl, all we want to do is watch over her. After we get home with the sonogram, we read baby books, parenting magazines, and count the days until our little girl enters the world.

We fret over shots and ear infections. We worry about germs on the grocery cart.

We dress our baby girls in softly washed, cotton onesies from Baby Gap, teach them Spanish with Dora, and have tea with Cinderella.

All we want to do is protect her.

We make her wear a helmet when she rides her bike, buckle her up securely when she climbs in the van. We hold tightly to her tiny hand when she crosses the street; she looks up to us in wonder and security in the middle of a very frightening world.

Then one day, she changes. She's different, somehow.

We wonder, "When did she let go?"

The truth is that she never did.

Moms, we're letting the innocent, little fingers of our baby girls slip through our hands. In a world that is spinning out of control, we've got to hold them tight or they could be swept away.

So, what happens?

Sometimes outside influences permeate their impressionable Veggie Tales world. Sometimes they end up in the wrong crowd. But, what I am seeing from behind this laptop is a rapid progression of maturity from three-year-olds to thirteen-year-olds.

We need to let our little girls be little girls. Let them wear their princess pj's a little longer. Let them get their knees dirty. Let them dress up just to dress up. Let them have a boy friend and not label it "boyfriend." Let them be Little.

There are little girls acting like pop stars, pop stars acting like little girls, and young teens cutting, starving, hurting themselves and each other. There are six-year-old girls playing with dolls that look like street walkers and street walkers gaining fame from governors.

Young girls all over this country are cruising down a path of destruction and their mothers are driving them there in their minivans.

Moms, we've got to slow down.

Turn off the cell phone. Pull over the minivan. Turn around and take a look at the girl in the backseat. Is she growing up too fast?

To Miley Cyrus, I wish her the best success. I do. I hope she turns out differently, better than other teen idols who once danced in the same spotlight. And I pray that her own mom will hold her hand along the way. Tightly.

As for my own daughter having a role model, she already has one.

Me.

Oh, ye children of the rocks, the Mac and Cheese is ready!

Have you seen this today?

Now they say Stonehenge was built as an ancient healing site. I'm thinking they weren't suffering from back pain.

Badabing!

Seriously, I think some ancient kids in an ancient backyard just got bored on an ancient summer day, started stacking up some rocks to build a fort and then their mom called them for dinner.

;>)

Mr. Dyson, please invent something for this.

I usually do not use ugly language on this blog but today is a different day.

Mucous.

There, I said it.

It is amazing what a sinus cavity can hold. It is also very, very gross. I think those little creepy cartoon characters on the cold medicine commercial are having a party in my head right this minute.

Like it is 1999.

I promise to post a real post tomorrow that does not involve creepy cartoon characters.

And, seriously, Mr. Dyson, you are obviously a genius. Surely you can create something that would give me some relief. When you do, I'll take one in pink.

Go give Kelli a good blog hug...

Hey, Internet friends!

Let's give Kelli some words of encouragement and remind her that we are thinking about her and praying for her always.

Thanks!

So, what about a lady in flip flops?

A recent study found that people who buy a lot of sneakers (or tennis shoes, as I call them) are also good leaders.

First, I have no idea how they came up with this study. Plus, I really have no idea why we would even care. My psych professors would scoff at this. There is no cause and effect, only a correlation. One in which none of us are really interested.

When I read it, I thought,"Hmmm... my tennis shoes are about five years old."

That will boost your confidence.

I guess that makes me a follower or just a leader who takes really good care of her shoes.

My next thought was that people who are leaders are also people who tend to exercise and stay in shape. Let's face it, if you are wearing out your tennis shoes, you are probably very, very motivated, running marathons and the like.

Me? Marathon?

Unless it involves a sprint to the mailbox in the rain, then...nahhh... notsomuch.

I have, however watched the Christmas Story marathons every Christmas. But that would only wear out the couch cushions. And maybe my slippers.

This post has no point except that I am not going to make points anymore.

It is storming something awful. In fact, if I had learned anything from Mama, I would be in the hallway right now with my purse. But, since I am as hard-headed as they come, I am on the computer, connected to the Internet with the TV on and the washing machine going.

OH MY! The pathways of electrical current are wide open; I am just asking for a lightning strike.


Which leads me to my next point.

I have decided to stay away from politics on the blog. Satire included. Call it a hunch, but I get the feeling that some readers may not completely understand some of my attempts at jokes and some readers may not understand my views. (Agreeing with me is not a requirement to read or comment, by the way.)

The blog is merely a glimpse into my life and while we try to be honest on our blogs, our honesty is limited by our own need for privacy. Blogs do not allow us to have real time, open dialogue. I have dear friends and family who have total different political views from mine and I respect them completely. The Blog just isn't the best place for expressing these views.

So, if you are looking for a link that used to be here, I'm sorry. It has passed on to wherever posts go when you hit "delete."

However, you will read about my Die Hard Campaign for everyone to vote responsibly.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

Since I am rambling, I''ll just move on to the next subject with no segue or transition whatsoever because I am talented like that.

We just returned from our Brownie sleepover and it was a total blast. We're tired, but no one cried, no one had a head wound and no one even complained about our cooking. Now that is an accomplishment!

I think I'll take a nap now. Right after I unplug all of the appliances, get my purse and sit in the hallway. Hey, I may just take a nap right there in the hall. It's just as comfortable as that hard floor I slept on last night.

Wal-Mart has gone soft.

Daughter and I were running errands today, getting ready for a Big Brownie Sleepover, meaning a sleepover with lots of Brownie Girl Scouts, not a sleepover with really big brownies.

We are going to paint t-shirts, so I had to find a lot of shirts of the same color yellow and of several sizes, all at a low, low price. I went to AC Moore and found all but three of what I need.

We headed to Michael's where we found another shade of yellow which was really a gold and to most people that doesn't matter, but to a Brownie Girl Scout, it totally matters because "Hers is brighter than mine!" and "I wanted that color...why didn't I get that color?"

Add a little whine and disappointment and you've got DRAMA.

I could do without the drama, so I didn't buy the golden yellow t-shirts and decided to stop by Wal-Mart on the way home from church.

Let me tell y'all. I am the expert in Cheap T-shirt Making. It is for me what Impressionism was to Van Gogh, only I didn't cut off my ear.

I have helped design and iron on many a VBS logo. I have purchased nearly every color in the Hanes t-shirt rainbow and I know where you can buy scoop neck, and even the coveted v-neck. So when I got to Wal-Mart I had my game on.

First, I looked in the girls' department hoping that there may be a plain yellow shirt. All I found were tight t-shirts with glittery messages like "Glamour Girl" and "I can do things better than a stinky boy" or something like that. (I hate those "girls are better" messages, by the way.)

Then I headed for the boys' department. That's when I found them. Pastel pink t-shirts right next to the deep blues and reds that you would expect. At first, I thought they had been stocked in the wrong section, so I read the label closely.

Nope. They were in the right place.

It was a sad moment for me tonight, people. A sad moment indeed. Pink t-shirts mixed in with Incredible Hulk pajamas.

I've always thought of Wal-Mart as the strong type. The guy with muscles. Sure, he doesn't have very good manners, but you can count on him. Wally is the guy who is a little greasy and he wears his keys on his belt loop. Wally is the one who shows up at the fancy party without a tie, but he loves his Mama and he always stands when they play the National Anthem.

Target, on the other hand, is really attractive. He smells good. He's the guy that every girl swoons over. He drives a fancy sports car and he works on Wall Street. He'll even go shopping with you. But he's the type of guy who gets a manicure and he'll never help you move.

But, Wal-Mart. Oh, Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart will do the heavy lifting.

So you can see why I was a little tearful when I discovered that Wal-Mart is selling light pink, cottony shirts to boys who should be outside riding four wheelers and eating bugs. I'd expect this from Target, but not Wally.

It was a pivotal day in my life, y'all.

Really, I should have seen it coming. It all began when they stopped selling hubcaps.

I say, I say,"What's up Doc?"

It's Spring Break at our house and honestly, I don't know who is getting the break. I know it ain't me.

Yesterday we spent the day cleaning house, doing yard work and then at Target and Publix. See? No break here.

Now it is Day Two of the break and we are scrambling for stuff to do. Daughter is watching a Looney Tunes video because nothing is better for a child's health and well being than to stay inside on a fine day sitting on the couch watching Bugs trick some fool into somethingorother.

That Bugs. He kills me.

Actually, Bugs Bunny has always been my favorite Looney Tunes character with Foghorn Leghorn running a close second (mostly because I just love saying Foghorn Leghorn.) I was an adult before I realized Leghorn or as Mama says, "Legern," is a breed of chicken.

I am bright as the morning star.

Bugs Bunny is my favorite because he is a true smart aleck, but not to the point of getting on your nerves. Kind of like Starbucks is strong coffee but not to the point of giving you a heart attack. My all time favorite is The Barber Shop One (as it is correctly filed in the archives) when Bugs gives Elmer a makeover.

So, I want to know, people. Who is your favorite Looney Tunes character? And if you say that little annoying chicken hawk, I might have to send Bugs over to give you a makeover.

A Morning in the Life and Luxury of a Cat

Wake up. Stretch. Roll over onto human's head.

Purr freely.

Get pushed away by human.

Rub head on human's nose.

Wait for human to open eyes and get up.

Follow human, no wait, try to beat human to kitchen and nearly trip her along the way.

Food. Where's the food?

Eat.

Eat.

Eat.

Scratch at door to get to potty box.

Scratch until human is annoyed.

Go in potty box and stink up the garage.

Scratch at door to get back in because it stinks in the garage.

Clean self. A lot.

Climb on couch with little girl who loves me.

Purr freely.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Roughing It

Our family just returned from a short camping trip.


Let's have a little refresher, shall we? Me and Camping. Like Seinfeld and Newman. Hillary and Obama. Plaid and Stripes. However, Me and my family's happiness? Like Scarlett and Rhett. Peanut butter and chocolate. Diet Coke and blogging.

Moms do things for their kids that they normally would not do for any other cute, little people wearing Old Navy t-shirts. So I decided to go along with Hubs' plan to camp at a local campsite.

Hubs is camping purist. If he had his way, we would be off in the Adirondacks miles from civilization or a Wal-mart, sleeping in a shelter made from sticks and leaves and foraging for food. You know, Survivor Man.

But he is not a cute little person wearing an Old Navy t-shirt.

So instead of freezing and starving to death in the woods we camped in a tent with a fire pit and proper restroom facilities within walking distance. To be honest, this campground was a little too modern and convenient, even for my taste. I think Hubs was trying to be careful not to scare me away completely from camping on our first outing. He even Googled for campsites with clean restrooms.

God love him. Because really, a man who understands my need for low bacteria count is the man for me.

The tent sites were adjacent to the RV site. Over the 18 or so hours we were there, we learned a lot about RV's and RV'ers.

For one, there is a huge need to keep the RV clean. We frequently observed RV'ers hosing down their vehicles. I suppose if I were constantly on the rode or parked adjacent to a complete stranger dumping things out of their camper, I'd want to be hosed down , too.

Secondly, in order to own an RV, one must be at least 65 and have a very small dog. I think it is on the RV application just below the line which says "I understand I am about to spend my entire life's savings on a gas-guzzling vehicle with poorly constructed laminate kitchen cabinets and a shower just big enough for my very small dog."

Another thing I noticed about the RV Culture is that a really good RV is named something that normally starts with a "C" but they cleverly start with a "K" instead. For example, "Kozy," "Kamping," and "Komfort" were all popular phrases found on freshly hosed retirement funds on wheels.

When we arrived, I (of course) had to check out the bathrooms. Taped on the Women's Restroom door was a flyer which advertised a "Potluck Dinner In The Gazebo" the following day. As soon as I returned to the campsite I informed hubs. We know how he loves a good potluck. Ahem.

Later on I was in the restroom using the facilities and a lady was in there also using the facilities. She then left without washing her hands. I thought to myself, "I hope she's not bringing the potato salad."

But, I'll bet her RV is sparkling clean.

We left before the potluck party, but it doesn't really matter. We weren't invited anyway. While on a walk yesterday morning I saw flyers on most of the RV's, inviting the owner to attend. We didn't get one; we're "Tent People."

Klassy.

Not necessarily a product endorsement

Well, I wore my new make-up today and while I did like the look and feel of it, I pretty much look exactly the same as I did yesterday.



Only a day older.



However, Miss Tracy did her wonderful works on my hair and after two hours of sitting in the salon chair, head in the sink, under the dryer and back in the chair again, I am Totally Blonde and Sun-In free.



Basically, if you witnessed me committing a crime yesterday and I was in a line-up today, you would say, "It was that lady there, but yesterday she had really terrible roots and streaks of gray. Other than that she looks exactly the same..."

"...only a day older."

Call me the girl in the Ferrari

On a quest to change my beauty regimen (which means that I will start one), I decided to watch Christie Brinkley this morning on Rachael Ray. I saw the promo yesterday and it promised that Christie would share all of her beauty secrets.

So I tuned in today to discover the fountain of youth and as it turns out it flows from a Cover Girl foundation bottle.

Boy, I didn't see that one coming.

Still, I decided to watch the segment anyway and Christie shared that her beauty secret was a new Cover Girl product claimed to take "5 years" off of your appearance.

Hey, that's not much, but I'll take what I can get.

She also demonstrated on some poor girl how to apply Sun In to root growth. Bless that girl's heart. She had roots and Sun In color. Somebody should give her a hug. Christie's demo looked so easy and I have to say this information would have been very helpful to me back in 1987 when I went to prom in a red ruffle dress and orange hair.

Thanks, Christie for being so timely.

Plus, we all know that Christie's flawless blonde highlights are from a spray bottle of lemon-scented, heat-activated peroxide. Ahem...

Later today I was at Target and decided I'd give Christie's advice a try even if she is paid millions to give it. I bought some new foundation, concealer and a compact. Based on experience, I am paying someone to do my highlights. Sorry, Sun In. We had a wonderful relationship in the 80's but it's over. It's not you; It's me. Okay. It's you.

In the morning I plan to wear all of my new drug store beauty products and instantly look at least 5 years younger.

I hope I don't get pulled over for speeding. I can hear the officer now..."I'm sorry, M'am. I will have to give you a ticket for having a fake ID because the woman in this photo is much, much older than you."

Or something like that.

I really hope that these promises of youthful radiance do hold true. Most of the time when a beauty product claims to turn back time it just takes me back to when I was 13 years old and plagued with acne.

We'll have to wait and see.

Thirteen or thirty-two? I'll let you know in the morning.

I love the smell of sulphur in the morning.

Colorful, whimsical Easter eggs are a special blessing each year. The permanent dye. The overpriced (even at a buck) decorating kit. The family bonds of egg decor will last a lifetime.

Precious.

The only thing that surpasses these priceless memories is the stench of boiled eggs that hits me in the face every time I open the refrigerator door.

Ahhh. The glorious smells of Spring.

An Egg-cellent Point

Happy Easter, y'all! I don't know about you, but it is only 2:00 and I am already tired.

I got up a little early this morning to put my chicken in the crock pot. We are having chicken and dressing for our Easter dinner. I realize that it is a little outside the traditional realm of ham, but I figure, hey, the chicken will go with all the eggs.

Thankfully, hubs made the cornbread for me yesterday while I was out taking our daughter to a birthday party. He boiled eggs for us, too. So now I am just waiting on the dressing to bake, the fordhook lima beans to get tender, and the corn, well it can just simmer.

Did you notice that menu? Starch. It does a body good.

This morning in Sunday School I had some precious children. Between gluing and having snack, we talked about the real reason we celebrate Easter. At one point, I used the Resurrection Eggs to demonstrate the story. (If you aren't familiar, you should try these. They are a wonderful teaching tool.)

Each egg holds something significant inside that helps tell the Easter story. For example, you start out with the donkey that Jesus rode on as He entered Jerusalem.

I asked, "Who rode the donkey?"

"A cowboy!!", a little boy said.

"No, Jesus rode the donkey," I said without giggling.

I came to the egg that holds the cloth napkin and explained that Jesus was wrapped in cloth when they buried Him.

"We have those at my house," one little girl said.

I continued the story showing the cross, the crown of thorns, and so on.

When I got to the very last egg, it was empty, symbolizing the empty tomb.

I asked them, "Why would this egg be empty?"

One little boy proudly proclaimed,"Because He egg-xited."

"You're right," I said,"He did."

And, praise God for that!

Happy Resurrection Day, friends!

Butterflies and Rainbows

If you have already seen this movie, you know where the title of this post came from. I won't spoil it for the rest of you, but it was one of my favorite lines in the whole movie.

Yesterday, my daughter and I went with our friends, S. and her daughter to see Horton. S. and I are good friends and our daughters are good friends. We all go to church together but rarely get to spend any quality time doing "friend stuff."

The girls sat in the row just in front of us. They thought it was so cool and grown-up to sit away from their moms. Sniff. Sniff. They are getting so big. One day they won't need us anymore. Or at least they'll think so.

We went to the movie after eating way too much CiCi's pizza. (I'll speak for myself.) So much pizza that my daughter didn't get popcorn and I didn't even get snowcaps. That's a lotta pizza.

Throughout the movie, we all laughed. A lot. We could hear our girls' giggles. They could hear their moms' giggles.

After the movie was over, my daughter said,"I heard you laugh, Mommy."

It really touched my heart in kind of a silly way. She heard her Mommy laugh and it made her smile. I hope she can always hear her Mommy laugh. I hope I can always hear her laugh. Even if she is sitting one row or 10 rows ahead of me.

And they will still need us, S.

Someone has to buy the tickets and the pizza! :>)

He Knew

That night, He knew. He knew what was going to happen. In the quiet of the evening, in a garden among friends, He knew.

He could have left. After all, when He asked them to pray with Him, they fell asleep. No one would have known where or when He escaped that night as His friends rested peacefully, completely naive to what lay ahead.

But, He knew.

He talked to The Father so intensely that His blood fell from His brow. The sins of the world pressed upon Him.

He had always known.

Before the creation of the Earth, He knew. Along with The Father and The Holy Spirit, He planned it all. He knew when Adam was formed from the dust what Adam would do that would require Him to be The Sacrifice for all.

Then the night had come. That Night. The night when they would come to take Him and He would offer Himself, willingly and lovingly for all the world.

He did it all because He knew.

He knew that one day I would be unable to pay for my own unrighteousness. Unable to do anything, say anything, give anything that would erase and cleanse my sin. He knew that I would need Him. He knew that I would choose Him.

He knew that others would ask Him into their hearts to live with Him forever. He knew that many would reject Him. Yet, He still waited that night when He could have called a thousand angels to take Him away.

He stayed.

He wept.

He suffered.

He died to rise again.

All because He knew.

How to keep your dignity and your what-nots.

There is one thing for sure I can say about my husband. He is forever committed to me. At least, until I become incapacitated.

Last night we were grazing on Peanut Butter Patties and Lemonades and the conversation turned to family health history. This led us down the path of possibilities of me having a stroke when we are old and no longer useful to society.

He said,"Oh, greaaat."

Now, let me interject here for you new readers and say that my husband's sarcasm surpasses my own and that most of what he says is utter nonsense.

Except for when he says he will do the dishes.

Anyway, I told him that maybe he would be lucky and that I would just go quickly. Then he wouldn't have to take care of me or put me in a home.

He then advised me,"When I do put you in a home, I am not moving a whole bunch of stuff."

(This is how we show our love for each other. We are sick and twisted. I know. People who know us well who have observed these conversations are usually laughing at this point.)

"Well," I said, "I am not giving you Power of Attorney because then you will still have to come visit me in the home when you need me to sign something."

"Sheeeesh," he uttered.

So, I hope you all will learn from this. If you think you will end up in a home when you are old and your husband and kids won't come see you, keep your mind intact and your faculties in order.

And most of all, don't give up hope or your Power of Attorney.

She's gonna wash that cucumber melon right outta her hair.

There is so some seriously good writing going on out there today.

On behalf of all of us with green tea-scented locks, thank you, Roxanne.

Thank you.

She has mastered good hair, but we could work on tactfulness.

Today in the car, on the way home from school-

While looking in the visor mirror and fiddling with my hair, I said,"Boy, Mommy needs a hair cut."

"You don't need a hair cut."

"Awwww, thank you."

"You just need to brush it."

(Note to self- Call Miss Tracy first thing in the morning.)

Sigh...

The Beavers Are Back

Well, the truth is they probably never left.

Our contract ran out with Mr. Edwards and now we are on our own. Best we can tell, there are two beavers left in the pond. Two very smart, very rude beavers.

They take stuff without asking and everything!

We've ordered some humane traps but my neighbor said that beavers can become "trap wise." She should know.

After all of her lovely tropical plants were stolen she became the neighborhood expert on beavers. In fact, people come from all over to see her as she sits in her back yard wearing one of those OhWiseOne capes, sitting in front of a small fire with her trusty dog by her side, passing out ice cream sandwiches instead of a peace pipe (she doesn't smoke) and mumbling things like, "Don't... plant... banana... trees.... Ommmmm....."

Or something like that.

Anyway, my husband cut down some shrubs and unwanted brush between our yard and the pond thereby making unobstructed access to his garden. The beavers are loving it. They have tunneled, chopped, chewed, gnawed and clawed their way onto the bank of the pond and into our yard.

They really need to work on their manners. However, their digestive systems must be in top condition. Lack of dietary fiber is not a problem.

Now, if only we could get them to eat all of the newly grown Spring weeds instead. I think we should hire a Beaver Whisperer.

"Ommmmmmm..."

In celebration of St. Patrick himself

This afternoon, I was on a mission to rid the country of all its snakes. I thought I'd start with the back yard.

Daughter told me that she and the neighbor saw a snake on our dock. It was "all black", so she said. I assumed it was probably a harmless king snake.

Later, when she shared the story with her Daddy, it went something like this...

"We saw a snake. It was shaking its tail and hissing at Ms. R. It didn't bite her, though."

EEEEEEKKK!

I informed her that these details she failed to give earlier were vitally important.

So I went out on the dock with my big shovel and searched, bent on killing me a varmint.

When I saw it, it was curled up, shaking its tail and slithering its disgusting snake tongue at me. Yuck. I walked carefully behind it and just as it slinked down between the dock's boards, I jabbed it with the shovel.

It lived. But right now it is taking a powerful dose of reptile extra strength Tylenol for that nasty shovel injury.

When hubs came outside with me, the snake was poking his head between the boards. We still couldn't finish it off. Hubs is convinced it isn't a water moccasin, but me? I ain't so sure...

It looked an awful lot like the snake I killed last summer but it was so hard to tell.

Tomorrow, I plan to make a positive ID.

I know that tomorrow is Sunday and there is probably some commandment against killing snakes on The Lord's Day, but a girl can't rest with a could-be poisonous snake slithering somewhere in her yard.

Hey, Scarecrow. Call me Mrs. King.

While everyone else was at Target buying plastic Easter grass and Peeps, I was at the Sheriff's Department getting fingerprinted.

A volunteer job I signed up for requires a routine background check. Yesterday, I was handed a fingerprinting card and directions. Once I found my way to the Sheriff's office, I took a seat. (OK, I didn't actually take a seat; that may be mistaken for stealing. Technically, I borrowed a seat.)

So, anyway, I borrowed a seat and waited across from a man who was heavily tattooed. Normally, this would make me feel uneasy, but there were very strong men who were armed in the next room. With badges and stuff.

Within a few minutes, they called me back and I explained that I needed to be fingerprinted. I put my purse down on the counter and handed the officer my envelope.

"Is this for a concealed weapons permit?" he questioned.

"Do I look like I need a concealed weapons permit?" I asked in bewilderment.

"No, but most of the time those people have the same kind of envelope and they put it on the counter face down the way you did," he explained.

Um....kay.

The officer started the fingerprinting process. (It's digital now! CoooWel!!)

Then, trying to be the considerate person that my Mama would have me be, I picked up my purse to get it out of the way and put it on my shoulder.

"You can leave your purse there, M'am. It is safe behind that plate of bullet proof glass."

We were not off to a good start. Can ya tell? I politely said I was only trying to move it out of the way and then placed it to the side.

I stood there with the officer holding my hand, carefully rolling each finger to get a copy of my prints.

"What do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I'm a Stay-At-Home Mom," I answered.

"Your prints are very faint. You use too many cleaning products. They are destroying your fingerprints. We see this in people who are doctors, nurses, people who clean for a living, wash their hands a lot, or do masonry work," the officer explained.

Me doing masonry work. Snort.

The kind and armed officer continued to roll my fingers again and again and again...

After completing the very faint and hard to read fingerprint card, he had to attach an addendum explaining that I was a "difficult" person to print and to "contact the Sheriff's office" if there were any questions about my background check.

So, now I am in need (obviously) of a concealed weapons permit so that I can carry a piece in my black and white toile purse that is in the way but perfectly safe behind the window of bullet proof glass, and I have burned my fingerprints nearly off with Clorox bleach and goodness knows what else I have used to scrub the commodes in my house.

Just your average day.

Tomorrow, I get my new identity.

WFMW: Clever Storage

Guess what is in here.

Laundry? Nope.

Shoes!

We take our shoes off at the door and sometimes the entrance looks like Payless during the BOGO sale. A big ole mess. My smart neighbor has two of these baskets in her home for her family's shoes- one at the front door and one near the garage entrance.

I found this basket at a close-out store for $25.00! The round shape doesn't scream "laundry" and the handles make it look a little more interesting.

Any basket with a lid will do.

Go see Shannon for more tips today.

Cool New Blog Design

Y'all have to go over to Linda's to see her new blog design.

Watch the coffee cup.

A-MAZING!

I'll have mine strong with lots of cream, please.

Dian Fossey: The Lost Chapter

Funny how you can have absolutely no desire whatsoever to do anything outdoorsy and then your family goes to Africa to see large, endangered animals and you still have absolutely no desire whatsoever to do anything outdoorsy.

However, I have learned a few things and I didn't even have to break a sweat.

I've learned that, no matter what shade of LL Bean blouse you wear, you must always follow the Official Gorilla Trekking Guidebook while in the mist.

The official guidelines for observing gorillas include, but are not limited to the following:

1. Maintain a distance of at least 15 feet from the gorillas.

2. Do not make direct eye contact or attempt to take pictures while gorilla is looking at you.

3. If you need to, um, relieve yourself, ask a guide to dig a hole for you with his Panga Machete. (I'm not making this stuff up, people.) After you have finished, be sure to fill the hole.

My in-laws were following all (or most) of the rules, keeping their voices down, moving slowly, as they observed a family of gorillas. My father-in-law saw a silverback and decided to add to his collection of wildlife photos. He sat quietly and took this picture.

*Photo copyrighted, provided courtesy of a very brave tourist in the mist

Just as he snapped the photo, the guide said, "He is going to charge."

My father-in-law, instead of assuming a submissive stance, just sat there, frozen. (Which, to his credit, is like the bravest thing ever because I totally would have cried like a baby.)

The silverback charged and turned in another direction just before reaching my father-in-law.

Please, rest easy.

No gorilla or tourist were harmed in the making of this photo. Most importantly, no LL Bean khaki cargo pants were soiled, torn or otherwise harmed in the making of this photo, thereby avoiding any need to follow Number 3 of the Official Gorilla Trekking Guidebook.

Let's face it. Sometimes you don't have time to ask your guide to dig a hole for you with his Panga.

It was just a feeling.

Something about the situation just wasn't right.

I was walking to my car in Wal-mart's parking lot today after church. Just as I was about to load my trunk, a large family got out of their truck. I only caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye, but something made me uneasy.

When I saw her, I was almost certain.

In less than a minute, I watched them walk away from the truck, his truck. He walked ahead of them. Her head hung down timidly. Her daughters and her sons looked down as they walked behind him.

A wave of fear and helplessness went through me.

Right there in Wal-mart's parking lot, I started to pray. I put the trunk's lid down and watched as this family walked slowly behind a man who scared me. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he shook his finger at the woman (his wife?) and she continued to lower her head. All of them did.

Then they were gone, out of sight, into the store. I felt helpless, but what could I do? I really didn't see anything. I didn't even hear anything. It was just a feeling.

And thus, I write this post in hopes that someone out there will be helped. If you have just a feeling about a woman or child who may be being abused, visit this site to learn the warning signs.

If you are being abused, get help.

If you believe your computer activity is being watched, be careful in your search. Go to a friend's house or to a pay phone and call this number for help: 1-800-799-SAFE.

You don't deserve it. No one does.

Wanted in 50 States and a Few Territories

What's your blog wanted for? Hat tip to Shannon for the link.

this-aint-new-york.blogspot.com

WANTED FOR THE COLD-BLOODED FORCE-FEEDING of a GAUDY BUCKET OF LARD

$3100

What's Your Blog Wanted For?

Beause they just may have visited more continents than Meryl Streep.

So, y'all know that my in-laws went to Africa to see The Big Five.

Turns out, they saw all of them. Plus some.

For me, you know, the adventurous one, ahem, I would rather observe The Big Five from a distance, as in looking at their photos.

I have a story I am just itching to share about a silverback Gorilla once I have permission... hint, hint.

In the meantime, I wanted to inform you that my mother-in-law was not attacked by the tsetse fly for wearing her favorite LL Bean cream color blouse. Whew.

Before their trip we talked about what animals they may see. Of course, this clip from Seinfeld came to mind. No surprise there. All of life's experiences remind me of Seinfeld. (Even though the dingo lives on another continent.)

Enjoy!

Are you smarter than a Third Grader?

During a cookie transaction yesterday, one of our sweet Girl Scouts offered change to a customer. I gently corrected her math.

The customer not-so-gently corrected MY math and then informed me that I got an "F" in math for the day.

Granted, it was very, very early and I had not had my coffee.

Later on...

The same very smart third grade Girl Scout offered change to another customer after calculating in her head. The other troop leader (her mom) whispered another amount in her ear.

The customer gently corrected HER math.

It seems that we Troop Leaders need to review the "How To Count Change" patch.

Or maybe we're just tired.

;>)

WFMW: Backwards Edition, Skin Care for the Elderly. OK, Not yet.

OK, if you are under the age of 35, just look away.

For the rest of you, I ask this.

What kind of skin care products are you using to maintain a youthful glow? I accept wrinkles, but I don't want to be one of those people in the box on "Ten Years Younger."

Any tips?

Thanks!

Visit Shannon for more Backwards WFMW. (It's fun!)

Life Imitates Blogging

My in-laws have a new phrase around their house. Whenever they are hungry or just frustrated...er something like that, they say,"Where's Miss Melanie? We want snack."

It all started from this post.

Here are a few blog-related thoughts for me-

I think of Sophie's Mama whenever I hear about a fish camp or a fish fry.

I cannot look at an eyelash curler without thinking about Big Mama.

Once, I actually found a rock in my dryer. You guessed it.

I think about Linda whenever I cook ham.

What about you? Is there anything you say or do around your house that all started from someone's blog?

A Pulled Pork Update

Well, today was wonderful. I am so proud of my husband. It was a nice time of celebration with family.

In grand Southern tradition, we had plenty of food. Heaven help the person who runs out of food at a party. (Right now, my grandmother is smiling down on us, even though there was a least one gallon of unsweetened tea served.)

Anyone want some brisket and a side of beans? My freezer would be much obliged.

Love you, hubs! ;>)

BBQ, bologna, and hairspray

Before I post a thing, let me just say that I just checked my site meter and it warms my heart that someone out there found my blog while doing a Google for bologna cup.

Give me a minute.

Okay, I'm fine now.

Today is kind of a big day for hubs at work. There will be some special recognition that is work-related and some stuff like that. That's about all I can say here.

So anyway, because of THE KIND OF A BIG THING THAT I CAN'T SHARE WITH THE INTERNET, there has been a lot of planning and preparation like who will be there, what will be said, what kind of food to have, and of course, what I am going to wear!

Fortunately, I have the best friend from fashion heaven who understands not only style, but grace and figure flaws-namely mine. I found an outfit on Friday and it is ironed and ready to go. My daughter already had an outfit, although she protested when I told her she could not wear flip-flops or her cowgirl boots.

So, on the what-t0-wear list, we are officially checked off.

As for the food, we went with BBQ. It is a casual lunch and you just can't go more casual than BBQ, except for maybe bologna cup. But, there could be up to 50 people there and the thought of me scooping that many ice cream scoops of mashed potatoes then having to melt all that cheese, well.

Plus, BBQ smells good. The aroma of pulled pork and beef brisket will catch a current from the A/C duct and beckon people to the room. We won't even have to make an announcement on the intercom.

So now all I have to do this morning is get myself ready. My daughter is halfway there- she rolled her hair on sponge rollers last night "special for Daddy."

And can I just stop here and take another minute because the thought of my daughter understanding that Important Event = Need For Good Hair. OH, people. No Mother's Day card could touch my heart more.

She has asked me for the last 30 minutes if she could go ahead and get dressed even though we don't have to be there for 3 hours. No matter, she's got good hair and she needs accessories to go with it.

All of this being said, I need to go now and work on my own hair because mine requires a lot more work than sponge rollers and a little hairspray.

Plus, I am not nearly as cute as my daughter.

Your average Saturday...

Wake up to daughter giggling with her Daddy.

Shuffle to kitchen and realize OUT OF MILK which means NO COFFEE.

Get ready and head to basketball game.

Stop by McDonald's for a large coffee, 3 creams.

Cheer heart out.

Return home, change.

Go to birthday party.

Go to grocery store. GET MILK.

Return home.

Laugh with family visiting.

Cook dinner.

Eat dinner.

Let husband clean kitchen.

Laugh some more with family visiting.

Make a pot of coffee.

Coffee in hand, with milk... ahhh....

Blogging.

Guest Contributing...

Today I am guest contributing at The Internet Cafe.

Stop by the cafe, stay a while, and meet some amazing Christian women online.

Thursday Thirteen: What I miss about high school

1. I could blame this dreadful acne break out on pizza and Original Doritoes. (Which is the cause now, but I don't want to admit that I still eat any of that.)

2. I could sleep in on Saturdays.

3. Whenever something funny happens on TV, I could run in my room and talk to my friend FOR HOURS. Now I just do that online.

4. Leg warmers could be used for fashion instead of poor circulation.

5. Sun In is much cheaper than professional highlights.

6. I could write a novel and people other than my mother would actually tell me it will be published one day.

Ahem.

7. John Hughes films

8. Pep rallies. (I didn't have school spirit. It got me out of math class.)

9. Bill Cosby. And his sweaters.

10. Being in high school meant I was almost in college which meant I was about to meet hubs. Hey, honey!

11. Being clueless that I was about to meet hubs.

12. Fashion mistakes were easily forgiven. Actually, they were in fashion.

13. Pointless lists about nothing were mildly entertaining.

;>)

Praise The Lord and pass the Peanut Butter Patties.

The day, it was profound. There were so many moments that could be put into a post and so many parallels and metaphors that they could all very well outnumber the boxes of cookies we counted.

That would be over 1,100. I know I'm long-winded and Southern and all, but only Margaret Mitchell could write that much about cookies.

To be honest, we didn't have to count them one at a time, just by the dozens. And dozens. And dozens. And dozens. But first we had to pick them all up from the warehouse.

Fortunately for us, a friend of a family member allowed us to borrow a moving van. This is how the pros do it, people. We don't pick up our girl scout cookies in an SUV or some fancy Town And Country.

Oh, no. We use Mayflower. It was good enough for the Pilgrims.

In some circles, people say that there were two women on the Mayflower who sold boxes of Thin Mints to the Pilgrims while mumbling something about a Troop Fund. Over the years, the story got all twisted and now the history books say that some of the early settlers fell ill from smallpox or something, but we all know they got sick from eating too many Girl Scout Cookies.

You should have seen us loading the van. The kind Mover People Guys kept bringing cases of cookies on huge pallets with one of those trucks you see in Home Depot. You know, the ones they use to put the lumber on the shelves. Yep, those.

They kept loading until our Mayflower van was full from floor to ceiling with over-priced boxes of goodness dipped in chocolate and lemon icing and laced with some unknown substance that makes tired housewives and, evidently Pilgrims crave them in the middle of the night. (Or in the middle of the Atlantic, depending on who you are.)

We signed off with the kind Mover People Guys and headed to the other troop leader's home. She was just ahead of me obeying every traffic law and speed limit because she's a troop leader and a shining example to budding girls. And she was hauling thousands of dollars worth of cookies!

I kept picturing her getting in an accident and the cookies going everywhere in slow motion. Only I kept seeing thousands of dollars blowing in the wind and all over the road and the two of us in front of Council explaining why we did not quite meet the deadline to turn in our cookie money because the cookies were all scattered on the side of the road.

Ahem.

Once we got back to her house, the fun really began. We counted and sorted individual orders and then it started to rain. Thankfully, the clouds parted and the sun began to shine brightly on our Mayflower madness.

After three hours or so, we were finished and ready for our parents to pick up their orders after school. Let me just say, the image of two women in a van peddling sugar in the school parking lot- it is surreal.

You would think that after all of the sorting and counting that I wouldn't want to see another Girl Scout Cookie, but you would be wrong. So wrong. I am sitting here eating Peanut Butter Patties and they are quite divine. In fact, they were the first thing I thought of when I poured my cup of coffee this morning. I blame it all on the addictive substance they dip them in, oh, and the chocolate.

Hey, they were good enough for the Pilgrims.

Tossin' the cookies

Oh, y'all have no idea.

No idea.

So much material.

So. Little. Energy.

The Great Cookie Count '08 to be continued...

Cookies of Biblical Proportions

I covet your prayers, Internets.

Tomorrow I, along with the other troop leader, will be counting over 1000 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. That's oh, at least 300 boxes of Thin Mints, a couple hundred boxes of Peanut Butter patties, and who knows how many boxes of LEMONADES!

And we won't be eating a one of them. OK. Maybe just a few... from my daughter's order.

Is there some kind of self-control patch?

And the award for Most Ungrateful goes to...

The TV is on and I keep flipping the channels back and forth between the academy awards and HGTV.

I was watching Food Network a little while ago- some cooking contest. My husband said it was "riveting" with the same sarcasm you usually find here.


I have to say. The impeding results of the poultry burger contest were too suspenseful for my weak heart.


So I am back to watching the awards with quotes and clips of movies I have never seen.

Is it just me or do y'all feel like we haven't missed much this year? The quality of movies has gone downhill over the years, but hello, Hollywood. We are all pretty sick of the same ole themes....

"American does something abroad which causes the world to hate America."

"American does something at home which causes the world to hate America."

"American does something at home which causes other Americans to hate America."

"We hate America just... because we can."

Really, Hollywood. Do you honestly believe that this many people hate America?

If so, then tell me this. Which direction are the majority of people going? Are they leaving America or trying to get in?

When people are at war or in harm's way, whose flag are they glad to see waving in the midst of soldiers or relief workers arriving to rescue them?

Tell me, Hollywood. Why do you hate America so much?

The country where you are free to make films with minimum censorship, films which degrade and mock the principles and the people who provide your freedom.

The country where you are free to earn literally millions of dollars for one of these films.

Tell me, Hollywood. Why do you hate America so much?

I, for one, love my country. I think I'll turn off the television now...

Please send loving comments...

After a long battle in the hospital this week, Roxanne's father has gone on to be with the Lord.

Please pay Roxanne a visit today.

Our hearts and prayers are with your family, Roxanne.

In Deepest Sympathy,

Melanie

Living inside the box.

I am supposed to be at church sorting and organizing my Sunday School room, but I am on the computer reading blogs. What can I say? It's my morning paper.

We just rearranged some rooms to make room for another class. Some of the supplies have been moved and now I need to go up there to organize it all.

Some of you would just be tickled to death to be putting things in plastic containers with little labels that read "crayons" and "glue sticks" but for me, that is a HUGE DOWNER.

Later I have to put tiny pony beads in Ziploc bags for Girl Scouts.

It is looking up to be a fun day.

But, tomorrow I might just COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES! WOO HOO!

Dear Alexander Hamilton,

I would rather talk to Abe Lincoln, but I got the Venti.

Sitting in Starbucks' drive thru, I just ordered my non-fat Venti mocha, add the whip. I reached in my wallet and you were there, right next to an old Target receipt and a half-used book of stamps. You would appreciate this- the new stamp has the Liberty Bell on it.

So, anyway. I'm sitting in my Japanese-made automobile looking at your picture. What is up with the scarf? I know that was very GQ back then, but now Clinton and Stacey would tell you to "open up the neck a little." However, you did have some good hair. For a man.

You would be shocked at what is going on in our country. The woman making my coffee has piercings and tatoos in places that would make you blush. She wears pants from this place called "The Gap." It's a store where they sell men's clothes on one side and women's clothes on the other side, but all the clothes look the same. There's a lot of white and khaki and posters about world peace. But they also have scarves, so you might like it.

The lady in front of me is driving a hybrid. It runs on gas and electricity. She paid nearly 40K for it so that she can save $3.00 per gallon on gas. She'll have to drive from here to Alaska several hundred times to make up the difference, but it will save us all from heating to death.

It's called Global Warming. Let me tell you about it.

It is the Super Bowl of Survival of the Fittest (you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?) Humans v. Polar Bears. Teddy Roosevelt would love this. Maybe I'll write to him later...

But I digress. Global Warming is this thing we humans are doing where we have polluted the air (while sitting in Starbucks' drive thru) and all of these other dangerous things to the point that we are single-handedly making the Earth warmer one degree at a time!

We have done all of this but we still haven't improved the postal system. (We could use Ben Franklin these days. Put in a good word for us, would ya?)

There are a few other changes you'd love to know.

We are good friends with England. In fact, they are one of our last, loyal allies.

Women have the right to vote. (Yep, that would be me and the lady in the hybrid.)

I am typing on a computer on the Internet. Nevermind.

People don't have duels anymore. They just get lawyers.

We've been to the Moon. Several times. No one really cares, except for when they are trying to do something like stop Global Warming. They'll say, "We can put a man on the Moon, but we can't stop Global Warming."

One more thing. We never really went back to tea.

Which is why I'm in Starbucks' drive thru exchanging you for a non-fat Venti mocha, add the whip.

Who's in charge here?

Maggie is back from her Paris trip and she's wearing Prada.

Today I was on the phone in deep conversation with a friend. I was sitting at the kitchen counter which is only about three feet from the kitchen table. I turned around and there was Maggie-lounging on the kitchen table on my nice Williams-Sonoma tablecloth, grooming herself.

I yelled,"Maggie!!" right in the ear of my friend. (She totally knows Maggie and was not surprised.)

Maggie barely paused between licks to look up at me in wonder. She didn't even flinch until I yelled again for her to "GET DOWN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

I yelled in all caps.

I'm telling you, if she keeps this up, we're putting her in a home.

Thou shalt not question the power of play dough.

I love my Sunday School kids. I love them with all that I am. From the deepest part of my heart, I love them. They are precious in His Sight. Yes, M'am.

They are also very useful in predicting the weather.

It appears that whenever there is a barometric change, the effect is somewhat similar to that of a full moon. Pressure change in the atmosphere is correlated to hyperactivity in the classroom.

This morning, the kids were sweet as can be but they were done. Done like a pot of rice.

They tried, bless their hearts. They did. But many of them were either getting over a cold or battling the Dreadful Pollen Blanket of '08. My allergies were bothering me; I knew their little noses were suffering.

So we had our lesson as planned. We prayed. We talked about Jesus and how he wants us to treat people. We talked about our feelings and the feelings of our friends.

Then we broke out the play dough and had church right there with the cookie cutters and the plastic rolling pin. They played and shared together as they made little play dough waffles and lots of play dough snakes.

And, you know what? They left there with a good Bible lesson under their size 4 belts and a lot of love in the Name of Jesus.

Right after we scraped the play dough off the floor.

(sigh)

You could call it an addiction.

I check my site meter a lot. A WHOLE LOT.

You can learn a lot from your site meter.

For example, I find some of the googles that have brought folks to this blog very, very fascinating. Comical even.

Most popular ones-

"Meatloaf fixins"

"Pantyhose"

"Southern Manners"

"Cupcake Carrier"

"Octopus Stinkhorns"

Here's a bit of info for you Meatloaf Fixin' folks. Hunt's has changed the name to "Meatloaf Sauce" or something like that. That's why it is so hard to find. It still comes in the can and it tastes the same. Hunt's is just getting all uppity on us and dropped the "fixins." Although I don't really think you can get uppity while eating meatloaf.

One of my favorite googles was "Do women in New York wear pantyhose?"

ROTFL!!!

Another part of sitemeter that is very addictive is the feature which shows where y'all live. (Well, where your internet connection lives.)

For some reason, whenever my Shreveport, Lousianna reader logs on, site meter lists Shreveport in all caps like this:

SHREVEPORT, Louisianna

So, I always read it like it is yelling Shreveport to me.

HELLO, SHREVEPORT! WHOEVER YOU ARE! THANKS FOR READING!!

I'LL STOP SCREAMING NOW.

Have a wonderful weekend, stinkhorns and all.

The grass is always greener next week.

Waiting.

That's what I feel like I am doing a lot lately. I keep looking at my calendar, waiting for something to be over, some event to happen, a commitment to end, one to begin. I'm doing a lot of waiting, and none of it patiently.

I keep hearing myself saying things like,"Oh. I will be so glad when (fill in the blank) is over. Life will be back to normal."

Life never gets back to normal. Life isn't normal. I keep taking on tasks and responsibilities (some good, some not-so-good) that just keep me busy.

I've been wondering why so many of the tasks that keep me "busy" are not really making me "effective." I keep running here and there from one responsibility to the next, marking off each day on the calendar and not even knowing what day it is.

Let's face it. A chicken running around with her head cut off really has no sense of direction.

So, I'm praying. I'm waiting, with a little more patience every day. I still am not certain of the direction God wants me to take, but now I at least feel like I have a compass.

And you know what? He never steers you wrong.

My love life in a banana clip

Today is the day. The be all, end all, day of days to every teenage girl in America. The day that will either make her feel like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles (at the end) or Molly Ringwald in Pretty In Pink (somewhere in the middle before she discovers Duckie.)

Valentine's Day.

I was reading this post over at Big Mama's this morning and she took me down memory lane. Back to high school when I thought Lisa Lisa had the best hair on MTV, nevermind that I also thought she was in a cult.

Sigh.

I wish the 37 year old me could talk to the 14 year old me. I would try to give the 14 year old me some advice, try to convince myself that guys aren't worth it. But, knowing me, I would just roll my eyes at myself and say, "Oh, you don't understand. You are like, old!"

Then I'd just call my best friend on my princess phone and listen to my cassette tape of Chicago while staring at my Kevin Bacon poster.

Kevin. Bacon. He was the only one who could ever replace Rick Springfield. And seriously. Rick and I were close to walking down the aisle.

Oh, Kevin. I did heart you. No one ever looked that good while driving a VW Bug. I'm just sayin.'

And the scene in the warehouse where he is dancing? Oh, it made this teen girl melt. Did anyone else think he was "punching his car" instead of "punching his card?"

I remember going to see Footloose after begging and pleading with Mama. It was an event that would change me forever. My best friend had Hot Tamales and I got Snow Caps (still my fav.) We swooned right there in the theatre as Ren took a stand for something that really matters.

The right to dance. I mean, let's be real, people. Forget about world peace. There are more important issues in the world. Like Prom.

As if.

Go ahead and cut Footloose here.

It's OK to dance right there in your living room. I'm Baptist, remember? :>)

In which I am eternally embarrassed.

This morning I stopped in at Publix dressed in my regular just rolled out of bed, ran a brush through my hair and across my teeth (not the same brush) attire which happened to include this shirt:


It has become one of my favorite sweatshirts. It's comfortable, reminds me of the sweet friend who gave it to me, and it just plain makes me smile.

I started putting all of my heart-healthy, low-carb items (ahem) on the conveyor belt at check-out when I heard the bagger say, "Uh-Oh. A writer."

When I looked up, he was reading my sweatshirt.

"Do you write? Is that what you do?" asked the cashier.

(crickets chirping)

"Ummmm....well.....I have a blog....and I write..... other things, too," I answered awkwardly.

I could tell he was so impressed.

Not.

Then I tapped my foot as the cashier scanned and I squirmed in my shoes waiting to swipe my debit card and escape the moment.

So, I'm thinking that maybe I should get a new sweatshirt that reads,"I have this other life that I live and I write on my blog, you know on the computer, and sometimes my in-laws read it and maybe a few cousins or two and friends. OKAY, maybe just one friend. And sometimes people I never met stop by to read about my daughter's funny comments on life and how my husband hates buffets and that we have a pond out back with odd wildlife."

Do you think it would fit?

Reality Television

Joan Steffend is hosting one of her many room make-overs, "all for under $500" and I am here on my comfortable sofa, reading emails and blogs on the laptop.

I paused to read this and this and let me tell you, it makes me want to get down on my knees right here on my area rug, next to the comfy sofa and ask God for forgiveness.

I give. But can I give more?

The answer obviously, is yes. I can.

This just in: Hansel and Gretel were married.

Hubs and I are always talking nonsense. It makes perfect sense to us, but to other people our conversations sound a lot like Regis and Kelly before they've had their coffee.

And we all know that I look exactly like Kelly- blonde, perky, and a size -1. Ahem.

Fortunately, my husband looks nothing like Regis. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with Regis. He's a sharp dresser and up-to-date on current events and he did a fantastic job on Millionaire...

I won't mince words. He's old.

So, anyhoo.

The other day, hubs and I were in the kitchen with our daughter and we started talking nonsense. I don't know how it all began, but the conversation turned into a discussion of Hansel and Gretel.

The funny thing is that whenever we go off on our rabbit trails, many times our daughter is able to follow along, or at the very least she is mildly amused. She has learned in her tender age that Mommy and Daddy have their own love language.

They speak "Weird."

So back to H and G.

It all started with the crumbs and how the crumbs disappeared and then they couldn't find their way home. Then we trailed off into our own fairy tale.

Little did we know as children, but Hansel and Gretel were not brother and sister. Nope. They were husband and wife.

See, Hansel was eating the bread and making a big ole' mess along the way so, of course, Gretel picked up after him. Hansel wasn't even supposed to be eating the bread. Gretel made it for a special occasion- Thanksgiving dinner at her mother-in-law's house.

In fact, that is where they were headed. So when they got there empty-handed because Hansel ate all of the bread due to the fact that he didn't eat lunch earlier even though Gretel told him he would be hungry later and she made the best soup for lunch but he didn't want any because it was Thanksgiving and he wanted to save his appetite for the big meal and then he got hungry anyway and decided to eat the bread just to tide him over...

Well, you get the picture.

So they arrived at Hansel's mother's house and Hansel's mother had made the best Thanksgiving meal complete with turkey and dressing and cranberries and all the rest. All except for the bread which Gretel was supposed to bring only her husband ate it all along the way and now Gretel arrived at her mother-in-law's house completely empty-handed.

And Gretel was Southern.

So, the mother-in-law had to quickly pre-heat the oven and cook some Brown 'n Serve rolls that she had on hand because she never can depend on that good-for-nothing daughter-in-law who shows up at her house to eat and always promises to bring something but somehow always shows up empty-handed.

Suddenly, the mother-in-law catches Hansel literally eating them all out of house and home, snacking on the sugar-coated shudders and nibbling on the candy corn doorknobs when she calls them both into the kitchen for a little family discussion.

Then the oven's pre-heat buzzer goes off. There is a scuffle and then something happens that will become a family controversy that lives on for generations to come.

And that, boys and girls, is how Gretel almost became toast.

Edited to add for some clarification: This is completely hypothetical, folks. I love my mother- in-law. Plus, I don't bake. ;>)

Welcome To The Jungle

Axl Rose keeps singing in my mind every time I try to imagine what my in-laws are doing in Africa. Last I heard, they were without Internet access.

Well, that's enough for me.

Camping? Yes. Snakes in the cabin? Yes. Observing Possums and Beavers in the yard? Yes.

No Internet? I have to draw the line somewhere.

Sometimes I sit here on the sofa watching HGTV or TLC wondering, "Hmmm....it is such and such time in Africa... wonder if they are hiking in the bush, swatting Tsetse flies or perhaps running for their lives because someone wore the wrong color and aggravated an elephant who in turn began a stampede...."

Or something like that.

Then I think of sweet Sophie and Shannon who are leaving for Africa in just a few days and they will have Internet access. Oh, the faith these two ladies must have.

So, could you please say a pray for them as they step out on faith and their love for Jesus? While you're at it, take a moment to read about the reason they are going.

God Bless you, ladies!

If I could write a clever post, this would not be it.

Would someone call up the pollen people and inform them that it is only February? My sinus cavities would be eternally grateful.

This morning I got in the car and saw that the dust on the windshield was a pale gold. After a few swishes of wiper fluid, the dust became a paste. Lovely and Allergenic.

I just took my Advil Cold and Sinus and I am awaiting the moment when my sinuses will open up and the voices from heaven will sing songs of joy.

On another note, something is awry with my laptop. It types the letter "l" without my input. I think the CIA has tapped into my computer and the letter "l" is some kind of secret code for a secret signal to you Internets out there. The word "Lame" comes to mind.

It looks like the Advil Cold and Sinus is starting to kick in.

And, on yet another note, may I just say that the election '08 just gets more and more interesting. Interesting to those of us who have aspired to own a set of Encyclopedia Britannica.
I really should come up with a clever slogan for this year's presidential election.

Whatever it is, it will most likely begin with the letter "l."

WFMW- Favorite Online Shopping Sites

Shannon is hosting a fun Works For Me today asking us to post our favorite online shopping sites. Here are a few of mine.

JCPenney.com- I love this site. I click on the online outlet and search for bargains. Somedays you can find really great deals on linens and clothing. Check out the end of season deals. Unbelievable prices!

BarnesandNoble.com- The nearest Barnes and Noble is a fairly good drive away for us, so anytime I want to buy books, music, or hard-to-find movies I click on BarnesAndNoble.com. Orders over a certain amount offer free shipping. It saves me time and gas money.

SmartBargains.com- More great deals. Shipping is insanely cheap.

National Wildlife Federation Store- Neat items for the garden and the home. Great end of the season deals. And it all helps wildlife!

Do you see a theme here? Cheap. I am all about the bargain.

Moments of Revelation- All before cereal.

This morning at my house-



"Am I going to school today?"



"Yes, you are."



"Then, why did I stay up last night???"



;>)

Just like riding a bike

He lost his balance.

While I was driving home from church, I saw him. He looked like a teenager- no longer a boy, yet not mature enough to be a man. A little gangly and awkward, he was riding his bike. He crossed my path just ahead of me, then I saw him again when I turned to go home.

That's when he fell. Somehow, he steered his bike just off the road and into a groove where his wheels were caught and the jolt of it all sent him soaring. He landed on a bed of pine straw among some newly planted landscaping.

I slowed down and rolled down my window, "Are you Okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said in a teenager's voice, his cheeks red with embarrassment. Then he brushed himself off, got back on his bike, and continued to ride.

He did look fine. He suffered more from the embarrassment than from the fall itself.

I thought to myself, as I neared home, "That's how we are as believers."

Sometimes we are going along our walk and for some reason, we fall. We don't fall from grace. Grace is a gift eternal. No, we fall in our walk as Christians, not still babes in Christ, but not yet mature.

Maybe we've offended another, or maybe we find it hard to forgive the one who has offended us. Or we have fallen short in other ways- in our prayer life, our thought life, our devotional time with God. Or maybe all of these have happened along the way and we feel that we have failed.

The wonderful part is that we can brush ourselves off and get back on. Sometimes the pain of embarrassment as we have failed as a believer can be worse than the "fall" itself. Knowing that fellow Christians have seen us stumble, we often drop our heads in shame and pull away from our brothers and sisters in Christ.

But, do you know what? Our sister or brother in Christ is there to help us up, to brush us off and to hold our hand along the way. If she offers her help in love, there really is no need for us to be embarrassed.

God is there to help us back up, too. In fact, He is first to arrive on the scene. Once we have accepted Jesus, God has promised to guide us into maturity in Christ and we must persevere-

"Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." James 1:4-5

God's Word also tells us that just as He promises to save us through the blood of Jesus Christ, He promises not to give up on us, leading and guiding us along the way, no matter how many times we lose our balance. We must keep on keeping on, keeping our focus on Jesus, the One who suffered so that we may live with Him in Heaven.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:1-3

You can do it, fellow believer. You can make it to the finish line. Keep your eyes on The One who has already won the race.

Stranger In the Night

One would think that in the dead of winter here in the South, that one would not see a whole lot of wildlife.

Well, one would be wrong.

Last night, after some gnashing of half-brushed teeth and a LOT of reminders of how early we have to get up the next morning, my daughter (I thought) finally drifted off to sleep. Just as the house got quiet, I heard footsteps scurry down the stairs and then a little voice made an announcement.

"Mommy! There is a weird looking animal in the yard and it is FREAKING ME OUT! I think it may be a raccoon!!"

I assured her that it was going to be fine and that the animal was most likely a possum. Nevermind that she was supposed to be asleep, snug under the covers with her stuffed animals instead of staring out her window watching wild animals.

Sure enough, when we peered through the glass of the kitchen door, I made a positive ID- a grey and white, long-nosed, skinny-tailed, looks-like-a-big-rat possum.

Once she realized that the weird looking animal was totally harmless, she decided to sit at the window and watch him as he ate whoknowswhat in our yard.

And, here's the thing. I sat there with her. This is love- for my child, not possums.

We watched the big rat for several minutes as he foraged and crept in our yard, into our neighbor's yard and off into the night.

As his tip-toed into the shadows, I said to my daughter, "He looks like a cat."

"Like a weird looking cat."

"Yep, weird for a cat. But normal for a possum."

"I think he is beautiful," she said.

Then the violins began to play and the scene faded to grey. And white.

With a long, skinny tail.