BooMama saves the day yet again.

I'm dog tired.



TARRED.



We just returned from Mama's and I did what most of you would do when you just got home from a trip (after a visit to the facilities, of course.)



I checked my favorite blogs.



BooMama listed Twenty Things She Will Never Do and because I am a weary traveler with nary a brain cell left under this Cheetos and Diet Coke Induced stupor, I am thankful for any ideas for a post.



So, here goes.



Twenty Things I Will Never Do



1. Stop at that Burger King on the Interstate, the one where the young teen was making burgers with his bare hands and I could not stomach the thought of him grabbing hold of my shredded lettuce moments before I ate my Whopper.

(We left before ordering.)

However, the facilities were quite clean.

2. Watch Seinfeld without laughing.

3. Become a librarian.

4. Stop wearing lipstick of some hue. Neutral, natural, whatever. I need my lipstick.

5. Go on The Alaska Experiment. (sorry Hubs)

6. Go on any experiment or other torture adventure series which would require me to partake in something called "roughing it."

7. Stop eating Chunky Monkey.

8. Start eating raw veggies as a delicious snack.

9. Forget the name of the nurse who helped me deliver my child.

Karen. Her name was Karen.

10. Start saying stuff like "when we were pregnant."

We weren't pregnant. I am the only one with stretch marks.

11. Go to a Neil Diamond concert.

12. Quit watching my child sleep.

13. Say "no, thank you" to a piece of chocolate cake.

14. Buy a bikini. (This could be related to #13.)

15. Go bungee jumping.

16. Choose rice over mashed potatoes.

17. Sign up for a Math Seminar.

18. Turn down an opportunity to sop a good biscuit. In the right company, of course.

19. Stop cleaning with bleach. (I've tried, Mrs. Greenie. Really. I start to tremble without the clean, lung-burning smell of Clorox. It kills germs and respiratory tissue.)

20. Buy a label maker.

In other words, I like food and clean facilities. As long as neither of them require me to do math.

Bloggy break and more stuff...

I must have gone and lost my mind because daughter and I are taking a road trip to Mama's this weekend, the busiest traffic weekend of the year.

Hello. What was I thinking?

So, I'll be on a blog break for a few days, if I can last that long. If I start to twitch, I may just have to go to the library and use their computer because Mama is still not online.

Believe me when I tell you that I would have to be suffering delirium tremors from blog withdrawal to be at the library.

I do not heart the library.

One of these days I'll explain my irrational distain, but not today. I have to pack.

If you are traveling this weekend, be careful out there on the road.

And honk if you read BooMama. ;>)

Sincere sympathy...

Please pray for the Chapman family as they have lost one of their daughters to a tragic accident. Pray also for their son who was involved.

The Chapmans have been amazing champions for adoption and for the message of Jesus Christ.

Our hearts go out to them.

You can visit the site of Steven Curtis Chapman to express your condolences.

Weather Alert

When you write a post encouraging others to Remember Rainbows, inevitably it starts to rain at your house.



More later...

Writing today at the Cafe

"What is this world coming to?" was something my mother used to say. Now I hear myself saying it and I wonder how my own child will grow up in a world full of pain and evil. It all seems to just get worse.

Do you ever feel the same way?

Feeling a little discouraged as a parent?

Come on over to The Internet Cafe and visit with me today for a chat about today's world and God's Promises.

Thank you notes that do not require postage

I wrote a few weeks ago about the changes that have taken place for our Sunday School class.

Good changes. Great changes. Godly changes.

If you've read my blog long enough, you know I don't use the word "God" lightly. Besides, it's not just a word; it's a Name. A Holy Name.

So when I say Godly changes, I mean it. I believe it.

Through some wonderful volunteers, we have started a new system for my class. There are pre-K and Kindergarten kids in this group and if you have ever taught these ages, you know they have very different learning styles and very different attention spans. When there are just a few of them together, you can adjust your teaching method.

But when there are sometimes 18 of them together, all you can adjust is your medication.

Oddly enough, no matter what learning style or attention span they have, they all have a few things in common.

They love snack.

They love hearing about Jesus.

Snack was never an issue. My assistant and I come from the old Southern Baptist School which teaches "Thou shalt never run out of food."

That rule is right up there with "Thou shalt feed people when they are celebrating, mourning, recovering, or just breathing."

So, snack was never a challenge for us.

Telling them about Jesus in an effective way was a challenge. When you are in a small room with a dozen or so kids and several of them decide that the button to turn on their listening ears is broken, you end up talking over them and the other children get nothing out of the lesson.

Now, let me stop the bus here. The Word of God does not return void. The issue was that I don't think many of them could hear the Word of God with all of the talking and the yelling and the whining.

Okay, I didn't always whine...

This morning, I was looking forward to the lessons. Because of a new rotation system, the kids all have snack together, then they split off. The younger pre-K kids go to music and worship time and the Kindergartners stay in the room for the lesson. Then, we switch. The kids love it and it is so great to be able to talk with them in small groups and teach them on their level.

Our lesson today was on Elisha and the woman who welcomed him in her home. Our focus was supposed to be on caring for other believers, which we did discuss. We shared how we could care for others. The kids were eager to give suggestions on how to be kind.

Then, God led me down a trail...

I told the kids that we are to do for others just because. We aren't supposed to expect anything in return- not even a thank you, although that would be nice. Many times the person will never say thank you. Many times we think no one notices.

God notices. He sees. He will reward us in heaven, but that isn't all. He will also reward us here on earth. God always notices when we are doing the right thing and He will show us in some way- through a nice surprise or maybe the kindness of others.

Of course, they wanted to know "how." I love questions. It shows me they are paying attention.

There are so many times in my life when I have seen this happen. I shared one of the stories with the class. And now I'll share it with you...

A few months ago my daughter and I were at the dollar store, waiting in line at the register. The man ahead of me paid for his purchase, then started to walk away. As he did, he dropped a twenty dollar bill.

I quickly picked it up and said,"Excuse me, sir. You dropped this."

He took the money and said,"Oh, you're an honest person. I would have kept it."

He walked away and the cashier turned to me and commented,"I could never keep it. That's bad karma."

"That's God." I said, "I don't believe in Karma but I believe in doing the right thing."

(I didn't tell the kids the karma part. They are in kindergarten. But I did tell them what the man said and that I shared with the cashier that I wanted to do what God would want.)

The next day I was leaving Wal-mart with a cart full of bags. Unknown to me, a bag fell out of the kid seat as I walked through the parking lot.

A lady ran up to me, picked up the bag and said,"Excuse me, m'am. You dropped this."

"Thank you," I said.

For the most part, I think the Kindergartners got it. Although, one very smart girl in the class wanted to know how a bag could fall out of my cart without me knowing about it.

We shared a lot more after that about doing the right thing.

Being good when no one is looking.

Being kind just because.

Because God is looking and He knows when we are being good or kind or whatever it is we are supposed to be.

And He always says thank you.

Let the good times roll.

Daughter played on the slip 'n slide with friends.

Then they took a break for popsicles.

The neighbor and her dog came over to visit with us.

The dog played with the kids and got a scoobie snack.

While the kids were on the swings, the dog rolled in some unknown excrement. (Beaver?)

Neighbor went back home to scrub the dog.

Daughter and friends are next door watching dog have her fur blown dry.

Yep, it's a fun day at our house.

No dress yet, but I had some delicious chicken nuggets.

I went out today to look for a dress to wear to an upcoming wedding. Honestly, I wasn't in the mood to try on clothes but I had the time and opportunity. Plus, Hubs is off again today, so he could pick up daughter from school.

Isn't that just the way it is? You have the time and even a little money and you cannot find a single thing on the rack?

Must be one of Murphy's Laws.

I didn't even find one thing I wanted to try on. Most of the semi-formal dresses were sleeveless. Not going there. The others I found were a little too dressy or shiny. I want to look like I am at the wedding not like I am in the wedding.

My husband is going to read this and think it is much ado about nothing. He just doesn't get it. He's a man and real men don't worry about clothes. They worry about bills and flat tires and hair loss.

I ended my shopping trip with a stop at Chick-Fil-A because no mall visit is complete without it. After eating fried nuggets and fries, I was less than inspired to try on clothes.

However, I did buy Spanx- my generations version of the girdle. My grandmother would be proud. A little Lycra is good for everybody.

Especially when it is covering chicken nuggets and waffle fries.

On the hunt...

I'm off today to search for a dress. I'll let you know how it goes.

Like most really good hunting trips, it takes a few hikes in the woods to get the best prize.

Unlike most really good hunting trips, I am going to take a bath before I leave and I refuse to wear camouflage.

If only I could just order my dress from Cabella's...

How do you spell Sack Race?

I've always said there is a reason why God made families with both a dad and a mom.

For one, having the appropriate gender available during the potty training phase is always a good thing.

And you can't play Good Cop- Bad Cop with only one Cop.

I'm just sayin.'

Then there's the fact that one parent is bound to be athletic and outdoorsy and one is ya know, not.

Guess which Cop I am.

Today is Field Day at my daughter's school. She is excited. She got up this morning all ready to put on her special Field Day t-shirt and put her hair up in a floppy ponytail. Try as I may to always understand and relate to her feelings and convictions in life, this one is hard for me.

I hated Field Day.

Field Day was extended, organized P.E. and P.E. usually involved a dodgeball that I could not dodge. Amazing too, because back then I was a tiny thing. Back in the day.

I loved recess. I loved the swings (even though now they make me want to hurl.) I loved the monkey bars. I liked to get dirty and explore.

But please don't make me stand in line while little Mia Hamm picks the kickball team. I was always one of two kids left and the other kid was not "tiny." Ahem.

I remember Field Day with all of the relays and races. I'd cling to another non-athletic friend and we would commiserate.

Clumsy loves company.

All the while I was thinking, "Can't we all just go in and have a Spelling Bee?"

Last week, daughter's school asked for parent volunteers for Field Day. Because I say "yes" to pretty much anything other than a field trip to the post office, I signed up. Plus, time with daughter trumps Field Day Flashbacks.

Then, in a wondrous miracle, Hubs took today off.

Hubs plays soccer. Hubs likes to go camping. Guess which Cop he is.

So, this morning I thought to myself, "Self, Hubs can help with Field Day and cheer daughter on and you can go shopping or stay home and brush up on your Spelling."

More reason why God designed the family to have both a dad and a mom.

And besides, sometimes even the Bad Cop needs to expand her vocabulary.

;>)

Wedding Dress

Dr. Freud, I think I need to lie down.

If you look in a Psychiatric Diagnostics Manual on page 546, you would find what is ailing me, along with a picture of me standing in a tiny dressing room with that little footstool, a magnetic shelf and a 3-way mirror with views of my muffin top, my backside and my double chin.

I have Pre-Event Dress Disorder.

Our friend Dave is getting married this summer. Hubs is in the wedding, so his wardrobe is covered. I am so thankful, too. It relieves the stress of me having to pick out his clothes. But, now I am on the hunt for a dress for myself, one that is appropriate for photos next to Hubs wearing a tux.

I am so excited about the wedding. Honestly, we are thankful that Dave has found someone who will put up with him.

I still haven't met the bride-to-be, but she must be something special if she has the patience and courage to marry Dave. Plus, based on all of the wonderful things Dave has told us, I know she is lovely and sweet and smart and all of those other things a bride should be.

I love her already.

But she cannot possibly be as stressed as I am.

I know it is her day, blah blah blah, and I know she is the bride and under a tremendous amount of pressure counting how many people are getting the chicken and the beef and trying to figure out how she is going to do her hair, but at least she knows what she is going to wear.


(Bride-to-be, because we haven't met, you may be tempted to take this post seriously; don't. Once we get to know each other, you'll realize that Hubs and I are just as weird as Dave.)

I was telling my daughter the other day some of the rules about weddings and guests' attire. For example, no woman but the bride may wear white.

Insert fervent prayer here- Please, Lord, do not let anyone show up at the wedding in white or my daughter just might point it out to me in a very loud whisper right there next to the groom's cake.

When my daughter asked, "why?" I explained further...

"Only the bride wears white. No one is supposed to take any attention from her. No one should be dressed fancier than her. (My daughter understands fancy.) It is her day. And, it is respectful to her to wear what is appropriate. Like, we can't show up at the wedding in flip-flops."

Insert giggles here.

I also shared with her that, since Daddy is going to be wearing a tux, that Mommy has to match him. I haven't matched anything in a tux since the late 90's.

Before y'all leave me some comments that "it's what's on the inside that counts" and "it doesn't matter what you wear as long as you wear a smile," I'll just go ahead and say that all may sound great on a Hallmark card but if you were the one going to the wedding, you'd know it's a bunch of hogwash.

And, just so ya know, when I put my mind to it, I can be quite lovely on the inside but no one is going to see my insides in any photos. At least, I hope not.

Hmmm... maybe I should have gone with the chicken.

Creepy

I saw this meme over at Vernonica's blog and decided to play along. There are a few other bloggers out there who are participating as well.

As it turns out, I am not as weird as I thought.

Here are a few things that creep me out:

1. Masquerade balls. I am a little nervous around folks who insist on hiding their faces. Plus, all of the feathers and sequins are too much.

And can I just say that men should never wear feathers and sequins?

2. Clowns.

3. Swimming in the ocean. I have to see the bottom of where I am swimming. The thought of what is swimming out there with me sends shivers down my spine. Just let me wade in the water no deeper than waist deep. I'll swim in the pool, thankyouverymuch.

4. Sitting next to the window on an airplane. I'd rather sit on the aisle. Again, my brain starts working and I think about the fact that there is a small space between me and the clouds. A strong, sturdy, steel space, yes, but....

Just give me an aisle seat. I can stretch- at least to one side.

5. Sitting in a theatre and not being near an exit.

I think I have "need for escape" issues.

So, what about you? What gives you the heebie jeebies??

Happy Mommy Blogger's Day

Let's hear it for the mommy bloggers out there,

for their commitment to daily posts,

and for their heartwarming and hilarious kids

who make it all possible.

Happy Mother's Day!

Honoring Mom- A meme

There's a great meme about moms going on at Internet Cafe today.

Take a minute to visit and find out what it's all about.

Then, write a post and add your link at the Cafe.

Bloggy break

I am taking a break for a few days, not because I want to, but because someone has to do the laundry.

I'll still be a lurker in between loads.

Be back in a few dozen or so socks...

It's a slow count.

As soon as I turned the laptop on this morning, I checked the headlines to see the results of yesterday's Indiana primary. I tried to stay up. I really did, but something was amiss in Lake County, Indiana last night and these weary, nerdy, election process-loving eyes were tired.

I am obviously a lightweight.

Because the election volunteers in Lake County were still up and counting ballots while the Fox News anchors and I were nodding off.

I have to chuckle. I've been to the polls. I've seen the volunteers. They are retired people, dedicated retired people, yes. But, retired people tend to take their time.

I keep picturing a lady named Thelma who made a special hair appointment on Monday, outside of her normal Friday routine, so that she would look good for the election on Tuesday. And a gentleman named Harold with his pants pulled up higher than his knee socks and a cap on that reads, "#1 Grandpa."

Then there's the loud mouth that no one likes, the one that wants to help everyone. All of the other volunteers look at him and roll their eyes. I'll bet he doesn't get invited to Bridge Night.

I'm trying to be PC here, unlike a few news anchors who said that they couldn't believe the folks in Lake County were still counting because, "Isn't it past their bedtime?"

Well, apparently not. They all stayed up and counted thousands of ballots in the name of Democracy, all after you climbed into bed with your down comforter and hypo-allergenic pillow, Junior.

The funny thing is, one day I can totally picture myself sitting there counting those ballots and you can bet your ballot that I'll have my hair done.

WFMW: NOT!

Shannon has issued a new challenge this week. She wants us to share what has not worked for us.

I ask you, Shannon, how much time do you have?

Seriously, I'll try to narrow it down to one or two, maybe three things. Goodness knows that I could write a novel on goofs I've made.

1. Not emptying the lint filter on the dryer. When we first married, I told Hubs that the dryer just wasn't working as well as it used to. He asked if I had emptied the lint filter.

"Huh?" I said.

He checked and it was full of lint. As he tells it, it had a lint blanket.

When he questioned why I hadn't emptied it, I told him that the lint filter was not where it was on Mama's dryer and that I assumed it didn't have one. (You can laugh now.)

So, there ya go- Always empty the lint filter after each dryer use. Not doing so will result in damp clothes and a story that your husband will never, ever forget.

2. Adding water to the car radiator's coolant resevoir tank.

A car needs antifreeze (the right mix) and water for all the seasons. Not just winter. The right mixture is the coolant.

When my old car ran hot, I kept adding water only.

Water only in a hot radiator = Boiling water= Overheated engine and huge repair bill.

I'm no mechanic. My idea of checking the oil is dropping a pebble in there and listening for a "ping," so I am sure there is a more technical explanation than the one I'm offering here. Bottom line- adding water only did not work for me. Or my Toyota Paseo. Bless its sporty little heart.

So, leave it to the experts.

3. Refusing delivery on a package via the US Postal Service.

Y'all know how I feel about Newman.

I ordered something from a company with guaranteed delivery. The item was for a holiday and the holiday was fast approaching. I phoned the company and said that I had not received the item. They told me to "refuse delivery" on the original order when it arrived and then they shipped another order via FedEx Overnight with no additional shipping charge.

The overnight package arrived.

The original package arrived late. The mailman left it on the step because I was not a home. I did not open it and took it to the post office to "refuse delivery." All I did was hand the box over the counter and tell them that I was refusing delivery. No services were rendered. This is the same thing I would do if I had been home to recieve the package.

Weeks later, the company sent me a bill for the original order. Long story short, the post office "refused delivery" package was never returned to the company. I called the company and explained and they asked me to speak to the post office first.

When I asked the post office about it, they told me that I should have paid for "proof of delivery" back to the company which translates to me paying for a service that I was refusing. Yeah, that makes sense.

I called the company back and explained what the post office told me. Fortunately for me, the company forgave the bill.

By the way, the company was Oriental Trading and I continue to shop with them. Their customer service is exceptional.

Which is more than I can say for the post office.

;>)

See Shannon for tips on what tips do not work... er something like that.

A different kind of gourmet coffee

I have favorite stores. A favorite Target, favorite Wal-mart, favorite Starbucks. If you aren't a Starbucks junkie, you are probably thinking that every Starbucks is the same.

You are so wrong.

There are good Starbucks, mediocre Starbucks, and there are really bad Starbucks that you will go to only if you are desperate for a coffee.

My favorite Starbucks has Miriam. I see her several mornings a week after dropping daughter off at school. Miriam shows me pictures of her grandchildren. She tells me when she is going on vacation and when she'll be back.

Miriam knows I'm a venti mocha, non-fat, add the whip. She recognizes when I'm having a rough morning. (Maybe the bags under my eyes give it away.) Miriam can tell when I need an extra shot of espresso.

This morning, Miriam must have thought I needed something a little stronger...

"Good morning, this is Miriam. How can I help you?"

"I would like a Venti non-fat mocha, add the whip, with an extra shot."

(silence)

Order on the screen-

Mocha
non-fat
Venti
add whip
extra shot mocha

"Actually, I would like an extra shot of espresso. Not an extra shot of mocha."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you said extra sauce."

"I'm sorry. I should have been specific."

"Oh, no M'am. Don't apologize.... your total is $4.77 at the window..."

Drive around. Wait at window.

"Now you've got me hitting the sauce???"

chuckles out loud from Miriam

Giggles out loud from me, along with mental note, "Blog this when you get home."

If this keeps up, I might start making lists.

My mother-in-law is chuckling out loud right now. She knows I am not a list maker. I know that she is. She loves notepads and matching pencils.

I'm just trying to find a pencil that doesn't need sharpening.

My week is going to be busy. Tonight I was supposed to attend a meeting which, by the way, was cancelled, but my friend and I were not notified. (Fun stuff!) I am running lots of errands tomorrow, have appointments another day, a big Girl Scout Ceremony to help plan and run, and it is Mother's Day this weekend and my poor Mama does not have a gift.

And the cat has fleas.

But nothing, no nothing, is going to stop me from having dinner out with a friend and her sweet daughter one night this week. Call it an early Mother's Day gift to myself. Yes, M'am.

How is your week starting out?

We are more than conquerors

Last September I started teaching Sunday School. The class was made up of a mixture of four and five-year olds, some of whom could read and some just learning their colors and shapes. It was a fairly small class, just the right size, actually.

Some Sunday mornings my helper and I would teach a max of about 8 kids. I thought that was huge. But, for the most part, Sundays were pretty peaceful and joyful and all of the things Sunday School should be for children with tender hearts- open to the message of Jesus.

Then something happened.

Our church was making changes. Big changes. And before I knew it, the class size had more than doubled. To make room for a larger nursery, our class was moved to a smaller room. Plus, our class time increased.

Larger class, longer time, smaller room.

Overwhelmed. Yep, that was me.

I prayed for guidance from God and from leadership. Many Sundays I came home exhausted. "Growing Pains" is what we were and still are going through and I was feeling the stretch.

In addition to prayer, I also napped a lot. A whole lot. And I came up with new projects, new crafts, new ways to fill the time in class.

And thank you, Jesus, for snack.

But something in me felt defeated. My Spirit was broken and tired and weak, and to tell you the truth, my heart just wasn't in teaching anymore. As much as I loved the kids, my frustration and fatigue were stronger than my desire to keep teaching.

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak...

So I quit. It was a shock to some around me, but not to others. I honestly felt all prayed out, all napped out, all snacked out and I just couldn't do it anymore.

To God's Glory, after my resignation (which was quickly withdrawn), helpers stepped up and some changes were made. Because of the proposed changes, I decided to stick it out. To hang in there.

Today was the very first day of those changes and I feel refreshed and renewed as a teacher. But most of all, my faith in fellow believers is renewed, along with God's Faithfulness to complete in me the work He has begun.

The awesome part of it all is that the children will be blessed. More attention is now being given to them in smaller, age-appropriate groups, and I am still able to teach them. But I am not sharing this with you to share the logistics of our new Sunday School.

I want you to know that whatever you are facing today, no matter how overwhelmed you are, that God's Hand is in it all. Just when you think no one cares, God will show you that He does and sometimes He shows you through the people around you.

Strive to honor God in all that you do and He will honor you. Sometimes it means dividing a classroom of 18 kids. Sometimes it means hugging your spouse when he or she isn't huggable. Sometimes it means getting up and going to work for a boss who is anything but respectable.

No matter what it is, you can conquer it, through His strength and His strength alone.

And, of course, snack always helps.

Field Trip Veteran

Y'all have to be patient with me this morning. Even with a triple venti mocha, I'm a little groggy from all the happenings from yesterday.

I went on a field trip with my daughter. It was one more to add to my field trip resume. Fortunately, no one was injured and no one cried. Plus, none of us had to duck for cover.

The group of kids on this particular field trip all have a major case of the smarts. Seriously, these kids are bright. (I don't mean to brag, but I am her mom and ahem... Okay, I do mean to brag. Just a little.)

The reason I'm telling you this is because going to a museum with a group of bright kids is like riding a roller coaster with Evil Kanevil. They are so excited about things that would make other kids just yawn.


They stop to read the plaques along the wall and they turn to the teacher to add their two cents, and then they turn to each other to talk about things like World War II and Einstein. The chaperones turn their backs for just a second, and before you know it, the kids have all disappeared to hold a United Nations meeting in the gift shop, and every war on earth has ended, world hunger is solved, and global warming, well, it just never happened.

The Polar Bears love them.

And again, I don't mean to brag, but I used to be one of these kids. (Notice I used the past tense.) I always loved learning. I would rather do a science experiment or write stories than play dodge ball. Mostly because I got pounded by the ball, but anyway...


Going on this field trip was fun for me. Plus, I was able to spend the entire day with my daughter. She wanted me to go along- something that may not last much longer.

One of these days I'll get the look that says, "Aww, Mom... do you have to go? That is so embarrassing. And would you please stop putting notes in my lunch. That is like soooo 3rd grade."

Sniff. Sniff.

When I called the school the other day to say that I would like to go on the trip, they mentioned that they needed another driver and asked if I wouldn't mind taking one additional child in my car. I agreed and since my daughter's friend was going, it was a perfect scenario of giggles and private field trip jokes in the back seat.

I swapped cars with Hubs for the day because my car needs some minor work. Besides the fact that the trip was a good distance away, I was responsible for someone else's child. Vehicle safety and reliability is of the utmost importance, and if you have read my blog for a while, you know that I am the Safety Paranoid Queen.

I've also been called the Hot Dog Nazi for asking moms to cut their toddler's hot dogs lengthwise instead of in little sections which just make me twitch because, hello, they are just little meat corks that can plug their tiny airway, but that's another story.

While waiting at a traffic light, I decided to look in Hubs' coin holder to see if he had any cash. I had a little with me, plus my debit card, but I decided to see if he had any in his car, in case of an emergency. Like if two giggly girls needed a Capri Sun or something.

When I looked in the coin holder, I found this.








That's a toy soldier. A wounded one. One that is saying, "Go ahead without me, buddy. Just leave me here and take cover. Look in my pocket; there's a letter to Mama..."

You may not be able to tell from the photo, but this toy soldier looks like he has been run over by something.

This guy has been in my husband's car for a while now, a present from our daughter. She thinks he is cool (the soldier and Hubs.) I'd forgotten all about him until I peeked in the coin holder yesterday.


I am sure that he is supposed to be a certain kind of soldier from a specific war or era, but since I haven't been one of the smart kids in a very, very long time, I honestly have no clue. To me, he is just Flat Army Guy In Pain.


The kids on the field trip could have properly identifed him, right down to his UN badge.

Next thing we know, they'll build an espresso bar.

Our next door neighbors are building a deck. It is awesome. Neither Carter nor Ty could build anything like this.

And, just as an observation, why is it that carpenters and handymen on HGTV have fraternity, preppy-like names but the men who come to my house to repair my washer and dryer are named "Stan" or "Jeb?"

So, anyway.

Our neighbors are constructing what could be the deck of all decks next to the pond and I suggested to them yesterday that they should seriously consider renting it out as a wedding reception location. All they need are some of those lights that you drape around the top and voila! It's time for the Chicken Dance.

M (the husband) works on the deck on the weekends and during the week when he comes home from work. I keep telling them he needs one of those big Trading Spaces canopies. There is some professional construction going on.

Because he has been outside working nearly every day building their dance floor, he has observed a lot of wildlife behavior.

Namely, beavers.

And if you are tired of hearing my beaver stories, then I recommend that you just turn away or subscribe to another blog because it appears that we are not going to be rid of them and, that being the case, I am just going to keep on, keeping on writing about them.

Still here?

Okay.

M said he has seen the beavers swimming in the pond in the late afternoon and that they suddenly appear right next to our property line, near our shed. Yesterday, D (the wife) decided she just couldn't stand it any longer and she waded in the pond to look.

The pond with the snakes. Yes, M'am.

Not even I would do that.

So she waded in the pond and found a hole along our bank. My Hubs went out there to look, too (without wading.) Sure enough. The beavers are tunneling under our shed.

Y'all, I totally opened the shed to see if they had dug a hole and set up house in there. I know there is a floor made of plywood, but plywood is no challenge for these beavers. They are insane.

It's like The Great Escape in reverse and with no Germans or POW's.

We haven't the slightest idea what we are going to do about the tunnel. If we plug up the hole, they'll just make a new one. There is a reason for the saying, "busy as little beavers."

Only it should be, "Busy as Big Beavers Who Terrorize the Neighborhood."

Just the other day, D was out cleaning the beaver dam, just as she does every morning to keep the water level low. (After all, her hubs is wading out there to put in pilings for the deck.)

When she walked over to the clean the dam, she found a sandbag. Her sandbag. From her yard. The beavers have stepped up their dam building game; they're using supplies from Home Depot.

Our concern is what the beavers are going to do once the neighbor's deck is finished. If we see them out there doing the Chicken Dance, I'll be sure to let you know.

OK, so don't put me on Movie Themed Jeopardy.

I started not to post this, but sometimes I like to make fun of myself. I might as well or someone else will do it for me.

Let me set up the scene for you, first.


Hubs and I were sitting in the living room watching Seinfeld. He was on one couch, me on the other, laptop on and blogging while watching Seinfeld.

It was the episode where George thinks he bought Jon Voight's car- the actor, not the periodontist.

Hubs- "The ending scene of this one is weird."

Me- "I know. We've had this discussion before. It is a spoof of Midnight Cowboy with Jon Voight. I looked it up for you on the Internet the last time we talked about it."

Hubs- "Oh, yeah. I forgot..."

(continue watching Seinfeld)

Hubs- "Who is Liam Neeson?"

Me- "We talked about this last time, too. He was in Schindler's List. He was the good guy."

Hubs- "You mean, Schindler?"

Me- "Yeah, I guess. Wasn't there more than one good guy?"

Hubs- Laughing out loud. "Saying he was in Schindler's List and that he was the good guy is like saying he was in Batman and was the guy wearing black."

Sound of me laughing at self.

So, maybe we don't know much about the movies. But we do know our Seinfeld.


Go ahead. Sympathize for our kid. She needs it.

Mother's Day Reality Check

Everywhere I look I see an advertisement, a poster or a commercial for Mother's Day.

And they are all totally REAL LIFE.

Apparently, I have been missing out...

Commercial- Young, thin mom with freshly highlighted hair, fashionable clothes, holding sun-kissed blonde child while smelling a daisy and hoping for nothing in the world because, obviously every dream has already come true.

My Reality- Middle-aged, pudgy mom with roots the length of sleepless nights, faded yoga pants, holding screaming baby in Wal-mart. while doing the "Sniff Check" and hoping there's a spare Pampers in the diaper bag.

Commercial- Mom waking up in the morning, sun streaming through the windows, fresh white linens on the bed, completely rested and pleasantly surprised at a tray with pancakes, coffee and, yet again, a daisy.

My Reality- Waking up in the morning with bags under my eyes to a kid who is prodding me to get up and make her some pancakes and then do crafts before the sun comes up.

Commercial- Mother cooking dinner, stirring something and tasting it on a wooden spoon while husband sneaks up from behind and hands her a small box with diamonds inside.

My Reality- Heating up chicken nuggets in the toaster oven and watching to make sure they don't burn, wishing I had made it to Publix today so my kid would not be eating processed meat while husband slips in the house from work and goes upstairs to get on the computer.

Commercial- Mothers who look and act perfect in a life that appears perfect with perfect children, perfect husband, and even a perfect cat that doesn't shed.

My Reality- A not-so-perfect mother who has a not-so-perfect life, a daughter who brings her dandelions from the yard, a husband who expresses his gratitude in his own ways, and a cat... we're still working on that.

And I wouldn't trade it for any card or diamond necklace in the world.

On second thought, how big is the diamond?

Time to tighten the grip

So, Miley is embarrassed about a photo shoot today.

I don't blame her. I've seen a preview; I'd be embarrassed, too.

Honestly, I feel really bad for Miley.

She's only 15 years old. The world is going to hate the possibility of her turning out to be Okay. "Okay" doesn't make headlines. "Okay" doesn't sell photos of stars leaving rehab or getting arrested.

The world doesn't want her to be "Okay" and they are going to do everything they can to ruin her.

But, her family? Her family is there to protect her.

I hope.

Here's something to think about-

When you were 15 years old, if the most famous photographer in the country wanted to give you the full beauty treatment- make-up, hair, designer clothes- and take your picture for one of the most famous magazines in the world, wouldn't you jump at the chance? Wouldn't it make you feel special, wonderful, like a princess?

Now, what would your mom and dad say?

Tip for the Day

When you are at a friend's house and she talks you into jumping on the kids' trampoline with the kids and you have to be hoisted up like an old lady in order to get on the thing because you are short and old and your friend is really tall, and then your friend actually starts jumping and you decide to be hip and cool so your daughter won't think you are a nerd and you start jumping too, and then all of you start to laugh really hard, be sure you go to the potty first.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

;>)

Free Sample Day

Warning: The post you are about to read may contain terms not suitable for people with a full bladder.

Today I went to the doctor with a friend. Going to the doctor is never fun and waiting for the doctor is even worse. Seinfeld once said something like this- The smaller the room is, the closer you know you are to seeing the doctor. First, you start in the large waiting room, then a smaller holding room, then the last, tiny room where you have to sit on that very thin sheet of paper that is supposed to protect you from HEAVEN ONLY KNOWS what is growing on that vinyl exam table.

Those weren't exactly his words because, you know, his were much better because he is, you know, funny.

But, you get the picture.

So we were sitting there in the doctor's office waiting for my friend's name to be called. This was no ordinary doctor, this was a urologist.

Think about the people who go to a urologist most of the time. People with bladder problems, people with enlarged organs of a specific type (not going there.)

OLD PEOPLE.

And let me just say now before I ramble on that this particular urologist's office has a huge fish tank with a filter that makes a trickling sound so that people with bladder issues can sit there in old, uncomfortable polyester-cushioned seats and stare at a gigantic container of water and listen to the trickling.

Is this some kind of strange urologist joke?

My friend was finally called back and as I waited, I decided to read my copy of Gone With The Wind. Yes, a Southern blogger reading Gone With The Wind. How's that for cliche'?

I was the only one in the room, with Megyn Kelly from Fox News talking in the background, when an older man walked in. He was wearing shorts and his socks were pulled up high. After he checked in at the desk, he took a seat.

Right next to me.

There were at least 10 other perfectly good seats in the room.

My husband says "old people like to talk to you." He is right. No matter where I am, the retirees love me. Whenever I am at the grocery store, they ask me how to find an item. I am usually very nice because I wonder how my grandmother would have felt if she needed help. Plus, one day I know I'll be old and I hope some sappy woman will help me find my prunes.

Old people never talk to my husband. He must give off a strange, non-mothball aura. The truth is that he has a scary look on his face which says, "Don't talk to me. Ask my wife or I'll snatch that free sample right out of your hands."

So, today Mr. Knee Socks sat next to me and immediately started talking...

"Who are you going to vote for- Hillary or Obama?"

(Um, wha??")

"Oh, you have to vote for Hillary. You're a woman."

"I am voting for McCain."

(gasp and scowl of disappointment)

It is usually at this point that I would change the subject. I was taught not to bring up politics or religion with a stranger. It is just considered rude, but because this man is obviously not an elderly gentleman, I decide to go with it...

"I don't vote for anyone based on whether they are a woman or a man. I don't care what they are. I vote for the best person. Besides, I'm Republican. I don't agree with the Democratic Party at this time."

"Well, he probably is the one who is best prepared..."

I then attempt to bury my head deeper into the story of Scarlett and the Wilkes' barbecue, hoping that this man will take a hint. Or at least he would just leave me alone because I'm a Republican and a woman with a brain and I can tell he doesn't like either of those.

But, no...

"Look at these glasses. How much do you think I paid for these glasses?"

"I have no idea."

(bury head in book)

"Take a guess."

"I said I don't know."

"Guess!"

"Several hundred dollars."

"No."

"I don't know. Five hundred."

"Not that much! Three hundred and they are worthless. Look at that! Now, I have to get them fixed... What time do you think the pharmacy opens at Wal-mart?"

"It's open right now and the line is really, really long so you'd better go so you don't have to wait."

Okay, I didn't exactly say that, but I soooo wanted to.

He got up from his seat and I just knew I was about to be freed from this torture. I looked at the poor fish in the trickling fish tank with complete empathy. Then the man walked over to the receptionist's desk and asked a question.

"How can I get some free samples?"

Oh, yes he did.

Guest Contributing...

I'm over at The Cafe today.

Be sure to stop by for a visit!

Bite Back

There's a serious buzz going on in the blogosphere today. One that can help save lives.




Malaria is an overwhelming problem in other countries; it kills children every year. This is preventable with mosquito nets, but these kids don't have mosquito nets.

That's what the buzz is all about. You can help purchase a $10 mosquito net for a child in Africa through the Bite Back Campaign. (That's about 5 Grande Mochas or 4 Happy Meals.)

The great thing is that it is handled by Compassion, and you know that's a good thing. You can donate any amount or promote Bite Back on your blog.

For more about Bite Back and what Compassion is doing in Africa, see Sophie and Shannon.

We can soooo do this!

Works For Me Wednesday: Salsa

No time to make homemade salsa?

Grab a jar of your favorite salsa or picante, add some freshly chopped cilantro and a little fresh lime juice. You won't believe how great it tastes!

For more restaurant flavor, warm your tortilla chips on a cookie sheet in a 300 oven for about 5 minutes or until hot (just keep an eye on them so they don't burn.)

For more tips this week, see Shannon.

Update for Baby PJ

Praise God that Baby PJ was born yesterday!

He is very small and in the NICU, but is doing well. Mom is recovering, too. Please continue to pray for him. He will have to remain in the NICU for several months.

Thank you!

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...