I Choose To Remember

Originally posted September 11, 2006

My grandparents could tell me where they were the day of Pearl Harbor. My parents could tell me where they were the day Kennedy was shot. Now, I will tell my daughter where we were the day her world changed, September 11, 2001.

We were traveling home from a visit with my family. It was a long drive and we decided to spend a night in a hotel en route. Traveling in the car for long periods of time with a little one is not easy.

That morning, my husband had already returned from breakfast. I always either go down for breakfast later, or my sweet husband brings breakfast and coffee up to our room. He has done this since we first married.

He was in the shower when the first plane struck. I was watching the Today show. Katie and Matt detailed the facts they had at the time- that a plane had hit one of the towers of The World Trade Center. No one knew why or how a plane could collide with a tower in broad daylight, on a clear day. Cameras were rolling as smoke filled the air from the crash.

I yelled through the bathroom door and shared the awful news with my husband.

"Must have had been off their IFR," he said.

Then, it happened. The second plane hit. I was sitting at the end of that hotel bed and just began to sob. I told my husband the news. By then, we both knew this was no accident.

My daughter was very young at the time so, I was able to watch the news without her knowing what was truly happening. I just kept sobbing and sobbing, and praying. Those poor people.

I remember going down to the hotel lobby and watching the news with the other guests. We were sipping our coffee just like any other morning. But, even then I think we all knew that this was something big, something bigger than we had ever experienced in our lifetime.

I asked my husband if it was safe to be on the highway again. What would happen next? How do we know what is going on? How will we know if it is going to be safe on the roads? He explained that we were probably safer on the road, than in a hotel- full of people- a prime target for an attack.

We packed our things and headed home, listening to the radio to the rest of the terrible news. The Pentagon. That Pennsylvania field.

The image that will never leave my mind is the photo of the person pushing a grocery cart full of small children, running away from the towers to save their lives. I will never forget that.

I will never forget the events that took place that day. I choose to remember. I choose to remember so that I can learn from what happened, and by remembering, I can one day tell my own daughter where I was September 11, 2001, the day my world changed forever.

But it goes deeper than that...

I have to tell her what it felt like to be afraid of strangers who looked different from me. I have to tell her that I felt guilty for those feelings.

I will tell her how I was afraid to open the mail, and that I would always wash my hands immediately after getting the mail from the mailbox.

I will tell her how the military sprang into action to protect our President, our air space, and our own lives.

I will tell her that I was afraid to go to the mall or downtown, for fear of another attack in a public place.

I will tell her that many people died as a result of these attacks. Some of them died that day. Others died years later in Afghanistan and Iraq while protecting our freedom.

I will tell her that the attacks on September 11 were an act of religious war, no matter what people say.

I will tell her that Jesus Himself said we would be hated for His Sake.

And I will tell her that our God is a God of judgement and soverignty. He is also a God of Love, and because of that Love, He sent Jesus to die on our behalf. Once we ask forgiveness of our sins and ask Him into our hearts, He will dwell there forever. He died for all people- for me, for her, and for Osama Bin Laden. But, we choose to receive His gift or turn it away.

To live in fellowship with Jehovah God, we must take the only path He has given us- through the blood of Jesus Christ. Then, and only then, can a person live and die in peace. Once Jesus dwells in her heart, nothing will separate her from God. No bomb. No war. No man. Nothing.

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8: 35-39

Works For Me: Journaling with kids

My daughter loves creative writing. This year we've decided to journal at home every day when she gets home from school.

I found some cute, themed bulletin board cut-outs. The theme I'm using now is fish. Every day before she comes home from school, I write a topic on a Post-it note, stick it to the back of the fish, then tape it somewhere in her room. When she comes home she has to find the fish.

Using the Post-it note makes it easy to recycle the fish. You could use any shape or cut out that you have designed yourself. My daughter loves the ocean, so fish was an obvious choice.

Be creative and silly with topics. It doesn't have to be prize-winning. Anything that can be a springboard for creativity is key.

Examples to get started:

"What I Did This Weekend"

"My favorite (you fill in the blank) is ..."

"If I were any animal, I would be a (blank) because..."

Other ideas:

1. Give your child guidelines and goals, depending on age. Five sentences may be enough for your child, or too much. As their writing improves, they will naturally add sentences on their own.

2. If your child is a perfectionist or over-achiever and gets stressed out easily, limit their journaling time and tell them the journal entry does not have to be complete. The entry is not an essay.

3. Make sure journaling stays fun and does not become overwhelming.

4. Encourage them to journal the same time every day.

5. Let your child pick out the journal. An inexpensive composition book works well. Have them decorate it with stickers or drawings.

6. As their writing progresses, mix up topics and writings styles. Introduce poetry or ask them to write a joke or song.

7. Don't grade them. Use the journal to monitor their progress without them knowing it! If it becomes a graded assignment, it's no longer fun.

8. Creative journaling is different from a diary. Be sure they know you will be reading their journal.

9. Journaling isn't limited to writing. Encourage your child to draw or illustrate in their journal.

I've found that journaling helps with penmanship, spelling, grammar, as well as creative writing. The more kids write, the better their writing becomes.

Journaling is also a fun way to peek into the mind of your child and see the world through their eyes.

One more thing- Be sure to date and keep them. They are real treasures!

For more tips, visit Shannon.

Steven Curtis Chapman on The Early Show

Steven Curtis Chapman is scheduled to sing his song Cinderella tomorrow morning on the CBS Early Show.

I hope you'll take a moment to tune in and support the Chapman family.

Tactical Precision

Somewhere between the garden and the curse, God gave Eve a very unique gift. Since that time, Eve's genes have been passed down for generations.

And may I just add that I'm glad that her genes, as opposed to her jeans, were passed down? Denim made from fig leaves- itchy.

Anyway.

This gift has kept on giving. It's called "The Ability To Find Stuff." Every mom, since the beginning of time, has had this ability.

Caesar's mom had it...

"Mother, when you are completely recovered from that new surgical technique, could you find my toga pj's?

Women throughout history have kept up with powdered wigs, the crank on the Model T, and stacks of scrolls, slates, Trapper Keepers, and Blackberries.

Moms are the reason nothing is ever lost forever. The only exception was the moms of Atlantis. Who knows what happened there.

In fact, history could have been altered if the Powers-That-Be had only used this ability. I'll go ahead and tell you the flat-out truth, if they had sent Mamas into Iraq, we would have found the WMD's, no one could have hidden them from us, the whole world would have felt safer, and Bush's ratings would have soared.

I'm just sayin.'

Y'all know I'm right.

But, since no one asked me to find any nuclear bombs, I am stuck with the task of finding things like socks, shoes, special toys and last minute items Hubs may need on his way out the door.

This gift of finding stuff is perfected on a very personal level. Some of us find things because we know where we put them. (A place for everything, everything in its place.)

Some of us find things because we can picture the other stuff surrounding the item. You could call it domestic photographic memory.

"Mommy, where's my belt?"

"Probably on the floor with the clothes that you didn't put in the hamper."

I've perfected domestic photographic memory. I can find a needle in a haystack or a saved, dead insect in a plastic tote. When something is lost, my family asks me, before they look for the item themselves.

At any given moment, I'm on call, seeking and searching for dried up butterflies and paperwork from 1994.

It ain't WMD's, but it's the best I can do.

Prayer

Hanna, Ike and Josephine.

Sounds like a really bad band from the 70's doesn't it?

Please pray for the people and property in the paths of these storms, especially for those areas in other countries that do not have government relief. As devastating as a storm can be, as unorganized as some relief response can be at times, we are still so very blessed to live in this country. Others are not so fortunate.

And, for those still recovering from Gustav- we have not forgotten. You are in our thoughts and prayers!

Your vote counts.

In the heat of the primaries, I was standing at the grocery store check-out, ready to swipe my card. The cashier and the bagger were discussing two candidates, Hillary and Obama.

Squirming in my flip flops and yoga pants, I waited for the total.

As the cashier gave my total, she looked up at me and said, "I think it would be nice to finally have a woman President. Don't you?"

Knowing my response would not be well received, I gently answered, "Yes. Just not that one."

The cashier stared at me in wonder.

As I pushed my cart away, I turned to both the cashier and bagger and said,"But, that's what is so great about this country. We each have a voice and a vote."

I was sitting on the couch, watching television last night. Daughter was tucked in bed and Hubs was on the love seat suffering through the minutia of The Republican Convention.

My husband does his civic duty. He stays informed. He votes. He just doesn't get fired up about it.

Politics is for me what college football is for other people. The only difference is that I don't eat chips and dip during the inauguration.

We watched together last night as Sarah Palin gave her acceptance speech. To be candid, I haven't quite made up my mind about McCain's choice. Although I'm passionate about politics, I've always considered myself rational about the election process.

But, last night, as the first conservative woman to be nominated for Vice President of the United States spoke eloquently and boldly before the nation and before her husband, daughters, and special needs son, my emotions crept up into my throat and I found myself crying.

I was moved.

Moved by the idea that I could identify with her more than any other candidate.

Moved by the idea that she could be second in command.

Moved by the idea that she could be in command.

It was then that I could, in some small way, also identify with African-Americans across this country who are moved when Obama speaks.

Let me be clear. This white girl from Georgia can never, ever fully comprehend the past and current injustice of black people in this nation.

I can never, ever fully understand what their ancestors suffered.

I can never, ever know how much those who overcame and continue to overcome the past, those who forgive and march on, appreciate the opportunity to take those steps toward true freedom.

I can, however, understand the emotion.

To some extent, I'm feeling it. At least I did last night. For a moment, I was sucked in.

Conservative, stay-at-home, and working women of all races are talking this morning about Sarah Palin. They're talking about how great it is to see someone like them. They are blogging and emailing in between homeschool lessons and car pool trips.

They're talking about how wonderful it is, how it feels.

Politicians know this. All of them. Democrat. Republican. Independent.

They pay people millions of dollars to design posters and commercials, write speeches, build platforms, and even select wardrobes for their candidates.

All of it is crafted to impress us, to make us feel, not make us think.

They know that an African-American man who experienced the sixties is going to be genuinely moved by a speech touting victory. They know when to tell a cameraman to close in on that man's tears. They're politicians. That's what they do.


They know that a conservative mom sitting on her sofa, watching The Republican Convention is going to be moved by a woman with a family who stands for life and values. They know to tell the cameraman to zoom in on a sleeping baby or a little girl waving to the crowd.

They know that this same man and this same woman will feel a certain way about a candidate.

In fact, they're counting on it.

While it is indeed historical, monumental, and, dare I say, emotional to observe as the first African-American is nominated for President and the first conservative woman is nominated for Vice President, we can not, should not allow that emotion to guide us into the voting booth.

Republican or democrat, conservative or liberal, we must be moved by our own convictions, by our rational judgement of the candidates' policies, by our responsibility to make an informed decision.

We must ignore the camera shots, and the media hype, the policitics-as-usual. We must wipe away our tears because of, not in spite of, historical triumphs.

When we do, we will think through our choice, ignoring racial and gender lines, and clearly see the best person for our country.

And while we must never grow cold or indifferent to the wrongs, the injustices and the victories of this nation, we must use these lessons in history to strengthen and educate us for our future, for our children's future.

Yes, it would be nice to have a woman for President, for Vice President. It would be nice to have an African-American for President. But, I can't let those feelings, those hopes influence my vote.

So, I wait. As do you. We wait and watch as this election unfolds.

Somewhere in this country is a grandchild of an African-American man who triumphed through the sixties and a daughter of a conservative woman watching and waiting for us to make the right decision in November.

In fact, they're counting on it.

We should have our own show on TLC.

A conversation at our house a few days ago...

Hubs to daughter- "Maggie requires a lot of work. Every morning she meows to eat, then she meows to go out, then she meows to eat again, then she meows to be petted. It takes a lot to take care of Maggie."

Me- "You only have to take care of her for one hour. I have her all. day. long."

Mrs. Duggar, you may have 16, or is it 17 kids? I have one child and a cat. Top that!

Gustav

Please join us as we pray for everyone who evacuated, those who stayed behind, for law enforcement who remain to protect people and property, and for the relief workers waiting to go in and provide aid when it is over.

Miracles can and will happen in the midst of this storm. God is with you.

Go ahead and preheat the oven.

For all my displaced Southern friends, looky here at what I found.

If you don't have a Mama to send it to you, this will work just as well.

Happy Baking!

Priorities, people.

I was on the phone with Mama today, catching up from the long time we've gone without talking, which was probably less than 48 hours. A lot can happen in two days.

While we were talking, she asked if I needed her to send me anything. She specifically asked if I could find any good grits. Then the conversation went something like this...

Me- "Well, now that you mention. I do need a few things. Can you please send me some Jim Dandy grits and some White Lily flour?"

Mama- "Oh, you use Jim Dandy grits."

Me- "Yes. Will you please add a bag of Martha White flour for N?" (N is a friend who moved here, too. She is from Alabama.)

Mama- "Yes. Just make a complete list and let me know."

Me- "We think we may be able to get some Martha White flour eventually because some of the stores have Martha White cornmeal. For now, though, could you send some Martha White flour for N?"

Mama- "Yes. And do you want me to send you some White Lily cornmeal?"

Me- "No. I use Martha White cornmeal, so that's fine."

Mama- "Oh, you do."

Me- "Yes. I don't mind Martha White cornmeal but I'd prefer White Lily flour. All I can get are Pillsbury and Gold Medal."

Mama- "I used to use Gold Medal years ago.... can you get dried black-eyed peas?"

Me- "I don't know. I haven't looked."

Mama- "Well, you let me know. Make a list and I'll send it."

If you aren't Southern, you probably haven't even read this far and are in the middle of napping. If you are Southern, you completely get this conversation and may be thinking to yourself about what brands of flour, cornmeal and grits you prefer.

And you might be thinking about how you prefer dried, frozen or canned black-eyed peas. You are also thinking to yourself that my Mama is one good woman to help me prepare for New Year's Day in August.

And, yes, you're so right.

Edited to add: I found dried black-eyed peas at Wal-mart. Dried is the only kind I will cook. I did a little dance right there in the aisle. Well, not really.

Codependency

Last night Maggie was begging and meowing in despair for a little (or in her case, big) bedtime snack. For Maggie, a snack is a meal.

I went to the pantry and found one last can of Elegant Medleys, her gateway drug of choice. She started out with Turkey Florentine in a delicate sauce. Now she's moved on to the hard stuff- Chicken Primavera in a savory broth.

Knowing Maggie's deep dependencies, I stared at the last can for a moment, listening to the pitiful pleading at my feet, and pictured the insanity that would ensue in the morning if I gave in to the pleading.

And then I totally caved.

I opened the last can of cat food, not just any cat food, Medleys, and watched as Maggie scarfed it down. The rest of the evening was quiet and normal. (Well, normal for our house.)

Then the alarm clock went off this morning and with it, the wailing and gnashing of kitty teeth that greets us each and every torturous sunrise. It's like we have a deranged rooster with fur. Only this rooster doesn't crow. She meows and leaves hairballs on the good rugs.

Most mornings, Hubs takes care of Maggie's needs. This morning was no different, except that Maggie's needs could not be met. No Medleys for her. (Picture the soup Nazi with a can opener.)

I could hear Hubs in the kitchen trying to make his own breakfast with a hungry, angry cat at his feet. I didn't offer any information and just pulled the covers up over my head.

Denial.. It's a stage of grief, you know.

Then Hubs came in our room to make an announcement. I listened from under the covers.

"Maggie is out of Medleys," he said, "so, I haven't fed her."

"I know. I gave her the last can last night," I said from under the comforter.

Hubs continued to get ready for work and I nestled comfortably in my stage of grief. Maggie continued to wail and meow, and then she scratched on the door.

She's declawed, so I guess technically she rubbed the door.

Anyway.

She was out of her mind. Complete detox. I got up and tried to calm her. I explained that we had no more Medleys, but that she would be perfectly fine. I told her I would go to the grocery store after taking our daughter to school.

To Maggie's credit, she is a cat and doesn't really understand English.

As I made breakfast and then packed lunch for my daughter, Maggie continued to whine in a most pathetic tone. I looked at her knowing full well that she had eaten less than 8 hours earlier, and told her that she would indeed live.

She didn't buy it.

In an act of desperation, I opened a can of Chicken and Stars soup, plopped the solid contents in the cat dish, and waited. Maggie sniffed it, looked at me, then sniffed again. Then she licked the tiny, dried remains of last night's bedtime snack.

Oh, the horror. Those with addiction will do anything for a fix.

I left the house, took my daughter to school, and went straight to the grocery store. I am happy to say that we are fully stocked in Turkey Florentine and Chicken Primavera. I even added in a Souffle as an apology.

Maggie? She is fine. She has been well fed with a clean bowl.

She made it through her own stage of grief- Anger. I'm so glad she's declawed.

Works for Me: Moving Tips

I wrote this several weeks ago before Operation Chaos. My addendums are in red.

Here are a few tips that have worked for me when moving in or out of a home.

Some I learned the easy way. Some, well...



1. Packing- If you are packing your own household goods, you are able to organize items in boxes. If movers are doing it for you, be sure to group items together in advance.

It is a good idea to put small items in a Ziploc bag or small plastic container, especially tiny toys. Otherwise, you will be digging through a huge box filled with all of those Polly Pockets.

Ahh, such a sweet kid. How naive am I? No matter how much you sort and group items for the packers, they still throw things in boxes at random. Real tip- Supervise.

Always label the box containing the coffee pot! You'll be glad you did the first morning in your new place.

I have to chuckle. Most of the time, a good packer will label the coffee pot box for you. I said good packer.

2. Pack the following in your suitcase or small box you will take with you:

Set of sheets for each bed
Towel for each family member
Roll of bathroom tissue
Soap
Shower curtain and rings (if new home does not have shower doors)
Comfortable shoes for everyone
Plenty of cat food. wink, wink

When you arrive at your new place, everyone will be able to shower and get to sleep and you won't have to dig through boxes to find what you need.

If a moving company is moving your things, take anything sentimental with you. Tow a trailer if you must. They can't replace baby pictures or your wedding gown.

Mine made it okay, by the way.

3. Repairing nail holes.

Fill small holes with Spackle, then dab with a paper towels for textured walls. Let dry and paint.

For large holes, you will need joint compound.

In a pinch? Use toothpaste!

4. Plan for the first meal in your new place.

By the end of the first day of unpacking, everyone is tired and hungry and probably sick of take-out. Plan a simple meal in advance. One jar of spaghetti sauce, pasta, and a loaf of french bread is quick, easy, and hearty.

This tip only works if your pots and dishes arrive. Otherwise, you end up eating tacos for days off of Christmas dishes.

5. If you are moving out of town, make sure your prescriptions are updated and refilled. It may take some time before you find a new doctor or a pharmacy you like.

6. When traveling with a fish, the car's cup holder works nicely.

Don't ask.

7. Never let a mover ship any personal documents (social security cards, insurance policies, birth certificates, pending bills, etc.) Always take them with you. Otherwise, they could get lost or worse- stolen.

This is one thing that has never happened to me. I take after my grandmother. Important stuff stays in my purse. Just kidding.

8. When traveling with a cat or other pet who can't stay in a hot car for a long time, plan for picnics in the shade when stopping for meals.

You can also stop at a curbside pick-up restaurant and just eat take-out in the car. Take-out in a hotel room after a long drive is also much nicer and more relaxing than searching for a restaurant at 10:00 PM. Fast food gets old, fast. Get it? Fast? Food?

Any other tips you would like to share about moving, packing, getting a house ready for a new owner or tenant? I'd love to read them!

What God Will Do

What does God do when your life is going along smoothly, happily, without a real care in the world, (compared to a mother whose child is hungry and she has nothing to feed her or a father who is struck down with cancer and can no longer work?)

What does God do when you think you've been through it all, an ongoing battle with depression, the stuff of life that happens, but what sometimes feels like it happens all at once?

What does God do when your child loves her school, her friends, is doing well academically, and you feel so blessed in the opportunity that (you think) you know is rare?

What does God do when you fall in love with your church, your home, your neighbors and you are so grateful (but never grateful enough,) savoring in the moment in life when everything is going along smoothly, happily, without a real care in the world?

I'll tell you.

God moves you.

He challenges you.

He plucks your family from their cozy nest and plops them in what seems to be the middle of nowhere.

He lets tiny battles of sadness and anxiety rise up in what was once a Cease Fire Agreement.

He leads you to a new school that makes you a little unsure, but thankful nonetheless.

He allows a moving company to make such a mess, such an inept attempt at packing, storing and moving household goods that even the cynical you is still in disbelief.

What does God do?

He knows all, sees all, is in control over all and all the while He never takes His eyes off of you and your little family still shaking off the goose down you left behind in your cozy nest.

Without explanation. Without excuse. But not without purpose.

What do you do?

You wait. You pray. You cry. You laugh at the absurdity,the disbelief, and the frustrations.

You settle in the new cozy nest that you've found once again called faith. You lean not unto your own understanding but rely on His Will, His Love, His Sovereignty.

In your own humanness and shortcomings, you try to fluff this faith nest for your little family, nuzzle them and find shelter from the cold.

You give thanks that your living God, the one true God has created this nest called faith.

And you wait to see what He will do next.

This is why cats were never nomads.

Several people have commented and asked about how Maggie coped with the move. Rather, they've really wanted to know how I coped with moving Maggie.

Y'all are sweet, considerate people.

Well.

It took us about four days to arrive at our new home. Two of those four days were spent driving across Texas. Everyone knows that Texas is its own country. Not because the people are proud but, because it is huge.

I'll just tell y'all now that Maggie did not ride in the limo.

For most of the trip, Maggie was fine. She just slept in her carrier, rested next to our daughter in the Pilot. Maggie's problem is not riding in the car; it is stopping in the car. See, when the car stops for long periods of time, Maggie thinks it is time to get out. She starts to meow and whine and literally shake the carrier's door with her paw.

"Guaaarrrd!"

Then she runs her tiny tin cup along the cage door in defiance.

"When I get out of here, I'll show them!"

"Guaaarrrd!"

On our first hotel stop, Maggie got out of her carrier, looked around and hissed. We realized that she saw herself in the mirror and gave herself the business. When she understood that the uppity, arrogant, non-threatening, fat cat was just her, she relaxed and fell into her normal routine.

She ate like there's no tomorrow.

With each hotel stop, Maggie did the same thing. Sniffed around. Meowed. Ate. Used the potty box. Then she would relax.

Once, I think she looked at me and said with her cat eyes,"Is this the place? Can't we just live here? I'm tired of riding in the car."

Or maybe that was me talking to Hubs.

Anyway. Maggie survived and did very well for a cat with bladder control problems. She's just glad we are out of the car and finally home.

Me too, Maggie. Me, too.

Regular, Creamy or Al Dente?

Did you hear that?

That was me sighing with relief because I now have Internet access. The modem came via UPS yesterday. I'm sitting here at the laptop with my Diet Coke. Could life be more perfect?

I'd like to go on record and tell y'all that, although I feel like I am smack dab in the middle of nowhere, this town does have some modern amenities. I mean, we do have indoor plumbing and central heat and air.

However.

I am going to have to send Mama a grocery list because apparently the truck that delivers White Lily flour and Jim Dandy grits does not drive this far west. The grocery stores only carry Gold Medal flour and Quaker grits.

They mean well, I'm sure.

Bless their hearts.

Now, I must go and catch up on two weeks of blogging, so just be patient. I promise to return to my regular drivel by tomorrow.

Points to the person who knows where the title of this post is from.

Edited to add: The answer is My Cousin Vinny. Here is a clip (quote is near the end.)

Coffee and Prozac

Well, I still haven't found the German Coffee Pot, but I did happen upon a nice Chinese one at Wal-mart. Now I'll have two coffee pots on hand for any caffiene emergency, so if any of you happen to stop by one day, rest assured that your Juan Valdez hospitality needs will be met.

Dinner was excellent. We went for steak and one thing about living in New Mexico is that there is no shortage of beef. I'm so glad I never jumped on the vegan chuckwagon.

I hope to get internet service soon. There have been other pressing needs (like searching for coffee pots and restaurants) but, let me tell you that blogging at the library is starting to get a bit creepy. There are people in here who wheeze heavily and one guy with headphones talked to his computer.

I'm glad they keep those vertical blinds open. Goodness knows what would go on in here if they didn't.

Also, I have to hurry and get Internet fast or the librarians may start to recognize me and that would hurt my anti-library reputation.

As for the Prozac, don't worry. Yet.

Give me my Chinese coffee pot and DSL, and the tremors will stop.

;>)

The Tale Of The German Coffee Pot or Why My Husband is Taking Me Out To Dinner

We are here. All of our stuff hasn't arrived yet, but we're settling in.

Note to moving people- If you show up at some one's house, especially a someone who has a lot of dishes and what-nots, and you already have stuff on your truck, and let's say the someone tells you that there is no way on God's green earth that all of her stuff is going to fit on the truck, LISTEN TO HER.

I'm just sayin.'

And let's say that when you promise that the rest of the stuff will go on a second truck and that it will arrive just a few days after the first truck and the someone who has a lot of dishes and what-nots pretty much tells you she doesn't believe it, LISTEN TO HER.

All hypothetical, of course.

We've been in our house for two whole days. Besides unwrapping dish after dish and discovering that the movers packed my onions in with other food items, we have been bored to tears.

I, personally have been driven to tears because after two whole days of unwrapping dish after dish, I still haven't found my coffee pot.

In the middle of my own personal Operation Chaos, Hubs and Daughter decided that they would make up folks songs for entertainment. (We still don't have cable.) Hubs was playing the Irish flute and Daughter was playing a Native American flute. (We have odd musical instruments.)

During the folk song musical, Hubs made up a song about a woman who could not find her German coffee pot. I have no idea why it is German. Somehow it segued from the Irish flute.

I then made up a folk song about the man married to the wife who could not find her German coffee pot and now we are all going out to dinner.

This is where you would insert a really good Christopher Guest clip if you had the energy, which I don't, because I can't find my German coffee pot.

P.S. I am blogging at the library. Intercessory prayers would be appreciated.

To Southfork, James.

If any of you get an itch to take a long road trip halfway across the country with a cranky cat, a child, a husband, suitcases, and more snacks than should be allowed in a moving vehicle, let me give you a piece of advice.

Don't do it unless you absolutely have to. Or unless you have a full supply of Diet Coke. And some really cool kid movies.

We just arrived in our new hometown in New Mexico. The terrain is a lot like West Texas, including all of the black, white and brown spots of cattle moving and grazing on the vast open plains.

Well, some of those brown spots aren't exactly moving. Ahem.

And sometimes the wind blows across the vast open plains and you catch a whiff of the brown spots that aren't, you know, moving. My husband calls it the smell of money.

I say let's put that money in a bank made of airtight containers.

Anyhoo.

On our way here, we stopped in Amarillo, Texas. Hubs and I had been to Amarillo years ago where we ate at The Big Texan.

The Big Texan is the home of the 72-oz. steak. If you eat the entire steak within a certain amount of time, it is free.

But, here's the clincher. In addition to the colon-clogging slice of beef, you have to eat all of the sides. Seriously, it's that little bowl of cowboy beans that will send you over the edge.

The Big Texan also offers a free limo ride to and from the restaurant. Hubs thought it would be fun for our daughter, (at least that's his story) and he called for a driver to pick us up at the hotel. We waited in the Hampton Inn lobby for our limo to arrive.

It was a white, stretch limo with huge longhorns on the front.

Our driver was wearing a cowboy hat and wrangler jeans. I looked down, expecting to see cowboy boots, but instead, he was wearing authentic, heavy-duty work boots. OSHA has gone and infiltrated the safety standards of the cowboy limo driver and ruined it for the rest of us.

We climbed in our limo and cruised on down I-40 with the longhorns on the grill leading the way. I felt just like J.R. right before he got shot. It was exactly like the old western days when cowboys would climb in their stretch stagecoach to go out for a good steak.

Very authentic.

When we stepped in The Big Texan, we were surrounded by a taxidermist's retirement fund. Every animal that has fur is on the walls. Vegans, turn your heads.

Our waiter, Kyle wore a cowboy hat, boots (not orthopedic ones), and an authentic sheriff's badge. You never know when someone needs to be arrested and taken in to the Marshall in the limo.

Hubs and my daughter drank from plastic boots. I felt safe knowing Deputy Kyle was close by in case they started to get crazy and start smashing their plastic boots on people's heads. A brawl will spoil your steak dinner every time.

Our steaks were delicious. You just get better steaks out west. My peach tea was the best I've ever tasted.

We quickly toured the gift shop, complete with boutique quality rattlesnake items but bought only a few postcards. Our daughter was happy with her free cowgirl hat and empty plastic boot cup.

On the way back to our hotel, our cowboy limo driver tied a special knot in our daughter's cowgirl hat. He said her hat had a hurricane knot and she needed another knot that would loosen if it got caught on anything.

She is now officially ready to rope any stray calf on the range.

All within OSHA standards, of course.

Good-Byes: Part Two

Funny thing about animals. They just know.

The morning the movers were going to arrive to load up all of our household goods, my daughter and I drove to our house to meet them. We hopped out of the car and there, sitting on the porch, was our old friend, Pilgrim.

We hadn't seen Pilgrim in a while. To refresh your memory, Pilgrim was the intruder on the porch. The sweet one who liked to lounge on the wicker furniture. (The one who could have easily replaced Maggie.)

You may remember him from this photo:





I went inside to get things ready and my daughter stayed on the porch to visit with Pilgrim. After a while, my daughter came inside. Pilgrim lounged on the furniture a little longer and then he disappeared once again.

That evening, I was at our house, cleaning and packing up last minute things. I saw a gentleman begin to walk across our front yard and I went outside to ask him if he needed any help. (My polite way of asking why he was in our yard.)

"I'm looking for a cat," he said.

I asked him to describe the cat, thinking that was a pretty lame excuse for someone who was poking around. When he began to describe the cat, I knew this man was for real.

"He is gray and white with a bobbed off tail," he told me.

I told him we knew his cat and that my daughter named him "Pilgrim."

He laughed and said that Pilgrim's real name was Max. As we began to talk there in the driveway, I learned that Pilgrim had been a stray. This man and his wife took him in.

Pilgrim still liked to roam, so they let him keep a bit of his wild side by allowing him out during the day. They were worried this evening because Pilgrim did not come home on time.

As we chatted, the man's wife rode up on her bicycle. She had been out looking for Pilgrim as well. I told her that we knew he was cared for just by looking at him, and that he was so special to our daughter.

Within a few minutes, Pilgrim (Max) slowly walked across the street from the neighbor's yard. The woman reached down to pick him up and he began to purr. I reached over to pet him one last time as he nestled his head against his owner.

Bye, Pilgrim. You are welcome on the porch any time.

Good-byes: Part One

There has been a whirlwind of activities at our house with packing up things ourselves, getting things ready for the movers, cleaning the house, cancelling services, starting services, and all of those little tasks that must be completed.

In the middle of all the chaos there have been some sweet surprises.

One morning, we spent a few moments on our dock by the pond. We do this quite often, nearly every day in the summer. Since we moved in last summer, we've fed the turtles and the fish. In fact, I think we may be their primary source of Bunny bread.

Sometimes we see only fish. Sometimes we just catch a glimpse of one turtle's head in the brackish water. Many mornings the turtles circle around at a distance, popping up their heads to observe us, but never swimming close enough for us to see them.

On this particular morning, as soon as we stepped on the dock, the fish swirled beneath us, just as they always do. Then we saw a turtle, then another, and another. Pretty soon, there were five turtles swimming and diving and waiting for their treat. Within a few minutes, a turtle we've never seen before, in the entire year we've lived here, swam up to our dock.

At first he wasn't sure he could trust us. He's probably experienced the feeling of a hook in the middle of bits of bread before. As the other turtles nibbled, this new friend peered up at us beneath the water's surface, investigating our motives.

Eventually, he trusted us or found the yeasty smell of Bunny bread too tempting, and he took a bite. Still, he never popped his head above the water so we could see him clearly. He stayed just below, in the comfortable, safe surroundings of the pond.

Just like all of the other turtles, he received a name, Leather. And he joined with Mossy, Rocky, Buddy, and the little guy we just call Little Guy to tell us goodbye, as we leave our pond hoping to return to them one day.

With a full loaf of Bunny bread.

Room without a view.

I can't believe it's been almost a week since I wrote a post. Wow, how time flies when you're not having fun.

OH, I kid. Packing and moving and cleaning out the refrigerator is fun. In fact, I think we'll plan that for our next vacation's agenda.

The fact is that I'm tired, but I am not too tired to blog. If I ever tell you that I am too tired to blog, then send an ambulance to my home. I guess that would be tough since y'all don't really know where I live.

But anyhoo.

Our movers arrived earlier in the week. There is something unsettling about watching a perfect stranger sort through and handle all of your belongings while you stand by and just cross your fingers, hoping they don't break anything and then you buy them lunch.

Now we are staying in a hotel that is like a little efficiency apartment, complete with a kitchen and working oven.

Staying in a hotel room with a kitchen is very positive in the planning stages, but once you've watched weird strangers pack your dishes all day, you kind of wish you had a regular room without even a microwave so that you are forced to go out to eat. Instead, you end up making macaroni and cheese for dinner using the hotel's cheap, thin pots and plastic spoons.

The awesome part is that you can feel good about serving up the mac 'n cheese you made in the hotel room even though Chili's makes the exact same kind from the blue box and everything because your little girl thanked God that her mommy is a good cook during the blessing.

And with that last run-on sentence, I think I'll close.

More of the exciting saga of moving tomorrow...

Because a list is as good as I can do right now.

The last few days have been so busy that I believe there is an actual cyclone swirling around me. In fact, they may name a major hurricane for me.

Hurricane Melanie, Cat-5. Forget boarding up your windows. Just get out of her way.

I have been going, going and now I am gone. If I were a rapper they would name me Poop Dog.

See? The fatigue is affecting me.

Here is a list of things I have done today.

1. Sold a car. Signed papers in the rain. Avoided lightning strikes.

2. Sprayed Easy Off to clean my oven later. HATE cleaning the oven. HATE it.

3. Picked up comforter from the cleaners.

4. Went to the drug store.

5. Took child to the doctor for final check-up.

6. Went to Target and bought kitty litter pads because I have to move with a huge cat with kidney issues. (Don't tell the Hampton Inn!)

7. Got the Venti Mocha, non-fat, add the whip.

8. Grilled pork tenderloin for dinner.

9. Cleaned the fish bowl.

10. Made pot of coffee that I am about to enjoy.

Ahhh... blogging, coffee and HGTV. Relaxation awaits.

How was your day?

It was a great shopping experience, except for the heaving.

School starts in just a few weeks and in the middle of it all, we will be packing up and moving. We'll arrive at our new home days before school begins, so our shopping opportunities are slipping away.

So yesterday we headed for the mall for some nice fall-ish clothes that do not cause heat stroke. To the people who have decided school should start in August, the hottest month of the year, I have one question for you.

Are you mad?

Before we began our capri shopping trek, we stopped at Chick-Fil-A. When we walked up to the counter, I knew there was a problem.

An entire area of the food court was roped off and a huge Zamboni-like mop thingy was parked in the middle. A man was fiddling with the cap of a drain with his foot. I never saw anything coming from the drain, but I suspected that something foul could emerge at any moment.

After we got our delicious nuggets, we walked away, far, far away from the Zamboni Zone and found a table. I opened up my Meal #5 and saw the source of the problem. The restrooms were closed and a huge sign blocked the entrance.

Let's put it all together.

Roped off region. Zamboni. Drain. Closed restrooms.

EWWWWW! All I can figure is that the restrooms were backing up or about to back up into the food court. FOOD COURT. Right next to my beloved Chick-Fil-A.

EWWWWW!

We scarfed down our meals from far, far away and I saw a man begin to drive the Zamboni. Another man stood by with a mop.

Um, yeah. Like that's going to do anything.

We didn't stay long enough to actually observe the cleaning. Thank goodness.

We finished our lunch from a distance and took a detour to our favorite stores, where we did find some great fall-ish clothes for school.

Shopping for fall clothes in July while watching a Zamboni.

Surreal?

Nope. This is my life.

Leaving Prints

Hitting the snooze button once more.

Pulling the sheet up over your head.

Turning on the light.

Holding a toothbrush.

Stirring coffee.

Spreading peanut butter on soft white bread.

Penning a note on a napkin.

Pouring milk over Cheerios.

Patting a child gently awake.

Combing through tangled hair.

Wiping a tear.

Grabbing keys and locking the door.

Gripping the wheel.

Twisting the lipstick at the traffic light.

Swiping a debit card.

Carrying groceries while holding an umbrella.

Sorting the laundry.

Drying dishes.

Writing a check for the mortgage.

Answering a cell phone while clicking the keyboard.

Opening the refrigerator door.

Stirring spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove.

Folding your hands to pray at the dinner table.

Turning the faucet to start a bath.

Holding a book.

Hugging a child.

Pulling the covers up to tuck them in.

Turning out the light.

Setting the alarm to start the day all over again.

Good, clean, grass-stained fun.

Somewhere in my neighborhood yesterday, a perfectly sane woman was inside her air-conditioned home watching HGTV and drinking Diet Coke because it was hot as blue blazes outside.

Then she called her friend on the phone and told her about the crazy woman down the street who was mowing her lawn on one of the hottest days of the summer so far.

Um, that was me. The crazy one.

I realize that it was absurd and beyond all reason to be outside in the scorching heat, but the new mower, it was calling me.

That's right. I said NEW mower.

Last summer my husband was away with work and I was left with yard duty. We could have hired someone and, in fact, the kid next door did a fine job mowing the front yard. All I had to do was mow the back.

With a push mower.

My neighbors were amazed. The other wives who sometimes mow their lawns could not believe that my mower was without power. In essence, folks, I was powerless.

Two of the neighbors nearly forced their self-propelled Cadillac mowers on me.

The difference between a push mower and a self-propelled mower was amazing. It was like going your whole life without Cool Whip on your dessert and then some sweet, old aunt tops your pumpkin pie with fluffy goodness one Thanksgiving and your life will never be the same.

If you are scratching your head or chuckling, perhaps you've never had to mow with a push mower.

Let me explain it to you. A push mower is just one step above Amish.

No offense to the Amish. I love their quilts.

Seriously, I can relate to the Amish. I know what it's like to be picked on; I'm baptist. People still think we don't dance.

Hello. Have you never been to our Vacation Bible Schools? Have you not seen the cool hand motions? It's crazy fun. Crazy, I tell ya. We just don't swing our hips or shake our fannies.

At least, not at church. Wink. Wink.

Anyhoo.

A few weeks ago, my husband was mowing the backyard when I heard the mower abruptly go silent.

He came inside and said, "The mower is kaput. I hit a stump or something."

Y'all, I was elated. I knew this meant that we were getting a new mower. (I know. I need to get out more.)

We headed to Lowe's that afternoon and discussed the self-propelled option. I told him about how wonderful it was and how much he would love it. I didn't use the Cool Whip analogy, although it would have been useful at the time.

The difference in price between the push mower and the self-propelled mower was a mere thirty bucks.

I, of course, asked if I was worth thirty bucks.

He, of course, paused to think about it.

It's a good thing I am confident in our relationship.

In the end, we bought the self-propelled mower. I was tickled to death. (I know. I know. My own husband thinks I need to get out more.)

So, yesterday, I was looking at the blades of grass which touched the sky, and the mower called me from the shed. Or maybe I was hallucinating from the heat.

Either way, I mowed the yard with the self-propelled mower and it was easy as pumpkin pie with Cool Whip. In fact, I almost wanted to dance.

Shhh... don't tell the deacons.

A New Kind Of Breakfast Club

We went to the movies yesterday and I saw some of the best advertising creativity I have seen in a while.

JCPenney has just launched a new market strategy using the theme from The Breakfast Club. For now, the ad is being shown only in movie theatres. I tried to find a link to the video to share with you, but I couldn't fine one.

I LOVE commercials. Good commercials. Using psychology and creativity to change human behavior fascinates me. I know. I am a nerd.

Have you seen the commercial? What did you think? Anyone find a link? Email me.

And, JCPenney, if you're reading, feel free to send me some free stuff.

She has a complex.

As usual, I am going to update you with Maggie's latest traumatic kennel experience.

Because I know you are biting your nails, waiting to find out just how awful it was for her.

Plus, I have absolutely nothing else to write.

We picked up Maggie yesterday at Ye Ole Patient Pet People's Kennel for the last time before we move. I asked the staff to make sure she had all of her shots while she was boarded so that she would be current for our upcoming road trip.

We are driving several days to our new home and I'd hate to pull into the Hampton Inn at midnight and have the hotel staff turn us away because Maggie was not up to date on her rabies shot.

Maybe that's what happened with Mary and Joseph; they weren't current on their shots. The "no room in the inn" line was just a facade.

Oh, yeah. That was smart. Send them to the stable with all of the animals. None of them had rabies. Sheesh.

I digress.

So anyhoo. I asked about Maggie's shots and found out that some states do not recognize the 3-year shot that Maggie got last summer. Well, you guessed it. The poor girl had to get an extra shot.

While we waited, the receptionist asked,"Is Maggie happy with you?"

I couldn't help but picture Maggie on a couch somewhere and a man with a notebook and pen recording all of her deepest thoughts...

"Feelings of abandonment?"

"Hmmm... it's all your mother's fault."

I assured the receptionist that Maggie was completely happy (as much as possible for a cat) and that she adored my daughter who, by the way, was totally cheating on Maggie, petting two kittens awaiting adoption.

Needle sticks and unfaithful owners. Someone call the ASPCA.

When I convinced the receptionist that Maggie was a happy cat, she said, "I'm glad she's happy with someone. She hates us."

Not that she took it personally or anything.

Another kennel tech spoke up,"That's how I'm going to act when I get old."

"Me, too," I said, "if someone puts me in a home, I'm going to hiss, too."

Hear that, Hubs? Prepare for the hissing when you come see me for the yearly visit in the Old Folks Home.

And, please. No shots.

;>)

Ahhhh...

That's the sound of a family and its cat back home from a weekend trip.

I think the patient ladies at the kennel are even happier than us.

More later...

New Creatures

Last summer my daughter and I were given a tiny treasure. The little girls who live next door found a caterpillar and, knowing that my daughter loves all kinds of insects, they brought it over for official identification.

We knew it was special from its black and yellow markings...

Today I am writing over at Internet Cafe, so be sure to grab a cup of joe and join me.

Works for Me: Passing Along Books and Magazines

My daughter loves to read. She has received many books as gifts. There are some she keeps and reads again. For the rest, we pass them along.

1. Be sure the books are still in good (almost great!) condition.

2. Call your local library and ask if they would like a donation. Many do not take them for their shelves, but use them towards a book sale fundraiser.

3. Ask your school's librarian if they would like them.

4. If there is a children's home or shelter in your area, ask them if they would like children's books as well. Always make sure the books do not contain any violent material. (Even Spiderman could be scary in their situation.)

5. Magazines can be collected and given to hospitals. Be sure to call first. Ask for the hospital's volunteer coordinator.

6. If there is a prison in your area, you or your church may want to collect appropriate books and magazines for inmates. Be sure to check first. Some areas have a prison ministry in place.

No matter where you decide, always, always, always call ahead. They may not need the books or are unable to accept them for other reasons. Many agencies and organizations have policies in place about donations.

For more tips, see Shannon.

Dr. Duncan Hines could run circles around Dr. Phil.

In an answer to this, I baked a huge pan of brownies last night, which is perfectly rational and healthy.

I like to put the fun in dysfunctional. Adding a few chocolate chips is also helpful.

With the whirlwind of events involved in moving, I am trying to keep a sense of normalcy and peace in our household. It is also the summer, the time when children grasp hold of every inch of whimsy within their reach and hold on for dear life until the first day of school.

I am trying to keep that whimsy within my daughter's reach while keeping those brownies a respectable distance from mine.

It is a delicate balance.

So, you may visit here and find nothing one day, rantings the next, or an off-the-wall, crazy post about insects or a trip to Wal-mart. Or all of the above.

I've always said, being crazy is the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind.

How is your week starting out?

Stress

If stressed is desserts backwards, I am a BIG, HUGE, slice of cake.

A backwards one.

The move, it is getting to me. SO, if I sound a bit nuts, well, I am.

Real post later-

There they go again.

Edited to add-

Jenni got it!

The quotes are from So I Married An Axe Murderer, a Mike Myers classic!!

My in-laws love to travel. They have been on some pretty exciting adventures including Antarctica, South America, Ireland, and the African jungle.

They've met some pretty interesting people and one or two gorillas.

Now they are in Scotland.

No offense to the Scots. I know it is a lovely country. From what I have seen, it is absolutely a lush, green paradise, but the first time I heard my in-laws say they were headed to Scotland, all I could think of was this-

"We have a piper down. I repeat. A piper is down."

And I have to say this-

"The Colonel, with his wee beady eyes. And that smug look on his face, 'Oh, you're gonna buy my chicken."

It is apparent that I need to get out more.

Points to people who know where this insane humor is from! Hubs- you can't guess.

Hint- It's not from Scotland.

;>)

An old Pink Panther joke is soooo tempting.

Yesterday afternoon one of my favorite Peeps dropped by and with his visit, he left behind a messy trail of toxins.

I'm talking, of course, about The Bug Man.

One night last week, while I was loading the dishwasher, I noticed a few ants in my tea glass. Oh, how I hate sugar ants.

I'd just received a postcard reminder from Buginix for their usual visit. Most of the time, they only spray outside the house, but I called Monday morning to ask them to come inside and take care of our dear friends, the ant family.

I use the term Friends loosely.

I have learned way too much about insects from my own child and from Arnold, The Bug Man himself. One thing Arnold told me on his last visit was this-

"Don't try to spray the ants yourself and don't clean before I arrive."

Spraying the ants yourself makes them scatter and can actually make the problem worse. Cleaning before he arrives removes their little pheromone ant trail and it is difficult for him to see from whence they come.

Yesterday morning, as difficult as it was, I did not spray the kitchen counters with anything. I saw a few ants just lollygagging around, but none of them had any sense of purpose.

Apparently there is at least one market not tapped into by Rick Warren.

So, anyhoo, I made myself a little solution of sugar water and left over Toaster Strudel icing, put it out on a paper towel and BAM! Emeril himself could not have made a better ant meal.

The Bug Man called me to let me know he was on his way, and asked if I could tell where they were coming from. I told him about my little ant sugar solution and he was elated.

When he arrived, he used some serious exterminator terminology like "Are they trailing today?" and I knew I'd climbed the rungs of the bug killer ladder.

I was in the cherry picker of bug killin,' my friends.

What was even more funny, is that he had a rookie in training with him. He showed him the little ant solution and the three of us watched the ants snack on it.

The Bug Man then told me about all of the amateur housewives he'd visited yesterday who had cleaned their counters and then declared,"The ants aren't here today."

The two of them rolled their eyes and he said,"You've made our job much easier."

Um, glad to help.

We continued to watch the little guys snack at the bar. One of the ants scurried away.

As it did, The Bug Man took out his official bug flashlight, and said,"What is THAT?"

His light formed a spotlight like a helicopter in a field, searching for the runaway suspect. I heard a search dog barking in the distance, but then I snapped out of it and realized it was just the dog next door.

"Oh my gosh. That is a dead body! This ant is carrying a dead body," The Bug Man discovered, then turned to me and said,"He is carrying away the ones you've already killed."

It was then that I knew we should have secured the crime scene.

I walked out of the kitchen and watched TV with my daughter as The Bug Man and The Rookie went to work. I could overhear the two of them talking ...

"We're going to bait them."

"Looks like they're coming from the outlet."

"Since she is already using a sugar water solution, we are going to go ahead and go with that."

Squirt, Squirt, Squirt.

They called me back in and The Bug Man explained the Plan of Action.

"We went ahead and mixed up a sugar water solution, but first I sprayed your Febreze to isolate the ants in this small area. That way they will go right to the bait. What we really want is the Queen. I've used a mild pesticide, Boric Acid, and mixed it with the sugar water. You should see results in a few days."

(And seriously, I am not sure what impressed me more. The fact that he went with my sugar water solution or that he cleaned the countertops with my Febreze!)

The two of them went outside to conquer the other annoying insects and I watched as the ants began to find their way to the deadly sugar mix. It didn't take long for them to "start trailing."

Within minutes, there were tiny black dots gathered around a blob of goo. They didn't notice that their friends were, ya know, dead.

If I listened closely with my new Bug Expert ears, I could almost hear them saying...

"Hey, guys! Look, sweet goo.... kinda tastes funny. Must be diet!"

"I can't feel my legs."

"What happened to Larry?"

"I dunno. Somebody better call him a cab."

Thursday Thirteen: Summer Epiphanies

1. How in the world did my grandmother do all of her housework, cook three hot meals a day and manage to keep her hair looking good in this heat?

Granny, I am forever grateful for the dishes you left me, and for the advice about locking my doors and how to act like a lady, but a summer survival guide would've been equally helpful.

2. My air conditioning is on and I am sweating.

3. All I did was dust and clean the bathrooms.

4. I actually paused to wipe my brow. Do people still say that? "Wipe your brow?"

5. I went to an elementary school without air conditioning. It was hot. Our junior high and high schools had AC but it never worked.

See, people. Drugs did not fry our brains. The heat did.

6. If it were not for the fact that the pond out back is totally gross and filled with bacteria, rain run-off, and beaver excrement, and for the fact that I have, you know, standards, I would be out there wading in it.

Not swimming. No. That would be totally redneck.

Ahem.

7. I would give a Paula Deen cookbook to just hang out with the polar bears right now.

8. Has anyone noticed that the new buzz word is "climate change?" They can't decide if we are slowing cooking or freezing to death. But, the weather, it is changing.

Thanks, Einstein.

9. I don't think I can get to 13. My brain is cooked.

10. That pond is looking pretty inviting...

Google Guffaw

My most disturbing, yet somehow most entertaining Google search yet.

"krispy kreme bathing suit calendar images"

Suddenly, I crave a custard-filled, chocolate-covered donut.

You know you're a Mom when...

You pick up the last bit of Toaster Strudel left by your daughter and begin to take a bite.



She stops you and says, "I licked it."



You eat it anyway.



Then you say,"I don't care. You're my kid."



But, oh how you wish she'd saved you some of the icing.

Works for Me: Reusing Dryer Sheets

My friend T knows how much I love a good tip. She shared this one with me.

Save your used dryer sheets. Wet them generously and use them to scrub soap scum. When finished, rinse well with clean water.

You will need at least two used dryer sheets to do this. (As soon as they are wet, they will shrink up.) You can use a new one but I like the idea of recycling the old ones.

The softener dissolves the soap scum and the sheet acts as an abrasive. It also smells great!

For more awesome tips, visit Shannon.

I draw the line at workout tapes by Fonda.

I got up yesterday with every intention of being productive.

We are moving in a little over a month and I have stuff to do. Important stuff. Plus, we had no milk, no bread and no Diet Coke. It was a state of shopping emergency at my house.

Finally, after a promise to get a Happy Meal, my daughter and I climbed into the car to get things done. Yes, M'am. We did.

Except for the climbing in the car part.

And getting things done.

I knew something was wrong when my keyless entry wouldn't work. I kept pushing the button because that is what you do when something doesn't work. You just keep trying over and over.

Nothing.

I had to use the caveman method of actually putting the key in the door's lock to unlock the driver's door. I climbed in, hit the unlock button for daughter.

Nothing.

Then I tried to start the car.

Nothing.

No clicking noise, no sound of effort.

Nothing.

It didn't even raise its fists at me.

We went inside the house and I called the roadside assistance service because have I mentioned that this is A BRAND NEW CAR?!

I then phoned the pizza people because I'd promised my daughter a Happy Meal and we are completely out of food, unless you count half a box of Wheat Thins and some hot chocolate mix.

The pizza arrived on time, but not the roadside assistance service.

We ate our pizza, which was delicious. I highly recommend ordering pizza in the middle of the day because it will arrive at your door hot and fresh. No one else is ordering pizza at 1:00 PM and the pizza people are just sitting on ready to rush out and deliver some gooey, cheesy goodness.

The roadside assistance service arrived after about 2 hours. I was at home, not actually stranded on the roadside, so I was not a high priority.

Understandably so. I would feel bad if he had zoomed by a woman with a screaming baby in a wet diaper on the side of the highway to come rescue me in the comforts of my home. With fresh pizza and all.

To my surprise, Tom the Tow Truck guy (who should be a new character on Cars, I might add) was very nice, courteous, and informative. He charged my battery and my Honda Pilot was up and running.

He offered to still tow the Pilot to the dealer or to follow me there. I decided on the latter, so daughter and I hopped in our Honda as Tom tailed us. He followed us all the way to the dealer and checked on us before he returned to rescuing other stranded women.

Tom suggested that, even though it was a new car, we could have a bad battery. I had not left any lights or other battery-draining gadgets on, so something was definitely wrong. I still had to wait for the Honda people to figure it out.

Y'all. I don't like mechanics. I always feel like they assume I'm a woman and I don't know nothin' about fixin' no cars. You could put waiting in an auto shop right up there with waiting a the Post Office.

In fact, my ultimate torture would be a convention for auto mechanics and postal workers held at your local public library. It would be my personal Gitmo.

But, this visit was less than torturous. It only involved a few used car salesmen and a lot of games of Tic Tac Toe.

Turns out, Tom was right. It was a bad battery. So, new car buyers, be warned. You might want the dealer to check that battery before you roll out of the sales lot. Ours was covered under warranty and I was fortunate enough to have roadside assistance.

And a helpful tow truck driver named Tom.

O'er the ramparts we watched.

Last year we moved into our house shortly before the 4th of July. Most of the furniture was arranged and a few what-nots were in place when all of the neighborhood festivities began.

My husband was out of town, so daughter and I stayed home for the day. We grilled hamburgers and I made apple pie.

Well, Mrs. Callender made it. I just warmed it up for her.

The sun started to set when we heard a pop, then another, and another. The neighbors were setting off fireworks.

Now, these were no wimpy fireworks. These fireworks went up in the air and all. Over the trees. Like those fancy ones they set off at the city park.

Daughter and I grabbed a blanket and ran outside. We sat in her fort and watched as the party began. It was all fun and roses until the bugs decided to join the party. We rolled up our blanket, went inside, and sat in our upstairs family room in front of the window.

For hours.

It was good, comfortable, American fun.

So this year we were just tickled to tell hubs about the fabulous fireworks we'd get to enjoy from the comforts of home. We pulled up our upholstered chairs to the upstairs window, along with the ottoman and waited. In the air conditioning. Without mosquitoes. While eating brownies.

The 4th is all about remembering sacrifice.

The fireworks were even better than last year. They soared up over the trees, reflecting in the pond out back in shades of red, white and blue.

It was quite the display of pyrotechnic patriotism. The neighbors won't be able to afford to send their kids to college, but hey, it was totally worth it.

Hubs fell asleep in the chair. I tucked daughter in for bed. She lay awake, watching the fireworks from her window. Within a few minutes, she drifted off to sleep as the display of dangerous entertainment continued.

It was a fine 4th indeed.

Forget the pie. I'll have a slice of good, old-fashioned, air-conditioned, bug-free Americana right here.

One Word Meme

I saw this over at Linda's and it sounded like fun. Although, it is very difficult for me to do anything that involves just ONE word.



1. Where is your cell phone? purse

2. Your significant other? Batman

3. Your hair? Help!

4. Your mother? Honest

5. Your father? Hardworking

6. Your favorite thing? Motherhood

7. Your dream last night? Weird

8. Your favorite drink? Diet Coke (sorry, two words!)

9. Your dream/goal? Newspaper

10. The room you’re in? Living

11. Your church? Welcoming

12. Your fear? Losing #6

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Here

14. Where were you last night? Home

15. What you’re not? Risk Taker

16. Muffins? Cupcakes

17. One of your wish list items? Wooden Indian

18. Where you grew up? Georgia

19. The last thing you did? Sip coffee

20. What are you wearing? pajamas

21. Your TV? cartoon

22. Your pets? Odd

23. Your computer? Lap

24. Your life? Good

25. Your mood? Changes

26. Missing someone? Grandmother

27. Your car? Blue

28. Something you’re not wearing? Shoes

29. Favorite store? Target

30. Your summer? Short

31. Like(love) someone? My Batman

32. Your favorite color? pink

33. Last time you laughed? reading

34. Last time you cried? dinner

35. Who will repost this? Roxanne??

Independence

It has become a bit of a blog tradition here to post on Independence Day. I've shared my thoughts on sparklers and how grateful I am for those fighting for freedom.

Well, this year, I thought I'd just preach.

Oh, I'm kidding. There's no way I could pass the collection plate over the Internet.

I listen to talk radio a lot. I read a lot. I try to stay informed. This is an election year. It's my civic duty to stay informed.

Everyone on television, radio, and the Internet seems to fall into one of two groups. I know what you're thinking. Democrat or Republican? Liberal or Conservative?

Nope. The Whiny and The Guilty.

The Whiny believe they do not have enough and they want more. The Guilty believe they have too much and they feel just awful about it.

A small minority in America, The Whiny and The Guilty get the most exposure on television, radio and the Internet.

So, what about the rest of us?

You could call us the silent majority. We are, I believe, the heart of America. We are neither whiny nor guilty.

We're frustrated about gas prices and rising costs of food and we are trying to make the best of it.

We would love for Downtown to be revived, but we're glad Wal-Mart helps make our family budget stretch a little more.

When times are hard, instead of blaming ourselves or others, we hunker down and help ourselves and others.

We understand the blessings that America has received. We don't take those blessings for granted. In fact, we are grateful. We want to responsibly share those blessings with others in our own country and abroad.

We believe that this country is still a great nation, yet we understand there is always room for improvement.

We wave flags at parades. We eat apple pie and watermelon and buy Old Navy t-shirts for the 4th of July.

We get discouraged about politicians but we still believe in The Constitution.

We go to church or at least respect another person's freedom to do so. We say,"Merry Christmas" as we place our donation in The Salvation Army's red kettle.

We're just everyday folks. We don't get any air time, but we're still here paying our taxes, saving for retirement, and helping our neighbors.

This 4th of July, we might spend a little extra money on sparklers for our kids. You might see us grilling hot dogs and hamburgers with our friends. We'll go all out to celebrate our freedom and we won't feel guilty about it.

Most importantly, we'll remember the ones and The One who made us free.

This 4th of July, we'll stay home to celebrate. We're watching the prices at the pump. Chances are, we're buying our apple pie and watermelon at Wal-mart, and our Old Navy t-shirts were on sale.

We aren't complaining. We're just taking care of ourselves and our families while celebrating the many opportunities that make it possible.

Hey, it's Independence Day.

In a word: Exciting

A few years ago I started reading BooMama. My friend Nancy directed me to her blog and from the first paragraph I was hooked. She's Southern. She's funny. She's real.

I started to blog myself and soon I found Big Mama. Having a daughter of my own, Big Mama's stories about Caroline made me laugh and cry all at the same time. Plus, she is from Texas and has great hair. What's not to love?

These ladies are two of a group of bloggers I read each and every day. Now they have got some seriously exciting stuff going on. Both of them are now contributors for the LifeWay blog called All Access.

Did you read that?

LIFEWAY.

If you are Baptist or have ever driven past a Baptist church, you may have heard of it. LifeWay is the primary publisher for about 99.9% of the material in many Baptist and other churches.

Well.

Last weekend BooMama and Big Mama attended Deeper Still in Atlanta to blog for All Access.

DEEPER STILL which translates to Beth Moore, Priscilla Shirer, and Kay Arthur.

Can it get any more exciting?

Yes, it can. You can head over to All Access this week and read BooMama's and Big Mama's posts on their Deeper Still experience. I promise you will not be disappointed.

Go ahead and mark it in your favorites while you are there because you'll want to keep reading every day about how God is moving in a powerful way in the lives of women across this country.

Thanks, Sophie and Melanie (BooMama and Big Mama respectively) for sharing your testimonies and yourselves with us.

May God use you both in a mighty way in the blogosphere!

Works For Me: Five Ingredients Recipe Edition

Crock Pot Stir Fry Beef Strips with Mushrooms and Peppers

1 (1-pound) top round steak, trimmed
1 (16 oz.) package frozen pepper stir fry mix
1 can condensed beefy mushroom or golden mushroom soup, undiluted
1 (8 oz.) package sliced fresh mushrooms
1 (1 ox.) envelope onion soup mix

Slice steak diagonally across the grain into thin strips. Combine steak, frozen stir-fry mix, soup, mushrooms, and soup mix in a 3 1/2 or 4 quart slow cooker. Mix well. Cover and cook on HIGH 3-4 hours or on LOW 6-7 hours.

Serve over rice. Yields 4 servings. Double for a large family.

I usually do not like frozen peppers but they work well for this recipe. The steak will be very tender and the sauce is yummy!

See Shannon for more great five ingredient recipes!

Bottles

I was telling Hubs the other day about the times I have cried while watching the news. Oddly enough to some, election results have made me sob. I cried watching the tragedy at Waco, the Oklahoma City Bombing, and the OJ verdict.

I cried watching the images of Katrina and the Tsunami of 2004.

You could say I'm a blubbering mess.

But, I also cry at happy things, too...

Like when my daughter was born and I could not believe it was all over. And just beginning.

Or the many, many times in church when God brought me to my knees over the awesomeness of His Love.

Tears are funny. Sometimes the taste of them reminds us of pain, sometimes grief, sometimes joy or laughter.

The Bible tells us that God has kept all of our tears in a bottle. That image is amazing to me. I've always thought that people save things in bottles that are precious to them. I suppose our tears are precious to God, special enough to save and keep, to hold and look at, reminders of our humanness.

I picture rows upon rows of bottles in God's closet, not in the literal sense of course. Rows of different bottles made of different colored glass. Some of them with corks, others caps. All of them are filled with tears. Each tear represents something in our lives that God fully understands. He looks at our tears with complete compassion and love.

Somewhere in the midst of millions of bottles, I imagine a tiny bottle without a cap made of rose-colored glass and filled with tears. One tear is from a broken heart in high school, one from a news broadcast, and the other a birth. The bottle rests on a shelf in a closet and there on its label it reads, "Melanie."

And that just makes me want to cry.

Art Linkletter, eat your heart out.

Today was my last day of teaching Sunday School. It was bittersweet in that I really need the time that I normally use studying and planning to get ready for our move, but I am going to miss the kids.

Pre-K and Kindergarten children require so much energy, yet they are one of the most rewarding groups to teach. One moment a child is throwing paint at you and the next he is giving you a bear hug.

And one more thing. They are hilarious!

I give you some quotes I have heard over the years of teaching 4 and 5-year olds in Sunday School and VBS.



After seeing that my assistant (a woman in her 60's) brought Hershey's Kisses for a treat, a little 4-year old boy said, "Tell the Grandma teacher not to give me chocolate. It gets me jacked up."

While making a collage of what we would serve Jesus for dinner, a little girl turned to me and said, "Sometimes I drink beer."

On Palm Sunday, I wanted to introduce the beginning of the Easter story. I asked the class, "Who can tell me what is important about Easter?"

The Music Minister's daughter, a Bible scholar at the ripe old age of five, raised her hand and said," What is so important about Easter is that when you put the candy in the plastic egg you have to put tape around it or all the candy will fall out."

Guess who helped dad fill Easter eggs for the egg hunt.

While reviewing the story of the Israelites' freedom from Egypt, I asked the kids if they remembered which country they were freed from.

With wide eyes and total confidence, one girl raised her hand and said,"America!"

One year during VBS our Minister of Youth and Education was giving the salvation message on each age group's level. He was a little nervous talking to the preschoolers and a friend shared some blocks with him to use as an object lesson. (By the way, he had no need to be nervous. He is awesome!)

He went through each of the ABC's of salvation on their level, just to plant the seed in the children's hearts. He used the blocks for each letter.

A- Admit
B- Believe
C- Confess

He didn't notice that there was a picture below each letter on the blocks. (You know where this is going.)

When he finished the message, he asked all of the preschoolers, "What does 'A' stand for?"

They all yelled, "Apple!"

I am so glad that salvation does not involve a ball or a cat. Aren't you?

Is this what it's like for the other moms?

This week we are having VBS at our church. Other years I have volunteered by decorating, teaching, directing, floating, or otherwise being sucked into the volunteer vortex.

This year I was on the Decorating Committee. That's it.

Crickets chirping.

Aside from the planning meetings, the hours painting waves and the ELEVEN hours of decorating in which we did not even get finished and I had to leave my good friend Stephanie with the rest of the decorating because I was attending a wedding (insert guilt here), I've pretty much had nothing to do this year in VBS.

We missed Monday because we were coming off of a travel-induced coma and Mama needed her sleep. So, Tuesday was my daughter's first day. I walked her in, stayed for worship rally and then after only 30 minutes I walked out.

Y'all just don't know. It was weird.

Stephanie did the same and as we walked to the parking lot, we turned to each other and said,"This feels strange."

I said, "I kinda feel like..."

"A heathen," she finished.

"Well," I said," I was going to say slacker, but heathen may be the better word."

Not to say that all of the other mothers who just drive their kids to Bible School and drop them off are heathens. No, not at all. I'm just sayin' that, for me, it was very strange.

Nice, but strange.

So today I stood with Stephanie and helped welcome the kids to just help out. You know, I am completely comfortable with not being there all day, every day. I have no problem just decorating and painting waves and building rock walls out of PVC pipe and paper. I have no issue with that at all.

Ahem.

In fact, I just might go to Target or Wal-mart tomorrow.

Right after I repent and turn from my slacker, heathen, non-volunteer ways.

Seriously, it's a good thing I'm saved by grace alone because our PVC pipe and paper rock wall ended up looking a lot like Snuffleupagus.

;>)

Works For Me: Easy Ice Packs

I recently learned this tip from a nurse.

For an easy ice pack which will stay cold longer, fill a Ziploc bag with green Palmolive Original dish washing liquid. (I double bagged mine.) Place in the freezer. The Palmolive forms an icy gel and stays cold longer than ice. It molds easily to the area needing an ice pack.

Quick and inexpensive!

Updated to answer your questions.

1. Fill any size Ziploc or Hefty bag (I like the one with the one zip) with the Palmolive. Fill until almost full, making sure you can still close it.

2. Place that closed bag inside another bag of the same size. This will double bag it for any leaks.

3. Place in the freezer flat. This helps mold the ice pack.

4. You can refreeze it as needed. The bag will show signs of wear first. So if you want it to last longer, use a really good bag- like freezer strength. I am not sure of how long it will last compared to other ice packs.

What is great is that it is easy, uses items on hand, and it stays cold longer.

5. Some of you mentioned that you were glad you could use it with kids. Just remember that it is dish washing liquid and still toxic, although it is easier on clothes.

For more tips, see Shannon.

I'm gonna threaten her with an ankle bracelet, complete with flea repellant.

With every trip we take there is the dreaded drive to the kennel where I have to bail Maggie out of jail. At least that's how she sees it.

When my daughter and I walked in the kennel's office, the sweet lady at the desk asked if she could help us.

How much time do you have?

I told her I needed to pick up Maggie and she pulled the chart. I peered over the counter to read the notes and this is what I saw-

"Very, very angry."


"Not a happy cat today."


"Aggressive."


"Ask owner to get out of cage."

Sigh.

The lady at the desk attempted to comfort me and said,"Don't be alarmed. Many cats are upset to be here. I'm sure she is Okay."

Um, she must be new.

"Oh, I'm not alarmed. She acts like this every single time she comes, only it gets worse. I don't know what her problem is. She used to love the kennel and the attention. Then one day she became an old lady and turned into cranky pants," I explained.

She walked us back to the cat room. It was lunch time and two of the kennel techs, bless their animal loving hearts, were playing solitaire on the computer.

They recognized me as the mother of Maggie, the cat who forces them to register for night classes in cosmetology and happily said,"OH, here comes MAMA!"

I entered the cat room, prepared for Attitude.

Instead, Maggie heard my voice and began to meow- instead of hiss like a venomous viper- as I made my way to her cell, I mean cage.

I put her in her carrier and said to the kennel techs, "Bye-bye, very brave ladies."

"Oh, we're not that brave," they said with a chuckle.

Then I hauled Miss Congeniality out of prison and off to her very cushy life on parole. Martha Stewart never had it so good.

Places

Over fourteen years ago, a handsome young man waited at the end of an aisle for a young woman, joyous in her naivety, nervous in her ineptitude and sincere in her love for the one who waited.

The two of them smiled wide when their eyes first caught sight of one another. Although friends and family filled the room, the sanctuary felt empty, quiet, peaceful. The musicians played the chosen hymns but the bride and groom heard nothing but the soft spoken words of each other.

The handsome man offered his arm to the young woman as she gently wrapped her hand around his arm. She still remembers the feeling of his strong arm beneath his dress uniform on her fingers.

The mothers had been seated, as were the grandmothers. Friends were ushered to their seats. Bridesmaids had walked down the same aisle, flowers in hand. A flower girl, with a hand full of blossoms, made her way to her place. Groomsmen stood with hands clasped...

Saturday evening my daughter and I entered a small chapel tucked beneath a Tennessee sky and nestled in The Smokeys. As soon as I stepped in, I saw the handsome young man I'd married over fourteen years ago. He was dressed in a tuxedo and waiting for the signal to take his place as a groomsman.

We exchanged smiles and I was escorted down the aisle to my seat. My daughter was escorted as well by a young gentleman in a small tuxedo- just his size.

We listened to the musicians play as the grandmothers were seated, then the mothers. Bridesmaids walked down the aisle holding lovely bouquets of flowers which matched the beautiful swags that hung gracefully from the ends of the Chapel's pews. Groomsmen stood perfectly straight, hands clasped. My husband was among them, standing with friends of the groom.

The groom who was my husband's best man over fourteen years ago.

And then the doors opened as the musicians played. Guests rose to their feet as the bride entered the sanctuary. She was beautiful. As she made her way down the aisle, the groom never took his eyes off of her.

Music played, a minister spoke, a mother recited, friends read, but the bride and groom knew nothing and no one else but each other. A kiss was shared and the two of them began a lifelong journey together.

Each filling a place that had not been filled before.

One they never knew was empty.


To "Dave and Scully", (or M and T,) God bless you as you begin your life together. We were honored to share in such a special and sacred occasion.

Home again

We are home after a long drive and too many stops at Cracker Barrel. All in all, it was a good trip.

The wedding was beautiful.

More later...

Goin' to the chapel

Not me.

I'm already married.

Nope, we are heading out in a few days to Dave and Scully's wedding. We are excited to meet Scully for the first time. (Sorry to call you Scully on THE BLOG, just protecting your privacy.)

And, guess what! I found a dress. It is black, simple and it was on sale. Yes, M'am. It is an evening wedding and hubs will be in a tux. Daughter helped me pick out the handbag, a light silver (not too shiny.)

She said, "You don't want to be all black. You aren't going to a funeral."

I love her.

We were out today picking up some last minute items, prescriptions, and so on. We also made a stop at Chick-fil-A. You can't go to the mall without going to Chick-fil-A. It's like going to Disney without visiting Cinderella's castle. It just isn't done.

Tonight, I overheard daughter telling her Daddy about her day and I overheard her say this-

"I've said 'y'all' a lot today, Daddy."

That sweet girl of mine.

Template changes

For some unknown reason, some of my pictures were difficult to load.

I am using a blogger template for a clean slate and to make posts a little easier to read.

If you check back and things are all cattywampus, that's why.

My, how the times flies when your feet are aching.

I just got back from decorating for VBS. We left the house 11 hours ago.

ELEVEN HOURS.

My daughter did not even whine. She spent the day with her friend, playing, watching movies, making crafts and eating Happy Meals that we got them for lunch.

Did I mention I have been gone eleven hours?

I had spray paint up my nose, y'all. How does that happen?

There should be a warning on the can which reads,"Hey, lady who is not as good at multi-tasking as she was 5 years ago, don't spray this in the wind on crumpled paper making a rock wall or it could go up your nose or on your clothes or on your friend's shoe."

But in order to get all of that on the can, the print would have to be way too small and I couldn't read it anyway.

I'm just sayin.'

Why I drive a Big Gulp

I've driven a Camry for the last eight years. Over the years, Cam and I have had some tender moments. We've shared laughter and tears, traffic jams, Diet Coke spills, upset tummies, and a package of McDonald's apple dipper caramel sauce that formed a molecular bond with the back seat.

It's been fun. But, just like all fun, it must come to an end.

Sorry, Cam. I'm trading you in for a newer model.

We have looked, researched, contemplated, considered and reconsidered. A few weeks ago we finally took the plunge and bought a new vehicle.

When we started shopping for cars, my biggest issue was space. There are only three of us, but we seem to have a lot of stuff. Ask my closest friends and my patient husband; my trunk is always full of somethingorother. I have gotten a little better about keeping it clean. (Hubs would disagree.)


My close friend, T has teased me about it. I've been known to have a treasure box full of candy during Bible School season, Hello Kitty band-aids, Sunday School craft supplies, bags of clothes ready for Good Will and even other items that other people would give to me to pass on to needy people. (For some reason, they think I know just where to take them.)

In fact, one time our church received donations of toys after a severe hurricane. There were so many donations that my friend Steph and I ended up hauling them to a local agency. Inside one of the donation boxes was a game of Lucky Ducks. Anytime I hit a speed bump or rounded a curve too fast, I heard "Quack, quack, quack" from the trunk.

So, where was I?

Oh, right. Space. We bought an SUV.

I know all about gas prices. I drive my daughter to and from school every day. I have to stop and fill the tank on a regular basis.

However,I live in America and for the time being, I am able to choose what I buy (within my means), when I buy it, and I can shop around for the best price and quality.

I can purchase a non-fat venti mocha, add the whip from Miriam or save our money and spend the same amount on a gallon of gas. Neither are a bargain, but for now I can choose. (Silly, isn't it that we complain about paying $4.00 for a gallon of gas but we'll pay the same amount, plus tip for a drink that we'll guzzle faster than any Hummer could.)

But, all of that could change.

I can drive our new Honda Pilot because I still love the workmanship of Japanese cars or I could one day purchase a car made and designed by a US auto maker, all because I am able to shop around and nothing but my checkbook and family budget dictate anything different.

That could change.

I can haul Lucky Ducks or used clothing to a faith-based relief organization or I can load the back with Vacation Bible School treasures or even Bibles and drive all over town.

But, that could change.

I can drive my daughter to school or we can stay home and homeschool. We could just ride around for the fun of it.

All of that could change.

We can drive to church and give an offering, to the mall and purchase something with the money we've saved. We can also use some of the money we have saved to send to our sponsored child, donate to the local homeless shelter, or give to a family member who needs help with their medical expenses. All of this because, for now, my husband's income is not taxed (too) excessively.

That could change.

One very important Tuesday in November, I am going to hop in my new Honda Pilot, bring daughter along as I always do, drive to the polls and cast my ballot for the next American President.

All because I can. For now.

But, all of that could change.

Happy Father's Day

In honor of the day that we all give Dad a tie or something that includes fire and food, I just want to say, "Happy Father's Day" to my husband and to my own Daddy.

You both make childhood fun.

You both show your daughter that you love them.

You both show your daughter that you love Jesus.

You both can grow some serious gardens.

You both have taught me how to fix something just in case in needs fixin.'

I love you both.

Now, go and take a nap.