Where I Am

Friday Fun

2009-11-27T08:00:00.001-05:00

A big thank you to the folks who sent in suggestions for Friday Funnies - I so appreciate it. I'll be using your submissions this week and in the weeks to come. Please continue to keep the suggestions coming!

I got this from Chesna's Facebook page - oh, gotta love nerd humor!

I totally remember when we'd try (generally in vain) to keep the kids awake in the car on the way home from church so we could all get a Sunday nap! This would have been immensely helpful.

Dave told me about the Awkward Family Photos site - definitely aptly named.

SNS: Body By Dad

A friend who shall remain nameless sent this gem. I really should wait until Mother's Day to post it but it's so good I can't wait. Thanks, E!

Here's hoping you continue to enjoy a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday weekend!

_______________________

As you may have noticed, I'm changing up the look of my little corner on the internet. I'm thankful to the Template Mama for making such cool templates and providing excellent instructions on how to personalize them - if you're in need of a new look for your blog I highly recommend her site. I'm in the process of tweaking the colors a bit. Thanks for your patience as I try to figure out this whole design thing.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

I love Thanksgiving. I love the reason we celebrate and the way we celebrate: we cook all morning, eat good food in the afternoon, enjoy each other's company, then take a nap. What's not to love?

I also love this clip from Friends. Yes, it's silly, but it's so funny.

I hope you enjoy good food and good conversation today. I also hope we'll all take some time to remember what this day is about.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving

2009-11-25T05:00:00.002-05:00

(I love it when I come up with catchy headlines...)

As a descendant of John Alden, who came over on the Mayflower (there’s my claim to fame, useful at Thanksgiving time only), I think it's only appropriate I offer a list of things I’m thankful for:

I’m thankful it hasn’t snowed yet.

I’m thankful I didn’t have to wear a coat last night when I went grocery shopping.

I’m thankful I had the money to go grocery shopping.

I’m thankful I had three kids and a husband in the grocery store with me.

I’m thankful we had fun playing, “Who can find it fastest?!” in the grocery store.

I’m thankful for my church family.

I’m thankful for my pastors.

I’m thankful for my family, immediate and extended.

I’m thankful for parents who ask us to come home for Thanksgiving but understand when the best decision for us is to stay here.

I’m thankful they pouted a little about our decision.

I’m thankful to be hosting new friends for Turkey Day.

I’m thankful I don’t cry every time I think of Georgia now.

I’m thankful that I’ll probably cry at some point during the day tomorrow.

I’m thankful for my iPhone and laptop which keep me connected to the reasons I’ll cry a bit.

I’m thankful for the group of college students who come over twice a month.

I’m thankful for the drama group Michael, Amy and Rebecca are a part of, especially the directors who are grace personified.

I’m thankful Rebecca’s hamster hasn’t died yet.

I’m thankful Sean still has a job.

I’m thankful I’m not pregnant, but that my sweet cousin is.

I'm thankful for friends, old and new.

I’m thankful for the folks who spend part of their day reading my blog. Seriously, truly thankful. I wish I could give each of you a hug around the neck.

I’m thankful I know where all these blessings come from. (Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. James 1:17)

I’m thankful I know God.

I’m especially thankful God doesn’t give me what I deserve, because if he did, I wouldn’t have a list like this.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.

The paparazzi would totally follow her

2009-11-23T08:00:00.001-05:00

Frequently I’m dismayed when I read the Bible. Not necessarily because of what’s written (though often that perplexes me) but because of what’s left out. For example, in John 1:38-40, two men begin following Jesus. They ask him where he’s staying and Jesus says, “Come and you will see.”

The verses go on to say, “So they came and saw where he was staying, and they stayed with him that day for it was the tenth hour…”

It is clear a woman did not write The Gospel of John because if she had, we’d know where he stayed, what it looked like, who was there, what they were wearing, where the closest bathrooms were and what food was served. But no, all we get is, “…they came and saw where he was staying…” John, come on! Would it really have cramped your style to include a few details?

Please, before you get all cranky with me, know I am well aware the Holy Spirit inspired the authors of the Bible and I know God has included and excluded everything he saw fit. I get that, but I do crave some details, especially with stories that leave so many questions left unanswered. Like Esther.

I’ve read Esther many times, but honestly, now when I think about her story I picture the king as a giant pickle, Mordecai as a grape and Esther as a green onion with a strand of hair constantly in her eyes (thanks, VeggieTales). Desiring to eradicate the vegetable images from my mind I began reading Esther again last week. It only took me until chapter two to have lots of questions.

In the middle of the second chapter we find the king looking for a new queen. He had all the virgins of the land brought to him; Esther was included in this cattle call. He had been with many other young girls before Esther. But when it was her turn we learn, “And when Esther was taken to King Ahasuerus, into his royal palace … the king loved Esther more than all the women, and she won grace and favor in his sight more than all the virgins, so that he set the royal crown on her head and made her queen instead of Vashti. Then the king gave a great feast for all his officials and servants; it was Esther’s feast. He also granted a remission of taxes to the provinces and gave gifts with royal generosity.”

One night with Esther and the king makes her the queen, throws a soiree in her honor and puts the kibosh on taxes? Questions abound! What the heck did she do in there? She must have been pretty darn amazing to have the king put tax-gathering on hold. If a woman had written the book of Esther we’d have details, details, details! Like what Esther wore. And what the year-long beautifying ritual entailed. And what she ate. And didn’t eat. And what she said. And didn’t say. And other stuff I can't put in this family-friendly blog.

In our day and age of those is power writing memoirs can’t you just see the spin some publisher would put on Esther’s? “Read the words of the girl who became queen after one night with the king. Find out her beauty secrets and what really happened between the sheets!”

It would sell like hot cakes.

Again, please know I’m well aware God included exactly what he wanted. But questions about Esther certainly goes on my list of, “Things I’m going to ask when I get to Heaven.” Right next to, “What’s up with the dinosaurs?” and, “Why didn’t you miraculously incinerate all of Paul Crouch’s clothes and Jan Crouch’s wigs?”

Friday Funnies

2009-11-20T04:30:00.003-05:00

My friend Terri posted a literal video version of Total Eclipse of the Heart on her Facebook page (warning: it's hilarious but not entirely family-friendly). One good time-waster deserves another, so I spent about 30 minutes watching many, many more literal video versions of some of the best songs from the 80's - this was my fav. Ah, Journey, how I love you.

I almost didn't click on this one because the title is, "Cop Fail" and who wants to mock a policeman? But I'm glad curiosity got the best of me because this is an incredibly comical 911 call:

This is too stinking funny. I don't care if you think Osteen is great (if you do you're reading the wrong blog), when he gets to the part about Carl shutting the baby up, cross your legs because it's pee-in-your-pants hysterical. (I suppose if you haven't had three children you don't need to cross your legs. And yes, Mom, I'm going to get that little problem checked out.)

If you have any great videos or cartoons that I could use on Fridays please feel free to send them my way. There's a nifty little, "Contact Me" button up there - use it! I'll gladly give you credit and a big ol' thank you!

Happy weekend, y'all!

No pets allowed (except Rascle)

2009-11-18T05:00:00.003-05:00

I am not an animal lover. I don’t enjoy being licked by dogs or having my pants treated like scratching posts by cats. When we moved to Michigan one of the only bright spots was getting to find a new home for our dog. “You know, kids,” I said, “Buster’s a Southern dog and he just wouldn’t do well in the cold, harsh Michigan weather.”

My pet disdain is not limited to furry things; I’m not even a fan of fish. They may seem like ideal pets for someone who doesn’t want to actually interact with an animal, but you do have to clean the tank and replace the filters and that, my friend, can be a really, really gross job.

(Hey, all you animal lovers: stop the hating – you’re going to love me in about 400 words.)

While I would like to completely ban all living animals from our home, I realize having pets is good for the kids. All three children have fish, and Rebecca has a hamster. Michael and Amy each had a hamster several years ago but those little guys moved on to wherever dead hamsters move to. Rebecca’s hamster, Rascle, has lived longer than either of our previous hamsters; he’ll be two in January.

Given my obvious disdain for pets, no one was more surprised than I when I found myself, at 11:30 Monday night, trying to rescue Rascle from his new cage, a cage with an apparent death ledge.

Even the most hard-hearted animal hater couldn’t hate Rascle. He’s patient and sweet and Rebecca will be quick to tell you he’s only bitten her once, “And that was when he was getting used to me.” His cage was getting a little wobbly, and the thought of that little guy escaping was not one I cared to entertain, so we bought him a new habitat Monday.

It looked good but when we got home and put Rascle in it we realized he was not using the ladder to get down; he was simply jumping off the ledge.

Hamsters have no depth perception (there’s your fun animal fact for the day), so instead of realizing the ledge ended, Rascle simply thought he was walking onto more bedding. It was only a few inches down, but he's only a few inches tall. Falling the length of your body is significant.

When I realized Rascle was repeating his misstep I blocked off the ladder and resolved to exchange the new cage for one without the Step of Death.

Rebecca, Amy and I went to the pet store after school Tuesday to pick out a new cage. After we doubled our investment Rebecca walked out holding a deluxe hamster habitat. And since Rascle was waiting for us in the car, we needed to put it together post haste.

I figured she could snap it together as we drove to our next errand but it was a bit more involved than I’d anticipated. I stopped the car and helped her put the cage together so Rascle could be rescued from the cardboard box that was his temporary residence.

We got it all snapped together and introduced Rascle to his new digs; he seemed pleased. And really, why wouldn’t he be? Two stories, fresh water bottle, new food cup, and no Step of Death.

I may not be a dog/cat/fish person but this little hamster... well, I won’t go so far as to say I’m a hamster person, but that little guy has certainly worked his way into my heart. Lack of depth perception and all.

(Animal lovers, don’t you feel badly for thinking such terrible things about me a few paragraphs ago?!)

Rebecca and me trying to put the cage together in the backseat of the car:

Rascle in his new home - see him in the top of the cage?

Here's his new habitat in our habitat:

| Be Positive! |

2009-11-16T05:00:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago I overheard our math tutor telling Michael that 9 minus 32 equals positive 23. Now, the reason we have a math tutor is because I do not do math. But hoo boy, I sure as heck know that 9 minus 32 is most certainly not positive 23.

I stuck my head in the room and saw this on the board: | 9-32 | Normally I try to stay out of the school room when math’s going on but I couldn’t help myself. I asked our tutor, “What is with that! How can it be positive?”

Our tutor, Sheri, knows my mathematical limitations and patiently explained that they were discussing absolute value. Apparently those two little lines around the numbers make the answer positive. “So,” I queried, “any time you put those lines around a problem the answer will always be positive?” “Basically, yes,” she said. I could tell she was deciding whether or not to go into greater detail so I hightailed it out of there. "Be positive" was enough for me!

Well, let me tell you, I am positive I never learned that in math class because I would have remembered two such magical lines. “From now on,” I said, “I think I’m going to hold up my hands on the side of my face and say, ‘Stay positive!’” Ah, there’s nothing like math humor…

For the last two weeks I’ve been doing my little absolute value hand thing anytime someone looked a bit glum or I needed to encourage a positive attitude in my charges. I was having a positively marvelous time with my newfound bit of math knowledge. That was until I talked about it with a group of college students who were over for dinner.

Twice a month we host these students, who serve in leadership positions with our church’s college outreach. Our group of seven is eclectic to say the least; one is in PR, another in animal sciences and someone else is in education. And then there’s Mike, who’s majoring in a math/science-related field - I want to say biochemistry. He and my mechanical engineering major husband have gotten along fabulously, talking all about math and science and that stuff I generally ignore. But with my newfound absolute value knowledge and the nifty hand motions that go with it I felt I had something to add to the discussion.

After I gave my spiel on absolute value and demonstrated my hand motions, Mike said, “Um, yeah, that’s true that the numbers are positive but it doesn’t mean the numbers are positive.” My spirits were sinking. He continued, “What absolute value really describes is the distance of the number away from zero. And since distance can’t be negative, you get a positive number.”

“But the number is positive, right?” I asked, desperate not to lose my fun little hand motions and motivational phrase, “Be positive!”

Mike, who, from all I can tell, is a great guy, must have sensed he’d become the killer of joy because he quickly backtracked, “Oh, yes! It’s positive! Your hand motions still work.”

I knew he wasn’t being totally honest, and later that night Sean explained the concept which I do, amazingly enough, understand. But I’m not letting those facts get in the way of my very fun new hand motions. When someone looks a little worn out or gets a bit whiny I’m still going to put both hands on the side of my face and say, “Be positive!”

Friday Funnies

2009-11-13T04:00:00.000-05:00

Sean and I loved the show Whose Line is it Anyway? Our favorite skit was the one with all the props. I spent a good 30 minutes watching all the ones I could find on YouTube - that's the dedication I give you, my dear Friday Funnies readers!

A little math funny:

see more Epic Fails

Ouch:

I spent the first 36 years of my life not liking musicals. Then I saw Wicked and had to change my tune a bit... I wouldn't say I've fallen in love with the genre but I certainly do enjoy a good musical number now and again. Still haven't seen a full episode of Glee but I do like their clips on YouTube:

Happy weekend!

Remembering

2009-11-11T05:00:00.003-05:00

I was in Sam's yesterday. I only had a few minutes - the kids were at piano lessons and I needed to get back to pick them up. I was on the soap aisle looking for body wash and found it but couldn't get to it; an elderly man was standing in my way. He looked perplexed and completely oblivious to my presence, or my need for bath soap, or my time crunch. He just stood there, staring at the shelves.

Hoping not to startle him but also hoping to get his attention so I could reach around him, I said, "Hello." He turned to me and asked if I knew about some stomach pill that used to be right here. He said it was in a purple bottle and started with an O. I didn't, and said it was probably on the other aisle over where the OTC medicines were. "Really, sir, I think the next aisle will be your best bet." He shuffled on, looking for his medicine.

He was an ordinary older man looking for his pills. I should have been able to move along with my business, but I couldn’t. He was wearing a hat emblazoned with WWII Veteran and an American flag. As I scrambled to get the soap and cheese and notepads (don't you love Sam's?) I couldn't stop thinking of that man. I ran into him again a few rows down and he still didn't have his pills. All I could think was, Veterans’ Day is tomorrow; for crying out loud, the man is a WWII vet. The least I can do is try to track down the medicine for him.

I didn't have much to go on: purple bottle, name starts with O, helps with stomach problems. I searched the few aisles I thought would be the best bet but came up empty. I know, it would be a much better story if I’d found the pills. But they were nowhere to be found, and quite honestly, I’m not sure the gentleman knew exactly what he was looking for. Regardless, I did try and I’m thankful I did. I got to spend several minutes talking with someone who gave up a portion of his life to earn my freedom. Giving up a few minutes of my day pales in comparison. No, there is no comparison.

Thank you, veterans. Thank you for serving your country, for serving me. And a special thank you to my family members who served: Dad (Air Force), my father-in-law Chuck and Sean's uncle Beau (National Guard), Sean's Aunt Suzie (US Army Nurse Corps), Sean's Uncle John (Air Force), my cousin Dawn (Navy JAG Corps) and my cousin Beth’s husband, Norm who is currently serving in the Marines.

Happy Veterans’ Day.

It was just too gorgeous yesterday...

2009-11-09T07:33:00.002-05:00

It was almost 70 degrees in Lansing yesterday! I had the windows open - probably the last time that will happen for a long time. We played four square and basketball (okay, I watched that one) and just had a great time outside. Who knew a November day in Michigan could be so, well, warm?

I savored every bit of sunshine because I know snow is around the corner... I'll be thinking about this day in February, I'm sure.

Needless to say, I didn't write anything yesterday.

Hope you got to enjoy some late summer weather wherever you are, too.

Friday Funnies

2009-11-06T04:00:00.002-05:00

We meet with a cool group of college students twice a month - they were over last night. I made potato soup with bacon and there was quite the discussion over the merits of the most yummy part of the pig. That gave me a great excuse to post this bit from Jim Gaffigan:

I know this one's old but it made me smile and I had to share:

This one's for Sean. I don't remember when we talked about this outtake from the Carol Burnett show; I think we first mentioned it when we were dating. Don't know why I never thought to look for it on YouTube before but I'm so glad I found it today. Snorkee right back at you.

Happy weekend!

Good news!

2009-11-04T04:00:00.002-05:00

You may recall last August I wrote about Sean being contacted by the national bone marrow registry, asking him to donate to an anonymous recipient. Sean, of course, said yes, and endured several weeks of uncomfortable treatments in order to donate to the man I named Zeke.

We were told we’d hear after a month how Zeke was doing. The transplant was in August and it's now November; obviously it’s been more than a month and we feared the worst. “Maybe they don’t want to call us with bad news,” I pondered.

But yesterday Sean heard from his bone marrow registry contact who told him Zeke is doing well! It appears his body has not rejected the new marrow and, we’re told, he is in good spirits.

We are anxious to contact Zeke and thought after the transplant we could but yesterday Sean was told we’ll have to wait the full 12 months before any type of communication can begin. I realize this is for everyone’s protection, but it’s still a total bummer. I’m not the best at waiting…

Sean’s contact person said she’d call us back in a few months to give us another progress report on Zeke. I’ll certainly pass along any news as soon as we get it.

I know many of you prayed for Zeke and Sean; thank you so much. I greatly appreciate those prayers, and I know Zeke’s family does, too. And if you’re still in the praying mood, our dear friend Bonnie received a BMT a month ago. I know her family would welcome any and all prayers on their behalf.

I believe healing is miraculous, whether it’s by divine intervention or medical technology. Thank the Lord for medicine and doctors and scientists who figure out all this stuff. That brain power was God-given, anyway, so really, it’s all from him.

Thanks again and stay tuned for more Zeke updates!

Back to reality

2009-11-02T04:00:00.000-05:00

So we’re back. The Enclave was jam-packed (note to self: buy a roof topper!) and left barely enough room for our backseat passengers (another note to self: everyone should pack less!) but by 9:15 Saturday morning we were all set to hit the road for our 13 hour ride north. We left from Sean’s sister’s house; we’d spent the last two days of our trip with her family so we could see one nephew’s soccer game (he scored a goal and they won!) and another nephew’s marching band performance at the high school football game (the band was great, the football team not so much). They live northeast of Atlanta so simply hopping on I-75 wasn’t an option. But there are several highways that eventually run into 75. We planned to take 85 to 26 to 40 to 640 which would put us on I-75 near Knoxville.

Best laid plans…

We were cruising right along and whizzed by a flashing DOT sign. Ditto to the second sign. By the time we tried to read the third we noticed it said something about I-40. We slowed down to read the fourth sign which said part of I-40 was closed due to a massive rock slide.

Are you kidding me?

After passing a fifth DOT sign we got off the highway near Asheville and bought a map. Sean was not satisfied with the map or GPS on my iPhone, and this Enclave wasn’t equipped with a nav screen. We aren’t familiar with that area because we rarely go that way so we had no idea if part of our travels would take us past the mile markers the signs kept screaming at us to avoid.

Long story short (sort-of): The part of I-40 that’s closed is most definitely the part we needed. The only solution was the detour spelled out by the NCDOT which added an extra 53 miles to our already 800 mile journey.

I was not happy. I was more not happy when, as we were maneuvering the detour, I got a call from my sister who said, “Oh, if I’d known you were going that way I would have told you about the road being closed.” Fabulous.

The kids did great. No one asked how much longer or uttered the dreaded, “Are we there yet?” Each seemed content to read or play a video game or sleep a bit. I, on the other hand, was going out of my mind. I am not a great car traveler and the thought of adding extra miles to an already extra long trip nearly put me over the edge. By Cincinnati I was hysterical. It was 7:00 and we still had five more hours to go! Our 13 hour trip was going to take 15 dadgum hours. Fifteen hours!

Thankfully we had the time change working on our side, a fact I stubbornly refused to acknowledge between Lima, Ohio and Ann Arbor because I was apoplectic over the length of the drive. By the time we’d gotten off 23 and hopped on 96 I’d calmed down and was resigned to the fact that this was, indeed, going to be the longest trip we’d made since moving, 4 ½ full hours off my record time of 11 hours, 30 minutes when I drove for six hours without stopping. So even though we didn’t get in until midnight it was actually 11 pm. And that extra hour certainly helped this morning when we got to sleep in a bit before getting up for church.

And as a dear friend reminded me at church this morning, we got home safely. No matter how long it took, we were granted traveling mercies. Not a fact to belittle in the least.

Just in case anyone's traveling that way, here's a handy dandy map:

Halloween Funnies

2009-10-30T04:00:00.002-04:00

This very thing happened to Michael and Amy about eight years ago. Michael hit the guy over the head with his bag of candy and ran away, screaming bloody murder:

My brother-in-law passed this gem along:

It wouldn't be complete without a bit of Charlie Brown's The Great Pumpkin (thanks to Sean for finding this):

For all of you trick-or-treaters out there, have a great time! Happy Halloween and All Saints' Day!

Don't check that off

2009-10-29T04:00:00.000-04:00

When we make the trek South I always send a day-by-day plan of what we’ll be doing, when and where. Visit my grandmother: check. Visit some girlfriends: check. Visit my folks and Sean’s: check and check. Visit a Gwinnett County policeman after a fender bender on Sugarloaf Parkway: check. But that one was most definitely not on my list.

I was heading over to Sean’s parents’ in my Mom’s car. It was raining, and had been all day. I was stopped at a red light, minding my own business, listening to my favorite Atlanta radio station, enjoying a drink from Chick-fil-A when I heard a crunch of metal. My car lurched forward and in that split second I thought, “For crying out loud, what is going on?!” When I looked in my rearview mirror the guy behind me was a lot closer than he’d been mere moments ago. A policeman in the next lane over and saw the whole thing and he directed us to a parking lot where he took our insurance and personal info.

Neither of us was hurt, thankfully. Well, not physically. The poor kid, who was about 18, was in his father’s Mustang. It was nearly new and he was absolutely distraught. I felt terribly for him. The impact cracked the front bumper and there was no way it would go unnoticed.

All I could think was, “If this were Michael, he’d be an absolute wreck.”

I did my best to make sure the young man knew everything on my end was okay. My Mom’s car didn’t suffer any damage and he was thankful about that. We were both thankful no one was hurt. And, again, thankfully, the policeman was as kind as he could be under the circumstances; he actually seemed concerned for the kid’s well-being, too.

Tomorrow we get back to the list – visit Sean’s sister’s family, watch one nephew play soccer, watch another march with his high school marching band. I hope yesterday’s little fender bender is the last deviation from my schedule on this visit.

Mandatory visit

2009-10-27T04:00:00.001-04:00

We’re in Atlanta for a visit with friends and family. Planning these trips back home is difficult because I could never see everyone I’d like to see which is a good/bad thing.

One non-negotiable visit for this trip was with my grandmother. She recently moved to an assisted living facility; she fought that move for years, but now, at 93, she realized she needed a bit of help. My grandfather’s been gone for 13 years and for all that time she’s taken care of everything. Until a few months ago she lived on her own. She drove to church and the grocery store and post office and she took care of her house and all that goes along with that. But a few medical scares and difficulties led her to the decision it was time to accept some help.

My parents, aunts and uncle and several cousins have all been to visit her in her new digs. I had not. I also had not written or called, facts she didn’t hesitate to tell my dad each time she talked to him. I was in the dog house. So when I peeked in her room I wasn’t sure what she’d say – she’s notorious for biting comments like, “I nearly forgot about you!” or, “I thought you’d died.” I was not looking forward to the guilt trip.

But she was so frail – frailer than the last time I’d seen her several months ago. And with the loss of her energy it seemed she’d lost some of the steam that fueled the remarks I dreaded. I just hugged her neck and said, “Hi Mama Mary. It’s good to see you.”

She took us on a tour of the facility, which is lovely. She showed us her place in the dining hall, and Dad took us upstairs to see the craft room and movie theater. (Michael and Amy said they wouldn’t mind living there!) The staff we spoke with seemed genuinely interested in the residents and the whole place seemed lively and open and inviting. There wasn’t that nasty old people smell so many places like that have.

We took pictures with her and the kids and I couldn’t help but wonder if we’ll see her again. We’ve always joked she’ll outlive us all; after seeing her Sunday I’m not sure I’ll make that joke again.

I’m glad she’s in a place where she’ll receive care when she needs it. I’m glad she’s not responsible for the upkeep of her house. I’m glad someone’s monitoring her meds. And I’m glad she has so many friends in the place.

I’m also glad she let me out of the doghouse – even thought she's a bit of a grouch (and, honestly, always has been) I don’t know how much time I have left to call or write her but I don’t intend neglect that granddaughter duty again.

Opposing views

2009-10-26T04:00:00.003-04:00

A week ago I saw a YouTube video featuring Will Ferrell and a bunch of other celebrities. I don't begrudge them their right to speak their minds, and honestly, I was dismayed by how good the video was (I was dismayed as well to see Jon Hamm, aka Don Draper, look so sweaty in the first five seconds):

I hoped a counter to the video would be produced, and one was:

They're both great spots and certainly get their points across but I can't help but wonder why conservatives aren't in the forefront of these kinds of creative ads? Sure seems like conservatives discount the effectiveness of humor.

When conservatives produce copy-cat spots, no matter how well-produced or well-written, it's lame. We need to be leaders, not imitators.

Friday Funnies and other cool stuff

2009-10-23T04:30:00.001-04:00

I miss lots of things about having little ones. Changing diapers is not one of them. Thanks to Amie for posting this on Facebook:

Here's an example of a Top Chef quickfire - cook with cactus. I'd have packed my knives and just gone home.

I love the behind-the-scenes shots Survivor provides. Here's one from last week's challenge:

And in honor of all the ironing I've done in the last two weeks:

Have a great weekend!

Reality TV - the good, the bad, the unbelievable

2009-10-22T04:30:00.000-04:00

I have a couple of guilty TV pleasures – Top Chef and Survivor. I got on the Survivor bandwagon late; I watched the first season but didn’t watch again until we moved to Michigan. Three of my bestest buds back home watched, so I started watching again; it was a weird way to feel connected, but it worked. Feeling like I was still in touch was important and if I had to sit through an hour of a stupid reality show to feel a bond I’d do it. Little did I know I’d fall in love with the show and I’ve been a faithful fan the past four years.

Unlike Survivor, I didn’t watch the first season of Top Chef, and quite honestly I’m not entirely sure how I came to watch it. But in those first few years after the move I watched a lot of television – way more than I’d ever watched because before the move I had friends and a life, which, thankfully I have again but holy smokes, 2005 to 2007 were rough – so I assume that’s when I picked it up. I’ve been hooked since season two. I have no idea how the “cheftestants” come up with all those dishes in such a short period of time. Sometimes I stand in front of my pantry and think, “If a Top Chef contestant were here right now I wonder what he’d cook up for dinner?” And then I make macaroni and cheese from a box.

Wednesday had been a really long day and when I sat down to watch Padma and Tom and the cheftestants I was enjoying not thinking about anything. It was the Restaurant Wars challenge and I was flabbergasted all over again at how even the dishes that fail are better than the best thing I can cook. I was pretty zoned out until the first commercial break. There they were, in all their fake-hair glory: the “real” housewives of Atlanta.

How can a television network so prominently display people pursuing excellence and in the very next minute feature some of the most mindless women I’ve ever laid eyes on? Honey, I lived in Atlanta for 35 years. My mom was a housewife. I was a housewife. Most of my friends were housewives. I never met any housewife like the five Bravo features on their supposed reality show.

It’s a bit like a train wreck, of course, and I couldn’t avert my eyes, especially since I recognized several of the places featured in the ad. I know one of the women lived in a subdivision down the street from my parents’ sub (until the bank took the house), and another is from John’s Creek, a mere 15 minutes from where I used to live. Lots of the shots of restaurants and shops are familiar because I’ve driven by them hundreds of times.

I was getting a bit hot under the collar, thinking people would assume women from Atlanta were like these crazy people. But then I realized nobody’s going to think that! These are the fakest women around, just like all the other “housewives” who allow cameras to film their every move. There is something seriously wrong with television networks when nutjobs are heralded as “TV worth watching.” (But, of course, Bravo wouldn’t air it if it didn’t get ratings…)

Thankfully the commercial was short and the cooking resumed. Real people with real talent doing something useful and productive and amazing. Top Chef may not have cat fights and hair extensions and way too much cleavage, but it does have a lot of fine cooking. That’s what I call TV worth watching.

What does 'ladylike' look like, anyway?

2009-10-20T05:00:00.001-04:00

Men with strong personalities are go-getters. Women with strong personalities are bitches. This disparity ticks me off because (and this will shock only those who haven’t met me) I have a bit of a strong personality. Don’t get me wrong – I’m Southern and can “Bless your heart” as well as the next belle. But I have no problem telling you what I think. I’m not a fade-into-the-background kind of girl. I enjoy good conversation and have never shied away from controversy. I don’t speak unkindly but I do speak plainly and some folks find that kind of talk disconcerting coming from a woman (normally I’d say, “coming from someone without a penis” but I’m trying to be more demure).

My no-nonsense approach applies to people I hire as well. If I contract someone to do something I expect the work to be done. And if it isn’t, the worker either needs to make it right or pay me back. This is not a problem as long as I’m working with a man. If I’m working with a woman, however, things get a little tricky.

A woman who is in business for herself needs to understand that while she may build relationships with her clients she is ultimately responsible to provide the service for which she was hired. For example, if you advertise that you know Latin, have a grasp of literature and science and understand current events and I hire you to teach my daughter, you dang well better teach my daughter.

And if you don't, do not tell me you’ve had some family problems that kept you from preparing your lesson plans.

Do not tell me you’re going to do better when you’ve already been given three weeks on top of the entire summer to get your act together.

Do not tell me you’re hurting financially.

I completely understand how difficult it can be to get the bases covered when your family life is imploding. I know there’s a steep learning curve any time a new task is begun. And I have great compassion for anyone who’s hurting in this economy. But if I hired you to teach my daughter then you better teach my daughter.

And if you don’t, please don’t act all shocked when I fire you.

I found myself in that exact situation recently and even though I handled myself respectfully, I was firm, which equaled bitch in the eyes of the two women with whom I was dealing.

I don’t understand that. Do. Not. Understand.

All my life I’ve struggled with issues of femininity. In my mind a feminine woman is soft-spoken, quiet, reserved, and size 4. Needless to say, I don’t fit that stereotype. I’m often loud, have never been afraid to speak my mind and the last time I was a size 4 I was probably four. Is the image in my head self-imposed? Probably. But it’s there for a reason. Soft-spoken women are lauded as lady-like. Loud, confident types aren’t.

So when I was called, “hostile” for demanding the service for which I’d paid (and no small amount I might add) I couldn’t believe how quickly I thought, “See, Christy, you’re not a lady.”

But just as quickly as the thought entered my mind, out it flew because truth wins. I knew I’d been honest and fair. I knew I’d been kind even in the process of telling someone she was unqualified teach. I knew I’d followed the biblical model of conflict resolution.

And I knew I’d protected Amy from a year of inadequate instruction. That may not make me a lady, but it sure as hell makes me a mom who does what it takes to protect and provide for her daughter.

I’ll take that over demure any day.

New week, ready or not

2009-10-19T04:00:00.002-04:00

Good news! The ironing is done. Well, mostly. I did a few more loads of laundry this weekend which added several more shirts but the majority of the ironing is, in fact, finished.

I received several emails from folks who were amazed I had so many shirts to iron. People, so am I! My sister called and wanted to know how many shirts Sean owns. Too many to count. Of course, I’d have that many shirts, too, if my shirt size hadn’t changed since 1988. That’s 21 years ago, a year before Sean hired on full-time with GM. Think about it this way: if he started his career with ten shirts and added two each year since, that’s an extra 42 shirts for a grand total of 52 shirts. (How 'bout that math?!) He only wears classic button downs in greys, blues and whites so they never go out of style and he never wears them out so we have shirts he's had since high school. I haven’t actually counted because really, why would I? But now I’m curious… not that curious. Suffice it to say he had enough shirts that he wasn’t hurting for something to wear even with my backlog of ironing.

In other fascinating home news we repainted the school room Sunday afternoon. It was completely unplanned which is the best way to get home projects done – there’s no time to worry or get all worked up over the impending chore. I bought new containers from Ikea (who doesn’t adore that store? So wish one was closer to Lansing) to put our dry erase markers in but wanted to paint the room before hanging something else on the wall. I honestly don’t know how it happened but in a span of two minutes we’d decided to paint the room and Sean was moving desks and chairs and laying down drop cloths. We knocked it out in three hours. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon. And Sean and Michael hung up my new dry erase marker buckets.

It’s amazing what a fresh coat of paint does for a room. And I’m amazed how two little buckets from Ikea hanging on the wall makes the prospect of writing on the white board exciting. It’s the little things, I suppose.

Friday Funnies

2009-10-16T04:00:00.000-04:00

Who doesn't love roller skating babies? (Thanks, Sarah for this one!)

A few political cartoons:

And some subtraction I can keep up with:

Have a good weekend!

Invade their grief with joy

2009-10-15T04:00:00.001-04:00

I've known my friend Traci since kindergarten. She and my twin sister, Heather, were best friends but they’d let me play with them every once in a while. We went to the same elementary school, high school, were in Brownies together. Our moms were good friends so we got together often. I have wonderfully fond memories of being in her house, looking at her dad’s immense train set, visiting with her mom and watching Traci and Heather dance to Greased Lightening (maybe if they had let me dance, too, I wouldn’t have just spilled the beans…!)

Traci’s brother, Derek, was also a part of our get-togethers, like it or not. He was a typical younger brother: always wanted to know what was going on and routinely tried to disrupt whatever Very Important Things we older, more mature girls were doing.

Thankfully Traci, Heather and I have stayed in touch over the years (Traci even worked with Sean at the GM plant in Atlanta for a time) and though we don’t talk often we do email occasionally and can see each other’s statuses (stati?) on Facebook. Another way I’ve stayed in touch is by reading Traci’s sister-in-law’s blog. Unfortunately, it’s a blog chronicling her fight with colon cancer. I’ve loved reading her entries which are full of faith that God can heal, faith that God can sustain, faith that God is ultimately in control. Her posts have been amazing and more than once have brought me to tears. She hasn’t posted recently which has concerned me, but I was hopeful that was a good sign that she was able to spend more time with Derek and her two young children, six and four.

Deep down I knew what it really meant, and a few minutes ago my Mom sent my sister and me an email from Traci’s mom, letting us know Derek’s wife passed away Wednesday.

That pesky little brother who’d throw soccer balls and footballs and any other round object at us is now a widower with two young children. I’m 1,500 miles away and can do absolutely nothing. I can’t take a meal or watch the kids or sit with Traci or hug Traci’s mom. I feel so utterly helpless.

What I can do is pray. I can pray for the peace that passes all understanding to surround that precious family. I can pray for God’s faithfulness to be felt. I can thank God Derek’s wife left a written testimony about her faith and her belief that God would heal her, either here or in Heaven and I can pray that brings comfort to the family.

And I can pray for Traci.

So Traci, if you’re reading this, please know I’m praying for you and sending you love from a long way away. And I’m praying your mourning will soon turn to dancing.

Young women will dance and be happy,
young men and old men will join in.
I'll convert their weeping into laughter,
lavishing comfort, invading their grief with joy.

Jeremiah 31:13

If only the wrinkly look would be in

2009-10-14T09:43:00.004-04:00

See this lovely armoire? And the cozy chair and pretty light? Don’t they all just seem to say, “Christy, please, sit a spell! Read a book! Take a load off.” Yes, that’s what they seem to say.

Unless you know what’s in the armoire.

That’s where I keep all the clothes that need to be ironed. I take them out of the dryer and move them right to the cabinet of the job-I-hate. Then I close the doors and pretend nothing’s in there.

When I open it up and stuff falls out, well, I have to deal with it and, obviously, I’ve reached that point. I can’t stuff in any more. I know this because I tried and couldn’t shut the doors.

What I’d like is for the Ironing Fairy to get her little backside over here, wave her magic wand and “Poof!” Clothes ironed, hung on hangers and placed in the correct closets.

So far, no Ironing Fairy.

So that’s what I’ll be doing today: ironing. And while I do hate it I will attempt to be thankful for clothes and electricity and the fact that I’m using an iron and not a hot rock.

Even so, I think I’m only going to buy wrinkle-free shirts from now on.

Count Me Out

2009-10-13T04:00:00.004-04:00

Rebecca has a class on Monday afternoons that combines writing (yay) with math (boo). Her teacher, who is so fabulously energetic I need a nap after just listening to her lectures, talks for about 45 minutes about grammar and composition, then transitions to Game Time. Talk about bait and switch – it’s not fun game time; it’s math game time. This wouldn’t be such a big deal except that parents are required to attend the class. They’re also required to help with the math games. This is a major problem for me.

Monday's game was clever: using a regular deck of cards, you slap down four cards and the kid adds them up. Kings are 13, queens, 12, jacks, 11 and aces are 1. For each set the student answers correctly in the allotted time they get play money to be used at the class store later in the year. And the kids want that money. They are a very competitive bunch.

So here’s the catch: the parent putting the cards in front of the students has to be able to add more quickly than the students.

I really don’t have to tell you what happened, do I?

I was the card flipper for Rebecca and another student. He did the math super-quick; I was struggling to get the first two cards added by the time he’d finished the fourth and wanted more cards. After three sets of me counting on my fingers (the third set was a K, J, 9 and 8 - I nearly burst into tears) I just took his word for all the sets and quit trying to add them up.

I have no idea if he was telling the truth. By the end of addition time I think he knew I wasn’t even trying because he was going really, really fast. And then when we moved to subtraction I’m almost positive he snowed me. But I didn’t care. I was just praying for those three minutes to pass faster than any three minutes have passed in the history of the universe.

When it was finally, mercifully over I was sweating and nervous and a wreck all over and to add insult to injury I was out of diet Coke. I took a potty break, gathered my wits about me and headed back to class. Thankfully Game Time was finished. And it’s a good thing because I know I certainly was.

After class I told the teacher I would never, ever do that again. Never. Ever. Let me talk about nouns, verbs, direct objects, heck, I’ll even diagram a sentence or twelve, but please, do not ever make me the Flip Mom again. I simply cannot handle the pressure.

And I know the kids are on to me…