I have always had a compulsion.
It is to force every single last drop of laundry detergent out of the cap. I rinse it out in the stream of water in the washer as it fills up at least 14 times.
The only problem is that when I plop the cap back on the bottle, it drips. And then it goos down the side of the bottle. And then it makes my bottle sticky. And then a puddle of sticky goo forms on the shelf under the bottle. And then I am just grouchy.
And the cycle repeats itself.
Well, as often as it can repeat itself when my laundry record is close to nil-to-none.
But I discovered a miracle the other day. The answer to all my goo-infested problems. And it is genius.
My new Blog BFF, Tiffani, posted the other day here about how she also has the same obsession with getting every.last.drop out of the cap. And then my miracle came. Comments poured in on her post detailing this piece of genius majesty.
THROW THE CAP FULL OF DETERGENT INTO THE WASHER WITH YOUR CLOTHES AND EVERY LAST DROP IS SUCKED OUT. AND NO MORE GOO.
The brilliance startles me.
I'm a little slow to catch on, but why this amazing bit of amazingness never crossed my mind is beyond me. (I'm going to blame it on Swine Flu. Because that seems to be the going thing these days.)
So, I've been tossing the cap in with the jeans, tees, and undies. It is remarkable, really.
I have one complaint though...
When I go to REWASH the loads of laundry that have soured (ahem.) because I have left them in the washer too long (double ahem.), I have to dig around through the gross stenchy clothes looking for my cap.
And there, my friends, is nothing majestical about that.
May just need to go back to the goo.
****UPDATE****My good buddy, Sus, over at CPQ, just rescued me. Once again. From the soured laundry nether-regions. Because she just told me that all I have to do to rectify this torturous ordeal of digging through soured blue jeans for the cap is to save the cap from the previous bottles. Then I have an extra cap all ready for my soured loads. She's brilliant. And resourceful. Oh, how I heart the Carpoolqueen. And the fact that, in all her majesty, she has soured loads of laundry, too.
I have always had a compulsion.
My friends are firing me.
As their supportive friend.
Because I'm not being very supportive of their healthy lifestyle change.
And because I'm wallowing in a puddle of self-pity by being the only one left who takes pleasure in an ice cream cone and a BK Stacker (Yum. Bacon.).
So it has come down to two options for me....
1) Become the un-supportive friend that is going to look mighty plumpy and pudgy come swimsuit season. (Which is only 3.5 weeks away for me. Praise Jesus!) Because these are also my peeps that I hang at the lake and pool with. And they are eating baked fish and grilled chicken now. And discussing whey protein. And comparing salad spinners.
2) Let them drag me down with them. Kicking and screaming. But maintain my status as supportive friend.
This is terrible.
I'm such a follower. And I can't stand to miss a party.
Even if the party is serving carrot juice and steamed spinach.
I'm feeling myself caving.
To the peer pressure.
Dad gum it.
(Go ahead, "anonymous" reader. You know you want to leave me a comment on how glad you are that I'm coming around. That I'm going to stop eating french fries in front of you and tempting your wife with my wily Sonic ways. I triple-dog dare you.)
Labels: That's How We Roll
What? You don't think I can pull it off? Ha! What do you know? You are the same one that is talking smack about me needing to exercise.
Labels: That's How We Roll
Heaven in flip flops and snort-giggles.
Last night, I left my testosterone crazed world and stepped out for an estrogen break. A much needed estrogen break, mind you. I’d been up to my much-need-to-be-waxed eyebrows in stinky tennis shoes and remnants of Lego battles (all.over.my.house.), and I was needing to get out….or someone was going to get hurt.
Me and my girly friends headed out. Conversation in the car was light and fun. We heard about a “real-live ghost” and talked about how we despise exercise. We talked a lot about nothing and yawned because we were sleepy…at 5:00 in the evening.
We decided to eat at Chili’s. Here’s a tip….do not eat at Chili’s unless “in-a-hurry” does not apply to you. Because we were there….a really long time. Good thing I was there with good company. We discussed the amazing-ness of Edward (one of my favorite conversations to have), the slowness of our waiter, and the levels of grossness of our houses. And then we discussed what to do next….because even though we were sleepy, there was no way we were going home yet.
We discussed going to a movie. But I don’t like watching intense, make-you-think movies when I’m out with my girlfriends, and that seemed to be all that was playing. Lucky for me, most of the other girls agreed. Because who wants to think? Or be sad? Or contemplate the meaning of life? Ugh. Not me.
Let me insert a side note here: I’ve decided that I’m one of the most flightiest people I know. I have smart friends for a reason…so they can be smart for me. I can hang in conversations about a lot of things, but when talk turns to politics, social activism, and matters of historical significance…..I’m done. I turn to the basket of chips and take my cue to keep my mouth busy eating rather than speaking. I’m lucky that most of my friends get that about me. I’m sure they want to pat me on the head and say, “Bless your heart, Sweetie,” but I’m good with that. Other people, however, don’t appreciate my ignorance for such “important” matters. But, I’ve decided that I’m okay with being the “flighty” friend. I’ll be the one that watches way too much reality tv, that is the hopeless romantic, and that chooses to not read parenting books and just do the best I can (but may whine about it later!). I will also be the friend that will encourage you to buy a new dress, try on blingaliscious flip flops, and eat an extra cookie if you want to. Some would call that an enabler….I just like to think of myself as supportive.
Enough rabbit chasing….
After we FINALLY got our checks and checked our teeth in the bathroom mirror, we headed out for the best part of the evening.
Look at these piggys. Aren’t they mah-va-lus?!
The only downfall with getting pedicures is that you have to listen to the chatter of the precious Oriental people that are so super talented when it comes to nail art. There is no doubt that they were discussing and giggling about the nastiness of my feet. Because I would if I were them.
After our toes were beautiful and we were feeling sassy, we headed over to the book store…the only place still open…because we still weren’t ready to go home.
So, we browsed the bargain book aisles, thumbed through some magazines, and discussed the importance of vampire literature. Then we sat down for some good coffee and snort-giggles.
The coffee was good.
The snort-giggles better.
Because we talked like girls should talk when they are together. Because it is good to know that you aren’t crazy….that other people have the same issues that you do. That there is someone who “gets” you. There was some political talk….in which I embarrassed myself by displaying my ignorance, and then resorted to buying a huge cookie and scarfing it. Hello….I’m your flighty friend. And SO okay with it.
We closed the book store down and then headed for home. With pretty toes.
I love Girls’ Night Out so much. It is therapy for me.
And Lord knows I need it.
Thanks, girls! I had a blast….and I’m hearting your toes!!
Hallelujah for fickle kids.
Booalujah for moms that have to put up with them.
*Kirk met me at the eye doctor this afternoon. Both of us were WAY overdue for our eye exams. I got the lecture from the doc about wearing my contacts too long. It's the same speech I get every time I see him. But, he doesn't get me. I leave my laundry in the washer until it sours, I leave the dishes in the dishwasher because I hate unloading it, and my family's dressers and closets are purely decorative because we live out of laundry baskets and suitcases that don't get unpacked. So why would he think that I would change out my contacts regularly? And he has a medical degree. Ha.
*I did get some awesome new glasses though. Like super cute glasses. I went for trendy....probably not the smartest idea ever...but I just couldn't resist brown and white stripes. I wanted the turquoise and chocolate ones, but Kirk scrunched up his nose at those. And since he was dropping $800 on our visit today, I decided to spare him the extra stress. But, gosh, they were cute. Like pedicured feet in flip flops cute.
*Kirk got new glasses, too. The glasses lady informed him that his face wasn't made for glasses. I'm not sure how you are supposed to take a comment like that. I don't think he took it very well, because he didn't find all my "Dog" jokes funny when he ended up with a pair from the Randy Jackson line of eyewear. Party pooper. I should have gotten the turquoise glasses.
*I think that I might be the only person in the blogosphere that is not a fan of the Google Reader. (Except for Lori....she agreed with me!) I get that the Reader is all about ease and speed and blah blah blah. BUT....it feels all sterile and operating roomish to me. Too white. Way too white. I like your headers. And your sidebars. And your cutesy fonts and colors. Some of you paid good money for those blog layouts....so, by golly, they should be seen. So...blog friends, know that I am a traveler to your actual site every day. Sometimes several times a day. Because I like seeing you....outside of the Google.
*Tomorrow night is Girls' Night Out!! Woo Hoo! I'm in much need of an estrogen fix. Don't know what we're going to do, and don't care. As long as no boys are invited or present.
*I'm still knee-deep in Darcy love. And I'm swooning. But not over the weird illustrations that are in my book. Because they make Mr. Darcy look like a very ugly transsexual. And there is nothing swoon-worthy about that. *I am dumping my stuff in a yard sale next weekend. Steph, Lisa, and I (along with some others) are pawning our junk off on others once again! I'm all for ridding my house of old crocheted placemats and the funky presents that are too weird to regift.....but, I despise getting ready for them. I can't stand cleaning out toy boxes, sorting through old clothes, and digging in the attic for out-dated Christmas decorations. It makes me nauseous just thinking about it. But so goes my schedule for tomorrow. Ick. That and the twelvity thousand loads of laundry that are taking over my laundry room. I can't even see my washer anymore, because it is hiding behind a large pile of dirty towels that I'm thinking may actually eat the children if left for one more day. I need a Tums.
*I've got another give-away up my sleeve. Because I'm a giver. And I had so much darn fun the last time, it is so time to do it again! But this time it is bigger. And better. Stay tuned....
So, I'm off to go to sleep. Just to wake up extra early in the morning. Wide eyed and bushy tailed. Only because it is the one day that I can sleep in.
Because so goes my life.
First of all, THANKS A MAZILLION! for all your sweet comments on this post. You really know how to perk a sister up. I heart y'all something crazy.
In the world of my love life......
I'm over him. Kinda. It was time for Edward and I to go our separate ways. And though I still find myself pining after him, too many of my thoughts had been consumed with vegetarian vampirey goodness, and it was time that we moved on. Edward is, of course, as devastated by this break-up as I am.
So I've pacified my sad heart by turning to another.
And he is pretty amazing. I've been around the love block with him many-a-time, and I knew that he would be the one that could get me through these dark Edward-less days. So I grabbed this off my shelf...
And I have entrenched myself in my beloved Mr. Darcy. Oh. Be still my heart.
I totally buy into the whole "the book is always better than the movie" philosophy. Case in point: My Edward. He is still so much cuter in my head than he ever could hope to be in that movie. And though the movie was blissfully delicious....it doesn't hold a candle to those books. Because they are just that good.
Jane Austin may have just met her match with Hollywood. Because that movie gets me every time. Take a look at this....but make sure you have a hankie handy....to either wipe your tears and/or your drool...whichever comes first.
You may now refer to me as Miss Bennet. Because Miss Edward Lover is so last yesterday.
Parenting is hard, y'all.
Here's the deal.
Baseball is what we do. The boys have been playing since they were babies. Bats and balls and gloves are permanent fixtures in my house. Second Base dirt is permanently ground into my carpets from cleats and sliding pants. We spend more on baseball gear than we do on school clothes. We have a bloomin' batting cage in our backyard for gosh sakes. Kirk eats, sleeps, and breathes baseball....and so did our boys. Until.
Now this is where it gets tricky. And apparently there is some debate circling around the community about just this very issue. Because Keaton is a great pretender. But also heavy on the drama. And those two mix like me and frogs. They just don't.
Keaton has never given any indication that he disliked baseball. He has always been happy about hangin' with his dad in the backyard, and he has spent more time in the batting cage than any of the other boys. He's a good ball player, and LOVED his team last year. So when baseball sign-ups rolled around a couple of months ago, we took the boys and signed up. No complaint. No argument. Just excited conversations about wondering what team they would be on, getting cool jerseys, yada yada yada.
THEN. One day. It came out.
"I only signed up for baseball because I didn't want to hurt Daddy's feelings."
Ugh. Knife digging in my heart.
And since that fateful coming-out, our days have been full of grouchiness, whining, and tears when baseball is brought up in conversation...you can only imagine games and practices.
Now we are being accused of being too pushy of parents. Of forcing our kids to play sports that they hate. Of crushing our children's spirits.
And it hurts.
Because we would never hurt our kids. The last thing in the world that we want to happen is for our children to be unhappy or pressured...and certainly not by us!
But, we're not going to let him quit.
Because then what kind of parents would we be? What kind of lesson does that teach? That you can just walk out on your responsibilities because you changed your mind? That you can walk out on your commitments because you weren't honest or were scared from the get-go? At this point, our battle as parents has nothing to do with the baseball field. Now we are facing the lesson of follow-through and not being a quitter. Team sports are just that....TEAM sports. And if you commit to a team, then you need to keep your end of the bargain. That's just how life works.
We've assured Keaton that come the end of this season, he never has to pick up another bat and glove for the rest of his life. That we understand that all people do not have the same tastes. That we, as his parents, are supportive of all his interests and passions, and okay if he doesn't share the same ones as us. But, we just have to make it through this season. We're talking about responsibility. We're talking about good attitudes. We're talking about teamwork.
But it is hard. Because I want to say, "You got it. You're done. We don't want you to be uncomfortable."
But we can't. Because uncomfortable just comes with this fallen world.
I realize that you may not agree with our thoughts on this. You may feel like we are doing the right thing, or you may feel like we aren't. You may have just written us off as those crazy sports parents. And that's okay.
Because parenting is tough. And we're just trying to do the best we can. And instill the values we find important in our kids. And hope that one day our little boy will turn into a Godly man...one with integrity, honor, and responsibility.
This stinks, y'all.
Labor and delivery with no pain medication was a breeze compared to this.
I forgot to set my DVR.
Go on. Tell me how cute he is. I'll agree with you.
I've never won any awards for my math skillz.
In fact, I had to miss most of my recesses in 4th grade to listen to a whiny lady recite multiplication facts to me on a record. I still harbor great resentment towards multiplication for that very reason. Because you just shouldn't have to give up Freeze Tag for Math. It's just not right.
So the fact that I'm about to bust some math moves on my blog is not only extraordinary...it is just plumb crazy. (I feel your eye rolling, Smart Friends....)
Ready for this?
140 x 4 = 560
Ahhh....560 calories ingested into my body in a 15 minute span.
I wish it had been in the form of a doughnut.
Or an ice cream cone.
Or even a big ole' honkin' chocolate bar.
But. Oh no. I chose to dump 560 calories in my body by eating 4, count 'em 4, bags of these...
Your eyes do not deceive you. Those are in fact graham cracker bugs.
And I ate 560 calories worth of caterpillars, dragonflies, and ladybugs today. One after the other.
Because I was hungry. And they were in the car. And because I momentarily forgot that swimsuit season is only 5 weeks away.
So...you're thinking Good one. But don't beat yourself up over it. It isn't that big of a deal.
To which I tell you that if eating 4 bags of children's snacks wasn't pathetic enough, then the fact that I didn't even share with my kids might just take the cake. And I probably also shouldn't mention that they asked me to share....and I mumbled "No" through a mouthful of butterflies.
Excellent parenting once again.
I deserve an extra dose of cellulite for that one.
Ahhh. The uneventful weekend. What I've looked forward to for a week.
Laundry. Jammies. Junk food. Movies. Sleeping late. Blog reading. The Great Flood.
Oh. Yes. The Great Flood of 7:30 Last Night.
What every great relaxing weekend at home needs....a little flood to shake things up a bit!
Here's how it went down...
I was somewhere between the couch and the laundry room and watching Boy TV. I had just downed my forty-fifth Diet Dr. Pepper of the day and was making my forty-fifth trip to the bathroom. The boys were piled in my bed watching Scooby Doo (since their daddy had hijacked the other TV), and I said something to them in passing. Probably something like, "Stop karate kicking your brother because you are messing up my bed while you're doing it, and I don't want to have to remake my bed," or "Stop jumping on my bed because I don't want to get out of my jammies to take you to the emergency room." So I said something super motherly and walked on into my bathroom.
AND MY FOOT HIT WATER.
And it sloshed. Because there was a ton of it.
Inches of water covering my bathroom floor.
And it was still coming.
Because SOMEONE plugged up my sink and turned the water on. And then forgot about it. And then went to my bed and karate kicked their brother while they watched Scooby Doo. And then looked stunned when their mother grew horns after her foot hit water.
I still don't know which one did it. No one can "remember." And each lost their ability to tattle when I needed them to. So I just went Crazy Mom on all 3 of them.
And then I had to use all my towels to soak up the water. Which meant more laundry.
And now my room stinks. Like flood.
I love my life.
Ugh. Boy TV.
Thanks to this funky virus that has decided to hold my family hostage, my husband is down for the count. He has moved from the couch to his chair to the bed and back again...and this is the extent of his gettin' around for the day. And just as I suspected, I have had to hand the remote over. My Saturday remote. To a boy.
Thanks for nothin', funky virus.
Saturdays are my days. My days to clean the house at my own pace, listen to my own music, and watch what I want to on TV. Because my husband gets cabin fever in like 3.6 seconds. So, rain or shine, freezing or roasting...he's outside. And I usually push the kids out the door with him. And lock it behind them.
Then I light candles, blare me some Britney Spears or Lady GaGa (don't judge me!), and dance my way through the laundry. And then when I get tired (which only takes about 3.6 seconds), I plop down and watch Stacy London and Clinton Kelly work their magic on some poor frumpy soul....and I dream it is me.
And this is how I spend my Saturdays.
Because the giant is infected. And he has hijacked my day.
So I've had to endure a Star Wars movie, a Lord of the Rings marathon (those are like 4 hours long...each!), and lots of Man Vs. Wild and Dirty Jobs. And I can tell you that none of those shows give me my mojo.
Good thing I was able to stay in my jammies all day.
Or else I'd really be grouchy.
Labels: Being Boy Crazy
Today I spent 15 minutes looking for my cell phone.
I checked my purse. I went to my car twice and checked the floorboards and seats. I checked my charger. I retraced my steps. I snapped my fingers angrily at my children signalling that I KNEW they took it and used it to call Cambodia. I mean, seriously....I'd only been home for 30 minutes. Where could it be? Oh no. Maybe I left it at WalMart. On the shelf beside the mac-n-cheese. Or in the refrigerated case with the fish sticks.
And then I found it.
I was talking. To my friend. On my phone.
And you wonder why I feed my kids Fruity Pebbles for dinner.
I'm going to be accused of being in a conspiracy.
And then someone is going to accuse me of rigging this whole Sonic gig.
And then Carpoolqueen is going to be heard round the world giggling....because she SO won.
But....I PROMISE I DIDN'T RIG IT!
Although it is rather odd that just a week ago I won her Starbucks Giveaway, and she was the one that taught me how to use the whole Random Number Generator. The same Random Number Generator that just picked her number. Not 5 minutes ago.
But....I PROMISE I DIDN'T RIG IT!
So, because you all are outstanding sports (ahem, Tiffani!), I'm going to take this moment to congratulate Mrs. Carpoolqueen on behalf of all of you sweet losers. I'm sure she has a speech prepared for just such an occasion.
And...thanks for entering my Give-Away! I heart you guys so much!
On a totally unrelated note, but definitely worth mentioning....
I'm ONE chapter away from finishing this.
And I'm very sad. And I'm reading very slowly. Because I don't want it to be over. Because I just heart those darn Cullens so darn much.
Labels: Give Away
First is the random knowledge that my refrigerator now smells like boiled eggs. And every time I reach in to snag a soda, I get a whiff of egg. At least they are pretty.
No, we didn't take the pictures in the middle of the night....it was just that dark and stormy Sunday morning. And, yes, Tate is holding a VeggieTale book...because when I yelled at the boys to get their Bibles as we were running out the door...he came back with Archibald's Opposite Book. And we were too late to argue the difference. Oh...and excuse the dead plants in the pots on the sidewalk....green is not my color.
Okay...fine. I'll tell you the Easter Bunny Story. You dragged it out of me.
Remember me not shopping until Saturday afternoon for Easter clothes? Yah...well....no chocolate bunnies had been purchased yet either. The husband was turkey hunting with Sawyer all Friday and Saturday....and I haven't quite mastered filling a buggy with chocolate bunnies and random toys when I have 2 of the chocolate bunny eaters with me. This is why people frown on procrastination.
But, I totally recovered. I hid their Easter baskets out of sight, ignored every comment made about Giant Bunnies that bring chocolate replicas of themselves, and spent way too much money on WebKinz and ginormous lollipops at Cracker Barrel at lunch after church. The husband and I then relinquished control of our laptops for the children to play around WebKinz World all afternoon.....if that isn't love (and overcompensation), I don't know what is.
So there you have it. Easter....as only our family could manage it. Because a day without attitude, procrastination, and me forgetting something would just be....well, weird.
I spent the morning in the doctor's office. Waiting.
Waiting to sign in. Waiting to be called back to a room. Waiting for the doctor once I was called back to a room. Waiting for the nurse to come and do blood work....twice. Waiting for the nurse to come and do a flu test. Waiting for my eyes to stop watering after the nurse finally came to do the flu test. Waiting for the doctor to come back to tell me to go home and wait.
I spent the afternoon at home. Waiting.
Waiting for the doctor to call me to tell me what all my waiting was for this morning.
I finally called her. Because I got tired of waiting.
And shockingly enough.....she doesn't know what is wrong with me. So I get to "wait it out."
Today is a huge day for those of us who have a personal relationship with a Man named Jesus. Well, not today...but what today represents. Today represents Resurrection Day. Easter. It is what makes our Jesus worth knowing.
I'm not a theologian. I'm not a preacher. I'm not a Biblical scholar. And I'm not religious. But I am a follower.
A follower of a God that is alive. I follow Truth. Because I know It's True.
One day when I was teaching at a Christian school, a student in my Bible class asked me what was more important -- Good Friday or Easter Sunday. We were very cautious as teachers of Bible classes to speak truth, but handle doctrinal issues with care, because so many denominations were represented in the school where I was. I remember turning the question on him (as all good teachers like to do!!) and asking him what he thought, before answering for myself. I remember him telling me that he felt like Good Friday was the most significant, because without it, we would be dead in our sin. Another student, who was listening to the conversation, piped in and said that he agreed with that.
I remember moving on to another topic without really giving my opinion, giving a blanket answer of, "Both days are significant for our faith, both giving meaning and hope." And then going on with class.
I have thought about that numerous times since that day several years ago, posing the question to myself. Which day is more significant?
Again....I'm no Biblical scholar....just a daughter of a King that is alive.
But every time I pose the question to myself, the cross is vivid in my mind, but then my mind drifts to a rock on a hill that is rolled from its place of permanency....because the One who was supposed to stay permanently in the hill, rose up and left.
My life is one that is littered with sin happenings and stumblings down roads I had no business traveling. I've made mistakes that will have lifelong earthly consequences for me, and there are some days that Satan beats me to such a pulp with guilt that I feel like I can't even get off of the floor. But then I am picked up. And the memories of my sin are replaced with joy. And my burdens of consequence are made lighter.
Because the One who lightens my load, and replaces my shame with joy, and picks me up off the floor is the One that did that rising and leaving.
What Jesus did for me on the cross makes me weak in the knees. I weep at the thought of his nail-pierced hands. I tremble at the image of his crown of thorns. I know what the cross represents. I can feel it in the very core of who I am. I'm different because of what my Jesus did that day. And I can't even wrap my head around his massive awesomeness.
But what I do know is that it didn't stop that Friday at the cross. God the Father never planned for Calvary to be the end. Because we weren't created to be in relationship with a god that is dead. To love a god that would take death away from us, but then have to remain dead himself.
No, it didn't end on the cross that day, because my Jesus is big. He is bigger than me. He is bigger than my sin. And He is bigger than death. And He is bigger than the one that tried to hold Him there.
So do I hold the cross dear? Absolutely! Because the cross gave me my freedom.
But do I hold the tomb dear? For sure! Because that tomb gives me my hope.
My Jesus is Alive. He isn't housed in shrines or temples. I don't have to visit a grave to offer gifts of thanksgiving. I don't have to build a statue to remember him by. Because He's Alive.
And because He's Alive.....I have Hope.
And Hope is good. Very, very good.
Today's his birthday. He turned 67. I don't think he'd mind me telling his age. Because he's proud of it. Because his 67 years have been full. And good. And blessed.
When I was 5 years old, my daddy and mama followed a calling. A calling that a lot of people are too scared to obey. But my daddy was brave. He chose to say, "Where?" when God said, "Go."
We said goodbye to our grandparents and friends, boarded a plane, and flew exactly half-way around the world to live in a country where fair-skinned, blond-haired, blue-eyed girls were more than a novelty....they were an anomaly. We traded Happy Meals for eating rice curries on banana leaves with our hands. We traded skunks in our yards for cobras. We lived in the depths of a culture of people that truly lived poverty, and my dad immersed himself in the people. He preached. He ministered. He loved. And we were blessed.
I've said a million times that my experiences as a missionary's kid were taken for granted every second that I actually lived them. Only now can I look back and realize what an amazing gift my daddy gave my mom, sister, and me. And all because he chose to be obedient. All because he said, "Send me, Lord. I'll go."
My daddy is brave. And smart. And funny (or punny!!!). And talented. And creative. And encouraging. And joyful. And gentle. And compassionate. And inspirational.
I'm so proud of him.
And so honored that somehow he finds it in his heart to be proud of me, too.
8. White Daisies.
5. Cream Cheese. Oh my.
4. White Bread. Yah, yah, I know. Eat healthy. Wheat bread is better. Yada Yada Yada. I'm a white bread girl, and I'm stickin' to it.
What is your favorite white thing? And I'll let you copycat me...because I totally get where you would!!!!!
BTW...if you want to check out all the other fantastic bloggers who listed out 10 of something...go here. And Mr. Linky will hook you up.
Labels: 10 On The 10th
It was a normal morning for me.
I set my alarm for 5:20. And hit the snooze button until 6:20. I do this every morning. Why I don't just set the alarm for 6:20, I don't know. Something about slapping my bedside table every ten minutes for an hour makes me think I'm doing something really indulgent....like sleeping in. Although it is so not.
More normal came when it was time to get dressed. I live in my long sleeve white tee-shirts. I have three of them that I just run through several times a week. I layer them under everything, because I'm just that kind of girl. Anyway...all three of my tee buddies were thrown into the washer last night, to prepare for their next go-round, and I had every intention of moving them to the dryer last night. I got all flustered when my DVR cut off the end of American Idol last night, so I went to bed and pouted. And never got up to switch out the laundry. So this morning, I was in the shower when I realized that, horror of horrors, my shirts were all still wet in the washer. I did what anyone of the rest of you would have done. I found something else to wear? Not a chance. I took the time to fold all the towels that were in the dryer and then move the entire load in the washer into the dryer? Heck, no. Remember...I just snoozed until 6:20. And besides...who folds towels at 6:30 in the morning? Certainly not me. No, people....I dug through all the wet clothes in the washer, found one of my white shirts, chunked it in the dryer with the towels, and walked out the door an hour later wearing a white shirt with towel lint stuck to the arms. Because that's how I roll.
So everything was going as normal. Woke up late. Check. Laundry woes. Check. Kids ate healthy breakfast of Oreo poptarts and grape Koolaide. Check. Checked school email and found out that the science class pet is loose in the school. And it is a snake. Check.
Oh....that was my normal day turning into Code Red.
Or Code Green. For the garter snake named Rambo that is now loose in the school. And I don't like snakes. Pet ones named Rambo or not.
The email from our precious science teacher stated that Rambo was harmless. That he was small. And that he was "cute." Excuse me. Cute? Yes. She said "cute." And she asked that if we found Rambo wandering the halls to kindly call her, and she would come and get him.
All I can do is shake me head. And break out in cold sweats in my white tee. And hope that Rambo doesn't run up under my flip flop. Because Rambo would have to die.
Labels: Being Boy Crazy
I think I deserve diamonds for what just happened tonight.
Labels: Married Life