Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I'm Meeting the Wife

Out of nowhere while I'm making lunch for Miss Proper...

Bonus: I have thirty-six girlfriends.

Miss Proper, who would love to have one boyfriend, looks at him and raises an eyebrow.  Then, she smiles at me.  We know this is about to be good.

Me: Hmmm.  I guess the ladies love you, L.L. Cool J.

Bonus: Yeah.  (frown washes over face) But you can't marry a girlfriend.

Me: You can't?

Bonus: No.

Me: Well, then who do you marry?

Bonus: The one in the way, way, way back.  In choir. 

Me:  Who is she?

Bonus:  I don't know yet.  I'll have to show you.

Indeed, I will need to check her out; I can't wait to meet her.  Choir starts September 12.  I hope she comes from a good family. 

Enjoy your day!


Monday, August 30, 2010

The Dread Pirate Bonus

Aight, can you say gangsta?  That 'Tato Head ring is tite, lil homey.

Because I feel like I have left him out of the conversation for quite some time, I would like to bring Bonus Baby back in. 

Unfortunately, I can't.

The sweet little boy you know as Bonus has been kidnapped and replaced by the Dread Pirate Bonus.  The Dread Pirate Bonus just about got himself kicked out of Sunday School this past Sunday.  No, I'm not kidding.  Teach was just about to call in the Preschool Minister.  And not for kissing girls this time.  For getting in a little bit of loud word match with a cute kid who he just can't seem to get along with.  And then not calming down or cleaning up the toys.  Sigh.  At pickup, he, Mr. Dennis, and Mr. Incredible talked about said incident, and then, Bonus went back to apologize to everyone.  Can you say complete and utter parental mortification?   

We have spent a good deal of time the past month talking to the Dread Pirate Bonus about unacceptable behavior, respecting his teachers and classmates, listening, having self-control, etc...  We are hoping it kicks in before next Sunday.  Just to be safe, I'm avoiding that hallway and his teachers for the rest of pre-K.  I'll let you know how that's working out for me...

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Procrastination Is the Spice of Life

Not really, but it does keep things interesting.  Remember my homework?  Well, I started it on Monday, but then, around bedtime on Tuesday (actually well past bedtime when she got out of bed and was chasing her brother around upstairs--what?) RNR finally told me that the whole project was not due until Thursday (originally she had told me that she "guessed" it was due back the very next day which turned into two days, which finally turned into three).  That little piece of information might have been useful earlier in the afternoon, but no bother.  I decided to wait until later in the week to finish now that I had scads of time.  Yes, you don't have to tell me that I should have known better. 

Enter Wednesday.  After dinner I was beyond exhausted.  This getting up at 6:45 (yes, AM, smartypants) does not sit very well with me.  I've always been partial to 9:00.  9:00 loves me, and I trained all of my babies to sleep until this wonderful hour.  Unfortunately, I was unable to convince our school district to go along with this part of my plan.  In fact, they moved the elementary start time up by ten minutes this year.  The nerve! 

At any rate, I had not finished my homework essay, but my eyes would not stay open another minute.  It could have been getting up at 6:45, running two morning carpools, the marathon trip to Sam's, the three other grocery type stores I frequented with a reluctant four year old, the afternoon walk to school, the hour at the park, the walk home, Bonus Baby's thirty minute meltdown over losing a potato chip on the city trail during the walk home, doing other homework, or cooking dinner.  Or possibly the large adult beverage that I imbibed with dinner because of the thirty minute potato chip meltdown.  I went to bed at 9 pm and set the alarm for 5:45, so that I could get up to finish my homework.  It was a good plan.  Okay, the best plan would have been to finish the homework earlier in the week, but I had proscrastinated and now would have to pay the penalty.
For some reason at 3:00 in the morning, Miss Proper decided that a stranger had entered our home.  Of course, she had to share that information with me and roused me from my absolutely fantastic slumber.  After reassuring her that the alarm was set and that if an intruder had indeed intruded that the whole house would be shaking with siren, she went right back to bed and immediately went back to sleep.  Me--I'm wide awake in America.  And since I was up, I figured I had better finish the homework. 

It turned out reasonably well considering it was completed at 3:30 in the morning (sounds a little like what I said about the concluding chapter of my thesis).  I hope those seven and eight year olds enjoy hearing about the one-sip paper straws in my lunch room.  I even printed my homework out on my brand new printer and hung it on the refrigerator with a German beer stein magnet.  It's not my best work.  The New Yorker won't be calling me or anything, but it is finished.        

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Can I Tell Her My Dog Ate My Homework?

Yes, yesterday was the most blessed day of the year; my two older children went back to school. 

Now, I do love my kids and enjoy being with them, but this summer could be summarized as "Pool Days From the Edge."  Seriously, if I had not been so self-conscious about the NINE pounds I gained between 4th of July and last week, I probably would have been in jail for running naked through the streets of my small town whilst pulling out my hair by the handful.  I guess that's one reason to be thankful my pants are too tight. 

The three offspring could not get along, and I felt powerless to do anything that would remedy that.  I have to say that I do not know how homeschool moms deal with that much togetherness.  Maybe they are better women, better mothers, more social, more patient, less moody, on Prozac or Xanax or a "liquid lunch" or all three...  I don't know, but I need a little time to myself, and the summer does not provide much of that.  And now, it is marvelously quiet in my home.  I love that.  Bonus is upstairs playing Wii.  Mr. Incredible is off trying to make the sale of a lifetime (keep your fingers crossed and cross your toes, too).  And I am enjoying my second cup of coffee in SILENCE.  And all I can hear is the blissful sound of raindrops and my fingers clicking on the keyboard.  Yay!

By all accounts, the first day of school was a resounding success for both Miss Proper and RNR Princess. Miss Proper sat with all her elementary school besties at lunch.  RNR sat with her buddy from last year, who is the little brother of one of Miss Proper's besties, and they made imaginary bubbles that they named Bob and Joe.  Ummm, yeah...  As long as she was having fun...  I asked questions to try to understand this game a little better, but that's the whole game.  Apparently, this child is as easily amused as her mother. 

So, some of you have heard me gripe about this in person, but you are going to hear it again.  It was the first day of school, and I should have spent the afternoon learning all about what happened on the first day of second grade or hearing all about who ate lunch with whom over at the middle school.  And then, I should have had a moment to blog about the first day of school on that day.

But, NO.

I had homework. 

An essay about what I remember about the second grade.  And this is important why?  Who cares that Mrs. Werbach was a kind woman who wore rust plaid suits?  Who cares that I donned a hooded snowsuit, snow boots, a ski cap, mittens and a scarf ala Randy Parker in A Christmas Story to walk to and from school?  Have you heard of the blizzard of '78?  I was in second grade living in St. Charles, Illinois wading through mountains of snow in hot pursuit of the first available stall in the girl's restroom at Davis Elementary.  It was only two blocks, but as anyone who has bundled up within an inch of her life knows, you have to pee like crazy as soon as you get into all that cold weather garb.  And if you took everything off at home to go, you would be late for school.  You just have to hold it and hope you don't pee in your snowsuit before you get to school because it will instantaneously freeze on your permanently creased polyester pants and gald your inner thighs like nobody's business.  Trust me; I know.

There was so much snow that year that I could have walked right out of my second story bedroom window and slid down the street.  For some people that was the only way they could get out of their homes.  It was such a historic, horrendous winter that people are still wearing t-shirts that say "I survived the blizzard of '78!" thirty-two years later. 

Second grade was cold.  The classroom was cold.  The coatroom was wet.  My boots and mittens were still wet when I put them back on at the end of the day.  There was lots of whining in Mrs. Werbach's room.  There are few things in this world more pitiful than a cold, wet, polyester-clad eight year old who is supposed to be doing math.  

In second grade my then-best-friend, Claudine Marquis, contracted pneumonia, and I had to walk to school alone for about a month while she recovered.  Then, we moved to Houston, Texas, and my teacher's name was Mrs. Russell.  She wore enormous glasses.  During my second week at my new school we had a "disaster drill" that turned out to be a real tornado.  I huddled under a school desk weeping while alarm bells rang all over the school.  It was terrifying.
 Blizzards and tornadoes.  Moving.  Peeing in your snowsuit.  Is that really what second graders need to hear about?  I think not.  The submitted version will be greatly edited.

And so, I spent my afternoon doing homework while my second grader watched television.  And I'm bitter because the excitement of the first day of school was sucked out by this asinine assignment.  I have already been to school.  In fact, I went to school for twenty-two years straight with no breaks.  I have undergraduate degrees in English literature and sociology plus a graduate degree in sociology.  I even have an additional year of coursework toward my Ph.D.  I don't need to do more homework because I WORK IN MY HOME EVERY DAY.  Argh.  If I wanted more homework, I would go back to school to be a librarian.  Call me crazy, but I'm just wondering how me writing an essay is going to help my child learn.

I'm done ranting now. 

I love my child, and I don't want her to suffer the consequence of sitting out at recess because her mother disagrees with her teacher's pedagogical slant, so I have to go finish my homework.  And if I don't get an A, I'm really going to be ticked off.

And They're Off...

For your viewing pleasure:

Mr. Incredible and Rock N Roll Princess Outside of Her Second Grade Classroom

The All Important Locker

The Annual Desk Shot

A Look Back at Last June... Can You Believe How Much They Have Changed?

Miss Proper Looking Rather Middle Schoolish

I Don't Think She Left Anything in Her Bedroom... It's ALL in the 50 lb. Backpack
and that's a bassoon case ("ummm... honey, take that to the band hall ASAP")

Mr. Incredible and Miss Proper

Just Because She Looks So Cute and Grown Up
There She Goes

And that is not an overgrown 8th grade boy on the left, it's a "cool" dad wearing an Affliction t-shirt and Ed Hardy jeans.  Much scarier than an 8th grade boy. Much. 

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Busting The Sticks and Stones Myth OR The Meanest Words I Ever Heard Were All in Junior High

I guess that's not completely true.  Cruel epithets were hurled handily across the quad at Laguna Hils High School or whispered quietly into my ear in Spanish class.  And as an adult, I have witnessed many exchanges of unbelievable meanness.

Those mean words in junior high are the ones that really get the ball rolling though.  If kids could really understand how much they tear each other down with the things they say...  Can't you still hear those words from junior high?  Did you eat lunch at the "cool table" or on  "loner's lane"?  Were you a dork, a geek, a spaz, a dog, a "butterface", a skeez, a skag, a scumbucket, a scuz, a "pizzaface", or a tard?  Did anyone ever make fun of your clothes or your looks or your interests or your friends or your family?  And I'm just talking about what the boys said.  Good night, if I typed the words that the mean girls said...  Shudder.  The horror.  Makes SAW seem like a family film.  Not that I have seen SAW.  The trailers alone gave me nightmares.  Me no likey the scary movies. 

Last Friday we ventured from the comforts of elementary school into the whole new world of middle school.  Yes, Miss Proper will start sixth grade in nine days.  I can't believe it either. 

So, we went to orientation to find out the particulars.  Who am I kidding?  We went to get the all-important schedule.  And we were disappointed.  Multiple times.  She did not get her first choice of electives (drama). No classes with the best friend.  No classes with the second best friend.  They kept saying to one another, "We still have lunch together."  Sniff.  I hope they do meet for lunch and continue their friendships, but experience says they won't all be friends at this time next year.  There are new friends to be made and new interests to discover that somehow have the power to trump friendships based on proximity and a shared interest in video games.     

We walked her schedule, and I tried to explain the importance of using either the most direct route or the least traveled route. I panicked for her a little when I realized that the passing periods are only four minutes long and in one exchange she has to go from one end of the building downstairs to the other end of the building UPSTAIRS.  It brought back memories of sixth grade tardies and crowded stairwells at Bammel Middle School.  

We moms gave the lesson on schedule comparing.  You have to look at the course name AND the teacher.  Just because you both have Pre AP World Geography fourth period, it doesn't mean you are in the same class.  And that lesson dashed a little hope for a few friends who thought they were going to be able to see each other.

We scanned the hoards looking for familiar faces and found far more that we did not know.  And way too many of those young ladies were wearing makeup.  Lip gloss.  Blush.  Eye shadow. Eyeliner. MASCARA.  These are eleven and twelve year old girls.  Oh. My. Word.  I was not prepared for the makeup.  None of Miss Proper's friends wear makeup yet.  Then, we checked out the boy factor, and Miss Proper declared that they were all either boys she already knew (which is apparently a synonym for "gross") or "nerdy-looking".  See!  Even my own sweet kid starts in with the meanness.  I don't think it helped that she is several inches taller than quite a few of them.

I commented that one of her friends had gotten contacts and didn't he look nice.  "I guess."  Would she like to actually step foot into one of her classrooms and say hello to the teacher. "No."  Should we ask if she should bring her P.E. clothes on the first day? "No."

Mommy, can we get out of here yet?


Smiles.  Shoulder hug as we walked across the parking lot out to the van.

I know I can't protect her from everything, but she has such a sensitive soul, like her mama, that I can't help wanting to.  And I 'm praying that she will desire the right kind of friends and be shielded from the wrong ones (Proverbs 1:10,11).  If she could be entirely oblivious to the comments being made around her or about her, I would be delighted.  She is my kid, afterall; people are going to be talking about her. ;)  


Saturday, August 14, 2010

Unfortunately Her Affliction Is Not Limited To Flip Flops

The Latest Victims

Just because I thought you should know, Rock N Roll Princess managed to nearly destroy this adorable pair of sandals the first time she wore them.  As you can see from the photo, I have managed to macguyver them with shoe goo, a potato chip clip and a clothes pin.  How's that for ingenuity?  We'll see if they hold.  She has managed to keep both of her hot pink flip flops intact for the last month.  Small victories. 

Thursday, August 12, 2010

I Think I May Just Throw Up Or Patience Is A Virtue For Someone Else

Timing is either perfection or anathema.  If you think there is an in between that is just ho-hum, think again.

We have been waiting on some news at the Reckless household, and it is like scraping your nails on a chalkboard or hearing teeth on a fork.  Blech.  I just got shivers down my spine thinking about the fork and teeth. Give me nails on a chalkboard any day. 

I wish I could tell you that over the years I had arrived on the whole waiting and patience thing, but I have not.  And just when that little beast called pride begins to perk it's ears up and wag its tail and make me think that I have actually progressed, something like this week comes along and reminds me how little progress I have made.

Because I'm not good at waiting.  And I don't like big surprises.  And I am out of patience.  But I don't have any answers either.  And that is, perhaps, making me a little nauseous.

When I was a child, I could not stand not knowing what I was getting for Christmas.  So, I developed a method for unwrapping my gifts and wrapping them back up.   I have mad skills for package espionage if you should ever require such services.  The only way my parents discovered my subterfuge was that I was not jumping up and down on Christmas morning when I opened my gifts.  And neither was my sister because I had opened hers up, too, and told her what she was getting.  It took them a little while to figure out what was happening, but when they did, they quit putting the gifts under the tree until the last minute.  And I foiled that, too, because I discovered the hiding place in the top of my parents' closet underneath their extra pillows.  And those weren't even wrapped yet, so it was even better as far as I was concerned.  When they discovered my discovery, they switched hiding spots until the gifts eventually landed in the garage locked in a locker.  The end of spoiled surprises.

Has nothing to do with the post except that it is taken at Christmas.  You gotta dig my dad's perm and mustache.  I'm the one thoroughly engrossed in the gingerbread men.   

When I was eighteen, a couple of my friends threw me a surprise birthday party.  It was awfully sweet, but I figured it out early and had to pretend I didn't know.  I did get a little surprise because the guy I was madly in love with spent the evening flirting with my friends instead of me (umm... if you can't be nice to the birthday girl, you need to stay home), and then, there was another surprise when another guy I liked shoved my face in my cake.  Red and green nostril shaped frosting bullets on the white carpet.  Not a good thing.     

When I was pregnant with RNR, some friends threw me a surprise shower.  Again, not that surprised.  I may have just surprised a couple of them.

I just like to know what is coming.  And right now, I don't know what is coming, and I don't like it.  I fully know I am not in control, and I am sure it will be the best plan when I find out what it is.  I'm just really not fond of this holding pattern.   Tom Petty really knew what he was talking about.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

If You Don't Send This To Eight People In The Next Five Minutes, You Will Be Locked Out of Facebook Forever

Well, I have no news right now, and I'm tired, so I'm stealing this from the Facebook files.  Sue me.

I've come to realize...

I've come to realize that my body is... still a struggle for me even though my husband thinks it’s pretty hot.  Yes, he is seriously demented, and I'm thankful for that.

I've come to realize that my job is ... important! I ♥ being a mom to my kids even when they are driving me crazy and I’m having a Calgon moment.

I've come to realize that when I'm driving... I can’t be in an emotional state of mind. Two tickets, two Mondays in a row, two stop signs I didn’t realize I ran through… BAD! SAD! EXPENSIVE!!!!  The driver's safety course I took was far more punitive than the $189 fine and insurance hike would have been.  The deferred adjudication I requested for the second ticket gives my kids a great reason to behave in the car..."You are going to have to get along in the car until October 12.  You wouldn't want Mommy to go to jail, would you?"  Don't think I haven't used this.   

I've come to realize that I need nothing more in life than... the Lord. Now, if I could put that into practice and not try to run my own life… 

I've come to realize that I've lost my... mind. Long gone. Don’t even miss it anymore, but if you come across it, please show it how to Google me.  It could come in handy sometime.

I've come to realize that I hate....onions. Yeah, that answer is a cop-out.

I've come to realize that money is... a necessary headache. The more you have, the more you spend, and the more you worry about it. We would not mind a raise though.

I've come to realize that certain people...love me in spite of myself. What a lucky girl I am.

I've come to realize that I'll always remember...the feel of hot air blowing up my nightgown while sitting over a floor register, my great-grandmother’s funeral, the first time a boy brought me flowers, my sister’s taped guitar practices, the smell of the ocean, a gorgeous sunset, and my first kiss. And how could I forget the first time I met Mr. Incredible, our bench, the night he told me I was beautiful, his proposal, the births of all three of our children and the loss of our three other babies. I’ll always remember my grandfathers, too, and I will always miss them.  My memories of people I love are so vivid, I sometimes feel like I am actually re-living the moments when I recall them. Most of the time I consider that a wonderful gift.

I've come to realize that my sibling...is the funniest person I know! I’m not sure if she is hilarious to me because we have so much shared history or if other people think she is as funny as I do. I really don’t care; she cracks me up. She really could have been on Saturday Night Live. She makes me laugh so hard that I can’t breathe, tears run down my cheeks, and snorts and snot fly out of my nose.  Generally, I will wet my pants from laughing too hard at least once a visit.  Twice if we eat yogurt at the spectrum.

I've come to realize that my mom...is beautiful and always has my best interest at heart. She also has fantastic fashion sense. I love to talk to her on the phone. I have friends who don’t get along with their moms, and it makes me sad because I enjoy spending time with my mother.

I've come to realize that my cell phone...is how I communicate with those closest to me. If I call you on it, you are special. If you call me on it, I feel special. Love to get your texts, too.

I've come to realize that when I woke up this morning... it was way too early!  Coffee by the gallon, please. Oh, and make that decaf.

I've come to realize that last night... was fun. Watching James Bond with your four year old son and your husband can really be eye-opening. When was the last time you ran up and down a volcano in a white bikini while your male escort was fully clothed? Yeah, although I know some of you will be surprised, me neither. However, we have much higher survival rates than Bond girls, so I’m thinking we are on the right track.

I've come to realize that right now I am thinking about... wouldn’t you like to know.

Actually, I’m thinking about roller derby. Yes, I’m a little obsessed, and I think the pursuit of this particular dream scares Mr. Incredible a little. I enjoyed other extreme sports like rock scrambling, rock climbing, and scuba diving before I met him. He has never watched me participate in them though, unless you count childbirth. He did see me get into a knock-down-drag-out with my sister once; it wasn’t pretty. I got a wedgie from her dragging me all around my apartment by my feet, but I think I actually won that battle. Yep, it’s important to brawl over your dad’s ancient plaid flannel shirt. Especially if you are really into grunge music. Maybe we had a little too much teen spirit. Only I was in my twenties.

I've come to realize that my Dad is... still protective of me at 39. I guess that won’t stop anytime soon.

I've come to realize that when I get on Facebook... I lose track of time. I don’t think I’m alone on this one…

I've come to realize that today...is going to be a long day. When you only sleep about 45 minutes and get up at 5am, it’s tough to get up off the couch for any reason. Also, today is a gift. The grace for today is sufficient, even abundant.

I've come to realize that tonight...I will probably sleep like a rock. Tonight is also a good night for a pear martini.  Oh wait, every night is a good night for a martini even though I rarely drink them.

I've come to realize that tomorrow...is Sunday! I will be busy “being the church” with the four year olds. Joy and privilege. I will also get to meet with my moms, inc. steering team at Starbucks. I have missed my team over the summer. Looking forward to our new beginning and old traditions. Tomorrow is also “another day.” Don’t you just love Scarlett?

I've come to realize that I really want to... Where to begin this list… I REALLY want to be a derby girl (or at least dress like one for a photo shoot). I must get to work on my t-stops if I want to be a derby darling. I’m at least going to try out in the next couple of years. I really want to go to NY with my friend even though I’m pretty nervous about taking a taxi. I really want the wall in my dining room to get finished so I can move all the furniture back. I really want a nap. I could go on and on, but I really want to stop right here.

I've come to realize that my children...are fabulous people. They may not always behave or say the right things, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. If I traded them, I would not be able to tell stories about the random things they say. For instance, last night at dinner, RNR Princess busts out with, “People are not tomatoes.”  We are checking to see if there is a pill for that.

I've come to realize that this weekend...is almost over! Aren’t weekends always too short?

I've come to realize that the best music to listen to when I'm upset is...not eighties music unless it’s Katrina and the Waves because who can be upset listening to “I’m Walking on Sunshine.” You start to feel good. Just sayin’. Relient K is a good choice. So is Switchfoot. And, of course, I can always listen to Paul McCartney and Wings or Fleetwood Mac. Or Dolly.

I've come to realize that my friends...are lifesavers! What would I do without each one of you. Priceless treasures. Inspirations. Supporters. An irreplaceable group of people.

I've come to realize that this year...is over half over. Where does the time go? This year is proving to be full of unexpected surprises. The second half could be a real humdinger. I had to say humdinger because who says that, right? I guess I do.

I've come to realize that my husband is... Matthew McConaughey’s look-a-like or brother or something similar. He got told it again this week. Ladies, he’s taken. Mr. Incredible is not perfect, but he is definitely far beyond “good enough”. He is also forgiving, hard working, completely inappropriate and dorky, which I apparently really like. If we ever dated, you must have been a real dork.

I've come to realize that maybe I should... patent my ideas. It never fails that I come up with an idea for a brilliant product and then see it being sold on TV a few years later. TVs with a remote control locator button on them? My idea in the 90s. Showed in the early 2000’s. If I can just figure out how to put my latest idea on paper, JMom and I are going to make Oprah look poor. I’ll give you a hint; it has something to do with golden winnebagos. That’s all I can say.

I've come to realize I really don't understand... Mandarin. I never thought I did understand it, but it is the only thing I could think right now.
I've come to realize that my past... is not coming back. And it’s forgiven. Most of it has been incredibly, deliriously, decidedly FANNYPAKTASTIC. Just a little summer camp saying I picked up from Miss Proper. Maybe you had to be there. Or maybe it’s not as catchy as she thought…

I've come to realize that parties... will always make me nervous! It’s just part of being an introvert. Once I get comfortable with people, I usually enjoy myself.  If I get really comfortable, you might have to tell me it’s time to go home. 

I've come to realize that my life is... purchased with a price I can never repay and certainly don’t deserve.  That’s winner winner chicken dinner, don’t you think?  And, unlike James Bond, we only live once. You should enjoy life within reasonable limits. Eat the last Red Vine while your kid is in the bathroom. Wear yellow shoes while carrying an orange purse. Let your kid wear the same Star Wars shirt so many times that all his preschool pictures from last year feature Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, and Princess Leia. Put on a  sequined shirt to go the Krogert. Play with your kids instead of mopping the floor. Try not to worry about what other people think. It’s not their opinions that count. And GO TO DISNEY WORLD at least once.  Disneyland does not count, although it is fabulous, too, and probably even my favorite.

Friday, August 6, 2010

The Second Time Around

The other day I was telling you that I was going to McDonald's, or "ReDonald's" if your name is Bonus.  I also told a few of you that my lunch was not so good the first time (SO glad that two out of three children have outgrown the golden arches), that the second time was even less thrilling.  McNuggets burp-back and other things plagued me for the rest of the day and even into the next morning.  Mr. Incredible said I deserved it  for actually eating lunch there.  MEAN. MEAN. MEAN. Sigh.  He's probably right.  I can't eat like I used to.  No more large pizzas for me to eat all by myself.  Those were the days.  For one thing, it goes straight to my butt.  For another thing, I never understood all the fuss about reflux and heartburn and indigestion until a couple of years ago.

Well, I went to McDonald's to visit with an old friend who has experienced an enormous amount of change in her life over the past few years.  Moving. New husband. New baby.  And I realized in our conversation that although my children have grown taller and my age has crept ever so closer to the number that is called forty (but what's a number, right?) and my dress size is smaller, that I have not done much changing over the past few years.  BORING!  Staus quo is okay sometimes, but othertimes, it calls into question thought life, heart condition, priorites, relationships, responsibilities, and plain, old growing up.  Because growing up and growing old are two distinctly different animals.  Growing up requires forward momentum while growing old simply requires a changing calendar.  One will happen regardless of whether I do anything (unless I get stuck in a Groundhog Day portal, which would not be all bad for a short while.  Can anyone arrange that for me?  I have a few hundred days I could use a do-over on.), and the other requires work, which God honors and expects. 

And, I have commenced with some weeping forward in the past two months during a study of Ruth (not me--more patience, kindness, and love on the part of my Strong Tower, Shelter, my Hiding Place).  I have gleaned (no pun intended or completely intentional. you choose.) a small amount of wisdom on the threshing floor of Boaz. 

Which doesn't mean I have to abandon my Whip-It dream.  It just means I have learned that forgiveness and forgetfulness are not necessarily bed-buddies.  They are for some people, one Cubavera-wearing-person in particular in my story, which kinda sucks for me, but they are not BFFs in my story.  And that's more than okay.  If we forget our pasts because there is pain or sin, I do think we are more likely to head down that road again.  It's a fine balance between remembering and wallowing.  And, I have done my fair share of wallowing, just to be crystal clear. 

At any rate, the book of Ruth has been special to me for years, and it never fails to wreck me.  And I do mean wreck, destroy, obliterate.  But in the best kind of way.  It tears me down to the essential elements of belief and faith.  His truth never changes.  There is no promise that life will be happy-go-lucky.  Bad things will happen to me.  Bad things have happened to me.  Godly people will continue to do ungodly things.  He is still good.  He still redeems unlikely people in the most unlikely ways.  Ultimately, El is involved in the most intricate details of my life and uses all things for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).  It's all about perspective.  When I get back to the basics, what else can I possibly need.   

A shower.  I desperately need a shower.  And brushing my teeth might be a good idea since it is lunch time.  Sorry.  It's just one of those mornings.             

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Did You See The Look She Gave Me?

Well, something is awry with the Cutest Blog on the Block site, and it made my blog, well, CRAZY.  After some code-diving, I ditched it.  Not. That. Easy. Especially if you are not-that-techy.  An accurate description of me.  At any rate, I have changed up my look thanks to  Shabby Blogs.  I know I have some catching up to do here.  Serious catching up.  I promise I'll write something more substantial later.  I have to go to McDonald's right now.  I know. Priorities.