So here we are, in the home stretch of getting our house ready to sell. Unfortunately, I was laid out earlier this week with the worst gall bladder attack I've had since this mess began in January. Which means, I've done nothing and my house is a mess. *sigh* I have no idea how I'm going to have it ready for putting it on the market Monday. And if we don't get it on the market ASAP, we won't know where we're moving before school starts, which is really important to me. I don't want to move B midway through the year.
At first, I thought, wow, Satan's really attacking us here. And then I had to wonder... is it really Satan?
I've always had a hard time attributing things to the devil. I'm not one of those "devil made me do it" folks. I pretty much believe that you reap what you sow and most of the time, the crap in your life is due to bad decisions you've made. The devil is not "out to get you" because frankly, we do enough getting of ourselves.
Now, most of my health issues are completely not my fault. There's nothing I could have done to prevent it. But like my attack the other night. I know that with my gall bladder issues, I am supposed to eat a very low fat diet. Which means the really super yummy root beer float was a no-no. I'd eaten ice cream before with no problems, but this time, it was awful. Let's just say that if I ever am in that kind of pain again, I would seriously consider killing myself, it was that bad.
But as I laid in the hospital bed, feeling the joy of painkillers, worried about how I wouldn't get things done on the house, I had to ask, "is this God's way of saying this is not the right time to get a new house? Or does God want us to have a new house, and Satan is being a butthead?" Because yes, I do believe that Satan is alive and well, and likes to destroy things. I'm just not comfortable with all the things we attribute to him.
Over the past couple of days, I haven't gone very far from my bed. And yet this thought keeps going over and over in my mind. Is God telling me no or is Satan trying to stop me from having something good?
And then I remembered a really stupid prayer I prayed months ago. I asked God for a new house. Not just a new house. A miracle new house. One that when we moved in, people would know the house could have only come from God. Every day, I prayed for my new house. Now that we're selling our old house, I figured the new house was already in the works, so might as well pray for the people buying our old house.
You realize that I am getting exactly what I asked for, right?
It will be a miracle if we get this thing sold in time to know where we'll be living when school starts. And even though I know it seems impossible, especially since it hurts to even move right now, I just know it'll work out. I honestly don't know how. I have a lot to do and it hurts to move. I have small children running amok. Next week, I meet with the surgeon to discuss removing my gall bladder. The following week, I leave for RWA in Dallas. So most likely, the week after that, they'll be cutting me open and taking it out, leaving me unable to lift anything over 15 pounds for the next several weeks. (My surgeon has a lovely website) Trust me when I say that *I* will not be able to do anything.
So when I look at the mess I'm in and ask, "God, why is this happening to me," I can be reasonably sure that when I asked for a miracle, I got it. I just got it done God's way. And maybe there's an enemy lurking, messing up the works. But you know, as much as God likes to tell me when I'm heading in the wrong direction, He's remaining silent as we make these preparations. For now, I'll continue moving forward, but if it's the wrong direction, I pray that God will be abundantly clear that He does not want me to do this. Yes, I want a new house. Desperately. But I want more what He wants for me.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Waiting for Rain
When I was a kid, one of my favorite authors was Shel Silverstein . Tonight, at a local writer's group, God and I had a little chat. Okay, well, it went more like, God talked and I listened.
Oddly enough, I didn't get a Scripture, but a Shel Silverstein poem. If you've read his stuff, you'll recognize it. (not an exact quote, but close enough)
Lazy lazy lazy Jane. She wants a drink of water, so she waits and waits and waits for it to rain.
So here's the rest of the conversation:
Me: I don't get it.
Him: You're Jane
Me: It rained today. I didn't drink it. Acid rain, you know.
Him: It's a metaphor.
Me: Okay, so I'm waiting for rain when I should just get up off my butt and get a glass of water.
Him: Yup.
Me: What's the rain stand for?
Him: So we're going to Egypt now?
Me: Huh?
Him: Denial... you're good at that.
Me: Okay, fine. So we're talking about my writing.
Him: Yup.
Me: I'm waiting on my crit group to send me back what they think and then I'll send it to the agent.
Him: Uh-huh.
Me: Can we get to the point please? I don't get it.
Him: Yes you do.
Me: No, I don't. If I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation.
Him: Ask for help.
Me: Um, for what?
Him: How about all the things you're stressing out over?
Me: Yeah, but...
Him: Please let's not have the conversation we have to have whenever you say, yeah but... to Me.
Me: Okay, fine. Can I have the point now?
Him: You're living in a vacuum. Don't continue living in a vacuum. You're waiting for rain, but there's already water all around you. Dive in!
Seriously, I think some days, when God and I are together, He has to wear a sign that says, "I'm with stupid."
I've been in a funky holding pattern. Mostly that I know what I need to do, but not doing it, because I don't know the how of doing it. I'm stuck on really weird little things, and instead of reaching out and getting help to learn how to do it, I sit here, stressing over how to do it and trying to figure it out on my own. It should be pretty simple to say, "I need help." And it's not so much that I'm the sort of person who can't ask for help. Oddly enough, it never occurred to me that I had help.
As I mull over this silly little Silverstein poem, I marvel at the odd things God uses to speak to us. Who'd have thought that something I memorized as a child, something that had no bearing on anything, became the thing that smacked me in the face when I didn't even know I needed it.
I know there's probably a deep life lesson in this, and more than likely, more than one. Which is why I share this story. The God whispers I share are more than just for me. The funny thing is, as I get to the end of the post and try to think of some witty way to end, all I can think of is how thankful I am that in third grade, I had a teacher who introduced us to poetry and made us memorize a few little ditties. I hated it at the time, as I have a terrible time memorizing anything. But now, when God can't get through to me any other way, He can use Shel Silverstein, Lewis Carroll, Robert Frost, and even Shakespeare. Okay, I admit, Shakespeare didn't happen in third grade. But truly, it is the reading I did as a child that remains to have the greatest impact on my life. And okay, fine, I'll even admit to the fact that most of the Scripture I know is also from my childhood. I'm starting to get better and learn more now, but the most precious verses came from when I was a little girl.
And maybe the point in all of this is that sometimes we're looking for deep wisdom, or a "new" answer, but as we wait for it to rain, we're surrounded by wells, deeper than the wisdom we seek, and all we need to do is dive in.
Oddly enough, I didn't get a Scripture, but a Shel Silverstein poem. If you've read his stuff, you'll recognize it. (not an exact quote, but close enough)
Lazy lazy lazy Jane. She wants a drink of water, so she waits and waits and waits for it to rain.
So here's the rest of the conversation:
Me: I don't get it.
Him: You're Jane
Me: It rained today. I didn't drink it. Acid rain, you know.
Him: It's a metaphor.
Me: Okay, so I'm waiting for rain when I should just get up off my butt and get a glass of water.
Him: Yup.
Me: What's the rain stand for?
Him: So we're going to Egypt now?
Me: Huh?
Him: Denial... you're good at that.
Me: Okay, fine. So we're talking about my writing.
Him: Yup.
Me: I'm waiting on my crit group to send me back what they think and then I'll send it to the agent.
Him: Uh-huh.
Me: Can we get to the point please? I don't get it.
Him: Yes you do.
Me: No, I don't. If I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation.
Him: Ask for help.
Me: Um, for what?
Him: How about all the things you're stressing out over?
Me: Yeah, but...
Him: Please let's not have the conversation we have to have whenever you say, yeah but... to Me.
Me: Okay, fine. Can I have the point now?
Him: You're living in a vacuum. Don't continue living in a vacuum. You're waiting for rain, but there's already water all around you. Dive in!
Seriously, I think some days, when God and I are together, He has to wear a sign that says, "I'm with stupid."
I've been in a funky holding pattern. Mostly that I know what I need to do, but not doing it, because I don't know the how of doing it. I'm stuck on really weird little things, and instead of reaching out and getting help to learn how to do it, I sit here, stressing over how to do it and trying to figure it out on my own. It should be pretty simple to say, "I need help." And it's not so much that I'm the sort of person who can't ask for help. Oddly enough, it never occurred to me that I had help.
As I mull over this silly little Silverstein poem, I marvel at the odd things God uses to speak to us. Who'd have thought that something I memorized as a child, something that had no bearing on anything, became the thing that smacked me in the face when I didn't even know I needed it.
I know there's probably a deep life lesson in this, and more than likely, more than one. Which is why I share this story. The God whispers I share are more than just for me. The funny thing is, as I get to the end of the post and try to think of some witty way to end, all I can think of is how thankful I am that in third grade, I had a teacher who introduced us to poetry and made us memorize a few little ditties. I hated it at the time, as I have a terrible time memorizing anything. But now, when God can't get through to me any other way, He can use Shel Silverstein, Lewis Carroll, Robert Frost, and even Shakespeare. Okay, I admit, Shakespeare didn't happen in third grade. But truly, it is the reading I did as a child that remains to have the greatest impact on my life. And okay, fine, I'll even admit to the fact that most of the Scripture I know is also from my childhood. I'm starting to get better and learn more now, but the most precious verses came from when I was a little girl.
And maybe the point in all of this is that sometimes we're looking for deep wisdom, or a "new" answer, but as we wait for it to rain, we're surrounded by wells, deeper than the wisdom we seek, and all we need to do is dive in.
Reclaiming Danica
Well, sleepless night turned to groggy day and groggy day turned into weeked of projects. I'm feeling the crunch of getting close to listing our house, so I'm working even harder than I probably should be. Especially since That Man is up to his eyeballs in projects for work that are keeping him from home. Ugh. But that means more money, right?
I spent the evening in the garden, planting flowers. Once everything was in order, the kiddos and I were one big, stinky, dirty mess. They bathed, I put them to bed, That Man came home from work (FINALLY), we spent quality time together (watching Cities of the Underworld ), and then, I went to get a little bit of me back.
Yes, my friends, I took a bath. And if I may, I need to just offer up one more prayer that in our new house, please God, please!!!!! let it have a master bath that is mine, all mine! with my very own bathtub. I hate having to scrub kid grime off before having my own soak. *sigh*
My companion for the bath was none other than....
NICK!
I have a lot of stories I could tell you about Nick, like the fact that a certain someone I know has already laid claim on him for her husband. Tee Hee. However, the most important thing to know about Nick is that Nick is actually a book. Reclaiming Nick by Susan May Warren . I have to admit, I was slightly cranky that it was such a long book. My bath water got cold. However, it was such a good book, I couldn't put it down. The dilemmas of life, I tell you.
Like all the books I enjoy, Nick's story had a happy ending. Nick was reclaimed, Danica was reclaimed, and we all lived happily ever after. Or not. I guess I won't find out the ending of my story for a while. Well, that isn't true either. I know the ending of my story. I get to spend eternity with God. It's the middle that I haven't quite figured out. And I'm extremely irritated with that fact.
Ah well, time for bed. Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all over again. Anyone want to help paint?
I spent the evening in the garden, planting flowers. Once everything was in order, the kiddos and I were one big, stinky, dirty mess. They bathed, I put them to bed, That Man came home from work (FINALLY), we spent quality time together (watching Cities of the Underworld ), and then, I went to get a little bit of me back.
Yes, my friends, I took a bath. And if I may, I need to just offer up one more prayer that in our new house, please God, please!!!!! let it have a master bath that is mine, all mine! with my very own bathtub. I hate having to scrub kid grime off before having my own soak. *sigh*
My companion for the bath was none other than....
NICK!
I have a lot of stories I could tell you about Nick, like the fact that a certain someone I know has already laid claim on him for her husband. Tee Hee. However, the most important thing to know about Nick is that Nick is actually a book. Reclaiming Nick by Susan May Warren . I have to admit, I was slightly cranky that it was such a long book. My bath water got cold. However, it was such a good book, I couldn't put it down. The dilemmas of life, I tell you.
Like all the books I enjoy, Nick's story had a happy ending. Nick was reclaimed, Danica was reclaimed, and we all lived happily ever after. Or not. I guess I won't find out the ending of my story for a while. Well, that isn't true either. I know the ending of my story. I get to spend eternity with God. It's the middle that I haven't quite figured out. And I'm extremely irritated with that fact.
Ah well, time for bed. Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all over again. Anyone want to help paint?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Yes, the timestamp is correct
I just can't sleep. I tried going to bed at my normal bedtime and couldn't fall asleep, so I did what all the books say and I got back up and did something else. I read all the blogs on my sidebar plus all the blogs I have bookmarked and have been too lazy to put on my blog. You'd think that would be enough to put a girl to sleep.
It almost worked.
I went back to bed, and started thinking about my writing. I realized I should blog at some point about it, since I haven't done that in a while (and no, not tonight. Er, today. Whenever). I started thinking about The Book and where I'm at with that. I need chapter headings and titles. Suddenly, the title "Jesus farted" came into mind. I started thinking about it and realized that it actually ties in really well with one of my chapters. Immediately thereafter, That Man let a big one rip.
I can't stop laughing.
I just recently finished reading Margaret Feinberg's book, God Whispers and it talks about ways God speaks to people. There I was, praying about my book and I think I'm supposed to go with "Jesus farted", and then That Man farts. Talk about a God whisper. Or fart.
So now I'm even more wide awake, laughing like a hyena, and once again, I'm blogging about That Man's butt.
I would really like to sleep now.
It almost worked.
I went back to bed, and started thinking about my writing. I realized I should blog at some point about it, since I haven't done that in a while (and no, not tonight. Er, today. Whenever). I started thinking about The Book and where I'm at with that. I need chapter headings and titles. Suddenly, the title "Jesus farted" came into mind. I started thinking about it and realized that it actually ties in really well with one of my chapters. Immediately thereafter, That Man let a big one rip.
I can't stop laughing.
I just recently finished reading Margaret Feinberg's book, God Whispers and it talks about ways God speaks to people. There I was, praying about my book and I think I'm supposed to go with "Jesus farted", and then That Man farts. Talk about a God whisper. Or fart.
So now I'm even more wide awake, laughing like a hyena, and once again, I'm blogging about That Man's butt.
I would really like to sleep now.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #11: Things Spammers should know about me
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1. I do not need a larger penis. This may come as a shock, but some women actually prefer not having one. 2. I am not, nor ever have been, in the military. Therefore, I do not need your help in obtaining the disability benefits I'm entitled to. 3. I do not have an account at all the different banks who email me. Interestingly enough, I have NEVER received an email from a bank I actually have an account at. And no, you may not know who it is. 4. Another shocker- I don't need a f*ck buddy. I already have one. I married him eight years ago, and frankly, I'm too exhausted to add to my collection. Ditto for all the "matchmaking" emails I get. 5. I don't have bad credit. Please stop telling me how I can fix it. 6. I already work from home. The last thing I need is another job. 7. Why would I want to open my own Liberty tax office when I make a lot more money working fewer hours for your competitor? 8. Even if I wanted to go back to school, and even if your free scholarship was legit, you'd also have to give me free childcare for my rugrats. Send me that deal and I might consider it. 9. I have no preference as to which beer is better. Frankly, it all tastes like toad pee, so I don't drink it. 10. A slimmer me? Are you saying that I'm fat? Fuhgeddaboudit. 11. I have never taken any of the other drugs with funky lawsuits. If I had, I have a perfectly good attorney who'd handle it for me. 12. We don't have student loans. No need for help to pay them off. 13. You'd really give me $30,000 unsecured? Or secured on my PO Box? Really? Super. Just send it me c/o John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, or better yet, just give me the cash. Because honestly, anyone dumb enough to give a perfect stranger thirty grand unsecured is really just giving away a nice gift. So there you have it. All the reasons for spammers to take me off their lists. I'm really a terrible candidate for the things they advertise, and very much a waste of their time. |
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More lessons for the Mommy
I am in serious need of a mental overhaul. I am going in so many different directions, I don't know which end was up. Today, I argued with someone that it was Monday. Calgon, take me away... PLEASE!
The good news is my house is shaping up. I had a crew of friends from work come over and help today. My one friend kept yelling at me to go take a nap because she thinks I need to rest more. And okay, given all the stuff wrong with my body, she's probably right. But I can't rest. I have a house to get ready to sell, small children, a job, and I have requested books to get out there. Where in that do you see time to rest?
I did get a lesson in appreciating The Terrorist today. That Man took her to the park and she fell and did her infamous stop breathing trick again. She finally started crying, but then fell asleep in his arms. He came in with her and told me she'd fallen and until I heard her soft little snores for myself, I prayed frantically. She and I have been having some bad days lately. She's going through a super defiant phase and everything is a battle. I hate that I spend every day chasing her around, telling her no. But honestly, she hasn't been doing a whole lot I can say yes to. However, as I look upon her sleeping face (and yes, I actually stopped and went upstairs to look at her), none of it matters. She's driving me insane, and I am so thankful for her that it doesn't matter.
I wonder sometimes, if this is how God feels. Granted, He's God, so He doesn't get stressed out. But I wonder if He has a huge list of things to do and in trying to get it all done, He's got a million pesky kids who, despite His best attempts to discipline and guide them along the right path, continually act up and get in the way. Does he scratch His head and say, "If you would just cooperate, I would get this done a whole lot faster." And in the same moment, He can look upon our dirty faces with love and say, "That's okay, you're worth it."
I know The Terrorist will not be a defiant three year old forever. Even if every day feels like it. I might complain about having one, but I have to remember that to God, I can be that same defiant child. How many times do I know what I'm supposed to do and do the exact opposite. And like my daughter, if asked why, the best answer I can come up with is, "because."
I have no idea what's on everyone else's plate, although for some I can come up with a pretty good guess. However, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, take the time to do a couple of things: One, go have a chat with your Father and make sure you're not being the three year old. He could use a break. And He'd probably enjoy the chat. Two, whoever and whatever it is you're having a hard time loving and appreciating today- go find something to love about them. Even if they've just blown up your beautiful, clean house. Finally, go rest. Take a minute or two or a few, and give yourself a break. You need it.
The good news is my house is shaping up. I had a crew of friends from work come over and help today. My one friend kept yelling at me to go take a nap because she thinks I need to rest more. And okay, given all the stuff wrong with my body, she's probably right. But I can't rest. I have a house to get ready to sell, small children, a job, and I have requested books to get out there. Where in that do you see time to rest?
I did get a lesson in appreciating The Terrorist today. That Man took her to the park and she fell and did her infamous stop breathing trick again. She finally started crying, but then fell asleep in his arms. He came in with her and told me she'd fallen and until I heard her soft little snores for myself, I prayed frantically. She and I have been having some bad days lately. She's going through a super defiant phase and everything is a battle. I hate that I spend every day chasing her around, telling her no. But honestly, she hasn't been doing a whole lot I can say yes to. However, as I look upon her sleeping face (and yes, I actually stopped and went upstairs to look at her), none of it matters. She's driving me insane, and I am so thankful for her that it doesn't matter.
I wonder sometimes, if this is how God feels. Granted, He's God, so He doesn't get stressed out. But I wonder if He has a huge list of things to do and in trying to get it all done, He's got a million pesky kids who, despite His best attempts to discipline and guide them along the right path, continually act up and get in the way. Does he scratch His head and say, "If you would just cooperate, I would get this done a whole lot faster." And in the same moment, He can look upon our dirty faces with love and say, "That's okay, you're worth it."
I know The Terrorist will not be a defiant three year old forever. Even if every day feels like it. I might complain about having one, but I have to remember that to God, I can be that same defiant child. How many times do I know what I'm supposed to do and do the exact opposite. And like my daughter, if asked why, the best answer I can come up with is, "because."
I have no idea what's on everyone else's plate, although for some I can come up with a pretty good guess. However, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, take the time to do a couple of things: One, go have a chat with your Father and make sure you're not being the three year old. He could use a break. And He'd probably enjoy the chat. Two, whoever and whatever it is you're having a hard time loving and appreciating today- go find something to love about them. Even if they've just blown up your beautiful, clean house. Finally, go rest. Take a minute or two or a few, and give yourself a break. You need it.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Return of the absentee blogger
Had to run off to the other side of the hill again. The place of no high speed Internet (what is WRONG with them?) and until very recently, no stoplights (wahoo, we now have three!). My cousin got married, so I packed up the kiddos and left That Man home to work. He was grateful for the time away from the terrorists. However, he was mad that I also took The Dog. Apparently, he was lonely.
And since I have really nothing else to say, I'm going to leave you with a few fun photos of my little wanna-be cowgirls who spent every possible moment on a horse. And for those of you who aren't reading on my blogger account, I apologize for the fact that the pics and captions don't always line up well. I'm just too lazy to format for each account, so I only do it on Blogger.
This is Poppa and his girls. They spend the whole time following him around and begging to ride.
And here they are in their wedding finery. They do dress up nicely, even though they headed straight for the playground as soon as we let them. But of course, the terrorist had to be a terrorist, so she ended up spending time in one of her usual haunts. I love that every place we go has a corner. ;)
However, every trip must end. Even though the kiddos were furious with me for not leaving them there, and the rest of the family is mad because we're selling our house to stay where we're at (as opposed to moving close to them), just in a bigger house, I'm happy to be home. Of course, it's now back to work as I try to get more of this crazy house in order. Ugh.
And since I have really nothing else to say, I'm going to leave you with a few fun photos of my little wanna-be cowgirls who spent every possible moment on a horse. And for those of you who aren't reading on my blogger account, I apologize for the fact that the pics and captions don't always line up well. I'm just too lazy to format for each account, so I only do it on Blogger.
This is Poppa and his girls. They spend the whole time following him around and begging to ride. And here they are in their wedding finery. They do dress up nicely, even though they headed straight for the playground as soon as we let them. But of course, the terrorist had to be a terrorist, so she ended up spending time in one of her usual haunts. I love that every place we go has a corner. ;)
However, every trip must end. Even though the kiddos were furious with me for not leaving them there, and the rest of the family is mad because we're selling our house to stay where we're at (as opposed to moving close to them), just in a bigger house, I'm happy to be home. Of course, it's now back to work as I try to get more of this crazy house in order. Ugh.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Once again, I have absolutely nothing to say
And again, I did absolutely nothing today. My allergies are driving me insane (Thursday's the big day! New drugs!) so I took the stuff that knocks me out. Once again, I spent the entire day laying around and napping. Which means now, I am not tired. Ugh.
I couldn't sleep last night either. I spent all night laughing my butt off over my last post. And then I started thinking about all the other hillarious bodily function moments in my marriage (like when I sprayed That Man's butt with disinfectant and I though he was going to kill me). Seriously folks, you gotta laugh at these moments, otherwise, you face a long, depressing life full of horrible sounds and smells. However, That Man is not amused by the fact that I choose to do so in the middle of the night.
Huh. My nose is getting itchy now. This might be a good time for the knockout allergy meds,eh? Sleepytime, here I come!
I couldn't sleep last night either. I spent all night laughing my butt off over my last post. And then I started thinking about all the other hillarious bodily function moments in my marriage (like when I sprayed That Man's butt with disinfectant and I though he was going to kill me). Seriously folks, you gotta laugh at these moments, otherwise, you face a long, depressing life full of horrible sounds and smells. However, That Man is not amused by the fact that I choose to do so in the middle of the night.
Huh. My nose is getting itchy now. This might be a good time for the knockout allergy meds,eh? Sleepytime, here I come!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Invitation to NOT! puke
Today is a grand day in the Dream household. You see, with all our beds torn apart for the new carpet, I decided I should wash ALL of our beddding. Usually, mine alone takes a day. Since I had two days of no beds, I did it all.
However, I forgot one very sad fact of my life. Whenever I wash all of my bedding, someone ends up puking. Now, I can wash the sheets and no spewage. But when I do it all, WHAM! I did all three beds. *sobs hysterically* Please, Lord, I cannot take vomit and new carpet. It's bad enough chasing down the family to make them not eat, drink, or have dirty feet on my carpet. I cannot TAKE having to chase down potential pukers.
I just dealt with this, by the way. The other thing I do that makes family members puke is when I deep clean the bathroom. I do the usual cursory cleaning, but every once and a while, I get down and dirty, scrubbing every crack and crevice, then piling on disinfectant. I thought I'd do a deep bathroom clean the other day, you know, so that when I got my new carpet my whole house would FINALLY be clean (I know, stupid thought, given the state it's in now). That night, That Man spent all night puking and diarrheaing. ROFL... okay, I had to know if diarrheaing was a real word (it's not), so I decided to visit dictionary.com to find out. My favorite site. How awesome is it to be able to look up any word at will? Love it! Anyway, I have to tell you the definition of diarrhea.
Diarrhea: an intestinal disorder characterized by abnormal frequency and fluidity of fecal evacuations.
Why do they make it so complicated? It's just runny poop. And really, I didn't want to know what it was. I just needed a word for the verb of actively evacuating fluid fecal matter. Which really, you probably didn't want to know, but you ARE reading MY blog, so if I'm going to tell the story of how, after slaving away to make my bathroom spotless, including behind the toilet and that gross ring around the bottom of the toilet floor, I had to wake up in the middle of the night to listen to the sounds of That Man alternate between vomiting (see, a nice EASY verb) and actively evacuating fluid fecal matter, then guess what? I'm telling the story. With or without easy verbs.
My point is to tell you that the real reason I don't bother with cleaning my house, besides the fact that I have many other things to do, is that when I clean, members of my household inexplicably began spewing disgusting matter out of their orifices. Making everything I'd just done a waste of time, except that I don't want anyone else to get it, so I end up having to clean AGAIN. Actually, at that point, I'm so digusted, I grab some disinfectant, forget about scrubbing, and spray everything down. Twice.
So why? Why? WHY? Did I think it was a GOOD idea to wash ALL the bedding? And with new carpet?
Also, I know I promised pictures this morning, however, it took longer than expected for the carpet guys, so we've just finally got all the beds set up and I haven't bothered with anything else. At this point, my thingamajig that transfers the pictures from the camera to the computer is somewhere. I can't even guarantee it's at my house. It could have accidentally ended up in a box destined for the storage unit.
Ooooh! I just had a brilliant idea. Whoever dares spew on my new carpet or freshly laundered bedding will get sent to the storage unit. Yes! I am so brilliant. (So long as I'm not the dummy spewing)
However, I forgot one very sad fact of my life. Whenever I wash all of my bedding, someone ends up puking. Now, I can wash the sheets and no spewage. But when I do it all, WHAM! I did all three beds. *sobs hysterically* Please, Lord, I cannot take vomit and new carpet. It's bad enough chasing down the family to make them not eat, drink, or have dirty feet on my carpet. I cannot TAKE having to chase down potential pukers.
I just dealt with this, by the way. The other thing I do that makes family members puke is when I deep clean the bathroom. I do the usual cursory cleaning, but every once and a while, I get down and dirty, scrubbing every crack and crevice, then piling on disinfectant. I thought I'd do a deep bathroom clean the other day, you know, so that when I got my new carpet my whole house would FINALLY be clean (I know, stupid thought, given the state it's in now). That night, That Man spent all night puking and diarrheaing. ROFL... okay, I had to know if diarrheaing was a real word (it's not), so I decided to visit dictionary.com to find out. My favorite site. How awesome is it to be able to look up any word at will? Love it! Anyway, I have to tell you the definition of diarrhea.
Diarrhea: an intestinal disorder characterized by abnormal frequency and fluidity of fecal evacuations.
Why do they make it so complicated? It's just runny poop. And really, I didn't want to know what it was. I just needed a word for the verb of actively evacuating fluid fecal matter. Which really, you probably didn't want to know, but you ARE reading MY blog, so if I'm going to tell the story of how, after slaving away to make my bathroom spotless, including behind the toilet and that gross ring around the bottom of the toilet floor, I had to wake up in the middle of the night to listen to the sounds of That Man alternate between vomiting (see, a nice EASY verb) and actively evacuating fluid fecal matter, then guess what? I'm telling the story. With or without easy verbs.
My point is to tell you that the real reason I don't bother with cleaning my house, besides the fact that I have many other things to do, is that when I clean, members of my household inexplicably began spewing disgusting matter out of their orifices. Making everything I'd just done a waste of time, except that I don't want anyone else to get it, so I end up having to clean AGAIN. Actually, at that point, I'm so digusted, I grab some disinfectant, forget about scrubbing, and spray everything down. Twice.
So why? Why? WHY? Did I think it was a GOOD idea to wash ALL the bedding? And with new carpet?
Also, I know I promised pictures this morning, however, it took longer than expected for the carpet guys, so we've just finally got all the beds set up and I haven't bothered with anything else. At this point, my thingamajig that transfers the pictures from the camera to the computer is somewhere. I can't even guarantee it's at my house. It could have accidentally ended up in a box destined for the storage unit.
Ooooh! I just had a brilliant idea. Whoever dares spew on my new carpet or freshly laundered bedding will get sent to the storage unit. Yes! I am so brilliant. (So long as I'm not the dummy spewing)
Monday, June 11, 2007
He said YES!!!!
Okay, so only Tess and Mo understand and/or care. I meant to post this last night, but we were busy painting until 1 a.m. to get ready for the carpet installers today. Look for fun pictures tonight. AKA how we're living right now. Scary stuff, let me tell you.
Anyway, none of that matters. Because, my friends, in just two short months, I will be hanging out in the big CA with two of my amazing friends and having a great time. Although, because That Man took so long to say yes, it's going to cost me extra for the ticket. Bad Man! No wait. Good Man! He's letting me go!!!
Okay, you can now return to your regularly scheduled lives now. I'll be back later with some fun pics. I hope. As soon as my carpet is installed, I have a funeral to attend. Ugh.
Anyway, none of that matters. Because, my friends, in just two short months, I will be hanging out in the big CA with two of my amazing friends and having a great time. Although, because That Man took so long to say yes, it's going to cost me extra for the ticket. Bad Man! No wait. Good Man! He's letting me go!!!
Okay, you can now return to your regularly scheduled lives now. I'll be back later with some fun pics. I hope. As soon as my carpet is installed, I have a funeral to attend. Ugh.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
A satisfying day
I have absolutely nothing interesting to say today.
The plan was to work on the house, but I didn't get much done. I woke up with allergy issues, so I went to the store to get some OTC meds, because the terrorist dumped out my prescription stuff and I don't see the doc again until later this week. Anyway, I found some great stuff, but it knocks me on my butt. All I could do was lay around and doze all day.
I did, however, get quality time with the terrorist. That Man had to go work. B went to her friend's house, and so it was me and the monster. She is so cute, it breaks my heart. I spent all evening laying on the couch, just watching her. I am amazed at how smart she is. She spends her time plotting ways of taking over the world. Yet in the midst of her deviousness, she runs right up to me, gives me a big hug, and says, "I love you Mommy."
So even though I didn't do much of anything today, I had a pretty good day. Nothing exciting happened, nothing got blown up, nothing destroyed, all to the dismay of my three year old. After a long day of absolutely nothing, she fell asleep in my arms, and I have to say, it was absolutely satisfying.
Of course, tomorrow, I have double the work to do. Ugh.
The plan was to work on the house, but I didn't get much done. I woke up with allergy issues, so I went to the store to get some OTC meds, because the terrorist dumped out my prescription stuff and I don't see the doc again until later this week. Anyway, I found some great stuff, but it knocks me on my butt. All I could do was lay around and doze all day.
I did, however, get quality time with the terrorist. That Man had to go work. B went to her friend's house, and so it was me and the monster. She is so cute, it breaks my heart. I spent all evening laying on the couch, just watching her. I am amazed at how smart she is. She spends her time plotting ways of taking over the world. Yet in the midst of her deviousness, she runs right up to me, gives me a big hug, and says, "I love you Mommy."
So even though I didn't do much of anything today, I had a pretty good day. Nothing exciting happened, nothing got blown up, nothing destroyed, all to the dismay of my three year old. After a long day of absolutely nothing, she fell asleep in my arms, and I have to say, it was absolutely satisfying.
Of course, tomorrow, I have double the work to do. Ugh.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #10: Things we still have to do to the house
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I'm going to try to make this quick, since I already posted today, and I really love that rant. So since our main project is getting the house ready to sell... here's the list (sadly, this is not everything. I had to pare it down to thirteen) 1. New Blinds 2. Paint Bedrooms, Bathrooms, and exterior trim 3. Change out lights to more modern fixtures 4. Fix bookcase 5. Clean up woodstove (I have NO idea how to do this) 6. Mulch in backyard 7. Get flower beds ready 8. Clean out garage 9. Put in new baseboards once carpet gets here 10. New interior doors 11. Sand and paint deck and deck furniture 12. Clean carpet 13. Clean out heater vents and ductwork |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Thursday Thirteen #10: Things we still have to do to the house
|
I'm going to try to make this quick, since I already posted today, and I really love that rant. So since our main project is getting the house ready to sell... here's the list (sadly, this is not everything. I had to pare it down to thirteen) 1. New Blinds 2. Paint Bedrooms, Bathrooms, and exterior trim 3. Change out lights to more modern fixtures 4. Fix bookcase 5. Clean up woodstove (I have NO idea how to do this) 6. Mulch in backyard 7. Get flower beds ready 8. Clean out garage 9. Put in new baseboards once carpet gets here 10. New interior doors 11. Sand and paint deck and deck furniture 12. Clean carpet 13. Clean out heater vents and ductwork |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
It's been a while since I've had a good rant
But I really, really, really can't help it.
I woke up this morning and turned on the TV so the little terrorist could watch cartoons while I got an extra few z's only to find that television shows were being interrupted with "breaking news".
Some of you know the news I'm talking about before I even mention it.
I won't mention the person's name because I'm not adding to her Google or Yahoo or whatever popularity. So here it is, and I'm sure you'll figure it out. A certain celebrity is out of jail. Yes, that's the breaking news. They released a celebrity from jail because she was having an emotional breakdown being in there.
People are dying of AIDS in Africa, children are starving to death, women are being tortured and abused, but we're focused on some celebrity getting out of jail.(and what EXACTLY did she do to get famous anyway? She can't act, can't sing, has the personality of a wet noodle, and has done NOTHING of any benefit to humanity)
The thing that really irks me is the whole "scandal" of her going to jail in the first place. Let us rewind. Does the word, DUI, mean anything to anyone in Hollywood anymore? I am sick to death of Hollywood types out there, driving drunk, and getting NO punishment. A drunk is a drunk. And there is absolutely no excuse for driving while intoxicated. Especially for a Hollywood "star" who can afford to pay for a cab or a driver or has a million friends who could give them a ride. Or maybe not. They're probably drunk or high too. But still. They have all the money in the world to buy attorneys to get them off on serious charges, but they can't afford to call a cab? Frankly, I think the penalty for them driving drunk should be HIGHER, since they've got the means to prevent it.
However, the DUI isn't what got our precious little starlet wannabe in trouble. Oh no. The judge gave her a nice slap on the wrist and suspended her license for a few months. Did she say, "Oh dear, you're right, it was so wrong of me to drive drunk." No. She made excuses, and rather than complying with the judge's orders, she drove, got stopped with a suspended license, and now she's paying the price. And people are in arms that we're picking on the poor little thing.
I'm sorry, the law is the law. And driving under the influence is serious business. Of course, it's been a while since I've seen those public service ads on TV. I think we've gotten so numb to drunk driving that no one bats an eye when their favorite star is arrested. Honestly, I'd be happy with Hungary and Slovakia's zero tolerance policy on drunk driving-any blood alcohol is punishable. But that's not really the point of my rant. Except to say that I am sick of having a bunch of drunks on the road and then giving them a slap on the wrist for doing it. And worse, having a public figure like the brainless blonde wonder bimbo do everything she can to get out of paying the price.
Oh, I'm sure it's hard, sleeping in a cold jail cell. And yes, they don't serve fine cuisine. So the emotional trauma of having to go to jail because of YOUR OWN ACTIONS has got to be rough. But you know what? Grow up. You and about a dozen other Hollywood freaks are the only ones who don't have to face the consequences of your actions. But your emotional distress is not "breaking news". Now, if Daddy, rather than giving his stoic, "Supporting my daughter" speech, bent your too-skinny butt over his knee and gave you the spanking you very much deserved, then YES! That would be breaking news. And the whole world would cheer in jubiliation.
But please, stop interrupting my life with this garbage. I don't want to hear about how this stupid little ninny "has learned a great deal from her ordeal and hopes others have learned from her mistakes". Frankly, all we've learned is that wealth and privilege buy a lot of things that ordinary people will never have access to. We've learned that having an "important" name keeps you from facing the penalties of your own actions. Now if you did something good, like, give away a small fraction of your fortune that would end poverty, yet still allow you to live far better than most human beings on the planet, that might be newsworthy. I might even be interested. However, I know way too much about you and your pathetic life because everywhere I turn, it is thrust into my face.
So please... freakazoid socialite crackhead scum that you are... leave us in peace!!
I woke up this morning and turned on the TV so the little terrorist could watch cartoons while I got an extra few z's only to find that television shows were being interrupted with "breaking news".
Some of you know the news I'm talking about before I even mention it.
I won't mention the person's name because I'm not adding to her Google or Yahoo or whatever popularity. So here it is, and I'm sure you'll figure it out. A certain celebrity is out of jail. Yes, that's the breaking news. They released a celebrity from jail because she was having an emotional breakdown being in there.
People are dying of AIDS in Africa, children are starving to death, women are being tortured and abused, but we're focused on some celebrity getting out of jail.(and what EXACTLY did she do to get famous anyway? She can't act, can't sing, has the personality of a wet noodle, and has done NOTHING of any benefit to humanity)
The thing that really irks me is the whole "scandal" of her going to jail in the first place. Let us rewind. Does the word, DUI, mean anything to anyone in Hollywood anymore? I am sick to death of Hollywood types out there, driving drunk, and getting NO punishment. A drunk is a drunk. And there is absolutely no excuse for driving while intoxicated. Especially for a Hollywood "star" who can afford to pay for a cab or a driver or has a million friends who could give them a ride. Or maybe not. They're probably drunk or high too. But still. They have all the money in the world to buy attorneys to get them off on serious charges, but they can't afford to call a cab? Frankly, I think the penalty for them driving drunk should be HIGHER, since they've got the means to prevent it.
However, the DUI isn't what got our precious little starlet wannabe in trouble. Oh no. The judge gave her a nice slap on the wrist and suspended her license for a few months. Did she say, "Oh dear, you're right, it was so wrong of me to drive drunk." No. She made excuses, and rather than complying with the judge's orders, she drove, got stopped with a suspended license, and now she's paying the price. And people are in arms that we're picking on the poor little thing.
I'm sorry, the law is the law. And driving under the influence is serious business. Of course, it's been a while since I've seen those public service ads on TV. I think we've gotten so numb to drunk driving that no one bats an eye when their favorite star is arrested. Honestly, I'd be happy with Hungary and Slovakia's zero tolerance policy on drunk driving-any blood alcohol is punishable. But that's not really the point of my rant. Except to say that I am sick of having a bunch of drunks on the road and then giving them a slap on the wrist for doing it. And worse, having a public figure like the brainless blonde wonder bimbo do everything she can to get out of paying the price.
Oh, I'm sure it's hard, sleeping in a cold jail cell. And yes, they don't serve fine cuisine. So the emotional trauma of having to go to jail because of YOUR OWN ACTIONS has got to be rough. But you know what? Grow up. You and about a dozen other Hollywood freaks are the only ones who don't have to face the consequences of your actions. But your emotional distress is not "breaking news". Now, if Daddy, rather than giving his stoic, "Supporting my daughter" speech, bent your too-skinny butt over his knee and gave you the spanking you very much deserved, then YES! That would be breaking news. And the whole world would cheer in jubiliation.
But please, stop interrupting my life with this garbage. I don't want to hear about how this stupid little ninny "has learned a great deal from her ordeal and hopes others have learned from her mistakes". Frankly, all we've learned is that wealth and privilege buy a lot of things that ordinary people will never have access to. We've learned that having an "important" name keeps you from facing the penalties of your own actions. Now if you did something good, like, give away a small fraction of your fortune that would end poverty, yet still allow you to live far better than most human beings on the planet, that might be newsworthy. I might even be interested. However, I know way too much about you and your pathetic life because everywhere I turn, it is thrust into my face.
So please... freakazoid socialite crackhead scum that you are... leave us in peace!!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Eight years of the life sentence served
I meant to post this yesterday, as That Man and I celebrated our anniversary. I asked him how he felt about the time he's served and he laughed. We didn't do anything special because he had to finish our floor. And yes!! It's done. Except he had to work late tonight, so I STILL don't have a stove. Ugh. Now I have to find something creative to make tomorrow night, since he's working late tomorrow.
It's such a toss up. On one hand, I really want to get the house on the market. But given that this is a very expensive process, I'm not saying no to the extra money. :) I got spoiled earlier in the year because he got a ton of overtime, and lately that hasn't been happening. Add in my not working because I'm on break, and I'm willing to be more creative in how we get our house sold. I'm just a bit sad, because we're planning to go out of town here in a bit, and I was hoping that we could have an open house then. Guess that won't work. Unless I get really busy and learn how to do a little carpentry. LOL
Speaking of carpentry, I skipped my planned bubble bath with a book because HGTV had Design on a Dime on, and the topic was creating a library. Definitely appealed to my nerdy book-loving self. Since That Man didn't get me anything for our anniversary, I think I'll take a rain check and he can make me a library in the new house. It only cost $999 and it looked fabulous! Definitely a fair trade off for what I did for him- I made dinner, bought him a card, took him out for ice cream, and then took him for a romantic drive looking at mountain properties. Tee Hee. What can I say? I'm spoiled.
Which is why, even though it is a life sentence, I don't mind serving it. I have to admit that I am a very spoiled woman. I think my hubby is probably the only man alive who would not only put up with my quirks, but encourage them. Not a bad deal, eh? Plus, he does kinda have a cute butt. (Do NOT look at his butt to verify this statement, or else I'll gouge your eyes out)
My plan for the next eight years is to continue driving him insane, convince him that I really do need more life insurance on him, add to my list of methods of homicide, and to remember that no matter how much I really want to kill him sometimes, he is the father of my dog.
Happy Anniversary, Honey.
It's such a toss up. On one hand, I really want to get the house on the market. But given that this is a very expensive process, I'm not saying no to the extra money. :) I got spoiled earlier in the year because he got a ton of overtime, and lately that hasn't been happening. Add in my not working because I'm on break, and I'm willing to be more creative in how we get our house sold. I'm just a bit sad, because we're planning to go out of town here in a bit, and I was hoping that we could have an open house then. Guess that won't work. Unless I get really busy and learn how to do a little carpentry. LOL
Speaking of carpentry, I skipped my planned bubble bath with a book because HGTV had Design on a Dime on, and the topic was creating a library. Definitely appealed to my nerdy book-loving self. Since That Man didn't get me anything for our anniversary, I think I'll take a rain check and he can make me a library in the new house. It only cost $999 and it looked fabulous! Definitely a fair trade off for what I did for him- I made dinner, bought him a card, took him out for ice cream, and then took him for a romantic drive looking at mountain properties. Tee Hee. What can I say? I'm spoiled.
Which is why, even though it is a life sentence, I don't mind serving it. I have to admit that I am a very spoiled woman. I think my hubby is probably the only man alive who would not only put up with my quirks, but encourage them. Not a bad deal, eh? Plus, he does kinda have a cute butt. (Do NOT look at his butt to verify this statement, or else I'll gouge your eyes out)
My plan for the next eight years is to continue driving him insane, convince him that I really do need more life insurance on him, add to my list of methods of homicide, and to remember that no matter how much I really want to kill him sometimes, he is the father of my dog.
Happy Anniversary, Honey.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Ode to my friend Diane
Okay, I won't make you all vomit so soon after my last pathetic attempt at poetry.
However, I did want to give a big shout out to Diane, because she came over and helped with my house today. A lot of folks offer to come help with all the stuff we need to get done to sell it and move. But a lot of things end up getting in the way and it never happens. I don't fault them for that, because I know that's life. Stuff happens and we all mean well, but sometimes, our good intentions don't account for practicality. The thing I appreciate about Diane is that she always finds a way to make it happen.
The other day, she was supposed to come over, but had a lot of things to do. I told her not to come over, because she had a lot going on. I knew she was coming over this week, and so it wasn't a big deal. But she came anyway. Today, she moved a chiropractor's appointment so she could help me out.
I'm so blessed by Diane. Not just because she comes over and helps me. Although trust me, that is HUGE. I can't tell you how much it means that she comes over, with a cheerful heart, and does whatever she can to make my life easier, never expecting anything in return. But the other thing I love about Diane is that as we work, she shares things God is doing in her life and wants to hear about what He's doing in mine, and as we talk, it's amazing to me how much God reveals Himself to us.
Last week, she was over here, pruning my rose bushes. I picked her for the task because when she used to come over for Bible study, she'd see my houseplants, decide they looked pathetic, and start trimming them. The first time she did it, I was horrified at how much she cut off. But she told me that it would help my plant grow better. And, in fact, she linked it to a great Bible study about the vine and the branches. Jesus is the master gardener, and oftentimes, He has to prune and cut away the bad so that the good can grow. Fast forward to my rose bushes.
I took this picture the morning before she came over. In all my pink roses, I had one yellow rose tipped with pink. I adore yellow roses tipped with pink. They are my very favorite roses. As we talked about pruning my roses, she continually questioned me about how much I wanted taken off. I had a lot of blooms already. Was I willing to lose them? I told her yes. I reminded her of the lesson we'd shared about the houseplants she'd cut up. And she said, "Yeah, but those didn't have such pretty flowers."
The thing is, just because it has pretty flowers doesn't mean it's healthy. Just because we look pretty on the outside doesn't mean we're the same on the inside. As she cut away parts of the bush, she began to understand what I meant. Underneath the beauty, we had a lot of dead branches. Ugly, knarled, scarred stalks that served no useful purpose. I kept telling her to cut, she kept asking me if I was sure. Finally, my wild roses began to take shape. They began to resemble something that belonged in a formal garden. Somewhere in the melee of clippings, my beautiful yellow rose tinged with pink got lost. Yep, chopped right off. I didn't even notice.
When I finally realized my beloved rose was gone, Diane felt really bad. However, by that time, her work was complete. And while my one beautiful rose was missing, the bush as a whole looked a million times better. Besides, that rose would have eventually died. I wouldn't have been able to hold on to it anyway. However, I do have an incredible picture. More importantly, I have an incredible moment saved in my heart where Diane and I together discovered another piece of God's mystery.
I have to make sure to treasure these moments, because my journey with Diane is about to change. After waiting on God for years to move her, it looks like it may be happening. Which means it won't be as easy for her to pop on over and teach me lessons about God by chopping up my plants.
However, I did want to give a big shout out to Diane, because she came over and helped with my house today. A lot of folks offer to come help with all the stuff we need to get done to sell it and move. But a lot of things end up getting in the way and it never happens. I don't fault them for that, because I know that's life. Stuff happens and we all mean well, but sometimes, our good intentions don't account for practicality. The thing I appreciate about Diane is that she always finds a way to make it happen.
The other day, she was supposed to come over, but had a lot of things to do. I told her not to come over, because she had a lot going on. I knew she was coming over this week, and so it wasn't a big deal. But she came anyway. Today, she moved a chiropractor's appointment so she could help me out.
I'm so blessed by Diane. Not just because she comes over and helps me. Although trust me, that is HUGE. I can't tell you how much it means that she comes over, with a cheerful heart, and does whatever she can to make my life easier, never expecting anything in return. But the other thing I love about Diane is that as we work, she shares things God is doing in her life and wants to hear about what He's doing in mine, and as we talk, it's amazing to me how much God reveals Himself to us.
Last week, she was over here, pruning my rose bushes. I picked her for the task because when she used to come over for Bible study, she'd see my houseplants, decide they looked pathetic, and start trimming them. The first time she did it, I was horrified at how much she cut off. But she told me that it would help my plant grow better. And, in fact, she linked it to a great Bible study about the vine and the branches. Jesus is the master gardener, and oftentimes, He has to prune and cut away the bad so that the good can grow. Fast forward to my rose bushes.
I took this picture the morning before she came over. In all my pink roses, I had one yellow rose tipped with pink. I adore yellow roses tipped with pink. They are my very favorite roses. As we talked about pruning my roses, she continually questioned me about how much I wanted taken off. I had a lot of blooms already. Was I willing to lose them? I told her yes. I reminded her of the lesson we'd shared about the houseplants she'd cut up. And she said, "Yeah, but those didn't have such pretty flowers."
The thing is, just because it has pretty flowers doesn't mean it's healthy. Just because we look pretty on the outside doesn't mean we're the same on the inside. As she cut away parts of the bush, she began to understand what I meant. Underneath the beauty, we had a lot of dead branches. Ugly, knarled, scarred stalks that served no useful purpose. I kept telling her to cut, she kept asking me if I was sure. Finally, my wild roses began to take shape. They began to resemble something that belonged in a formal garden. Somewhere in the melee of clippings, my beautiful yellow rose tinged with pink got lost. Yep, chopped right off. I didn't even notice.
When I finally realized my beloved rose was gone, Diane felt really bad. However, by that time, her work was complete. And while my one beautiful rose was missing, the bush as a whole looked a million times better. Besides, that rose would have eventually died. I wouldn't have been able to hold on to it anyway. However, I do have an incredible picture. More importantly, I have an incredible moment saved in my heart where Diane and I together discovered another piece of God's mystery.
I have to make sure to treasure these moments, because my journey with Diane is about to change. After waiting on God for years to move her, it looks like it may be happening. Which means it won't be as easy for her to pop on over and teach me lessons about God by chopping up my plants.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
I know, I'm sorry!!
Yes, I know, some folks are a bit worried that I haven't blogged lately. To say that my life is crazy is a bit of an understatement. I've done a lot of things since I last posted, so let's get started on a brief pictorial rundown.
I knew people would probably have a hard time believing that we began our trip with a run-in with the police, so I took a picture. I'm convinced that part of the reason we didn't end up in jail is that the cop saw the crazy lady with the camera and didn't want to mess with her. Okay, maybe not. But it makes a fun story. The real story isn't half as interesting, and frankly, I'd probably get a lot of hate mail for it, so we'll just let you make up your own. :)
This is where I spent my Memorial Day Weekend. The Pine Ridge Reservation in Oglala, SD. The poorest county in the United States. A place of amazing poverty, and I don't just mean material poverty. My dear friend Tess had invited me to go with her and I'm so humbled and grateful she invited me to join her. It was such an incredible time, I can't even begin to describe it. Remind me (and NO, not in today's comments, smart alecks who think they're off the hook by doing it) to share more later. Do visit her site if you want more pics, because I'm only doing a few. However, I do want to share two others... of two of the loveliest women I know.
We spent most of our time in Oglala fixing up an old trailer for some folks to live in. Which was great practice for my homecoming. I did not come home to, "honey, you worked so hard, come put your feet up, let me pamper you, go sit in the hot tub and relax." Nope. This wimpy woman came home to the construction zone known as her house and all the preparations for selling it and buying a new one. Ugh. So I traded in my paintbrush for another paintbrush.
And so, our ugly green house, the landmark by which we are able to navigate and tell folks where to find us, became a tan house. Yep. Tan. Hard to tell in the picture, but this here is a photo of our rednecky green house with a trace of tan. Fortunately, it is now mostly tan, but in need of a second coat and some white trimwork. Any volunteers?
We're also working on the interior. One of the main projects is the flooring. Our flooring is so ugly and horrible that we'd have to pay someone to take our house. That Man and B worked together to get two layers of ugly linoleum off the kitchen floor so we could put down wood. Of course, before we put down the new floor, we also had to paint. I figure, might as well mess up the old stuff before we get the new stuff in. We'll not focus on the other four rooms we still have to tear apart and paint before the new carpet gets in. Ugh.
No, you aren't hallucinating if you think you see my fridge and my stove in the dining room. We had to move them out of the kitchen so we can put wood down in the kitchen. Note the wood in our dining room. At least we've got one room done! And yes, both rooms ARE painted! I think the yellow may be a little too bright, but we'll see what happens once we get the trim done and the furniture all where it belongs. At the moment, my dining room furniture is sitting on the back deck, covered in plastic. However, I also have a lot of the stuff from the kitchen and dining room in my living room. And since our dining room table is on the deck, we put a card table up in the living room so we can eat indoors. Not that I'm doing much cooking. Remember the location of my stove? We're making do with pizza and subs.
I keep telling people that if That Man and I survive this project, we can survive anything. We are so different that working together is a bit hard. He likes "being together" and does everything in this weird way that has no apparent logic to me. I prefer working without him on top of me and having everything done in an orderly fashion. Do we see where homicide might be a viable option? He's actually a great worker and does a good job. But since we both like to do things our own way, accepting the other person's way isn't always on the agenda. But we're trying. I'm learning to deal with the fact that everything is such a disorganized mess. I even spent the afternoon working right alongside him, and *gasp* I even said, "honey, what do you want me to do?" I even did it. :) And to his credit, he hasn't killed me for all of my weird freak out moments and my insistence on having certain things done right.
So if you don't see me for a while, I'm probably buried somewhere underneath paint, carpet, and other home improvement accoutrements. I may or may not be dead, depending on whether or not I've gotten on That Man's last nerve. Our anniversary is coming up in a few days. Anyone want to place any bets as to whether or not we'll both survive it?
I knew people would probably have a hard time believing that we began our trip with a run-in with the police, so I took a picture. I'm convinced that part of the reason we didn't end up in jail is that the cop saw the crazy lady with the camera and didn't want to mess with her. Okay, maybe not. But it makes a fun story. The real story isn't half as interesting, and frankly, I'd probably get a lot of hate mail for it, so we'll just let you make up your own. :) This is where I spent my Memorial Day Weekend. The Pine Ridge Reservation in Oglala, SD. The poorest county in the United States. A place of amazing poverty, and I don't just mean material poverty. My dear friend Tess had invited me to go with her and I'm so humbled and grateful she invited me to join her. It was such an incredible time, I can't even begin to describe it. Remind me (and NO, not in today's comments, smart alecks who think they're off the hook by doing it) to share more later. Do visit her site if you want more pics, because I'm only doing a few. However, I do want to share two others... of two of the loveliest women I know.We spent most of our time in Oglala fixing up an old trailer for some folks to live in. Which was great practice for my homecoming. I did not come home to, "honey, you worked so hard, come put your feet up, let me pamper you, go sit in the hot tub and relax." Nope. This wimpy woman came home to the construction zone known as her house and all the preparations for selling it and buying a new one. Ugh. So I traded in my paintbrush for another paintbrush.
And so, our ugly green house, the landmark by which we are able to navigate and tell folks where to find us, became a tan house. Yep. Tan. Hard to tell in the picture, but this here is a photo of our rednecky green house with a trace of tan. Fortunately, it is now mostly tan, but in need of a second coat and some white trimwork. Any volunteers? We're also working on the interior. One of the main projects is the flooring. Our flooring is so ugly and horrible that we'd have to pay someone to take our house. That Man and B worked together to get two layers of ugly linoleum off the kitchen floor so we could put down wood. Of course, before we put down the new floor, we also had to paint. I figure, might as well mess up the old stuff before we get the new stuff in. We'll not focus on the other four rooms we still have to tear apart and paint before the new carpet gets in. Ugh. No, you aren't hallucinating if you think you see my fridge and my stove in the dining room. We had to move them out of the kitchen so we can put wood down in the kitchen. Note the wood in our dining room. At least we've got one room done! And yes, both rooms ARE painted! I think the yellow may be a little too bright, but we'll see what happens once we get the trim done and the furniture all where it belongs. At the moment, my dining room furniture is sitting on the back deck, covered in plastic. However, I also have a lot of the stuff from the kitchen and dining room in my living room. And since our dining room table is on the deck, we put a card table up in the living room so we can eat indoors. Not that I'm doing much cooking. Remember the location of my stove? We're making do with pizza and subs.
I keep telling people that if That Man and I survive this project, we can survive anything. We are so different that working together is a bit hard. He likes "being together" and does everything in this weird way that has no apparent logic to me. I prefer working without him on top of me and having everything done in an orderly fashion. Do we see where homicide might be a viable option? He's actually a great worker and does a good job. But since we both like to do things our own way, accepting the other person's way isn't always on the agenda. But we're trying. I'm learning to deal with the fact that everything is such a disorganized mess. I even spent the afternoon working right alongside him, and *gasp* I even said, "honey, what do you want me to do?" I even did it. :) And to his credit, he hasn't killed me for all of my weird freak out moments and my insistence on having certain things done right.
So if you don't see me for a while, I'm probably buried somewhere underneath paint, carpet, and other home improvement accoutrements. I may or may not be dead, depending on whether or not I've gotten on That Man's last nerve. Our anniversary is coming up in a few days. Anyone want to place any bets as to whether or not we'll both survive it?
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