What I Hate About Yoga

I can do this. It is called Bird of Paradise. I completed and held the pose for the first time yesterday morning. I've managed to hold it a time or two with a bent top leg. I have even kicked my leg up when I got good and stable with the bent leg. But I HELD it Saturday.

FYI, this isn't me, as you will soon see. It's this lady.

I was dang excited, let me tell you. It takes some serious core and leg strength to hold your leg in the air like that. I didn't expect to be able to do so for months yet.

But here's the thing about Yoga. At least at the level where I am. They get you all warm and limber, strengthened, focused, (fatigued--sssh, did I say that?) and then put you in balance poses. First the legs, and then the arms. And then they cool you down with a little core work, some inversions, a shoulder stand and savasana. And you limp out of the room all relaxed and cool and relieved to have survived another day.

And go home and can't prove to ANYONE what you know you did just minutes prior.

Can't be replicated.

This is why I must go to school to become and instructor so that I can work myself into a sweaty, limber, focused, tizzy and show off.

(NOT show off at class. To my Beloved. And maybe my parents. I know Yoga is about inner balance and all that jazz and isn't about showing off. I know this. I do. I DO!)

By the way, I did this too:

Again, not me. Her. And not half so well, I'm sure.

Not that I'd be able to show you.

Besides, I have inner peace. I don't need to show you. Or brag. At ALL.

really

To Clarify

Because people seem to be confused, probably because I am typically confusing, what I meant was this:

If I killed myself at the gym one day and burned 1000 calories, but was sore for a week, was it really worth it when I can burn 800 calories just staying home and doing what I do?

You have to drop the other burned calories that happened in the same day at the gym because my argument is more about not going versus going. Not doing both. Besides, when I go and kill myself, NOTHING gets done at home. I just collapse on the couch. Yoga being the singular exception. And Yoga being what my Personal Trainer scoffs at as being any form of exercise At All.

He's a Yoga bigot.

I'm a doing push-ups until you barf bigot.

random calorie talk

I woke this morning with a "really great" idea for a blog post just as soon as I got the kids off to school.

We all know where this is going.

It probably wasn't that great, anyway.

But let me tell you this, because it's interesting. To me, at least.

Last Saturday, I went to Flashback Aerobics Jam and killed myself for two hours while systematically making it so that I couldn't climb stairs without pain for a week. According to my heart monitor, I burned 1048 calories. I was pretty excited to crack into the 1000s as I haven't done that since I dropped out of stinking Cardio Kickboxing. (I prefer to be able to lift my arms, can you believe?)

Excited, that is, until Tuesday when we had a house showing (the first one in five weeks). Since I'd just come home from the gym (where I burned a WHOPPING 350), I was still wearing my heart monitor so, out of curiosity, I turned it on and cleaned like a maniac.

Two hours and twenty-three minutes later, I'd burned 853 calories. Cleaning my house.

OK, really? Is the extra 200 calories really worth it?

Sure, housework has done nothing to reduce this extra layer of padding I've added in the last ten years. If anything, it's grown. Possibly the close proximity of Pepsi and general pantry type things WHILE I clean house. And the fact that once you've killed yourself in Flashback Aerobics Jam, and Cardio Kickboxing, and Step, and Yoga (not all at once, mind you, I'm not suicidal), you question whether that bag of chips is really calling your name or calling you stupid. While making a bed and vacuuming the floor MIGHT, possibly, make me think I DESERVE a treat.

So, by killing myself, essentially, I'm buying a conscience.  

Charmingisims

Charming: Mommy! I have to show you why you can't sleep anymore!
*opens curtains*
Me: Is it a sunny day? Well, I guess I better get to it.
*rolls out of bed*
Charming: Yeah! I will play cars and you can make coffee

At least he has our priorities down.

Like A Little Child

As I stood in worship this morning, I was overcome with nostalgia for childhood.

I should start with more explanation.

We were singing a song, or better said the worship team was singing a song none of the rest of us know, which meant that we were paying attention to the words, or at least I was. Pretty sure the few adults around me were, too. I say adults, because my kids were 1) reading a novel 2) reading Genesis (oh, my word--that again) 3) staring at me quizzically and saying things like "I don't know this song." All while more than one grown-up was wiping away tears, myself included.

Granted, many of my tears were due to an overwhelming desperation regarding our move or lack thereof.

And I was struck with how simple faith is when you're a kid--but not exactly for the obvious reasons that many of us have been taught. Faith of a child, simplicity and uncomplicated belief. Or maybe for all that. But in that adults can understand those songs that say something like "here I am, again, a failure, I've screwed it up again and I don't know why You keep taking me back." Even when that isn't what the song says, it screams through my mind.

I have a friend who opens every prayer with something like "here I am again, addictive screw up, depending only upon your unfailing forgiveness for which I don't deserve."

That was free. And hers is better, but we haven't prayed together for over a year and her words have left me, even if her meaning hasn't.

Anyway, as I was puzzling over how unaffected the children and teen around me were by the words of this song it struck me that kids have so much less baggage. The older we get, the bigger the burdens, one sin heaped upon another.

Don't get me started on all the sins I've committed simply due to the fact that I have children. Children are not for the selfish. Though I have a feeling that the world would not have been populated if that stopped people.

I have a friend who once said you have no idea how selfish you are until you get married, and even then you have no idea how selfish you are until you have children.

That was free, too.

I know that all sin is sin in the eyes of God, but man it sure was easier to believe he forgave me when my sins were simple little things like whacking my sister for being annoying. Simple, clear cut. Action, consequence. And then we grow up and start reading the rest of the Bible and man, sin begins in the heart and whether you paste on a smiley face with that woman you CAN NOT STAND, God knows that in your fantasies you are telling her off and might strike out and hit her also and it makes your heart black and rigid and you can pretend it isn't there, but that doesn't make it so. And then you learn things like Don't Take Communion If A Brother Has Anything Against You and, geez, when you know that, WHY does ANYONE take it?

I'm paralyzed, man, paralyzed.

I'm just trying to function in this world. Sometimes I pretend I have it all together. Most of the time I don't pretend, but often even in those times people treat me like I do, or should, anyway.

(I just screamed at my kids who all decided that NOW they needed something from me after ignoring me for the last 15 minutes when I DARED to pick up my computer, so I'll wrap this up lest I never be able to take communion again.)

Anyway, faith like a child is more than blind belief like they blindly believe in everything including, but not limited to The Boogy Man, The Easter Bunny (even when Mom says there's no such thing), and Jesus, but trusting that He forgives not only children who whack their sisters, but children, masked as adults, who want to whack the people in their lives and instead smile while harboring evil against them in her heart.

Yikes.

Blog Fodder

OK, I said I was going to let this go, and I am--eventually--but this was just too good.

My Beloved took me to lunch today at the Pine and Bamboo for our belated, "Well, if the kids have to start school here, at least we can celebrate by eating Chinese for the first time since they got out of school" lunch of food way too "gross" and "spicy" and "full of disgusting things" for the kids to consume. When we walked out, we were faced with this:

(there should be an awesome photo here of four (count 'em, four) silvery beige minivans and two silvery beige cars in a row. Three were Honda Odysseys, broken apart only by the Ford version. Alas, I could not rustle up the camera that has been in my purse for over a month because I cleaned out said purse just yesterday.)

Did I mention that this is a very small parking lot and out ,maybe, 20 cars six in a ROW were beigey silver and even more not in that little row were?

"Oh, this is blog fodder for sure," said I.
My Beloved said, "You're never going to let this go, are you?"
And so, to prove his point, I pointed out every beigey silver minivan in the 15 blocks it took to get home. There were a LOT.

He has informed me that silvery beige doesn't count. I disagree. I say if you put silvery-beige and beigey-silver in a row with beige, silver, and white, they all look the same.

What say you?

And next time I WILL have the camera.

Marriage Meme from Tricia Boyer's Blog

From Tricia Goyer's blog (which means I'm not giving away anything, you have to link though to her)

"Copy this meme and paste it into a post on your blog. (With your own answers!)  Link back to this post, {http://triciagoyer.blogspot.com/2010/08/marriage-meme-lets-share.html} Then leave a comment here or use the Linky tool to link your blog to this post, so I know you're participating and I can pop over and read your meme. Don't forget to tag your friends with this also. And - if you're not a blogger, that's okay too - just answer the meme in the comment section and be sure to leave your email address.

On Thursday the 27th I'll choose 5 winners who will receive a copy of Generation NeXt Marriage and Generation NeXt Parenting. "

• How did you meet your husband?Technically? Gym class, freshman year, August 1990. Not technically, Marion Count Fairgrounds, a few days before school started, August 1990. We played cat and mouse at the carnival most of an evening. He was there with his buddy who I had met earlier in the summer at the pool.
• What did you first notice about him?Hmmmm, tall and handsome. I was 14 and pretty shallow. :)
• How long have you been married?14.25 years
• Share something you discovered about him after you were married that surprised you?He wants to play violin.
• What do you argue about the most? priorities and expectations--the little daily ones, mostly, but sometimes we'll have a blowout over a big one and we wonder "where did THAT come from after all this time?".
• What quality in him do you admire most? tenacity
• What is the hardest part about being married? being nice and respectful full time
• What’s the best part about being married?knowing that when I'm not nice and respectful, he'll still be there. Shoot, I get to spend every day with my best friend. Even when we're being bratty to each other, it's better than hanging out with some superficial friend talking about hair.
• What has changed the most about you since you've been married? I don't fight after 11. 99.9% of the time, fights that begin after 11 aren't really issues in the morning. I just go to bed. Not angry, mind you. Irritated maybe. We have an agreement about this and it works for us. I plead "It's too late to argue. I'm just tired." and he generally agrees.
• What’s the one piece of advice you’d give to other wives about creating a happy marriage?Figure out the things most important to him and do you darndest to support those things. Whether it be chasing dreams or a vacuumed living room floor. If you take care of the biggies, the little things slide right by. (Believe it or not, the vacuumed living room floor CAN be a biggie.)
• What's the one piece of advice you'd give to your children about creating a happy marriage? Pick the right spouse. Pick your best friend. Make sure they share your values and beliefs. If you hold the same core beliefs, the rest will work out--with a bit of work.

Have fun!

Here we are at the last day of summer. I'm depressed. The kids are excited. I wanted to make it a memorable last day. What fun things would they like to do today?

Watch Phineas and Ferb.

Really?

Really.

Guess I'll go take a long lukewarm shower and find a novel. Maybe some bon-bons.

Oh My Word, Are People Really This Stupid?

Lookie what got through my spam filter today. From a yahoo account no less. I guess the FBI is scaling back. (eyeroll)


URGENT:

I AM SPECIAL AGENT JOHN FROM THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION (FBI) INTELLIGENCE UNIT. WE HAVE JUST INTERCEPTED AND CONFISCATED TWO (2) TRUNK BOXES AT JFK AIRPORT IN NEW YORK, AND ARE ON THE VERGE OF MOVING IT TO OUR BUREAU HEAD QUARTERS.

WE HAVE SCANNED THE SAID BOXES, AND HAVE FOUND IT TO CONTAIN A TOTAL SUM OF 4.1MUSD AND ALSO BACKUP DOCUMENT WHICH BEARS YOUR NAME AS THE RECEIVER OF THE MONEY CONTAINED IN THE BOXES. INVESTIGATIONS CARRIED OUT ON THE DIPLOMAT WHICH ACCOMPANIED THE BOXES INTO THE UNITED STATES HAS IT THAT HE WAS TO DELIVER THIS FUNDS TO YOUR RESIDENCE AS PAYMENT WHICH WAS DUE YOU FROM THE OFFICES IN LONDON AND AFRICA RESPECTIVELY.

WE CROSS-CHECKED ALL LEGAL DOCUMENTATION IN THE BOXES, AND WERE ABOUT TO RELEASE THE CONSIGNMENT TO THE DIPLOMAT, WHEN WE FOUND OUT THAT THE BOXES IS LACKING ONE VERY IMPORTANT DOCUMENTATION WHICH AS A RESULT, THE BOXES HAVE BEEN CONFISCATED.

ACCORDING TO SECTION 229 SUBSECTION 31 OF THE 1991 CONSTITUTION IN TAX PAYMENT, YOUR CONSIGNMENT LACKS TAX CLEARANCE CERTIFICATE FROM JOINT TEAM OF THE IRS AND HOMELAND SECURITIES, AND THERE FOR, YOU MUST CONTACT US FOR DIRECTION ON HOW TO PROCURE THIS CERTIFICATE, SO THAT YOU CAN BE RELIEVED OF THE CHARGES OF EVADING TAX WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE UNDER SECTION 12 SUBSECTION 441 OF CONSTITUTION ON TAX EVASION.

YOU ARE REQUIRED TO CONTACT THIS BUREAU WITHIN 72HOURS, OR YOU WILL BE ARRESTED, INTERROGATED AND PROSECUTED IN THE COURT OF LAW FOR EVADING TAX.

ALSO, YOU MUST NOT CONTACT ANY OTHER BANK FOR ANY PAYMENT, BECAUSE YOUR PAYMENT HAVE BEEN CONFISCATED BY THIS BUREAU.


YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

YOURS IN SERVICE

Agent John Edward
Regional Director
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Intelligence Field Unit
J. Edgar Hoover Building
935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C.
20535-0001, USA

CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE: This communication and its attachments may contain non-public, confidential or legally privileged information. The unlawful interception, use or disclosure of such information is prohibited. If you are not the intended recipient, or have received this communication in error, please notify the sender immediately by reply email and delete all copies of this communication and attachments without reading or saving them.

Just call me wolfman

My house listing just expired. Realtors are calling me every ten minutes wanting me to re-list with them. Those same (curseword) realtors that DIDN'T show my house last month. If they wanted to be convincing that they could sell my house, maybe, MAYBE, they should have drug someone through it last month, or, I DON'T KNOW, shown up for the freaking realtor open house.

Just a thought.

And though I'm NOT hormonal, I may need to be preemptively incarcerated like the wolfman.

Many thanks to Meg for giving me a laugh when I desperately needed it.

Oh, and I'm definitely better at yoga than that lady.;)

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Me, while trying to merge across three lanes and being thwarted by a white Camry: Uuuuuuggggghh! This car!

Charming, with perfect inflection: Oh my gosh! It isn't driving properly!

(Fact aside that he shouldn't be saying "oh, my gosh" for which I must repent...)

Licensed for Trouble

No, I'm not talking about my Beloved. He's not licensed and that IS the trouble.  No, I'm talking about Susan May Warren's latest PJ Sugar novel, Licensed For Trouble....bless her heart....the third installment in the PJ Sugar series. 


If you have already read the first two books of the series--yippee! the next one's out. If you haven't, I suggest you start with book one and progress through them sequentially. (Yippee! You don't have to wait for the next installment!) I've read them all and I still had a little trouble remembering things. Which is WAY better than rehashing. I'm not saying anything related to that. And I know that the books are technically stand alone plots. (Each mystery is solved in each book. Most social issues are resolved in each book. But it's still nice to know the history if you're gonna read a character that does have a backstory written down.)


Anyway, this is a super-fun series without being super fluff. And I think there's a very good chance that each book is better than the one before it. But maybe that's just because you grow to really appreciate the characters and all of their faults. And maybe the realization that you can grow beyond "trouble." (At least I hope so!)


A bit about the book:

Sugar receives shocking news that she's inherited the Kellogg family mansion. Though she has no idea why, the timing is perfect-PJ has clearly worn out her welcome at her sister's house. Unfortunately, the mansion is in shambles, and PJ is short on cash. Rescue comes in the form of Max Smith, a mysterious handyman willing to trade his services for PJ's investigative skills. But PJ already has a full docket with cramming for her PI license and nurturing a growing romance with her boss, Jeremy Kane. Can she take on Max's case without dropping the ball?

Find out more about book one, Nothing But Trouble and book two, Double Trouble.

Enter PJ Sugar's "Sweet" Giveaway

Licensed for Trouble, Susan's brand new PJ Sugar novel, is in stores now! To celebrate the release, we’re giving away a Kindle!! You can enter using Twitter, Facebook, or e-mail using the icons below.

One Grand Prize winner will receive a A SWEET Kindle prize package that includes:

• A brand new Kindle (Free 3G, 6”, Latest Generation)
• The entire PJ Sugar series by Susan May Warren

To enter, simply click on the icons below to fill out the entry form, then tell 5 or more friends about the contest.


Oh, and enter soon! Winner will be announced on September 2nd.

Be sure to check out the blog tour here or purchase a copy of Licensed for Trouble here!

Susan May Warren is the RITA award-winning author of twenty-four novels with Tyndale, Barbour and Steeple Hill. A four-time Christy award finalist, a two-time RITA Finalist, she’s also a multi-winner of the Inspirational Readers Choice award, and the ACFW Book of the Year.

Susan's larger than life characters and layered plots have won her acclaim with readers and reviewers alike. A seasoned women’s events and retreats speaker, she’s a popular writing teacher at conferences around the nation and the author of the beginning writer’s workbook: From the Inside-Out: discover, create and publish the novel in you!. She is also the founder of www.MyBookTherapy.com, a story-crafting service that helps authors discover their voice.

Susan makes her home in northern Minnesota, where she is busy cheering on her two sons in football, and her daughter in local theater productions (and desperately missing her college-age son!) A full listing of her titles, reviews and awards can be found at: www.susanmaywarren.com.

A Word to the Wise

Don't try to get onto a military base with an expired driver's license.

They don't take too kindly to it.

The good news is that Beloved didn't wind up in jail.

Can you believe they wrote me up, too?

We were just trying to see the Buffalo Soldier Memorial.

So much for patriotism.

Yippee.

Terrrrrrrrrrrific!

I awoke this morning mad at myself. Furious. For letting myself fall into a pattern of predictable.

My sister, homeschooling mother of eight, often says she wants to write a book titled, "We Meant to be Normal."

I think I should write a book called, "I Meant to be Extraordinary....." I'm not going to go into my many failures, my wishes, hopes, or dreams that didn't come true. Too much wallowing in the pits of wouldda shouldda couldda just makes a person depressed. I know. I was there yesterday. Just couldn't get my feet under me. Aggravated that I haven't done this or I didn't do that. Aggravated that my house hasn't sold and any number of other things. Aggravated that I couldn't even blame it on hormones.

I flopped down at the table and unloaded on My Beloved (I think there were even tears involved). He's discouraged, too. This isn't what we expected 34 to be, apparently. But My Beloved, he is smart.

"I think we're bored."

Yeah, that sums it up and puts a name tag on it. We are two very busy people. Busy, busy, busy. So much to do. Filling others expectations at the expense of our own desires. Part of that is parenting. Part of it is surviving. Most of it is trying to please people that simply won't be pleased, no matter what we do.

God gave the two of us desires that make absolutely no sense to anybody but us. We can't explain it. We gave up trying years ago. And in the meantime, we go with the flow.

Note to the three of you reading this that think I make waves, lots and lots of waves: If only you knew what kind of waves I'm capable of. Get out your rain coat. A tidal wave's a comin'.

If Nehemiah can rouse the people of Jerusalem to rebuild the wall in 52 days, surely I, with God on my side, can do something extraordinary. Regardless of whether it makes me insane to others.

Going with the flow has never really been my forte.

I used to listen to this guy, Ed Foreman, who did a speech entitled How to Make Every Day a Goooooood Day. I listened to him every day until I could say the whole thing along with him. And I'm pretty certain it is Ed Foreman's voice in my head that tells me ..."Every Day In Every Way, I'm Getting Better!"

I refuse to wallow in mediocrity ONE MORE DAY. I'm sick of it. It does not please my God. It does not please me. It might make me a good drone, but I never wanted to be a drone anyway.

I think it is no small coincidence that immediately after we put a name to our apathy, Beloved and I came up with new and fun ideas that had us laughing well into the night. We didn't sleep well, but, hey, sleep is for the bored.

I choose you

This you gotta see.

Amen and amen. With my own Eldest, of course. Though I'm sure her children are lovely. :)

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

My kids and I have a tradition at the first of August to go on Special Dates. One at a time, they get to go out alone with me and shop for school supplies, clothes, shoes, and a Pick Your Poison treat. Oh, yeah, and a $10 toy that they Don't Have To Pay Back (wow! *gasp*)

I started with Eldest as, well, he's the eldest and that should count for something when you have to start somewhere. We hit Old Navy for their cheap before school sales (in this case polos and jeans). He got into that. Chose his things. Seemed to be surprised that he got more than one or two items. (This, my naked child, because he refuses to focus on clothes.)

Next stop Kohl's, in which I made the mistake of walking directly through on my way to the boy's department, as the direct route passed the toys. It was all over. It was all I could do to force the child to pick some shoes. He tried on ONE pair. Declared them perfect and, unable to curb his excitement One More Second, we checked out and headed to Target for him to get his most favored Battle Gear. Whatever. Couldn't get him to focus on school supplies. Barely got him to choose a backpack. Finally dragged him to the register, paid and fed him a slushy while he played with his new thingie in the back seat.

What was your favorite part, Eldest? THE TOY.

Next stop, Princess. Same routine, except she thoroughly enjoyed her shopping experience at Old Navy. Except for the fact that her style and her mom's do not agree. And she only wants to wear blue. Couldn't believe I'd let her have the glitter shoes. Didn't need to go to Kohl's. Enjoyed Target, but couldn't focus on school supplies. (We're in a bit of denial.) Really, Really, REALLY wanted to go to PetSmart. Got an Icee and walked over. Cruised through. Really, really, really wanted to go to JoAnn's. Loitered until I was certain her daddy would go bonkers. Finally asked if she was trying to find a specific toy or if she was just trying to blow the money because she knew she had it. Agreed, after she answered, that I would buy her a toy on another day when there was actually something she wanted.

What was your favorite part, Princess? besides being alone with you? the Icee.

Finally, Frodo. Having learned my lesson, asked him what he was most looking forward to. Shoe shopping. Went to shoe carnival. Tried on lots of shoes. Chose the first ones he saw when we originally walked through the door. Saw them three days ago with eldest at Kohls. I imagine they were cheaper there. Trying not to think about it. Out to Arbys for one of those Gray Meat Sandwiches. (Another story, another day) Old Navy. Has more expensive taste than his siblings. Got half the stuff for the same money. Still shocked out of his socks that he got as much as he did. Guess that makes it OK. Onward to Target for school supplies. Liked the folders. Wanted a journal. And a rubber band ball. Picked a ruler. Picked pencils. Found the correct notebook paper. Picked spirals. Happily skipped around the cart while I picked up some things for his sibs. When we discovered that the snack bar was closed, joyfully picked out an Orange Crush. Super happy to get a toy. Smiled the whole night.

Frodo, what was your favorite part? Shoe shopping.

Two observations: 1) Always start with their favorite part. They'll participate in the rest more agreeably.
2) Despite the fact that Frodo can exhaust me with his chatter about video games that I care nothing about, I always knew that child had something in him of me. Now we know it. Shoes.

Children are so stinking unique. Same trip. Decidedly different experiences. Love 'em all fiercely.

Charmingisims

Charming loves to go to the firecracker. Cracker for short. Translation: Chiropractor

Charming does not like volocanoes on his pizza. Translation: Jalapenos

I know, right? 

He mispronounces plenty of words, but this mispronunciations were just to apropos to not share.

In the continuing saga that is Princess and reproduction V

Last week, Princess read a children's picture book about My Body that was probably supposed to be appropriate for four year olds in this whacked world, but which she probably shouldn't have read. I caught her too late. Stupid library books.

She pondered for two days before the following question emerged.

"Mom, if the baby grows in the woman....why does she have to be married to have it?"

Me: (pregnant pause) Because it needs part of the daddy. (pregnant pause)

Princess: Nod. (looks away)

It's coming. Oh, joy, it's coming. *groan*

decisions, decisions

Today, shortly after I merged onto the interstate, I decided to quit hating my new, nondescript silver minivan (Stepford, here I come).

It goes like this: I came around the shamrock loop and gunned it as I always do. Long about the time the old, cheap, purple minivan would be hitting 35 and the semi behind me would be slamming his brakes and trying to change lanes so as to not kiss my rear end, my new, nondescript silver minivan (Stepford here I come) was cruising along, shooting past seventy. There's no wind noise to speak of and my kids don't have to yell from the back seat to be heard....even when the radio is on. I don't have to baby it and I don't really fear it konking out on me Any Moment, so I can even venture out of the right lane.

So there you go.

I did lose it tonight in the parking lot at the gym. Thank goodness I parked at the far back edge and there were mostly cars in the general vicinity so I didn't have to embarass myself by trying the locks on several before making it to mine.

Must go buy KU window stickers.

So I'm Shallow....Deal

My darling husband called me out over the weekend. "You take pride in your crap vehicles."

I most certainly do NOT. *humph* 

And then it hit me. I do. Or I take pride in not caring about what I drive. Or something.

It goes a little something like this:

My dad brought home my first car. It was a 1979 AMC Spirit. Silver. The fabric on the ceiling was held on with stick pins. I called that car Flake. My less classy friend called it Smegma. If you really want to know, google it. You will discover you really didn't want to know. Where he came up with these words, I'll never know.

I had wheels. Few of my friends had wheels when I got that car. Didn't matter that it was a piece of junk that only started easily half the mornings (not usually the ones where I was late). It didn't matter that as the years wore on and other people got nicer vehicles (and car payments and jobs) the boys relentlessly teased me about buying my car for $50 and driving it in the demo derby. It was my car. I didn't have to ask. I didn't have to share. I just grabbed they keys and drove.

On my 18th birthday, my dad surprised me with a HUGE step up. A 1980-something Dodge Spirit. White. The ceiling was intact. The interior was red. I was so positively giddy with joy and pride to drive a car that didn't flake paint as I cruised that it didn't really occur to me that I didn't pick it. Or that still no one was envying my wheels.

I got married at 20 and with that marriage, my beloved traded his 'Stang for a Mercury Sable hand-me-down of his father's since we were at KU and I couldn't drive stick on the hills. We sold my little white car. Too many insurance payments with two cars. Especially when you live on campus. And little white didn't like to start on cold mornings. And leaked oil. Or so the new owners told me.

The Christmas after we graduated, I totaled the Sable on the interstate in an ice storm. Missed the semi. Hit first one side rail and then another. Never drove the car again.

Hubs went to a car auction. Replaced the aqua sable with an evergreen Sable with evergreen interior. He didn't pay much. Something like $200 less than we got in collision insurance payout.

When we moved to the city, we decided we needed two cars lest I, the stay-at-home-wife (for the time being) go STARK RAVING MAD while trapped in the townhouse ALONE, knowing NO ONE for DAYS ON END.

Beloved's uncle had just returned from a car auction and had a red Ford Taurus (gray interior) he was willing to give us a good deal on. I'm sure it was a good deal, but I remember gasping at the price of something like $7000. I'm sure it had very few miles on it. Enter our first car payment.

Enter my entry level job as the pregnancy, it wasn't a-happenin'. Double payments as long as I was employed. Enter Eldest. Enter unemployment. For both of us. And a pregnancy miracle with Princess.

Yeah.

Sold the green beast to my father, whom I'm sure payed way too much for it (for that we were very grateful). We ate the proceeds over the next several months.

Enter employment. For both of us. As Princess was now born, I did in home daycare. I do not advise people to do this unless they are exceedingly gifted with Other People's Children. I found that I am not. I was OK as long as I had them. Sending them home killed me on a daily basis. Anyhoo, with the daycare came my first minivan.

Someone picked it up for us at auction (see a trend here?). We bought it sight unseen. I remember being quite relieved that it didn't look as nasty as it was priced. (Thinking $2K?)

Drove that minivan until Dearest decided that it's death was imminent.

Friend offered us their meticulously maintained minivan for $7K (blue book). We declined. Didn't have $7K. Just having come off a steady income of Less Than We Needed To Survive. (Partly because I quit daycare and had Frodo--yet another miracle baby.)

 Friend came back a couple months (weeks?) later and offered it to us for less. Maybe $5K?  We decided to drive it. When we showed up to drive it, he lowered the price to $4,500. While we drove it, someone offered him $3500. Not knowing this, we told him we'd take it at $4500. He's far too scrupulous to let us have it for $4500, even though that was the deal, because he'd just told the other guy that if we didn't want it, he'd give it to him for $3500. So he gave it to us for $3500.

Fast forward nearly seven years and you come to last weekend, when Beloved decided the van would not live ONE MORE WEEK. New van MUST be bought. MUST have less than 50K miles on it. Must seat seven (prefer 8, but that isn't happening at our price point). And my personal must: MUST HAVE CARGO ROOM.

You would not believe the price tag we paid for a boring silver minivan. I cried. All weekend. All night. All day. While driving it. While cleaning out the old one. While paying for the new (to me) one.

It seems like if you are going to pay that much money for something, you ought to like it, ya know? But I decided that for me to find a car that fit my family that I actually liked, I'd have to go up another $10-20K. Which I am SO not willing to do.

So, I'm shallow. I thought I'd at least be able to get a minivan that was a color. Any color. But no. Bells and whistles? None. Cargo, I have. Seven seats, I have. Working transmission, I have. Less than fifty thousand miles, I have. Whoopie. My minivan is silver. Along with all the other minivans in the Target parking lot. I have entered Stepford.

But, I have to give Beloved kudos for calling me out about my crap car pride. I don't have it. Really, I don't. I just never actually picked a car before. They showed up in my drive way. Usually for a bargain basement price. And I could say to myself, "Sure, I drive a minivan, but it isn't like I paid much for it or anything." Or, "It isn't like I picked it or anything." Or any variant on the same. And now, suddenly, I have chosen for myself, among the great number of choices (2), a silver minivan. My other option was a silver minivan. (With a few more bells and whistles that I already have missed but a ride that wasn't nearly as smooth.)

And my pride has taken a hit.

Yes, that makes me shallow. Confession is good for the soul. My sister-in-law told me that God was blessing us. I know in my heart she's right. I'm trying to see that monstrosity sitting in my drive way as a blessing. I wanted a Durango or a Yukon or a Suburban. In RED. For less than we paid for the silver minivan.

STOP YER LAUGHIN'!

It's pretty nice that it starts. And goes.

I'm blessed.

Even if it isn't red.

cry me a river

So I was sitting on the couch moping about buying (yet another) minivan when the commercial comes on that begins "I used to cry myself to sleep at night at the thought of driving a minivan..."

*sob*

No, really. That wasn't drama. I LOST IT. The ugle cry. Right there in front people it shouldn't have happened in front of.

(I will be grateful. I WILL be grateful.)

There's more to this story....another day.