My house is lovely when it's clean.
My house is only ever clean if I've spent a minimum of six hours cleaning it so that strangers can walk through it and reject it.
I'm thinking about just keeping it.
Not that it would ever be this clean if I did.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Gentle and Quiet
My amazing friend Beckie opened her gentle and quiet mouth and spewed wisdom, as she so often does and I felt the need to share.
I expressed no small measure of exasperation, again, regarding the gentle and quiet spirit expected of Christian women, indicating myself and "all this--the antithesis of gentle and quiet" when she asked, with a sweet, puzzled look on her face, "Does the Bible say gentle and quiet countenance? No? It says gentle and quiet spirit."
I'm not sure I qualify, yet, but it gives me something that could be feasible...someday.
I expressed no small measure of exasperation, again, regarding the gentle and quiet spirit expected of Christian women, indicating myself and "all this--the antithesis of gentle and quiet" when she asked, with a sweet, puzzled look on her face, "Does the Bible say gentle and quiet countenance? No? It says gentle and quiet spirit."
I'm not sure I qualify, yet, but it gives me something that could be feasible...someday.
Charmingisims
Mommy! Why is it waining weaves?!
Wook! It's Daddy's favorite movie....feetball!
If you die, you're out, OK Mommy? That's the word.
Wook! It's Daddy's favorite movie....feetball!
If you die, you're out, OK Mommy? That's the word.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
It's a Mean, Mean, Mean, Mean World
I recently heard a woman speaking about how very mean the world has gotten and I'm right there with her.
Driving through a parking lot and see someone walking stop abruptly because you're coming, you slam on the brakes, smile and wave, mouth sorry? No return smile, just a dirty look.
I had someone throw a ham sandwich at my car at a four way stop once. I still have no idea why. I let him go first.
If you live in a city larger than 5000 and someone is making eye contact and smiling at the library, what is your first thought? Creepy, right? I have to force myself to not break eye contact. I give them the benefit of the doubt that they were raised in a small town.
Don't make conversation with the cashier. She doesn't want to be there and won't pretend for your sake.
What happened to customer service, in general?
Totally OFF topic, but still kinda on. Last night on the news I heard someone interviewed at the grocery store where the guy was shot and he said, "It's a nice, neighborhood store. Never any problems." I've been shopping there for more than ten years. The managers are nice. I think they recognize me. And, in general, I would use the same words to describe the store IN COMPARISON to other city stores. But, no. I've shopped at nice neighborhood stores. This is a pleasant city grocery where people rarely give you trouble, but are pretty much going to ignore the fact that you are present. On that stream, engage someone over the age of 80 in conversation and you might get a response.
But today....TODAY I was insulted by someone I'd never seen before, had made no judgments about, would frankly had no thoughts regarding her AT ALL had her bumper sticker not screamed at me "I may be fat, but you're UGLY and I can DIET."
I found my blood pressure actually rising. She's judging me. She's assuming that I'm judging her without giving me the chance to perform above her expectations. And she's going to skip right to rudeness rather than give me that chance.
And before you get all "it was supposed to be a joke" on me, since when is it funny to insult a perfect stranger? Is that how we are supposed to treat our fellow man? I mean, I'm not perfect. I have no illusions. I catch eyes and drop them as much as the next guy, but I do try to practice common courtesy. I "please" and "thank you" and "so sorry" and "excuse me." But my patience is wearing thin with people who act like I'm invisible and their story they are telling another person in the Walmart aisle about their daughter's cousin's boyfriends next door neighbor's arthritic cat is more important than my kid's triaminic. Hello! I'm here! And I really, really, REALLY need something just behind your butt! AND I'VE HAD NO SLEEP LADY! THUS THE NEED FOR THE COUGH MEDICINE!
And no, I don't think the lady in the Triaminic aisle affected my response to the bumper sticker at all.
Driving through a parking lot and see someone walking stop abruptly because you're coming, you slam on the brakes, smile and wave, mouth sorry? No return smile, just a dirty look.
I had someone throw a ham sandwich at my car at a four way stop once. I still have no idea why. I let him go first.
If you live in a city larger than 5000 and someone is making eye contact and smiling at the library, what is your first thought? Creepy, right? I have to force myself to not break eye contact. I give them the benefit of the doubt that they were raised in a small town.
Don't make conversation with the cashier. She doesn't want to be there and won't pretend for your sake.
What happened to customer service, in general?
Totally OFF topic, but still kinda on. Last night on the news I heard someone interviewed at the grocery store where the guy was shot and he said, "It's a nice, neighborhood store. Never any problems." I've been shopping there for more than ten years. The managers are nice. I think they recognize me. And, in general, I would use the same words to describe the store IN COMPARISON to other city stores. But, no. I've shopped at nice neighborhood stores. This is a pleasant city grocery where people rarely give you trouble, but are pretty much going to ignore the fact that you are present. On that stream, engage someone over the age of 80 in conversation and you might get a response.
But today....TODAY I was insulted by someone I'd never seen before, had made no judgments about, would frankly had no thoughts regarding her AT ALL had her bumper sticker not screamed at me "I may be fat, but you're UGLY and I can DIET."
I found my blood pressure actually rising. She's judging me. She's assuming that I'm judging her without giving me the chance to perform above her expectations. And she's going to skip right to rudeness rather than give me that chance.
And before you get all "it was supposed to be a joke" on me, since when is it funny to insult a perfect stranger? Is that how we are supposed to treat our fellow man? I mean, I'm not perfect. I have no illusions. I catch eyes and drop them as much as the next guy, but I do try to practice common courtesy. I "please" and "thank you" and "so sorry" and "excuse me." But my patience is wearing thin with people who act like I'm invisible and their story they are telling another person in the Walmart aisle about their daughter's cousin's boyfriends next door neighbor's arthritic cat is more important than my kid's triaminic. Hello! I'm here! And I really, really, REALLY need something just behind your butt! AND I'VE HAD NO SLEEP LADY! THUS THE NEED FOR THE COUGH MEDICINE!
And no, I don't think the lady in the Triaminic aisle affected my response to the bumper sticker at all.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Twisted Day
The good news: we had a showing and even though my beloved was indisposed and couldn't help me clean, I got the house ready with nine minutes to spare.
Thoughts: If we had a showing every three to four days, I don't think it would ever get incredibly messy. On the flip side of that thought is the fact that I walk trough the house like a crazy woman on a rampage scooping up plates before people are done with them and end up doing twice the dishes. That and I screech a lot when I walk into a room that has been put into disarray. I don't like this.
The bad news: A guy was shot four blocks away DURING the showing. (In the leg and drove himself to the hospital. I take it that means he's fine.)
Thoughts: here's hoping the gun had a silencer and the people who looked don't watch the news.
And that is all, for my brain is fried with cleaning product fumes and adrenaline.
Thoughts: If we had a showing every three to four days, I don't think it would ever get incredibly messy. On the flip side of that thought is the fact that I walk trough the house like a crazy woman on a rampage scooping up plates before people are done with them and end up doing twice the dishes. That and I screech a lot when I walk into a room that has been put into disarray. I don't like this.
The bad news: A guy was shot four blocks away DURING the showing. (In the leg and drove himself to the hospital. I take it that means he's fine.)
Thoughts: here's hoping the gun had a silencer and the people who looked don't watch the news.
And that is all, for my brain is fried with cleaning product fumes and adrenaline.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
My Get Together
What to do when you have promised to have a game day get together the day you return from vacation?
Well, first, you have to get together with some low key people so you don't stress.
Doesn't hurt if you leave your home "show ready" so you come home only to the mess you bring through the door with you.
It certainly helps if you find someone else willing to provide the site--that has a TV much larger than yours. (This was a complete and unexpected turn of events that MADE MY DAY.)
And Chex Mix is a must.
The daddies and a few boys camped in front of the giant screen.
The mommies never quite made it out of the kitchen--NOT because we were cooking, but just because that seems to be where mommies gather.
The kiddos ran the place over and since it was lovely out, they were outside as well.
We all snarfed the the Chex Mix.
The mommies picked out our favorite (Turtle). One mommy picked the gluten free items out of the bag (she isn't celiac, she's just watching it, otherwise I'm not sure she would have gone for it. I'd have had to make Rice Chex Mix if she had been).
The kids dumped Original, Turtle, and Sweet and Salty together and ate it all at once.
The daddies came through and cleaned out what was left.
This, my friends, is the way to have a party.
(Note: I"m still not certain whether the invitation to watch the game at their house was a true one, but they were gracious hosts.)
All I had to do was show up and bring the Chex Mix, plates, napkins, party bowl and disclaimers with coupons (All provided by General Mills).
Every one was happy.
It was a great Game Day Get Together.
Sorry, no photos. Don't know what I was thinking.
And Chex wants you to know this:
"We also would love if you shared information about the The Ultimate Chex Mix Game Day Sweeps! For a chance to win $10,000 in cash and prizes to make your place the ultimate Game Day spot, visit the Game Day Sweeps tab on the Chex Mix Facebook page to enter!"
Well, first, you have to get together with some low key people so you don't stress.
Doesn't hurt if you leave your home "show ready" so you come home only to the mess you bring through the door with you.
It certainly helps if you find someone else willing to provide the site--that has a TV much larger than yours. (This was a complete and unexpected turn of events that MADE MY DAY.)
And Chex Mix is a must.
The daddies and a few boys camped in front of the giant screen.
The mommies never quite made it out of the kitchen--NOT because we were cooking, but just because that seems to be where mommies gather.
The kiddos ran the place over and since it was lovely out, they were outside as well.
We all snarfed the the Chex Mix.
The mommies picked out our favorite (Turtle). One mommy picked the gluten free items out of the bag (she isn't celiac, she's just watching it, otherwise I'm not sure she would have gone for it. I'd have had to make Rice Chex Mix if she had been).
The kids dumped Original, Turtle, and Sweet and Salty together and ate it all at once.
The daddies came through and cleaned out what was left.
This, my friends, is the way to have a party.
(Note: I"m still not certain whether the invitation to watch the game at their house was a true one, but they were gracious hosts.)
All I had to do was show up and bring the Chex Mix, plates, napkins, party bowl and disclaimers with coupons (All provided by General Mills).
Every one was happy.
It was a great Game Day Get Together.
Sorry, no photos. Don't know what I was thinking.
And Chex wants you to know this:
"We also would love if you shared information about the The Ultimate Chex Mix Game Day Sweeps! For a chance to win $10,000 in cash and prizes to make your place the ultimate Game Day spot, visit the Game Day Sweeps tab on the Chex Mix Facebook page to enter!"
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
The Waiting KINDLE Giveaway
Suzanne Woods Fisher is thrilled to announce the release of The Waiting
, book two in The Lancaster Secrets Collection. In The Waiting Jorie finds herself caught be two loves and two lives in this compelling page turner about complex people living the simple life.
A must read!
Visit the blog tour and find out what the reviewers are saying!
Learn more about Suzanne and her books at www.suzannewoodsfisher.com!
* A brand new KINDLE, Free 3G, 6", Latest Generation
* The Choice by Suzanne Woods Fisher
* The Waiting by Suzanne Woods Fisher
* A $15 dollar Amazon.com Gift Certificate
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 October 28th at Suzanne's Lancaster Secrets Book Club Party.
Join Suzanne for the Lancaster Secrets Book Club Party on October 28th! She’ll be announcing the winner of the The Waiting KINDLE Giveaway, hosting a book club discussion of The Waiting and The Choice, and giving away copies of both books and HEAPs of readerly prizes! Be sure to join us on Thursday, October 28th at 5:00 PM PST (6:00 MST, 7:00 CST & 8 EST) at Suzanne’s Author Page.
, book two in The Lancaster Secrets Collection. In The Waiting Jorie finds herself caught be two loves and two lives in this compelling page turner about complex people living the simple life.A must read!
Visit the blog tour and find out what the reviewers are saying!
Learn more about Suzanne and her books at www.suzannewoodsfisher.com!
The Waiting is the next stand alone story in The Lancaster Secrets Collection and follows in the footsteps of the best-selling, The Choice
. The Waiting is in stores now and to celebrate Suzanne is hosting The Waiting KINDLE Giveaway.
is the next stand alone story in The Lancaster Secrets Collection and follows in the footsteps of the best-selling, The Choice. The Waiting is in stores now and to celebrate Suzanne is hosting The Waiting KINDLE Giveaway.One Grand Prize winner will receive a Kindle preloaded with Suzanne Woods Fisher titles and a Amazon.com gift certificate! The Prize Pack (valued at over $185.00) includes:
* A brand new KINDLE, Free 3G, 6", Latest Generation
* The Choice by Suzanne Woods Fisher
* The Waiting by Suzanne Woods Fisher
* A $15 dollar Amazon.com Gift Certificate
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 October 28th at Suzanne's Lancaster Secrets Book Club Party.
Join Suzanne for the Lancaster Secrets Book Club Party on October 28th! She’ll be announcing the winner of the The Waiting KINDLE Giveaway, hosting a book club discussion of The Waiting and The Choice, and giving away copies of both books and HEAPs of readerly prizes! Be sure to join us on Thursday, October 28th at 5:00 PM PST (6:00 MST, 7:00 CST & 8 EST) at Suzanne’s Author Page.
The Movies and Memories Giveaway from Sarah Sundin!
Sarah Sundin presents The Movies and Memories Giveaway in honor of book 2 in the Wings of Glory series. A Memory Between Us
is available for purchase wherever fine books are sold. From the English countryside to the perilous skies over France, A Memory Between Us takes you on a journey through love, forgiveness, and sacrifice.
To celebrate Sarah is giving one lucky winner A Movie and Memory Prize Package! One grand prize winner will receive:
* Make-your-own-photo book from Mypublisher.com (Capture your own Memories)
* Netflix Subscription (New or Nostalgic Movies delivered right to your house)
* Starbucks gift card (To keep your engine revvin’)
*Gourmet chocolate (A favorite in the 1940’s and now)
* British specialty teas in carved wooden box (Timeless tradition)
* Miniature model of a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber & C-47 cargo plane (Everyone needs a few toy planes)
*Big Band music CD (Break out your dancing shoes)
* WWII authentic poster playing cards (Cards – a perfect game for two)
* Keep Calm and Carry On (Uplifting sayings WWII, a boost for troubled times)
To enter simple click on the icons below (contest runs 9/27 - 10/17!)
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Inane Car Games (and the subject that won't go away)
One of the great joys of having pre-teens is re-living those awkward years all over again. This time more indignant and hopefully wise, but unfortunately, meanwhile, being the recipient of the eye roll and the you-don't-understands.
It also means your kids learn inane car games from their friends. It started with "Bingo" (which means "yellow car"). Which, of course, becomes "red car," "blue car," "white car." And is, at that point, rendered pointless.
So I taught my kids "beetle bop" also known as "slug bug" in some areas of the country. But with all the PT Cruisers and Mini Coopers floating around these days, also is confusing. At least to start. Now it's just three car games in one. Or four when you throw in Bingo on top of it. (Beetle Bop Bingo, being the ultimate in winning calls.)
Our average car ride conversation sounds something like this: Mom? Yeah? Mom, I want a....BINGO!...I want a.....CRUISER RED!....a new....BEETLE BOP GREEN!.....a new folder for my....MINI COOPER STRIPED!...for my....FUNKY CAR!(I forgot this one....any car with a paint job or body worthy of mention)...BEETLE BOP....NO...CRUISER SILVER! Uh, Mom? Yes? I forgot. BINGO!
All while Charming is screaming "beetwal bop gween" whether or not there is, in fact, a green beetle bop. There may be a green CAR. And there may not. And if he calls it, you must respond "stinker" because Eldest will call anyone who calls a car before him "stinker." And if you now call a beetle bop with Charming in the car, he will, in fact, holler, "Stinker! I was cawing that!" So, in the midst of the aforementioned conversation, insert Charming's speech. Because if I wrote that all in, you're mind would overload.
And, because it has become so insane that Hubs and I can't even talk in the car anymore, I started a new game called SILVER VAN!
So now our conversations sound something like this: SILVER VAN! SILVER VAN! SILVER VAN! SILVER VAN! SILVERVANSILVERVANSILVERVANSILVERVAN!
Hubs is not amused.
It also means your kids learn inane car games from their friends. It started with "Bingo" (which means "yellow car"). Which, of course, becomes "red car," "blue car," "white car." And is, at that point, rendered pointless.
So I taught my kids "beetle bop" also known as "slug bug" in some areas of the country. But with all the PT Cruisers and Mini Coopers floating around these days, also is confusing. At least to start. Now it's just three car games in one. Or four when you throw in Bingo on top of it. (Beetle Bop Bingo, being the ultimate in winning calls.)
Our average car ride conversation sounds something like this: Mom? Yeah? Mom, I want a....BINGO!...I want a.....CRUISER RED!....a new....BEETLE BOP GREEN!.....a new folder for my....MINI COOPER STRIPED!...for my....FUNKY CAR!(I forgot this one....any car with a paint job or body worthy of mention)...BEETLE BOP....NO...CRUISER SILVER! Uh, Mom? Yes? I forgot. BINGO!
All while Charming is screaming "beetwal bop gween" whether or not there is, in fact, a green beetle bop. There may be a green CAR. And there may not. And if he calls it, you must respond "stinker" because Eldest will call anyone who calls a car before him "stinker." And if you now call a beetle bop with Charming in the car, he will, in fact, holler, "Stinker! I was cawing that!" So, in the midst of the aforementioned conversation, insert Charming's speech. Because if I wrote that all in, you're mind would overload.
And, because it has become so insane that Hubs and I can't even talk in the car anymore, I started a new game called SILVER VAN!
So now our conversations sound something like this: SILVER VAN! SILVER VAN! SILVER VAN! SILVER VAN! SILVERVANSILVERVANSILVERVANSILVERVAN!
Hubs is not amused.
Actual Conversation That Took Place in our Silver Minivan a Moment Ago
Me: Boy, if those B12 I'm taking are supposed to give me more energy, I'd hate to think about how I'd be feeling without them.
Hubs: Feeling pretty drained, huh?
Me: I just can't make myself care.
Hubs: Pretty sure the bottle doesn't say, "Cure for the common apathy."
Hubs: Feeling pretty drained, huh?
Me: I just can't make myself care.
Hubs: Pretty sure the bottle doesn't say, "Cure for the common apathy."
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Proud Mama (a.k.a. The Healer's Apprentice)
Five years ago, September, in a hotel lobby in Nashville, I met a lovely young lady by the name of Melanie Dickerson
whose soft southern drawl appealed to me almost as much as her humility. She was there to promote her semi-autobiographical "missionary story" at the same time I was trying to promote my semi-autobiographical "infertility story." Neither one sold, mind you. I don't know what our first clues were: the agents panel saying they don't do missionary/issues books, or the authors saying anything semi-autobiographical won't sell. (Though we both met just enough published authors who were the exception to the rule to give us hope everlasting.)
We both went home from conference, continued to work on our doomed books, subbing them out and getting rejections, critiquing each other, subbing, getting rejections, crying, sympathizing (bored! she actually used the word BORED! sniff. Bored? What book was she reading?) And then one day, Melanie shot me something totally new and fresh and alive. A loose retelling of Sleeping Beauty that she called The Woodcutter's Daughter. Something that hadn't had the life critiqued out of it. Something that had kept her up, her mind wild with ideas, and I said, (in case you wondered) "Melanie, this one will see print!" Chapter one was that good.
That beginning, however exciting it was, bit the dust at some point. But that's beside the point.
I'd go through my day, thinking about "this great book I'm reading" and then remember I couldn't just go pick it up at will, and I'd harass Melanie for another chapter. She started feeding us (our motley crit group) a few hundred words at a time.
I was glued to my computer.
Well, the other day I got my bound copy in the mail retitled to be called The Healer's Apprentice which, incidentally, is an even better title. I found my name in the acknowledgments. I cried. And I sat down to read the final version of a labor of love by my sweet, humble, friend. And I confess, I didn't read it in one sitting (kinda knew where it was going), and I could put it down (again, kinda knew where it was going), and I spent most of my read playing find-something-in-here-I-haven't-seen-before and oooooo-that-added-a-lot! But mostly, my friends, it is the same book I couldn't peel my eyeballs from when I was reading it on screen. I was actually quite surprised at how very little changed in the intervening re-writes, and critiques, and edits.
And, let me tell ya, she has one that is just as stinkin' good on her harddrive that is a better version of Beauty and the Beast, so nag her and her publisher about it, K? Of course, not until you've read The Healer's Apprentice.
A bit about the book (from the back cover):
Rose has been appointed as a healer's apprentice at Hagenheim Castle, a rare opportinity for a woodcutter's daughter like her. While she often feels uneasy at the sight of blood, rose is determined to prove herself capable. Failure will mean returning home to marry the aging bachelor her mother has chosen fr her--a bloated, disgusting merchant who makes Rose feel ill.
When Lord Hamlin, the future duke, is injured, it is Rose who must tend to him. As she works to heal his wound, she begins to understand emotions she's never felt before and wonders is he feels the same. But falling in love is forbidden, as Lord Hamlin is betrothed to a mysterious young woman in hiding. As Rose's life spins toward confusion, she must take the first steps on a journey to discover her own destiny.
whose soft southern drawl appealed to me almost as much as her humility. She was there to promote her semi-autobiographical "missionary story" at the same time I was trying to promote my semi-autobiographical "infertility story." Neither one sold, mind you. I don't know what our first clues were: the agents panel saying they don't do missionary/issues books, or the authors saying anything semi-autobiographical won't sell. (Though we both met just enough published authors who were the exception to the rule to give us hope everlasting.)We both went home from conference, continued to work on our doomed books, subbing them out and getting rejections, critiquing each other, subbing, getting rejections, crying, sympathizing (bored! she actually used the word BORED! sniff. Bored? What book was she reading?) And then one day, Melanie shot me something totally new and fresh and alive. A loose retelling of Sleeping Beauty that she called The Woodcutter's Daughter. Something that hadn't had the life critiqued out of it. Something that had kept her up, her mind wild with ideas, and I said, (in case you wondered) "Melanie, this one will see print!" Chapter one was that good.
That beginning, however exciting it was, bit the dust at some point. But that's beside the point.
I'd go through my day, thinking about "this great book I'm reading" and then remember I couldn't just go pick it up at will, and I'd harass Melanie for another chapter. She started feeding us (our motley crit group) a few hundred words at a time.
I was glued to my computer.
Well, the other day I got my bound copy in the mail retitled to be called The Healer's Apprentice
which, incidentally, is an even better title. I found my name in the acknowledgments. I cried. And I sat down to read the final version of a labor of love by my sweet, humble, friend. And I confess, I didn't read it in one sitting (kinda knew where it was going), and I could put it down (again, kinda knew where it was going), and I spent most of my read playing find-something-in-here-I-haven't-seen-before and oooooo-that-added-a-lot! But mostly, my friends, it is the same book I couldn't peel my eyeballs from when I was reading it on screen. I was actually quite surprised at how very little changed in the intervening re-writes, and critiques, and edits.And, let me tell ya, she has one that is just as stinkin' good on her harddrive that is a better version of Beauty and the Beast, so nag her and her publisher about it, K? Of course, not until you've read The Healer's Apprentice.
A bit about the book (from the back cover):
Rose has been appointed as a healer's apprentice at Hagenheim Castle, a rare opportinity for a woodcutter's daughter like her. While she often feels uneasy at the sight of blood, rose is determined to prove herself capable. Failure will mean returning home to marry the aging bachelor her mother has chosen fr her--a bloated, disgusting merchant who makes Rose feel ill.
When Lord Hamlin, the future duke, is injured, it is Rose who must tend to him. As she works to heal his wound, she begins to understand emotions she's never felt before and wonders is he feels the same. But falling in love is forbidden, as Lord Hamlin is betrothed to a mysterious young woman in hiding. As Rose's life spins toward confusion, she must take the first steps on a journey to discover her own destiny.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Rebel
Today I was thinking about how I want to get my nosed pierced and what's holding me back.
I've got this inner rebellious streak that just keeps rising up within me and when it does, I feel like this life that I lead is absolutely suffocating me. (Not my man and kids....the rest of it. The prim and proper church-goer that tries to not make inflammatory remarks...and fails....repeatedly....daily...hourly. Part of the problem being that I don't mean for the remarks to be inflammatory and only figure out that they are when I see the other proper church-goer's reactions.) And I thought, Shoot. I'm gonna do it.What difference could it possibly make?
I really think I would have done it had I been at a mall.
Twice in the last two days I've heard people described as "gentle." NO ONE would EVER describe me as gentle. Not in a million years. What is prized in Christian women? Gentle and quiet spirits.
Never gentle. Never quiet. If I am quiet, you know that I am absolutely STEAMING and just wait and watch for the top to pop. It will happen. (Crap, I just let you in on a secret that would be better left concealed.)
Every now and then my spirit is quiet. I remember once, approximately 13 years ago, driving home alone from Minnesota and being completely at peace. I had a moment last Thursday when I suddenly remembered that I had four children and a house on the market. I suspect the moment immediately preceding that moment I was completely at peace. Those peaceful, quiet, and possibly gentle moments are rare. I am currently suffering, however, from tightness in my neck so severe that I'm sure I should take something for it and go to bed.
I just have to believe, though, that God made me this way. I'm not using it as an excuse to be rude and high-strung. I really don't MEAN to be rude. I'm just very blunt. And not gentle in my bluntness. You don't, however, have to wonder very long at what I'm thinking. Surely that can be a good thing....sometimes?
So anyway, yesterday I was feeling a bit low, one because I have an inner ear issue that doesn't want to resolve and more importantly because I'll never, in a million years, be described as "gentle." Brash, maybe. Harsh, possibly. Rebellious, likely. Loud, absolutely. And I was thinking about striving to be gentle so that someone would describe ME someday as gentle. And I started to feel like I couldn't get air.
And I decided it might be time to pierce my nose.
Hopefully someone will find a good adjective for me when it comes time to give me flowers on my retirement.
From what, I do not know.
But I have a hunch what they'll come up with is "Gets things done, not necessarily right, but she shows up and even if she has a bad attitude about it, laughs a lot. LOUDLY."
Yippee.
Now where is THAT in Proverbs 31?
I've got this inner rebellious streak that just keeps rising up within me and when it does, I feel like this life that I lead is absolutely suffocating me. (Not my man and kids....the rest of it. The prim and proper church-goer that tries to not make inflammatory remarks...and fails....repeatedly....daily...hourly. Part of the problem being that I don't mean for the remarks to be inflammatory and only figure out that they are when I see the other proper church-goer's reactions.) And I thought, Shoot. I'm gonna do it.What difference could it possibly make?
I really think I would have done it had I been at a mall.
Twice in the last two days I've heard people described as "gentle." NO ONE would EVER describe me as gentle. Not in a million years. What is prized in Christian women? Gentle and quiet spirits.
Never gentle. Never quiet. If I am quiet, you know that I am absolutely STEAMING and just wait and watch for the top to pop. It will happen. (Crap, I just let you in on a secret that would be better left concealed.)
Every now and then my spirit is quiet. I remember once, approximately 13 years ago, driving home alone from Minnesota and being completely at peace. I had a moment last Thursday when I suddenly remembered that I had four children and a house on the market. I suspect the moment immediately preceding that moment I was completely at peace. Those peaceful, quiet, and possibly gentle moments are rare. I am currently suffering, however, from tightness in my neck so severe that I'm sure I should take something for it and go to bed.
I just have to believe, though, that God made me this way. I'm not using it as an excuse to be rude and high-strung. I really don't MEAN to be rude. I'm just very blunt. And not gentle in my bluntness. You don't, however, have to wonder very long at what I'm thinking. Surely that can be a good thing....sometimes?
So anyway, yesterday I was feeling a bit low, one because I have an inner ear issue that doesn't want to resolve and more importantly because I'll never, in a million years, be described as "gentle." Brash, maybe. Harsh, possibly. Rebellious, likely. Loud, absolutely. And I was thinking about striving to be gentle so that someone would describe ME someday as gentle. And I started to feel like I couldn't get air.
And I decided it might be time to pierce my nose.
Hopefully someone will find a good adjective for me when it comes time to give me flowers on my retirement.
From what, I do not know.
But I have a hunch what they'll come up with is "Gets things done, not necessarily right, but she shows up and even if she has a bad attitude about it, laughs a lot. LOUDLY."
Yippee.
Now where is THAT in Proverbs 31?
In the continuing saga that is Princess and reproduction VI
In church on Sunday, they were doing a recognition of our secretaries that both quit/retired/whatever at the same time. During this time, one was described as "having a baby" with our youth pastor (the reason she was quitting), at which point the youth pastor interjected "GOT MARRIED....HAD BABY" while emphatically gesturing. (It didn't help that she had just been introduced by her maiden name.) The church burst into fits of laughter.
At which point in time Princess stage whispers to me, "Why is everybody laughing?"
Ummmmm........
At which point in time Princess stage whispers to me, "Why is everybody laughing?"
Ummmmm........
Nonny
My stupid cat caught a baby bird and brought her "gift" in the house to me before I caught on to what she was doing.
The bad news is that her "gift" wasn't yet dead.
The good news is that I originally thought it was a mouse. Live birds are preferable to live mice in my house. Don't ask why.
The bad news is I let her into my bedroom.
When I figured out she was carrying gifts, I screeched and grabbed at her at which point she let go her prey who fled under my bed and which point I screeched louder and which point the kids came running and which point the cat flew under the bed after the prey.
We still thought it was a mouse at this point.
The kids chased the prey back and forth under the bed, under the dresser, under the chest, under the bed, under the dresser, under the side table, with cat trailing.
They finally cornered the bird (we knew what it was by now) in the corner and were calling the cat over to have a feast.
I screeched, "WHY? Chase it out!"
(I was sitting on the back porch to avoid beaning by broom handle.)
All the bird needed was encouragement towards the door. They moved the blockade and it flew out.
Directly at my head.
Stupid cat has become quite a mouser. Or chipmunker. Or birder. And REALLY likes to give her captives to me.
Gah.
The bad news is that her "gift" wasn't yet dead.
The good news is that I originally thought it was a mouse. Live birds are preferable to live mice in my house. Don't ask why.
The bad news is I let her into my bedroom.
When I figured out she was carrying gifts, I screeched and grabbed at her at which point she let go her prey who fled under my bed and which point I screeched louder and which point the kids came running and which point the cat flew under the bed after the prey.
We still thought it was a mouse at this point.
The kids chased the prey back and forth under the bed, under the dresser, under the chest, under the bed, under the dresser, under the side table, with cat trailing.
They finally cornered the bird (we knew what it was by now) in the corner and were calling the cat over to have a feast.
I screeched, "WHY? Chase it out!"
(I was sitting on the back porch to avoid beaning by broom handle.)
All the bird needed was encouragement towards the door. They moved the blockade and it flew out.
Directly at my head.
Stupid cat has become quite a mouser. Or chipmunker. Or birder. And REALLY likes to give her captives to me.
Gah.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Men and Football
I like football. I do. There is no better place to be on a cool September Friday evening, than watching a football game. Unless, of course, you have a three year old that just won't stay off the field, or quit running off into the crowds, or a seven year old that insists he is old enough to prowl around unescorted, or a pre-adolescent nine year old girl who "just doesn't understand football" and would rather be at a sleepover. You know, except for those small factors. And lightning. And rain. And freezing temperatures. But I'm talking crisp, cool, evening. The kinds that were made for football.
But I realized that my appreciation for football is lacking in one major area.
I don't know what a "gun" on a ten year old is.
My Eldest played quarterback on Friday night. This is new. The little boy I've known for ten years didn't want people to look at him. He is not OK with making mistakes and who makes more obvious mistakes than a quarterback? At least as a runningback he only had to be the center of attention when had the ball. Which was less than he wanted it.
But Friday night, he was lobbing the ball all over the field. Many, many passes went uncaught. Many had no hope of being caught by anyone but the opposing team. But once he calmed down and quit playing hot potato with the football, he and his receiver got a little rhythm going and made some plays. A touchdown even. And yes, I was a proud mama and an excited one. Football is more interesting when your kid has the ball sometimes. Or is making plays (he plays pretty decent D, too). But it DID NOT occur to me that his passing was anything remarkable.
Until, that is, the men on the sidelines started patting his daddy on the back and talking about those guns and rifles he was throwing.
Really? Guns and rifles?
Hubs was talking about the pretty passes. The clean spirals. The length of the passes.
I've been watching pro and college and even high school football too long. I was not aware that a five yard pass was impressive. Then again, once he finally started throwing the football at his teammates, he dropped them right into their waiting hands. And apparently men know that passes like that on a ten year old are pretty good.(?) So when Hubs started asking Eldest on Saturday morning if his arm was sore from lobbing that ball "all over that field" and they continued to talk about it for another 30 minutes, I clued in.
Apparently my kid can throw.
Guns?
A football, anyway.
But I realized that my appreciation for football is lacking in one major area.
I don't know what a "gun" on a ten year old is.
My Eldest played quarterback on Friday night. This is new. The little boy I've known for ten years didn't want people to look at him. He is not OK with making mistakes and who makes more obvious mistakes than a quarterback? At least as a runningback he only had to be the center of attention when had the ball. Which was less than he wanted it.
But Friday night, he was lobbing the ball all over the field. Many, many passes went uncaught. Many had no hope of being caught by anyone but the opposing team. But once he calmed down and quit playing hot potato with the football, he and his receiver got a little rhythm going and made some plays. A touchdown even. And yes, I was a proud mama and an excited one. Football is more interesting when your kid has the ball sometimes. Or is making plays (he plays pretty decent D, too). But it DID NOT occur to me that his passing was anything remarkable.
Until, that is, the men on the sidelines started patting his daddy on the back and talking about those guns and rifles he was throwing.
Really? Guns and rifles?
Hubs was talking about the pretty passes. The clean spirals. The length of the passes.
I've been watching pro and college and even high school football too long. I was not aware that a five yard pass was impressive. Then again, once he finally started throwing the football at his teammates, he dropped them right into their waiting hands. And apparently men know that passes like that on a ten year old are pretty good.(?) So when Hubs started asking Eldest on Saturday morning if his arm was sore from lobbing that ball "all over that field" and they continued to talk about it for another 30 minutes, I clued in.
Apparently my kid can throw.
Guns?
A football, anyway.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Catastrophizing
Hubs and I watch a TV show called "Parenthood" which, though is about parenthood, it's also about being married, being a sibling, being an adult child, relationships, parenting adult children, parenting preschoolers, parenting special needs, parenting.....thus the name. But there's this character who is far too like me for my comfort.
My poor children.
She catastrophizes. In every situation, her mind goes forward in time until she finds the catastrophe.
That's me.
Five-thirty this morning I Can. Not. Sleep. Why? Because my house is on the market. We have two showings today. How am I going to get the house ready? What if someone wants it? What if we have to MOVE? What if I don't want to move? Oh CRAP! We have showings starting at 11:15, but what if the phone rings and someone wants to see the house before that???! We're going on a mini vacation with friends soon. What will I wear? When will I pack? How are my parents going to handle the kids? What if someone wants to see my house while I'm packing? What if something happens to us? What if something happens to the kids? What if the world ends? If the world ends, where do I want to be living? We should move. What if no one ever wants our house? What if we have to give the house away in order to move? Crap! What if we can't get a loan?
It is now 5:31.
Guess I'll get up and make some coffee.
Welcome to my inner world.
My poor children.
She catastrophizes. In every situation, her mind goes forward in time until she finds the catastrophe.
That's me.
Five-thirty this morning I Can. Not. Sleep. Why? Because my house is on the market. We have two showings today. How am I going to get the house ready? What if someone wants it? What if we have to MOVE? What if I don't want to move? Oh CRAP! We have showings starting at 11:15, but what if the phone rings and someone wants to see the house before that???! We're going on a mini vacation with friends soon. What will I wear? When will I pack? How are my parents going to handle the kids? What if someone wants to see my house while I'm packing? What if something happens to us? What if something happens to the kids? What if the world ends? If the world ends, where do I want to be living? We should move. What if no one ever wants our house? What if we have to give the house away in order to move? Crap! What if we can't get a loan?
It is now 5:31.
Guess I'll get up and make some coffee.
Welcome to my inner world.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Mornings
As I do most mornings, I woke up this morning and immediately thought, Don't think! Don't think! Don't think! Because if I can just not think a rational thought, I can go back to sleep, but once that first thought crosses my mind, it's all over. I lay there and stew and worry and plan and think and pray.
That NEVER used to happen. When did I become an easy early riser? I can't think of the last time the kids beat me out of bed.
Anyway....I just knew I could go back to sleep and then the thought crossed my mind, It's my birthday. That was it. Over.
Thirty-five years old and my birthday still excites me enough I can't go back to sleep.
How messed up is that?
That NEVER used to happen. When did I become an easy early riser? I can't think of the last time the kids beat me out of bed.
Anyway....I just knew I could go back to sleep and then the thought crossed my mind, It's my birthday. That was it. Over.
Thirty-five years old and my birthday still excites me enough I can't go back to sleep.
How messed up is that?
Coffee Shop Conversations
A 2008 study released by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life notes that the number of people creating their own interpretations of faith and culture is growing. Seems like there are as many different styles of faith as ways to order your latte. How does a Christian have normal conversations about Jesus without accidentally sounding offensive, bigoted or intolerant?
In Coffee Shop Conversations (April 2010) by Dale Fincher and Jonalyn Fincher, readers will find the tools they need to speak plainly and honestly about their faith, avoid speaking “christianese” and have meaningful, tolerant and respectful conversations with friends who don’t share their views. Coffee Shop Conversations
is written to an audience of 18-35 year olds interested in articulating their faith throughout their everyday activities.Chaos sez: You know, this book does seem to be a great resource. We all have "one of those" friends, neighbors, relatives, grocery store checkers, that seem to live to ask us the "hard" questions about our faith. The ones where they get to back us into a corner with circular reasoning and feel like they've won because they came up with some obscure argument using our own words as ammo.
(My neighbor actually used John 3:16 against me because I couldn't think fast enough. He made me say it to gave his only son and then stopped me and said, "would you do any less?" And he walked off before I could argue that the Son was given, not gifted something. When I'm thinking, Is he really asking if I'd give my son for others, and WOULD I? he's really asking wouldn't I give my son things, too? Grrr. Anyway...)
This book serves to provide info to have those difficult discussions without insulting the listener. But be prepared Christians to be insulted a few times yourself. I'm still not sure how calling your own faith "repressive" serves a greater purpose. But I DO think that Christians sometimes focus too much on the Message and not enough on the person with whom the message is being shared. And since that seems to be the point of the book, I can get over the lines that make me raise my eyebrows. Not every example has to be followed. :)
You can see what other people had to say here.
And, as an aside, LOVED Jonalyn's book Ruby Slippers.
*CONTEST*
TWO WINNERS WILL RECEIVE $25 GIFT CERTIFICATES TO STARBUCKS!
1) Leave a comment on the tour post* to be entered into a drawing for a $25 Starbucks Gift Certificate.
2) For up to two additional entries, follow the Finchers on Twitter (http://twitter.com/soulation) AND/OR tweet about this contest using the hashtag #soulation. Let us know you did in the comments of the tour post*.
3) For another entry, "like" the Finchers on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/soulation) and tell us in the comments in the tour post*.
*Please note the tour post is NOT this blog, but through the link provided.
Dale Fincher
and Jonalyn Fincher
speak and write nationally as a husband-wife team through Soulation, a non-profit dedicated to helping others be appropriately human. They are energetic and experienced public speakers, and their previous books include Living with Questions and Ruby Slippers. They make their home in Steamboat, Colorado, with corgis, snowshoes and a colorful library of books.Learn more about Jonalyn and Dale at http://soulation.org/.
This book was provided for review.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
GenX Radio
I have contended for quite some time now that there should be an 80s radio station. How many years of the 90s did I have to listen to 60s stations while searching around for "something worth listening to?" (To my notice, there was one station, maybe two, that played current music, there were a couple country stations, some easy listening stations and several that played "oldies" which spread all the way up into the 70s....which was SO OUT in my teen brain. 50s, yes, tolerable and possibly fun, 70s, decidedly not.)
So when the other day I saw a billboard advertising GenX Radio, I quickly shifted off my Christian station and reconnected with my past sinful self. :)
Yes, my kids were in the car. Yes, they rolled their eyes at me. And since then, they've asked for me to download "that you've gotta fight for your right to party song."
Now, I love me some KLOVE, I do. Christian music is, 99% of the time, where it's at for me. But some days when I'm feeling particularly low, long about the third song telling me the world is bigger than my needs, I want to rock out to Cindi Lauper.
That was all a prelude to the following:
So today I turned on GenX Radio to do my dishes (a time of day when I particularly don't want to hear about serving with purpose) and there is Dr. Phil giving a little talk about kids on the internet and internet seduction and sexting etc, etc. segueying into some hair band the likes of which I recognized, but can't remember now 30 minutes later...and I couldn't help but crack up. They so have us nailed.
Gen X: Parents first, in need of a moment to let our hair down, remember we are people, and rock out.
So when the other day I saw a billboard advertising GenX Radio, I quickly shifted off my Christian station and reconnected with my past sinful self. :)
Yes, my kids were in the car. Yes, they rolled their eyes at me. And since then, they've asked for me to download "that you've gotta fight for your right to party song."
Now, I love me some KLOVE, I do. Christian music is, 99% of the time, where it's at for me. But some days when I'm feeling particularly low, long about the third song telling me the world is bigger than my needs, I want to rock out to Cindi Lauper.
That was all a prelude to the following:
So today I turned on GenX Radio to do my dishes (a time of day when I particularly don't want to hear about serving with purpose) and there is Dr. Phil giving a little talk about kids on the internet and internet seduction and sexting etc, etc. segueying into some hair band the likes of which I recognized, but can't remember now 30 minutes later...and I couldn't help but crack up. They so have us nailed.
Gen X: Parents first, in need of a moment to let our hair down, remember we are people, and rock out.
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