Thirteen Books I've Read This Month

Thirteen Things I've Read This Month 1. Coldwater Revival Pretty stinkin' good. 2.The Brand Medallion If you can make it to page 58, it is very interesting. 3. I Like Myself We've been reading it to Princess as she's gone through her hardships. We read it "I like you..." Fabulous for children who need an ego boost. 4. I Stink! And then there's the opposite where we have to read Eldest's name in...Kidding! All three kids love this book (And Mama does, too) 5. DragonKnight The first fantasy I finished, but guaranteed it wouldn't be the last. 6. Tree Ring Circus Look out Dr. Seuss! Fabulous! 7. Grandpa's Are For Finding Worms Peaceful, and a quick read. 8. The Prophet of Yonwood The first printing of this book is supposed to be 350,000. Man, I wish. And I just thought it was average and a little predictable. 9. Let's Get Ready for Kindergarten! For those obsessed about what their kid doesn't know in regard to his future classroom. I'd say we fare at knowing about 50% of the stuff in it. 10. How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight? So cute! Lyrical and sweet. 11. Duck for President One of my favorites. 12. When the Moon Smiled Such a rhythmic, wonderful bedtime story. And, Drum Roll Please, my very favorite bedtime book of all... 13. Song of Night If I had to read this one every night for the rest of my life, I think it would be just fine.

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Potty-Car, Bath-Van, Whatever

Today I am going to share my secret for potty training without going insane. Be wary, the ability to garage-sale is a necessity unless you have much spare moo-lah.

First, I have three identical potty chairs. I used to have four, but I gave one to my mother-in-law who had a crummy one (also given to her by me after I realized it was crummy but better than transporting mine every time we visited).

I keep one in the living room. Television is on and potty trainer is in the room? Potty-trainer is on potty. Period. No arguing. (Until they are somewhat trustworthy.)

I keep one in the bathroom. Duh. If the child is too little to climb up to the big potty I have to be in there to help. Thus they can never toilet themselves and don't try. And yes, my bathroom was teeny. It was worth it.

I keep one in the van. Yes, the van. ever been at your favorite park (which coincidentally doesn't have a bathroom) when toddler screams "potty!" Yeah. Don't knock it 'til you try it. I even have developed a reputation for the potty-van. But when my family goes on road trips and I get the thirty second warning, all I have to do is pull over. Who cares that the next rest stop is 20 miles down the road? House shopping? And one of my children had a mortal fear of the big toilets at church. Something about the split in the seat, the loud noise and the inability to keep dry pants dry even when we made it in time. I just ran said kid out to the van.

Hey, works for me!

At Another Crossroads

Does it seem like I am always whining about where to go from here? I certainly feel like I am. Some days I just think I am in the wringer, supposed to learn something, or know something, but I can't figure out what it is.

So if, for example, I've written a novel. And if, for example, someone I trust to tell me the absolute truth (read: published author who does not know me from Adam, has no reason to lie, and writes stuff I love) tells me that the first 20 pages of my book are great, fabulous, don't change a thing good and though can't promise that it will be my entry into fiction, thinks it will be, what do I do with this information? Especially if, say, I send the same 20 pages in to a contest where it is judged by three different people. One gives it high scores but red marks the whole thing. One gives it moderate scores and doesn't make a single mark on the manuscript, and one gives it excruciatingly low scores, red marks the whole thing, but the comments don't make a bit of sense and if the judge had used a dictionary ONCE would gain a while new perspective...even if said gained perspective wouldn't have changed the scores would have made the comments more appropriate at least.

And, let's say, seven (such a lowly number) rejections already grace said manuscript.

Would you perchance wonder if you were barking up the wrong tree?

Would you trust the first professional reader you had, or would you trust the rejections and contest judges?

What if you'd decided that your ms really was @*&^?

And no, I waited for the initial downer of not finaling in the contest to wear out before posing these questions. It was a good couple of months ago.

So I asked God if I should quit. I said basically, 'Give me a neon sign. because I don't want to quit if you want me to keep at it. But I certainly don't want to keep at it if you want me to quit."

So I get this awesome email from one of my crit partners about the calling to write and ignoring the calling is ignoring God.

Can you say neon?

Problem being, of course, that I didn't mean to write fiction, I meant to write a memoir but in the process got a fiction opening.

Thoughts, comments, suggestions, gossip?

Paranoia

Great! Now I'm paranoid. Yesterday at the blogger thingie, kpjara told me all about these features whereby a blogger can find out who visits their blog and how long they stay.

I can only imagine the psychotic stalker some people probably think I am.

So now I'm in a sort of hysteria to visit a blog, speed read it and link away as quickly as possible. If a kid interrupts (I know,I shouldn't read blogs when my kiddos are awake. I do sometimes) I exit the screen. But what if I didn't finish reading? Do I go back? Do I wait until tomorrow? Do I sound like a freak?

You know, a life of blissful ignorance is sometimes best.

Although, I can almost feel the power. Visit a blog...that says virtually nothing...stay a whole weekend...link back to them several times...mua-ha-ha-ha-ha! I have you, my precious.

Midwest Bloggers

Insane. I have to say it. And a little star-struck. For a person who gets elated if I have more than two comments on my posts (and I'm not one of the two) it can be a little intimidating to walk into a room to meet ROCKS IN MY DRIER, CHILIHEAD, AND EVERYDAYMOMMY! And, what, 25 other bloggers that live in my neck of the woods.

And the sweet looks of I-have-no-idea-what-your-blog-is-about-but-welcome-anyway were awfully nice. "So, Jamie, what is your blog?" ... "Oh."

LOL!

Anyway, there were more people there than I met. A lot of blogs that I haven't seen. More that I'll try to get to. And I took no photos (no camera). But if you are interested in such information, bo to another one of those lovely ladies that I linked up to. I'm sure they'll put something up.

Good times to be had, my friends, good times.

Oh, and since I didn't know that you could keep track of the number of times I hit your blog, and how long I spent there, I feel the need to explain to anyone who comes wondering who in the heck visited their blog a bajillion times today, it was because I first was trying to find all the people I met today and I only know how to get to a couple sites so I had to keep going back and second, trying to get the links right. I have you bookmarked and therefore don't know the addy.

I'm not a sweaty guy in a t-shirt, after all.

Everyday Cherries

I'm joining Jules in her Friday Everyday Things where we remember a simple thing that makes our life sweeter.

I know it isn't all about food, but for today, mine will be. For about a week I've quit shuddering at the cost of produce and just bought pretty much anything that grows that my children have asked for so "fresh" produce abounds (my parents with their garden are laughing right now). Today I munched on bing cherries that cost more than gold and I enjoyed every bite.

I've also been reading about the superfoods (of which dark chocolate is one) so I've tried to eat more of those. I grabbed a dark chocolate and popped it in my mouth. Before I had the chance to swallow I was practically gagging. It was so sweet and rich. After my light sweet snacks of fresh fruit all week it was just too much.

So while I might be thankful for chocolate in January, today I'm thankful for cherries. And for the wonderful people who pick them, package them and ship them to my store.

Mama Bear

Don't tangle with my kids. The only person allowed to do that is me and I'm well acquainted with the guilt bug that follows so I try to do it as little as possible.

But, man, the she bear has come out a lot this week. I have cried for my baby girl a lot in the last three days.

I just remember the pain of being the butt of a joke, even when I didn't know what the joke was.
I remember the pain of being laughed at by an adult, but not knowing why.
I remember the pain of exclusion.
I remember the pain of isolation.
I remember the pain of not feeling important.
I remember the pain when a "friend" suddenly turned on me.
I remember the pain of not being good enough.
I remember the pain of not having the right look.
I remember the pain. Just the pain. And I want to shelter her from it for as long as possible. But I think we are about to the limit of what I can do. I will just do my best and give it to God.

And pray, pray, pray, pray, pray.

Currently reading:

Life Doesn't Like Plans

I'm not a very good friend. I know that and I want to get that out of the way before I begin because I know this can come back on the fact that I'm not a good friend.

So what do you say when...how do I say this?...the people who are supposed to be your friends lay out their perfect plan. First we will do this, then we will do this and then this and X, Y, Z. I am one of the oldest in my group of friends. That has changed in the last few years. I used to be the youngin (we married so young that our peers were five to ten years older than us) with the big plans. But now I'm on the other side and I know that life doesn't necessarily go according to plan.

As I told my hubby last week when he asked how a particular meeting had gone, "I want to know the truth!! You can't handle the truth!!!" (Name that movie). They ask, but don't want to hear the answer. Of course life will go according to plan.

I know they see me as the disillusioned older lady who would do so much better if she would just read the marriage/parenting books. (I did, back when I knew all the answers.) So I'm wondering if we wouldn't all be better off if I would just take a hike.

But I'm also wondering if I should stick around, because someone needs to be there to catch and hold them tight when it all falls apart. I pray it doesn't, but lets face it. Life doesn't usually like our plans.

That Was Fast

Well, (pfft) so much for that. It took less than 12 hours for Ethiopia to be slammed against the rocks. God is still saying "wait" so there ya have it.

Anyone know of an available newborn?

Well, I Did It.

I sent for the application to adopt from Ethiopia. I'm nervous. I'm so comfortable with domestic adoption. But frankly, domestic has changed in the six years we've been out of it and I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable there either.

Who is ever comfortable adding to their family?

I've never met an expectant mother that sleeps well, is full of energy and doesn't have trouble with her new weight. I certainly wasn't comfortable walking down an unfamiliar hospital hallway when we went to meet our eldest's birthmother.

But I'm feeling pretty comfortable in this particular life stage. Kids are all potty trained. All have had the chickenpox. All talking. All know when Mommy's had enough. (Okay, they are still learning that. ) And I wonder, do I rest on my laurels?

But I know that God gave me a vision for my family and we aren't quite there. I'm not certain that Ethiopia is the way for us to go, but I'm looking for the green light.

As my sister told / asked me the other day, "So when I'm at a place that I think this is enough...Is that where Faith comes in to carry me through?"

Boy, life is an interesting ride.

Happy Birthday, Princess!

Five years ago I had been in labor for twenty-four hours, some ten of it in transition and approximately six hours at a nine and a half. I was bleeding. (Not a lot of blood...it was a lot of amniotic fluid tinged with a little blood which made it look like a lot to me. I tell you that so you don't think my mid-wife was irresponsible, because she isn't.)I thought the baby was bleeding and that they were lying to me to just so I wouldn't give up and die. I was sure I was going to die and the only thing that kept me going was a strong little heartbeat in my abdomen that the midwife insisted was there. I kept chanting "anything for the baby, anything for the baby" interspersed with "Jesus, Help me!!!" and "I WANT TO PUSH!!!" (Which was my problem to begin with...pushing too soon. My fault, not the midwife's.)

About an hour later my sister knelt beside me and whispered in my ear that she'd just had a call from her husband (who'd been praying), that everything was going to be fine, he'd be surprised if it wasn't a girl and that the name given was Anne Marie (which means Grace and Bitterness).

I didn't mention that I expected a boy.

Well, I hollered, "I want to push!" one more time before my midwife said, "Okay." Seriously? She hadn't let me push for hours but I didn't make her tell me twice (well, actually I did).

I delivered a baby at the foot of my bed. My midwife said, "You have a baby."

"What kind of baby?" I asked.

"Don't tell her." I heard my sister say.

Meanwhile I am crawling up onto the bed where there are pillows waiting. I try to lift the baby to see the gender, but have no energy left to lift the little eight pound body. Finally someone helped me. "Oh! It's a Princess!"

"A what?" I heard my mom ask.

"A girl, mom, her name is Princess," answered my sister.

A girl. I was in awe for more than a week. Some days I'm still in awe. My God saw to it to miraculously save my daughter from miscarriage AND He gave me a girl.

Princess girl, you are truly a miracle child. I love you, Your Cuteness.

Father's Day

Here's to the man who taught me to hang rain guttering, and gave me a raise every time I mastered putting in a screw with fewer stops of the drill (buzz, buzz, buuuuzzzzzzz). I know it must have driven you crazy.

Here's to the man who taught me to stop on a dime--literally.

Here's to the man who taught his girls to shingle. My guy friends call me for roofing advice.

Here's to the man who figured out that if he puree's onions, I will eat the soup. Unfortunately, it didn't work with bell peppers (bleh!).

Here's to the man who had to drag his daughters along to the coffee shop. Why we wanted to go, I'll never know. I'm just thankful he didn't smoke with all his buddies. I shudder to think what my lungs would look like if I had to breathe that air all the time.

Here's to my model gardener. I can't grow a tomato, but he keeps me stocked.

Here's to the man who took a risk, sold his business and moved, just for me. It is tough to start over in a new place with a new job at 48, but he did it. For me. (Mom gets kudos for this also. We women like stability.)

I will always be grateful.

The Week of the Strangely Good

Both Hubs and I were down tonight. No particular reason. I imagine the week has grown long like it tends to do and we are tired like we tend to get. While he picked up the living room, I tried to make myself load the dishwasher. I glanced in at him where I saw him sitting and staring at nothing and said, "It's been a week of ups and downs, hasn't it?" (That was me, trying to draw him out. Looking for some levity.)

"I'd say mostly ups," he said.

He's right. It seems a lot of things clicked into place this week. Sunday I wasn't sure we had enough money to pay a tithe (I knew we didn't have enough, but I wasn't sure if this check would bounce or if the mortgage check would later in the week). Monday (as God has a tendency to do) we "found" enough money to live on for a month. The story is long and complex, and I won't go into it this week, but I'll tell you that we found it in our bank account so don't fret that some kid dropped his milk money, K? Everything is legal, but I'm telling you, tithe.

Monday I also was offered another writing job. And for a name you would recognize if you only exist, but don't participate, in America. You might not like them, but you'll know them. I was floored. What looked like a case of someone buying an article that I would never be able to claim publishing credit (because it has been almost 2 years and not seen print) became what looks like a change of personnel who found me. And liked me. Which is nice since I like them. I felt greatly honored.

Hubs had some great meetings this week, and even though we were paid such a pittance this month, there is still hope that these companies just might get off the ground.

So, yes. Mostly ups. It is unfortunate that we had to have a down day in the midst of an up week. I guess it is the nature of life. We are swinging for the fences. Strikes have to happen sometimes. Even Micky Mantle didn't hit over the back wall every day.

I just finished this tonight and can't decide what I thought about it. After Lois Lowry's The Giver and Messenger, these doomsday YA books have a lot to live up to.

My Flowerbeds. E-Gad!

Thirteen Things about my flowerbeds 1. They are currently full of Asiatic Lilies 2. Mostly yellow 3. A few are orange. 4. I know I planted Stargazers 5. I could have sworn there were more daylilies. 6. Because Asiatic fall over as soon as they bloom 7. I know I planted Orientals also. 8. Don't they look different from Asiatic? 9. No wonder they were on clearance last year. 10. Calla Lilies are only pretty in a bouquet. 11. Otherwise they lay over in the dirt. 12. I think rose bushes are on clearance at Home Depot. 13. I wonder when they close?

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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. ItÂ’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!

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Not So Into Fantasy--Or Is She?

I know I've mentioned before that I don't read much fantasy. Okay, I have to admit I have never finished a fantasy book--until tonight. Yes, I've read much of the Chronicles of Narnia while reading to my kids at night. But sadly, Princess isn't into them as much as Elder and Frodo, and she is usually my nighttime responsibility. So, my chronicles are limited to nights when Daddy is away.

I love the movies, by the way.

It is because I am one of those readers that needs no description. Say apartment, don't tell me about the apartment, because it will always be my husbands apartment from sophomore year, no more, no less. So if you dump me into a world where nothing is anything that I could possible imagine I have trouble. (See why I enjoy the movies? Now I know what they mean by furry two foot high creatures who talk.)

But, I just finished DragonKnight by Donita K. Paul and it was really good. It took me a while--I had to keep referencing the map--but I finally got myself accustomed to the world and tore through it once I did. This book kept me turning page after page long after I should have surrendered to the call of the pillow. My heavy eyelids can attest to that.

The chapters are short so it is far too easy to read "just one more."

Oh, and the wisdom. I love it. Keep in mind this is fantasy, so God isn't, but Wulder, the creator, is.

"'Taste now and imagine. For this pleasure is as a grain of salt to what I have prepared for you who follow Me.'"

"Beyond what we see, our fire enlightens or destroys."

"Wulder appreciates diverse sizes, shapes and colors in is creation. And if He does, then who are we to pass judgment based on such criteria?"

"There comes a time when words lost their ability to accomplish change and just became noises in the air."

"She breathed in, remembering the promise Wulder had made in His Tomes that this world spun towards an end of His design. And she breathed out, purposely shedding the demand in her soul that everything be made right. Right now, this very instant."

Isn't it marvelous?

Now, DragonKnight is apparently the third in a series and it is certainly a very good book on its own merit, but I intend to get my hands on the first two books. There is much about this land that I want to know. And my son loves it.

Since I figured it out and all.

Sharon Hinck Blog Tour

I had the privilege to read "The Secret Life of Becky Miller" a while back and wrote my thoughts here. It hit me at a weird time where I couldn't help but think "this woman is supposed to be a caricature and I'm worse than she is." So anyway, what I got out of it was more spiritual than, say, what most people got out: laughs.

Anyway, I asked author Sharon Hinck some silly questions about Becky that I don't think she'll mind that I share and there are a few at the end that have more info for ya.

And, okay, my cut and paste did something nasty with the paragraphs and my kids really, really want me, so I'm gonna leave it. Forgive me?

Why does she love Sundays? Sunday is about the most stressful day of the week for a Christian mother!

LOL!!!!
Yes, Sunday mornings are insane sometimes, but our family does "mellow Sundays" and so I love the long relaxing afternoons...and since I love them, I decided Becky Miller loved them, too.

What's up with fantasizing that she's on a deserted island WITH HER KIDS?

I must be totally weird. But I always thought Swiss Family Robinson had great appeal. No field trip forms from the school, no schedules of rehearsals for youth group plays, no vaccination forms, no school registrations to fill out.... No fighting over a computer games... Just kids fetching and carrying water and coconuts and building fires on the beach.

Becky escapes the pressure to be the Marvelous Mom and Wonderful Wife
through her vivid daydreams everything from fighting pirates to being an
Olympic gymnast. Which was your favorite to write, and why?

I loved writing those daydreams. The variety of scenarios was great fun. My
favorite episodes were definitely the secret agent scenes. Probably because
my career goal throughout grade school was to be a spy.

Becky goes through a lot of struggles. Her husband is laid off from his
job, her son needs a surgery they can't afford, she loses her volunteer
position at her church, her sister flaunts her successful career in Becky's
face, and other challenges face her that I don't want to give away. How do
these struggles affect her faith life?

At first, Becky works even harder to figure out God's plan and fix
everything in her own power. As she describes it, she's addicted to the
attempt of analyzing God's reasons for allowing each trial in her life.
Eventually she runs out of answers and comes to a deeper place of trust and
surrender in her life. She begins to see that God's grace is sufficient, and
even made perfect in our weakness.

One of the central themes in The Secret Life of Becky Miller is that she
is so busy trying to do Something Big for God that she can't see how her
ordinary life is making a difference. What are some of the reasons Christian
women today put this kind of pressure on themselves?

We live in a hyper-success-driven culture. Women try to measure up to crazy
unrealistic models of doing it all and doing it perfectly. We're also very
number obsessed and measure success by income, or degrees, or amount of
activities. We lose sight of God's upside-down measuring system‹how a cup of
cold water given in love is a precious act of ministry in God's eyes, and
how a widow's mite is treasured by Him.

What makes me sad is that as Christians we have God's grace available, but
we often drive ourselves and even ADD the pressure to save the world and
achieve spiritual greatness (however we define that) to our agenda. Becky
defines that as Billy Graham, Mother Theresa, or an award-winning Christian
singer. In her mind, anything less falls short.

How real is Becky Miller? How much is based on your own life, or the
lives of women you know?

Becky has a life of her own, but I have great empathy for her struggles. Her
qualities were definitely formed from the life experiences of my mom's Bible
study small group, and my own. I think some of those challenges are
universal. I love when a reader tells me that I must have had a hidden
camera in her home, because Becky's story is exactly like hers. I think most
women have a little of Becky Miller in them.

What do you hope readers will take away from spending a few hours in the
pages of The Secret Life of Becky Miller?

I hope readers will giggle as they recognize things about themselves in
Becky. I hope readers will get a glimpse of how their life looks from God's
loving perspective and push aside the other measuring rods we use to beat up
on ourselves.

And I hope Becky's adventures help us realize that it's not about us doing
Big Things for God. God can do amazing things through our flawed and
ordinary lives and the little daily choices we make. Each of our lives has
tremendous value to God not for what we accomplish but because He loves
us.

ABCs of Me--I got tagged!

Wren tagged me with this meme.

Accent: Who me? I have a ya'll that slips in every now and then, but if the news anchors talk like me I figure I have no accent.
Best personality trait: I hear I have a good sense of humor, but everyone thinks they do and few really do.
Chore I hate: Cleaning the shower.
Dad's name: Lynn
Essential make-up/skin care products: Eyeliner.
Favorite perfume/cologne: soap
Gold or silver?: Silver.
Hometown: Not telling, but I call it "the 'boro."
Interesting fact: I have no desire to own a dog or cat...ever.
Job title: Mom but I'm working on the title "Freelance Writer"
Kids: Three.
Living arrangements: Husband, kids and fish.
Mom's birthplace: Missouori
Number of apples eaten in the last week: None. But I may have had a couple slices.
Overnight hospital stays: None.
Phobia: Public speaking. Finals.
Question you ask yourself a lot: Am I good enough?
Religion: Christian
Siblings: 2 sisters.
Time I wake up: Around 7:15 AM.
Unnatural hair color: Only once, never again. Orange doesn't look good on me.
Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: Green peppers.
Worst habit: Talking too much and too opinionatedly.
X-rays?: Only dental.
Yummy food I make: Chocolate Cheesecake.
Zaniest trait: My adherence to homebirth.

I tag Julie C.

100 Things!

1. Ack! This is post 102. I totally missed it.
2. I married my high school sweetheart.
3. Ten years ago.
4. Our sophomore year in college.
5. I finished.
6. And even began grad school
7. I dropped out
8. Because I decided I knew all I really wanted to know about e. coli.
9. Sometime I wonder if I should have stayed in.
10. I'd be Dr. Somebody now if I had.
11. And probably fighting for tenure at some second rate institution.
12. Without kids.
13. But instead I have three wonderful munchkins.
14. One is adopted.
15. After three years of infertility
16. and at least two miscarriages
17. But I was miraculously healed when Eldest was three weeks old.
18. At a Joyce Meyer women's conference.
19. I was bleeding when I went in
20 and not when I came out.
21. Princess was born nine months later.
22. At home.
23. After 25 hours of labor.
24. Yes, I wanted drugs.
25. But was very glad I stayed home once it was over.
26. My midwife was out of town.
27. I met her back-up after hour 8 of labor.
28. I had a doula
29. I am a doula.
30. I told her everything at every phase
31. I was wrong.
32. But when your contractions are two minutes apart you should be beyond a three!
33. Weaned Princess at fourteen months.
34. Frodo was born nine months later.
35. At home.
36. On the back porch.
37. Under water.
38. I delivered him.
39. Midwife was in town, but had a bad angle
40. It was the single coolest thing I have ever done.
41. I wanted to name him Moses ("I have drawn him from the water")
42. My husband nixed it even though he pushed for Moses for Eldest.
43. I get post-partum depression.
44. Don't want to get pregnant again.
45. Would love to adopt again.
46. Would prefer brown-toned female.
47. I was a tomboy.
48. Princess isn't. I think it is my fault.
49. I found my inner pink at about age 30.
50. I prefer my inner pink to my outer grunge.
51. I have two sisters.
52. No brothers. Poor Dad.
53. I always had a complex. Biggest sis: homecoming Queen; Middle sis: Valedictorian
54. I wasn't on both counts.
55. I lived in an all girls dorm.
56. I have no friends from my dorm days.
57. Rock Chalk Jayhawk! (Kaaaaay-yoooooooou!)
58. Graduated top of that class.
59. In Microbiology.
60. After three major changes.
61. And backing out of nursing school at the last minute.
62. Sometimes I wonder about that decision too.
63. Of course then I'd be tempted to go back to work.
64. As it is now, even on the bad days, I couldn't afford the daycare, so there is no question.
65. I really always meant to be an at-home mom.
66. Slash taxi driver.
67. My favorite vacation involves St. John USVI.
68. I'd like to spend a week there someday.
69. I hope my next long vacation involves picking up a baby.
70. And Africa.
71. But I'd settle for the states.
72. My husband has started more than ten companies.
73. If you think that doesn't say anything about me, you are dead wrong.
74. I am NOT living in my dream home.
75. My refridgerator has two different handles.
76. We pulled it out of the garage where the previous occupants left it with a vending machine.
77. On the other hand I do have my dream stove with double oven.
78. I can bake bread.
79. But I usually buy it.
80. I make a killer chocolate cheesecake.
81. And pretty good friend chicken.
82. I wish I had a garden.
83. Can't get anything to grow in my shady/clay yard.
84. I have ten full bookcases.
85. I don't have cable.
86. I was a cheerleader
87. In a town where the athletes were the cool chicks.
88. I did marry the captain of the football team.
89. He must have seen past my nerdiness.
90. I was raised in church.
91. And made several decisions for the Lord as I grew in maturity.
92. Still growing (I hope).
93. I like a wide variety of genres for books and movies
94. My all time favorite book is probably "Gone With the Wind."
95. All time favorite movie is probably "Pride and Prejudice."
96. But I sure like "Sphere" (book) and "Notting Hill" (movie).
97. I have a yellow sink.
98. I have completed a novel.
99. That has been rejected A LOT.
100. But I'll go down swinging.

Entrepreneurial Marriage

Thirteen Things about being married to an entrepreneur 1. It makes you one by default 2. Because if you aren't supportive, you're supporting 3. You better live below your means 4. Because you never know when your means won't be. 5. You can't hate your spouse's boss. 6. Days off whenever you need them 7. But never when you want them 8. Like July 4, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Christmas Day, Sunday 9. No health insurance 10. But you may pay quite a sum into a share program 11. You will hear about little else 12. When thing are good, they are really, really good 13. And when they are bad, they are horrid.

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Pucker and Burn

As promised, heeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrssssss Susan May Warren!

They called it “Pucker and Burn.” And right then, I should have figured out that something bad awaited us. But no, I let twelve teenage girls concoct a drink out of three or four different soda flavors, coffee, lemon juice and Tabasco sauce. Perhaps I was counting on the fact that they’d take one sip and curl their noses and laugh.

I never expected my eleven year old boy, in an act of MANLINESS to down the entire thing (just to make the girls giggle…oh, the silly things boys do.) Twelve hours later, he is writhing in pain, and we are on our way to the emergency room.

Now, I have to interject here that I’d seen the writhing in pain look before. Six years ago my eldest son had such a look that resulted in an appendectomy. The big difference was…while Son #2 was treated in a clean sterile, up-to-date ER, Son #1….

It’s 6am, and my ten year old has been on the sofa, in great pain for twenty four hours. Being a doctor extraordinaire (not, but I’m a mom, so I have my Mom Doc/MD), I’ve determined that we need to go to the emergency room. Only problem is, we’re not sure where it is. You see, we’re in Russia. And they don’t do emergency services. The ambulances are old made-over station wagons without medical supplies. It’s a well-known fact that if you call an ambulance…you may disappear for-ev-er. So, I get on the phone and call the only friend I know who has medical connections and track down a hospital in the south side of the city. Loading up my son into our van, my husband and I trek down to hospital. We do speak Russian, but sorry, no one ever included “Appendix” on my word list, so I’m reduce to pantomiming pain and body parts to a tall doctor wearing what looks like a pastry hat on his head. He sorta raises one eyebrow and gestures us to follow him. Down the hall and up three flights of stairs. Son In Incredible Pain is groaning until my hubby sweeps him into his arms.

We enter an office. In the corner, locked to the wall is an ultrasound machine. They put David in a rickety wooden chair and ultrasound him. “Da,” Pastry Man says, and does the appendix pantomime. Then he does a scary gesture that I can only assume means surgery.

Hmm, let me think about this…Go under the knife in a Russian hospital, or hope for a flight out in a day or two….

I send my beloved son off on a rickety gurney that creaks as it rolls. David comes out of surgery, groggy and sore, half his body painted orange. The nurse arrives with a needle, and before I can take her down, pops my son in the bum. I’ve never seen someone come out of anesthesia so quickly. Poor fella hits the roof, yanked out of his dreams. And thus, the suffering begins.
There is hardly a mother born who doesn’t feel every one of those shots or endure the searing pain of the incision as she watches her child struggle to sit up, walk, or use the bathroom. Russian hospitals aren’t for the weak at heart. They make David The Trooper get up that day, and lest he have to limp to the potty in agony, I scrounge up a sawed-off plastic Pepsi bottle. (No, no bedpans). His mattress is the size of a Russian blini and I spend the first night hovering over his bed with a shoe, whacking roaches.

The worst are the shots—penicillin every four hours in a backside cheek. The nurse switches sides after the third day. They’re running out of space.

I stay round the clock for two days and nights until he felt comfortable enough for me to leave. And, while he slept, what do I do? Pray. Read the bible and other wonderful books, meditated on the awesome protection of God in our lives.

This memory is fresh and even brings a smile as I help Son #2 into a wheelchair. He’s sent to a room while they fill him with painkillers and fluids for a CT scan. He watches Ice Age. I doze in a chair. Midnight passes before we decide it’s not an appendix attack. But it’s given me a chance to go back in time, reflect on our crazy moments and be thankful for the lessons.

I have a new chick lit book just out (my first one!) – a zany story about a missionary who goes to Russia for a year to escape her life…only to find that God has a better one waiting. Yes, Everything’s Coming up Josey is fiction, but it’s filled with enough true stories that it feels like my story. Sweet memories of my mistakes and God’s grace. Of going under the spiritual knife. And coming out stronger. I hope that you pick it up, that you laugh out loud, and that it encourages you to trust God for every Pucker and Burn moment in your life.

Susan May Warren and Josey

Last weekend I forsook sleep in exchange for the sheer joy of reading a book cover to cover. Susan May Warren's Everything's Coming Up Josey was an absolute delight and well worth the next day crankies (don't ask my kids--they were gone). Who needs to go to Russia? Susan transports you straight there. I especially enjoyed seeing it through an admittedly shallow young American female perspective. Some of us are just a little intimidated by subway systems and it's O-K.

One of my favorite lines of the book is when Josey is talking to her best friend about the fact that she is stuck at a less than glamorous job, her ex-boyfriend just married her sister and the guy she's had a secret crush on forever has just announced that he is engaged to someone else. She says, "You know what I dream of? I want to matter. To make a difference. I want someone to love me so much, they would cross the world just to spend one hour with me. I want to leave a trail of wow behind me. I don't believe in cosmic purpose, but I do wonder if God has a plan, or if He's still waiting to see if I'm worth the trouble."

Don't we all?

Run out and buy this book, and tomorrow check back because Susan May Warren is guest blogging for me and I'm sure she'd like for you to stop by.

Happy Birthday Tess!

A very happy birthday to Tess who identifies herself with a coffee mug. I'd send you a card if I could, but cyber wishes are the best I can do.

Here's to coffee together in the hereafter.

Mail Obsession

I have an unhealthy obsession with mail. All morning I wonder if the mail has come and all afternoon I wonder, "have I have gotten the mail." (And I usually remember that I did.) When I come home from being out I check my mailbox, excited to see what the postman has left me. If I've been gone for a weekend, I can almost not contain my excitement that I get to get mail on a Sunday.

Something is wrong with me.

It is as if the mailbox holds a gift, because well, you just never know. This weekend I had several credit card offers, a magazine or two for Hubby, something from a mail-order flower group, an invitation to enter Princess in a pageant, a wedding invitation, a bridal shower invitation, and a baby shower invitation. I consider that a bust. You'd think that would be good mail, wouldn't you? No bills. Something with my name hand-written on the envelope. Could be worse.

But a couple of weeks ago I got two different cards in the mail. Yes it was near my anniversary, but it was all about me....and Hubby, but he doesn't race me to the box usually. Very nice. I must write to my grandmother more frequently, she always writes back.

Of course lately it really has been Christmas when I get to the box. Buried underneath the credit card offers and bills and real-estate solicitations and Dell sales books and nonsense, every so often, there is a padded manilla envelope with a treasure inside. Someone sent me their treasure, their written word, and they value my opinion (which they hope is good, of course) enough that they want me to read it and talk about it here. Or they hope that YOU value my opinion enough at least.

What was once a hope for the random, pre-addressed thank you note from my latest shower has now become almost a legitimate passion. Sometimes the box holds the goods.

One of my recent mailbox finds I'll talk about soon:

Frodo's Mother

AKA the frazzled lady in the corner.

My little son no longer answers to his given name. No, he is Frodo, the Ring-Bear. I did not say ring bearer for good reason. That is because he isn't ring-bearer, he is Ring-Bear. But he answers to Frodo, Lord of the Rings, Keeper of the Rings, and Ring-Bear.

Is that how you spell Frodo?

By the way, he is dashing in a Tux. I, on the other hand, was done by Friday about noon...with a good twenty-nine hours to go of "on."

Ever try to keep a three-year-old (just barely) in line, pottied, fed, entertained, smiling, hydrated, unrumpled, and not stabbed with the bouttonniere pin while you yourself also must smile, make nice, and not cry? I haven't really slept in three days. I lie down and wedding music pulsates through my mind. Worry cascades over me as I try to figure out how to be at the necessary places at the correct times with a well rested kiddo, all the equipment and look like I should be attending a wedding as well, even though the wedding is one hour and seven minutes from the place that I am staying which is two hours and forty-five minutes from my home.

But Frodo had the hots for the flower girl so he maintained his composure most of the time. Wheresoever she goest, he follows.

They were adorable.

And I don't really think 3-yr-olds get the hots, but he sure liked his "new friend." Too bad we may never see her again.

Capstone of my day: Frodo marches up the aisle, stands in the proper location, is pointed off stage to me at the appropriate time and he announces that he must potty. LOL! We made it back for the kiss, but not much else.

Finally home. I hope I can sleep tonight.

Precious little reading time this weekend. Read this to Hubby in the car. Neat follow up to her The Giver that I read last month.

Thirteen Things I Did Today

...that I don't usually do.

Thirteen Things about Jamie 1. Toured a newspaper. 2. Met with MY EDITOR! 3. Had my photo taken for THE PAPER! 4. Drove downtown BY MYSELF. 5. Had lunch with my husband. 6. At a restaurant called McCoy's 7. Went shopping BY MYSELF 8. Bought a "skinny" undergarment. 9. Resisted buying something just because it was a good deal. (okay, I do that some, but today I resisted even trying the good deal on) 10. Walked in the rain 11. Put on mascara. Actually I put on quite a few things besides eyeliner. 12. Watched a movie. 13. Picked up a tux for my little son. Can you believe those puppies run $91.00!? And that is with the $20 "discount." You can tell my kids are with Grandma, can't you? Go visit: Tess

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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!

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The Cupcake Fiasco

Since Camy asked, drum roll please....

THE CUPCAKE FIASCO!!!!

I got up Thursday morning with much to do. Ice Skating Lessons. Dinner preparations for friends. Most importantly, to buy or make the cake of my child's choice for his birthday. Wednesday I'd asked him what kind of cake he wanted. Since the kids change their minds on a whim, I never plan ahead for this celebration. They can be certain that they want Mom's home made red velvet cake made into a rocket, be walking past the clearance cakes at Wal-mart, see day old Jimmy Neutron cupcakes and never look back.

So Wednesday evening (before my trip to the store for supplies) I asked him what he wanted.

"Chicken Little Cupcakes."

okay....not even a blip on the screen until this moment. I ran out to the store to see if they had anything Chicken Little to make into Chicken Little cupcakes. They did not. No problem, I think, ice skating lessons are near a Party City. If anyone has Chicken Little cupcake toppers, they will. They didn't. And while at Party City, son-of-mine changes his mind thirty-seven times about what kind of birthday theme he wants. He settled on Over the Hedge decor and "Cars" cupcakes (with the little sugar toppers). Financial out-go $12 something.

Back to Wal-mart to buy cake mix for cupcakes. I, silly me, decided to make Angel Food cupcakes. I've had them, I know it can be done, and I prefer angel food. On our way out, I notice that they do a Chicken Little cupcake/cake thing. I notice it is $17. I decide not to point this out to little son.

Home to make angel food cupcakes. The person who served them to me insists at my call that she's never made them despite my insistent memory that she told me "that's the way I always do it." Apparently I'm wrong. I butcher one whole pan. Not sure if it is the fact that the cupcake pan is not pampered chef stoneware, though the PC cupcakes look pretty decent. There is no way I'm serving my mother-in-law messed up cupcakes so on my trip to the store for potatoes, I give up and buy "cheap" 2 for $5 half dozen packs of frosted cupcakes.

Son is thrilled to put his "cars" sugar toppers on bought cupcakes with puffy frosting and sprinkles, mom wishes she's gone to Wal-Mart first thing Wednesday night and ordered the really cool Chicken Little cupcake/cake thing. But no, I wanted to obey the unwritten stay-at-home mom code of ethics and bake my son his birthday cake.

Pretty sure I would have saved money. I know I would have saved sanity.

I read this in less than a day! Time well spent.

My Son Thinks He's Black Part 2

In our continued saga of race at our house I feel inclined to give account of the birthday presents. A few weeks ago I found a garage sale that was so full of GI Joes (after my lament that you can't find them in stores around here) that I bought a bunch of stuff. Two Joes and enough gear for many more. One Joe is red-headed with a goatee, the other is very brown. Not that I bought one for one boy and the other for the other, but I had a hunch that they'd split them that way.

So, my little guy opens his gift (the box contained both Joes and their gear), pulls out the red-head and tells his brother, "This one for you!" He pulls out the brown one and says, "And this one for me!"

And while we are on the subject of color, my daughter was trying to describe one of our friends, but she couldn't remember his name. "The one who tries to eat my thumb." She is trying to overcome that nasty thumb-sucking habit. "You know Mom, the one that we see at church." I guessed, wrong. "The one that has curly hair." Wrong guess again. "He comes over because he needs his hair cut sometimes."

Oh......

What an adult would have said: That African-American fellow. You know, that gives announcements at church every Sunday and eats dinner with you?

At which point did we start shortcutting our way to discriptions by using color? I mean it seems logical. The Black-White ratio at our church is balanced heavily towards white. We'd skip to the obvious differences first. Kids? They don't even see it. Or they see it, but it doesn't occur to them to place any emphasis on it.

Unless, say, they are requesting a brown baby to come live with them. Then, don't try any sneaky "brown hair and eyes, but pink skin" on them. They aren't stupid, ya know.

Just finished and it was incredible (but definately secular so be prepared for that):

My Baby's 3 and the Robins Flew

My baby turned three today. Three years ago I was in transition. Today, as I stood in line for rollercoasters, I decided it could definitely be worse. :D

After the cupcake fiasco (which I won't even go in to tonight, but yesterday's vanity thing included a cupcake fiasco) we didn't even eat them. What kind of birthday doesn't include cake? The kind that includes ice cream, strawberry soda and cotton candy. I guess we'll have cupcakes tomorrow.

My robins flew today. Such a short, sweet time we get them. A nice reminder as my baby celebrates another year.

Vanity, Thy Name Ain't Mom

Yes, it was one of "those" days. I didn't get into the shower for hours. When I finally did, and got dressed, I promptly dumped coffee all over my clothes. Not having the time or energy to change clothes before I rushed off to my daughter's ice skating class, I blotted it off.

Hee-hee, I chortled to myself, I have to wear a jacket in the rink anyway, no one will know.

Except I forgot how much two year olds, without an external source of entertainment, really enjoy playing with zippers. Oh, and he got me on the up-zip. Read: large red welt on my neck.

I looked down during the class and there is a blob (not the dark coffee stain) of something on my jeans. I went to two, count them two, stores after ice skating class. Later, I changed into shorts that are much too big. I should be thankful, but big isn't always flattering. Sometimes it just says I'm too much of a slob to buy clothes that fit.

And then the pinnacle of my day. Not quite. I haven't mentioned that my hair air-dried and hasn't been combed since. Nor that I didn't get much on in the way of makeup. But no, I'm not done. When I began supper, not just for my family, but for another one as well (and they knew it was coming and at a certain time) I discovered my potatoes were rotten. When I should have been peeling potatoes I was strapping on my children's shoes and mine and boogying all of us to the van to get to the store. I slide into one black flip flop and look for the other. The only other flip flop in the room is navy. I was late and couldn't find another, in the room or in my closet. I wore the mis-matched shoes to the store. And to take my friends dinner. And around the house later.

But the insistent question in my mind is not why I did that tonight. Oh, no. It is for how many days have I been doing this without knowing? And where is the other mis-matched pair?

Thirteen Things I Love to Eat

....without mentioning ice cream novelties. Because how many times can you say Dove Unconditional Chocolate Ice Cream without looking like a whack-o?

1. Espinaca at Jose Peppers.
2. My mother's fried chicken
3. Colby-Jack cheese
4. Does Pepsi count?
4 again. Steak fajita quesidillas at El Toro
5. Oh, my, those truffles at Le Fou Frog
6. Fudge bars. Oh yeah, no ice cream novelties
6 again. Roasted turkey
7. Chilled soups. The sweet ones, not the spicy ones.
8. Crab legs
9. General Tso's Chicken
10. A perfectly ripe nectarine
11. Mezzaluna at Carabbas
12. Double chocolate shakes at Jimmy's diner (ahem)
12 AGAIN. Fajitas
13. Chocolate Angel Food Cake

Man I'm hungry.

Other T13ers:
Tess
Janice
Carol
Nancy

Validation!

You know how you can struggle, wondering whether you are worth anything at anything? Particularly a "gift" like writing. I never wanted to write. Writing a novel was never a dream of mine. My husband's yes. Which is a bummer for me. It is like I get to live his dream.

Anyway.

People told me I was a good writer. That it was something I should do. And I found myself thinking things, word crafting, finding the way I would say it, and eventually I started writing those things down. They were usually one liners. Then I would think of them as titles. Then articles. Finally I even got a book idea or two. And I began to write.

I made the mistake of telling some people what I was up to. They would give me pieces of information about contests. And then I finaled in a contest that had a thousand entries. Oh, and the comments were a bloody massacre. One day I think I'm hot stuff. "I Finaled!" Next, I'm blubbering on the floor because they just don't get it.

I was saying....

So I wrote an article. Got picked up right away. I'm thinking the odds are in my favor and I really must be "good." And then, dry spell. Favorite author calls me talented, agents like my voice, editors call my ideas "whacky, zany, and so apropos." But no one is buying. I began to question what on earth I was doing. Why would a sane person do this to themselves? Don't we have enough rejection in our everyday lives?

Don't even bother pointing out all the tense shifts that happened in that paragraph. I know.

But I tried out, or applied, or something for a columnists position for the local paper a couple weeks ago and the editor (I guess) called and offered the position (shared with five others, I believe). It makes me think...I must not totally stink.

I don't even know at this point if I get paid or if this is a vanity thing. Scary that I'm not even sure I care. Someone thinks I'm okay. Either that or no one else applied. Or they think my theology is just screwey enough that I will make Christianity look bad. Who knows? But for now, I'm going to believe that I just might have a little of that something that makes a writer good.

My Son Thinks He's Black--UPDATED

No, not the brown one, the pink one.

Last night I was reading How To Photograph Your Familywhen my littlest guy pointed to a photo and said, "That me!"

"No, son, it isn't you."

"Yeah, that me!"

After another round or two of that I gave up and said something like it-isn't-anyone-in-our-family-it-is-just-some-kid.

He never said "That brudder!" which would have been a logical conclusion. The child in the photo looked about the same age as his brother, with a similar hair cut and similar melanin in his skin. It looked nothing like my Aryan almost three year old. He held to his beliefs and I quit trying to convince him otherwise.

Just goes to show. My black son never thought he was white. He's picked "himself" out of Clifford books and other picture books since he could talk. But my white son thinks he looks just like his big brother.

And why shouldn't he?

**I feel like I should explain the Aryan reference. My very blond, very blue-eyed husband used to live with a very stereotypical looking Jew. Once, his roomate was on the phone with his long-distance girlfriend (also Jewish) and she asked what my husband looked like. Jason grinned at my husband and told the girl on the phone, "As Aryan as they come. Think I should be worried?"

Over the Hedge

Yesterday morning, my hubs and I took the kids to see Over the Hedge. We were trying the "combat the da Vinci debacle by going to another movie" approach. I was pleasantly surprised with how funny and clean Over the Hedge was. There was a lot of adult humor in it, but none that I feared the kids repeating in their ignorance. There were slightly scary scenes, but not nightmare inducing. The biggest problem was when I was laughing so hard and the kids kept stage whispering, "What are you laughing at Mom?" We all walked away from the movie feeling like it was time well spent. It didn't hurt that all movies were $4 and three and under were free.

I hope there wasn't some glaring indecency in it that I'm going to get pounded for....

Currently reading and currently rivited:

Cyber Cinderella

It has been a while since I've read secular chick-lit. What a different world! I finished Cyber Cinderella last night, and it was a fun read but the sex life of these girls is so far from my experience, ya know? Besides that, it was British, i.e. there are all these words that although are technically English, are so not American. I had fun learning new slang words. I told my husband that we can be insulting people and they wouldn't even know it.

Story value, I give it 4 stars. Family friendly rating gets more like 1.

Grinding my Teeth

Several weeks ago I sent a query to my first adoption attorney, with whom my agency set me up because we were out of state, to see if he would just keep us on file. You know, in case something came up. Six years ago he was still a freelancer. He told us that he kept profiles for families who wanted to adopt Caucasian babies, but that he referred all minority babies to our large, national agency. I, hoping to avoid the ridiculous agency fees, asked if he would reconsider. He sent my email straight to the agency.

I could spit nails.

So they send me an email with a "situation." I said sure providing we could find the fees, what were they?

TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS. Hello? I could fly to Ethiopia/Sudan/Haiti and get a starving child for that.

So, six years ago there was an adoption tax credit. I think it was 2K. Because our son was considered "special needs" we got 5K. A couple years later President Bush raised the tax credit for ANY adoption to 10K. I'm thinking, "Great! This will be so awesome! This will really help people to adopt." Not so. The agencies all just systematically raised their fees by 10K. Let me make more of an impact: $10,000.00. And, by the way, you have to actually owe the government that much to get it back. It isn't like a check just arrives in the mail.

I know I shouldn't put a price on a child's head, but come on, they've already done it.

Further, our "insurance" (also known as a share program) used to cover adoption as if it was maternity, so I could count on at least 4K in help from them. Nope, now they've dropped that. They still put "adoption friendly" on their propaganda, ahem, guidelines, but as far as I can tell, they do very little for adoption. Grrrr.

Yes, I do believe that God is telling me to back off. When/if this baby shows up I will know it was only Him.

You Know You're Urban When...UPDATED

1: You name your restaurant "Le Fou Frog"
2. And people actually show up there
3. Even though your squatty brick building is painted peach
4. and your windows are dingy
5. and your sign is faded
6. and you have hazardous waste signs on your door
7. and you decorate with frogs
8. and you are in the middle of what appears to be an industrial park
9. and you charge between 27 and 74 dollars a plate
10. because your food is fabulous
11. and the menu is in French
12. except for the part about the frog
13. but you have Creme Brule Vanille (visualize all the oomlots etc.)
14. and you give amuse buche while they wait for their soup
15. which is chilled and awesome
16. and truffles with the tab
17. which makes the patron choke
18. if, say, they are from the suburbs
19. and didn't even order the $250 bottle of wine "a favorite of newly famous people."

But hey, you only have one 10th anniversary, God willing.

Pardon my French, I'm a Spanish girl.

**My wonderful husband looked up oomlots for me. Of course I wasn't even close. The correct spelling is umlauts, and they are the double dot over a vowel usually in German. So all you French speakers out there, visualize whatever accent you think would be appropriate and go easy on the poor American English speaker. I still have no idea how far off I am on the amuse busche, except that I remember the old, was it "Friends(?)" episode where they went on and one about being "amused?" I want to say Seinfeld, but I don't think they are responsible for that one.

My Honey

Ten years ago tonight, I was kicking butt and taking names at the local bowling alley. Ten years ago tomorrow, I said my vows. Ten years from now? Who knows? Hopefully I'll be on my way to Hawaii. This one's for you, Hon.

Thirteen things I love about my man:

1. He always puts the toilet seat down.
2. He taught my sons to do it, too.
3. No matter how much weight I gain when I'm pregnant (and I gain a lot) he always weighs more than me.
4. I still love the smell of him.
5. His infectious smile.
6. His un-dying support of me.
7. His willingness to support me and the kids.
8. He eats whatever I cook.
9. And when I don't, he asks where we are going.
10. His broad shoulders.
11. His never-give-up spirit.
12. He is a reader. (Hey, if you are one and he isn't, it is like being unequally yoked!)
13. He never asks where the money has gone.
13. He makes me laugh at the most bizarre times (like when we are having a "discussion").
13. His computer skills.
13. His other skills. (devilish grin)
13. That he makes my list go far beyond thirteen.
13. That he loves brown babies as much as I do.
13. But he still helps make pink babies that are pretty cute.
13. And, what they hey, that he knows famous people and introduces me as if they are just the guy next door and I'm the most fabulous person he has ever met.

When I took you, B, as my husband, I promised in the strength of my commitment to God, to love you, to respect all that you are as an individual and to encourage you to become all that you can be.

As you wife, I promise to submit to you as the head of the house, to create a home for you which is a place of peace and contentment, and to remain faithful to you in all circumstances of life as long as we both shall live.

With these promises, I received you as my husband, trusting the love of God to sustain our union.

I said it then and I still mean it now. I love you Babe.

Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner

This Works for Me Wednesday I'm going to take the wimpy route. I'm sure that we at-home moms are supposed to share the ingenious ideas we've created ourselves, but sometimes there is a product out there that just makes our lives easier and we should tell all the other mothers.

I HATE cleaning the shower. I don't know why, but give me a toilet anyday. Actually, I think I do know. It stems back to my college days when I cleaned homes for a living and women would tell me, "There is mold growing in my shower [because I haven't cleaned it since we moved in], do something about that, won't you?" And I'd get out my products and toothbrush and scrub away and bleach out their counters (which of course I was expected to replace at my cost) but couldn't make a dent on the mold/mildew.

Anyway, now it is my shower growing mold and I still hate to clean it. Enter, The Scrubbing Bubbles Automatic Shower Cleaner. I heard the ad last week on my way to Sam's and I thought I'd just check, for giggles sake, if they had one. They did and it was !!!!!$25!!!!! I thought, sheesh, that's a bit high, doncha think? And then I thought of my wonderful husband whose mother is an immaculate housekeeper and I know how the shower drives him crazy because he's never seen a dirty shower. And I thought, well if it works, it'll be well worth every penny.

IT WORKS!!!!!

My shower was filthy. I admit it. And it isn't sparkling clean yet, but I can tell a definite improvement in just four or five days.

I don't know what they cost at the regular store. At Sam's it came with four refill tanks and the cleaner. But if you follow the link they will send you a coupon for $5 off. Of course you can't use coupons at Sam's, but maybe the $5 makes it almost free other places?

Anyway, WORKS FOR ME!

See and link to other works for me's over at Rocks in my Dryer.

Having Words With God

God and I had words this morning at 4:30. Actually, I had words with God. I did the talking. Ranting. Whatever. And then I climbed back in bed and had to eat my words. Not because He gave me the Job rundown of "consider Leviathan" either. I know who is bigger and better which is the primary reason I was so peeved with Him.

But, for inexplicable reasons, He cared about a little tiny thing, and only because I cared.

And my reason for ranting--disappeared.

Tap-Tap-Tap....Just in case you aren't paying attention, Jamie, I AM.

Flee the Night

First, just let me reiterate how much I LOVE Dove Unconditional Chocolate Ice cream. I don't like chunky ice cream. I don't like ice cream with chocolate chips/chunks/or otherwise in it. Typically, chocolate ice cream grosses me out by about the 5th spoonful. This ice cream defies all logic, and yet, I want to inhale the whole pint. RIGHT NOW.

And it only has a little to do with my day.

Having said that, let me also say that I know most people don't read fiction to find profound spiritual truths. I know I don't. I like Christian Fiction because it is clean and not because I want to be led to the Lord or even fed spiritually. Just entertained. But again, read this from Susan May Warren's Flee the Night:

"I've discovered that it's not the big sins that dig at your soul, but the thousands of tiny, seemingly inconsequential ones that slowly gnaw away at any sense of hope."

How about this one?

"You keep going. You don't look back. If you second guess every move, you become paralyzed. Sometimes it's simply taking one breath after another. You look to that breath, then the next, and you live on the hope that maybe your mission means something in the great scheme of things."

And it is a page turning, can't put it down story too.

You can read my full review over at Armchair in a couple days.

Two Places to Visit

First, go here. Now. And get laughed up. Trust me, it's worth it. Don't forget to come back.


Okay, ready? Now go here for some words of wisdom. As I approach my 10th anniversary this week, she is talking directly to me. But I imagine I'm not the only one who could use these words of wisdom.

Need A Lift? How 'Bout A Cry?

http://livedigital.com/content/52110/

This video made me bawl. Maybe it is all the beautiful, colorful children. But I think more than that it is the beautiful, colorful children praying. And in a world that seems intent to rip them apart.

We need to turn our eyes to Jesus and teach our children to do the same.

My Mom

To the woman who declared, "You aren't sick if you don't have a fever. Get up and go to school!"

To the woman who had a song, no matter the subject: RAINBOW. Caught you didn't I? (Actually, she is humming "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," right now.)

To the woman who insisted I try on 20 wedding dresses because you can't know until you've had on twenty, even if you just know this is the one.

To the woman who makes incomparable pot roast and fried chicken.

I say THANK YOU and I hope you had a wonderful Mother's Day. May I remember your wise words always.

Dibbs, Again

I bought and tried caramel Dibbs this week as my peanut butter 39 grams of fat ran out.

Hush, they were still on sale.

Okay, caramel dibbs, not so much. Sure, they have less fat (not by terrible much, but hey) but if you combine less fat with less taste, why bother? (Says the girl who drinks skim milk dubbed white water by some cream loving relatives/roomates of mine).

No, really, peanut butter Dibbs, regardless of the fat content are worth it, every stinking 2 grams per nickel sized piece.

My husband likes caramel. I guess that is a good thing because I won't waste calories on them. Well, maybe a few.

In Sheep's Clothing

Listen to this. Think about it. Really think about it.

Had she truly let herself be satisfied with God? Or had she been spending all her time feeding herself on what she thought might taste good to her impoverished soul? Had she truly let God satisfy her?

Probably not. She'd spent a lot of time trying to satisfy God, instead.

Can you believe that came out of fiction? Oh, is still makes me tremble hours after I discovered it. This is my life. I spend my days wondering how to satisfy God when He wants to satisfy me. Unbelievable. And confirmation after Tuesday's study of the romance chapter in Captivating.

Susan May Warren does it again. I don't know how she does it, but man....

Okay, In Sheep's Clothing is totally different from her Deep Haven series. For one it is set in Siberia, and darned it I understand that culture. Though I have a much better understanding of it now. But wowza! In a world where I think I don't know who my friends are I know that I have it much better than poor Gracie. Can you imagine your friends being picked off one by one and you may be next? What about when fingers start pointing to the remaining friends? Sheesh.

Go Susan, Go! I've already started Flee the Night, and if the first three pages are any indication, go ahead and buy both at once. I'm sure Amazon will offer them that way. (wink)

Happy Weekend folks!

Swallowing my Pride

Ugh.

Double Ugh.

I'd give you a triple, but I think you get my point. Ever have to go against your better judgment because your judgment has become questionable?

Let me preface this with the fact that I'm a Summa Cum Laude, top of my class graduate in Microbiology. I am not an idiot. I am not a child abuser. I am a mom with an opinion and I'm not about to let it get trounced. I don't vaccinate. I have my reasons. Top of the list is that I sat in my Pathogenic Microbiology class and listened to my distinguished professor tell me that the vaccines that work are likely to give the disease to your child, those that don't give the disease to the child don't work. So why bother? Side note: Everyone should get vaccinated because 70% prevention rate is pretty good if you vaccinate the masses. That's what he said anyway, it works if everyone does it. Not because it works all that well, but because it dwindles the susceptible population down to manageable numbers.

And let's not forget the "side effects."

Mercury poisoning anyone? Yes, yes, I know, they've taken the mercury out. But did you know that they still have doses in mercury and if you don't specifically ask for it, you may get them until they run out?

MMR and autism. Don't tell me you can't prove it. They haven't proven that it doesn't, either, have they?Although I think the risk goes way down if you demand mercury free. (Or so I am praying).

My doctor supported my decision, I might add. He doesn't vaccinate his infants either. That should tell you something.

So.

Two years ago we had Chicken Pox. I kicked myself for six solid weeks as we were stranded home and miserable. I had a friend whose child was vaccinated. She is the one who gave it to us.

Last year we had Pertussis/Whooping Cough. I kicked myself every night as my babies gasped for breath. And durn if the people who should form a support network when you are going through something like that didn't just point their fingers and say lovely, supportive things like, "gosh, you're stupid" in not so many words. By the way...vaccinated families got it. The whole stinking county got it.

This year, what is going around, but Mumps. I drew the line at Mumps. I will not have my children have mumps. I played roulette twice and got burned twice. I'm not ready to go three for three.

But, where does this leave me? Do you have any idea what vaccinations cost at the supportive doctors office? Can you say house payment?

Public Health. That's where that left me. At the mercy of people whose job it is to educate the uneducated "if they knew better they would risk their child having the side effects for the greater good." To quote Mrs. Frozone: GREATER GOOD?

Deep breath, Jamie.

They were rather nice. And when we refused a couple of the immunizations, they just let it go. (insert deep sigh of relief) And I cried much more than my kiddos. Two of three were very brave...and the third I expected.

Now don't email me and expound on my stupidity. I have remedied the problem in my house-hold and, Lord-willing we will be part of the 70% that doesn't get the mumps. And if we aren't? Someone is sleeping in the doghouse.

But it won't be me. I'll be the one with the bags under my eyes, stringy hair and the "stupid" sign around my neck.

Works for me Wednesday

I picked this up over at Rocks in my Drier and even though I post in the evening I decided I'd do Works for me Wednesday instead of Thursday Thirteen tonight. Here goes:

I buy my meat in the mega packs when it is on day old markdown. I'm cheap and well, remember when hamburger was 99 cents a pound. It wasn't that long ago. It might have had something to do with Oprah and Mad Cow, but I won't go there. Anyway, my equally cheap sister and I began buying lean hamburger by the case at Sam's. That's 80 pounds of hamburger. (That's 20 for me, 60 for her.) But it is 90% lean and less than two bucks a pound. And we both have deep freezes. So, although that is a good enough works for me for me, you probably don't find this remotely feasible so think family pack, okay?

I thaw a tube of burger (10 pounds) and brown it five pounds a time in my stock pot. I crumble it as it browns with an old fashioned potato masher. I add onion, garlic, salt and pepper, but you season it like you would. To drain, I have a huge mixing bowl and an equally huge colander. Colander goes in bowl, burger goes in colander. It cools while I do the second five pound browning. Bag it in pound containers and dinner is started for me for ten meals. Later I refridgerate the bowl of fat for an hour. Lift off the huge chunk of solidified fat--goes in trash--and bottle the very rich and tasty beef broth for soup stock.

Works for me!

Decisions, Decisions

Ever have one of those days when there are so many emotion laced decisions before you and you feel like you have to make all of them tonight oryoujustmightgocrazy?????

Yeah, having one of those. And if it isn't bad enough, I'm talking about more impacted lives than my own. And to make matters worse, everyone has an opinion and won't listen.

SCREAM WITH ME!!!!!

Having said that...I could use a little prayer. For clarity, sanity, emotional stability, health, wellness, well being, money....

And that's about all I have to say about that.

Back to Life...

So after a quiet weekend where I did what I wanted, ate when I wanted, and cleaned like a maniac, my life has returned to normal. By ten this morning every room in the house was messy. They cannot leave a clear space unoccupied.

But, for some unknown reason, Hubby has left with the eldest two to shoot off an air rocket at the church down the street and I am home with the sleeping "baby" aka 3 year old. Yes I could tackle the mess, but quite frankly, I didn't make it and they promised, promised, promised that they would clean up even if they were tired, stomach hurt, legs hurt, had a growing pain, headache and even if the other siblings weren't cleaning and it wasn't fair (yeah, right).

This being Monday we ordered pizza. Pizza Hut got us last year with the whole Monday night is pizza night/family night/some such aka cheap pizza and we have it often. I knew they had pizza this weekend, but my 5 YO didn't think that should matter one iota. (He has a point, if we don't do it tonight, it won't happen until next Monday). But it wasn't enough to order pizza, no we had to order the side sampler because (thanks Grandma) he needed "those yummy breadsticks with cinnamon on them that you dip in this really yummy sauce stuff." And since the sampler comes with 5 wings I ordered it.

I'm nutso for Pizza Hut wings. Ahem, Wing Street Wings. But we know whose they are, don't we? And why? You can't get better "Chinese" food than their Spicy Asian bone out wings. I know Camy Tang would breathe her last and then roll over in her grave to read that, but I think it is true. With an amendment. In Kansas. I have gone to Chinese restaurant after Chinese restaurant in pursuit of the awesome Chinese and Thai (they sell them at the same places around here--sad, I know) that I've eaten in different parts of the country. Can't find it. But the Spicy Asian bone out wings are a pretty good second. After I ate my half of the five I proceeded to dip my pizza in the sauce. I practically licked the metallic wrapper clean.

Next time I may skip the pizza and just order the "wings."

A Gross Underestimation

This weekend I did succeed in staying behind while my family went to visit Grandma. I rubbed my hands together and made plans. So much to do, so little time.

Friday evening it was off to NBC to try on swimming suits, just in case, by some miracle I would find one that looked halfway decent. HA! This is the store where I sometimes get Calvin Klein for about a quarter of the price. Oh Calvin was there alright, but did he look good on me? Nope. Last year the CK had thick spandex, this year the CK showed my mushroom top...and I was wearing a one piece. Sick, I tell ya.

Saturday it was off to the garage sales and boy was I excited. I hightailed it to the best sale...that wasn't open. I knew in my mind that they only open every other year, but I hoped that this year would be the exception. I drove on by, lamenting that my daughter only has one obnoxiously full closet (from this sale last year) instead of two, off to another sale that promised 100+ new clothing items Saturday. She didn't mention that they would be sized 12 months.

And then....

I began to hit some "good ones." Clothes galore. Cute clothes. My size. And I spent too much. Probably 20 dollars, maybe more. I got home so excited to try on my new duds and NONE OF THEM FIT! Well, none of the excessively cute name brand ones anyway.

I am so disgusted. Must exercise.

Contest

Spunky is giving away a Benz Microscope and Apologia Biology Set this week. Click Here to get the details.

Who can't pass up an easy contest? And those of you who know me know how much I love the microscopic world!

Four Things

I've been tagged. Not that I think the person who tagged me has any idea who I am, but after a great, unpretentious evening with an old friend, I haven't the energy to go deep tonight.

Four Movies I'd see again (and again and again)
Pride and Prejudice (the new one)
The Incredibles
Notting Hill
A Knight's Tale

Four Places I've Lived
Liberal Kansas
Hillsboro Kansas
Lawrence Kansas
San Antonio Texas

Four TV shows I Enjoy
The Apprentice
House
Amazing Race
Idol

Four Favorite Vacation Spots
St. John USVI
Secluded cabin in the mountains
Secluded cabin by a lake
Practically anywhere tropical as long as there is a beach umbrella and ice

Four websites/blogs I frequent
HolyMama!
Beach Writer
Rocks in my Drier
Girls Write Out

Four foods I like (It would be easier to identify those I don't like)
Chips and salsa
ice cream of the expensive fattening variety
Pepsi
Dove dark chocolate

Four places I'd rather be
beach reading
secluded cabin reading
picking up newborn brown baby girl and necessary court documents
sleeping

Consider yourself tagged. And if you participate, let me know and I'll link to you.

It Takes So Little

There is a book by Florence Littauer titled It Takes So Little To Be Above Average. I have a new take. It takes so little of anything to do something.

Having an average day? Drive on the highway and wait for a guy to cut you off. Not having an average day anymore are you?

Having a below average day? I had one today. Migraine. No Pepsi. Excedrin Migraine wasn't working. I actually held it together pretty well. Whispered to my kids to whisper. Stayed out of sunlight. Didn't lose my temper. Then WHAMO. I did a really stupid thing. I congratulated a friend on a 400+ person writer's email loop on a contest entry that finaled by title. Titles are supposed to remain a mystery. Judges may have read the email. I feel like I blew it for her. I feel like a heel. I sat paralyzed, staring at the screen, blank, where the message that I'd just hit send should have been. And then all three kids began talking. Not fighting. Not demanding. Asking. Rather quietly. I blew up. THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! GO TO YOUR ROOMS! AND STAY THERE! I WARNED YOU MOMMY WAS TIRED AND YOU JUST HAD TO KEEP PUSHING DIDN'T YOU? And then I burst into tears. A sobbing mess on the floor. The camel's back snapped.

Oddly, no one even gave me a "why?" They dutifully marched to their rooms and entertained themselves on their beds for a few minutes while I pulled myself together. Sent my apology. In duplicate. Gave my apologies in triplicate, then took them to the library where we had some quiet time.

And on my return? I have an email from Andrea at Armchair. Apparently an author has sent me a copy of her book to review, did I know anything about it? No clue. But the author's name sounded familiar(Thank you Jim Trelease for teaching me to read author names) and on a hunch I looked it up on Amazon. I'd reviewed a different book of her's recently. And she wanted me to have another go on another book. Now, maybe she just wanted a reviewer that she knew wasn't hostile to ABC books, especially ones out of the norm. Maybe she figured someone who'd reviewed her before was a better bet than someone new.

But it takes so little. I am so excited that I was singled out by an author to do a review I am positively giddy. When I read the five love languages, I wouldn't have estimated how very near the top words of affirmation is, but d-ANG.

So if I have any authors lurking out there and you want me to feel important, you know where to send the books.

Psychosis

I have a headache and I'm pretty sure it is because I know there is no more Pepsi in the house.

Even though I wouldn't have had one yet if there had been.

My name is Jamie, and I have a problem.

I don't get it.

So I finally get a photo up on my profile and it still doesn't come up on my main blog. What am I missing?

Do I Save It For The Book?

Today is one of those days when I have no idea what to rant about. And it isn't for lack of issue in my life. The problem is, my life is fodder for my fiction, which is more true than I'd ever let on. So when I sit down to write on any given day I click through my happenings and try to save out the best or most rant-able for my book and use those things that date the book for my blog.

Selfish, I know.

But there you have it.

Anyway, the guilt is setting in at extremes because the book I've been "writing in my head" read: putting off, is now finding its way onto paper and I find myself thinking about how to twist my daily happenings into a fictional masterpiece. So here are some daily happenings, in random order without extrapolation, just in case.

Today I fell into a pond at the local petting zoo. I did it with an audience. And the audience burst out laughing. Call me crazy, but I'd rather she laugh than pretend she didn't see it. I walked around for four more hours in wet pants with mud on the butt.

The baby girl is haunting my dreams again. Just when my husband had me convinced that I just liked the "idea" of another baby and hadn't really thought it all through. He can talk until he is blue in the face, I don't think this is my "idea" at all.

I changed coffee brands. I've been using "Great value" french roast and I bought "Hy-Vee" french roast this weekend. I know most people would gag at either of them, but seriously, Wal-Mart french roast is very good and Hy-Vee? Not so much.

I have eight Dibs left.

I'm trying to decide if I can get away with sending my family away for the weekend so that I can enjoy the "single best weekend to garage sale of the entire year."

Contrary to popular belief (Yeah, I'm talking to you Melanie!) I am NOT a size three. When I went to Beverly Hills last December with my husband, I shopped Beverly Center while he worked at Kenneth Cole (yeah, name dropping). I went into a store advertising 70% off everything and I figured that even I could afford that (almost true). I saw a pair of jeans that I wanted to try and asked the clerk if they were junior sizes or missy sizes. She stared blankly at me. I tried again. "In Missy's I wear a 6 or 8, in juniors I can almost squeeze into an eleven." She looked me up and down, snorted, and said, "Junior."

Yes, I am from "America's Fattest City" but I didn't think I looked that bad. Oh, and she was right.

I bought the elevens.

Dibs, Durn 'Em

Dibs.

It is a conspiracy of the ice cream manufacturers, particularly Edy's. You take ice cream, wrap it around a luscious filling, cover the whole thing in chocolate and make it bite sized. Charge three dollars for a teeny container. Make sure there are 39 grams of fat per serving. You read that right. Thirty-nine. But here's the thing: you can just pop one when you need an ice cream hit. Overall it saves on calories, right?

Wrong.

Sure, you don't eat a whole serving of ice cream, you only pop one. But the things are like potato chips. No one can eat just one. So instead of popping one in the evening when I really want a bowl of ice cream I pop one every time I walk through the kitchen. There is jut something wrong with consuming 96 grams of fat in one day. In theory a person with self-control could pay more for these wonderful creatures and eat less ice cream. But I never claimed to have self-control.

Once those Dibs are gone....they are out. You hear me? Out. Until I get back to the freezer section.

After all, I have seven more flavors to try.