Home

I've been gone over a week -- I had a birthday last Tuesday (a rather big one), and Hunk O Man surprised me with a week-long visit up north to Indianapolis. I saw precious friends, gave hugs and kisses, rubbed noses with two sweet little girls to whom I am Auntie J, ate and drank my favourites, shopped a little, visited a lot, and relaxed. I didn't hurry, I didn't worry much about home -- I just began the next century of my life quietly and easily, and in the company of people I love. And in a place that has always felt more like home than any other place.

In a word -- it was wonderful!

And now I'm home again doing laundry and cleaning the kitchen. Hunk O Man has a birthday next week, and what with Father's Day, he decided to buy himself an Imax Theater for the living room.

Well, not really. I think it's only something like 50 or 52 inches.

The previous tv in there was at the point where you had to hit the side of it to get the picture to straighten itself out, so I didn't flinch when he bought this Imax. JB hooked it up and now the only problem is that there's no HD yet. Something about cords and boxes and the like. Also something about it needing to be fixed and eyes looking my direction.

I've been reading in Ephesians and just began Philippians, my favourite book -- and Paul often says "I thank my God for you." I love these verses because I thank my God so often for the friends I saw recently. And I thank Him for my family as well. Sometimes you get to have such a perfect week, or day, or moment, and you just think 'ok Lord, that's it, I've experienced it all and I'm ready to go.'

But we don't go, because there's still so much work to be done. My neighbors still aren't settled into a real ongoing relationship with Jesus. My kids aren't raised all the way yet. My husband's ministry isn't finished yet, and so neither is mine, since mine is to minister to him while he ministers to others.

So it's back to real life, and real work, and the realities of my relationship with the most important one, Jesus. On with the next half century. I'm armed with the Message and ready!

xoxoxox

Weed and Feed

I just read I Corinthians 7, and I have to say -- I LOVE the version "The Message." I understand things so much better when they are in today's language.

Paul spends a lot of time in this chapter making a simple point -- cut out the peripheral stuff in your life that is confusing you; it won't make any difference. Be godly no matter what your situation.

I find this really interesting, because at one point he talks about being married or not, and another he talks about being a slave or being a free person, and yet another he talks about being Jewish or Gentile (non-Jewish). He brushes all these things aside as simple circumstance -- the main point being to obey God whatever your situation.

My mom and stepdad once came very close to divorce. This is no surprise -- I have come dangerously close myself. Most marriages do these days; many do not survive the challenge and break. Fortunately (there but for the grace of God go I), my marriage and my parents' marriage survived and is intact today.

I remember asking my mom why she didn't leave. She said this: "I'd just be exchanging one set of problems for another."

(My mom is really, really smart. And Godly.)

Again, interesting to me -- I never left my Hunk O Man because I just flat couldn't figure out the logistics of how I would be able to do it. I kept thinking I'd have to live next door to him, maybe in a duplex or something, so the kids would be okay. Kind of silly, I know -- indicative of just how screwed up I was then! In the end, it was wiser, more practical, and ultimately God's will that I just stay married to him. And 23 years later, I am so grateful that I stayed that words can't express my gratitude.

So today I read about Paul telling us all that it doesn't matter what your situation is, you're going to have to obey and live a Godly life no matter what your situation. If you think the grass is greener, you're forgetting about basic lawn care. You still have to mow and weed.

And a little "God's Turf Builder" wouldn't hurt, either. : )

xoxoxo

He Speaks Amid the Noise Around Me

Listening for His voice in the waters.

It's been quite a week for us. Spring Break -- Washington DC on Mon/Tues/Wed. What a trip! I was able to stand with Barbie just inches from the documents that declare our country independent and free. And hundreds of years old. I loved the National Portrait Gallery best, I think. Rose loved the Museum of Natural History and all the rocks there -- Hunk O Man fell in love with Abraham Lincoln all over again at the American History Museum, and even saw a play at the Ford Theater. Bug found a shop in Chinatown that was the equivalent of a WalMart, Babydoll kept us on track with her iPod Touch apps, locating the nearest McDonalds and such, and JB imitated everyone and had us all laughing.

JB rides the metro

The gang in the subway. JB wants to know whatchoo lookin at?

Portrait of Juliette Gordon Low, our favourite one

They even had typos in the 18th century

Me and Barbie -- the clones -- thinking we may be lost --

Lotsa escalators and comfy shoes

We came home on Thursday, and then we all went different directions on Friday and Saturday:

Rose went to Myrtle Beach to spend time with her boyfriend's family. She had her own suite in a house right on the ocean! They love her so much. If she and Boyfriend ever break up, we may have to move.

Bug and Hunk O Man went to UNC Asheville to check things out. Bug thinks she wants to attend there next year. They also found Mast General Store, the greatest of all general stores.

Barbie, JB, Babydoll, and their good friend BKnee and I headed for the beach. My friend Nan was generous enough to lend us her beach cabin for the night.

Walking the dog

Babydoll in the cold water

Wet dog having the time of his life

Beach bunnies

The weather was gorgeous -- could have been warmer, but hey, we'll definitely take all that sunshine! At first the girls went to the beach without me for about 2 hours -- I had some alone time; then I went over, then they left to go get some lunch and I was left alone on the beach. They all got sunburned -- Babydoll looks like she has some tropical disease, because Barbie sprayed on the sunblock but never rubbed it in!

I just sat in the sand and looked at the waves and tried to concentrate on the sound. I have tinnitus, a high-pitched ringing in my ears, that sounds like something electronic. All the time. I noticed while at the beach that I couldn't hear it over the sound of the waves.

This was just a gift from God. So I was reminded about the ocean, and why I love it so much, and why it just heals me inside sometimes. I needed that healing on Friday and Saturday. Life has been so full of girls yelling at each other, arguing, at one another's throats. There are days I wish they'd just throw one another down on the floor and have it out. It would be less stressful on everyone. Boys? Easy. Girls? Definitely not.

As I sat there on the beach, I thought once again about how the ocean is so like God. It's huge. It never stops; those waves lapping at the sand there where I was have been lapping there since long before I was here, and will be there long after. Its tide faithfully comes in and out.

Sometimes it is scary, because the waves are big. It can do a lot of damage in a storm.

The sound of it is so soothing. It really is a roar, but not a scary one. It's like white noise, very comforting.

It supports a myriad variety of life. We actually couldn't exist without our oceans. It gives life and sustains life.

It is healing. I will never forget my brother Scott and his stubbed toes at the beach in Florida when we were children. He cried and cried when the salt water touched them -- but they healed in no time. What do we give people in the hospital when they need fluids? Saline solution. Sea salt will cure meat and act as a preservative, also.

It is deep. We may never know its depths. It holds mysteries -- weird, alien-looking life -- that amaze us and creep us out.

Sometimes it's warm, and sometimes cold. Sometimes it invites you to play -- other times, it invites you to walk and listen and meditate.

I love the ocean. I have spent long hours there talking to God when in deep despair. And God has met me there and just been with me.

So today I bless Nan and her generosity, and I bless God for healing my bruised heart. Someday I'll live by the sea, maybe, and I'll go outside in the morning and sing and praise Him for His goodness -- and all the ways it is reflected in His oceans.

xoxoxox

Bah Humbug.

I am married to Ebeneazer Scrooge. The one at the beginning of the story.

Although only Babydoll and I were involved in the Peter Pan play, apparently Hunk O Man, Rose, Bug, Barbie, and JB were unable to get their behinds out the door and over to Lowe's to pick out a tree. Their excuse? "You couldn't come with us."

So here is my living room:

God forbid I ever die. Because if I did, the girls would be dressed in WalMart overalls, own no makeup, never have any clean laundry, live in small house with white walls and no curtains, share the same bedroom, have a freezer full of Banquet Fried Chicken in boxes, and NEVER HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE.

Bah Humbug.

: (

A Little Genetic OCD

Sometimes we don't realise that we've passed along a genetic trait.

Hunk O Man and I were just on a little shopping trip. We drove by Lowe's and noticed that they have fresh Christmas trees out already. Also, there was a sign for the Optimist Club who will be selling trees in the soccer field next to El Tenampa.

And we had to ask each other, does this mean that their trees are exceptionally cheerful and optimistic?

ANYWAY.

This reminded us both of our first Christmas tree shopping experience, about 6 months after we'd gotten married. Hunk O Man decided that we should go to Hoagland to get a tree at the fire station. Hoagland was about 5 miles south of our town.

When we got there, I saw the most pitiful assortment of Charlie Brown trees I'd ever seen. Of course Hunk O Man walks up to one, pulls it out, and says "How about this one?"

It was about four feet tall and scrawny.

I had a newlywed-bride-fit. "What!" I said. "Are you kidding me? You call that a tree?"

Hunk O Man was clueless. He pulled out tree after tree, only to be met with no, no, and jeesh are you kidding me no.

We finally went to Frank's Nursery and Craft and found a very nicely shaped seven footer, and of course Hunk O Man balked at the price (because he squeaks when he walks). But he bought the perfect tree. For his bride.

Thereafter, he has ceased to make this mistake again. He knows that it will take awhile to get The Right Tree.

I find this odd, but I have to say that as the kids have gotten older and we go to find a tree, the time it takes varies proportionately with the outside temperature.

And we have gotten all kinds. Cut-Your-Own trees, trees from Lowe's and Home Depot, trees with sharp needles which require you risking your life to touch, trees in California which have soft needles and you buy while wearing shorts, trees cut for free from a church elder's property -- in the dark, no less, using car headlights to see, trees in the freezing cold, trees in the balmy warm.

And these days, when we go to get our tree, it is no longer me saying that it's not the perfect tree. I guess I've done this enough times in my life now to figure it out in about 5 minutes. The other 20 minutes is at least two of the girls debating as to whether or not it's The Right Tree. And believe me, then the other three girls get their opinions in and it's at least another 15 minutes to referee the discussion and get a concensus.

Then it's the cool part of watching the people shake out the needles and wrap the tree in a net, and then all of us all climbing all over the minivan with bungee cords attaching it to the roof.

(I've been known run for cover and get in the front passenger seat at this point).

The best fun, always, is the cutting of the net. We actually have treasured video footage of doing this year after year -- taking turns with the scissors, watching the tree explode out of the netting.

And everyone knows when we go to decorate it, nobody gets their hands in the ornament box except the Mama. The Mama will put on the hook and hand out the ornaments. You run the risk of getting your hand swatted, your eggnog confiscated, or your very life taken if you are so brazen as to even consider the idea of sticking your hand into the ornament box.

I am awaiting the day when one of my sons-in-law calls me, and says, "MIL, I cannot believe how long it took your daughter to pick out a stinkin' CHRISTMAS TREE!"

And I will smile. I will disavow any knowledge of this particular daughter's OCD (no matter which one it is). I will be compassionate and understanding.

And then I will reply, "Just wait until you try and stick your hand in the ornament box."

xox

Bible Trivia Nights

Hunk O Man has been trying to stump the girls at the dinner table. They're all PK (Preacher's Kids) so they should know some stuff about the bible, right? I mean, you don't sing things like "Zaccheus was a wee little man . . ." and "The B-I-B-L-E" for years and years without learning something, right?

Well, JB has really gotten into it. No surprise, really, because she's the brainiac of our house.

So the other night, Hunk O Man asks this: Why did Mary and Joseph go to Bethlehem?

JB frowns. She is stumped.

Hunk O Man gives her a hint. "Remember? All the inns were full? Why would that be?"

(we read the Christmas story, directly from Luke 2, EVERY YEAR)

JB: "Oh! I know! Because it was Christmastime!"

But Enough About Me. Let's Talk About You. What Do You Think of Me?

Let me just share a couple of things about myself today. Things I thought you might want to know.

First of all, I have the highest degree possible to attain in the ancient art of Wei-Ning. I know! Impressive, isn't it? I started when I was just a baby, and as of now I'm not only an expert, I have BEEN an expert for most of my life. Just ask my mother.

Wei-Ning? (It's pronounced "Why-ning").

Secondly, I am an excellent mother and I take no nonsense. Here's an example: the twins were 5, Barbie was 4, JB was 2, and Babydoll was 1. I was completely fed up with the mess everywhere. Nobody would help, nobody would put toys away, it was a mess. And of course that was during the crazy-without-drugs days, so I threw a fit. I yelled. I ranted. And I said this: "If you're going to act like pigs, I'm going to treat you like pigs!"

Lunch in those days consisted of PB&J (half sandwich cut in a triangle), a container of yogurt, and some fruit. So in keeping with "treating them like pigs," I fixed everyones plate and set it on the wood floor in the kitchen. 'Fine!' I thought. 'Eat like pigs!'

If you are -- or ever have been -- the mother of a toddler (or several toddlers), you know that this was not at all a punishment. It was rather, a picnic. They were thrilled that I would let them eat off the floor. I can see the thoughts even now running thru their tiny minds -- "No getting strapped into a chair! Wah-hooey! This rocks!"

Obviously I saw their clear enjoyment and I realised that even God was laughing at me, and likely thinking it was far past the time for me to just get over myself. This did not make me happy immediately. But pretty soon I lightened up.

There was another time in my excellent mothering career when we had lots and lots of candy in the house. I think it was probably winter -- January, I think -- when all the Halloween candy and Thanksgiving and Christmas goodies had just piled up. So one night, I was very tired, and it was Sunday night after church, and everyone was looking at me for dinner.

I put all the candy in the center of the table and told them to have at it. That was dinner.

See? I told you I was the best mom. Just ask my kids.

I am missing them all terribly today. True to my utmost degree in Wei-Ning, I cannot be made happy. I am tired of the bickering and constant noise when they are here, and I need a break. Then when three or four of them leave, I miss them terribly.

It's hard to be me. Truly. Let the violins begin.

Hunk O Man, Rose, Bug, and Barbie have been gone on a trip to visit colleges since Tuesday morning. They've had a great time, laughing and seeing people. I've spoken to them every day. The prospects at every school so far are very good.

They'll be home tomorrow, and I can't wait. I do miss them. It's entirely too quiet around here. The dishes take no time at all. There's no laundry. The TV is never on, and the dog is stalking me for lack of people to greet and see. Bleah. Even JB and Babydoll miss them.

Are they home yet?

xox

Tradition!

BLOGGY GIVEAWAY IS BELOW! KEEP SCROLLING!

I suppose it is no consequence that our local theatre company is doing this right now.

Hunk O Man and I had our annual "what's happening for the holidays" discussion last Friday, during our Friday date. We have lunch every Friday so we can have an actual conversation. Friday is his day off.

So here's the deal: I can count on one hand the amount of times I've spent Christmas morning somewhere other than my parents' house. I have always been a stickler for going home for Christmas.

I am a stick in the mud when it comes to tradition. Some things just need to be done a certain way. All my married life, even when I lived at the other end of the country, I figured out a way for us to spend Christmas with my parents.

But last year, I vowed we would start our own tradition. It's high time, I thought, that I should be the one making the noodles and pumpkin pie. The girls are getting to the age where they'll be leaving home soon, and I want them to always come home for Christmas if possible. So I thought 'ok, I'll bite the bullet and make a new tradition.'

I was resolved. My mind was made up.

When I asked Rose recently what she'd like to do for Christmas, she said this:

"Well, if we stay here that's fine.

But it's just not Christmas unless we have it at Grandma and Pappy's house."

Hmph.

So over lunch last Friday, Hunk O Man said,

"I think I can work out vacation time to travel this Christmas."

OK. I give!

And here's the deal:

1. I already created the tradition. I've always said it shouldn't be changed.

2. Grandma and Pappy won't always be here.

We should go to them as long as we can.

3. When we head north, we can see Hunk O Man's mama as well.

4. I've been outvoted six to one.

So here's to tradition! We're traveling this year. Again.

(hooray! Don't tell anybody I said that, ok?)

xox

Getting Older and A Little Story

It's a pain getting older.

I am reading a book recommended by my good friend Gayle: "What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Menopause." I stopped by the health food store yesterday and picked up Wild Yam Cream, a multivitamin chock full of good stuff that will help my adrenal glands, and some calcium with magnesium. Apparently when your adrenals are working well, it alleviates most other bothersome things -- like allergies, fatigue, etc.

Now I'm only 49 -- ONLY 49? Ten years ago I thought that was old. Now I feel very young. My doctor recently commented "age is only a chronological designation." Thank goodness for some reassurance that I'm truly, truly not getting old.

My body is just aging.

My Mama, who is 70 this year, just had an excellent health checkup because she is taking care of herself. She is really very healthy, despite a pacemaker and being a cancer survivor. My Mama is one of the most occupied -- not really busy, but always doing something -- people I know. She helps at her local church's preschool, teaches a bible study, and can look into my fridge at any given moment and produce a 3 course dinner. She even spent a week once going over and helping out a new mom -- a young girl from her church! Pretty amazing.

Just to tease her recently about her pacemaker (and because she is always doing something), I said this to her:

"Mom, you are one of the laziest people I know. Can't even get your heart to beat!"

We had a good laugh about that one. And she is a good example to me -- because now it's also me that's dealing with high cholesterol, blood pressure, and weight. I am no longer the cute young thing that has most of her life ahead of her.

That person would be any one of my daughters!

Speaking of which, one is having a birthday today. I am no longer the mother of anything except teenagers.

We tried for 3.5 years to get pregnant with the twins. And then we had not just one, but two! Barbie came on their heels just 15 months later (we didn't know if it would take another 3 years, so we started trying right away). Then, two years after her, came JB.

Now JB was the last baby. We agreed. Hunk O Man asked me if I wanted to permanently remedy the situation with additional surgery when I had my c-section to have JB. I declined; I had climbed on enough tables and had enough injections to make my body work right. I didn't want to purposely make it work "wrong."

So we, having had to work so hard to get pregnant the first time, opted for the stupid method. We just watched the calendar. Because when it takes all the work to get pregnant the first time, you can never be surprised.

Uh huh. Right.

I remember that unlike the other girls, I didn't tell Hunk O Man I was pregnant until I was almost 3 months+ along. We went on vacation and I kept waiting for the right moment -- which really just never came.

I was out to dinner with my girlfriends one night, and I asked "Have you ever done something really stupid that you don't know how to tell your husband about? Like wreck the car, or run up a bunch of bills on the credit card?"

My best friend Chari looked right at me and said "What have you done?"

I paused, gulped, and then spilled. And then I realised that I couldn't have my girlfriends knowing what Hunk O Man didn't know. So I told him when I got home. Crying, sad, apologising all the while.

And 3 weeks after she was born, Hunk O Man went and permanently took care of the situation. His philosophy was that minivans only hold 7 people on average. So that was that.

Her name wasn't decided until I was leaving the hospital and had to decide. And because she was a little surprise, her first name is the same as JB's middle name. Her middle name is the name we'd chosen if we ever had a boy.

God just sometimes has different plans than we do. And sometimes they completely delight you, like our Babydoll.

PR Non-dish

I realise that I didn't post about Project Runway yesterday. The episode really made me a little sad.

The designers were all supposed to create an evening gown based on a photo they took at the New York Botanical Gardens.

(BTW, the NYBG's were gorgeous)

What actually happened, though, was that three of the designers -- namely Jerrell, LeAnn, and Korto, ganged up on Kenley and were very mean to her.

Kenley has had her moments. She is very young, and probably things come out of her mouth that shouldn't. She has some growing up to do. She is also very direct. Basically, it adds up like this: no tact+tells the truth+very opinionated+wants to win=upsets everybody else a lot of the time.

She may well be what I would term "Hoo! What a piece of work!" But that isn't really my point here.

My point would be that no matter what, you don't gang up on somebody like that. You don't leave her out to dry. It's a competition, folks, and you don't decide one talented person doesn't get to belong simply because you close ranks and keep her out.

That's exactly what they did. It was so unfair, and I felt terrible for her.

To add insult to injury, Korto started in on her about how she got what she deserved -- while they were sitting in the green room, waiting for a decision on who would be out. And this after Korto, Jerrell, and LeAnn had stood there on the runway and said that they would like to be in the running with each other. Every one of them stated clearly that they wanted Kenley to be out.

This wasn't based on her designs or her ability -- on which the competition is actually based. It was all about watching a bunch of kindergarten-minded bullies gang up on the odd kid.

Bad timing, Korto.

Shame on all of them. The judges left them all in, and said they'd all be on the chopping block once they created a collection.

In other words, everybody should PLAY NICE. I think they all needed a nap!

And if you've watched the runway shows from Fashion Week, which happened in September, you know that not only Kenley got to show her collection, but so did Joe and Suede. So the end result is the same for all of them -- they all got to have that international exposure that Fashion Week affords.

In the end, I think there should be some code of honour that says that you can't "throw your fellow designers under the bus." Just my opinion -- and this specifically because I was a little girl who was frequently the new kid at school, who never felt like she belonged (even in my own family), and whose creativity made her somewhat odd, honest, and definitely in need of a huge dose of tact! My greatest goal in life is to speak the truth IN LOVE. At 49, I'm still working on it.

So you can see why I can give Kenley the benefit of the doubt. She'll probably grow up to be a very nice person in the end, and a great designer to boot. Everybody deserves a chance, and especially when the others gang up on you and force you out. Good for her for standing her ground.

I should probably also mention that I'm really miffed today because the dishes aren't done and my sewing room is messy after somebody used it to do a project either last night or this morning.

Plus, Hunk O Man was telling me how to drive when I took him over to drop him off to drive the bus for the tennis team to their away match.

HOWEVER, in all honestly, this man could write a book on how to drive. He recently got his CDL, along with his motorcycle endorsement. I think he has almost everything you can get in the way of driving and licensing. He really does know his stuff.

I think I'll take the dog for a walk and refresh my attitude with some of the unbelievably gorgeous sunshine outside today. Man. If ever there was a reminder that God is good and most things are of no eternal significance, it's that sunshine!

xox

Heard Just Now from the Other Room

Barbie, (who's in the kitchen and popping in and out of the bedroom to ask how you make dump cake, is this enough butter, can I use two cans of cherry pie filling, etc):
"JB! Get in here and clean the kitchen!"

JB, in a small voice: "I'm right here, why do you have to talk to me like that? Sniff sniff"

We all know JB is not phased at all by Barbie's yelling. It is just funny.

Barbie: "JB WHAT have you done to the computer? It is so slow!"
JB: "I'm downloading Maple Story! Don't click! No clicking!"
Barbie: "WHY do you have to play that stupid game?"
JB: "Do not click! No clicking! You'll make it freeze up!"
Barbie: "Well I'm clicking because you've already had your hour."
JB, from the kitchen: "I did not have my hour! I was downloading."
Barbie: "Did too!"
JB: "Did not."
Barbie: "Did TOO."
JB: "Did NOT!"
Barbie: "DID TOO!"

Hunk O Man: "We need to leave in about 15 minutes, girls."
Babydoll: "For what?"
Hunk O Man: "The Church picnic. It'll be tons of fun."
Babydoll: "Why was I not notified of this church picnic?"
JB: "Dad, it's freezing outside. Why are we going to a church picnic?"
Barbie: "DID TOO!"

Then nothing for a few seconds.

Then . . .

JB, singing: "Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends?"

Me: falling on the floor with laughter.

Thank you, God, for giving me this hilariously nutzoid family. What a crew!

Thank God

Today is the first day of school. And Babydoll is babysitting for someone else this morning.

Deep, cleansing breath in, and blow it out. Aaaahhhh.

I got up and made pancakes for them, and some of them even ate them. I have done laundry and partially completed yesterday's crossword. And now I am having my morning time. It is time that is mine, all mine.

Aaahhhhh.

This is only a half day of school, so it will all end shortly. Good thing I got up early.

On another note, Hunk O Man and I have decided that for the twins, this is the Year of Freedom. That means since they are now 17, almost 18 years old, and they will no longer have any real rules. No curfew, just the regular expectations of any adult. They have to show up for work and school on time, get decent grades, do their chores at home. But checking in and out with mom and dad is optional (although encouraged and preferred), and the spending of money they earn and that which allotted to them is up to them.

The basic idea here is give them enough rope to hang themselves, and have them do it while they still live at home and are safe.

We'll see how it goes. Also included in this is a monthly conversation with mom and dad to talk abut the pros and cons of how they're doing. Hunk O Man and I are definitely taking notes.

Washer's done. Dryer's done. Duty calls. In my nice, quiet house with the messy kitchen and sleeping dog.

Aaaahhhhh.

It's a Schoolish Sort of Day

Sssshhhhh! Babydoll and Bug are taking their end-of-year tests.

Hunk O Man is administering these tests, because he has a Bachelor's degree and I do not. When I explained that apparently he knows more about doing these tests than I do, he laughed. I took that as a nice compliment. Which I needed, after a heart-to-heart with one of my teenagers about where her life and priorities are versus where I think they should be.

I am also doing Bug's transcripts so she can return to high school for her senior year (after coming home and completing her junior year as homeschooling as of April). I'm glad she's doing this; she'll graduate with her twin sister Rose, and that's important. There are a lot of things that happen your senior year in a high school that are so common to us as Americans that I think they really shouldn't be missed.

I spent the day shopping with Bunny yesterday. She is a riot. I always enjoy her company. I made her promise she would always come home and shop with me for Christmas, wherever her life takes her. I think there may be airline tickets in her future.

I've spent a lot of time with people this week, and that has worn me out. But it's good! Monday, I took Ms. Myrtle to her doctor's appointment and heard all about her life. She narrated to me the years of five children and five husbands, and working and living in NC and FL. It took her mind off a potential procedure she was to have, that was uncomfortable. Turns out she didn't need it after all! I got lunch for she and Wiley and I at Chick-fil-a and she nearly had a fit trying to pay me for it. I was having none of it. I won that one.

The next day, Tuesday, I drove them both to Rocky Mount to have Wiley's dental work done. I was at their house at 6:00AM -- a true departure for me, as I'm normally up around 8, but I was glad to do it because they are such dears. We drove down, had breakfast at Hardee's (GREAT chicken biscuit, by the way!), and once again we befuddled the poor cashier by Ms. Myrtle attempting to pay for my breakfast and me refusing. I won that one too.

And then yesterday, I met Ms. Nancy (church secretary and unofficial associate pastor, person who knows everything and everybody and everything about everybody, and general person who runs the church) for coffee at Starbucks. She gave me a Starbucks card and said "This is from Myrtle." I looked and her and sighed. She immediately said, in her soft, southern drawl, "You know you can't do anything with her." I laughed. She's right. You just can't.

Yesterday Babydoll and I rode over to Ms. Myrtle's and had a brief visit. She was glad to see Babydoll and insisted they go out to lunch once school starts. I think that they will find no lack of things to talk about. Ms. Myrtle mentioned that she hoped I had enjoyed my coffee that morning with Ms. Nancy. Talk about a small town.

Wednesday was a tennis match and more town gossip with Michelle, the tennis coach. That woman knows everyone as well, and certainly has her ear to what's happening in the town. I finally know why the bugs are so thick this year. And I have zero idea as to why the tennis courts aren't finished yet. Hmmm. It pays to know people around here.

And a wasp stung me yesterday! I have never been stung by anything other than a sweat bee, so far as I know. These things hurt! It seems I can't go outside for five minutes without getting bitten or stung by something. If only squirrels ate bugs, we'd be in business. The girls constantly scream about all the spiders -- but I like them. They eat the bugs. Perhaps this is why I've never been much of a gardener. Flying, stinging, biting bugs. True definitions for the word "pest."

So it's a low-key day, and Hunk O Man wants me to listen to something called "Straight from the Mouth of a Pastor's Kid" from "Defining Moments," which is an audio journal from the Willow Creek Association. I am hopeful that it will shed some light on my relationship with my girls. I'll let you know --

So it's back to normality here, and possibly a giveaway in the near future --

How to Handle Stress 101

I didn't used to handle conflict well. I still am pretty bad at it, but not in the same way.

I have the spiritual gift of prophecy. That means I am compelled to speak the truth -- always, no matter where, no matter when. I used to blurt it out. This tended to create conflict.

Now I am a little better with timing. I am told this is called "tact."

Also, I used to hold everything in until I just blew up. Or I would just blow up because it was too much at one time. I was Volcano Mom. My kids can tell you, and I have begged God to erase their memories (and my own) of all the times I was a Volcano Mom. I have now figured out that it had to do with too much information coming in.

Perhaps I am autistic. Seriously, I should investigate that. Or perhaps I am just a serious introvert who is incapable of controlling the volcano.

Now I do better. Of course, I take crazy drugs, so I am somewhat tactful and I can handle the normal amount of information coming in.

(However, I am still crazy, the good kind of crazy -- I now have a bruise on my right elbow from my persistence in trying to hug my daughter. Bug is in her "I vant to be alooone" stage, which she frequents frequently, and so I wrestled her to the kitchen floor on Saturday. But I got my hug!)

Anyway -- I say all this because I have become a sounding board for a couple of people. What a compliment!

I try to be a good listener because I am a very bad one by nature. I just wanna talk about me. I love that quote from "Beaches" where Bette Midler says

"But enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think of me?"

So I've been listening lately to some frustrated people, and that has totally stressed me out. But not in a bad way -- rather, in an empathetic way. This is unusual for me, since I approach most problems with a "that's life, deal with it" sort of attitude. Although the cry of my early life was "But Mom, it's not fair!" I quickly changed when I became a Mom and had to answer questions like "But how come she gets one and I don't?" I responded by saying "Because I love her more than you."

I really do still say that. Respond to a ridiculous question with a ridiculous answer. My kids have always understood that.

So last Wednesday night, I decided enough with all this stress, I'm taking a sleeping pill and forgetting it all. I won't dream crazy dreams that make me tired, and I won't wake up to Hunk O Man's droning snore.

So I took the OTC generic sleeping pill. And I slept like a rock.

FOR TWENTY-FOUR -- 24 -- HOURS.

I tried to wake up Thursday morning. I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. I brushed my teeth. I sat down and fell asleep in Hunk O Man's chair.

Dragging myself into the kitchen, I drank a cup of coffee. I walked into my bedroom and sat down on the bed. Uh-oh. Which turned into another 5-hour nap.

I got up. I stumbled around with my eyes half open. I drank Diet Coke. I puttered around. I tried to function. I walked into things. I tried to form complete sentences. I did pretty well for about 2 hours. I think I even fooled my family, except when it came to cooking dinner.

Then it was time for bed! So I got my crossword and settled in. I was asleep again by 11PM.

I woke up Friday morning refreshed, got up at 7AM, felt great, and got tons accomplished. I felt amazing! We got ready for the yard sale the girls hosted on Saturday, I went with B to the new Aldi store and Sam's Club and Harris Teeter. I bought fresh beets and hot dogs without nitrates.

When I got home, I checked the answering machine, and it was the newspaper lady, saying that she'd left a message with "sum-bahdy, sayin' yew wazzunt up yay-ette." The tone of disapproval in her voice made me cringe. I am going to kill whatever kid told her I was sleeping all day yesterday.

So the moral of this story is this: Be nice. And don't get stressed out.

(And if you do, take half a sleeping pill)

Rambling on about Stuff

We had the most beautiful display last night -- a lightning show from an oncoming storm. Hunk O Man and I watched it as we drove home from the movies. We actually had a date.

We saw "The Dark Knight" and "The X-Files." I was disappointed in both movies. But the Light Show from God made up for it on the way home.

I am a huge fan of Sci-Fi. Although there isn't much good on television, there is great stuff in print and occasionally in movies. My favourite movie of all time is Star Wars -- the one that came out in 1977. I've faithfully watched all the Star Trek series until "Enterprise" -- just couldn't get into that one. I liked X-Files while it was on television, and liked the first movie. I loved the series "Beauty and the Beast" until the very last season, when it just got stupid. And my favourite television show currently is "Battlestar Galactica."

The thing I like about Galactica -- or virtually every Sci-Fi thing I read or see -- is that it's about everything familiar to me -- politics, human relationships, everyday life problems, parenting -- all put into an unfamiliar setting. I love the juxtaposition of these two things. Simple things like murder mysteries take on a whole new light when the victim has been shot out of an airlock into dead space.

My favourite episode of Star Trek: Next Generation is "The Measure of a Man," the one where some scientist from nowhere wants to disassemble Data, the beloved android crew member, and study him in order to recreate him. This opens up a huge discussion through the show about the rights of humans, the rights of non-humans, what constitutes a person, views on "disposable people" and slavery, who gets to be the judge when there is no standard judicial forum available, and ultimately, laying down one's life and will and identity in order to save a friend.

This was some of the best writing I have ever heard or seen in my life. I am not a fan of Whoopi Goldberg -- but she has some of the best lines in it. If you ever have the chance to see it, you should. That makes me wonder if it's on YouTube. I should investigate that.

This X-Files movie was supposed to be about all these sorts of things -- the complexities of human relationships amid a sci-fi setting -- but it failed me miserably. I left the theater thinking "that's it? Just a story about Frankenstein?" Of course Roger Ebert says it's much more -- but honestly, I thought all that sappy angst about when to give up was kind of trite.

The Dark Knight was just, well, dark. We didn't see the end of it. We left to catch X-Files.

I think I am getting to an age when I just don't want dark things in my brain anymore. I'm finished with that phase of life when I am curious about the darkness. I'm not afraid of it, especially after reading today when Paul says to the Corinithians "It's all right to have a childlike unfamiliarity with evil; a simple no is all that's needed there." (I Cor 14:20, from "The Message")
A simple no. Can you imagine? Just saying no to evil. I suppose that's what I want to do as I get older. Fill my brain with the things of God, like that lightning show last night. The amazing things are found in goodness, rather than the unseen mysteries of darkness. I wish I'd realised this when I was 20. I think I would be a better person today.

Ok, brief ramble is over. Back to the homemaking and parenting and sewing and decorating.

And praying for the latest folks killed and wounded in a bomb blast in an Istanbul marketplace . . .

Shopping with Hunk O Man

Today, if I can ever get Hunk O Man outta bed (it's 12:30PM and he's still sleeping!), we're going to look at Honda scooters. For me!

I saved us so much money in taxes that I asked for one and he said maybe. Plus, I will finally be able to get back and forth to Lowe's and Wal-Mart, the only two places to shop in my town.

We do have a new Tractor Supply store. Which Hunk O Man told me yesterday is really more of a hardware store, so that may top my list before long. I love me a good hardware store, especially the ones with the little screws and nuts in sizes you can't find anywhere else.

I also want to head over to Lowe's and get shelving. I have an idea to STOP THE MADNESS which is constant between Babydoll and JB, who share a room. I want to put shelving on all four of their walls, about a foot below the ceiling. This will serve two purposes: first, it will get all their crap stuff off the floor. Secondly, it will enable Babydoll to put all her crap stuff on the shelf so she can access things while on the top bunk.

I also want to head over to the local carpet place to check out remnants for their room.

And today is the deadline for the girls to finish pricing all the garage sale stuff. Which I believe, in fact, they haven't even started. I guess they'll be busy today.

And just FYI -- especially for you, Queen B -- while shopping yesterday in Bed Bath and Beyond with Hunk O Man, on our big trip to Sam's in the City, he said this:

"You know, if they had those Sham-Wow thingys, I think I'd buy one."