Poodles and Boxers and Mutts, Oh My!

We made a seasonal pilgrimage to the beach last Friday. The place we usually park was packed solid, so we ventured north and found a spot that we'd never been to before. Little did we know as we dropped a thousand quarters into the meter that we had just rented a little slice of beach heaven for our sweet daughter. You see, we were at a dog beach.



I've seen such places on the Dog Whisperer (in fact, I was looking around for Cesar and his camera crew for the first several minutes), but I had never before had the pleasure of actually being at one. We were surrounded by Great Danes, Weimarers, Bulldogs, German Shepherds, Labradors, Golden Retrievers, Dachshunds and a handful of Heinz 57s.

It really was a very cool place. We were there for two hours and I didn't witness even one dog fight. Perhaps, the dogs were so overjoyed at being unleashed and near the surf that they were able to overcome their natural instincts.

Delaney was, of course, thrilled. She petted, played with and oohed and aahhed over many a pooch. Oh...and she played in the waves a little bit, too.

My surprise of the day came when a soggy poodle-type, fresh from a romp in the surf, started circling me as I sat on a towel under our umbrella, but wait...there's more...I said "Hello" to her which must have sounded like the canine-speak for "Hop on!" because that's exactly what she did. "Lexie's" owner was mortified and apologized profusely while trying to coax Lexie off my lap. I just handed her my camera and asked her to document the event for me.


(Did you notice that I'm wearing my sun hat whilst under my umbrella? Perhaps it's overkill, but I didn't get burnt at all!)

It would have been a more pleasant experience had Lexie not been dripping and sandy. This is what my lap looked like afterward:


In spite of the minor mess that I became after my encounter with Lexie, I think that next time we go to the beach, I'll request that it be the dog beach.

8 becomes 4

My friend, Veronica, recently challenged me with the number 8, but I felt a bit overwhelmed at the prospect and have chosen to turn it into 4.

4 things I look forward to are:

1. VACATION! VACATION! VACATION! It's coming...
2. Getting our air conditioner fixed. (On Sunday, it was 89 degrees...at 5:45 in the morning!)
3. Having a new garage door installed (although I have no idea when we'll be able to afford one since overtime at Jeff's work is now virtually non-existent.)
4. The day that there will no longer be any kind of misunderstanding between people. We won't hurt each other any more and there will be neither confusion nor wondering.

4 things I did yesterday:

1. Finally made the coleslaw with the beginning-to-brown cabbage that I bought for that purpose about a week ago.

2, 3, and 4?

Okay, if you sit at the computer for more than five minutes and can't remember anything even slightly interesting from the previous day then it's time to move on...

4 things I wish I could do:

1. Handwrite beautifully instead of with the barely legible scrawl that my forever-cramped hand scribbles out.
2. Know how to be a bit more realistic on this blog of mine. Most of my posts are quite cheerful which isn't necessarily bad, but I know that life has some major difficulties that can't be ignored. However, I often don't feel like it's my place to post things that are going on in my life or in the lives of people around me because it might violate trust and confidence. So please know that my life is not some perfect bubble and that I'm simply careful about what I share in a forum as public as this.
3. Speak, understand and write German fluently. I must confess that it has been just about a year since ich lerne Deutsch and although I have put a lot of time and effort into this (what most would consider meaningless) task, I still can't go to Sowieso.com (a German online newspaper for kids) and truly get the meanings of the articles. Frustration...
4. Enjoy cleaning. My house would sure look differently.

4 shows I watch:

(Keep in mind that ours is a cable-free house, so what ever I watch has to be online or on a motel's TV.)

1. I Survived a Japanese Gameshow. We love this show! It is so ridiculous and culturally inspiring. From the Sayonara Mob to the lubricated sumo wrestlers to the bad English (which I'm sure if compared to my German is far superior), this show keeps my whole family laughing. The studio audience even bangs on various hand held musical instruments when returning from commercial breaks which greatly reminds me of my fourth year of life, marching around the preschool room in a cacophonous "parade". Be warned; there are occassional bad words (these are real people, after all) and every now and then you'll see someone in their underwear as they frantically change from one crazy costume to another. Confused? Go to abc.com and find it in the episodes section. Enjoy.
2. The Dog Whisperer. I've watched several episodes, but I fear I won't truly have control of Duncan until Cesar pays me a personal visit. Are you reading this, Cesar?
3. Wife Swap. Aside from the tastless name, this is actually a fascinating show. I can't believe how differently people live. There are so many variations of family life in America. Tobias wants our family to call and apply to be on the show, but I fear that either a) our family would prove to be rather dull viewing or b) we'd suddenly realize that our family is a lot weirder than we were ever aware. You know that those families think they are normal and admirable. Why else would you offer yourselves up for possible public humiliation on a national scale? Some nuts aren't locked up, Wife Swap proves it.
4. Wipeout. However, it's not the favorite that it was last season. You can only watch someone try to cross the punching wall so many times. What? They fell into the mud? Wasn't expecting that...

So, I'd love to read any of your 4s (or 8s of the truly interesting). There's plenty o'room in the comment section.

One Thing Amusing

Recently, I was at the gym on the stair-stepper when on the TV before me began an infomercial. Infomercials are inherently amusing simply because the spokesperson has to act incredibly excited about their product, no matter what it is, in hopes that the viewers will also become enthralled with it and therefore call the 1-800, plastic card in hand.

This particular infomercial was especially delightful to a mocker such as myself because of the product being advertised. The name of it escapes me presently, so we shall henceforth refer to it as "Power Purge".

Power Purge was, as you may have guessed, a laxative, but not just your run of the mill laxative. It was the laxative of choice amongst the rich and famous and had the power to drastically improve one's overall health.

To give a little oomph to his claims, the salesman brought out a couple of "celebrities" who sat on a comfy looking couch and listened to him give his shpiel. (How do you spell that?) These were not celebrities with whom I was familiar, but the salesman sure seemed happy about them joining Team Power Purge.

I've done some weird things to earn money (when I was in college, Jeff and I would regularly get $10 each for donating a few vials of blood to a malaria-cure researcher in one of the science labs which bought a lot of out-to-eat-meals for us), but I can't imagine being so broke that I was willing to become "the face" for Power Purge.

(There are a few things I'd be happy to have my name and face associated with such as a literacy campaign or the charity "Compassion International", but that list is pretty short. There are lots of products that I'm very happy to use, even thankful for, but I don't want to represent them. Ultrabright toothpaste is great, but not as my identity.)

I mean, I certainly don't want the words, "Boy, Aimee was right!" to form in anyone's mind as they flush their fifth bowlful of self-induced diarrhea.

Uh, yeah...

Please don't misunderstand me...I know that there is certainly a place for industrial strength laxatives in decent society, but couldn't they present it in a more realistic manner? More clinically and less celebratory, perhaps.

Can't they just get some guy in a long white coat with a nasally voice to stare into the camera and say, "Whatever your reason for needing Power Purge, it is guaranteed to eliminate the fecal matter from all 2,000 miles of your digestive tract. Trust me, it works." ? I'd even allow for him to smile afterward to end on a personal note and make us feel like he's on our side.

A Few Things Amusing

For a long time now, I've wanted to do a post on things that I find amusing, but there are so many of them that I've been intimidated by the daunting task. Therefore, I've decided to type up just a handful at a time. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the first (and possibly last) installment of A Few Things Amusing.

Smart Cars:

Don't you chuckle every time you see one of these?


A number of times I've heard people adamantly insist that Smart Cars are indeed safe.

Uh...yeah, if you collide with a shopping cart, but the last time I was on the freeway, there were Suburbans and semis aplenty.


Utilikilts:

Okay, sound it out--utili...kilts...as in utility kilts.

No, I'm not making this up.

Look:


No, this is not the work wear of a female carpenter whose fundamentalist religion dictates that she must wear a skirt at all times. It's a guy. (Notice the leg hair and lack of hippage?)

As a person of Scottish ancestry, I feel strangely obligated to apologize to all the non-Scots out there. Although it, too, would be odd, methinks a utilisarong would somehow be more socially acceptable.

My Freaky Thumbnails:


No, I didn't hit my thumb with a hammer whilst donning my utilikilt. (Hey--there's a good question...if a woman wears a utilikilt is she technically a transvestite?) Anyway, back to my thumbnails...they actually grow this way.

Yes, it is both of them and no, this is not the result of injuries to my thumbs' nailbeds. A hand model I never shall be...

Our Eunuch Wears a Lampshade

The deed is done.

Duncan is now a member of the sort-of-sexless-canine society.

Poor Duncan wasn't happy the second we put him into the car. In his little puppy brain, a car ride must be equated to getting shots because the only times he's ever been in the car, it ended with a walk into the vet's and a hypodermic piercing his tender flesh.

(Delaney, on the other hand, loves going to the vet. She's such an animal appreciator. Half an hour in the vet's lobby means half an hour of petting multiple dogs and cats and chatting with their owners. We'd throw her next birthday party there if we could somehow evade being noticed by the vet's staff.)

Apparently Duncan has to wear the cone of shame for two weeks! The veterinarian referred to the cone as an Elizabethan collar (as if it's some sort of fashion trend). It even has a bow on it as seen in this picture:


I realize the bow is utilitarian, but it looks like a sorry excuse for an embellishment.

His resilience is commendable. When the cone was first put on him, he balked for a couple of minutes, and then he just seemed to accept it. Now he runs around the yard, running into things and trying to play with his toys.

It's not keeping him from his usual routine of napping in the afternoon sun either:


This morning, I looked out to the patio and saw him trying to scratch behind his ear with his hind paw. Poor guy! Jeff immediately went out and gave him a good, thorough scratching behind both ears.

This, too, shall pass.

From Cute to Cute in Nothing Flat

In spite of my mucus-loaded head, I took Delaney to a very important appointment yesterday.

She has been growing her hair for the past year and a half to donate it to Locks of Love.

I'll miss doing fun things with her luxurious mop such as:

However, neither of us will miss the inevitable tangles that go along with having hair halfway down one's back.

She has such lovely hair; it'll make a great hair-piece for someone and I'm so pleased that she is happy to share her blessing. (This is actually the third time she has donated. Sweet girl.)

Miss Shelley prepares Delaney for the whacking:


Off with your hair! (This was only about half of it.)


Almost done...


...and, voila!


Speaking of having body parts whacked off...guess what's happening to Duncan tomorrow...

That's right, we've got him scheduled to have his Treasure-Bag emptied. Maybe, just maybe, he'll be a better behaved dog once he is bereft of his "family jewels"...

...uh, yeah, I'm not counting on it.

A Plague on Both Your Houses

Or, a plague on our one house, I should say. (That was Shakespearean, by the way. Romeo and Juliet to be precise.)

Yes, illness has infiltrated the lives and bodies of our household. It started with Tobias early last week. Then Delaney got it last weekend. (Poor thing had a fever on her birthday.) Jeff came home from work on Monday looking like that guy off of the old Nyquil commercials. He's now had a slight fever for three days. I seem to have avoided the fever, but I'm congested beyond belief.

Oh well, the good side is that we can watch several episodes a day of season one of the Mole on Hulu without feeling guilty. There can be little perks in life, even when you're soggifying loads of tissues at an alarming rate.

Tomorrow Is...

...our precious daughter's birthday. We are so thankful that God entrusted this wonderful girl to us eleven years ago.


She was our sweet little baby who blossomed into our adorable, spunky toddler.


Now she is our beloved 'tweener of whom we are so proud.


Happy birthday, Delaney! (Tomorrow, that is.)

Yesterday Was...

...Tobias's graduation from eighth grade.

He was looking quite sharp in his top hat and baseball jersey. A strange combination perhaps, but this is Tobias we are talking about...

Plants and a Pup

Some have actually survived!

Remember my whining post about plants dying in my flower box a few weeks back?

Well, this poor little dessicated fellow (I'm not even sure what this was!) went the way of many others before it--


But wait! The Geraniums are doing alright--


And the Gerbera is positively popping--


All of this beauty exists in the front yard.

The backyard is presently possessed by a very destructive force--


What, you may ask, is causing such structural mayhem?

Why, our puppy, of course--


Remember Duncan, the stray puppy we so dearly hoped to keep? Well, let's just say that we hope he has hit his destructional peak, because our trash can is now regularly full of items that were (until recently) perfectly good and functional.

There's a reason God made puppies cute. (Otherwise we'd find the highest cliff around and throw them off with a gusto-filled heave-ho.)

Cute, indeed. Adorable, in fact.

He's actually a very good dog. He's quite smart. He already knows how to sit, shake, give kisses, retrieve a frisbee and a ball. This is a refreshing change from our other dog--



Bruiser is the well-behaved one, but he is a little on the dull side (as you can see his personality is sparkling through in the photo above).

Intelligent, he is not. In fact, when I put Duncan through a training session, I throw the frisbee, call out "Go get it, Duncan!" and while he is running off to do my bidding, I toss Bruiser a little treat, just so he won't feel left out. (He seems incapable of earning a treat. We've tried teaching him several tricks over the years.) Hopefully, Duncan won't realize that Bruiser is getting tossed goodies for doing nothing more than standing nearby as he (Duncan) runs around fetching frisbees. (Hmm, maybe Bruiser's not so unintelligent after all.)

We truly do love them both.

Warning: the following is quite gross...

It was never my intention to post photos like this one...


...but I find it so amusing that I just have to share. You see, this a pic of Duncan's poo. If you examine it closely, you will see that it is deeply embedded with bits of a blue bucket.

Tobias, our official backyard-poo-picker-upper, has seen other examples of Duncan's chewing and swallowing power. One poo was full of at least 5 good sized pebbles and another contained many shreddings of a tarp. These things appeal to him somehow.


(I had to end with a cute picture, so that your last impression of him wouldn't turn your stomach.)

Mr. D and a Goody Bag

Mr. D:

This school year, Delaney had a male teacher for the first time ever. He's quite an intelligent fellow.

The first week of school he taught the kids magic tricks and their only homework was to go home and perform the tricks for anyone willing to watch. That's one way to start the year off right.

More evidence of his ingeniousness came last week. All the girls in his class were whisked off to the Multi-Purpose Room to watch the movie (ya know, the one they show 5th grade girls across America. It's about menstru...uh, yeah, that movie.)

Anyway, when the boys asked what the movie was about, Mr. D simply said, "Jump roping."

Well, of course that quenched any interest that the boys may have had.

His clever plan did not end there. He also timed the return of the girls (some of whom were sporting the classic deer-in-the-headlights look) with the passing out of popsicles to all the students. What 11 year old boy is going to query a shell-shocked looking girl when he's got his hands on a Fudgsicle?

The Goody Bag:

After viewing the movie, the girls were each given a bag of stuff. Delaney brought hers home and we perused its contents together. There were pamphlets (from which I learned a few things :)), some feminine products and a stick of deodorant.

We laughed about the phrase that was boldly emblazoned across the bag in bright, colorful letters:

It's a happy time!

Perhaps a more apropos statement would be:

Deal with it. Billions do.

It's Nearly That Time Again...

As most people do, we really look forward to going on a summer vacation. Ours won't be for a few more weeks, but most of the vital details are in place.

This year, we're going to...

...oh, sorry, but I can't reveal our destination. You see, just like every year, Jeff and the kids have no idea where we're going, what we're doing or who we're seeing.

Years ago, when we were finally earning enough income to actually go on a vacation, Jeff told me to plan one. Unfamiliar with the whole concept, I asked him where to.

"Surprise me," he said.

So I did. We've been doing it that way ever since. It's fun!

Sorry, but please don't sneak up to me next time you see me and quietly quiz me for more info. (Two people almost accidentally blew it last year.) I'll give you all the full rundown, complete with lots of photos, upon our return.

If you want to read about last year's trip, find my post back in June or July of '08. It was called The Big Secret Revealed.

I can hardly wait...

Do I Dare Admit...

...what I've spent a major portion of my last few days doing???

Okay, I'll tell you, though I'm laughing myself.

But first let me tell you why before I tell you what.

This Friday, our family is going to a dance party. Yes, you read that right, a dance party. You see, we have some friends who are a lot of fun (aka totally crazy) and they are hosting a graduation party for their lovely daughter, Mandy. Well, not being as boring as the rest of us, they came up with the idea that each family attending should come prepared to present a dance routine.

As you can imagine, Jeff and Tobias were thrilled with that idea. Delaney would be willing, but she's quite busy with the musical that she is presently involved in, so it's up to me to represent the family. (We're doomed.)

Knowing that any modern dance I came up with would look like an unfunny comedy routine, I looked to my roots and with a little help from the internet, I have now learned how to...

...Irish folk dance. Sort of.

Ya know, the-Lord-of-the-Dance type stuff (or in my case, the-Imbecile-of-the-is-that-a-Dance? type stuff) where the dancers' torsos and arms look frozen stiff while their legs commit methodical spasms much to the mystification of their audience.

Yeah.

So I found a video tutorial on the Net and have diligently been practicing these moves that look so beautiful and easy when the teacher does them. Ha! My consolation is that everyone is expecting this whole dance thing to be amusing. Otherwise, I'd stay home and clean my fridge.

Door to Door People Drive Me Nuts

Today, as I was blaring O'Sullivan's March and dancing my Scotch-Irish butt off, the doorbell rang. I went through my normal Oh-Someone's-at-the-Door routine and crept toward the front door, praying the floorboards wouldn't creak and peeked through the peephole.

It was some stranger who promptly waved at my peering self. (I hate how people can tell when you're looking!) I held my breath even though I knew he was on to me (as if the car in the driveway and the irish fiddle wailing in the background weren't enough clues that someone was indeed home). He waited a few seconds and then knocked on the door.

He calls me out by waving at my eyeball and then persists to claim entrance? Whatever, Pal!

Once during a similar scenario, a guy hollered out, "Hello! I know you're in there," in a somewhat hostile manner. Yeah, I'm really going to open my door to you now that I know you're angry with me.

What is it with these guys? Like I owe them something just because I don't have three Doberman Pinschers between the street and my front door.

Anyway, I need to get a few more minutes of practice in before Tobias comes home from school.

(My Celtic ancestors must either be rolling over in their graves or laughing the lids off their caskets.)

Mother's Day

Guess what I got for Mother's Day...


I was hoping for one of those. I guess the shattered crystal on my other one had shamed our family long enough. I actually like this one a lot more than the old one (even before it broke). Thanks, guys!

Here are the precious babies who have enabled me to be a part of this celebration called "Mother's Day"--



(You know your kid is getting tall when you need a stepping stool in order to chart his growth properly.)

Elderly Social Circles

Yesterday, I took my Grandma Hazel to the doctor's office so that she could have some lab work done. While we were there, she introduced me to a man who happened to be there. Jim lives at the same assisted living home as Grandma. He was a friendly guy who was toting a hand held oxygen tank along with him.

"That there," said Jim, pointing at Grandma, "is 'Pretty Hazel'. There's another Hazel at the home and we call her 'Happy Hazel'."

Grandma just smiled a shy, pleased smile.

After Jim left, she leaned over toward me and whispered, "His eyesight is going."

(I have to wonder if 'Happy Hazel' knows that Grammy is 'Pretty Hazel'. If she finds out, 'Happy Hazel' might morph into 'Embittered Hazel'.)

The Sacrifices of Spring

When we bought this house (six years ago this month), I was thrilled with the huge flower box out front. It runs nearly the whole length of the walkway to the front door. I dreamily envisioned it burgeoning with ruffly Rununculus...



...Icelandic Poppies...



...little purple Pansies...



...and regal looking Digitalis...



...welcoming all visitors to our home.

I couldn't understand why the former owners had planted Heavenly Bamboo and Society Garlic in such prime floral real estate.



Not only were they an odd pair aesthetically, but the former was so tall that it partially blocked the windows and the latter has an unpleasant odor which shouldn't be the first aromatic impression upon entering a home.

Hmm, oh well, I thought, transplanting the "ousted" to more appropriate places. I was just happy to be the planter's new mommy.

Well, it wasn't long before I realized why the planter hadn't been better tended to. Apparently, Heavenly Bamboo and Society Garlic were the only things the former owners had found would grow there.

Nearly everything I planted there died...and quickly. Lovely plant after lovely plant was purchased and caringly tended to in its new home only to wither and die. I dumped bags and bags of mulch into the planter, taking care to mix it thoroughly. I made sure to thoroughly water any of the new "recruits". It didn't help.

Watching the sunlight situation, I saw that during the summer, the flower box was completely in the shade of a tree until about 11:00 am at which point all of the sun's radiant glory fell upon it like the wrath of God (I think being up against the house intensified it even more) until about 1:30 pm at which point the sun was blocked by the house, plunging the box into total shade again.

I'm not sure if the plants were fried or confused, but very few could handle living in the atmosphere into which I was thrusting them. My floral fantasies became sadly subdued. No longer did I long for a flower box worthy of a Better Homes and Garden cover. I just wanted something green instead of dry, brown and disintegrating.

Year after year, I have continued to experiment, suppressing the feelings of guilt I have over throwing perfectly healthy sacrifices into this apparent volcano. It's not my intention that they die...

This year is no different. Jeff and I went to Home Depot last weekend, looking for this year's agricultural guinea pigs.

He pointed out some flowers that he liked and I showed him that their tags said "partial sun".

"We need 'total sun' ," I stated, explaining the situation.

"What about 'hellfire'?" he asked.

I assured him that that would be perfect, but alas, we found none. Apparently, satan's gardeners don't frequent the Depot.

(We also looked at weed'n'feed products to help our grass. One promised to kill all weeds. We didn't buy that one, fearing it would take out our entire lawn.)

Finally, we settled on these:




Yes, they are very beautiful, but for how long? And will I be able to sleep knowing that I have the blood (uh...sap?) of these innocents on my hands?

It Wasn't to Their Liking

While reading through the gospels, I am often struck with how people interacted with Jesus. These people were talking to, eating with, being touched by God Himself and yet many remained unchanged and unsatisfied or even became hostile toward Him.

This morning, Delaney and I read Luke 8 in which Jesus healed the demon possessed tomb dweller. Once kept under guard and bound with chains (verse 29), the man eventually broke free and ran off to live alone in the cold, dark tombs.

Jesus healed him. What was the response of the people?

"The whole multitude of the surrounding region of the Gadarenes asked Him to depart from them, for they were seized with great fear." (verse 37a)

They didn't rejoice with the healed man. They didn't seek to know better this powerful One. They feared God's blessing and asked Him to depart from them.

God was working and it wasn't to their liking.

One of the saddest stories in Matthew (in my opinion) is found in 12:9-14. A man with a withered hand was healed by Jesus in the synagogue. A new life had begun for this man. His handicap was gone.

So what's the sad part? Verse 14: "Then the Pharisees went out and plotted against Him how they might destroy Him."

They didn't rejoice over the healing, nor did they desire to know God better. Jesus' obvious spiritual and practical authority threatened the Pharisees' place in society. In fact, they sought to destroy Him.

Again, God was working and it wasn't to their liking.

So what about the good guys? John the Baptist was Jesus' partner in achieving God's will (Luke 7:27). He was dedicated and zealous for that cause and yet...Jesus didn't seem to be doing what John expected and wanted.

"And John, calling two of his disciples to him, sent them to Jesus, saying, 'Are You the Coming One or do we look for another?'" Luke 7:19

In other words, John was asking, "What's up, Jesus? I know there's something special about you, but you aren't doing what I would expect of the Messiah, so tell me...are you Him or not?"

God was working, but it wasn't to John's liking.

Christ graciously pointed John to what he did know: scripture. "Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them." (Luke 7:22b) These were all foretold proofs of the Messiah found in the Old Testament (which John knew well and valued highly).

Verse 23 is especially powerful: "And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me." I think Jesus was saying, "Yes, John, I know I'm not fulfilling your messianic expectations and hopes, but you will be blessed as you lay those aside and embrace Me--the actual Messiah."

Shall I share with you yet more evidence of my need for a savior? You know my commitment to keeping it real (just read my last post...ewwww): I see traces of all three of these examples in myself.

Do I always rejoice with people who experience a healing of sorts? If I was somehow comfortable with their affliction, then perhaps not.

If God's work in another's life "threatens" my social standing, then do I want to see that work continue? (Gulp...)

Do I at all times seek to embrace the actual Messiah even if He is not fulfilling my "messianic dreams"?

Somehow, we think the people in the gospels were so "lucky" because they had Jesus right in front of them. They heard His voice, perhaps touched His cloak, and yet for many of those people, it was just a brief encounter, soon just a memory. We have the privilege of reading the compilation of all these encounters and the Spirit-inspired insight of the apostles who knew Him well.

God was at work in those lives long ago just as He is at work in many lives today. Is it to our liking?

Blessed is he who is not offended because of Me...

More Things Vile and Uncouth

First off--Here, here, Micky! Your comment on my last post was right on. I am incredibly thankful for Jeff. I almost deleted that post because I saw that my gratitude didn't come across at all. His sweetness in saving up his "fun money" to spend on me and the kids is a testament to how wonderful of a husband and dad he is. He himself regrets the fondue excursion for the very reasons I shared with you all. Had he been pleased with it, it wouldn't have even occurred to me to type up a post snickering about it.

Now...on to yesterday: I went to see my doctor because my nasal spray prescription needed to be renewed. After the blood pressure test, etc., he noticed my foot's "sixth toe".

"What is that?" he asked

I glanced at his name tag to check for the letters M.D. and replied, "It's a wart."

"That's coming off," he announced and quickly exited the room. As the door closed behind him, I heard him holler out to one of the nurses, "Where's the gun?"

Uhh...gun? Maybe the wart's not...so...bad.

He soon returned with something that looked like a mini blow torch and proceeded to blast my foot with all the power of the arctic that was somehow trapped inside. Although the physical sensation was far less than pleasant, I mentioned to him that I also had some tiny warts on my hand.

As he frigidly banished those little guys, he schooled me on warts and how they spread. Perhaps he was a bit too "into" this impromptu lecture 'cause I think he overdid it on my hand. I can't quite bring myself to post the photos I took last night (once in cyberspace always in cyberspace), but trust me, I think he would have warned me if he expected it to turn into that freakish mass.

Immediately after the treatment, it just looked a little splotchy, but over the next 6 hours, it turned bright red and swelled up like a balloon. I could literally feel my skin stretching as the area filled with liquid-nastiness. I feared it would burst while I was making dinner, splattering the chicken and veggies, rendering them inedible. (Sorry, I guess I should have typed up a disclaimer at the top of this page.)

"Are you really going to youth group tonight with your hand like that?" Jeff asked, dubiously.

"Sure," I said. "Maybe it'll help some awkward teen feel better about some embarrassing aspect of their own body."

Perhaps I'll never know if an adolescent now feels empowered to face the world after catching sight of my afflicted appendage, but...it was a good conversation piece.

He Meant Well

A couple of hours after writing the following post, I reread it and was struck by how snotty it sounded. I was going to delete it, but then I noticed that Brenda had left a comment. Hmm, I guess I'll just leave it and hope that you all will give me the benefit of the doubt in regards to my snottiness level. I really did appreciate that Jeff wanted to do something nice for us AND I asked him to preview and "okay" the post before I posted it. So here goes:

My dear, sweet, thoughtful husband wanted to surprise me and the kids recently. He had heard rave reviews about a restaurant and saved up his "allowance" to take us there. (Jeff and I both get a bit of money from his bimonthly paychecks to spend on whatever we want.)

Knowing that it was a pricey place and that he is married to a woman who still wears this watch

(it works, okay?), Jeff turned to me in the car as we pulled into the parking lot and asked, "Can you please just enjoy yourself and not think about how much this meal is costing me?"

I felt my upper lip involuntarily twitch as I promised that I would.

To avoid the certain lawsuits that would follow because of the vastness of this blog's readership (It has four followers. (Three of whom have only made one comment ever! (I hope they follow Jesus more closely than they follow As We Wend Our Way.))), I will wisely rename the restaurant as The Money Pot (ahem) instead of using its actual moniker.

Through the heavy front doors we walked and approached the smartly dressed host behind the reservation desk. None of us was dressed very nicely so I felt compelled to ask if we were breaking their dress code. (I have a vivid childhood memory of being expelled from a restaurant in New York because we were not suitably attired.) He smiled and assured me that our vestments were perfectly acceptable. (Apparently, money is money.)

We were quickly seated and the whole unusual eating process was explained to us. You see, this was a fondue restaurant and we (at that point) were fondue-newbies.

Wanting the whole experience, Jeff ordered appetizers, a main course and dessert. I did my best to keep my promise to simply enjoy myself, though I thought I'd need sutures to repair my bitten tongue while looking at the prices on the menu.

I won't bore you with a play by play of our three hour meal (it takes a while when you are cooking your own food, one little piece at a time).

After the bill was paid, I watched a little piece of Jeff's soul die when I mentioned, "You could have bought three video games instead of that one meal."

The good news is: we weren't that impressed and therefore will never be tempted to go back. The bad news is: Jeff was not able to just enjoy himself and not think about how much the meal was costing him.

To sum things up: Buy yourself a crockpot, google some fondue recipes and enjoy a much cheaper experience at home several times over. Sure, the food was fresh and good, but no meal is worth the cost of two weeks of groceries.

From Carless to Clueless

Two weeks ago, somebody in our family got into a fender bender, but that's enough about that. (He's rather embarrassed.) So now one of our cars is being repaired and Jeff is driving "my" car to work. That leaves me...carless.

My 97 year old grandma needed me to take her to a doctor's appointment today.


(Isn't she lovely?)

Now, if this was a dermatology or an optometry appointment, I'd just ask her to reschedule. However, last week she went to the ER with chest pain, so there was no way I was going to say, "Hey Grammy, why don't we do that whole doctor thing another time?"

What is a loving granddaughter to do? Why, rent a car of course!

The drive home from the rental place was rather amusing. Every car we've had for the past 16 years has had a stick shift and the rental is an automatic. My left foot kept pressing into the floorboard, rooting around for the clutch pedal. My right hand twitched continuously toward the center of the car and (to my chagrin) threw the car into park instead of the intended first gear at a four way stop.

I imagine I'd like driving an automatic if I didn't feel like such an imbecile doing so.

Thoughts on Trials

Why did God allow this? is an age-old question that has many seemingly unsatisfactory answers for its questioners. Well, here I offer you yet another:

When a Christian becomes a parent, she gains a whole new perspective on her relationship with God. For the past 14 years, I've understood what it is to love someone more than myself, even when that someone sometimes behaves like an ungrateful brat. (I'm thankful that those times are few and far between.) As I am to my children, God is to me. Likewise, as my children are to me, I am to God.

The comparisons between me and a sometimes ungrateful brat could fill a very long post, but I want to focus on just one. It all comes down to this: What is important to me is important to God, but He knows the grander scheme.

Take shots for example. When I took my kids to get inoculated, I knew they were horrified when the overly-cheerful nurse brandished her long sharp needle. My heart hurt with them as the reality sunk in that that needle was going to pierce their tender flesh. And yet, I didn't stop it from happening. (I hope I don't lose you non-immunizers on this one.) As a mom, I knew that their terror was genuine, yet I could see the bigger picture. Their moment of horror would result in protection from Mumps, Measles and Rubella.

Another example: when my kids were babies, I would sometimes let them cry in their cribs for awhile. The hope was (and the result was) that they would learn how to fall asleep on their own and if a few tears needed to fall, then I was willing to allow that. (Now, I don't want to digress into a debate on parenting techniques. If you are the type to pick up your baby at a mere whimper, then I won't admonish you for that. I just knew that that wasn't going to work for us.)

Was my decision based on cruelty and heartlessness? No. I loved my babies more than anyone and their sadness struck me deeply, but I truly believed that their momentary sadness and loneliness would result in the abilities to be comfortable in aloneness and to fall asleep independantly. I didn't sit outside the nursery door cursing them nor mocking them because of their cries. I was genuinely sad with them and yet I focused on the bigger picture, allowing that to affect my interference or non-interference.

I propose that when we adults face trials which set us atremble, it is essentially no different from when little children face inoculations or a lonely half hour in the crib. God is there, allowing it, but He believes and understands our authentic terror or sadness.

I feel a bit lame typing this since the trials I've faced in my life have been of a rather mild nature, but remember, I entitled this post "Thoughts on Trials", not "Facts on All Trials Everywhere".

For me there is great comfort supposing that my tribulations are perhaps not as dire in reality as they may seem to be in my own limited mind.

John 16:33
2 Corinthians 4:17

A Date With Dad

Every now and then, Jeff takes Delaney out on a date. Our hope is that she will not only have fun with her dad, but that she will see how dates can be and should be.

Last Saturday, Jeff and Delaney went ice-skating--


Yes, they "brown-bagged" it on their way to the rink, but I'm sure my husband wants you all to know that he's not a cheap date. (I'm the cheap-date-planner.)

Note how the gentleman opens the lady's car door for her--


Hopefully details such as these will stick in Delaney's mind so that if she ever finds herself on a date on which she is being treated less than excellently, she will quickly lose interest in the scoundrel, thinking, "I'd rather be out with my dad!"

Lessons for Living

A couple of summers ago, I determined that both our kids would learn some cooking skills by preparing dinner about once a week during their vacation from school (under my watchful eye, of course). I asked them what they wanted to make and helped them think through which side dishes would complement the main entrees. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they enjoyed it, but they learned some things.

Somehow, last summer I didn't have them do it once. I don't know how we went through 8 whole weeks without them cooking at least one meal apiece, so this Spring Break I was determined to get back into the swing of things.

Last Wednesday, Tobias elected to make Tortellini Soup and homemade rolls.

There was some vegetable chopping--


He did some roll baking. (It's easy with a bread machine that kneads and raises the dough.)--


He did some raw-pork-meatball-molding-soup-dropping--


And...voila! He ended up with a pretty tasty meal to serve to us all--


Good job, Sonny!

I assured him that his culinary skills will help get him a spot on the "Very Eligible Bachelor" list.

Delaney's Doppelganger

Most of the time, she is sweet, animal-loving, angelic Delaney--


But occasionally, (specifically on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights at 7:30 and Sunday afternoons at 3:30) she morphs into Edna, the Evil Butleress--


Ha! Opening night was last night and Delaney did fabulously. She is having the time of her life kidnapping Duchess and the kittens, dumping them in the French countryside and then being put into place by a hoard of cats, dogs, geese and even a mouse.

It's such a wonderful blessing that she ended up with this large role in Aristocats. At first she had an incredibly minor part because we signed her up late, but then a few people dropped out and she was thrust into a part with lots of lines and a few solo songs. She's handling it so well.

(I love her hair that way although it takes about fifteen minutes to braid and then pin on top of her head.)