And She's Twelve

It's official. I'm no longer the mother of small children. This month, my youngest turned 12 and 'graduated' from elementary school. Is there a support group for this kind of thing?

Actually, I'm pretty okay with it. I know a lot of moms mourn the advancements of their children because it means their babies aren't the same adorable little people that they once were. However, I've never been that way. I'm just glad to see that they are growing and developing into the adults that God intends for them to be.

So...I'm not sad, but I do confess that it's all a little weird 'cause time is flying!

We started Delaney's special day with one of her favorite treats:


Look, she really loves Oro Blanco grapefruits, okay? She will seriously eat three or more a day if we let her.

She did eventually get a cake:


(It didn't turn out quite as cute as I had hoped, but it's alright. That's a fruit roll-up tongue, in case you're wondering.)

We played a game at her party that I absolutely love. It's sort of like a game of Telephone but with drawings instead of whisperings.

It's called Mixed Messages and it works like this: You make little booklets of blank paper and hand one to each partier. Sitting in a large circle, everyone writes a sentence or phrase on the front page and then they all pass their booklets one person to the right.


The next person silently reads the sentence or phrase, turns the page and draws out what they just read.


Now, everyone passes the booklets one person to the right again. The third person to hold the booklet does NOT turn back the pages to read the original sentence/phrase, but only looks at the second person's drawing and tries to determine what is taking place in it. Then they write out what they think that is. (Is this confusing enough for you? So terribly sorry. It really is a FUN game.)


The booklets are again passed one person to the right and the fourth person does NOT look at the original sentence nor at the first drawing, but creates their own drawing based on the third person's sentence.


(Obviously, some people are going to draw better pictures than others. We had three amazing artists at Delaney's party: Delaney, Jeff and this fabulous girl named McKenna. Of course, good artists make this game more fun, but even weak links such as myself enjoy themselves.)

So on and so forth, the booklets keep getting passed one to the right and added to with only the previous addition as each person's guide. This booklet continued like so:


(The spelling of some entries can get you giggling, too.)


(This artist mistook the misspelled "geyser" for a "guitar".)


(Consequently, the hippo was mistaken for a beaver so the next artist drew that.)


(I love the worried look on the beaver's face.)

Once all the pages are filled, you get to read through the whole booklet and then pass it around for others to guffaw over.

So you see, the "hippo in the tree" morphed into "a beaver who is lamenting the presence of a guitar in his rectum". (Sorry, if you're offended by that. Some of us base creatures think this kind of stuff is hilarious. :))

Okay, here's another complete example without my annoying commentary running through the whole thing.













Anyway, some booklets end up way more funny than others. I hope at least some of you will benefit from this convoluted explanation of one of the most amusing games I've ever played.

More Sneakery Afoot

I'm glad you guys enjoyed my 'syrup'titious post in which I 'came out of the pantry'. Your response was so positive that I wondered if I should end on a high note by hanging up my keyboard and retiring my blog. :)

By the way, when Tobias finally read it, he said, "What!?!?! Now I have to try the real stuff to see what I've been missing out on all these years!"

Anyway, I've been up to yet more clandestine behavior. Many of you know that each year I plan a surprise vacation for Jeff, Tobias and Delaney, meaning that they have no idea where we're going, who we're going to see nor what we're going to do. This year is no exception.

Oh, before you ask me to let you in on the secret, don't bother 'cause I won't tell you. I don't mean to sound snotty, but last year a well-meaning person almost asked Jeff "How was Oregon?" before Oregon was. She stopped herself at the last second and told me about it later. That incident and a couple of other near cat-out-of-the-bag moments convinced me that loose lips sink surprise vacations, so now the info is on a need to know basis. Sorry. Keep tuning in and you'll know soon enough.

Back to the stealthy stuff...as I'm going through the process of planning the vacation, I do things to cover my tracks. For example, I will intentionally leave open windows on the computer with info on places we are not going so that if a family member happens upon it, they think, "Ahhh...maybe we're going to such-and-such-a-place this year." It seems that each year, Tobias is convinced that he has figured things out, but he's always been wrong. *giggle*

Last week, I took the kids to the drug store and had some passport photos taken. Here are the results:


Delaney looks rather skeptical. Tobias's is a nice change from his last passport photo which you will laugh at below:


Yes, we've gotten quite a few giggles out of that one over the years. You tell a ten year old kid to make sure he keeps his eyes open and that's what you get.

Yesterday, we all piled in the car and went to the post office. As soon as Jeff found out that we were there to apply for the kids' passports, he started flipping out.

"You mean we're leaving the country for vacation this year?"

My lips remained sealed.

So the question is: Will we soon be traveling internationally?

OR

Was I just getting the kids passports to have on hand for future mission trips?

OR

Was our outing yesterday just an elaborate hoax that I cooked up with some gal at the post office?

Only time will tell...

'cause I sure ain't gonna!

Confession of a Syrupy Sort

I have a secret.


I'll share it, but you have to promise not to tell.

Today when I was at the market, I bought this:


Notice the key four-letter word on the front:


That's right. It's "Lite". It has 50% fewer calories. See how happy that fact makes the CEO?


So I brought it home, took our other syrup bottle out of the pantry, grabbed a funnel and got sneaky...


Voila!

'Lite' syrup disguised as 'Original' syrup to fool my family of 'Lite'-haters.


What?

What's that, family-o'-mine?

You like the syrup I usually buy?

Well, guess what...

*hee hee hee*

...I've been doing this for YEARS and not one of you has EVER complained about the syrup's taste or consistency.


(Did you never notice how ragged and worn out that big ol' bottle of 'Original' syrup was? The thing's been with us for a decade!)

Enjoy your pancakes!


*giggle*

Chagrin A La Mode

Wow.

I fell off a really high horse today.

And I still have the wind knocked out of me from hitting the ground so incredibly hard.

But it was pretty funny, so here we go...

Last Sunday, we met my dad and his wife at a restaurant for dinner. When we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed that my dad's car was parked in a handicapped spot.

"Hmmm...that's weird," I thought. "I didn't know they had a handicapped placard."

My step mom had knee surgery about a year ago, so I figured that it was because of that, but as I walked past their car, I saw that there was no

on their license plate nor hanging from their rear view mirror.

Hmmmm...

I suddenly had a few flashbacks, one of which I will share with you.

(You see, you have to understand something about my dad. He's the kind of person who likes to 'get away' with things. I'm not talking criminal activity. I'm just saying that as long as I can remember, my dad has lived by the philosophy, "If you don't know it's forbidden, assume it's not... and even if you know it is forbidden, just feign innocence and see if you can get away with it... and if it's stupid that it's forbidden, just do it anyway." Although this was lived out in front of me consistently, I did not grow up to embrace this ideology for myself. In fact, I feel a little guilty every time I sneak candy into the movie theater or take a sip of Jeff's drink at Subway.)

Okay, back to the flashback...

When I was about 5, we went to Disneyland. For some reason, my parents wanted to watch the Electrical Light Parade. (Is that still going on there? Perhaps the invention of electricity is no longer novel enough to warrant a parade in its honor.) Anyway, of course there was no where left to stand because so many other Disney patrons were lined up on Main Street to gawk at all the dancing lit-up characters, so my dad devised a plan.

We got in line for some ride that was along the parade route and just kept letting people (people who actually wanted to go on the ride) pass us. That way we had a great view of all the happenings.

Well, Disneyland is crawling with plain clothes employees who blend in with the crowds and make sure that everything is running smoothly, so it didn't take long before our minor rebellion was noticed. Some lady informed us we would have to move with the line or get out of it. My dad refused. This apparently elevated us to a higher threat level (orange, perhaps) and some other lady appeared. (She had a walkie talkie so she was truly official.) She told us to move on or move out.

I remember my dad staring ahead blankly at the parade in progress (a twenty foot high blue fairy in an illuminated gown like this



was passing by) and obstinately informing her that she'd have to get somebody to move us. She promised she would and stalked off, barking into her walkie talkie.

In my little child's mind, I thought that a police car with flashing lights was going to pull up any second and haul us all off to jail. Seriously, I felt so sick with worry that I'm surprised I didn't hurl all over the happiest pavement on earth.

I started begging my dad to just get us out of there, insisting that I didn't care about the parade.

Well, I don't exactly recall how that all ended. I have no recollection of being hand cuffed or even tossed out of the park, but one thing I learned that night was that sometimes my dad was a rebel...

...with a very lame cause.

Fast forward to last Sunday...so I went into the restaurant thinking, "Is he just trying to see if he can get away with it? What if a genuinely handicapped person needs that spot?"

All of Monday it gnawed at me and by Tuesday I made the decision to address it.

My dad is not the type of person who is talked into anything he doesn't want to do nor someone who is talked out of anything he does want to do, so I felt I needed to choose my words very carefully. I wanted to prove my case irrefutably and concisely so I planned everything out, almost word for word. (I even wrote some prompts on the back of my grocery shopping list so that I wouldn't forget to include anything in my passionate plea for reason.)

After practicing my speech a couple of times (no, not in front of the mirror), I got him on the phone. Our conversation went something like this:

Me--"Dad, I need to talk to you about something and it might be difficult."

Him--*deep sigh* "Alright, let me adjust my chair so I don't fall over." *shuffle, scoot* "Okay, my elbows are firmly planted on my desk and I'm anxious to hear what you have to say." (I wish you all knew my dad so you could appreciate the subdued humor with which all of this was said.)

Me--"You did something on Sunday that really bothered me.*

Him--"Oh? Tell me what it was."

Me--*furiously scanning my list while taking a deep breath* "When someone who has two perfectly healthy legs parks their car in a spot designated for someone who does not, it embarrasses his wife and sets a bad example for his grand kids. It is illegal and it makes him look foolish, arrogant and inconsiderate. You..."

Him--"Wait, wait. I'm still listening, but I think I should tell you something that might change everything you're thinking...It's not illegal."

Me--*still convinced of the importance of my preaching* "What do you mean it's not illegal?"

Him--"Donna's knees are hurting her so the doctor got us a placard to hang on our rear view mirror."

Me--*my resolve begins to crumble* "Dad, I looked for a placard and didn't see one."

Him--*pausing thoughtfully for a moment* "Oh, that must have been the day that we came back to the car and saw that it had fallen onto the floorboard."

Yeah.

You can only imagine how incredibly stupid I felt.

There I was, thinking that I was going to school my dad in "considerate parking" skills and it turns out that he not only had every right to park there, but that he did so out of consideration for his poor wife.

Yeah.

I'm an idiot.


(Awesome illustration courtesy of Natalie Kocsis's website: www.natty.org)

To make a long story short, I began to apologize profusely for several moments and then I started to laugh harder than I have in a long time.

Not once did he shame me for being a presumptuous goody-goody nor even seem offended at my ill-founded disdain. Rather, he thanked me for being willing to talk to him about it because if he had done that then he would need to be chastised for it. He then complimented my "well thought out" speech and cracked jokes about how it's true that he is arrogant, inconsiderate, an embarrassment to his wife and a bad example to his grand kids, but at least he's not being all those things illegally.

*sigh*

Dad, thank you for dealing so graciously with a pious, ninny such as my self-righteous, imbecilic self.

It's very nice that when you have to eat humble pie, the person serving it to you includes a scoop of ice cream.

Rodents I Have Loved (Or Tolerated Anyway)

Recently, Delaney's friend bought two hamsters at the pet store. By the time she got them home, she had seven. (Okay, so that's an exaggeration, but only a slight one.)

Fearing the exponentially multiplying capabilities of her new pets, she wanted to give the babies away as soon as they were weaned. So, a week or two ago, Delaney adopted Kiwi. I took a bunch of pictures, but the wee spastic creature is nothing but a blur in all of them, so here's a fairly accurate representation of her, courtesy of google images:

Thus continues our long history of rodentesque companions.

Several years ago, both Tobias and Delaney declared their desires for domesticated rodentia.

Tobias wanted a rat. This made sense because rats are supposed to be the craftiest of rodents. He wanted to walk around with it parked on his shoulder, scaring the pellets out of people. (People like you, Jo Anna H. :))

Delaney, of course, wanted a cute, cuddly hamster to hold in the palm of her hand so she could rub its little silky ears.

As Jeff and I pondered the reasonableness of their requests, I well recalled the overwhelming desire I had as a child for a furry little pet. I also recalled the nasty job of cleaning out a cage and the unpleasant accompanying odor of urine. (Ugh. That stuff packs a punch.)

After much deliberation, we informed the kids that they could purchase their coveted pets, but they were required to clean the cages once a week (or more often if the smell proved to be too much) and they would have to pay for all the food, bedding and other needs of their newly purchased friends.

Off to PetsJunk we went: two elated children and two parents wondering how long before the reality of pee-soaked bedding stuck to the bottom of a cage would set in.

Tobias purchased a Russian Blue rat and appropriately named him Boris.


Delaney selected a black and white Syrian hamster and named him Panda.


(Pictures posed by models.)

The kids both wanted females, but unfortunately the only available rodents were male. Quite blatantly male. (I won't go into embarrassing details.)

It didn't take us long to realize that just as every village has an idiot, so does every pet shop, and unfortunately we'd brought him home in a box with air holes. I don't know if Boris had too much vodka on the boat ride over from Russia or if he fell out of the rat nest on to his head or what, but he was certainly not an intellectual credit to his species. He just sort of sat in the corner, not looking nervous or even aware of the world around him. Even his little nose seemed to twitch at a retarded rate.

Boris lasted two years and not once did he utilize the exercise wheel in his cage. I don't know if that was due to his lack of intelligence or if laziness could be added to his list of unfortunate traits. Tobias bravely hid his disappointment and determined to be a good rat owner regardless of his pet's complete and utter lameness.

His final months were quite...well, hmmm...the most apt word that comes to mind is 'disgusting'. He had a tendency to scratch himself until he bled and his hair began to fall out. Also, one of his legs swelled up to frightening proportions due to some unidentified disorder. Ewww.

So there he was, huddled in the corner, a scabby, bald, bloated imbecile. However, Tobias remained faithful and tended him well to the very revolting end.

Panda's presence was a bit more heart-warming and rewarding. He astounded us with his incredible cheek capacity as he stuffed them nearly to the bursting point with various objects. Delaney delighted in offering him tastes of unfamiliar goodies. He rolled along happily in both his hamster ball across the floor and on his cage's exercise wheel. He was soft and sweet and elicited many an 'awww' from Delaney and her friends.

He also lived about two years. His end was far less repulsive than was Boris's and far more dramatic. You see, Delaney found her little friend dead in his cage and we promptly gathered as a family in the front yard (not wanting the dog to dig him up in the backyard) to bury him. Delaney told her tiny pal goodbye and gently placed his furry body into the shallow grave. Jeff nearly threw a shovelful of dirt over him when it happened...

...he moved! The poor little thing was nearly buried alive! Apparently he was in some kind of a hamster-coma, a state of being with which we were unfamiliar. (Hey, it's hard to check a hamster's pulse, okay?)

So Delaney retrieved him from his not-so-final-resting-place and put him back into his cage where he could expire peacefully. By the next day, we were convinced that he was truly, completely and totally dead, so the rain-checked funeral was carried out.


Now some of you will want to suspend your reading of this post because I'm going to go back further in history and tell a rodent tale from my own childhood and trust me...it's revoltingly foul. If you are easily made quesy, stop here and go check Woot.com or some other pleasant webpage.

You have been warned.

When I was about Delaney's age, I had a hamster of my own named Sammy the Hammy.

One day before school, I found Sammy still and silent in her cage. I dolefully assumed she was dead but I knew she'd have to remain untended to until I got home from school.

While at school, I told all my friends about poor Sammy's demise. One girl suggested that Sammy was not dead, but instead was hibernating.

'Ahh,' I thought. 'Yes, hibernating, of course!'

Upon arriving home, I examined her more closely and decided to try to rouse her from her hibernation. For some reason, my childish mind thought that the best way to do this was to...
(Okay, this is going to get really gross.)

... place her on a heating pad.

So I did.

I clicked the pad's setting from 'off' to 'low' and waited several minutes, anxious for my little friend to be restored to me.

There was no fluttering of Sammy's eyelids.

I elevated the setting to 'medium' and waited, hopefully.

She did not stretch nor yawn, refreshed from a deep slumber.

I set the pad to 'high', longing to again see the delicate twitchings of her nose and whiskers.

After several moments, I was finally convinced that the furry little object on the heating pad was nothing but a corpse.

Sorrowfully, I removed it from where it lay, repulsed by the sensation of its belly, hot and squishy from my witless attempts to restore it to an active state of life. Trust me, that's not a tactile sensation to be envied.

Yech *full body shiver*

Death Came Organically

No, this is not my collection of ABC gum and yard clippings.

It is, rather, a snack-bag-o'-death. (Though the contents are not intended to be snacked upon.)


(I wonder what they're talking about in there.)

What, you may ask, is the meaning of this? Well...

...a couple of weeks ago, Jeff prepared a garden plot in the backyard. He dug up a 15' x 3' section of lawn against the wall:


He then puppy-proofed it by pounding some U-posts into the ground and rolling out some heavy duty chicken wire.

I planted some vegetable plants and...voila! What do we have? That's right!


...a five star buffet for slugs!

*Boo! Hiss!*

Look at what the wee beasties did to my bell pepper plant:


(Those holes aren't supposed to be there, in case you were wondering.)

They swiss-cheesed my basil. Grrrr...

Though it's hard to tell in this picture, the most victimized annual is my cucumber plant:


Poor baby. One leaf is nothing but veins.

How do slugs DO that? I mean, I'm sure there aren't any teeth in those slimy mouths of theirs. In fact, do they even have mouths? Hmmm... *carefully examines for anything remotely like an oral cavity*

Nope, and yet their destructive capabilities are on par with our electric hedge clippers.

As strange as it sounds, I've always had a weird sense of respect for gastropod mollusks. I mean they're basically the pariahs of the garden due to their lack of defined shape, their ooey-gooey coating and their lethargic meanderings. The coolest thing about them are those little dealy-bobs on their heads (heads?) that curiously extend and retract. Yet, in spite of their hideously grotesque existence, they carry on with life, never stopping to complain, resolutely searching for sustenance to make their survival certain. That's all true of snails and slugs. However, slugs not only share the above disadvantages with snails, but they have the additional deprivation of being homeless. There's something admirable about that, right? Right?

*crickets*

Anyway, my tendency to esteem such creatures ends abruptly when it comes to them eating things from my garden or my family enjoying its harvest.

So, I called the local nursery to ask for advice. "Linda" immediately told me about some powder they sell that I can sprinkle on my precious veggie-bearers.

"Actually," I responded, "I was hoping to keep my garden organic. Do you have any other suggestions?"

"Oh." Her voice fell flat. I could just imagine her eyes rolling. "Well, we usually tell organic gardeners to plant three times as many plants as they think they'll need since pests will destroy about 2/3s of what they grow."

Hmmm, not good news.

Now let me explain something: I'm not super committed to the whole organic thing. I've been eating non-organic stuff for decades and I haven't noticed dire consequences from doing so. However, I like the idea of not putting chemicals on my plants or in my dirt, so I'd like to at least try...

What's a know-nothing gardener to do? Why turn to the internet, of course, where gardening "knowledge" abounds.

I won't bore you with all of the "sure-fire" ways to kill organically (that phrase is rather ironic, isn't it?), but one of them involved cornmeal (which you saw in an above photo alongside the decimated cuke bush).

Last night, I took a flashlight outside to see how well the cornmeal was killing off the marauding scavengers. Well, I didn't see any cornmeal-bloated-carcasses, but I did see plenty of living creepy-crawly burglars inching their way (uh, millimetering their way?) around the garden plot.

I had a ziplock with me, so I started playing "Alien Abduction" by scooping them up with a plastic cup and dropping them into the bag. After a quick zip to secure them inside their plastic coffin, I dropped it into the trashcan.

Although, maybe next time I'll put the ziplock into Tobias's lunch sack. That could be fun. :)

This One'll Put You to Sleep

The following statement is yet more proof that I am no fun at all:

I LOVE to sleep.

I realize that sounds like an incredibly lame thing to say about one's self.

New Person: "Nice to meet you, Aimee. What do you do?"

Me: "Well, I occasionally cut my toenails. Oh, and I LOVE to sleep."

(Good thing I don't have aspirations to go 'speed dating'.)

Yet, I really do love to sleep. Perhaps it's because I often struggle with sleeping. (I've posted about my insomniatic ways before, so I sha'n't bore you all again with them.)

When I awaken from a deep and gloriously satisfying slumber, it's on the same level as when I've just finished a fabulously delicious meal. My sense of well being abuts on resplendence. (I really like it, okay?)

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed and I suddenly realize that my thoughts are becoming increasingly weird, I recognize that I'm on the verge of a dream. Mmmm...I happily smile and slip into a blessed lack of consciousness.

Recently, my sleep has become even more enjoyable. You see, someone gave me a ridiculously generous gift card to a place that I shall henceforth refer to as CostInc.

(My feelings about CostInc. are numerous enough to have their own post, but that would be rather dull reading--yes, even duller than what you are presently reading--so it will suffice to say that I love some of their products, their return policy and their cash back credit card, but I hate maneuvering those trailer-sized shopping carts in the midst of the over-excited masses who are all waiting for their eighth food sample. Oh, and I don't have a family of 10 to feed so those massive cans of corn and 108 ounce boxes of cereal are about as impractical and unnecessary to me as a 12 seater van would be.)

*ahem*

So, knowing that I had some cash to spend at CostInc., we went down there to see what caught my eye.

Behold...
there it was...
on an eye-level shelf...
in it's cardboard boxed glory...

...a memory foam mattress pad.

I've been looking for a mattress pad for our guest bed for a very long time, but they're so expensive.

Let me explain something about our guest bed: It used to be our bed, but several years ago, I grew tired of having to carefully arrange my various limbs upon the mattress to avoid the 'sprung-springs' with which the bed was riddled. Inspired, I said, "Hey Jeff, how about we get a new bed and move this one into the other room for our occasional guest(s)?"

Though he was shocked that I was actually suggesting we spend money on something, Jeff found the idea agreeable and we soon possessed a brand new mattress.

The guest bed has been used a number of times, but that is much to my chagrin since I can easily recall how uncomfortably one spends a night upon it. I don't want our guests to involuntarily grab their backs and groan every time they remember sleeping at our house. Thus, I've wanted to get a memory foam pad for years. But the expense kept it a dream and not a reality.

Then, there we were at CostInc. with money we had to spend and...

suddenly...
there it was...
the cure for all (or at least one) of my hospitality woes...
and it was only $138...
and it was three inches thick!

I heaved the cumbersome box off that shelf and lumbered over to where Jeff was waiting in line. (Did I mention how LONG the lines are at that place?)

Okay, here comes the part where you all realize how truly selfish and ridiculous I am: On the way home, as I pondered the absolute fabulocity of my latest purchase, I began to think. It occurred to me that the guest bed is only used a few times a year and that a mattress pad of that quality and luxuriance should be thoroughly appreciated on a more regular basis.

Therefore, when we got home, I unrolled the thing of beauty...

...across the top of my bed.

And there it has stayed for about two weeks now.

Regrets?

Nope.

Shame?

Maybe a little, but then I just lie down and it all drifts away on a velvety cloud of cushy malleableness.

Is it okay to describe a mattress as 'yummy'? I say, 'Yes!'

I'm telling you, if you've got $138 to upgrade your sleeping quarters, just drive down to you-know-where and buy one of these magnificently doughy rectangles. It's SO WORTH having to dig your club card out of your wallet and shoving past all of those food-samplers.

I must warn you that at first, every time Jeff rolled over, he'd gripe about the chemically smell the pad emitted, but the tupperware odor is gone now and the squishy wonderment remains. Also, deep pocket fitted sheets are an absolute must now because the mattress is three full inches higher.

(I've posted no pictures because the thought of a photo of my bed on the internet is slightly disturbing to me for some reason.)

I justify my recent actions by telling myself that when I expect guests, I can simply remove the mattress pad from my bed and put it on the guest bed.

I really think I'll be willing to... :)

Learning and Celebrating

Jeff and I recently celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary.


As you can see, we were very young when we wed. Jeff proposed to me when I was 17 and I turned 19 just three weeks prior to the ceremony.

There are a lot of things that I would do differently about the wedding itself if I was getting married today. I would certainly pluck my eyebrows more thoroughly. I would do my hair and makeup differently. I'd make sure we had more than just a few crystal dishes of deluxe nuts and cake to feed our guests. (We actually ran out of cake. How embarrassing is that?)

However, the one most important aspect of the ceremony (to whom I was wed) I would not alter.

The thing that gave me confidence in marrying a 21 year old Jeff was his level of integrity. As I came to know him more and more, I had many opportunities to witness Jeff doing what he knew to be right, even if it was inconvenient or "unfun". I saw him consistently applying God's principles to his life regardless of his own desires. That assured me that he would be a good life partner.

Of course, being married isn't always easy. You have to learn how to live with another person who is likely as self-centered and frail as you are yourself.

Probably the most vital thing I've learned so far in marriage is that I'm not always right. (Yes, it came as a shock to me, as well.) As arrogant as it sounds, I honestly thought for the first few years of our post-nuptial existence that it was my job to reveal my rightness to Jeff so that he would agree and therefore join Team Right. Well, after a while, I realized that Jeff and I are very different, but that doesn't mean that one of us is right and one is wrong. We can have varying opinions and ways of doing things and that is actually healthy.

Probably the most valuable thing Jeff has learned so far is how to speak to me. For the first few years, he would often speak sarcastically. I felt belittled by his attempts at humor. He was just trying to be amusing and thought that he was succeeding, but after a while, he saw that he was the only one amused and that I was either irritated or hurt by his words. He has vastly improved on this front...thank God.

Although I wouldn't recommend getting married so young to most people, it has worked out very well for us.

We've learned how to not bounce checks together. We've learned how to communicate effectively. We've learned how to respect what the other values even if we don't quite get it. We've created and are raising two other human beings jointly. We've built a vast and influential financial empire together. (Okay, maybe not, but we did pay our car off a little early. :))

Anyway, we are learning and celebrating life together.

In the past month, we have been blessed to celebrate the marriages of other. In March, we watched as Teresa and Armin committed themselves to one another. (I stupidly forgot to take my camera to the ceremony.)

This Summer, we will witness Jennifer and Daniel promise to forsake all others and cleave unto one another:


Recently, we attended one of the most enjoyable weddings to which we've ever been. In the middle of the ceremony, the bride and groom led us all in a worship song, "Not to Us". It was beautiful and exemplified their focus on Christ.


(The groom was to the left, playing a cajon, but I couldn't get him in the shot.)

Both of these delightful people were raised in homes where they learned that if they noticed a need, they ought to try to fill it. Mandy and Christian serve God and others every chance they get.


(They look so young. It's hard to believe they're older than I was when I entered into matrimony.)

Let's lift our plastic glasses of Martinelli's to marriage...a peculiar yet marvelous institution.

*Tink*

Attention Mike M and Tamara J:

I'm not much of a cell phone user.

I mean, I have one, but it's not on very often. If you want to get a hold of me, dialing my cell number isn't likely to help you achieve your goal. You can leave a message, but I probably won't notice it until next Thursday or the following Sunday.

Additionally, my phone is an example of embarrassingly archaic technology. It's not a flip phone. It has no internet capabilities, nor a snazzy text keyboard. It doesn't even have a camera. *gasp*

It is utilitarian.

And that is all.

See?


(I heard your embarrassed, ill-concealed titter just now, but I forgive you.)

A number of times, Tobias has loudly decried it as a sham of coolness. (Oh, well. For decades, I've been anti-cool. I'm the gal who used to cut the Guess labels off of her stylish overalls back in high school, remember?)

Anyway, when I do notice that I have a message, I will listen to it.

Yesterday I had two messages. (I don't think that's ever happened before.)

One was for Mike M. (Full last name withheld to protect his identity.)

Mike, if you are reading this, you owe a lot of people a lot of money and they want it NOW. They are threatening legal action. Apparently, you had my cell phone number before I did...

...and didn't pay your phone bill.

Would you mind calling all these businesses you bilked and informing them about your change of phone number?

(Yeah...didn't think so.)

The second message was for Tamara J. Amazingly, her troubles are even worse than those of Mike M. Whoever was threatening legal action against her in the past is now making good on their threats.

Tamara, apparently you are now a defendant in a court case. (They gave the case number, but I declined to write it down.) The man said you had 48 hours to contact him on your own accord or a warrant would be issued for your arrest. He seemed to know where you work. Too bad he doesn't know your real phone number...

Is It Enough?

The other night I was feeling uneasy about how I'm living my life.

I've been here for 36 years now and although I have a good family life and a right relationship with God (which are the two most important things to me), I haven't really accomplished much else.

I haven't distinguished myself.

I'm just me.

Now this is not some feeble attempt on my part to get the comment section full of nice encouraging sentiments from you, my friends. I'm just being honest that I sometimes wonder if I'm doing everything that I should be doing. Am I being a good steward of all that God has granted me?

For example, am I, as a mom, investing in my kids as I should? Am I helping them develop their God given talents to honor Him? Am I teaching them the value of hard work? (I think I'm doing pretty poorly on that one.) Am I giving them the tools they need to lead a successful life? What risks should I let them take and what things should I protect them from?

Tobias will legally be an adult in less than three years and Delaney isn't far behind. I have so little time left being their full-time mom. Soon they will be responsible for themselves. Have I done what I should to prepare them for that?

Anyway, Jeff and I prayed about this a few nights ago, asking God for wisdom and guidance. In the morning, I sat down for my morning time of prayer and study and was greatly encouraged by the following verses:

"I live my life in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am not one of those who treats the grace of God as meaningless." Galatians 2:20b-21a

This reassured me because I know that while I live this earthly life I can and should trust in Christ because He loves me so perfectly and powerfully. Also, I know that I do greatly value His grace.

While I'm trusting in Him and valuing His grace then I can't help but live the way I ought to. No, my life won't be perfect and yes, I will sin and botch situations, but if I am trusting in Him and valuing His grace then that's pretty much all that He wants from me.

He'll bring things together in His time and through His ways.

Thank God I don't have to be my own god. :)