I needed a formal dress. So in the spirit of ageless Prom-goers everywhere, I called my Fairy Girlfriend. “Can we find a dress making me look fabulous, metaphysically 20 years younger and at a price that my family can still eat next week?” (more…)
Look who came up for breakfast this morning. Well, I guess he thought he had breakfast then it really wasn’t.
I asked my son — twice — the name of the lure he used.
“It was a Zara Spook.”
“It was a top water lure. He inhaled it.”
Poor guy.
I’m feeling sorry for a five pound bass, who is back swimming away.
I hate to be really hungry. How terrible to be voraciously hungry and your Chick-fil-A biscuit snatched from your mouth. And to make things worse, a giant metal hook rammed into your cheek. They say fish don’t feel these things. How can they be so sure?
I did hold him while my son went to get his scale.
“Just put your hand over the teeth and grab him there.”
Bass have teeth?
But being the good mom, I rustled up enough courage to put my hand in his mouth and hang on. That was one big mouth. Looking down into it, his poor gills sucked in and out. I didn’t feel that sorry for him then… concentrating so hard on not freaking out and dropping him.
After weigh in, he swam away. Into our lives for a moment, then a swish of a tale and gone.
I remember when that 16 year old was two catching his first bass with me.
With a swish of a tale…so much has passed.
My hands still smell like him (the fish I mean). But I guess that will leave me too.
It’s been four days.
Four days since I’ve seen my phone.
And I think he wandered too far from home this time. I’ve posted reward placards on nearby utility poles. Offered my daughter two dollars finder’s fee. My nine year-old who can find anything in the universe — except my iPhone.
I last used it Monday night. Tuesday morning it was gone.
* Texts gone.
* Twitter gone.
* E-mail checks gone.
* Voice conversations gone.
* All photographing and related photo tweets and emails gone.
* All calender, appointments, games, practices gone. (I called everyplace I remotely remembered had to be this week to check on the time. If I didn’t show up somewhere ~ terribly sorry.)
* All phone numbers gone. (I’ve found the phonebook, remember the paperback addition with white and yellow pages, though one from 2007 isn’t all that helpful.)
It’s amazing I’ve been able to get out of bed in the morning. Thank the good Lord the coffee pot wasn’t tied to some app on my phone.
Surely it will show up. Surely it will. It will sniff and sniff and find it’s way back. Or lose interest in this folly and turn it’s little digital self in — right?
“You took me for granted. Always punching and dialing and tweeting.”
How long does one of these things go missing before you officially call it over? It’s tragic when you don’t know your son’s phone number or your husband’s office number by heart.
Well, you might not hear from me for quite a while.
Or if I’m a really good girl to my husband this weekend — you might hear from me early as Monday.
Some subjects provoke controversy and it’s no surprise. Other things end up causing fireworks and it surprises the heck out of you. Since when did cooking chicken in vegetable shortening become so misunderstood?
They ran the Boston Marathon yesterday.
In the spirit of that historic event, I interviewed an up-and-coming runner who might one day aspire to run through the streets of Beantown. A simple guy sharing his thoughts about running his first marathon this January at Disney World.
Why did you decide to train for the marathon?
Runner: You patted my stomach and said, “Belly, belly, belly. And I thought we’d have togetherness time….which we did not. Which you promised.”
Interviewer: For the record, I never promised anything. I probably did tap your mid-section.
How did you train for the grueling 26.2 mile journey of a lifetime?
Runner: I decided there was no shame in walking. Heavy on the treadmill. I built up to two 18 mile walks.
Any tips for training to “walk” the grueling 26.2 journey of a lifetime?
Runner: If you are walking more than an hour, hide Clif Bars in bushes. Or you can refrain from marital relations for two days before your long walk — which I was unwilling to do.
Interviewer: Are you kidding me? You hid Clif bars on Dixie Highway. Who would take them? A turtle? Maybe a mouse might drag it to their little nest to feed their broad of 10,000 babies. You hid a Clif Bar on Dixie. Good Grief.
Runner: Yes. I always put them up high.
Interviewer: And I’m married to you.
What did it feel like to cross the finish line?
Runner: Shame. I finished 23 minutes behind Donald Duck. And an hour and a half behind my wife.
You jest. There was no shame. Where to you keep the coveted Mickey Mouse medal?
Runner: In a drawer, wrapped in toliet paper.
Any parting thoughts?
Runner: Never again.
Interviewer: Oh no. You are not serious.
Runner: I lost two toenails and the last shred of my dignity.
Interviewer: I’m proud of you.
Runner: You need to go wash Joe’s hair and bring me my food.
Okay then. I guess the interview’s over. But I’m not giving up hope. For Boston or that my dear hubby will indeed do another marathon.
Well, I guess I might qualify for Boston — like when I’m 80.
I can’t sing.
I tried playing guitar for six weeks in the sixth grade. Lessons at school. Actually, I tried for about two weeks, then the other four consisted of me taking my guitar case to school on the bus and carrying it back home unopened.
My brain can’t wrap itself around chords and notes without strangling and shutting down.
Then there’s Amy Grant. So dang talented ~ I could be jealous, but one of the benefits of maturity is to realize there are just somethings in this world I am never going to be able to do and wasn’t meant to do…so don’t waste precious energy stewing about it. Just relax and experience the gift of another.
I love her new song Better than a Hallelujah.
Okay, loved the melody first…but the lyrics resound deep within anyone who’s ever poured out their heart to God.
A beautiful song. Enjoy.
I vowed to prepare my clan healthy meals.
Looking over the selection of boneless, skinless chicken breasts, I wondered… since when do they fill them with gold pellets?
But thankfully the nice man in the Ingles meat department pointed me to some that were on sale. I bought two packs. Googling “easy chicken recipes”, I found a great one on a web site with “mom” in the title. (The title of the web site not the recipe.)
I bought all four ingredients. And was ready to cook. Then life got in the way and the chicken sat in the fridge — for two days.
Did I say our puppy ran into a car on Monday night?
No. I haven’t blogged that our dog was hit because it was traumatic. I am into denying any drama that might try to navigate into my life these days.
Pulling up to our house 8 p.m. on Monday night, I see my husband carrying the dog.
“Tebow’s been hit. I think his leg is broken.”
Life’s funny. You are so tired and holding it together. Then your daughter disobeys and takes the dog into a neighbor’s yard to visit with their dog — takes Tebow off his lease. Then the other dog chases Tebow across his rightful territory into a car being backed out my our dear animal-loving neighbor.
Collision.
That’s when I arrived on the scene and we made an appointment to go to a emergency animal clinic. Then our wonderful vet called.
He asked me lots of questions,
“Is he alert?”
“No, I think I’m going into shock. Should I wrap myself in blankets?”
“The dog? Is he alert?”
“Oh. His tail is flopping all over the place like normal. He still has that stupid grin. But looks like he had a mini stroke on his left front leg.”
The more we talked I could tell that our Tebow probably just got his bell rung by some Kentucky defensive end. The next morning, I hobbled more leaving bed than he did getting out of his crate.
“Labs are tough,” the vet had said.
His little tummy was puny four days later, so the vet suggested I feed him chicken and rice. There was a reason I bought that chicken.
It’s always something in life. Dogs running into cars.
I’m glad labs are tough.
No. I’m glad the Lord made labs tough so I don’t have to be.
.
This is my favorite new song.
That song you hear on the radio twice in one day. Download to your iPod and listen to over and over — while you make dinner (while everyone else has fun) and clean up after dinner (while everyone else has fun.)
The message is the central teaching of the New Testement — but honestly, I like the music first.
The melody and arrangement draw me first to any music from pop to classic.
I’m a simple girl that way.
And I’m forgiven.
Dear Father forgive me…for I have sinned.
Okay.
Not Catholic. Don’t know if that is correct confessional address. Doesn’t matter.
I sinned.
Okay, could use present tense. But this is not about sin. It is about confessing. Reading Merrill’s blog post. “Now that I have your ATTENTION” http://justmerrill.com/?p=730 ,
I enjoyed how this self-proclaimed “YaYa” made it through Lent alcohol free and grew in relationship with God.
Giving up chips and dessert, I broke faster and in more ways than my piggy bank. Do your children know where you keep your share change? — UGH. Some years with Lent are good — some not so much. This year was dreadful.
I’d eat three chocolate eggs — unnerving how good those “artificial” chocolate ones are — and refresh my vows. Recommitting at noon, I’d grab a handle up chips when hunger struck at 4:34 p.m.
Wondering why this year caving with no shame came as easy as stripping the foil off a Reese’s egg…I don’t want to sound whinny.
But, I was tired. When tired and busy, it is hard for me to stick with stupid rules.
Stupid rules?
Aha. The real reason I wasn’t able to fulfill my Lenten pledge. Not slowing down or shutting out chatter to experience a circumcision of the heart. Without it, Lenten fasts are nothing more than silly rules to lose weight or break bad habits. God couldn’t care less.
Nothing sinks in washing over a rock. To be changed, my heart needs to be as Spongebob taking a long stroll on the streets of Bikini Bottom after a day at Sandy’s without wearing his waterbubble.
God cares about our heart. Period.
So I started my own spiritual journey — and set a time period. A plan between me and God. Slowing down for a moment.
Did anyone have better luck with their Lenten fasts? I hope so… or hope you experienced what I am searching for — a soggy heart.
Okay, and a little more sleep. Sorry, somedays I just whine.
