Which one could it be?

Sir D and I were board tonight. We had nothing to do and money to burn so we went to the giant orange store and bought a range. This range.



Or, we were unsuccessful in our attempts to limp our cracked glass-top range along until next month. Turns out, cutting the pizza on it was not a very good idea and broke the little ol’ crack wide open. Once that happened there was no more limping it along so we went out and bought a new range. This range.



I’ll let you decide which one is accurate.

I wonder how well it will cook beans and rice.

Just FYI

If you have raging PMS that manifests itself in sever noise intolerance, do not have Iron Chef America playing in your living room.

It is perhaps THE. MOST. OBNOXOUS. SHOW. ON. TV.

Thank you and carry on.

Why doesn’t God use e-mail?

I have some decisions to make about next year. I don’t know which way to go, which path to choose.

It is not really a moral issue. I am not considering taking up drug use or abandoning my family, I am just trying to figure out what is best for us all. In some ways moral issues are easier. We have those nice 10 commandments to help us out with those. You know, don’t steal, don’t kill, don’t want things that are not yours etc. Easy. Got it.

God, however, did not see fit to include specifics on how exactly to do certain things.

I’m a realist; (not to be confused with a pessimist) I know there is a downside to every choice. Every path is going to have some parts that are a bit hard to traverse. Every rose has its thorns (oops, sorry, 80’s rock ballad intrusion) the thing is, I could deal with the hard bits if I were certain the path I was one was the RIGHT one.

What I’d like is a nice little note from God. An e-mail would be fine; I don’t need an official letter, no one uses old fashioned mail anymore anyway, well except for bills.

I would like something like this…

My Beloved Daughter,

Please take the path to your immediate left. It is a bit rocky in places and occasionally steep, but it is the right path. It will take you where I want you to go. Do not deviate from this path.

Yours,
Heavenly Father

See? Simple. He can create the world in 6 days. He can move mountains. He can rise up and tear down nations at will. Why can’t He use email?


Tricia

Easy Man-Food!

Big Mama was just expressing her displeasure at cooking in Texas in the summer. Because we do it outside all day, who wants to do in inside?

And bless her heart, she lives even further south in hell Texas than I do.

She has asked us to post our favorite summertime meals to help her out.

Summertime meals really are a problem for me. I want something light and cool and cooked by someone else. Sadly my men want meat, with meat sides and meat dessert. No chick food for them.

Here is one of my favorite solutions. This recipe is a very easy one and the men love it. I love it because it does not heat up my kitchen.

I pick up some potato salad to go with it. I suppose you could actually make potato salad, but that would negate the whole not heating up the kitchen thing, since you have to boil the eggs and potatoes. Boiling water = too much work heat for me.

Here you go, try it out and tell me what you think.

Crock-pot French Dip Sandwiches

Ingredients

1 beef chuck roast (about 3 lbs.)
2 cups water
1/2 cup soy sauce (use low sodium or you’ll be sorry!)
1 tsp. dried rosemary
1 tsp. dried thyme
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 bay leaf
3-4 whole peppercorns
8 French rolls, split

Directions
Place roast in crock-pot. Add water, soy sauce, and seasonings. Cover and cook on high for 5-6 hours or until beef is tender. Remove meat from broth; shred with forks and keep warm. Strain broth; skim off fat. Pour broth into small cups for dipping. Serve beef on rolls. Makes 8 servings

Tricia

Summer Break - who knew it could be a double entendre?

Resetting Windshield - $150

Fixing horn, and cruise control broken because of leak from improperly set windshield - $200

Fixing rear A/C on Excursion and The Teenagers Clutch - $400

Replacing oven due to crack - $500 - $700

Replacing newest casualty, the ceiling fan - $100 - $300

Our Literal Summer Break - Pricey


Tricia

Selected

The Teenager went to an open practice last night with a select team. He’s never played on an official soccer team, because he is the oldest and we had all these babies at home and the thought of sitting out in the Texas heat pregnant and with all these babies was more than I could take, so we did not do organized sports. (I know, we lost a lot of Good Parent Points for that one)

Not that the kid has not had many, many opportunities to play his beloved soccer. We live next to a missionary base and men and kids show up every Sat morning to play soccer. He also does PE at our co op and he seems to be able to talk the coach into playing soccer often. He’s had plenty of soccer.

He reads about it, he saves ALL the games on the DVR, he buys the soccer clothes, he has more soccer shoes than I think should be allowed. In Short, he is obsessed.

He has a friend who is on the select team, (hear, team you must try out to be on and be good enough to make it) his friend, we’ll call N, asked Will and his friend J to go to open practice with his team. They did. The coach told Will that he would save him a spot on the team if he wants it.

WOW! Apparently my kid has some mad skilz (see teen slang! I’m learning!)

He and J are going to their other friend N’s (Oh the initials got confusing again, two friends who’s name starts with N!) open practice on Thursday night. It is a different team. This is the team he really wants to be on. We’ll see what this coach thinks of him.

I did find out one thing last night. It is not cheap to be on a select team. In fact, I think my first car was less expensive than being on a select soccer team for one year. What to do?

He’ll also be taking college classes for the first time starting in the fall. Oh, boy. I have a feeling this could be a HUGE distraction.

On the other hand…he’ll be busy. Really busy. Probably too busy for girls and dating.

Where do we sign up?


Tricia

An Open Letter to Wal-Mart

Dear Wal-Mart,

Shopping in your store is not a pleasant experience for me, but I do it because your prices really are the best. I can get groceries for my pack of wild dogs beautiful family without spending the equivalent of the national debt.

With gas prices at almost $5 a gallon for the Diesel Rig, I have to do what I can to save money.

I realize that in order for you to bring me groceries at these rock bottom prices you too must cut costs. I am sympathetic to your plight and I appreciate your willingness to cut corners for my bottom line.

However, if you continue to skimp or the air conditioning in your store, I will be forced to shop elsewhere. I can tolerate the constant beeping of the scanners, I can overlook the disorderliness, I can ignore the screaming child and the wobbly cart. But I simply will not tolerate sweating while I do it.

Saving money by skimping on the air conditioning in your stores on the surface of the sun in Texas is simply not wise.

Until you remedy this oversight I will have to shop at my local grocery store. It cost more, but they have their air properly conditioned.

Yours,

A Dissatisfied and Stinking Hot Customer

Accolades Please

Today the family and I went to a local outdoor mall to try to kill ourselves through heatstroke some time on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The boys dropped us girls off at the Half Price Books for Eve to look for the #47 Babysitters Club Book. She is quite beside herself because the library does not have #47. She simply CAN NOT move on to #48 without reading #47. It is simply not done. ( It seems I have passed on my literary chronology crazy to her)

I was very excited to find a good dictionary and Grammar for Dummies. No. I’m not kidding. We homeschoolers are a weird lot. Ann could not find anything.

We stopped in a little girl’s boutique on our walk down to the sporting goods store the men were salivating shopping in.

Please, little girls clothing manufacturers, could we make the shirts a tad looser and the skirts and shorts a stitch longer? Thanks eversomuch.

After we walked all around the girls clothing boutique and Ann commented on ALL THE PRETTY SUNGLASSES! AND LOOK AT THE SPARKLEY SHOES! AND LOOK MOM, PURCES! we finally managed our way to the sporting goods store.

We found the men in the camping section sitting under a canopy in some high quality camping chirs. (My kind of camping!) Sir D pulled out some sunglasses to get my approval on.

“What do you think, nice huh?” Says Sir D

“Um…No.” Say I.

What would he do without me?

But here’s the thing, the reason for this post. Prepare to be amazed.

My almost 17 year old shaggy haired teenage boy wore his hair in a ponytail. Yes. A pony. Tail. In his hair. Like a girl.

And I said nothing.

You may clap now.


Tricia

The Homonym, She is my Nemesis

For those of you who have been reading my blog for a while, I am sure you have noticed a spelling or usage error here and there. I totally need an editor. If anyone would like to volunteer for the job I’m taking applications, though the pay is not great.

The thing is, my brain works faster than my fingers, so when I type a sentence, in my mind, I’m already on to the next thought. This confuses the fingers.

Also, I don’t see my mistakes. There is something wrong with my brain in this way. I swear it sees what is knows is supposed to be there. I will read a sentence (especially one I wrote) and not see any glaring errors. Once someone points it out to me, I see it. It is not that I didn’t know that say, flower and flour cannot be used interchangeably, it is that my brain sees the one it knows is supposed to be there, until someone points it out.

Often I’ll go back and read my posts a day later and see several errors that were simply not there the day before. I correct them, and cover my face in embarrassment, virtually of course.

So if you are one of the readers who reads my blog through some sort of feed, I can only say I’m sorry. What I publish the first time is almost without fail, going to contain some errors. I fix them as I go along, so if you actually come to my blog you’ll find some of the errors have been fixed. I do realize that some prefer to do their editing before they publish the post. Pshaw! What fun is that?

I can only hope and pray none of my high school English teachers happen upon my blog.

Just so you know I’m not a total moron. I am aware of the following.

The following pairs of words cannot be used interchangeably, the are what the academic world likes to call, homonyms. (except the last two, those are not homonyms. I don't know what they are, but that double letter, add ed thing confuses the heck out of me.)

Flower - a colored, sometimes scented, part of a plant that contains its reproductive organs. It consists of a leafy shoot with modified leaves, petals, and sepals surrounding male or female organs, stamens, and pistils.

Flour - a powder made by grinding the edible parts of cereal grains. Use: bread, cakes, pastry, sauce thickener.

Whipped - transitive and intransitive verb to strike somebody or something very hard, sharply, or repeatedly.

Wiped - transitive and intransitive verb to remove something such as dirt with long light rubbing strokes, usually with a soft material, or be removed in this way.

Now that we’ve covered that, you are free to move about the Internet.

Tricia

The Smell Of Clean

Yesterday I stopped by Sir D’s office to hang the photo collage he got for Father’s Day on the wall. I knew if I just gave it to him it would sit on the floor leaning up against the wall forever.

As I was on my way, I called to remind Sir D that I was coming. He said ‘Yeah, come on and could you stop by Taco Bell and bring us all some lunch? We’ve been so busy today no one has had time to leave and get some lunch”

“Sure” I reply.

And I stopped by the Taco Bell and bought enough sub-par Mexican food to feed an army, or the Guys at Sir D’s office.

When I got there, everyone took one look at me, smiled, and started drooling hungrily. I wish I could say it was my good looks.

Once they got their hands on the food, they all disappeared. It was like a ghost town. While they were all busy scarfing down tacos, I went to work. I got all the picture frames hung. It looked rather nice if I do say so myself. The kids and I had chosen mostly action snapshots from our many camping trips. I want Sir D to remember why he is there and that there is a family at home who wants to be with him, lest he forget.

After I got the pictures hung, I noticed that Sir D’s new office was a little dusty so I went and got a rag and started wipping things off. That is when things went south.

The white rag came back an icky shade of yellow brown. This office had been smoked on for 30 odd years and apparently no one thought to, you know, WIPE SOMETHING OFF FORGOODNESSSAKE!



There are three desk/cabinets in Sir D’s office. They are all black metal with the wood top. (a classic cheesy office look) I went and got the one and only cleaning agent in the entire office; Fantastic, circa 1975.

I began to wipe, and wipe and wipe. I wiped every surface in that office until the white rag was not brown/yellow anymore. It took a while.

Meanwhile, Sir D’s employees, who look like they’d fit in a frat house better than an office (why does everyone keep looking younger and younger and don’t say it’s because I’m getting older, that is NOT it) kept walking in and asking “what are you doing?” Have they never seen anyone clean before?

I even cleaned Sir D’s phone and calculator. They looked old and yellowed. Once I got the circa 1975 Fantastic after them they looked the beige color they were intended to be. At one point during the deep cleaning of the phone, I hit a button and sent all the phones in the outer office ringing. Oops.

I was really trying to be inconspicuous. I know they are trying to run a business and having the boss’s wife running around wiping everything off can be a little distracting, but I simply could not stand it anymore. How is Sir D not depressed spending so much time in that icky office? Seriously, it is like a Frat house in there. None of those guys throw anything away! Every time I go to Sir D’s office, there are empties all over the place. I suppose it is a notch up the food chain that they are empty coke cans and not beer cans, but really, use a trash can people!

I also went into the break room (that I gave a deep cleaning too last month) and cleaned up all the lunch stuff and wiped everything down and did the dishes. I don’t think anything in there has been wiped down since I did it last month.

The funny thing is, I know all these guys think I am some kind of weird OCD housewife, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. If they could see my bedroom…well, we will not go there. Things at my house are often cluttered, there is often papers and general stuff that needs to be dealt with, but it is mostly clean.

I know that Sir D likes things clean. I know that it has been very distracting for him to work in a place that resembles a Frat house, but he’s really too busy to do anything about it. That was my way of serving him yesterday.

And I should say, lest I put all of Sir D's employees in a bad light, they were very polite and thanked me many times for bringing them food. I think the whole inability to see dirt and mess is simply inherent in most male DNA.

I also asked one of them if there was any Windex in the office and he said he didn't think so. I asked Sir D if I sent him with Windex, would he clean the window in his office. Sir D's employee said "Sure I'll clean it". He thought I was talking to HIM! I quickly told him I meant Sir D! Can you imagine the boss's wife telling you to clean the window in the boss's office! Oops again.

When I was about done, one of the salesmen came in for the first time that day and I heard him say when he walked in the front door, “what’s that smell?”

That my friends is the smell of clean, get used to it.

Tricia

Of Limited Intelligence

Last night as I was boiling water for the broccoli I noticed something. Something not good. Something potentially expensive.

A crack in the glass stove top. Lovely, one more thing that needs to be fixed around here.

When Sir D got home I showed it to him. You can’t see it very well when the burner is not on but once that burner is glowing red, hello large crack.

Sir D said we better not use that burner until we solve this problem. (Buy a new stove? Can it be repaired? Sigh, I don’t want to know.)

I told Sir D I’d better put something on the burner so I don’t forget and use it, maybe a sticky note, or a plate on it or something.

Sir D looks at me and then reaches up and pops off the knob to the burner.



Yeah, or we could do that.

I think the brain cell loss during each pregnancy and subsequent year of nursing was more significant than I thought.


Tricia

Oh So Sweet!

I made some quick bread last night. I like to make quick bread because it’s, well, quick, and the kids and Sir D love it. Sadly it also disappears quickly.

I doubled the recipe last night and this is what is left today. I must say here that my crew did not eat it all. I did send some with Sir D this morning to work. I have done that several times. Sir D has taken over the Arlington branch and he is making some changes. Overall they will be good, but change is always hard.

Before Sir D came onboard it was a bit of a free-for-all. Sir D is not fond of the free-for-all.

He has had to outline job descriptions and the chain of authority. He has had to have some hard and awkward conversations. He very possibly will have to fire some people.

But the thing is, he is giving everyone there every opportunity to prove to him that they can do the job. He told everyone all slates are wiped clean. Everyone gets a new opportunity with the new boss. Past sins are gone.

So while he’s changing things and stressing everyone out, I’m killing them with kindness…sweets to be exact.

I’ve sent cookies several times and quick breads too. I have also planted pretty flowers out in front of the building. A little beauty and a little sugar go a long way.

So here is the recipe for my Blueberry Orange Bread. It is great for bribery or buying people’s love. I am not above those things.

Blueberry Orange Bread

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
2 Tablespoons butter, cut up
1/4 cup boiling water
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup orange juice
1 cup fresh (or frozen) blueberries

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease one loaf pan. In a large bowl, mix dry ingredients and make a well in center. Stir butter into boiling water until melted.

In a medium bowl, combine egg, sugar, and orange juice then stir in water/butter mix. Add to dry ingredients, stirring just until moist. Fold in blueberries. Spoon in greased pan and bake for 1 hour or until a toothpick inserted near center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes. Remove loaf from pan and cool completely on a rack.

(Frozen blueberries work just fine in this recipe but they may "bleed" when you fold them into the batter. It still takes great!)

I did make a few changes. I used oil instead of butter so my dairy allergy kid could have it. I think next time I make it I’ll cut down on the sugar (it’s really sweet) and use a cup or two of wheat flower.

Enjoy, and please use the power of the Blueberry Orange Bread for good and not evil.


Tricia

Sew Me a Sit-Upon

My girls are at sewing class today. They’re going to be taking this class every morning this week. And yes Tonya, it’s your mom teaching it.

You know, in my day we took little summer camp/classes, but they were not very useful. I do recall some sort of campfire girl/girl scout day camp where I learned how to make a plastic sit-upon. I used it that week to sit upon during our “lessons”. I have never used my sit-upon making skills as an adult.

I also recall learning to make some sort of ceramic ashtray during one of those weeks. In fact, I recall doing that in school as well. Teachers and day camp Directors of the late 70’s and early 80’s, do you really think it was wise to encourage our parents to smoke around us children? “Here Mom and Dad, I am equipping you with the tools to give me lung cancer at an early age.” Brilliant, really.

Then there is the noodle jewelry making that was ever so prevalent in my day. I made all manner of jewelry with dry macaroni. I think I even made a jewelry holding device out of dry noodles.

None of those things have been skills I have needed as a wife and mother. My children prefer if I cook the noodles as opposed to create jewelry with it.

When I heard about classes to teach my girls how to sew I jumped on it. I think the ability to sew will be much more useful to them then say the ability to make a clay ashtray.

Tricia

And Too All The Cows I Can Only Say, I'm Sorry.

Let me assure you, lest you were terribly worried, this is not going to turn into some manly car blog, but I do have one more thing to tell you about Big Bertha Large Marge Gigantor the still unnamed new car.

The evening we picked her up we took her and the little borrowed tan Toyota to the do it yourself car wash. They both needed a bath. The guy who owned her first lived out in the country and he smashed many bugs on the windshield on his trip to deliver her. If there is one thing a new car ought to be, it’s clean. Plus we felt we should give back the little borrowed tan Toyota without all the little kid smudges. So off we go to the car wash.

We washed the little borrowed tan Toyota in 2.3 seconds and then Sir D spent the next half an hour cleaning Big Bertha Large Marge Gigantor the still unnamed new car. He sprayed and sprayed and sprayed that windshield until there was no sign of the bug killing atrocity that had occurred on her way to greet us.

We then drove the two sparkling cars to my friend’s house to drop off the now gleaming little borrowed tan Toyota. She and her children came out to see our new semi car. After a few minutes of ooh’s and aah’s the horn started making quick little honks, then longer and longer until finally it was continuous. Now let me stop to explain that his is not your average car horn. This is not the little ‘excuse me please’ sound that came from the little borrowed tan Toyota. No, this is a ‘MOVE OR BE KILLED’ kind of sound from a mean testosterone laden rig. It was a tad alarming to all the children, and my friend who had babies sleeping in the house, and the neighbors, and really anyone within a 5 mile radius.

As we’ve only owned the car for a matter of hours, Sir D did not know where the fuse box was or where the horn thingie (see, if this were turning into a manly car blog, I’d know the technical terms) was located under the hood.

As he and Bob, flailed about in the dark to try and find out how to shut up Bertha, the rest of us held our ears. My friend laughed and asked if the previous owner mentioned its horn problem. Hahaha, not funny and no he did not.

Before it stopped completely it made a sound that was what I can only imagine, a very similar sound a cow makes right before being slaughtered. Cows all over town cowered in horror. Then, finally, mercifully, the horn burnt out and silence once again reigned. Well as much silence as one can have with 7 kids bouncing about. And why is it that kids are energized by racket when adults are exhausted by it? Hummm, a post for another time.

The next day Sir D spent much time pondering the horn incident. What would have caused it? Why would it have done that? And more importantly, how much will it cost to fix?

Because he is brilliant, he came upon the answer to the cause. Water. He came home after work and gathered his sons for a little test. He sprayed water from the hose onto the windshield with Will inside to watch. Sure enough, water dripped down from the seam at the top of the windshield right on to the steering wheel. The drops landed directly on the seam and went inside the steering wheel. (Which is why no one noticed a wet spot when we got back in the car) and shorted out the horn. It also shorted out the cruise control we later discovered.

So now I have to have the windshield reinstalled. It should not be too terribly expensive, unless they break the windshield and we have to replace that too. What do you think the chances are of them resetting the windshield without breaking it?

We then will have to take her to our good and faithful mechanic friend (God bless our good and faithful mechanic friend) to fix the horn and the cruise control, although he did point out that we don’t really need a horn. I drive the monster of the highway; people are not going to need to hear my horn to know they’d better get out of my way.

Tricia

She's Big and Bad and Beautiful!

We picked up The Rig The Unicorn The Mother Ship 2 The Titanic the still nameless new car yesterday. I do believe to call it enormous would be an understatement. Somehow this Excursion is bigger than my 12 passenger van. It only seats 8, and yet still seems to take up a city block.

It’s also a tad LOUD. Perhaps Freight Train might be a good name for her. Chuga-chuga, Chuga-chuga, is the sound she makes, LOUDLY.

Yet still I think I love her. I did not like being the little guy in the tan Toyota. I felt small and vulnerable; inconsequential even. But no more. Now I am big and bad and loud. People get out of my way just because I am bigger; I command authority.

I am no longer a day care bus, I am raw power…

Good grief! I think that testosterone laden vehicle is turning me into a man!



Isin't she pretty?

When Nightmares Become Reality

I’m sort of kneeling down in the shower. The water is running down over my face and into my mouth. I don’t like it, it feels funny. I can’t breathe. I try to swallow but there is too much water. I feel funny. Finally I swallow…

My eyes shoot open and I am wide awake. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. I think I just swallowed a bug, or something. I lay in bed trying to decide what I should do. I am freaking out! My heart is racing.

I swallowed something, but I have no idea what! I get up and drink some water. My insides feel funny. What if it bites me on the way down? And EEEW! EEEW! EEEW!

I think after an hour of thinking about what kind of wildlife we have around here that could be currently taking up residence in my insides, I finally fell asleep again.

My insides still feel weird this morning. I am drinking lots of hot coffee in order to kill whatever it was, you know, just in case the stomach acids don’t do it.

I just can’t get it out of my head. Usually when we encounter a creature like this…

I run the other way and my children take pictures to taunt me with later. How do I run away from something in my digestive system?

EEEW! EEEW! EEEW!

I Think We've Found Our Unicorn!

I haven’t posted much about our vehicle search. It has been a roller costar of a process. We’ve been without the Mother Ship for a couple of weeks now and we’ve been looking all over for a very specific type of vehicle; the unicorn of the car world, if you will.

Sir D wants a Ford E350 Van or an Excursion with the diesel 7.3 liter engine. Apparently only the E350 or the Excursion has this magic engine. There is another type of diesel engine a 6.something or other, but that is not what we want. I have no idea why, Sir D tries to explain but after a few minutes of ‘7.3...better…6.something or other not as reliable…transmission trouble…’ all I hear is ‘blah, blaty-blaty blah’. Kinda like when I talk to him about sewing or crocheting.

We have been unable to locate an E350 within a 150 mile radius that is for sale and I refuse to go to Illinois to get a van. So we’ve been looking at Excursions mostly. Twice now, I have almost posted and said ‘We found it! We found our vehicle! We’re going to get it tomorrow! Yippee! And Yahoo!’ but sadly I would have been wrong.

Neither were the Unicorn, as they had the 6.something or other engine, but we thought we ought to get it anyway. It is a good deal, it looks good, I am tired of driving a tiny tan Toyota, etc. We simply could not find the right engine. We were starting to think the Unicorn did not exist; perhaps we had chosen the wrong metaphor. Perhaps we should have called it the Loch Ness we were looking for since it is possible old Nessie might actually exist.

Both times we thought we found it, but when we got home and Sir D ran the Oasis Report and a Carfax, we found that the vehicles were not what they appeared to be. One of them had even had the engine taken out for some sort of repair and put back in! No thank you!

I was beginning to think we may never find our next vehicle. I might have to start walking.

But now, I think, we may have actually found THE ONE. All reports and research have come up clean, monies have been gathered, verbal agreements and arrangements have been made. Tomorrow paperwork is to be signed and I am to go and pick up the vehicle in the afternoon.

I can’t wait!

And this time it really is the right one. It is a very low miles, tan, 03 Ford Excursion with a 7.3 liter diesel engine.

I think we’ve found our Unicorn.

My New Tatoo!

Got ya didn’t I? I did get a new tattoo, but only in Sir D’s dream. He had a dream last night that I got a big giant scrolling tattoo on my belly. Then I turned around and I had a matching one on my back. He was furious and I was all ‘what’s the big deal? I think it’s kinda cool’.

When he woke up this morning he was still mad at me. I promised him I would not be getting any tattoos. Especially on my belly; after 4 pregnancies that stretched it to unimaginable widths, I think that area has seen enough trauma for one lifetime.

Dreams are so funny. I have had dreams that Sir D has done something or said something to me in a dream and then all the next day I struggled with letting the emotions of the dream go. It’s weird how our emotions can be so tied to something that only happened in our minds.

Do you think his head would explode if I got a fake tattoo put on today? Yeah, I better not.

Happy Monday.

Stop Supersizing the Wildlife!

Spring inspires poets to write lines of love and beauty. It inspires many to ponder the splendor of creation; blooming flowers, and longer, sunnier days.

Here in Texas it inspires others to fear what might lurk in the out of doors, or occasionally the indoors.

You will recall our friend Ralph’s appearance a few weeks ago?



He has a playmate now. Harry.



This happened last year too. I guess I should be pleased Hairy was not found in my laundry. But still.

Why oh why do I live in this place where it’s not just the value meal that is supersized; the creatures are too.

A Facebook Flashback

I have a Facebook account. I am not proud of it but we parents of teens do what we have to to keep up. I told my boys they may have a Facebook account as long as they make one for me too and make me their friend so I can check up on them make sure all is safe.

They agreed. I can go in and see what they are doing and who their ‘friends’ are and read what they have written. Other than all the b4’s and W/E’s and various other written slang that I need a teen-speak dictionary to decipher, it has been a positive experience for all involved.

My sons were beginning to get embarrassed that I had no ‘friends’ other than them. I had also not updated my profile and my ‘page’ was sad and lonely looking. So as not to embarrass my children on the World Wide Web, I allowed them to hook me up with some ‘friends’. Turns out, I’m not the only mother who has a Facebook account for the purpose of checking up on them making sure all is safe. Many of their friend’s parents, i.e. my friends in real life have Facebook accounts.

The youth pastor is even my friend now. I have 5 friends. I was feeling pretty good about myself.

I went in to update my ‘page’ and added a few things like where I went to high school and what year I graduated. Simply clicking that one thing, putting that year into Facebook, sucked me back unwillingly to the late 80’s early 90’s. Did you know that Facebook can show you all the other graduates of your high school for that same year, that have an account?

I started to click through the pages and pages of people I shared those four sordid years with. I began to feel a little sick.

I have to tell you that I did not enjoy my high school experience. I was not in the popular crowd but with a graduating class somewhere between 5 and 7 hundred, you had to really stand out to be popular. I do not like to stand out. I was not a nerd either. I wish I had been, those are the people making millions. I was just average; somewhere in the middle. I struggled academically, especially in math.

I did not have a lot of friends in school, I had two or three that I was close with, and we kept in touch for a while. Mostly my friends were at my church youth group. Many of them are still my friends today (and one I married :o). We ate lunch together at school, but few of them were in any of my classes. My experience was that high school was something to be endured. I was never happier than when it was over.

So as I perused those people that surrounded me for those four years, it seemed little had changed. The popular kids were the ones with the most ‘friends’, the ones who wanted to be popular were there but overlooked, and the rest of us were simply absent.

I went back to my profile and unchecked the year I graduated. I don’t want those people looking over my profile and saying, I don’t remember her, do you?

I have made a life for myself, or rather, the Lord gave me a family and friends that love me, a place to belong, and people to belong too.

I am so grateful for the life I have that is full of love and laughter and joy. I would not go back to those four years for all the world.

A Range of Emotions

Today has been a strange day.

I went to the admissions office of the local Community College today to help my oldest son get registered to take classes in the fall.

It made me feel old and sad.

Then we went out to lunch and someone mistook me for his girlfriend.

This made me feel icky, and yet oh-so-young looking at the same time.

Such a range of emotions I have felt today. I have decided to forget all but the oh-so-young looking feeling. I am also choosing to forget how thick the glasses were of the lady who mistook me for my son’s girlfriend.

Little Tan Corolla.

The van is gone. It is, right now as I type on its way to Montreal, Canada. The timing of the van sale is something only God could have worked out. It is a long story, but I’ll try to be brief. Or maybe not. It is my blog after-all and I can be long-winded if I like right? Still reading? Great. Here’s the story.

Sir D had mentioned to his Bible Study Guys that we were thinking of looking for another van that can tow better than our current van. Apparently the Mother Ship’s engine is rather anemic when you attached anything to its rear, which I think is completely understandable.

One of the men in Sir D’s Bible study said his brother in law, who is a missionary residing in Canada, needed a new-to-them van but all the van’s they looked at in Canada were all rusted out underneath, due to the snow or some such thing. We Texans do not understand this thing they call snow, but I am told it wreaks havoc up north.

Anyway, said Canadians parents were down here visiting their other daughter (Bible Study Man’s wife) and were about to fly up to Canada before they flew back to their native Switzerland.

So in a whirlwind of emails and phone calls and documents stating that said parents were not stealing a van that was titled under one name, insured by another name, and driven by yet another name; my van was sold. In less than a week. I hardly had time to morn, or say goodbye.

I suddenly found myself without wheels.

The only thing that made this possible is that Bible Study Man’s in laws leave a car here in the states for them to drive during the 6 months a year they spend stateside. It is a little, tan Toyota Corolla. They said we can drive their little, tan Corolla until we find a replacement for the Mother Ship.

Because Sir D is looking for the Unicorn of the automobile world, this might take a while.

In the mean time, I have learned a few things.

1. Corollas get excellent gas mileage.

2. A family of 6 does not fit in a Corolla.

3. One regular sized adult, 2 teenage size boys and two little girls barely fit in a Corolla.

4. If you have one regular sized adult, 2 teenage size boys and two little girls in a Corolla, you will NOT be able to fit the library book box as well, and don’t even think of trying to get groceries home.

5. Everyone drives a little tan Corolla.

6. When you park a little tan Corolla, be sure to take a mental note of where, so when you come out of the store you will be able to find the right car and not try to get into someone else’s car.

7. Corolla keys are not universal.

8. When a key does not unlock a little tan Corolla, it is likely not because the key is not working.

9. I know the song is about a Little Red Corvette, but there really should be a song about a Little Tan Corolla, because truly, everyone would relate. Everyone has one.