Category Archives: Random

Random Thursday: I’m Still Random Edition

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1. How do you handle socks and underwear? Do yours live in a shared drawer or do they each have their own? Do you fold or stuff?

I need to know.

Since we move fairly often, I’ve had many opportunities for reassessment in the socks and underwear department. Yet, we’ve been in this home for over four years (light years for a military family), and every single day (or, you know, every day that I bothered to shower), I have opened the sock drawer when I wanted the underwear drawer, and vice versa. Last year I got so fed up with the whole deal that I switched the drawers.

In answer to your question: NO.

2. I asked for this for Christmas. Nobody got it for me, so I ordered it myself.

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The categories for any given week are:

Things I have to do but that can wait a day, or two, or three..
Small things I have to do before I can do the big things I have to do
Things I absolutely have to do unless I absolutely don’t want to do them
Things people have been bugging me to do for a really long time

It makes me giggle. It’s pretty much like this Mark Asher person read my mind, and it totally works for me. Which pretty much makes me totally happy.

3. After returning three different pairs of (birthday) boots, this is the pair I finally decided on.

 

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Aren’t they pretty? I really, really, really love them. They are, officially, the highest heel I own…and I might need a wee bit of instruction on how to walk in them.

4. Molly and I were running errands last week.

 

734851_10200229596971738_391979591_nAs we were waiting at the world’s longest stoplight, I looked back and noticed her ears in the rearview window. Seeing her ears made me think of that “God is my co-pilot” bumper sticker, and then of the one that said, “Dog is my co-pilot.” I pretty much cracked myself up thinking about that bumper sticker, so I snapped this picture and posted it on Facebook.

As I am wont to do, I immediately began second-guessed myself, like this: Really, Karen, it’s not like “God is my co-pilot” is scripture. It’s not like I’m twisting the Bible, for Pete’s sake. Besides, it’s funny! Molly is my co-pilot. She is! And seriously, every time I have relegated God to the position of co-pilot, I have crashed and burned. Surely people will get it. Won’t they? Surely they’ll realize how hilarious I am. 

And seriously, why can’t Christians just grow themselves a sense of humor??

And then Fran liked the post, and all was well.

5. I have these designations for foods I will and won’t eat. It’s complicated enough to be its own post, er, book. For example: candy bars. A full-sized Snickers bar? I’m on it. A fun-size Snickers bar? Count me in. One of those dumb little Snickers Miniatures? Fuhgeddaboudit. The ratios are all wrong. I’ve pondered this for some time, and I think there are too many peanuts and not enough chocolate. The result is that even though it’s just that little bite, it’s not worth the calories.

Who’s with me on this?

6. Do you have fat underwear? You know, like fat jeans?

I need to know.

7. My BFF posted a recipe for Butternut Squash Risotto yesterday, and the most desperate need came over me.

 

DSC00780I had to make it, and the sooner the better. I started prepping the squash (impatient girl style, subbing butcher knife for veg peeler) with plans to bat my eyelashes at the Wonder Hub while asking him to make an Arborio Rice run. When he walked in the door, the squash and onions were all but done. The house smelled divine. I packed him off quickly, after both texting him the ingredient AND making him look at the spelling. He called ten minutes later. He couldn’t find it anywhere. I talked him through it. Still nothing. I signed off, frustrated. Ten minutes later, he called back. The manager had confirmed that the store has discontinued it.

Jerks.

I didn’t have the heart to make him go to another store, so I surveyed the kitchen. I had…squash, and onions. And a smallish temper tantrum.

For dinner we had Red Baron pizza. (And maybe one more tantrum.)

7.5. Tonight, though. Tonight I made sure I had all the ingredients. Tonight we had this:

 

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(And by we, I mean me, because after my first two bowls, I hid the rest in the back of the fridge.)

Amen.

Random Thursday: Happy New Year Edition

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1. For two solid years, I daily hounded the Monkey to practice his saxophone. I threatened, I yelled. I employed other (insane and unproductive), non-Love & Logic-approved parenting tactics. This saxophone, the one he begged us to play, certain that girls would swoon every time he picked it up, became my nemesis. It was a rented saxophone, which in the end, I returned to the music store and paid some outrageous extortionist’s fee for them to take off my hands early. In the end, I think he learned to play all of three notes on that stupid thing.

Even thinking about that saxophone increases my heart rate.

So on the 30th of December, some 1.5 years after the end of Sax Era, out of the wild, random blue, the child in question says this:

“You know why I didn’t ever practice my saxophone? You know that thing, that thing that goes in your mouth? That wooden thing? Every time I put that thing in my mouth, I felt like I was hearing fingernails screech down a chalkboard.” And after a considerable, thoughtful pause, “I don’t know why I never told you that.”

2. Despite my rebellion in regard to New Year postings, I can’t stop thinking about the whole resolution thing. For years, I resolved not to make any. For some time after that, I just cut-and-pasted the same ones. They looked like this:

1) Be nicer (especially to my long-suffering husband).
2) Give my time, I think it’s the greatest gift.
3) Love more. Especially my family and friends. We’re all desperate for it, so why not do my part to fill up those around me?
4) WRITE.
5) Figure out how to get to know God. I have this sense that I’m forever on the edge of something really BIG with Him, but that I hold out because I’m scared or lazy or stuck in my spiritual inertia. He is so huge, so endless, so fascinating, and yet here I sit, content with taking Him in my teeny-tiny comfortable doses.

3. This year, I’ve been wavering between two possible approaches to the whole resolution dilemma. Bobbi’s pastor encouraged her to make a three-pronged resolution, like this:

1) What are you going to keep?

2) What are you going to let go?

3) What are you going to take on?

4. The other idea came from a post over at SheLoves/Magazine. In it, the author talks about what led her to ditch the New Year’s Resolution and grasp just one word that,

“..sums up who I want to be, or a character trait I want to develop, or an attribute I want to intentionally add to my life.”

I just now quit wavering. I’m going to do both these things. As they are very much not random, we will have to revisit them again in a different post. In the meantime, think about whether either (or both) of these hold any value for your life. If so, perhaps you’ll join me.

5. This morning, a friend tweeted a picture of her dog looking out the window. The caption was Looking for Squirrels.

“That’s a great title for a blog post,” I thought. “I wonder if I looked for them (the squirrels, the distractions) if they would be less likely to come into my peripheral vision out of nowhere and set my brain off on a wild squirrel chase?”

Which made me remember what I heard at a writer’s conference once. This author suggested writing down everything, ever-y-thing I needed to do, or think about, or tend to, before sitting down to write. She didn’t recommend actually doing them, but rather transferring them from my brain to a sheet of paper as a way of clearing my mind before beginning to write.

Or maybe it was a He, and it was in a sermon. Maybe it was something to do before I pray, as a way to clear my mind of everything that so (so) easily distracts me from the important business of spending quality time with my God.

Look at that. That, my friends, is what I call two-for-one advice. Either way you look at it, it works!

Don’t say I never taught you anything on a Thursday.

5. Yes, I know it is now Friday. For those of you new to this deal, let me reiterate. Random Thursday does not necessarily happen on Thursday. (See: note on squirrels)

It’s Friday! It’s Friday, and at my house it is Christmas Eve! I can’t wait! Tonight, we will gather together. We will eat our traditional Mexican Fiesta. We will read the Christmas Story. We will open our Christmas Jammies. We will do other things worthy of Capital Letters. We will shake boxes and squeeze packages. We will laugh, and tease, and soak up the moments. The together moments. The, “For God so loved the world” moments.

Have I mentioned that I can’t wait?

I can’t!

7. One of the things I will do this weekend is try to talk the teenagers (and the newly minted young adult, sigh) into recreating this photo from Christmas morning, 2008.

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(Don’t tell me you find it surprising that the date was set incorrectly on my camera.)

Do you think they’ll do it? Let’s take bets. I bet I can get them to do it. Withholding food may be necessary, but I’m not above it.

I would like very much to recreate this photo (circa March, 2009), too.

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(Do you notice anything similar in the two photos?)

Unfortunately, there is zero percent chance of snow (or any precip) over the next several days.

Merry Christmas, my friends!

 

Random Thursday: Last Thursday in 2012 Edition

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1. On the first day of December, I couldn’t zip up my favorite jeans. On that day, I lamented having been born in the Eating Month. What I realize now, on this 27th day of December, in the year of our Lord 2012, even as I am struggling to take a full breath while wedged into my largest-sized jeans, is that I was born in the month that is the warm-up to the Eating Month.

It’s been really, really fun. And it’s not even over yet.

2. We are celebrating Christmas (the present-giving/opening part) on the first weekend of January. In a blended family, these things happen. I remember back, waaay back, when we started this whole blended gig, how hard it was to give up the boys–for the weekend, for the summer, for a holiday. I felt cheated. I felt like my life was on hold, my family was torn asunder. I was stingy, and selfish, and ridiculously Karen-centric.

I see things differently now. I see the blessing of their presence in my life. I see, and understand, and acknowledge that they have been given to me for a time, as a gift. I want to soak up the minutes, the hours, the days with them. I want to make them count. Above all, I know (while still requiring the occasional reminder) that it is not about me. Okay, so perhaps a small part of it is about me, but it is largely, overwhelmingly (unfortunately) NOT.

3. The Wonder Hub just called me Karen Sue. He does that when I’m in trouble. Karen Sue is my name, so it’s okay. We call Molly, Molly Sue when she’s in trouble, too. Molly Sue is her name. The Wonder Hub is fond of saying that all the girls in our family are named after the original Sue.

I miss the original Sue.

A LOT.

4. I just realized that the original Sue would get a kick out of me realizing that it’s not all about me. She used to tell me that often when I was a teenager.

Mom: Karen, the world does not revolve around you!
Me: Well if it doesn’t, it should!

Carey attempted to share this little story with Moose one time, but I cut her down with my Evil Death Stare. Like he needs to run around wielding that little bit of information. Sheesh.

5. So I just had this picture of God pulling my mom aside and sharing the big news. “Sue! Get this! Karen has finally realized that the world doesn’t revolve around her!” They’re standing there, shoulder to shoulder, thick as thieves and chuckling to beat the band.

So glad I can provide the entertainment for you two!

6. We went to New York City for a few days over Christmas. The weather was very nice, with the exception of Christmas Eve. We walked to the restaurant in what the Monkey and I dubbed “smush,” a kind of snowy-slushy rain, but while we were waiting for the main course, we were treated to a few short minutes of a beautiful snowfall. I handed the Wonder Hub my phone to snap a pic. He did a nice job, don’t you think?

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7. It all went downhill from there.

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And now in reverse..

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Merry Christmas, y’all!

Random Thursday

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1. The little permalink thingy suggests that this is Random Thursday 31. I kind of remember that last week was Random Thursday 31, too, until I began writing and it was clearly Random Thursday: The Goods Edition and I renamed it. Which makes me wonder…how many Random Thursday posts have I written?

I could go figure it out. I’m a fairly smart person. Eventually I’d figure it out. I know my fairly smart self well enough to realize that I’d end up on seven hundred bunny trails in the process– reading and reminiscing as I strolled casually down Bunny Trail Lane– and pretty soon it would be 12:02am and I would have dead people scattered about, having succumbed to starvation. Which would leave me a mess to clean up, and who needs that?

2. So….YOU. Yes, you there. I hereby task you with finding the number of Random Thursday posts I have written. Report back to us here by 12:02am.

Thanks.

3. All week long I wanted it to be Thursday. I had random stuff to tell you! Now, of course, it’s gone (so gone). Fortunately, I never run out of random. For instance, today is Orange Food Day at my house. How random is that?

For dinner we had..

Homemade Sharp Cheddar and Fontina Mac and Cheese (made in the crockpot from a recipe my lovely mother-in-law brought with her all the way from Oregon.)

 Roasted Butternut Squash…

…and orange slices.

Why?

Because I can, that’s why.

4. The recipe for the crockpot mac and cheese was as easy-breezy as a recipe can be. The mac and cheese itself, though. It could have been served on fine china at a five star restaurant. It was, as they say, ah-maaaa-zing. (Somebody says that, trust me.)

I could give you the recipe right now, and it would change your life.

5. It’s the exact middle of NaNoWriMo today. I have never been this tired in my whole, entire life. For real. I’m delirious, and I’m behind. Like, thousands of words behind.

I’m not worried, though. Recently (like ten seconds ago) I realized that my lifelong devotion to the underdog is largely due to the fact that I am the underdog.

6. Speaking of dogs.

Mine went for a walk today.

Molly Sue is a lover of nature. She finds peace here in the quiet of this place. She is always eager to go and witness the changing of the seasons; she longs for the crunch of the leaves beneath her paws and the smell of fall air in her nostrils.

Today especially, she was in awe of the green, and the red. It’s one of her favorite things about Virginia– that fall can come and everything can die, and then we get a wicked hurricane and six inches of rain (in 24 hours) and suddenly, there is life.

Molly Sue was speechless.

7. In case you missed it, my in-laws are here. I don’t think a girl ever had better in-laws. For the duration of their stay, I will not do laundry. I will have (willing) help in the kitchen. I will have an excuse to visit Starbucks every afternoon, after having great company for multiple pots of coffee every morning. I will be blessed with things like a new front door, new interior doors, and fresh paint. The plants I bought but didn’t plant will magically find their way into the dirt, and the Wonder Hub will fill his quota of trips to Lowe’s without me ever setting a foot in that wretched, mind-numbing place.

Whenever they are here, I find myself praying that the boys’ wives will love me as much as I love my mother-in-law, that they will love my visits like I do hers, and that they will consider not taking me to the airport on departure day, just like I do here.

Random Thursday: The Goods Edition

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1. There’s this kid. (I love him so.) He’s a reliable sort, dependable as one can expect a young man of his particular age to be. Last night as I was headed out the door to vote, I tasked him with the following:

-Add broken lasagna noodles to soup pot, bring to boil for 10 minutes, reduce heat and stir in 1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese (See here? It’s already grated and measured out for you in this bowl!).
-Remove bread from oven when timer goes off. If bread is not goldeny-brown (like you have seen it 10,000 times before!) bake another five minutes.
-Take beautiful, artfully arranged, amazingly healthy, vibrantly colored salad from fridge and place on table.
-EAT.

When I got home, more than two hours later, he was gone. The Wonder Hub gave the soup a thumbs-up and we laughed together at the undercooked, mushy-ish bread. Ah well. Such is life. Half an hour later I opened the fridge, where I saw an interesting sight. My salad. My labor of love. It was pristine.

“Why didn’t you guys eat my salad?” I asked (or possibly whined).
“I didn’t know there was a salad,” promised the Wonder Hub.

I thought about the two hours I had spent standing in line to take care of my civic duty. I thought about my aching feet. I was irked. I could have put my feet up instead of making that salad. I could have gone to the bathroom instead of making that salad! I grabbed my phone.

That boy, he’s the goods.

2. About a month before Election Day, I received a new voter’s card in the mail. I opened it,  briefly acknowledged its existence, and then did with it what I do with all mail. The Wonder Hub was in the vicinity and said, “You should put that where you won’t lose it.”

In the morning on Election Day, I began looking for my voter’s card. I looked in the Karen pile the on upstairs desk. I looked in the Karen pile on the downstairs desk. I looked in the pile on the kitchen island, and then the pile I stuff into the kitchen island drawer when people come over. An hour later, I went back through each of these piles. Two hours later, I was getting desperate. I enlisted the Monkey’s help, to no avail. Finally, at zero-hour, I admitted defeat and emailed the Wonder Hub. Normally, I would email the Wonder Hub before I bothered looking. He is, after all, The Finder. My pride was having a difficult time, though. My pride hates it when he’s right. Even worse, my pride hates it when he rubs it in that he’s right (which does not serve to keep me from rubbing it in when I’m right). I really didn’t want to hear about how I should have listened to him, how I should have put the card somewhere (where????) I wouldn’t lose it.

Sigh. I sat back, pride all wilty and pathetic, and waited for the inevitable. I totally deserved whatever he gave me.

3. He didn’t take long. His reply?

“It’s pinned to the cork board in the kitchen. I didn’t want you to lose it.”

Have I ever mentioned that he’s the goods?

4. I went to Tam’s for lunch today. We were starving, so she began dishing up the tortilla soup right away. Instantly, I knew two things:

One- I had to take a picture of it for you.
Two- I would be making it for dinner, tonight.

P.S. It took me so long to set up this little iPhone pic that our soup had to be reheated.

P.P.S. Tam served our soup over rice, and I’m serving mine over Perfect Baked Potatoes.

While we ate we did that 100-miles-an-hour talking thing that happens with friends who don’t see each other often enough. When it was time to go, I realized my heart was in better shape than it had been when I’d arrived.

You’re the goods, Tam!

5. On the drive to Tam’s house (while stopped safely at the world’s longest stoplight), I received an email from Bobbi. I won’t even wait to tell you that Bobbi is

THE GOODS.

She is. God has blessed Bobbi with some amazing talents (I believe we’ve discussed this before, but I’ll say it again). Bobbi has talents that my talents have never even heard of. Bobbi’s talents probably shouldn’t even acknowledge my talents if they were walking down the same hallway. They would, though. They’re not snobby, Bobbi’s talents. Even though they so totally could be. Snobby, that is.

Heh.

So this email from Bobbi. Remember Bobbi? Yeah, so this email? It contains the brand-spanking-new banner for this blog. Have you seen it?? Seriously, people, check it out. If you have a minute, leave a comment telling Bobbi how beautiful it is.

Did I mention that Bobbi is the goods?

P.S. The Monkey is a little miffed that he didn’t make the banner.

6. I probably should have made that number 7. I don’t know if you people can hold on to number 5 long enough to remember to comment on it…

FYI-You people are the goods. Your collective memories? Not so much.

7. National Novel Writing Month is shaping up to be quite the experience. Did I tell you that God gave me the idea for this novel while I was in the shower? Yes, I know it sounds weird, but I’ve always done a lot of talking to God in the shower, so it seemed perfectly natural to me. Anyway, when this novel gets published, all y’all can carry your signed first editions around and tell people that not only were you on Team Karen for NaNoWriMo, but also that you just happen to know where she was when God gave her the idea.

Hey, God? You are the goods.

 

Random Thursday: NaBloPoMo

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1. Today is the first day of November (in case you somehow missed that little piece of info). That means it’s the first day of my birthday month, and that means I need to relay to you the message I send Mel every November 1.

It’s the first day of my birthday month, please act accordingly!!!!!

Of course the result is that Mel showers me with gifts each and every day, with an extra-big gift on the day of my birth, alllllll month long.

He’s such a great daddy.

2. When I married the Wonder Hub, I let him in on the secret.

We’re still working out some glitches, but I am confident he’ll figure it out.

3. November first is also the first day of Blogher’s National Blog Posting Month, and instead of being miffed that they’re trying to horn in on my action, I’ve decided to join them. What this means, dear friends, is that instead of the blogging slacker I have been of late, I will be writing and posting here every single day, all month long.

You know, during my birthday month.

If you’re lucky, I’ll tell you all about the gifts Mel sends.

4. The Wonder Hub just used the phrase, “the cat’s meow” in an honest-to-goodness sentence. Isn’t that the greatest thing since sliced bread? Ten minutes ago I would have told you that all the great sayings of yore were going to hell in a handbasket, but now I’m convinced that I was being a wet blanket. I do have to admit that I looked at him like he was whistling Dixie when he said it, but I didn’t get all hot and bothered. You might think that I’m in cahoots with him, but don’t flip your wig! Take a gander at what I’m saying before you bust my chops, man. I’m afraid you’ll be tempted to run off at the mouth before you dig just how nifty this thing is. What’s that? You get it? Well, now you’re cookin’ with gas, my friend!

5. Speaking of favorite words and phrases, the Monkey absolutely loves the word vegetables. Often, he’ll walk around saying it to himself. He says it like this: veg-et-ables. Try it for yourself: Veg-et-ables. Say it slowly: veg-et-ables. Now say it fast: veg-et-ables.

You have to admit, it’s a pretty fun word.

6. No, the Monkey does not like veg-et-ables. Somehow, the fun just does not translate. I blame it all on his Grandpa Mel. I’m afraid that while the Monkey did not inherit Grandpa Mel’s Math Gene, he did get a healthy dose of his Ihatebroccoli gene.

We had steamed broccoli with dinner tonight. Do you know why?????

Because it’s my BIRTHDAY MONTH!!!

7. Number seven is always hard, because it tends to be the only thing you people remember. Just so you know, numbers one through six are mortally offended by this. Numbers one through six almost never receive comments. As a result, number seven has a big head. He’s no fun to be around.

Which makes me think of something from my childhood…..

When I was a child, I believed that each number (one through nine) was either inherently female or inherently male. Did anyone else do this? It was, perhaps, the very first instance of personification (a very necessary tool for a writer) in my mind. It is also (not even perhaps) my only teeny-tiny remnant of Mel’s big, fat Math Gene.

It was all so very clear in my mind. It went like this:

1 is a baby boy.

2 is a toddler girl. The terrible kind.

3 is a bratty boy, just past toddlerhood.

4, a boy. He kind of reminds me of my big brother. You know, the one who locked me out of the house?

5. Another boy, but more like a boy-man. I wouldn’t have known this as a child, but now I can see Moose as a five. 5 is a college sophomore. He’s still a kid, but is out stretching is wings, trying to see what he can see.

6 is a woman, and I mean wo-man. Even as a child, I knew she was trouble. 6 is sexy. She has long eyelashes, and she’s not afraid to use them. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to have eyes for Moose, er, 5. He’s probably too much of a kid for her.

7 is a man. He is hopelessly, unrequitedly in love with 6. Always has been, always will be.

8 is the man 6 secretly loves. It figures, he’s the stereotypical bad guy that girls always go for. He likes to flex his muscles at 7. He knows 6 loves him and he loves to rub it in.

9. 9 is the matriarch. She’s pretty much fed up with the whole lot, with the exception of baby 1. Who can blame her? That baby 1 is adorable.

Poor Mel. I almost hope he misses this post. I can actually see him shaking his head. But seriously, Dad, think about it. Is it any wonder I could never learn my multiplication tables?

 

Random Thursday: A Thought Or Two Concerning A Few Random Things

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1. A thought or two concerning the ditch.

It’s over there ——> to the left side of the picture. (Or, you know, your other left.)

Thought One. It’s deeper than it looks.

Thought Two. My friend Cheryl’s husband Scott (also technically my friend) was in the passenger’s seat. We exited the vehicle at the same time. My intent was to walk around the front of the truck to take pictures. Cars flying by at 60 make me nervous, so I may have been in a bit of a hurry.

Thought Three. I went down fast. Did I mention that sucker is deeper than it looks? I also got up fast, because, hey, a woman’s got her pride (or, you know, some fragile, whisper-thin thing that resembles pride). The whole deal was actually one fluid movement: step, step, down, roll, up! and my whisper-thin veneer of pride was hoping against hope that Scott hadn’t noticed.

Thought Four. Scott noticed.

2. A thought or two concerning this shoe.

 Thought One. For several days last week, I walked around with this shoe in my purse. I roamed the mall with it. I moved determinedly from store to store, whipping it out only in the presence of salesmen.

Thought Two. Without fail, every single salesman looked as though he feared it was going to be the instrument of his untimely death. (And yes, I kind of got a kick out of it.)

Thought Three. When they realized I was not, in fact, a raving purple shoe lunatic, every single salesman, without fail, said, “That’s a purple shoe.”

Thought Four. Duh.

3. A thought or two concerning Saturday night.

Thought One. Saturday night made the whole ordeal worthwhile.

Thought Two. You can’t see it, but Bubba’s shirt matches those purple shoes perfectly.

Thought Three. PERFECTLY.

Thought Four. A perfect match meant a happy girl. A happy girl meant a happy boy. A happy girl and boy meant a happy me.

Thought Five. Totally worth it.

4. A thought or two concerning forgetfulness.

Thought One. Forgetfulness means a dried out, perfectly good pair of contact lenses.

Thought Two. Forgetfulness means

5. A thought or two concerning the following photograph.

Thought One. I want a tractor.

Thought Two. That one wispy cloud looks like smoke coming from the tractor.

Thought Three. That’s the Wonder Hub and Bubba in the center of the frame.

Thought Four. It would appear as if the Monkey is playing soccer with the pumpkins. Sigh. Pumpkin Soccer is not all that different from Watermelon Karate.

Thought Five. It might be negligent parenting, but man am I glad I didn’t notice the Pumpkin Soccer as it was happening.

6. A few thoughts about the big secret I didn’t tell you.

Thought One. You can’t make me.

Thought Two. So there.

Thought Three. I really just can’t do it. Even thinking of it makes me hang my head in shame. Oh the shame..

7. One last thought.

LAST THOUGHT. I don’t think I can ever bring myself to say (type) the words, so I asked Cher to do it for me. She’s the goods.

And now, without further ado, Cher’s story:

Five Years From Now…
My friend Karen says there are two kinds of people- morning people and not morning people. She is one of the proud non-morning people. There are other kinds of people as well, this is a story about time-obsessed people and non-time-obsessed people. (Now just so you know, it takes all kinds and one IS NOT better than the other, as we will see).
I am a time-obsessed person. I admit it, along with being Type A, a little organized and always thinking one step ahead. I have a hard time making myself slow down and be a “fly by the seat of my pants type of gal” as one might say (from a famous movie). My friend Karen is not such a person.

See, when I went to visit with her in DC we had a wonderful weekend of fun planned with a culminating final day IN DC with the only real MUST DO on the list, the Vietnam Wall. And it WAS well planned. Shop a little, eat a little, park at the Pentagon, take the Blue Line to Arlington, cross the Potomac River, take a LEFT to the Vietnam Memorial (not the right, that leads to the Korean Memorial, don’t ask me how I know), take a stunning picture, hike back across the Potomac, catch the Blue Line, back in car and travel 47 minutes to Baltimore. Make it through the gate, security and ahhhh on the plane for departure at 4:10. (If this is one big run on paragraph, that is about how the day felt).

At 1:00 leaving lunch, I had a little heart palpitation that maybe time was short. While sitting on the Blue Line bench at 2:44 I was PONDERING hyperventilating. In the car at 3:30 and still more than a half-hour from Baltimore I may have started to inwardly panic. At 3:50 when I walked through the airport door I was so far gone that I thought I actually had a chance.

But deep down I knew didn’t. I texted Karen, knowing she was mortified beyond belief. I texted my boss to say I am delayed. I texted my 10 year old, who cried on the phone (I think mostly because he was waiting for the lego kit I bought). I texted my husband who replied back, “Well will it matter five years from now?”

There it was– the phrase I had been using as motto, mostly since my new career path and dealing with a new teenager offspring in the house. See, there it was. Not the end of the world, it is ok for even us Type A people to fall off the straight and safe road-or be thrown off of it. Just enough to smack us with what really matters, and that most things really are small stuff and fixable.

What DOES matter five years from now is the visit with a wonderful woman who can invite you into her house, shop endlessly for shoes and yoga pants, let ME cook in her kitchen (trust me I was sweating that one), and share her womanly/mother heart in all kinds of fun, sad, and crazy ways as only another mom would want to hear.

So yes, some things to matter five years from now. Remember those and don’t beat yourself up about the others, no matter what kind of person you are.

The End.

Random Thursday

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1. Can a person make a living by being a complete, raving maniac? Well friends, since I can’t seem to be anything else, I’m going to give it a try.

Deep breath

Last Thursday night, as the Monkey was on my cell phone getting Grandpa Mel’s help with his math, I was snuggling on the couch with the Wonder Hub. We were talking about Cher’s upcoming visit and I was giving him a bullet-point by bullet-point lecture on how I had (for once in my life) planned out all the fun we would have. I was content. I was ready. I was excited! I had managed life in such a way as to have all day Friday to tend to little details like cleaning and making her bed; scouring the boy-bathroom our guests must share and stocking up on cooking supplies. For once, I was prepared.

2. The Monkey handed me my phone at 9:00pm. Math was done; all was well with the world. I scanned through text messages.

 

3. I hopped in the car and went to get her, trying all the while to figure out exactly who had put her arrival in my phone on Friday, and swearing all the while that I would never, ever let her know.

4. Despite the fact that the Wonder Hub made her bed while I was flying, er, driving to the airport, and despite the fact that I did a cursory scrub of the boy-bathroom while she was getting settled in her room, we had a really great time. On Saturday, which was a gloriously beautiful day, we went to West Virginia and got (really, truly) lost in a corn maze. We were trying to beat the boys out. Cher, especially, was determined to beat the Wonder Hub.

(We may or may not have had to cheat to find our way out.)

(We did not beat the boys.)

5. We spent some time in a little field of flowers. For the record: Cher’s pictures kick my pictures’ hineys.

Mine:

Cher’s: 

Mine:

Cher’s:

Mine:

Cher’s:

6. I did take a couple of good pics.

One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn’t belong. Can you tell which thing is not like the others, by the time I finish my song?

7. So the thing…the thing that I had kind of thought might wrap up this post…I just can’t bring myself to tell you. It’s over the complete, raving lunatic top, even for me.

Cher knows.

Cher knows, and she still loves me.

Deep breath

Nope. Can’t do it.

Instead, I’ll leave you with my very favorite of Cher’s pictures.

Wonder Hub, Bubba, Monkey

The End

Random Thursday: Typed On My iPhone Edition

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1. There’s a song on repeat in my auditory cortex. It’s been there for months.

(Aside: If it weren’t for Carey, I probably wouldn’t even realize it was playing. I’m just that self-aware. But back in high school, Carey had this little game where she would, at completely random times, ask a person what song was playing in her head. The crazy thing was that I wouldn’t even know I had a song playing in my head until Carey asked about it, and all of a sudden I would be like, “Raspberry Beret!”)

Good times.

SO. For the last several months, the song playing in my head, come hell or high water, has the following lyrics:

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I’ll worship Your holy name

The funny (hardy har) thing is, I can be in the foulest of moods, I can be ready to tear someone limb from limb, I can be smack in the center of a sullen pout, I can be Queen of all Martyrs, and yet..

Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I’ll worship Your holy name

2. Last night I was reading through chapter 3 of One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. I was scribbling down notes in a little red notebook. I was swallowing words, phrases, truths whole, hoping to keep them close to my heart so I might digest them later. My eyes came across this:

And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” (Luke 1:46)

And I thought, rather profoundly, “Oh.”

And I read it again.

“My soul magnifies the Lord.”

And I wondered. Could it be? Is it possible that my soul, even when my spirit is at its very worst, contemptible and groveling at its most human level, my soul knows.

3. You don’t have to be weighed at the doctor’s office. It’s true. Seriously, I come bearing good news of great joy here, people. It’s a horrible indignity, that darn office scale. You’re never expecting it. You’re fully dressed. It runs easily seven pounds heavy on its best day.

Am I right? Of course I am.

So one day, a couple of years back, I just so happened to be crabby (shhh). The nurse, while looking down at my chart, waved me toward the scale. It was wintertime. I was layered. I had on a sweater, for the love. I dug my heels in as I stared at the back of her head, and enunciated like a child at a spelling bee (but perhaps a little over-loud),

“NO. I don’t want to.”

She looked up, surprised. Her eyebrows were sky-high, but she only paused a beat before conceding with a shrug.

“Okay. What do you weigh?”

My eyebrows went up. It worked! I smiled and told her exactly what I wanted to weigh.

And I have not set foot on that dreaded scale since.

You’re welcome.

4. The Monkey and I were at the military hospital this afternoon. He was needing a routine visit and I had put off some dumb little things for months, so there we were. In between our appointments, we stopped for the hospital’s one redeeming quality. Coffee. As we stood there in line something came over me. Let me tell you, it was the strongest of urges. I could no more control myself than the tides can refuse to come in.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He merely blinked. All was well with the world.

Even as I was schwewing to myself, it happened. Another urge, more powerful than the last. Before I knew it, my nose was stuck to his sweet, smooth, perfect cheek and I was inhaling to beat the band.

His head whipped to the side, lightning-fast.

“What. Are you do-ing,” deadpanned the 14 year-old man-voice.

“I…I was just…smelling you.”

The girl behind the counter tittered. We were up. I ordered quickly and stepped aside. We did not make eye contact, the Monkey and I. Oh, what the heck, I thought. It’s not like he doesn’t already think I’m a nut. And anyway, it was totally worth it. For just one second there, I caught a whiff of the baby he had been, and then a flash of little boy, all sunshine and cut grass and puppy dogs.

I’m telling you, people. It was the smell of grace.

5. This same Monkey and I went to the marina last Friday, to take our weekly fall photos. My computer was in the shop until Tuesday. Here it is Thursday already and I still haven’t posted them. I’m not sure yet what tomorrow’s post will look like, because I tend to be a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda girl (name that movie), but here’s a little preview.

6. I’ve been on a Tikka Masala kick lately. I just can’t get enough of it. I make Pastor Ryan’s recipe, because it is gloriously perfect. (Okay, so I don’t add extra salt and I sub coconut oil and coconut milk for the butter and the heavy cream, but still. Gloriously perfect.) Until I got the hang of it, the recipe was a bit overwhelming. Now I can make it with my eyes closed. Every time I make it, I am reminded that I want to meet Pastor Ryan. I want to hang out with a man who loves God and sports full sleeve tattoos. It’s just a hunch, but I’m betting his story has grace & mercy written allllll over it. I want to visit his church. I want to go to his house for lunch after church, and hang out. If everything he cooks tastes as good as his Tikka Masala, I might never leave.

But don’t tell Pastor Ryan I said that.

7. Cher is coming to visit this weekend. I can’t believe it’s actually happening! We’re going to have so much fun, and I am going to try my very hardest not to be a raving maniac. I will make actual plans. I will look up directions before we head out. I will not get my big Suburban wedged under a ceiling pipe in big city parking garage. I will be organized. I will be purposeful. I will not get sidetracked.

When Carey came to visit, she ended up writing a blog post for me. It went a little like this:

i’m not going to lie to you. it’s 10 am and pjs are still on, the dog has not been walked and there has been no shower.

and this is not karen.

this is carey, standing in for karen, who said she was going upstairs to do something twenty minutes ago and has been sidetracked about 14 times. so i am taking on one of her morning duties. and that, my friends, is updating you on her life.

So, um, Cher? I’ll do my best, but it’s looking like I shouldn’t make any promises.

 

Random Thursday

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1. Hi there! I’ve been thinking of you all day. Okay, so maybe not all day. I was thinking of you this morning while I waited for a contractor to show up so that I could pay him and then shower. I wasn’t thinking of you at 11:00 when Tam called and asked, “Whatcha doing? Remember we’re supposed to meet for coffee at 10:30?” I was thinking of you at 12:30, when I gave up all hope of both contractor and shower, and headed out the door for a new and improved 1:00 coffee date with Tam. I was thinking of you as I raced to the Monkey’s soccer game. I wasn’t thinking of you while I had an animated (hands-free!) conversation with my big brother and inadvertently drove six miles past the turnoff to the soccer field. I wasn’t thinking of you as I turned myself around, headed south, and realized that I had inadvertently (always inadvertently!) positioned myself smack-dab in the middle of ten million northern Virginia commuters at rush hour. I wasn’t thinking of you as I raced to the field, camera slung over arm and and half-time orange slices in hand. I wasn’t thinking of you when I started snapping pictures of the action, because I was kind of busy trying to make it look like I hadn’t missed more than two-thirds of the game, only to discover after taking one single picture that my memory card was full.

2. After mentally kicking the dirt and falling down in a full-blown temper tantrum (but physically standing absolutely, perfectly still and breathing deeply, repeatedly), I was thinking of you, because I realized the thing I realize at least once each week, and that is this:

The Worst Day Makes The Best Blog Post

at which point I shrugged, resigned myself to the one picture and the post-game orange slices, and settled in to watch the last seven minutes of what had been (so I hear) a very exciting match.

That’s my Monkey, in the blue!

3. Seven minutes later, give or take, the Monkey and I headed home. One hour and fifteen minutes later, I realized that I was in the perfect position to:

a) delete photos from the memory card, and
b) work on Photo Phriday for you.

 

The secret shortcut that nobody knows about..

Silver Lining

4. As I was editing pictures for you last week, I realized something.

I list to the left.

Exhibit One, taken Phriday at the marina.

Aahhhhh. Much better. Right? Much more peaceful; much easier on the eyeballs.

5. After I’d fixed that photo, I started to wonder. Is this something I do often? Is it, say, a chronic illness, this listing business? And if so, is there a cure?

I decided to do a wee little bit of research.

Exhibit Two, taken one fine day while the children played Tarzan on the rope swing.

Do you see that? It’s the difference between a universe governed by sensible, unchanging laws and one ruled by a raving, chocolate-deprived woman. It’s the difference between rising with the sun and rising at, say 9am. It’s the difference between a perfectly sane human being and one who is ever so slightly off-kilter.

Exhibit Three, taken at the commissary one fine day, meant to be used as a pictorial aid to a story I wanted to share with you. (See? I am always thinking of you!)

And there you have it. Sanity has been restored to the cereal aisle and all is well with the world.

7. So. The story, which I had forgotten completely but then remembered as I was doing my leftward listing research..

Bubba, Boy Wonder that he is, decided to pull a prank on the siblings of his special friend. The two of them went to the grocery store and bought a box of Lucky Charms. They then sat themselves down on a curb somewhere in the local vicinity and proceeded to EAT EVERY LAST MARSHMALLOW from the box.

Did they eat the luck or the charm? I haven’t quite figured that one out.

(And as an aside, yuck.)

Next, with devious intent, they planted the marshmallow-less box in the pantry at the special friend’s house, knowing full well that her mother doesn’t buy sugary cereal and also that her youngest brother is perhaps the reigning King of Junk and Sugary (and well, any) Food. Then the miscreants went on about their business.

The next morning as the King was rifling through the pantry, he happened upon the box. Joyfully, greedily, he looked around. How much could he eat before his siblings showed up? As he was pouring an enormous bowl of Luck (or Charm?), he realized something was amiss. What…what…what????

And he burst into tears!

After being comforted and reassured by his mother, after patching together the pieces of his broken heart, after a full breakfast of some non-sugary and highly unsatisfying cereal, the young King eyed the box…and put it back in the pantry.

An hour later his big brother found it. Cool! He grabbed a bowl and began pouring. Hey! What?? Having found company for his misery, the little (laughing) brother was quick to share the details of the ruse. It did his heart good. It even brought him to the point of considering defying the evil teenagers by eating the contents of the box! His big brother’s response?

“Their HANDS have been all over that cereal! I’M not eating it!”

After a thoughtful pause the big brother went back to the box, stuck his hand inside, and pulled out the prize. He was satisfied. Justice had been served.

7.5. You might think that would be the end of the story. You might think that the reasonable thing would have been to toss the remaining, sweaty-handed, marshmallow-less, toy prize-bereft box in the trash and call it a day.

But you don’t know Bubba.

For Bubba, there was still mileage to be squeezed out of this particular prank. After all, there were siblings at his house, too. Stealthily (I would imagine), Bubba retrieved said box from his friend’s pantry and brought it home where he casually placed it in my (also sugary-cereal-free) pantry. Then the miscreant went on about his business.

The next morning, Moose got up before daybreak for his lousy summer job. He (a junk food king in his own right) spied the cereal box. He poured himself a generous bowl, he ate. He went to work.

Several hours later, the Monkey emerged from his lair. He spied the cereal box. He poured himself a bowl and was shoveling it systematically down his throat when I walked in.

Me: What are you doing??? DON’T EAT THAT! Bubba and his friend dug out all the marshmallows!
Him: So?
Me: They dug them out with their HANDS!!
Him: So?

7.75. Many hours later, I was privileged to overhear the following conversation:

Monkey: Dude. Did you eat that cereal this morning? Bubba and his friend dug out all the marshmallows with their hands.
Moose: Yeah, I thought it didn’t taste quite right, so I only had one bowl.