It has been on my heart more and more - eating healthy.
I don't mean, drinking my milk and eating my greens. Because I don't do either of those things.
What I mean is, looking more into the quality of the food I'm eating. Going back to basics. Real material. Grandparent traditions. You know, junk like that.
Just because it's been on my heart, doesn't mean that I'm doing it all-together-now, style. I'm doing a lot of reading and researching. What will work best with my personality and our lifestyle. . . . .
I'd like to thank Mother Green Toes and The Prairie Homestead for kicking starting me. There are so many exciting things out there that I had no idea existed. Like eating dirt. And other things, that I did know about - but have never read an article that gave me the down-and-dirty (no pun intended), solid facts about - say, . . . . the health benefits of squatting while turding.
Moving on . . . .
With that being said, in the middle of all this exciting reading that I've been doing, Big D and I have really been get. ting. it. on. So much so, that there has been an alteration in my Ph level, leading to a collection of more yeast than normal. *ahem*
Ladies, let me encourage you to stop rummaging through your chemical drawers, and start looking on your kitchen counters. All's you need is a little of God's green earth crammed up into some-man's-land for relief and healing.
Healer of choice: fresh garlic cloves. Peeled of course. It smells incredibly divine. And makes me dream of fresh bread.
Midwife also suggested: taking shots of apple cider vinegar.
Ok, unbeknownst to the world (and Big D) I have been thinking about this for awhile. But it sounds overwhelming. And Easter eggish. And oh, so sour. And chore-ish.
But given the choice of being a walking bread machine, or not . . . .I'll take my shot. With a happy heart.
I have never (I say this with truth) felt more like a queen. The rush it provided. Screams came out involuntarily. Arms lost complete control, and flapped like a bird on crack. It gave me more of a rush than skinny-dipping at an illegal location with 3 male friends in the middle of winter. Would. (Did).
Yes. I will be doing this every night. And ANY time I need to feel alive.
So, with garlic cloves and apple cider vinegar under my belt (no pun intended) - I'm really starting to feel like I'm moving somewhere.
The next step was (yes, I said was) to take some fermented cod liver oil every day. It's such a small amount. And the benefits alone would want to make anyone open up and swallow.
The kind of CLO I got - recommended to me by none other than, M.G.T (she is the queen of CLO) ALSO had coconut oil (health) and butter oil (wealth) (not really, just more health - and a bonus of oral health - which is great, because I don't go to the dentist. Long story.) in it.
Today was the day to crack open the bottle. No reason why I chose today. Probably because I was feeling so brave from my shot of ACV.
I did take a whiff before scooping my spoonful, (It was a solid, because of the coconut oil) which caused me to stare long and hard at that spoonful. Thinking all sorts of encouraging and positive hogwash. And then I said, "it can't be that bad." And crammed it into my mouth.
At that precise moment:
a) I thought I was going to die
b) The phone rang
c) I started to gag and dry heave
d) Ed started screaming
I refused to spit it down the drain - because it cost so much money. And so I started to frantically flail around the kitchen looking for a suitable dish to spit it into. Now, once the offensive rotting fish liver is out of your mouth - it really isn't out of your mouth. CLO mixed with coconut and butter oil - makes the thickest, most liquid-resistant coating known in the scientific world. It also, somehow, swims up into your nasal passages.
You can gag and dry-heave all you want. Blow your nose. Cram your mouth full of chocolate cookies. It's there to stay. And you just have to go with it.
I answered the phone while cough-gagging. Took care of screaming Ed. And had 17 nightmares. About what to do with my daily allotment of CLO.
I decided the next step, was to make a smoothie. All sorts of yummy things. Liver juice included. I mixed it real good. Smelled it multiple times. I didn't gag. I tasted it. Didn't gag. In fact, I couldn't taste Nemo's guts at all.
Oh, I was feeling real proud. Until I got to the bottom of the barrel. Only to see that the oil had hardened onto the bottom of my blender. You know, with all the frozen fruits and ice cubes. . . . (idiot)
Two tries for a day equaled enough turmoil. And so I melted it with hot water and dumped it down the drain.
Except, when you mix fermented cod liver oil with hot water - you get a fine blast of death, in the face. That permeates throughout the entire kitchen. And fresh mingles with the old minglers - up your nose.
Key the gagging and dry-heaving, scene 2.
The cold water only hardened up the oil, which clogged the sink. Leaving me to have to reinstate the hot water.
Key the gagging and dry-heaving, scene 3.
I finally dumped about a gallon of clorox down the drain. And that seemed to neutralize the air enough to breath some.
I can honestly say:
1) I'm not giving up yet. One more recipe to try - and if that doesn't work, I'm going to choose to be ok with throwing it in the trash.
2) That was the worst thing I have ever, ever tasted and or smelled. It had me begging for my old offensive list of: coconut water, beets, fish eggs, and . . . . splooge. (TMI?)
3) You can't win them all.
My health-aware goals for the next couple of weeks/months:
To make my own bread
To make my own yogurt
To make elderberry elixer
To make vanilla extract
To make dishwasher tablets
To continue to be aware of what I'm eating. How is it being made? What the heckity heck is in it?
P.S. I can still taste fish lube. It must be stuck to my lips. They feel extraordinarily smooth.
Showing posts with label adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventures. Show all posts
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Monday, November 25, 2013
The Day I Almost Died - Again
I didn't write about this earlier because I'm a lazy pig. And do nothing but sleep on the couch and ignore laundry and dishes. And bathing myself. (Which is actually perfect. Because that new hair color I just got - semi permy dye - will last about 7 times as long as it would on a normal person who cares about their hygiene.)(I never said I wasn't good at getting the most bang for my buck.)
A few weeks ago the circus came to town. In a way, it's a tad old fashion sounding, and that feels nice. Until I think about the poor animals. And then I get mad and wish I was protesting with the other protesters. Instead, I just sulk my way past sign holders and pretend I don't care about the poor elephants.
So Big D works down town - and knows about back alleys and secret parking spots, and all sorts of other non-family places and areas. But he still likes to take his family there.
I'm not sure if it's because his brain doesn't work properly, or if it's because his brain doesn't work properly. Still trying to figure it out over here - 9 years later.
The setting:
Pitch black. Middle of the city. Both kids with us. Semi-full bellies. Lots of farts. Hidden stash of water in bottom of "diaper-bag". Freezing.
Big D parked us in our semi-sketchy spot. And we booked our bottoms to a more appropriate family location - the sidewalk.
And in true Big D fashion, he took us on a special off-the-grid hike. The least beaten path, you could say. The path where nobody else was in sight. Because it was dark. With no lights.
Honestly, it wasn't too bad. We got to see all the trailers and trailers of the circus. But then, ahead of us, a dark ominous figure appeared, and started waddling toward us. Just one. In the dark.
But it ended up just being a nice, fat circus helper telling us we couldn't continue our walk in the current direction. Something about the horses being crazy. And there in the distance I could see horses whizzing in circles. I think they were fed crack. I guess crack horses would be more exciting to watch.
So instead of Big D taking us on a more family-friendly trip around the VERY large building, he some how scrounged up an even more highly alarming, secret passage, short cut.
A secret passage that took us right by the opening of the old aqueduct, that now houses the homeless and addicts. And in true Big D fashion, he thought it to be the most opportune time to have a family field trip.
Dear Jesus.
Big D was holding Ed. And Murr was in his hand. I stood back on the platform, in case something happened "I would be able to run and get help". Yes, I really thought this. And then I thought, "my goodness, you're being such a cantankerous panty wad. Go have a field trip."
Yup, so I had a field trip. I walked to the ledge of the old aqueduct. And it was beautiful. Well, I could imagine it was beautiful. It was pitch black. You could see through the windows on the other side. But inside the actual aqueduct, it was the black that made your eyes ache.
I listened to Big D give his presentation. I think it lasted about 20 seconds.
And then the voice of Satan appeared. It was incomprehensible. And loud. And so gravely, my ears got road rash. It was oh, so close to my face, but invisible.
I was so startled. And so angry. I grabbed Murr's coat, picked her off her feet. And threw her out onto the platform, grabbed her hand. And when I say "high-tailed it". Just imagine that to be an understatement.
Once I got to safety, I turned around to see where Big D was. . . . . . Big D, still holding my son - was still standing on the ledge - and I quote - "to try to see who was talking".
The rage. Oh the rage.
1) I knew this was going to happen.
2) Why would you take your family to a very well-known sketchy area?
3) Why would you just stand there asking to be dismembered, WHILE holding your son?
4) Was Big D dropped on his head as a baby?
And I have nothing else to say. Except I survived my 2nd close brush with death.
Maybe secretly I'm a cat. I guess technically a Fox is close enough.
A few weeks ago the circus came to town. In a way, it's a tad old fashion sounding, and that feels nice. Until I think about the poor animals. And then I get mad and wish I was protesting with the other protesters. Instead, I just sulk my way past sign holders and pretend I don't care about the poor elephants.
So Big D works down town - and knows about back alleys and secret parking spots, and all sorts of other non-family places and areas. But he still likes to take his family there.
I'm not sure if it's because his brain doesn't work properly, or if it's because his brain doesn't work properly. Still trying to figure it out over here - 9 years later.
The setting:
Pitch black. Middle of the city. Both kids with us. Semi-full bellies. Lots of farts. Hidden stash of water in bottom of "diaper-bag". Freezing.
Big D parked us in our semi-sketchy spot. And we booked our bottoms to a more appropriate family location - the sidewalk.
And in true Big D fashion, he took us on a special off-the-grid hike. The least beaten path, you could say. The path where nobody else was in sight. Because it was dark. With no lights.
Honestly, it wasn't too bad. We got to see all the trailers and trailers of the circus. But then, ahead of us, a dark ominous figure appeared, and started waddling toward us. Just one. In the dark.
But it ended up just being a nice, fat circus helper telling us we couldn't continue our walk in the current direction. Something about the horses being crazy. And there in the distance I could see horses whizzing in circles. I think they were fed crack. I guess crack horses would be more exciting to watch.
So instead of Big D taking us on a more family-friendly trip around the VERY large building, he some how scrounged up an even more highly alarming, secret passage, short cut.
A secret passage that took us right by the opening of the old aqueduct, that now houses the homeless and addicts. And in true Big D fashion, he thought it to be the most opportune time to have a family field trip.
Dear Jesus.
Big D was holding Ed. And Murr was in his hand. I stood back on the platform, in case something happened "I would be able to run and get help". Yes, I really thought this. And then I thought, "my goodness, you're being such a cantankerous panty wad. Go have a field trip."
Yup, so I had a field trip. I walked to the ledge of the old aqueduct. And it was beautiful. Well, I could imagine it was beautiful. It was pitch black. You could see through the windows on the other side. But inside the actual aqueduct, it was the black that made your eyes ache.
I listened to Big D give his presentation. I think it lasted about 20 seconds.
And then the voice of Satan appeared. It was incomprehensible. And loud. And so gravely, my ears got road rash. It was oh, so close to my face, but invisible.
I was so startled. And so angry. I grabbed Murr's coat, picked her off her feet. And threw her out onto the platform, grabbed her hand. And when I say "high-tailed it". Just imagine that to be an understatement.
Once I got to safety, I turned around to see where Big D was. . . . . . Big D, still holding my son - was still standing on the ledge - and I quote - "to try to see who was talking".
The rage. Oh the rage.
1) I knew this was going to happen.
2) Why would you take your family to a very well-known sketchy area?
3) Why would you just stand there asking to be dismembered, WHILE holding your son?
4) Was Big D dropped on his head as a baby?
And I have nothing else to say. Except I survived my 2nd close brush with death.
Maybe secretly I'm a cat. I guess technically a Fox is close enough.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Bigger is Better, But Wisdom is Best
I knew it was going to happen. Or at least I was prepared for when it did happen.
You see, one of my spiritual gifts happens to be intuition and discernment. It's a blessing and a curse. And maybe I'll talk more about that another time.
I became "aware" about two weeks ago. It was a Friday night. Friday Friend party night!!! . . . . . except I had a nervy feeling in my stomach about work the next morning. (I run a swim lesson program) I wasn't sure if I was just being a wench or my "feelings" were legit.
So I went exploring. And my mind's eye came up with a picture.
In my home town there's this really neat family. It's a pastor and his family. And a couple of years ago they adopted 3 teenagers from the Ukraine. Two of the kids come to swim lessons on Saturday, and one of those kids is a daredevil on the diving board. He's good. And fearless. All the makings you need to be a diver.
My mind picture was of this daredevil hitting the diving board with his head. He would need to be backboarded. And it was going to happen right at the end of swim lessons, when the whistle was blown.
I hated it. But I prayed over it. Asking God to please let that not happen. But if he did, to please cover me in wisdom, as I would be the one to be making the calls.
I prayed real hard. And I went over and over, in my head, the drill for backboarding a victim. And nothing happened that Saturday. And I breathed.
Fast forward to last night. Having moved on from my nervy feelings . . . . I wasn't thinking about diving board accidents anymore.
Tuesday night is homeschool swim. I bring Murnice and Ed for a lesson. Mother runs the program. Sometimes I lifeguard. Sometimes I teach a lesson. Last night I lifeguarded. Mother was playing with Ed in the shallow end while she chatted with me. The whistle blew to signal the end of class. And the divingboard made a horrific sound.
I looked up to see 3 adults rush to the divingboard. I knew somebody had hit it. And then saw that it had been B.B. Bobby. He was at the edge of the pool. Which was a good sign that he could move. I started yelling "DID HE HIT THE BOARD" as I ran down to the deep end.
After about the fifth time of asking the question, somebody finally said "yes, he split his head".
B.B.Bobby is out of the pool at this point, bent over, blooding running down his face. I take this all in as I grabbed the backboard and start ripping the velcro to shreds.
I'm yelling out commands, "CALL 911" and "HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BACKBOARD".
Immediately about 5 adults surrounded me and start yelling at me, "HOW DO WE HELP?"
This is funny to me. You know how in fast moving events, its blurred? So I wonder if what I was saying was actually making sense to bystanders? And then I wonder if I even answered their questions? Or if I just did it myself?
I remember throwing my hands up in the air at one point because I couldn't even get to all the straps because there were so many people surrounded him - supporting and gauzing and evaluating.
And then he was finally on the board, properly. Strapped. Immobilized. He was nauseous and dizzy. And then there's ice.
B.B.Bob was breathing and conscious. The ambulance was on their way. And then I realized, Ed was missing. I didn't see him anywhere in the mass of people. I yelled real loud. Three times. "WHERE'S MY SON".
And there he was. Wrapped in a towel, sitting. By Murnice. Guarded by the lovliest mom. She shared herself. Her time. While others took care of her children.
And then we waited.
I kept going over check lists in my head of what needed to be done. I not only needed to observe the happenings with B.B.Bobby, but there was paper work, and disinfecting, and kids that needed to be taken care of, and dazed parents that needed to be walked step by step through simple directions - such as how to get dressed, a pool to generally organize and lock up, cars and belongings to collect and be driven back to Mothers - since she was going on the ambulance ride, and organizing helpers to stand in the parking lot to direct the ambulance to the correct door. Since Father wasn't answering the phone he needed to be personally got, along with warm clothes and cell phones. And phone calls to later evening funs had to be cancelled.
I am amazed. I am grateful to the helpfulness of all. From sitting with smaller children to lending underwear. Standing in the cold outdoors with just a bathing suit to guide the EMS to cleaning up the blood bath. To covering in prayers and not leaving his side with jokes.
I was covered. I had already prayed 2 weeks before. Wisdom. It was the most perfect, worst accident the pool of 30+ years has seen.
8 staples. No headache. Nothing broken/fractured/sprained. Bloody and bruised, yes. His hands are very tender and swollen. And they are the worst of it, pain wise.
I believe with all my heart that that accident was meant for the daredevil diver. I believe with all my heart that my prayer changed what was meant to be. And God was gracious and so perfect.
My heart is full of Thanksgiving.
You see, one of my spiritual gifts happens to be intuition and discernment. It's a blessing and a curse. And maybe I'll talk more about that another time.
I became "aware" about two weeks ago. It was a Friday night. Friday Friend party night!!! . . . . . except I had a nervy feeling in my stomach about work the next morning. (I run a swim lesson program) I wasn't sure if I was just being a wench or my "feelings" were legit.
So I went exploring. And my mind's eye came up with a picture.
In my home town there's this really neat family. It's a pastor and his family. And a couple of years ago they adopted 3 teenagers from the Ukraine. Two of the kids come to swim lessons on Saturday, and one of those kids is a daredevil on the diving board. He's good. And fearless. All the makings you need to be a diver.
My mind picture was of this daredevil hitting the diving board with his head. He would need to be backboarded. And it was going to happen right at the end of swim lessons, when the whistle was blown.
I hated it. But I prayed over it. Asking God to please let that not happen. But if he did, to please cover me in wisdom, as I would be the one to be making the calls.
I prayed real hard. And I went over and over, in my head, the drill for backboarding a victim. And nothing happened that Saturday. And I breathed.
Fast forward to last night. Having moved on from my nervy feelings . . . . I wasn't thinking about diving board accidents anymore.
Tuesday night is homeschool swim. I bring Murnice and Ed for a lesson. Mother runs the program. Sometimes I lifeguard. Sometimes I teach a lesson. Last night I lifeguarded. Mother was playing with Ed in the shallow end while she chatted with me. The whistle blew to signal the end of class. And the divingboard made a horrific sound.
I looked up to see 3 adults rush to the divingboard. I knew somebody had hit it. And then saw that it had been B.B. Bobby. He was at the edge of the pool. Which was a good sign that he could move. I started yelling "DID HE HIT THE BOARD" as I ran down to the deep end.
After about the fifth time of asking the question, somebody finally said "yes, he split his head".
B.B.Bobby is out of the pool at this point, bent over, blooding running down his face. I take this all in as I grabbed the backboard and start ripping the velcro to shreds.
I'm yelling out commands, "CALL 911" and "HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BACKBOARD".
Immediately about 5 adults surrounded me and start yelling at me, "HOW DO WE HELP?"
This is funny to me. You know how in fast moving events, its blurred? So I wonder if what I was saying was actually making sense to bystanders? And then I wonder if I even answered their questions? Or if I just did it myself?
I remember throwing my hands up in the air at one point because I couldn't even get to all the straps because there were so many people surrounded him - supporting and gauzing and evaluating.
And then he was finally on the board, properly. Strapped. Immobilized. He was nauseous and dizzy. And then there's ice.
B.B.Bob was breathing and conscious. The ambulance was on their way. And then I realized, Ed was missing. I didn't see him anywhere in the mass of people. I yelled real loud. Three times. "WHERE'S MY SON".
And there he was. Wrapped in a towel, sitting. By Murnice. Guarded by the lovliest mom. She shared herself. Her time. While others took care of her children.
And then we waited.
I kept going over check lists in my head of what needed to be done. I not only needed to observe the happenings with B.B.Bobby, but there was paper work, and disinfecting, and kids that needed to be taken care of, and dazed parents that needed to be walked step by step through simple directions - such as how to get dressed, a pool to generally organize and lock up, cars and belongings to collect and be driven back to Mothers - since she was going on the ambulance ride, and organizing helpers to stand in the parking lot to direct the ambulance to the correct door. Since Father wasn't answering the phone he needed to be personally got, along with warm clothes and cell phones. And phone calls to later evening funs had to be cancelled.
I am amazed. I am grateful to the helpfulness of all. From sitting with smaller children to lending underwear. Standing in the cold outdoors with just a bathing suit to guide the EMS to cleaning up the blood bath. To covering in prayers and not leaving his side with jokes.
I was covered. I had already prayed 2 weeks before. Wisdom. It was the most perfect, worst accident the pool of 30+ years has seen.
8 staples. No headache. Nothing broken/fractured/sprained. Bloody and bruised, yes. His hands are very tender and swollen. And they are the worst of it, pain wise.
I believe with all my heart that that accident was meant for the daredevil diver. I believe with all my heart that my prayer changed what was meant to be. And God was gracious and so perfect.
My heart is full of Thanksgiving.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Half-Way to Snow Bird Land
I left Big D again.
That's why I haven't been writing. I've been sitting on a different couch. With no gumption to say anything. Even though there are things to be said.
But this morning I've gathered my gumption.
I'm on my annual trip down south. (Ok, it's only the second time that I've done it. But I think two times in a row makes it annual.)
Big D gets really nervous with my driving. He'd like to preserve the family for a bit longer, so he drove us down. Actually, I kind of manipulated him into driving us. I say things like: "I'm really fine. There is no need to drive us down. But you can make the call, being the family protector and all". And then he feels guilty without me being needy and whiny. And he takes care of his manly business and I get to be chauffeured. And I let him chauffeur me in style. I always wear my biggest granny panties. (There is nothing worse than having a wad of underwear stuck where you can't reach it for hours and hours) And without fail, I choose the sweat pants that Big D has vowed to never have intercourse with me again - if I wear them. (They're just so cozy and perfect) And I smile gleefully. And my butt is happy.
My favorite is when I take the kids into the restroom stops. Big D never shows his face with us. He pumps gas. But I can see right through his antics. He's horrified to be associated with us. So he pumps and we pee. And then when we're half way into the parking lot, he bolts from our car, straight into the rest stop - without a glance our way. And nobody would guess for a second that he is our hired chauffeur/father of the sewer rat children/husband of this hot piece of eye candy.
For this trip, I was a real mom. I made food for the car. And it was 100 times better than "packing food" sounds. Like - I imagine, smooshed, car-warm pb and jelly. But I was way fancier than that.
I made poo-tang sandwiches in mini pita pockets. And they rocked our world. So so tasty. And made our trip 3 times happier and 2 hours shorter. The chauffeur was happy. I packed other things too - but nothing was quite so trip-changing as those samiches. (That's how Big D says it.)
And we listened to books on tape. And stopped in the middle of a busy busy highway in the dark, to rush Ed to the edge of death - so he could pee.
Before we knew it - (only because I packed sandwiches) we made it to B.B. Chuck's house. And the kids ran around and screamed and squealed like banshees for an hour. And the adults looked at each other and smiled and wished so hard that it was bed time.
And then Big D woke up a few hours later and flew back home.
So in actuality, Big D is the one that left me. And wouldn't you know - he's missing me. Wishing he could catch a glimpse of this plush bottom in a pair of granny panties.
Take Aways
1) My gumption has left.
That's why I haven't been writing. I've been sitting on a different couch. With no gumption to say anything. Even though there are things to be said.
But this morning I've gathered my gumption.
I'm on my annual trip down south. (Ok, it's only the second time that I've done it. But I think two times in a row makes it annual.)
Big D gets really nervous with my driving. He'd like to preserve the family for a bit longer, so he drove us down. Actually, I kind of manipulated him into driving us. I say things like: "I'm really fine. There is no need to drive us down. But you can make the call, being the family protector and all". And then he feels guilty without me being needy and whiny. And he takes care of his manly business and I get to be chauffeured. And I let him chauffeur me in style. I always wear my biggest granny panties. (There is nothing worse than having a wad of underwear stuck where you can't reach it for hours and hours) And without fail, I choose the sweat pants that Big D has vowed to never have intercourse with me again - if I wear them. (They're just so cozy and perfect) And I smile gleefully. And my butt is happy.
My favorite is when I take the kids into the restroom stops. Big D never shows his face with us. He pumps gas. But I can see right through his antics. He's horrified to be associated with us. So he pumps and we pee. And then when we're half way into the parking lot, he bolts from our car, straight into the rest stop - without a glance our way. And nobody would guess for a second that he is our hired chauffeur/father of the sewer rat children/husband of this hot piece of eye candy.
For this trip, I was a real mom. I made food for the car. And it was 100 times better than "packing food" sounds. Like - I imagine, smooshed, car-warm pb and jelly. But I was way fancier than that.
I made poo-tang sandwiches in mini pita pockets. And they rocked our world. So so tasty. And made our trip 3 times happier and 2 hours shorter. The chauffeur was happy. I packed other things too - but nothing was quite so trip-changing as those samiches. (That's how Big D says it.)
And we listened to books on tape. And stopped in the middle of a busy busy highway in the dark, to rush Ed to the edge of death - so he could pee.
Before we knew it - (only because I packed sandwiches) we made it to B.B. Chuck's house. And the kids ran around and screamed and squealed like banshees for an hour. And the adults looked at each other and smiled and wished so hard that it was bed time.
And then Big D woke up a few hours later and flew back home.
So in actuality, Big D is the one that left me. And wouldn't you know - he's missing me. Wishing he could catch a glimpse of this plush bottom in a pair of granny panties.
Take Aways
1) My gumption has left.
Monday, September 16, 2013
The Day I Almost Died
I almost died.
I probably almost die all the time, but most of those times I'm completely unaware. This time, I was very aware.
It started out with a miscommunication problem. Or, a-not-reading-correctly moment. Which ever you choose..The main point is, it was not my mistake.
Our plan was to make a trip to visit Iss and her husband. And watch the horse races. And gamble away our 3 pennies. I don't believe in gambling. But Big D does, and when he gambles, I cross all my toes and fingers and hope for luckiness.
But when we got to Iss's house, and looked up our next day's frivolities - we were crushed to find out that "somebody" had misread the calendar. *ahem ahem* And there would be no gambling. Which lead to tears.
And then there was this extra time that needed to be filled. And what better way to enjoy friends and the beautiful end of summer than to go to a state park?
Sounds lovely. The idea was pitched to me like this: "So, it looks like it will be a great day to head to the park, if that sounds nice to you guys. We could pack a picnic. They have some fun little playgrounds. Even a zip line. And then a little hike if you want to."
Oh my, so low key. And manageable.
(Silly me to think such things.. . . )
We had a beautiful lunch. Perfect sunny warm and crisp air. Perfect combination of poo poo and J with plain salty chips and dilly picks - that Ed ate most of. Which made us sad.
And then the kids and the not kids had a grand time on the zip lines. And we made theories and hypothesises of which zip line was longer and which zip line was faster. And all sorts of silly conversations that made us feel smart.
And then the world blurred, while I was kidnapped and wisked away to the hiking location. I really am not sure what happened. But then, we were "there". And there were a lot of happy people. And families. And picnickers. And backpacks. And hiking shoes. And I felt very nervous, because: a) I don't hike b) the thought of hiking makes my tummy hurt c) when my tummy hurts, I get diarrhea explosions d) there are no bathrooms on hikes and e) I wasn't wearing a backpack.
I was also led to believe that this particular hike was "short" and "easy". That we would get to a "certain spot" and then turn around and come back.
And the hike began. It began with a flight of metal stairs that went straight down. Straight down the side of a mountain. Like your old grandmother's stairs that go down into the basement. Steep and narrow, and practically on top of each other. Like, you have to walk down with your feet sideways. Because there's no room for a full foot facing forward.
Welcome to hiking. And death.
And then it went from bad to worser. At least with the stairs there was a railing to hold on to.
Not so much with the rest of the hike.
The entire hike was on the ledge of a mountain. The foot path was a whopping yard wide. To the right was mountain that went straight up. To the left was mountain that went straight down.
Did I mention we had the beautiful children with us?
Did I also mention that the place (aka footpath) was over crowded with every troll, mountaineer, billy goat gruff, and lunatic that thought it was a good idea to go hiking on the ledge of a mountain that day as well?
Now, I'm not scared of heights. However, something physically happens to me when I'm up high. (I think it's because my buns are so used to being smooshed on the couch, in a "low" position.) I get really dizzy and my legs shake in a non-queen like manner.
Being shaky and dizzy is not a good mixture for ledge walking. Or for any type of walking.
I kept looking and judging the other troll mother's faces. Trying to get a good read of enjoyment or exhaustion. Or pure horror. And every other troll looked as pleased as punch that they chose such a death defying activity for the day. Which made me even more grumpy. I could not identify with anyone. I couldn't make "eyes" or share in knowing, sympathetic head nods. Or even lip crumples.
And then, after I had given up hope for ever finding the "certain spot" to turn around - the trail ended. It was over. And I renewed my secret oath of never going on a hike ever again, for real. And signed it with my own blood. And thanked Jesus that I didn't dive over the side of the mountain head first. And also thanked Jesus that neither kid bolted over the side of the mountain.
Take Aways
1) The Foxtrot belongs on her couch.
2) I do not like thinking about my scraping by. Therefore, I shall not think about it.
3) Big D thought the hike was grand. That's because he has no sense of parental protection.
4) Which makes me really excited.
5) The pickles were nice.
The end.
I probably almost die all the time, but most of those times I'm completely unaware. This time, I was very aware.
It started out with a miscommunication problem. Or, a-not-reading-correctly moment. Which ever you choose..The main point is, it was not my mistake.
Our plan was to make a trip to visit Iss and her husband. And watch the horse races. And gamble away our 3 pennies. I don't believe in gambling. But Big D does, and when he gambles, I cross all my toes and fingers and hope for luckiness.
But when we got to Iss's house, and looked up our next day's frivolities - we were crushed to find out that "somebody" had misread the calendar. *ahem ahem* And there would be no gambling. Which lead to tears.
And then there was this extra time that needed to be filled. And what better way to enjoy friends and the beautiful end of summer than to go to a state park?
Sounds lovely. The idea was pitched to me like this: "So, it looks like it will be a great day to head to the park, if that sounds nice to you guys. We could pack a picnic. They have some fun little playgrounds. Even a zip line. And then a little hike if you want to."
Oh my, so low key. And manageable.
(Silly me to think such things.. . . )
We had a beautiful lunch. Perfect sunny warm and crisp air. Perfect combination of poo poo and J with plain salty chips and dilly picks - that Ed ate most of. Which made us sad.
And then the kids and the not kids had a grand time on the zip lines. And we made theories and hypothesises of which zip line was longer and which zip line was faster. And all sorts of silly conversations that made us feel smart.
And then the world blurred, while I was kidnapped and wisked away to the hiking location. I really am not sure what happened. But then, we were "there". And there were a lot of happy people. And families. And picnickers. And backpacks. And hiking shoes. And I felt very nervous, because: a) I don't hike b) the thought of hiking makes my tummy hurt c) when my tummy hurts, I get diarrhea explosions d) there are no bathrooms on hikes and e) I wasn't wearing a backpack.
I was also led to believe that this particular hike was "short" and "easy". That we would get to a "certain spot" and then turn around and come back.
And the hike began. It began with a flight of metal stairs that went straight down. Straight down the side of a mountain. Like your old grandmother's stairs that go down into the basement. Steep and narrow, and practically on top of each other. Like, you have to walk down with your feet sideways. Because there's no room for a full foot facing forward.
Welcome to hiking. And death.
And then it went from bad to worser. At least with the stairs there was a railing to hold on to.
Not so much with the rest of the hike.
The entire hike was on the ledge of a mountain. The foot path was a whopping yard wide. To the right was mountain that went straight up. To the left was mountain that went straight down.
Did I mention we had the beautiful children with us?
Did I also mention that the place (aka footpath) was over crowded with every troll, mountaineer, billy goat gruff, and lunatic that thought it was a good idea to go hiking on the ledge of a mountain that day as well?
Now, I'm not scared of heights. However, something physically happens to me when I'm up high. (I think it's because my buns are so used to being smooshed on the couch, in a "low" position.) I get really dizzy and my legs shake in a non-queen like manner.
Being shaky and dizzy is not a good mixture for ledge walking. Or for any type of walking.
I kept looking and judging the other troll mother's faces. Trying to get a good read of enjoyment or exhaustion. Or pure horror. And every other troll looked as pleased as punch that they chose such a death defying activity for the day. Which made me even more grumpy. I could not identify with anyone. I couldn't make "eyes" or share in knowing, sympathetic head nods. Or even lip crumples.
And then, after I had given up hope for ever finding the "certain spot" to turn around - the trail ended. It was over. And I renewed my secret oath of never going on a hike ever again, for real. And signed it with my own blood. And thanked Jesus that I didn't dive over the side of the mountain head first. And also thanked Jesus that neither kid bolted over the side of the mountain.
Take Aways
1) The Foxtrot belongs on her couch.
2) I do not like thinking about my scraping by. Therefore, I shall not think about it.
3) Big D thought the hike was grand. That's because he has no sense of parental protection.
4) Which makes me really excited.
5) The pickles were nice.
The end.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Worst Idea of the Year Thus Far
I'm derailing from doom and gloom today. Just need a little break.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Holy Water
The Witherhalls had a holy weekend. Ok, not really holy - just a baptism. Big D decided that he needed the holy washing.
It's kinda a long story - and since family reads this to get updates since I don't do the phone very well, I'll tell the story. And they rest of you piglets can do as you please.
Big D could not remember when he became a believer, but got baptized when he was 16. He never really thought about it - until he heard David Jeremiah (on the radio) say that when you become saved, it's a moment in time. And it should be remembered. Something about it should be remembered. And Big D couldn't remember his moment in time. The only thing that was sticking in his memory banks was when he was in college and a change in his heart started to take place and he started to live out the scriptures. And if this is the case, his previous baptism was illegitimate.
I really struggled with this for a lot of personal reasons that I will not get into unless you are super super close to me and we share the same air.
A few of the reasons that I will publicly announce, that crumpled my toes: Big D loves a reason to run away from house duties, which means - if he can turn a 3 minute event into a 5 hour event - he will. And, Big D loves to be a showman. He's one of those people that will invite everybody to everything. (Those types of people make me growl)
So when he finally announced his decision to be baptized, I was on high-alert, grump style. He started going through his list of people that he was going to invite - I got real excited. Asked him what his motive was. And thank you, Jesus - he had a change of heart.
And now I'll move on to the actual day, because I could go on for the rest of the year on all the reasons I was being a sour puss.
Saturday was cool (72ish) Big D decided that 9:30am was perfect (with much cajoling) and the holy water experience was going to take place at a local hikery park that we walked to from our mole hole. Big D decided to invite Friday Friends and two other men (and their families) that have a spiritual impact in his life. It was a perfect intimate group of people. We walked a mile. The men up ahead, the women in the back with the kids. And we finally got to Big D's spot where the boy scouts were having a work party.
I have to be honest. It was quite lovely. My favorite baptism so far. So quiet, so simple, so special with a few of our favorites.
And then the fun began. We played in the river. All of us - minus the mama with the baby.
That's me swinging out on the rope swing. Yes, I'm wearing a dress. Big D is holding Ed, and Murnice is watching.
Take Aways
1) I'm glad I have a husband/bed romper friend that hears and obeys God.
2) I am so glad that all of the "things" that I was crumpled about - did not come to pass.
3) I am so glad that we had river time, together.
It's kinda a long story - and since family reads this to get updates since I don't do the phone very well, I'll tell the story. And they rest of you piglets can do as you please.
Big D could not remember when he became a believer, but got baptized when he was 16. He never really thought about it - until he heard David Jeremiah (on the radio) say that when you become saved, it's a moment in time. And it should be remembered. Something about it should be remembered. And Big D couldn't remember his moment in time. The only thing that was sticking in his memory banks was when he was in college and a change in his heart started to take place and he started to live out the scriptures. And if this is the case, his previous baptism was illegitimate.
I really struggled with this for a lot of personal reasons that I will not get into unless you are super super close to me and we share the same air.
A few of the reasons that I will publicly announce, that crumpled my toes: Big D loves a reason to run away from house duties, which means - if he can turn a 3 minute event into a 5 hour event - he will. And, Big D loves to be a showman. He's one of those people that will invite everybody to everything. (Those types of people make me growl)
So when he finally announced his decision to be baptized, I was on high-alert, grump style. He started going through his list of people that he was going to invite - I got real excited. Asked him what his motive was. And thank you, Jesus - he had a change of heart.
And now I'll move on to the actual day, because I could go on for the rest of the year on all the reasons I was being a sour puss.
Saturday was cool (72ish) Big D decided that 9:30am was perfect (with much cajoling) and the holy water experience was going to take place at a local hikery park that we walked to from our mole hole. Big D decided to invite Friday Friends and two other men (and their families) that have a spiritual impact in his life. It was a perfect intimate group of people. We walked a mile. The men up ahead, the women in the back with the kids. And we finally got to Big D's spot where the boy scouts were having a work party.
I have to be honest. It was quite lovely. My favorite baptism so far. So quiet, so simple, so special with a few of our favorites.
And then the fun began. We played in the river. All of us - minus the mama with the baby.
That's me swinging out on the rope swing. Yes, I'm wearing a dress. Big D is holding Ed, and Murnice is watching.
Take Aways
1) I'm glad I have a husband/bed romper friend that hears and obeys God.
2) I am so glad that all of the "things" that I was crumpled about - did not come to pass.
3) I am so glad that we had river time, together.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Not the Safe Choice
I haven't really talked about this - but I have been interviewing for a job. A nursey job. It's been a 2 month process.
It was a perfect opportunity, doing something that I'm ridiculously excited about. It could not have been a better set up for me - being a stay at home mom - or shall I say, SAHM.
First interview went great. And that was because I didn't have to say much. They just wanted to let me know what their business was all about. And before I left we had set up a second interview.
Second interview was a tad more challenging. I had to do a lot more tongue flapping. There were a lot of forehead crinkles at things I would say. And honestly, I was not expecting to be invited back.
But I was. For a third time. And I had the best time at my 3rd. Maybe I was just getting used to the process. Or I just decided to be my snazz-sparkle self. It was glorious. I walked away expecting not to get the job, but relishing in the fact that I was true down to my toes and that I got a bunch (and I mean a bunch) of funny looks and squirms.
Let me preface what I'm going to say next, by saying that my lie (and everybody has a lie that they're told) is that I'm not good enough. Such a good lie. And I believe more than I would like to admit.
I got the call yesterday that let know that they had "found somebody else that fit the job requirements better".
For those of you who have gotten this call for an opportunity that you were a bit stoked about - know the hurt.
First I believed the lie - I'm not good enough. Then I cried 37 tears. Then I wondered why it took two months and 3 interviews for them to tell me that I was too rad for them. Then I started to question myself on how I answered the questions. Then I got angry at their lack of open heartedness and their inability to take a risk and hire somebody who would rock their world on all the levels that their world is built.
And then I remembered that Jesus only gives us the best. And that this was a gift. And I wouldn't cry or feel rage for a perfect gift handed to me from Sally Jones, why should I feel grumpled over this gift - that I know is perfect.
So I'm choosing, choosing this gift. Refusing the lie, the best I can. And believing that God is allowing me the chance and opportunity to stay home full time, to homeschool full time, to have playtime with friends full time. To continue to cook dinner 3x a week and wash poopy underwear full time. I'm going to choose to trust the bigger and better picture that I can't see, but I'm learning about through experience.
I know in my heart of hearts that I was indeed the perfect person for this job opening. But I was not the safe candidate, and I understand a business wanting to make a safe decision. I wasn't safe because I still have young children at home and the probability of me leaving the company within a few years is great - and training takes up to a year. Also, they need somebody a tad more conservative in the vocal arena.
Take Aways
1) Choose to look at the unpleasantries as a gift.
2) Or at least try.
3) Say no to your lie.
4) And look at pictures of all the sweet babies that have entered their new world. Welcome Miles, Evelyn, Benaiah, and Isaac!
It was a perfect opportunity, doing something that I'm ridiculously excited about. It could not have been a better set up for me - being a stay at home mom - or shall I say, SAHM.
First interview went great. And that was because I didn't have to say much. They just wanted to let me know what their business was all about. And before I left we had set up a second interview.
Second interview was a tad more challenging. I had to do a lot more tongue flapping. There were a lot of forehead crinkles at things I would say. And honestly, I was not expecting to be invited back.
But I was. For a third time. And I had the best time at my 3rd. Maybe I was just getting used to the process. Or I just decided to be my snazz-sparkle self. It was glorious. I walked away expecting not to get the job, but relishing in the fact that I was true down to my toes and that I got a bunch (and I mean a bunch) of funny looks and squirms.
Let me preface what I'm going to say next, by saying that my lie (and everybody has a lie that they're told) is that I'm not good enough. Such a good lie. And I believe more than I would like to admit.
I got the call yesterday that let know that they had "found somebody else that fit the job requirements better".
For those of you who have gotten this call for an opportunity that you were a bit stoked about - know the hurt.
First I believed the lie - I'm not good enough. Then I cried 37 tears. Then I wondered why it took two months and 3 interviews for them to tell me that I was too rad for them. Then I started to question myself on how I answered the questions. Then I got angry at their lack of open heartedness and their inability to take a risk and hire somebody who would rock their world on all the levels that their world is built.
And then I remembered that Jesus only gives us the best. And that this was a gift. And I wouldn't cry or feel rage for a perfect gift handed to me from Sally Jones, why should I feel grumpled over this gift - that I know is perfect.
So I'm choosing, choosing this gift. Refusing the lie, the best I can. And believing that God is allowing me the chance and opportunity to stay home full time, to homeschool full time, to have playtime with friends full time. To continue to cook dinner 3x a week and wash poopy underwear full time. I'm going to choose to trust the bigger and better picture that I can't see, but I'm learning about through experience.
I know in my heart of hearts that I was indeed the perfect person for this job opening. But I was not the safe candidate, and I understand a business wanting to make a safe decision. I wasn't safe because I still have young children at home and the probability of me leaving the company within a few years is great - and training takes up to a year. Also, they need somebody a tad more conservative in the vocal arena.
Take Aways
1) Choose to look at the unpleasantries as a gift.
2) Or at least try.
3) Say no to your lie.
4) And look at pictures of all the sweet babies that have entered their new world. Welcome Miles, Evelyn, Benaiah, and Isaac!
Monday, July 1, 2013
Where I've Been - Day 2
I really out did myself on the weeny whiny baby part on day two.
Weeny Whiny Fit #1
Being woken up at 7am by a very eager beaver husband who could not wait to get to our destination for the day. Hershey Park.
Weeny Whiny Fit #2
Having the tv turned off on me while I was watching a cat hoarder show snuggled up in bed, refusing to move my bottom and thoroughly enjoying cable.
Weeny Whiny Fit #3
Fit #3 never ended. From the time we left the hotel until the time we pulled into our driveway back home I threw a fit. I do want to say that I really tried my hardest to remember this trip was not about me. But there were just some times were I couldn't keep it under cover a second more.
Honestly, I view amusement parks like a chore when you have children. There is nothing amusing about them. Just driving to one makes me want to turn around, right back to that cozy bed I left and watch cat hoarder shows.
Things that make me hyperventilate
1) The line of cars just to get into the park
2) The hot sun
3) The amount of pavement.
4) The masses of people that are all pleased as punch that they are at Hershey Park.
5) I don't like pleased as punch people.
6) The lines people commit to stand in just to go on a 30 second ride.
7) The bathing suits that should be illegal to wear.
8) The fast-food around every corner that cost 3 arms and 2 toe-nails.
9) The incredibly awful/creepy waiters named Julian that ask stupid questions and stare too long.
10) Big D's over exuberant attitude about staying as long as possible.
Personally, I was ready to leave around lunch time. Approximately an hour and a half and 3 rides in. We had officially experienced the Hersh Park.
I really turned into a 2 year old at this point. I will not go into details.
But I guess the highlight of day 2 began when Big D finally deemed it was allowable to leave.
It started raining. And we only had a mile to walk back to the car. And then it went from raining to - Jesus really wanted to host a spontaneous white tee-shirt contest but you didn't have to have a white tee-shirt to participate. And then we couldn't open our eyes. And the parking lot that was the size of a Hawaiian Island turned into an ankle-deep watering hole.
And Big D got really excited looking at me, because I looked like a drowned sewer rat - and that look really does it for him. Or maybe he got excited because it looked like I was wearing spandex. Who knows. But he was paying me extra attention.
And then the arguing began. Big D thought it would be wise and pleasant to throw everybody in the car with all of our belongings and drive somewhere to change.
Now any mother knows this is the foolishest of foolish decisions ever. If we did that, we would never get dry the whole way home - due to the car and seats soaking up our rat-hood.
So I put my foot down hard, which caused a mighty splash.
How we went from wet to dry and had a semi-pleasant ride home until we went to the Mulberry Cafe
1) Undressed kids in Noah's flood and threw them into the car with a semi-dry towel. (a miracle gift from God)
2) Shouted through the window to Murnice to dry herself off and then Ed.
3) Opened the trunk and retrieved kids clothes in approximately .00034 seconds and threw them in the car.
4) Shouted more instructions through the window to Murnice.
5) Wisked all drowned clothes into a pile and then found a bag collection that was supposed to go to Weggers but was forgotten about for such a time as this.
6) Shouted more instructions to get into car seats.
7) Adult clothes came off - all thoughts of modesty don't waft around when you are in survival mode.
8) Laughed that we could see daddy's peener.
9) Jumped into mostly dry car and finagled clothes on.
I would like to point out that Jesus did stop the rain for a few minutes in that 30 minute wet clothes/dry clothes dance so that we could do few vital car rearrangements. Thank you Jesus.
Take Aways
1) Never, never agree to discounted homeschooler tickets to amusements parks again.
2) Smile smugly that when mother says it's time to go, that mother knows best. And if we had left when mother said lets go - we would have been very dry and pleasant all the way home. And had time to go to Olive Garden vs. Mulberry Cafe that ended up being a rodent hole. AND we would have gotten home before midnight.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Where I've Been - Day 1
I have so much to say, and no organizational skills this morning. So, long chaotic reading coming right up.
The Witherhalls were out of town for the past 40 hours. And Big D planned the whole trip. That sounds nice when I say that, like it was a romantic/surprise sort of thing. But the truth of the matter is: I was a weeny whiny baby who didn't want to go on this trip and refused to do ANYTHING to help get this trip in order. Including packing. Which I did a few hours before we left. But I told Big D he had to do it since it was his trip - and then I got really scared and did it myself.
Apparently being a poo nose wife works out in the end. Because it turns out, Big D arose to the challenge and out did himself. Maybe it's not so much that he arose to the challenge, but more so that these bounding chains of controlling wife-hood removed themselves and he was able to work as a free man. Hmmph
We left around 6 am Wednesday morning.- A whole day later due to Ed waking up Monday with a not pleasant fever and attitude that went with it. - Our destination: Sight and Sound Theater.
Weeny Whiny Baby Fit #1
WHO in their right mind names something this. It sounds like I'm going to be entertained by some puppets. Possibly Barney. Does this place have metal detectors? I'm thinking I may need to bring something in this joint to end my pain. (Was that inappropriate?) A little dramatic? But that's where my mind was at. I'm all for doing things for the kids - but when it comes to stage performances that are specifically for children. Small children. - I will gladly deprive. Without an ounce of sorrow or guilt.
I was so tired of hearing Big D say, "sight and sound theater" that I enforced the rule of calling it "ABC Train". And that made me feel better.
So, ABC Train actually is a big deal. Only 2 in the country. Which makes me think country = world. So, big deal. And it's a stage performance of bible stories. (Sounds super lame - abc trainish) But remember I said it's a big deal. So if you can think about bible stories in a big deal sort of way, maybe you'll be able to picture a large auditorium, mind blowing sets, beautiful costumes, (can I just say, the hair of these actors was enough for me. Oh yeah, and Shem) live animals, and lots of theater effects of lights and sounds. We saw "Noah". Now, my favorite part was the second half of show. Because the second half was when Noah and his family were on the ark. And all the way around this gigundas arena were curtains (that you didn't know were curtains) And they dropped the curtains, and for FOUR STORIES up - all the way around - were animals. In real simple terms - they made it so it felt/looked like you were on the ark.
And now I'm going to have to say: (Big D don't read this) I have to recommend this joint. They are showing Noah until November and then a new show begins.
Also, Big D really got top notch seats. Not sure if it was by the lucky front teeth of his head, or by researching - but they could not have been any better. I spanked him on the bottom two times and said "thank you".
After the showboat we drove to IKEA to return this. It made my house smell like a beef patty. And that doesn't work well in a mole hole house such as I have. You need a nice big house, one where you can really showcase this fine piece of meat.
Now this was my first trip to IKEA where I did not have to buy a large piece of furniture. Which got me REALLY excited. And Big D promptly fell into the depths of despair. Pouted a thousand pouts. Shed two tears. And growled. I pretended that I heard none of it. And with my best smile I bode him farewell and marched my bottom straight into creative land. Where for the first time EVER I had the chance to look at the small things. I think I almost hyperventilated and did 3 skippy twirls. And then as fast as I could, I waltzed through the top half of the store - grabbing small items that made me smile. Worked my way down to the bottom half. Ran into Big D. Hid around a corner, slowed my breathing and continued to shop like I didn't have some grumpy husband that I would have to contend with in the near future.
And Big D will say things like, "the reason I get so grumpy is because I have to entertain Ed". Ok, personally - Ed entertains himself with climbing on all the furniture. Big D only has to supervise. And because supervising is not what HE wants to do - he pouts. And becomes very dramatic. And there is no hope for our children because they have 2 parents who are both selfish and dramatic.
I finally finished. Really, it took 1 hour. Which I think is Houdini work. And Big D says, "lets get dinner here". And I said, "no". IKEA is not the most romantic place to eat. Cheap - yes. Convenient - yes. But I wasn't feeling cheap or convenient that night. I felt like a queen - with my small pretty purchases. And my belly wanted to match my head.
So Big D did a lot of research (3 chapters of On the Banks of Plum Creek worth) But it was worth it. And he found this incredibly delicious and perfect place that was not only scrum scrum and fit this romantic desire, but also grand for bringing piglets too. We appropriately slopped up the place. And our clothes.
I think we held hands for 3 seconds walking back to the car. Smiled satisfactorily. Farted once. And headed to the mystery hotel. That Big D said was in the ghetto.
Now I know for a fact - something the Whitherhalls don't go light on - are hotel rooms. We made that decision early on in our marriage - after far too many scary nights of threats of bugs, hairy pillows, and green and gold comforters. So, I was not worried about this ghetto place.
And sure enough, we drive into this brickyard where they just cleaned up a crime scene, and there beholds an old factory they turned into some artistically satisfying hotel.
Plans for the Night
1) Give kids shower. (I can't remember the last time they actually were covered in soap and water.)
2) Turn tv on to some kid show and put kids to bed.
3) Kids fall asleep immediately.
4) Adults order room service and watch interesting adult shows.
5) Giggle five times.
6) Be groped seven times.
7) Fall asleep happy and snuggled with tv still on.
How the Night Actually Went
1) Kids got bathed but only after Big D crawled in the shower with them because they both were screaming.
2) Turned tv on only to realize the only appropriate kid show was a tree-house building show on the animal planet. Nothing kid about it - except there were no disrespectful brats or nudity.
3) Kids are bored with show which only excites them and they refuse to sleep in their bed.
4) Big D complains about how hot the room is and sprawls out in the bed in a grumpy huff.
5) Kids jump around one too many times, land on Big D's peener.
6) Big D sends kids to their own bed = tears.
7) Big D falls asleep in 3 seconds.
8) Foxy watches the rest of the tree-house show and falls asleep.
9) Two hours later, Ed falls out of bed and ends up in ours = endless kicking to the face for the remaining 4 hours of sleep that remain in our busy schedule that Big D has planned.
Two Highlights of the First Day (with an extra highlight, and an extra)
1) Almost getting into a fight with the Mexicans
2) The 'Easy On, Easy Off' sign on the highway for McPoopers - that was anything but 'easy on, easy off'. And 'easy on, easy off' is going to be one of those things that you just say all the time - like, "happy birthday mama" and "MOM!!!! what's that noise???" and "IT'S NOT WORKING!"
3) Ed crying for a good part of the car ride because his tummy hurt. Because he now hoards is poopies AND his farts.
4) Seeing so many Amish. Loved.
Take Aways
1) Sometimes refusing to do anything results in better than expected adventures.
2) Leave kids home if you have any plans of snuggling.
3) Stay tuned for the next day's adventure.
Fun Fact
I was able to type this in about an hour - because the kids are still sleeping. Normally it takes me multiple hours, if not all day.
The Witherhalls were out of town for the past 40 hours. And Big D planned the whole trip. That sounds nice when I say that, like it was a romantic/surprise sort of thing. But the truth of the matter is: I was a weeny whiny baby who didn't want to go on this trip and refused to do ANYTHING to help get this trip in order. Including packing. Which I did a few hours before we left. But I told Big D he had to do it since it was his trip - and then I got really scared and did it myself.
Apparently being a poo nose wife works out in the end. Because it turns out, Big D arose to the challenge and out did himself. Maybe it's not so much that he arose to the challenge, but more so that these bounding chains of controlling wife-hood removed themselves and he was able to work as a free man. Hmmph
We left around 6 am Wednesday morning.- A whole day later due to Ed waking up Monday with a not pleasant fever and attitude that went with it. - Our destination: Sight and Sound Theater.
Weeny Whiny Baby Fit #1
WHO in their right mind names something this. It sounds like I'm going to be entertained by some puppets. Possibly Barney. Does this place have metal detectors? I'm thinking I may need to bring something in this joint to end my pain. (Was that inappropriate?) A little dramatic? But that's where my mind was at. I'm all for doing things for the kids - but when it comes to stage performances that are specifically for children. Small children. - I will gladly deprive. Without an ounce of sorrow or guilt.
I was so tired of hearing Big D say, "sight and sound theater" that I enforced the rule of calling it "ABC Train". And that made me feel better.
So, ABC Train actually is a big deal. Only 2 in the country. Which makes me think country = world. So, big deal. And it's a stage performance of bible stories. (Sounds super lame - abc trainish) But remember I said it's a big deal. So if you can think about bible stories in a big deal sort of way, maybe you'll be able to picture a large auditorium, mind blowing sets, beautiful costumes, (can I just say, the hair of these actors was enough for me. Oh yeah, and Shem) live animals, and lots of theater effects of lights and sounds. We saw "Noah". Now, my favorite part was the second half of show. Because the second half was when Noah and his family were on the ark. And all the way around this gigundas arena were curtains (that you didn't know were curtains) And they dropped the curtains, and for FOUR STORIES up - all the way around - were animals. In real simple terms - they made it so it felt/looked like you were on the ark.
And now I'm going to have to say: (Big D don't read this) I have to recommend this joint. They are showing Noah until November and then a new show begins.
Also, Big D really got top notch seats. Not sure if it was by the lucky front teeth of his head, or by researching - but they could not have been any better. I spanked him on the bottom two times and said "thank you".
After the showboat we drove to IKEA to return this. It made my house smell like a beef patty. And that doesn't work well in a mole hole house such as I have. You need a nice big house, one where you can really showcase this fine piece of meat.
Now this was my first trip to IKEA where I did not have to buy a large piece of furniture. Which got me REALLY excited. And Big D promptly fell into the depths of despair. Pouted a thousand pouts. Shed two tears. And growled. I pretended that I heard none of it. And with my best smile I bode him farewell and marched my bottom straight into creative land. Where for the first time EVER I had the chance to look at the small things. I think I almost hyperventilated and did 3 skippy twirls. And then as fast as I could, I waltzed through the top half of the store - grabbing small items that made me smile. Worked my way down to the bottom half. Ran into Big D. Hid around a corner, slowed my breathing and continued to shop like I didn't have some grumpy husband that I would have to contend with in the near future.
And Big D will say things like, "the reason I get so grumpy is because I have to entertain Ed". Ok, personally - Ed entertains himself with climbing on all the furniture. Big D only has to supervise. And because supervising is not what HE wants to do - he pouts. And becomes very dramatic. And there is no hope for our children because they have 2 parents who are both selfish and dramatic.
I finally finished. Really, it took 1 hour. Which I think is Houdini work. And Big D says, "lets get dinner here". And I said, "no". IKEA is not the most romantic place to eat. Cheap - yes. Convenient - yes. But I wasn't feeling cheap or convenient that night. I felt like a queen - with my small pretty purchases. And my belly wanted to match my head.
So Big D did a lot of research (3 chapters of On the Banks of Plum Creek worth) But it was worth it. And he found this incredibly delicious and perfect place that was not only scrum scrum and fit this romantic desire, but also grand for bringing piglets too. We appropriately slopped up the place. And our clothes.
I think we held hands for 3 seconds walking back to the car. Smiled satisfactorily. Farted once. And headed to the mystery hotel. That Big D said was in the ghetto.
Now I know for a fact - something the Whitherhalls don't go light on - are hotel rooms. We made that decision early on in our marriage - after far too many scary nights of threats of bugs, hairy pillows, and green and gold comforters. So, I was not worried about this ghetto place.
And sure enough, we drive into this brickyard where they just cleaned up a crime scene, and there beholds an old factory they turned into some artistically satisfying hotel.
Plans for the Night
1) Give kids shower. (I can't remember the last time they actually were covered in soap and water.)
2) Turn tv on to some kid show and put kids to bed.
3) Kids fall asleep immediately.
4) Adults order room service and watch interesting adult shows.
5) Giggle five times.
6) Be groped seven times.
7) Fall asleep happy and snuggled with tv still on.
How the Night Actually Went
1) Kids got bathed but only after Big D crawled in the shower with them because they both were screaming.
2) Turned tv on only to realize the only appropriate kid show was a tree-house building show on the animal planet. Nothing kid about it - except there were no disrespectful brats or nudity.
3) Kids are bored with show which only excites them and they refuse to sleep in their bed.
4) Big D complains about how hot the room is and sprawls out in the bed in a grumpy huff.
5) Kids jump around one too many times, land on Big D's peener.
6) Big D sends kids to their own bed = tears.
7) Big D falls asleep in 3 seconds.
8) Foxy watches the rest of the tree-house show and falls asleep.
9) Two hours later, Ed falls out of bed and ends up in ours = endless kicking to the face for the remaining 4 hours of sleep that remain in our busy schedule that Big D has planned.
Two Highlights of the First Day (with an extra highlight, and an extra)
1) Almost getting into a fight with the Mexicans
2) The 'Easy On, Easy Off' sign on the highway for McPoopers - that was anything but 'easy on, easy off'. And 'easy on, easy off' is going to be one of those things that you just say all the time - like, "happy birthday mama" and "MOM!!!! what's that noise???" and "IT'S NOT WORKING!"
3) Ed crying for a good part of the car ride because his tummy hurt. Because he now hoards is poopies AND his farts.
4) Seeing so many Amish. Loved.
Take Aways
1) Sometimes refusing to do anything results in better than expected adventures.
2) Leave kids home if you have any plans of snuggling.
3) Stay tuned for the next day's adventure.
Fun Fact
I was able to type this in about an hour - because the kids are still sleeping. Normally it takes me multiple hours, if not all day.
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