My fingers hurt

Food Inc.

2010-04-21T20:51:00.001-07:00

Although I haven't blogged about it, our little family of three has recently made some changes in the way we eat. Namely buying local food, seasonal food, foods in their whole (real) form and foods high in fats. But come to think of it, I haven't blogged about ANYTHING in a very long time now. But I've been too busy in the kitchen. Cooking. You think I'm kidding...

The decision to make some changes in our diet was not in response to any research of our own or any conclusion we had drawn. It was simply because a couple of friends had agreed to test recipes for a local chef who values nutrition and whole foods. This particular chef is Shane Kelly and I highly recommend you check out her site. Basically, she's all about eating real food. No processed or genetically engineered CRAP. She's all about a diet that is rich in fat. YES - rich in fat. How odd that concept seems to us brainwashed fat-free crazed, calorie-counting, fat-a-phobics! She's all about buying locally and seasonally and cooking ourselves, which challenges our notion of "food should be quickly prepared" or in other words FAST FOOD. Example: We don't eat Ranch dressing from a bottle anymore. I make it. And not with a packet of seasonings. And it's surprisingly easy to make. And fats are surprisingly curbing my appetite, keeping me lean. But it's more than just the simple statements I'm making here about it. Again, you should visit her site.

So, back to WHY I did this... Because my friends were. Listen, I'm a person who values personal taste over popularity. I have never liked music or movies or clothing or what-have-you because it was liked by my friends or by the masses. It's something I've often prided myself on. Well, I'm eating humble pie now. Organic humble pie, I should say. And it's pretty darn good pie by the way.

So, yes, I followed my friends on my recent diet change. And before that I followed the mass of "thinking consumers" for years, mostly buying organic products, free range meats, cage free eggs. I ditched McDonalds and most fast food years ago. I became a loyal patron of the Whole Foods-type stores. But I didn't have too much information behind my decisions to buy and consume organic, environmentally friendly, healthy food.

But now I do.

And it's this little documentary called Food Inc. You've probably heard of it. You may have no interest in watching it, but LET ME TELL YOU, it is worth 2 hours of your time to EDUCATE YOURSELF on the CRAP you are cramming down your pie-hole each and every day. I mean, seriously. It's disturbing. And it's disturbing not just because of the poor quality of the food that is marketed to the majority of consumers, but because of the food industry's downright sinister practices. The food industry is evil, according to this film. Workers are treated like modern day slaves, local farmers are bullied down and it is practically illegal to question what the food industry is doing. Did you know that if you criticize the beef industry in Colorado, you can be thrown in jail? It's out of control! And so alarming.

But the thing I liked the most about this film is that it doesn't leave you hanging on the negative and horrifying truths about the food industry in America. The thing I like about this film, no - LOVE about this film, is that it offers you (me) alternatives to the CRAP the supermarkets sell. It empowers us, the consumers, to THINK about our choices in what we buy. To THINK about where our food is coming from. To read that HUGE list of ingredients on the box of Cheez-Its. To realize the impact our choices have not only on the environment but on the lives of the exploited workers and "farmers" of these massive food industries that are hardly treated any different than the unfortunate animals the food industry abuses daily.

This film will arm you with so much information and reasons to buy locally, seasonally, organically, etc., etc., etc.

So watch it. It's so, so good. And maybe I'll see you at the Farmer's Market this Saturday?

The Man Of My Dreams and Requirements

2010-02-27T11:45:00.000-08:00

It's my anniversary on Tuesday. My 8th wedding anniversary. Which makes this summer the 10th year I've been with Matt. That's nearly one-third of my life that I've been with this man. Well, I guess to be precise, I've been with him for for 30.3% of my life and married 24.2% of my life. Any way you slice it, that's a decently long portion life to be with someone. And you know what? That 30.3% of my life has most definitely been the BEST part of life.

I was thinking today, as I lay with my sick daughter in her bed to help her get to sleep for her nap, about those initial feelings I had when I first met my husband. It was unlike anything I had experienced before. I felt so at ease with him, like I had finally come home from a long lifetime away from him. It was that initial feeling that ignited my interest.

Shortly before I met him I had come up with a "future husband requirement list" with a good friend. During my last two years of college I did something I had never done before - I went on a lot of dates. This was actually something my Dad suggested, so that I could just get a feel for what was out there. So, if someone asked me out, I went out with them. Most of the dates were just first-dates as the majority of them were just complete failures. But it was such an educational experience for me. It helped me learn about myself and what I really wanted or needed in a future husband. I wasn't on a husband-search or anything, but it sure helped me see what it was that I really wanted for my future. For instance, I went "dancing" on one date. Dancing has never been something that interested me, but I thought I would give it a try. The guy ended up being this major cheese ball and I realized how unattractive dancing men were to me. So, I decided that my husband needed to be a non-dancer, like myself. Now, I know that dancing or not dancing should not be a priority on a "future husband requirement list" but my point is that I learned what I didn't like, no matter the pettiness of it. I mean, if you hate dancing, by all means, don't marry a male-ballerina or ballroom instructor.

But I learned way more important things to look for. I learned to detect the "red flags". The warning signs that shouted in big bright red letters: Run Away! I think it was a God thing too, as He was growing me in wisdom and maturity, showing me what I really needed. I saw red flags that said things like: Has The Maturity of a 13 Year Old, Glancing Around the Room at Other Women, Talks Too Much About his Mother, Has Too Many Friends That are Girls, HAS A POLICE RECORD... That was one date I was glad I drove separately too. That's right ladies of the dating world, you CAN refuse to be picked up and drive YOURSELF.

So, one night my girlfriend and I were goofing around and we came up with a list. Of course number one on my list was Must Love Christ. This was followed by the many attributes I knew I needed in a spouse - Loyal, Open and Honest, Integrity... Of course there were the "shallow" things like A Non-Dancer, Witty Sense of Humor, Similar Taste in Music... But I knew what I wanted and I had decided I would settle for nothing less. I was even told I would "never find someone who met all of those requirements". "Well, TOUGH!" I said. But as time went on and my list got longer, I began to doubt it too...

Until that hot July night when I met The Man Of My Dreams and Requirements. I was astounded by how well he matched up with my list. I remember grilling him one night: "Do you like to dance? Did you think Rushmore was a funny movie? What do you think about Ethic Food?"

Yes, Must Like Ethnic Food and Not Be a Picky Eater was on my list. And Matt fit that category. In fact, he fit them all. I found all this out on the second night I hung out with him. It wasn't even a date. It was after an outdoor concert with a bunch of friends - we were the only ones afterward who didn't yet feel like calling it a night. I remember getting home that night after our long talk and comparing my list with what I had just found out about him. Must Love Christ - check. Must be Open and Honest - check. Must Not be a Preppy Dresser - check. As I scanned through the list it was check after check after check. He met all of the "important" requirements as well as the petty ones! I was shocked by the complete match (and catch) that I found. This, paired with the feeling of nausea I had whenever I was with him (the fluttering butterflies/knots in my stomach-IN LOVE- kind of nausea) nearly knocked me on the floor that night. Oh boy. "This is it" I thought. "This is the guy."

Love at First Sight? Well, yeah, sort of. Instant attraction, requirements all checked off. I couldn't sleep that night.

The next night I went to my parent's house for dinner. They asked me what had been going on lately. I told them a few mundane things, then I nonchalantly added "Oh, and I met the man I'm going to marry". I remember my Dad, who was serving his plate, paused and slowly looked at me with a curious and suprised look. "Who?" he said. "His name is Matt", I replied. My Dad resumed piling the noodles on his plate and asked in that very interested way that parents thinly veil in an attitude of ambivalence, "Are you dating this Matt guy?" "Nope!" I replied. "At least, not yet..." My Dad became a little concerned at this point. "Jenny, you shouldn't be saying that sort of thing, you're setting yourself up to get hurt." But I paid no attention. I just repeated "I know he's the one."

And he was. Though he didn't know it as soon as I did. That was a long process and took a lot of patience on my part. To be in love with someone who.... wasn't there yet. We did end up dating not too long after I realized the gem he was, but his "falling in love with me" was not an instant thing. But it all worked out in the end. And the relief I felt when he finally told me "I love you" ONE ENTIRE YEAR LATER was immense.

So here we are today, The Man Of My Dreams and Requirements, and myself - married for 8 years. We've learned a lot about each other over the past 10 years. I've learned a lot about myself since then. Like how eating ethnic food isn't that important in the whole scheme of things when it comes to a mate. But I will say, it's nice not having someone beg you dance with them at a wedding, sitting there together enjoying each others company while all the dancers are out there looking like fools. But it's even nicer having a husband who has been the greatest blessing of my life who is a man of his word, a man of integrity. A man with a forgiving heart. Because that's what I never knew I needed when I was making that list. Because I never knew how truly awful I was until I got married. Marriage brings out the best and worst in you. And The Man of My Dreams and Requirements has exceeded what I thought I needed in a husband. Because he's seen the real me - the me that I don't like to acknowledge exists - and he STILL loves me. Now that's romantic.

Marriage takes work. My man works on my marriage. I do too of course. But it's in that work that we grow and love each other more and more. And that's REAL LOVE, if you ask me. Looking back on my list of requirements sometimes makes me laugh. But you know what? It was a good thing in the end. God used it to show me that He was bigger than any list I could devise - any plan for my future. God gave me someone who exceeded my list, someone who would bless me more than I could have ever imagined. And He proved my doubts wrong - that I wouldn't be able to find someone who met so many requirements.

Matt, I love you. Happy 8 years.

Random Thoughts and Comments (but mostly complaints)

2010-02-25T07:15:00.000-08:00

Debit or Credick?
Paying with a debit card. Oh my goodness. First of all, I don't like to touch the key pad because I am slightly germaphobic. Think of ALL THOSE FINGERS that touch that key pad daily. Yuck. But you HAVE to touch it. And use that little "computer pen". Then it asks you a billion questions; "Debit or Credit?" I begrudgingly grip the filthy pen (which most likely is NEVER washed) and hit the debit button. "Key in pin". Then after I key in the pin number, "Do you want it all on the card?" Yes, stupid machine. Can I please put the grimy pen down now before I contract Asian Bird Flu and Strep Throat? But noooo! the machine is not done with it's billion questions. "Cash back?" No. Finally. I release the filthy pen from my grip. And there is the total price of my purchase - always over what I estimate it will be - followed by the FINAL question "Is this amount correct?" Oh my lands. Seriously? By this time I've already sanitized my hands with my little bottle of hand sanitizer that took me a ridiculously long amount of time to find in my huge purse. So, I pick the dreaded computer pen back up in my clean fingers and re-contaminate my hands as I hit "yes" on the key pad. Gross. Why all the questions? Half the time I expect it to say "Are you sure?" followed by "Are you REALLY sure?" followed by "Have you checked with your husband?" The only thing I like about swiping my card is the occasional question "Debit or crediCK?" Credick? What the heck is credick?

It's a bird! It's a plane! Nope, it's a bow.
What is the deal with huge, gigantic bows on little girl's heads? I'm talking about the bows that are absolutely massive. The ones that look like hats and sit on the head like a puffy football helmet. I'm not anti-bow. I'm just a tad fearful of these things that look like wild perched birds resting on nests of soft toddler hair. Their clownish appearance sends me into faint giggles when I spot them from afar. I just don't get it...

Nashville Hair
What is up with men's hair in Nashville? I have seen more mullets on tall skinny men, paired with skinny jeans and pointy shoes than I've ever seen IN MY LIFE. Though, come to think of it, I don't know if I've ever seen this skinny man, pointy boot, styled combo before. And, oh, THE HAIR. Guys (here) spend more time styling their locks than women. I'm talking color, cut, styling creme, THE WORKS! Matt and I call it "Nashville hair" but it's not just the hair. It's the jeans these men are wearing. How do they get them on? And how do they all have such skinny little waists and legs? What's going on with men in Nashville?

Mary Kay
If you sell skin products, makeup, cooking products, women's clothing, or WHATEVER it is you sell, PLEASE don't be offended by this - but I just can't come to your trunk show or your Pampered Chef party or WHATEVER. And here's why: This woman once tried to recruit me to sell Mary Kay products. I mean, can you HONESTLY see me selling Mary Kay? Much less wearing it? (though I love their eye makeup remover) Anyway, she tried so hard for so long and was SO ANNOYING about it that it nearly drove me crazy. She went as far as showing up where I was parked at work and leaving Mary Kay tapes (yes, cassette tapes) on the windshield of my car. I couldn't play the tapes because I had no tape player and she left me thousands of messages about "getting the tapes back" but what she really wanted to was to corner me AGAIN about selling Mary Kay makeup. I ended up tossing the tapes off the side of the road and leaving her a message to STOP CONTACTING ME. It was crazy. I've also been to those Pampered Chef/Southern Living/WHATEVER "parties". Party? No. No party. It's free food and drink used to subtly guilt you into buying something you DO NOT NEED. It's a sales pitch under the guise of a "party". And the absolute worst kind of "party" is the kind where they try to recruit you to sell underneath them like the Mary Kay woman who stalked me for two months. Sheesh. I mean, seriously. I'm over it. I'll come to something that sells something I REALLY like that I can't buy in a store (cute kids clothes, local art, handmade stuff). But no more "parties". No more gimmicks. It's just a personal policy.

Cool Springs
I don't like Cool Springs. At all. Maybe you love it. Maybe you live there. I'm sorry, but it's just not my thang. If you don't know what Cool Springs is, it's a suburb area of Nashville that is mostly comprised of huge stores with huge parking lots, a mall, strip malls, and chain restaurants. Basically, you could be anywhere in America when you are in Cool Springs. There is nothing unique about it, nothing at all to separate it from the suburban jungles of Anywhere, U.S.A. Also, what is with the name "Cool Springs"? It bothers me. Where are the springs? It's like naming the mall "Galleria". The Cool Springs Galleria. Sounds like it should be an outdoor shopping center at the beach. Or at least by some springs somewhere. Nope! It's surrounded by lots of roads and parking lots and strip malls. Ugh.

Bosco's of Cool Springs
So Cool Springs has a Bosco's. Yes, the brewery/restaurant out of Memphis. That's right Nashvillians, Bosco's is not native to Nashville. It's a Memphis thing. But there's long been a Bosco's in the Hillsboro Village area of town, which is actually a fun Bosco's to go to - different than the real deal in Memphis - but good all the same. So we thought we would check out the Cool Springs Bosco's the other night for dinner. Should have known better... Now, the food was good - just as good as back in Memphis. But the atmosphere, which is a huge part of the dining out experience , was awful. The lighting was sooo bad. It was the fluorescent, office-type of lighting. It was like eating lunch at your cubicle, surrounded by loud people. There was absolutely NOTHING enjoyable about the environment. The acoustics were bad, the layout was bad, and the terrible lights were way too bright. Ugh. Don't bother with this location unless you LIKE wearing sunglasses indoors.

Fur Coat
If dog-hair coats or sweaters where in vogue, my floors, furniture and fleece blankets would be main distributors to the dog-hair garment industry. This is one reason not to have dogs, and especially collies or labs - THEY SHED. ALL YEAR LONG. Yes, all year long, hair is constantly falling off their bodies. And if I want to keep my floors, my black coats, any rugs, or the sides of the couches dog-hair free, I have to vacuum every single day. You know those tumble weeds that roll by the boot spurs of the good guys in Western films? Well, picture those tumble weeds, except instead of being composed of sticks and dust, they are made of black and white dog-hairs of various texture, rolling across the wood floors of a house in the suburbs every time a door opens or shuts. Can't you just hear the Western/Mexican music in the background every time I walk into my house? And it's all (no)thanks to my dogs - one huge yellow-whitish lab and one smallish black and white border collie mix. Together they create a mess of black and white hairs, some long, some short, some wavy and kinked. Some even float in the air. You see, the lab's hair is all the same - one or two inch long, strait, thick, white hairs that constantly shed themselves year round. The border collie has both black and white hairs, with long, thick, wavy ones on her back and tail and wispy, kinky, thin ones on her belly. These are the ones that literally float in the air and often land in your cereal bowl. Ugh. So, if you come to my house in a black sweater, you will leave sporting white hairs. If you come to my house in a white sweater, you will leave sporting black hairs. I've always been a dog person, but these days I'm wondering if it's even worth it. And it's not just the hair. It's the running off, the horrible breath, the constant whining, the feint smell of dog poop in the back yard, the occasional dog-barf on the rug (why do they ALWAYS barf on the rugs?) Then there's the scab on my toe from the other night when the border-line-mentally-challenged lab plummeted up the stairs and put all of her 70 lbs. directly on the top of my bare foot, one of her toe-claws pressing through my skin. All I can say is thank God for vacuums and those little sticky-rolling things I roll on my coats every time I leave my house. Otherwise, I'd be so drenched in dog hair, I'd look like one of those crazy cat ladies.

So, those are my random thoughts/complaints for the day. I have more. Just check back soon. It's sort of fun to ~~bitch~~ *complain.

*I have to remember to keep this blog "clean". I mean, old Sunday School teachers of mine read this thing! Though I assure you, people of the easily offended type, the b-word is a C-class "cuss word". I'm pretty darn clean, all things considering. But all the same, I'm glad you're out there reading what little ole' me has to say about things.

Reluctant Suburbanite - or - The Plunge

2010-02-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

So, we moved to the 'burbs. Yup, we took The Plunge. I said I'd never do it. I said I'd always be an Urbanite. But alas, the 'burbs have won the battle for my mind. Not my heart, mind you. My heart still belongs in a city.

So why did we take The Plunge? Well, I'll tell you.

First and foremost is our daughter. You see, she is this delicate creature, sensitive, petite, and amazingly innocent. And the idea of sending her off to school full time once kindergarten arrives is beyond terrifying for me. No, I'm not one of those moms who can never be apart from my child. I have no problem having wonderful "me time" or date nights or girls nights or whatever. But when it comes time to send her off Monday - Friday for 7 hours a day, it's going to be pretty darn hard on me. I've watched one of my best friends do it this year with her oldest who is in kindergarten. And watching that really got my wheels turning for the future.

I used to say I would never send my child to private school, that I didn't want my child growing up in a sheltered bubble like I did. But recently, my opinions have shifted. When I look at her - the delicate thing she is - and I watch friends sending their kids off to kindergarten, when I see the amount of time these kids are apart from their families, the picture becomes more in focus and reality sets in: I want my child in a sheltered environment! I want to protect her little innocence as long as humanly possible! Of course I know her life is really in God's hands, and that she is always in his protection, but I want to keep this little bird close to the nest as long as possible, so that her strength in character is more developed when it's really time to fly on her own. I know people reading this will disagree with me, but that's why we are all different. That's why we parent differently, have different jobs, live in different areas. And we live by our personal convictions. And lately, my personal conviction is to do exactly what I said I would never do - raise my child in a sheltered environment. Not a "bubble" mind you. I want her to experience life outside of these suburban boundaries. I want her to be a part of our diverse culture. But I also want her in a school where the test scores are phenomenal, where the teachers are excellent, where the atmosphere is familiar. I want a school that I know a lot about because other friends send their kids there. Is this kind of school even out there? Well, yeah. In Williamson County.

Seeing how private school is ridiculously expensive, I researched to find the best public school system in the Nashville area for my delicate little bird. And Williamson County Schools had by far the best test scores and the best parent reviews (you can find all of this info online). And most important to me, were the testimonies of friends who currently have children enrolled in WC schools and testimonies of teachers I know in the system. So, we decided on WC schools. But do you know where you have to live to attend these schools? You guessed it - Williamson County. In other words - The Suburbs.

So, we sucked up our poor attitude towards the 'burbs and made The Plunge. And CRAZILY we bought a house in the neighborhood where I lived from age 9 - 18. The same neighborhood my parents moved to when they took The Plunge back in the 80's. The same neighborhood I so longed to leave and never come back to when I was a kid. How's that for irony?

I said I'd never do it - live in the suburbs that is. Well, never say never, right?

So here we are, living life on a cul-da-sac, with our two car garage, our invisible fence for the dogs, surrounded by thousands of kids and play grounds galore. What's next? A minivan? I'd be lying if I told you I didn't want one. Yes, it's officially happened. We are the next generation of Reluctant Suburbanites.

Do I miss our urban life? Of course! I miss great restaurants around the corner, libraries within walking distance, being in the middle of all the action. I miss the diversity, the realness of living in the city. But I don't miss it enough to regret what we have done. Being in the city has its price tag. Where we are now is idealistic for my child and any future children, no - I'm not pregnant - SERIOUSLY, STOP ASKING).

Do I miss having my car stolen TWICE, having the car broken into, fearing a home invasion, and the sketchy foot traffic? NOT AT ALL. Now, some of that was living in Memphis, which has a higher crime rate (especially for auto theft) but nevertheless it was the price we paid to live "in the city". Do bad things happen in the 'burbs? Of course, but statistically crime happens A LOT less. In Memphis when we were considering a move to Germantown (Memphis burbs), I researched the crime on the Memphis Police Department website, which has a crime map, and Germantown was nearly crime free. Where we were living in the city, crime was pretty rampant. People will tell you "crime happens everywhere". And it does. But it happens much, much less where we are, statistically speaking.

I will say that moving the 'burbs wasn't a move we made out of fear. We didn't move out here because we feared sending our child to a school that was not as sheltered as we would have liked. And we didn't move out here because we were sick and tired of constantly looking over our shoulders when getting out of our cars in the driveway (we were by the way). We moved out here because we wanted our child(ren) to have the best education available. We moved out here because we wanted a neighborhood where our child(ren) could be surrounded with other kids. Because this neighborhood has a swim team, a pool, and tons of family activities. There is real community in this neighborhood. One of my best friends in the universe lives here, a college friend, and other various friends from times past. My parents live here. Our child(ren) will be able to ride a bike to visit FAMILY, which is HUGE. I would have killed to have been able to see my grandparents like that as a kid!

We moved out here mostly (if not entirely) for our daughter. And while it hurt a little to give up some of the things we loved about living in the city (living in the burbs has a price tag too), in the end, we knew we were making the best choice for us as a family.

I've learned a few things since taking The Plunge. First of all, The Plunge isn't so bad at all. In fact, it's pretty nice. I like my house. I love it. I LOVE the space - the space that we could not have had "in the city". People say it's so expensive to live in Williamson County. Um, well, no it's actually not. You save a TON in taxes in Williamson County. And you know what? It's beautiful out here. The drive to and from Matt's work is just breathtaking. There's something that happens to my frame of mind while I'm sitting in three lanes of traffic surrounded by shops and buildings. I become unglued. Out here, I gaze at horses prancing in fields, deer jumping across fences, and beautiful old trees set against a backdrop of soft hills. Driving here is relaxing (as long as I'm not being tailed by another car!). It's also nice to feel like I can leave my doors unlocked. To have neighbors who make an effort to befriend us, to have a Publix down the road. Have I mentioned how much I love Publix? It's heaven's version of a grocery store.

I've learned not to judge people. I used to snub the 'burbs. I used to think I was better than moving out and away from everything. I found some of my identity in being urban. Well, I've been through an identity crisis of sorts since moving out here. What I snubbed is what I have become. Serves me right I suppose. But at the end of my life am I really going to say "Gee, I wish I had lived closer to the art museum." ??? Or "Gosh Golly, I should have moved to the suburbs sooner!" Of course not! Because it doesn't really matter WHERE you are. It's WHO YOU ARE WITH. It's who you chose to do life with. And I'm thankful I've got a street where there are moms who are just a tad older than me, with older kids, who I can look to for guidance. I'm thankful that my dear friend from 3rd grade lives a minute's drive from my house. I'm thankful that my high school best friend is 7 minutes away and that new friendships are budding. Remember the old song "Make new friends but keep the old?" We've got some great friends here, some we are trying to talk into moving OUT HERE with us... (wink) And last but not least, I'm thankful that we have family in town, just down the street. And I actually live in the same town again with a sibling!

And one last thing about this neighborhood - Why we liked it - It's an "older" neighborhood in that it was built in the 70's. Of course, we laugh at that being thought of as "old", coming from a house built in 1925. But the fact that this neighborhood is 25 years old gives the houses a little more character than your typical suburban house. And what I found after living in an old home, and after looking at all kinds of houses while house hunting is that I'm not a big fan of "new construction". I can't tell you why exactly, but there's something about a house that's been "lived in" that appeals to me. And, I'm not a fan of HUGE OPEN FLOOR PLANS because it feels less like a house and more like a hotel or restaurant. But don't get your feelings hurt, because I'm just about the only person on the planet who doesn't like new construction/huge open floor plans. My Realtor was shocked by how much I don't like "what everyone else likes". Oh well, I'm a freak.

Well, that's why we moved where we are. And we don't regret it. My heart still belongs to the city. But I can visit it in twenty short minutes any time I like. Yes, there are sacrifices made. But that's just part of living life. So, I'm back not only in the town I grew up, but literally one street away from the house I grew up in. My neighbors consist of an old youth pastor of mine, my high school guidance counselor, and countless other people from my past. It's surreal, and at times a little unnerving. It's like I never left this place 15 years ago when I graduated high school. I go to the grocery store and run in to someone from my past EVERY SINGLE TIME. At times its like running into ghosts. But I'm not who I was when I left this part of the globe to venture off on my adult life years ago. I've got a man now, and a little girl, and two insane dogs.

So, we have begun the process of assimilating into my old stomping ground, as a new little family, with our own identity: Reluctant Suburbanites putting down roots in an area they never envisioned life taking them. Laughing at the irony, listening to the silence from the absence of city traffic. Trying not to drive into Cool Springs too often (the land of Best Buy, Costco and the mall). Always finding excuses to take a 20 min. drive back to the city. Feeling good about our choice, yet odd and a little out of place.

A Tell All about my Faith and The Jesus Storybook Bible

2010-01-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

I've been a "Christ-follower" for a long time. As long as I can remember. I was in diapers when I started memorizing little Bible verses in Sunday School. When I learned to read, I was reading Christian devotionals for little kids. And when I was in braces I was going on church youth group retreats. I was indoctrinated, involved and totally immersed in the Evangelical Christian world.

It wasn't until I left my small Bible-bubble world that I began to question, doubt and rethink what I believed. When I ventured off for my freshman year of college, I embarked on the Great Journey of My Adult Life, just as we all do when we leave the nest. And I was quite the over-confident baby bird out in the big world on my own. (weren't we all?) The world was black and white to me. Christianity was cut and dry. I did have a real faith that was rooted in truth. But I had much to learn (still do).

In a rather short period of time, all that I had believed about God, Jesus, the Bible, and the world was challenged. Challenged by differing opinions, religions, academics, relationships. I was now learning to fly outside of the Evangelical world in which I was molded in. Towards the end of my undergraduate experience I was in a cloud of confusion. Was there even a God? How could all that I had been taught as a child be true? I had major doubts about the whole concept of Christianity.

I was embarrassed by my doubts at first, but eventually became inflated in my "boldness" to seek truth outside of the box. When my doubts first surfaced, I was shameful. But in a slow and steady process, I began to get comfortable with doubt. And you know what, fellow Christians? This is actually not as horrible as it sounds! Though my mind was spiritually unsettled, I was working through my REAL thoughts and feelings. I was finally using my mind to try and understand the gospel instead of just believing what I was taught. And the Bible was just NOT making sense to me on so many levels. Eventually I embraced my doubts and proudly showed my true colors. I began talking about my doubt. The fear of being judged was over. I felt liberated. The pendulum had swung far in the other direction and I broadcast my message loud and clear: I don't know if this is true, I don't know if I can believe in the Bible anymore. It doesn't make sense to me.

I was loud and (probably) often obnoxious about my new boldness in questioning the truth of Christianity. I debated pastors, snubbed churches and certain denominations, and even looked into other religions. Are you shaking in your boots? Don't. Because through all of that, God never left me. - (Which has fully convinced me that I have NO PART in my own salvation) - Instead, do you know what happened? I ended up realizing some pretty amazing truths. Believe it or not, God can use doubt to teach you, shape you, bring your eyes back to him. Read my friend Lindsay's blog to read some amazing truth about doubt.

What I realized in trying to understand Christ with my mind is that my mind CANNOT grasp him. My mind cannot grasp his Love, his Glory, his Word. We know in part. One day we will know fully. This is not a cop-out. This is truth. God is WAY over my head. But on the same token, he gave me a mind for a reason. He wants me to use it. I believe he actually enjoys me asking him tough questions. Because when you ask the God of the Entire Universe "WHY?" - He's going to respond. And he wants to respond. When I, the tiny baby bird, shake my fists at the heavens and ask him where he is, he answers. Maybe it's only a gentle whisper. Sometimes it's a thunderous roar. But it's his PLEASURE, I truly believe, to respond to us. Because he's madly in love with us.

I'm still on this spiritual journey and I believe I will be until I die. I still question things about church in general, the Bible, about why God allowed this or that to happen, and whatnot. My faith has deepened tremendously since I first began to seek truth on my own, when I left that cozy Evangelical nest and flapped my wobbly wings around. I did find that you can't seek God "on your own". That community is ESSENTIAL. That church (in some form) is ESSENTIAL. I have found that the Bible is my compass and the Holy Spirit is my guide. Without the compass, I have no reference or direction. And without the guide I'm just as good as lost. I definitely don't fit in with that world that I grew up in. Or at least I feel that way now. I could be wrong though. But that's fine. It's not about fitting in. It's about seeking truth.

All that to say, I was reading The Jesus Storybook Bible today to my little girl and I was STRUCK with the introduction. It brought me to tears as I read it aloud to her because it explains why I believe what I believe. And I want to share it...

First there is this quote, which sums up my experience with Christ:

"Tis not that I did choose Thee,
For Lord, that could not be;
This heart would still refuse Thee,
Hadst Thou not chosen me...

My heart owns none before Theee,
For Thy rich grace I thirst;
This knowing, if I love Thee,
Thou must have loved me first."

-Josiah Conder, 1836

Then there's the introduction, which is written for children, but rang clearly in my ears:

"God wrote, "I love you" - he wrote it in the sky, and on the earth, and under the sea. He wrote his message everywhere! Because God created everything in his world to reflect him like a mirror - to show us what he is like, to help us know him, to make our hearts sing.
The way a kitten chases her tail. The way red poppies grow wild. The way a dolphin swims. And God put it into words, too, and wrote in in a book called "the Bible."
Now, some people think the Bible is a book of rules, telling you what you should and shouldn't do. The Bible certainly does have some rules in it. They show you how life works best. But the Bible isn't mainly about you and what you should be doing. It's about God and what he has done.
Other people think the Bible is a book of heroes, showing you people you should copy. The Bible does have some heroes in it, but (as you'll soon find out) most of the people in the Bible aren't heroes at all. They make some big mistakes (sometimes on purpose). They get afraid and run away. At times they are downright mean.
No, the Bible isn't a book of rules, or a book of heroes. The Bible is most of all a Story. It's an adventure story about a young Hero who comes from a far country to win back his lost treasure. It's a love story about a brave Prince who leaves his palace, his throne - everything - to rescue the one he loves. It's like the most wonderful of fairy tales that has come true in real life!
You see, the best thing about this Story is - it's true.
There are lots of stores in the Bible, but all the stories are telling on Big Story. The Story of how God loves his children and comes to rescue them.
It takes the whole Bible to tell this Story. And at the center of the Story, there is a baby. Every Story in the Bible whispers his name. He is like the missing piece in a puzzle - the piece that makes all the other pieces fit together, and suddenly you can see a beautiful picture.
And this is no ordinary baby. This is the Child upon whom everything would depend. This is the Child who would one day - but wait. Our Story starts where all good stories start. Right at the very beginning..."

I suppose this is really like two posts in one, but I couldn't post the bit from the children's Bible without first explaining where I'm coming from. Maybe I just wanted to sound "authentic" (is that the latest Christian buzz word or what??) Perhaps I just want attention (I mean, HELLO, I have a blog for Blog's Sake!) I often find this need to explain to others that I'm not the "typical Christian", that I've arrived at my state of belief through a lot of questioning and doubt. That I've been totally taken in by a God who won't leave me alone, or let me leave his presence. That I'm uncomfortable in Christian bookstores. That Christian music turns me off. That I feel more comfortable in an unchurched crowd. But does that even matter? And what's a "typical Christian" anyway? These are the current places my journey has led me. How's that for a Tell All about my spiritual life?

At any rate, this basic, simplistic, meant-for-children's-ears introduction to the Jesus Storybook Bible tells the truth of what I believe - what I often question - and what often seems to make little sense. But it's all true. And I still believe... And one day I will know fully. (I will know "WHY?") ... Just as I am fully known.

I end this diatribe with the words from a song by David Bazan, which so clearly illustrates my experience with the gospel:

I could buy you a drink.
I could tell you all about it.
I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe it.
And why I need it.
And what the pharisees don't see.

Grocery Shopping, Nashville Style

2009-12-03T19:49:00.001-08:00

I love to shop. This includes shopping for food. Yes, I enjoy grocery shopping! I'm a nerd like that. Being in Nashville has greatly enhanced my grocery experience. I have stocked up my fridge with some delicious finds and had some wonderful customer service along the way! So, I wanted to share in the hopes that you would share your finds with me too...

First of all, Nashville lucked out recently and got a Trader Joe's. Oh how I love Trader Joe's! Delicious, affordable, simple - it's great. Here is my latest favorite: the (99 cent) bag of raw pizza dough, sauce and fixings. You will have a delicious "home made" pizza for about $4 a pizza. Can't be that! Did I mention it's DELICIOUS? Don't have a moment to spare in the kitchen? Try their store brand Paneer Tikka Masala dish in the frozen section. It is SUPERB! It tastes like something I order at a restaurant! GO GET IT NOW, Indian food lovers! Trader Joe's carries a lot of prepared meals and I have to admit, I haven't liked all of them. So before you go on a tasting adventure, check this out for ratings. And bring your kids. They give them helium balloons (GREAT IDEA!)

The Grassland Market is the BEST place for some real treats. "Miss Daisy" is Nashville's version of Paula Dean and she has her own section of delectable goods in the locally owned Grassland Market on Hilsboro Road just south of Grassland Middle School. She makes the best chicken salad I have EVER tasted. Her pimento cheese is to die for and her desserts are sinful. Try the cheesecake or the mint brownies. UNBELIEVABLE. Usually Miss Daisy herself is there, pouring out the southern charm with a glass of her famous fruit punch. There's even a little table for dining which I assume requires reservations.

In Nashville you can buy REAL BAGELS! Brueggers Bagels is my personal favorite. Their kettle-boiled bagels are perfectly crusty and smooth on the outside, chewy on the inside. How I have missed a good bagel every now and then! And their cream cheeses are pretty darn tasty as well!

My absolute FAVORITE brand of coffee happens to be here in Nashville - Bongo Java Roasting Company - and their coffee is INCREDIBLE. It's all organic and Fair Trade and it's so, so good. And you don't have to travel far to pick up a bag. I know Whole Foods carries it and I'm pretty sure Publix does too.

And on that note - Publix. I have to admit, I was highly skeptical of Publix. Publix is very much an all American grocery store. It's almost like walking into a Costco. The aisles are HUGELY wide, there is so much food it seems wrong, and people smile so much it's uncomfortable. It's a tad overpriced, there is hotel lobby music as you push your gliding cart and it just seems... plastic? But LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING - Publix has awesome customer service. There is virtually an employee on every aisle, willing and able to help you find what you are looking for in the vast sea of food. I ordered my daughter's birthday cake at Publix. Yes, I did NOT bake it myself, so throw little sprinkles at me all you like, but I hate baking. I'm a cook. Bakers have to follow too many instructions. Cooks can be creative. I'm getting off topic. Anyway, I ordered the Cinderella cake from Publix. It ended up having a slight mistake on it. And I mean slight. There was a teeny, tiny piece of icing missing from around her name. It was so microscopic, you had to look for it. And guess what? I got it for nothing. Yes, they gave it to me FREE. They told me it was "sub-par" for Publix and they wanted me back. Crazy! Oh, and kids get balloons at Publix too.

Nashville is definitely a great (and fun) place to stock up your pantry. So, Nashvillians, what can you add to my list? Where do you shop? What do you get?

Back to Music City!

2009-11-15T13:17:00.000-08:00

So, we moved! We moved from Memphis to Nashville. Well, Franklin really. We moved because Matt got a new job- which he loves - so we feel very blessed.

We do, however, miss a lot of things about Memphis. Obviously we miss our friends and family dearly, but there are a few other things we miss too... (in no particular order)

1. Bar-B-Q. There is no BBQ here worth ingesting. We will have to save our BBQ cravings for our visits back to Memphis. I could cry over being so far away from Central BBQ.

2. The Zoo! The zoo is awesome. I never got to see the new exhibit. But I still have a membership that's good until the spring, so I'll get to see it soon! :) There is a zoo here, but it pales in comparison.

3. Our church. I have given up on finding a replica of this. We love our church so much. If you live in Memphis, and have never been to All Saints, I encourage you to try it out.

4. Swanky's and Mosa. These were our two most frequented restaurants. Just about every night I alternately crave the Jiao Zhe Bowl from Mosa and the steak salad from Swanky's. Mmmm.... only in my dreams now!

5. Diversity. Just about everyone here is A.white and B.rich. That's fine but I miss the diversity. This includes my foreign friends. I need Europeans! I'm sure they are here... but where?

6. Brother Junipers. mmmmm.....

7. The Big Back Yard exhibit at the Botanic Gardens. What a fabulous addition! The interactive play areas engage the children, teach them about nature, and provide a fun filled atmosphere. What a fun place to meet up with friends! And Wednesday afternoons are free!

8. Cooper Young festival and other artsy fun things to do in Memphis like the trolley tour of South Main. So fun! (Yes, Memphis has an actual trolley as form of transportation) Trolley = cool.

9. The "culture". Memphis is gritty and real. And I miss that. I feel like I'm in "La-La Land". But La-La Land does have it's benefits...

10. Having our own house in a central historic area. But this shall come soon, minus the "central and historic area" part.

We do have a contract on a house! Yay! We (hopefully) close in a month. I am SO READY to have a home!! Right now we are living at my parent's house (thanks Mom and Dad!) until we move into our new home, which is just a half mile away! I will admit, it's nice to get a break from home-ownership. When it storms, I'm not worried about a leaky roof or tree limbs falling from over head! And I'm looking forward to not owning an 85 year old house. Everyone here acts like the house we have a contract on (30 years old) is WAY old. Ha! I just laugh in their face!

So, those are some of the things we miss. It's great being in Nashville(Franklin really). It's been a smooth transition, seeing that I grew up here. Matt and I met and fell in love here, so there's that history too. We actually have quite a few friends here and it's been fun to re-connect. And some of my best friends on the planet are here too, which of course is wonderful.

One of the things I'm adjusting to is opening the door and going outside to play. In Memphis, these gigantic boat-sized Cadillacs came barreling down our street at 45MPH so often that I was fearful to ever go in the front yard, lest my child would head into the street! Plus I was always a little worried about the foot traffic in our neighborhood. Here, my girl goes outside and the street is full of children. This neighborhood (where we have a contract on a house and are currently living) is SO kid-friendly. At first I was worried about things to do, but now I just have to open the front door and put shoes on to provide a fun environment for my child! It's different, but I like it.

I also like taking walks in the neighborhood ALONE and AT NIGHT. Yep, you can do that here. That would be a crazy concept in Memphis!

Of course, there are some things I don't like. What is the deal with people tailing me EVERY TIME I DRIVE? Is this a Nashville thing? Or a Franklin thing? I've thought about making a sign that I can hold up that reads "Get off my ass or I'll slam my breaks and cause you to wreck!!". It makes me SO MAD!

It's also a tad uncomfortable to drive through McMansion neighborhoods - one right after the other. Williamson County is a sea of mansions! Where did all this money come from?? And it's SOOOO expensive to live in Davidson County (Nashville proper) which is why we bought in Franklin. It's just downright wrong that the coolest parts of town are so overpriced!

But you know what Nashville has that Memphis doesn't? Meat-n-Threes! Yay! Why Memphis has a SEVERE lack of these is beyond me. Nashville also has local coffee shops that stay open past 7, better music (the type I like), better shopping, and more progressive medicine. I went to a doctor here (MD) who uses homeopathy, supplements, and herbs as opposed to traditional medicine. Can't find that in Memphis! And you can give birth at Vanderbilt Hospital using a nurse-midwife. (And NO, I'm not pregnant, so STOP ASKING!)

Well, anyway, here we are. There are things we miss and things we are glad to have. Wherever we live, it doesn't really matter. Because it's who you're with not "where you're at" (improper grammar and all). And I'm with my family - my man, my little girl. Be in Memphis or Nashville or Timbuktu, they are my best commodity.

Dont Forget about TODAY!!!

2009-10-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

Today is the day of the big Joe P. Rally Run!!!! Even if you can't come out and run/walk in person, you can help to find a cure for the disease no child should have to suffer from. Help fight childhood cancer by clicking here!!!

Joe P's Rally Race 5K

2009-10-02T06:36:00.000-07:00

Help fight childhood cancer and support me on October 31st! All proceeds benefit pediatric cancer research, specifically brain tumor research. The race is in memory of my precious nephew, Joseph, who died of a brain tumor the day after his fourth birthday.

click here to see my support page!

My other blog

2009-08-23T09:34:00.000-07:00

My daughter took a big developmental step this month! And, as her mother, I'm proud as punch.

For details, visit her site:

winniekate.com

It's a private site, so if you want to see it, email me for permission!
:)

This and that

2009-08-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I blogged and I have a lot of random thoughts swimming in my head;

Twittering: I just don't get it. Maybe it's the latest thing for generation Y or whatever they are calling the '00 kids these days, but I'm a product of the seventies, a youth approaching middle age(?) and twittering is way too... senseless? If you don't know what Twitter is, I can't really explain it to you because I don't "tweet" myself, but what it appears to be is a never ending update of what you are doing throughout the day. I'm sorry, but I just can't go that far. I'm already knee deep in narcissism with a Facebook account and a blog. At any rate, Twitter for me is OVER THE TOP. I don't care what you are doing all day. If I did, I would call you. Or even more old fashioned, MEET YOU IN PERSON for a face to face chat. How's that for old fashioned?

Selling a house in times like these: Amazingly, we have done just this. Here is how you do it: Get a good Realtor (Katie Hill with Hobson Realtors is my suggestion if you live in Memphis) and PRICE IT COMPETITIVELY. Also, prayer. Of course. We sold our house in about 4 weeks. Amazing.

Finding a new house: Here is where I stop bragging because WE CAN'T FIND ANYTHING! Our home sold MUCH faster than we had imagined it would and now we are left HOMELESS. After being out of my house on and off for the past two years, returning to the nomadic ways of living is utterly detestable. I know we are in a good position, but for goodness sake, I can't take the life of a nomad any more. And I refuse to settle on a house just to have a place to live. It's not like buying a new pair of shoes. Panic is ensuing. Quite literally.

Indoor Plants: I don't like them. And it's not just because I'm irresponsible about watering them. Yes, I have killed quite a few house plants in my life. But it's the appearance of indoor greenery that really turns me off. I'm finding this as I scope out pictures of houses on realtor.com. Those flowing ivy plants climbing down the sides of kitchen cabinets truly give me the creeps. Equally as frightening as indoor plants is clutter. I hate clutter. I would rather have few possessions than many cluttered ones. Ever seen that TLC show on hoarders? Those shows make me itch like I have seed ticks crawling all over me. Clutter is THAT GROSS.

Ikea: I'm liking Ikea more and more. I'll be heading to Atlanta soon, when my niece is born (which by the way is going to be so unbelievably exciting) and I'm fighting the urge to take a semi-truck with me to fill with Ikea products to bring home. Ikea isn't just a store. It's a habit, a way of life, AN ADDICTION. It's clutter-less, minimalistic, smooth and cheap. *Darn I love that place.

Crocs: I don't "get" these shoes. Even though everyone wears them everywhere, they still look like funny gnome shoes to me. Especially the brightly colored ones. On kids they look fine, but on adult feet - ?? And I'm talking about the huge, full of holes, clog-shaped kind. I have tried them on and while extremely comfortable, I feel like Ronald McDonald as they only add BIGNESS to my already huge boat-feet. Is it just me?

Fashion trends: Something else I don't "get". Take the whole 'jeans tucked into boots' fad from this past winter. Am I the only one who thinks this looks completely ridiculous? Maybe it's just because it's yet another fad that makes my boat feet stand out, but I tried it in the mirror and I looked like a first World War soldier. Who starts these silly trends? I'll tell you who - weird plastic Hollywood people like Paris Hilton. That's who. If she started wearing a bulbous red clown's nose and Bozo shoes, would we all follow? Deciding not to follow fads is a matter of principle for me (and trying not to look ridiculous). Equally as appalling are designer clothes with hefty price tags. People in the 'rest of the world' cannot afford shoes for their aching bare feet. And we're obsessed with spending thousands on ridiculous trendy items that lose their flare after 9 months. Can we all say GROSS? Sorry people, I just don't get it. Maybe I'm a snob. I won't totally deny it.

*edited for the sake of that one particular person who reads my blog, MOM.

The Willies and how Freckles can be a Curse

2009-07-20T20:55:00.000-07:00

Ever had "the creepy crawlies"? "The willies"? "The hebegebees"? Maybe you get them when someone runs a fingernail down a chalkboard. Perhaps you feel them when you watch a horror film or see a live surgery on TV when flipping the channel.

I got the willies yesterday in an "ants in my pants" kind of way. Only it was quite literal.

After looking at homes (our house is on the market) we found ourselves with a little free time as our daughter was still at her Nana's house napping. So we decided to go on a little "nature walk" with our dogs since the weather is so unusually pleasant here in Memphis this week.

Although Memphis boasts the largest urban park in the country (Shelby Farms), full of trails, natural forests and wetlands, Matt and I chose to walk the trails of another park system located in the 'burbs of Germantown. These trails, which are actually part of some state park system, are conspicuously located off a main suburban road and surrounded by McMansion housing developments. Basically, it doesn't look like somewhere one would really go on a nature hike. Unlike the manicured trails of REAL parks, these trails were very narrow and overgrown with tall grasses and weeds. Of course, we chose to go somewhere "off the beaten path" because we had our overly enthusiastic dogs with us. Neither of us felt like having our arms ripped out of the sockets by the leashes attached to the choking, drooling idiot-dogs we have who are overly eager to greet every baby, squirrel, man and dog they encounter with their wildl animal eyes (they were rescues. Apparently starved for love/chase)

So, leash free they could roam and sniff. And there were no babies to knock over or dog's butts to chase and sniff. They could squirrel hunt in private.

The trees weren't very thick. It was "new growth". The type of "woods" you find in someone's back yard who has built a huge house in some undeveloped area. My bare legs continuously brushed tall leafy plants and we had to step over many a fallen tree or briar of brambles to make our way down the path. We walked for quite some time and actually found several ridges that we hiked up and down. It was like finding a secret place of hills in this flat barren land of Memphis. We walked until we came to the banks of the Wolf River - a huge river I might add. This is where we turned around and decided to jog back to the entrance of the trail.

It must have been in that jogging that the "incident" occurred. Of course with the type of incident we encountered, it's hard to say when it actually occurred as the very nature of the incident is silent, small and sneaky. It was in the several minutes after we stopped jogging that I noticed the slight itching sensation on the backs of my knees.

I had been paranoid we would get Poison Ivy or Poison Sumac or some kind of POISON during the entire walk. I kept imagining ourselves covered in pink Caladryl lotion, laying on top of the bedsheets, unable to sleep from the bright red itching. Just thinking of the possibility made my legs itch with each brush of random overgrowth we passed.

The backs of my knees itched again and I told myself that this was clearly a real itch, not part of the horrible vision I kept having of rashes and moaning. So I scratched the back of my leg and continued panting after the run (it had been a while since last I ran). Immediately the backs of my knees itched again and I was scratching. Great. Now I would be covered in mosquito bites. Then my forehead began to itch, just at the hairline. And then my fingers. Now I stopped walking and glanced at my hand.

In a wave of heart-stopping horror, I realized my hand was covered in teeny-tiny bugs moving about ardently. They had an odd sway about their movement, a purposeful, blood seeking determination that guided their little bug-legs in a smooth yet swarming manner. They didnt' have the awkward back and forth movement of ants and they were far to clingy to be anything else but.... Ticks? Could these actually be.... I looked closer and harder in a patch of sunlight splaying through the thin suburban forrest trees... Ticks? TICKS! These were ticks! Blood sucking horrible head burying TICKS! The search engine in my mind landed me on "Seed Ticks", something I had heard about in the past. Some kid I babysat back in high school had gotten into some... "Thousands" I remember being told. It was a nest he had stepped in. Also I remembered something about him having to strip and get in a body of water. Oh boy. This is when my heart leapt into my throat and that tiny girl scream started to come out of my mouth as I called out to Matt to rescue me from this creepy crawling nightmare.

But wait... they had only landed on my hand. I flipped my hand to the palm where they were also milling about. Matt asked me what I had just touched... It was a tree, just back there. I laid my hand on it after the run. A small feeling of relief filled me as I attempted to shake the critters off my hand (they did not come off). This would be a small seed tick attack. Just my hand. No nest had I stepped in. Only a mere brush with death that would soon end. Then I remembered the backs of my knees that my hand had scratched. Slowly I glanced down to see little brown specks covering the backs of my knees. As I swatted and picked them off, they clung to my fingers, hid in my finger nails and STAYED ON MY BODY.

This is when I began to lose it.

The hebegebees took over and I was flailing and trying not to scream like a Crazy. I had one thought; GET THEM OFF. But they weren't easy to get off. And remember how my forehead was itchy? Well, they were EVERYWHERE. Just as I began my frenzy of picking them off and discovering more, I heard Matt call off... seemingly from another planet... that he too was covered in tiny ticks.

We did what anyone does who has ants in their pants. We did little dances. We swatted, we swaggered. We debated taking off all of our clothes (we were now next to the car in the middle of SUBURBIA, just feet away from a four lane road. We opted for private nakedness and got in the car, ticks and all, drove as fast as we could to Matt's Dad's house (he wasn't there), and proceeded to strip on the back deck while at the same time, frantically Googling "seed tick removal" on the laptop. It was bright and sunny outside so I could hardly read the black screen of the computer. With squinted, frantic eyes, I scanned the scant articles that returned from my Google search and found a brilliant piece of advice - use packing tape to pull them off. Packing tape! In a flash we were pressing clear packing tape strips to our bodies, and pulling the ticks off as they stuck to the tape. The ticks met their fate as we then folded the strips of tape, suffocating their blood seeking lives.

Let me explain how small these ticks were. THEY WERE SO FREAKING TINY YOU WEREN'T SURE YOU WERE ACTUALLY LOOKING AT ONE OR NOT. In fact, on my body, which is covered in pin-prick sized brown freckles, you really couldn't see the ticks at all. And I don't have those big kind of freckles. My freckles are the size of specks of dirt. And I'm COVERED in them. How fortunate for an army of freckle-sized seed ticks! To locate them, I would put a piece of tape over my arm, press and pull, and the invisible little guys would be stuck on the tape in different places. And since the ticks were fully camouflaged in the forest of freckles (they were also the exact same color as the freckles), I had to rely on the tape and the sensation of "the willies" to locate the horrible pests. On more than one occasion I scratched at freckles until they bled. Freckle? Tick? Who knew.

At some point we realized we were about to run out of tape. This is also about the same point that I realized that the ticks were now in the nether regions. My underwear was still intact but it presented no barrier to the ticks-disguised-as-freckles. They were making their way north on my body. Never mind the ones that had already landed on my face, neck and head. I had only seen them swarmed on the backs of my knees because that's one of the FEW places I don't have freckles! Oh horrible freckles! You disguise my foe!

Does this sound like a horror film to you? I assure you, IT WAS.

We realized we needed to shower. Having stayed outdoors as long as possible to prevent indoor tick invasion, we took turns viciously scrubbing each other's backs in the shower. I was willing to shed a layer of skin in order to rid myself of this nightmare invasion. I had never scrubbed my body in such fervor, such lather of soap, such haste.

As I dried off, another wave of "the willies" hit my upper thigh. Sure enough one of the critters was still clinging to me, crawling upward to the nether regions.

Thankfully this was the only tick I found still on my body after the shower, though I assure you that over 24 hours later, I am still scratching all over like a flea-ridden stray dog. And what about the dogs, you say? Well, they have Frontline. And last time I checked, humans can't take Frontline. The dogs have it easy.

The worst part, worse than seeing the army of tiny ticks progress along my body - worse than having to be THOROUGHLY examined by my husband in a way I wouldn't have anyone examine me - is the thought that at least one of those buggers has got to be somewhere on me, head burried in the skin, sucking away. THAT is the worst part. That and the constant itching and scratching that is all mental now. I feel like a mental patient with pretend bugs all over my body.

Being that it's mid-July I already had a few bug bites on me before this. Now every time one itches, I'm ferociously scratching it, drawing blood, leaving horrible red scratch marks and splotches.

I couldn't sleep last night. I kept... feeling them....

I feel them now. But I look down and only see freckles. But of course, that's all I could really see before anyway. The "moving freckles" are gone, but the impression they left lingers. I'm sure this will add a whole new level to my already overly complex and frightening re-occurring nightmares which include (but are not limited to) rat infestations, break outs of giant porous zits on my forehead, and falling into a vat of worms. All, very hebegebee-inspiring. Only I think the seed tick invasion would top all of those bad dreams BECAUSE IT REALLY HAPPENED. And I have the scratch marks to prove it.

So, if you ever go on a "nature walk", WEAR POWERFUL BUGSPRAY that is tick specific. And if you happen to step in a nest of seed ticks - keep some packing tape handy.

In the meantime, if you see me scratching all over, don't think me odd.

And if you haven't scratched yourself once while reading this, I commend you.

Awkward!

2009-07-18T13:51:00.001-07:00

Have you visited Awkard Family Photos? I can't get enough of it! Another similar site is Sexy People. I love it!

Anyway, I thought I should post my own Awkward shots....

Family Ties
1985

side effects of homeschooling
1987

You're never too old to wear a onesie
1990

Why dates were few and far between during my early teens
1991

Most people have a few awkward years in their lives. My awkward years spanned an entire decade thanks to horrible clothes, incredibly overgrown brows, and being a late bloomer. Home schooling, back before anyone knew what that was, didn't help either.

Don't judge a girl by her cover

2009-06-27T22:25:00.000-07:00

Some people really try to look unique. Others try to look stylish and trendy. Still, others go for the bohemian art look or perhaps the skin-head metal look. There are all types of looks available. Your style is merely a reflection of your inner being... or is it?

I think if you could peer into my being, you would find my soul to be decked out in vintage wear with rockin' jewelry, maybe a tattoo, and wonderfully punk-like hair (not as in a Mohawk). I would have incredible shoes that nobody else had and the most amazing, funky (yet subtle) bags. Because ON THE INSIDE I am an artist, a nonconformist, a free thinker.

Not so much on the outside though. Why? Well, first of all, I just don't have the time or desire! I may have the most obscure taste in films, art, music and humor. I may have strange mannerisms and phone habits. I may be one heck of an odd ball, but from the surface I appear to be ... normal. Or at least I think so. And "normal" isn't a word I use often because THERE IS NO NORMAL and if there is, I am definitely not 'with normal'. So in other (better) words I guess I appear to be average, ordinary, perhaps even bland. As in, I shop at the GAP, I drive an SUV, I have no tattoos or piercings (other than my two ears) and I wear my hair in a pony tail almost every single day.

I have to admit I often spy edgy/stylish/cute girls and wish I could dress like them. But I wouldn't know where to begin! Because dressing like them takes TIME. And being a mom, that's not something I have a lot of. Plus, I have plenty of other activities to occupy my time. Like sleeping, reading, watching films - activities that take little effort and LET'S FACE IT, shopping takes great effort. While I love to shop, I can only do so much of it. And as a visually stimulated person, I am COMPLETELY OVERWHELMED in most stores. For example, if you want to see me break down into zombie mode, walk with me into a Bed Bath and Beyond. It's just...too...much...

So, I have to go to places that display clothing simply. Places with little selection and variation. Places that play music that isn't too fast, yet still upbeat. Places with good lighting. This is why I go to the GAP or Banana Republic EVERY SINGLE TIME. Take me to one of those basement shops with unique finds and vintage wear and I immediately go into shock overload. There is something really disturbing about thrift shops and I just can't get over the thought that someone might have died in the clothes I am looking through. And to stress my earlier point about TIME, I don't want to commit hours to sorting through junk to find the jewel.

I can't do boutique stores because they scare me. It's the sales ladies. There is something really scary about the way they approach you and breath down your neck and make you feel inferior. I can't do Anthropologie, though I love it, because there is WAY too much to chose from and I lose my sanity after five minutes of total over-stimulation. Target has terrible lighting and displays and department stores are like mazes with dead end traps and dark dressing rooms. So I resigned to the quest to find cool clothes and zipped up my GAP hoodie over my head in defeat long ago.

So how do all you fashionistas find the time? I really want to know. I also don't read or look at fashion magazines. Mainstream fashion mostly bugs me anyway so I could care less. But away from clothes and onto the hair...

I always see these great haircuts and groovy chicks sporting artsy bangs. While I have tried to look cool with my hair, I ultimately fail every time because I have the thickest hair on the planet. All you thin-haired gals just complain all the time, but YOU DON'T KNOW HOW GOOD YOU HAVE IT. I would have fit in perfectly in the 80's, and while the 80's styles are back, the huge permed hair is not and I am left with my thick wavy locks, attempting constantly to straiten and thin them out. Yes, I get hair cuts to thin out my hair and I have all sorts of tools to help TAME THE MANE. I even have assorted oils and greasy balms that I coat my wild hair with to keep it down. So, I'm out with the groovy hair. When short hair looks like a fur hat on your head and bangs curl with the humidity, you don't have too many options. Gotta love that ponytail.

I'm also out on the tattoo or body piercing (Mom, I hear your sigh of relief.) I could never, ever get a tattoo because I am COMPLETELY noncommittal and indecisive. I mean, a tattoo is PERMANENT. If I have trouble deciding what to order off the menu at the restaurant we frequent weekly, I surely could never decide on a permanent image to be painted on my body! And the piercings - wow - I could never do this either because I'm a HUGE BABY when it comes to pain. I also get a tad nauseated sticking earrings in my ears. Seriously I do. There is just no way, no how.

So, because I do not want to invest the time or energy, because I have huge hair and because I am indecisive and slightly squeamish, I just have to settle for an outside that doesn't match my inside. But do I care? Apparently a little or I wouldn't have spent so much time writing this. I suppose as women, we all care a lot about our appearance. Some much more than others. I would love to tell you that I don't care at all. But the truth is that I do. WE ALL DO. It's all such a waste of time though if you think about it. The world tells us we are what we appear to be. Ha! I'm not. So maybe it's actually cooler to not be stylish or trendy or hip or artsy or whatever. At least, that's what I can tell myself, right?

For the mean time, I have to just accept that I'm not a fashionista, a hipster, a trend follower (or setter). I do not look incredibly artsy, or fartsy or whatever. Well, maybe fartsy.

So what are you wearing on the inside?

THE QUESTION

2009-06-23T13:18:00.000-07:00

"So, what's been going on?"
"Have you been enjoying the weather?"
"Read any good books lately?"

... These are all questions of small talk. Harmless, shallow questions that produce harmless shallow answers. That's what small talk should be. But somehow we've gotten terribly off track and small talk has overstepped the bounds of appropriateness. I'm talking about THE QUESTION. What is THE QUESTION? Well, it's always changing, it's always uncomfortable and it's always coming from someone's mouth that you hardly know. Let me explain...

I remember back in my high school days I dreaded making small talk with my parent's friends because THE QUESTION that inevitably ALWAYS came up in conversation with adults was "So, have you thought about where you will go to college?"

I hated this question. Making the big decision of where to attend college was stressful and being a natural procrastinator, I put it off as long as possible. So THE QUESTION irked me beyond belief because it reminded that I could not remain in a state of indecision forever and it also reeked of adulthood. In other words, I was having to make my first big decision in life ever. But mostly THE QUESTION bugged me because this HUGE MAJOR DECISION had become the stuff of small talk. How could something so serious and scary be... small talk? Why couldn't we just talk about the weather?

Well, inevitably I chose a college and attended. THE QUESTION obviously ended too... or so I thought. I quickly became aware that THE QUESTION still came up, only this time it had morphed. I was now being asked "So, have you thought about what you will major in?"

"Well here we go again!" I thought as I stood at a Christmas party my freshman year of college, surrounded by people my parent's age. My peers rarely asked THE QUESTION. I suppose they were in the same boat as me and didn't want to talk about it either. So there I was again, facing the same HUGE ADULT LIFE DECISION in small talk with people I hardly knew. And this went on until my junior year when I finally had a major. But did THE QUESTION stop there? No, no, it morphed again.

"So do you have a job lined up?"

Oh boy. THE QUESTION just seemed to get uglier and uglier. This became the new question for the last couple of years of college. When I graduated and found a job, THE QUESTION changed to "What do you do?" which is much more appropriate for small talk because you just tell them what you do. There is no looming decision to be made, no job to find. Finally, I could relax in small talk. But "What do you do?" has an evil second part to it:

"Are you dating anyone?"

Talk about getting personal. Oh brother. What's worse was that this was now THE QUESTION from everyone, not just my parent's friends. And what's even worse was that I found myself asking high school students where they planned to go to college. I guess I was an official adult. Making uncomfortable small talk with kids.

So, of course, THE QUESTION became "Do you think it's serious?" when I answered yes to dating someone. Great. Now they wanted me to tell them personal details about my dating relationships. How imposing! This is when I learned my first 'adult' answer; "Maybe!" (with a smile and a turn that indicates the conversation is OVER.)

What is it with people prying? I just don't get it. Sure, I've pried before. But those days are over. ESPECIALLY since THE QUESTION has become ultra personal "When are you having another baby?"

How did THE QUESTION go from questions about my love life to "When are you having another baby?" Here's how - I got engaged. For a brief period THE QUESTION is actually not so bad - "When/where are you getting married? Where are you going for your honeymoon?". I could handle THE QUESTION then. But the very day I got married THE QUESTION morphed yet again while I was mingling at my wedding reception. This was the real biggie:

"So, when are you having kids?"

This was the kind of question that makes one choke on their food. Suddenly random acquaintances want in on some very private and personal marital decisions. I remember finally getting up the nerve to say "Excuse me?" In a 'oh no you di-int just ask me that' sort of way. Would you also like to know how many bowel movements I have in a day? You might as well ask because I WOULD RATHER TELL YOU THE ANSWER TO THAT!

Sheesh. What is with people? I mean, REALLY!

So after I had my little girl, (and I mean the DAY after I had her) THE QUESTION became "So when are you having another?" While I totally understand the curiosity behind the questions, I DO NOT UNDERSTAND AT ALL how this is a commonplace question to ask in small talk conversations with acquaintances. Now don't get me wrong, good friends can ask these things to each other and that's completely different. But I'm talking about the kind of small talk you have at parties or baby showers. WHEN DID MY PERSONAL BUSINESS BECOME THE STUFF OF SMALL TALK? And of course I know it's not just about me. It's asked to all of us. And you know what? I've even asked some of these questions myself. It just becomes "what you talk about".

But I have about HAD IT with the current question. It's as if I'm committing a white-middle-class-American sin by not having a second child two years after my first. Everyone wants to know when my next baby is coming. I mean, is life really that boring? Is there REALLY nothing else to talk about? Even strangers in grocery stores have commented "It's about time you had another, isn't it?". Although I maintain composure and smile it off, inside I'm angry. And it's not just because I'm annoyed.

I had a miscarriage in December. It was terrible. Although I'm not brought to tears when asked THE QUESTION, it does make the current question a tad more uncomfortable. This is the problem with THE QUESTION. It is far too personal. And I have resolved to stop asking it. THE QUESTION can be a painful reminder of something like infertility or job loss or broken relationships or any number of the unfortunate tragedies we all endure in life. So, because of my annoyance with THE QUESTION and my recent experience of pain involved with THE QUESTION, I have resolved to keep small talk SMALL. So if I bump into you at the store and ask if you have noticed the cloud formations outside, it's my way of being polite and avoiding THE QUESTION.

By the way, what does the question become when you are past childbearing age? Perhaps it goes in this order:

"SO, where is your child going to pre-school - elementary school - middle school - high school - college?"

"So, when are you going to be a grandparent?"

"So, when do you plan to retire?"

Maybe the question finally does end with "how many bowel movements do you have in a day?" I've heard that's what old people talk about. Maybe it's a valid question after all. Or they save the best question for last...

What's THE QUESTION people are asking you?

more stuff I like

2009-06-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

Skinny Cow low fat ice cream cone - vanilla with caramel ice cream, cone lined with chocolate on the inside. Um, can we say YUM!! And it's only 150 calories. Take that Ben & Jerry's! Also comes in chocolate fudge and chocolate mint, though I find the caramel/vanilla to be the most flavorful with the delicious chocolate dipped cone. I'll take this over a run to Baskin Robbins ANY DAY! Well, almost any day.

GPS navigation - Wow, this is awesome. Although I don't have one of my own, I used my father-in-law's while in Raleigh,NC to navigate across town. As one who has always been directionally challenged, this little gadget solves all of my orientation problems. There is a voice that tells you when a turn is coming up, a small screen with the next turn and a large screen showing a map. I do have a similar application on my iPhone, but it's nothing like what my father-in-law has. Matt argues that I don't need this for everyday use, but I have to disagree. When your Achille's heel is having NO SENSE OF DIRECTION WHATSOVER, this thing is a life save.

The Farmer's Market at the Agricenter in Memphis - There's also one downtown but I like this one better because it's open Mon. - Sat. (the one downtown is Saturdays only). It's never crowded -I HATE HATE HATE crowds - and there is so much to chose from. We went yesterday and got SO MUCH goodness. I really want to eat seasonally and locally because it:
A. Supports local farmers
B. Is better for the environment (um, think of all the fuel it takes to get blueberries from Chili to Kroger)
C. It's fresher and ripens on the vine longer (picked just before sold and therefore tastier!)

CHECK IT OUT MEMPHIS PEEPS: Click here

Fiber One Chewy Bars in chocolate mocha - This is SOOO good and it is also low in calories - 140. With 9 grams of fiber in each serving, this is a filling snack if you are trying to watch what you eat. And it tastes incredible. Not to mention the "regularity" that these little bars help to maintain and we could all use a little regularity in our lives. Am I right or am I right?

Spray-on sunscreen - I think they call it "continuous spray". Whatever. It's awesome. No more long sunscreen application sessions. You just spray and go! I love it! Though you will go through the can much faster than a bottle of lotion. It's definitely not cheap. I buy the Target brand and it works just as well. No sunburn! ... Except for that time Matt scantily sprayed my back at the beach. Three layers of peeled off skin later and I'm just fine!

What do you like?

Whew! Something stinks!

2009-06-01T19:07:00.000-07:00

There is a terrible smell coming from the Nashville/Franklin area and it's coming from a little eatery called Bread & Company.

What in the world happened to this place? Was it always bad and I just never noticed it?

I can't remember when Bread & Company came to Nashville, but I know I used to eat a bagel from there practically every morning when I was working and living in Green Hills just out of college. From what I remember about B&C, (because it's been seven years since I moved away) I always enjoyed eating there.

A few months ago when in town I stopped in for a quick lunch with my Mom and tried, for the first time ever, the "award winning" chicken salad. I had never ordered it before even though people have always raved about it. So, "what the heck", I thought. And I tried it. And it was.... TERRIBLE!! Award winning? I want to meet the people giving these "awards". The stuff is full of finely minced, acidic, raw onion. Onion in chicken salad? Really? Sick. I could have gagged. I can't remember how I finished the sandwich or if I did at all but the pungent aroma of onion overpowered the typical tastes of chicken salad and it was just... gross. What a major disappointment! Although the chicken salad took my breath away with nausea, I still gave B&C the benefit of the doubt and decided to forgive it. I mean, we went a long way back. Surely my next experience would be like the old days.

Not so much.

The Sunday before last was my Mom's birthday and I happened to be in town for it. After church the whole family had a little lunch at B&C because my Mom loves that place. I had no ill-expectations, other than my determination NOT to get the chicken salad. But as soon as I entered the establishment, my eyes were opened to the true awfulness of B&C.

Why had I not noticed how awful B&C was before? I cannot tell you. But I can tell you that I had some help in noticing how awful it was because other family members voiced their complaints as well.

I have to say that we were at the Cool Springs location, not the original, so maybe it's something about that location in particular, but let me tell you I have never been to a more confusing lunch place. There are multiple counters with multiple lines but no directions as to where to begin. At some counters you pay first, then order. At others you order first, then pay and then at others... well, it's confusing. At least there could be some signage. It's just annoying.

There are also too many sandwiches on the menu. And, just in case you might be watching what you spend these days in our crappy economy, they are severely OVERPRICED. And if you want to pay $8 for a lunch sandwich, go somewhere good. THIS IS NOT IT.

I ordered the "Jambon et Fromage, a French classic". The sandwich was described as "thinly sliced smoked ham, whipped Plugra butter and Gruyere on our freshly baked Baguette". After the 15 minute ordeal of waiting in various lines, filling out my own paper order-form, and attempting to get someone to notice that I was ready to hand my order over the counter (no customer relations whatsoever by employees), I got this:

square-shaped deli meat ham on a hogie-looking-baguette with stale cheese and a plastic container of mayonase. YUM!

And when I say "stale cheese" I mean that it was 50% hardened crust. Like it had sat out for a long, long time. Or was the butt-end leftover of a once large block. The ham was tasteless and the "butter" was nothing but mayo. Seriously? I was shocked. So what did your's truly do? Turned around and asked for the manager.

Although I don't think he ever looked me in the eye he immediately gave me my money back. It was if this was old hat for him. He did ask me if I would like something else, but when I said I would rather not try anything else (because of the long lines, too many choices, etc.) he didn't push it a bit and gladly gave me my money back. Without ever looking me in the eye. How odd.

I did try my husband's sandwich, which was not good either. But I have to say the child's PB&J is rather good. But then how do you screw up peanutbutter?

As I sat in the very heavy metal chair that made my butt ache, I noticed how uncomfortable I was. The chairs are just AWFUL! And they make dreadful noise as you scoot in and out of your seat. They are difficult to manuver because of the weight and in making room for everyone at our table, my poor brother had his fingers smashed between two chairs (it wasn't pretty).

I can honestly say I'm through with B&C. It's overpriced, overrated, uncomfortable, confusing, and impersonal. It stinks! I don't know what happened or when it happened but that place has gone downhill!! Move on Nashvillians. There are better places.

Like Provence. Granted, it's overpriced too, but at least the taste is worth the expense.

Or you could try McDougals, which is totally a different kind of place, but BY FAR the best chicken fingers place I've been to anywhere.

So, sorry Bread & Company, but I'm ending our relationship.

Taming The Beast

2009-05-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

Often I feel that I am training a wild animal in dealing with my two-year old. I had a dream last night that I worked in a circus training lions. Is that symbolic or what?

Like an animal in the wild, I have to be careful how close I get to my child. I don't know if all children are like this, but an arm or a foot or a princess phone may come crashing into my face at any moment. I just can't be too careful. I know it sounds terrible, but it's true!

I have said this before in front of other mothers and received blank stares in return. Of course, if you look at my little girl, she appears to be the most mild mannered child ever to grace the surface of this planet. I mean, the child is 100% girly, walks around on her tiptoes and says "please" and "thank you" in the tiniest little fairy voice. But appearances can be deceiving. There is a reason those cute little tiger cubs are behind a cage at the zoo.

Just tonight I was tickling her and making her laugh. Suddenly a wave of hyperactivity shot through her and before I knew it she had clawed me just beneath my left eye. And it wasn't just a small haphazard nail swipe across the face. This was a full-fisted, nails-dug-in, grab Mommy's upper cheek skin and TWIST kind of action. And seeing that it's been over a week since I last cut her super-fast-growing fingernails, the little wild animal claws that gripped my left cheek HURT and left tiny piercings that stung like you-know-what!

It's not that I constantly keep a safe distance from my girl. In fact, I'm sort of addicted to cuddling her. But I always know I'm taking a risk in it. It's sort of an analogy for life I suppose. I mean, love always involves a little risk. But does it have to involve being kicked in the nose???

Another wild-animal trait is the amazing temper tantrums I have witnessed. Luckily, she has only had three MAJOR fits, and for the most part she is fairly well behaved, quiet and compliant. However, just like a chimp, my little two-year-old is prone to "turn" sooner or later.

The first time it happened I couldn't believe my eyes... and ears! I seriously thought something was really wrong with her. Surely this was a major seizure or some type of allergy-induced reaction!

Since around 18 months, there has often been some sort of major upset behavior displayed when she really wants something and is told "no". Usually this involves crying, or running away, or sulking, or "air hitting" (she pretends to hit me but only does it in the air). There were times where I thought she was throwing a tantrum, but it wasn't until that first REAL tantrum that I knew what a tantrum REALLY looked like.

It was a normal night by all accounts. Daddy read her books while she sipped milk from her favorite princess cup. She tiptoed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and daintily skipped towards me so I could sing her songs and tuck her in. As I started the first song we usually sing in our nightly routine, Baa-baa Black Sheep, she became visibly disturbed "No Mommy, NO! I sing that song!" Well, I try not to let her boss me around so I said that Mommy was going to sing it and she could sing with me if she liked.

This did not go over well with her.

Before I knew it I had a raging animal in my arms! In frustration I said that song-time was over and that she was going to bed. That she could not act like this.

This also did not go over well with her.

Minutes later all kinds of wild animal sounds were coming through the walls of her room. I looked at Matt and said "What do we do?" I was clueless. A few minutes went by. The hysterical screaming continued. And when I say 'hysterical screaming', I mean all kinds of grunting, growling, and howling kinds of noises. I finally went into her room to find her, for the very first time, attempting to climb over her crib. She had also turned on the overhead light in her room (its within reach from her crib but she NEVER turns it on). She had thrown everything out of her crib, creating violent piles of blankets and lovies. Her hair was matted to her face with tears and snot and she had also attempted to undress herself. It was astounding. One moment she was a precious angel, the next a ferrel cat in a frenzy.

Okay, so I realize I have compared my beloved child to tigers, chimps and other various types of wild animals, but one must admit that two-year-olds have quite a lot of wild frustration to vent. I will say that my little beast gives me the most unbelievable loving moments. Her hugs and kisses are little treasures and I truly do cherish this age, despite the drawbacks. Her excitement over simple things like ice cream or family walks down the street is exhilarating. The sheer joy she expresses over a small accomplishment is heavenly to watch. And when she "tells me a secret" and whispers "I love you so much Mommy" in my ear, I have to smile and say that any distress I feel while attempting to "tame the beast", melts away with every joyful gesture she offers in return.

So, as crazy as it sounds, I do love this age and I don't wish it away by ANY MEANS! But I am seriously considering a future in wild animal taming. Maybe the Memphis zoo needs some extra hands in the Cat Country exhibit.

Look Alikes?

2009-04-25T19:25:00.000-07:00

It seems people are always telling me I look like someone they know. I hear "Are you So-and-So's sister?" or "you look just like a girl I grew up with." If they aren't telling me I look like someone they know, people are telling me I look like someone famous. I have been baffled by some of the celebrities I supposedly resemble!

First, there is the most popluar remark I have heard since The Wonder Years aired on TV back in junior high - "You look like Winnie Cooper!" Believe it or not, countless people have told me this. It's ridiculous! I look NOTHING like this: I STILL hear this comment to this day! What the heck? Winnie Cooper is beautiful, so it's a total compliment but.... ???

When I was a recruiter for a college before I had my daughter, I was traveling one week around Kansas City and three different students at three different events told me in a two-day time span that I looked like "the chick from The Craft": This is Robin Tunney. She was also in the TV series, Prison Break. More people after that told me I looked like her, but again I must say, huh? Seriously? She's cute and all but... don't see this either.

Then there is the ultimate form of flattery. It's when people tell you that you look like Elizabeth Hurley. Yeah! I wish! Well, thanks a million people for the HUGE compliment, but again... Seriously??

And recently, I was told that I look like this chick: This is Sprague Grayden. She plays Olivia in this season of 24. Out of everyone I have been told I look like, I think I bear the most resemblance to this actress.

The worst is when you are told you look like someone you DO NOT WANT TO LOOK LIKE. I have been told I look like Cathy Bates. Hmm... Thanks! Anyway, it's all pretty amusing to me.

I also love finding celebrity look alikes for my friends and family. Here are a few...

Meet my father:

My brother Allen:

My husband:

Who do you look like?

Latest reads, my reviews, a complaint

2009-04-23T13:01:00.000-07:00

Loving Frank by Nancy Horan: This work of historical fiction chronicles the lurid affair between the influential turn-of-the-century architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, and an Oak Park housewife, Mamah Cheney. While their relationship was gossiped about in the Chicago papers in great length, little is actually known about their lives together, and about Mamah (Bothwick) Cheney herself. Horan pieced together Mamah's character from scraps of information and letters written by Mamah herself, one of which she partially includes in the book. Living in a time where women were not allowed to vote, Mamah challenges all notions of what a conventional woman should be with her affair with a married man. Married herself with two children, she has to chose between her family and her lover and the consequences that follow.

As a mother, I mostly felt great unease as I followed Mamah's story. Her decisions and priorities are extremely selfish. While she fights for the liberation of women, she abandons her personal responsibilities to her own children. She decisively throws her family, her commitments, her brilliant intellect, and her work away on a waste of a man. Though his work is genius, his eccentric character, horrifying spending problem and half-committed efforts to his colleagues, family, and Mamah herself INFURIATED me. Why would she throw it all away for such a fool?

The ending sprung upon me with shock, and I am glad for it. To be honest, I was quite bored and disgusted with Mamah, Frank and the whole bit. I squirmed in my chair and chastised her aloud "Selfish, idiotic woman!" Forget breaking moral code with her affair. Not that I approve of that type of behavior, but COME ON MAMAH! Where are your senses?

So an ending that is entirely unexpected was just what the story needed. You know how they say truth is stranger than fiction? Well, the end was strange indeed and it was about the only TRUE part of the entire book as it actually did occur.

My review: 2 stars out of 5

The Reader by Bernhard Schlink: This book was recently made into a movie, which I have not yet seen. Part of me doesn't want to spoil the book with the movie. Ever had that happen? I hate that. You have this picture of what the book is and then the horribly made movie just ruins it for you! But from what I've heard, the movie is well made, so we shall see...

There was something odd, eerie and entrancing about this book that sucked me in right away. I had trouble putting it down, but that doesn't always signify a good read. It was definitely a page turner, but the kind of page turner where you put it down and go "Huh?"

It's the story of a German teenage boy, Michael, growing up in the late fifties. Through a chance encounter he meets a woman called Hannah who is more than twice his age and subsequently begins a love affair with her.

After a sudden disappearance, Hannah leaves Michael's life only to turn up later in part two of the novel while Michael is in law school. As part of a class assignment, Michael observes a war crimes trial which involves Hannah. Hannah's former life and terrible secrets are exposed, but there is one secret she will risk everything to cover, a secret she considers more heinous than her former Nazi life. Michael becomes aware of this secret and must decide if he will hurt or help his former lover.

The book deals with the post-Nazi generation's struggles and shame in coming to terms with the horrors of the Holocaust. Though his generation is not responsible for the torture and mass murders at the concentration camps, Michael must confront the actions of his parent's generation.

While I somewhat enjoyed the book, it is definitely not a favorite by any means. I finished the book with a slight sense of hopelessness and was quite disturbed by some of the subject matter. It is very explicitly sexual (involving a minor) so that too was a bit much for me. Perhaps something was lost in translation because the characters seem hollow, void of much emotion. I felt as if I had climbed into the stereotypical male's head with limited emotionless descriptions and very little imagery. Schlink opened the door inside the mind of a Nazi perpetrator, which is a pretty brave thing to do. But I left feeling conflicted and somewhat confused.

All in all, I would suggest it to a friend perhaps, but I wouldn't write home about that. Or is that what I'm doing by writing about it on my blog?

My rating: two out of five stars

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides: Middlesex is a work of fiction that follows three generations of a Greek-American family, beginning in Turkey and ending in Detroit. A family scandal that begins on the ship to America at the turn of the century turns up two generations later in a pair of mutated genes, rendering the narrator of the story, Calliope Stephanidies, both female and male ("intersexed" or "hermaphrodite").

While I was intrigued to read the story of Cal who was raised as a girl (Callie), I was surprised to find that most of the novel focuses on Calliope's grandparents. At first I kept waiting for their story, which opens in a small village in the mountains of Turkey, to end and for Calliope's to begin. I was impatient to get to what I thought was the meat of the novel. But as I skipped through the pages, I became entranced with the lyrical writing and brilliant technique. I was engrossed in Desdemona and Lefty's life in Detroit, their comical characters, the interesting narrative twists.

The story then begins to shift to the lives of Desdemona's son Milton and his wife Tessie. Where Lefty and Desdemona's love story, escape from Turkey, and life during prohibition in Detroit is captivating and compelling, Milton and Tessie's romance and life together is dull and uninteresting. I was not at all entranced by these characters or their relationship. Having Desdemona and Lefty in the background held my interest.

By the time Calliope's story is in full force, Lefty and Desdemona are thrown aside and completely leave the novel for a long period. After investing hundreds of pages in their lives I was disturbed to suddenly move past them. While Cal/Callie's character and story is equally as fascinating, it was as if I had begun to read another book completely. To make matters worse, Calliope's story comes to an abrupt halt in the end, leaving unanswered questions. It's as if Eugenides had a deadline to meet, so he hurriedly wrapped up the 500 + page novel in one unsatisfactory chapter.

While it is a brilliantly written work, there was too much competition between the story lines. And in the end, I felt gypped on Calliope's life. How did Calliope get to where he/she was at the beginning of the novel? How did his/her community react to Callie becoming Cal? These questions are absurdly unanswered. Though I enjoyed the imagery and commentaries on American immigrant life, I resented being left to wonder about something I know almost nothing about - life as a hermaphrodite.

Would I suggest you read this book? I don't know. It is disturbing at times, because it deals with more than one uncomfortable issue. I had strange dreams every night and felt a little disgusted from time to time throughout the read. If you do pick this up, be prepared for a somewhat disturbing story that largely feels disjointed and incomplete, while also genius. Strange combination, I know. It's a very unique story in every way - from the complicated time line in which it is told, to the multi-generational characters and narratives, to the subject matter. I suppose it's worth a try. Heck, everybody else AND THEIR MOTHER seem to just love it. I suppose I fall in the minority when I say it was merely "okay", albeit a Pulitzer Prize winner. Oh yeah, Oprah liked it. Big whoop to that. I suppose I also fall into the minority when I say I could care less about what Oprah does or does not like.

My review: 3 stars out of five

A Virtuous Woman by Kaye Gibbons: This was my first Kaye Gibbons book and I can guarantee you it won't be my last! Now one of my new favorite Southern authors, Gibbons reminds me a little of Flannery O'Connor in that she touches on the conflict between the sacred and profane. She writes boldly and fluidly, developing her characters with such intensity and truth that they seemingly leap from the pages into reality.

A Virtuous Woman is the story of a meager tenant farmer, Blinking Jack Stokes, and his gentry-class wife Ruby, who is dying of cancer. The story is narrated in alternating flashbacks from Ruby and Jack, as they tell the stories of their lives, the loneliness that brought them together and the intense suffering they experience as death creeps upon their marriage.

As Ruby opens her dialog, she is preparing meals for Jack to store in the "deep freeze" for after she dies. Her love and devotion for Jack, who is much older, weathered and poor, is both profound and simple. As is the entire story. While it's not a dreary tale, it will definitely provoke deep emotion. No, I did not cry reading it. Well, maybe a little. But more than provoking tears, it left me with such a richness that I rarely experience. I appreciated the characters, the vernacular Southern dialog, the sharp electrical current that runs through the pages as I rapidly turned them (also had trouble putting this down.)

my rating: 5 out of 5 stars.... but also read my criticism below.....

My one criticism of the book isn't really particular to this book itself. Let me make sense of what I want to say... It seems that every great Southern author has something huge against God. Maybe it's just resistance from growing up in the Bible Belt. I can perhaps understand this somewhat. Just because one lives in the Bible Belt and attends a church does not qualify one to really know or understand God. I'm sure there have been and still are plenty of backwards churches out there that promote Bible thumping, hell and brimstone- damnation-screaming preachers that seem to go against Jesus' teachings altogether. This could only turn people off to God. Not to mention the hypocrisy of natural human nature. But God isn't about the messed up humans who follow him. Am I making sense? I guess I'm just tired of reading OVER AND OVER AGAIN in just about ANY piece of Southern Lit about how awful and ridiculous Christians are. Yes, plenty of so-called Christians are awful and ridiculous. I'm a Christian and I'm awful and ridiculous A LOT. It would just be nice to read some Southern Lit that doesn't attack Christianity. Seriously. And I'm not talking about something like those Mitford books.

It's just hard when the one thing that is so real and good and true to me (my faith) is so often under attack in literature, especially Southern literature. I can't tell you how many times I am reading an incredible book , such as Poisonwood Bible or Fair and Tender Ladies, where one character is a fiery hell and brimstone preacher who is nothing but a hypocrite and a self righteous fake. I identify with how terrible those characters are and how they defile God instead of exemplify his love. As I read, I wait for the conflict with the "Christian" to be redeemed, for the truth to be laid out, for God's character to be shown. And it never happens. I often finish these books (this includes A Virtuous Woman) and feel such hopelessness for the lost characters. I long for redemption for them. Does anyone know what I am talking about?

I would love any of the suggestions you may have for books that show the real character of God. The [good] book that comes to mind when I think of such a story is C.S. Lewis' Till We Have Faces, which is my all time favorite book... because it's INCREDIBLE. Like I said, I like literature, not YaYa Sisterhood type books (no offense if that's your thang. It's just not mine.) So leave me some suggestions PLEASE!!

IKEA

2009-04-04T20:01:00.000-07:00

Most people think we are INSANE for driving six hours to Atlanta just (and I mean just) to go to IKEA. But then, most people haven't had their house flooded, followed by lead paint contamination and mold, causing a good chunk of what they own to be thrown away in a hazardous waste dump. So (laugh on scoffers) we went on a little shopping trip. We decided to take the seats out of Matt's new car, a Honda Element, drop our daughter off for a weekend getaway at her Pop Pop and Gramma Nancy's house and head down to HOTlanta to see what we could jam into the Element.

And a bit on the Element - I was a skeptic when Matt told me he wanted to buy it. What was so great about an Element? Well, I'll tell you: it's convenient. The seats are so easily removable and you can fit SO MUCH inside! The seats even convert into beds in case you want to go camping. I am DYING to use this feature. Not so much for the camping experience as it's not my favorite "weekend getaway", but just to say we slept on the seats that convert to beds. It's related to my childhood obsession with RV's. I STILL want to take one across the country. Again, not so much for the scenery but for the "home on wheels" experience.

At any rate, the Element did not let us down. And we were able to easily cart all of our IKEA loot home. But before I tell you what we scored, I need to elaborate about what we did while in Atlanta. We did IKEA and nothing else. Well, we stopped to get gas and some snacks in a convenience store. But other than that, for 24 hours we were either at the hotel or at IKEA.

IKEA, in case you do not know, is a Sweedish retailer that sells home products ranging from children's stuffed animals to kitchen cabinets. Basically, IKEA carries it all. It's very cheap and very cool. Though it might not be your thing, it is very contemporary and all about using space efficiently. And if you live in a city that has an IKEA and you have never been, I HATE YOU. But seriously, if you need a lot of STUFF like we have needed after this craziness with our house, this is the perfect one-stop place for it all. Of course, we (Matt especially) LOVES the style of IKEA, so that was a HUGE factor in all this.

So, anyway, we hardly left IKEA. And the fact that they serve breakfast, lunch and dinner was perfect for taking a break from shopping. So, you guessed it, we had breakfast, lunch and dinner at IKEA. And the food is just like the home wares. Good and cheap.

In the end we came out with:

a kitchen rug
a huge arm chair
place mats
child's table and two chairs
a throw blanket
set of picture frames for the wall
child's dining set
kitchen table
4 kitchen table chairs
youth kitchen table chair
oven mits
children's toy storage unit
2 bedside table lamps & shades
laundry hamper
table-top caddy
dish towels
2 end tables
clothing organizers
2 small lamp shades
set of children's cups
set of children's plates
set of children's bowls
set of food storage organizers
17 pc. food storage set
assorted random kitchen supplies
wall decorations (for a friend)
2 children's duvet sets (for a friend)
And I know there are things I'm forgetting because there was SO MUCH STUFF!

And it was ALL under $1000. I kid you not. And we LOVE IT. So laugh away. Yes, we spent money on gas to get there and back, but it was still totally worth it. And since we racked up quite a few hotel points during our 47-night stay at the Hilton Homewood Suites back when our house was under "renovation", the hotel was free.

The Element comfortably carried it all back WITH ROOM TO SPARE. I'm telling you, that car is pretty awesome. The thing that stunk was that I TOTALLY FORGOT to take window measurements so we could load up on window treatments (which all had to be thrown away after the flood fiasco.) BUT, since my brother and family will be moving back to Atlanta and we will be going down there to either help move or help unpack - WE GET TO GO BACK! So we are making notes already about what we want to get next time. A friend told me "you feel like you are rich when you shop at IKEA." She's right. You do pay the price of having to put it all together. It was an odd feeling carting around these flat little boxes, knowing they would eventually sprout into chairs and tables. BUT, the assembly was as simple as adding water. We did, however, have a part missing from one of our pieces of furniture, but the people at IKEA were so helpful and the part has already been shipped to us in Memphis.

IKEA isn't high end quality, but SERIOUSLY. Who wants expensive investment pieces when you have kids? And why would I want an investment piece of furniture when I spill entire bowls of cereal (happened tonight) or cups of coffee on it? I do not want to be one of those "paranoid about the furniture" moms. Plus, styles change so much! It costs more to re-cover furniture than to buy new stuff (or at least, if that new stuff is from IKEA.)

All in all, our experience with IKEA was great. Though a bit exhausting. Knowing it would take six hours to bring anything back, it's kind of important to make SURE you want something enough to purchase it. We did spend over an hour debating the color of an armchair. Apparently powder blue is too feminine a color (I had no idea.) In the end, we settled on dark gray and made some major scores in terms of possessions.

While I like to say "it's just stuff", we did drive 12 hours for it, IN AN AWESOME ELEMENT that my husband had the incredible foresight to purchase. But on the other hand, look what we saved! And we are now officially part of the weird IKEA cult following. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em! So if you have an IKEA in town, check it out. And if you don't - well, I won't laugh at you for driving 12 hours to score some deals.

Forgot to add this photo...

2009-03-26T19:31:00.000-07:00

I look happy about it, don't I? I forgot to post this picture in the entry below. Yes, this is the third haircut EVER to make me cry. If only I had read my friend Sarah's blog entry before I went as a reminder to BE CAREFUL about letting someone take scissors to my head! Oh, and don't leave comments about how cute it is. I HATE IT, but not in a "please tell me you love it" way. And it doesn't appear as fluffed and huge as it is in person because it was still partially wet when I took this. So take note, ladies (and men?) DO NOT go to a chatty stylist and BE SPECIFIC when you tell them what you want. You could come home and scare your toddler like I did!

A Hairy Situation

2009-03-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

Only three times in my life have I cried after getting a haircut. The first time I was eight years old. I was not a vain child, and in fact, did not realize the perilous haircut I received until my Mom returned home from out of town and cried when she saw me. That was the first and last time my Dad was ever allowed to take me to get a haircut. I remember my Mom was out of town on a woman's retreat or something of the sort. She had instructed my Dad to take me to the salon (The Patio in Green Hills) where she and I normally had our hair cut by Rodger, a very flamboyant stylist. My Dad, being the manly-man that he is, had other plans however and decided that a visit to the beauty salon wasn't his cup of tea. Instead, he took me to his barber shop. And when I say "barber shop" I mean this place had one of those blue and red striped barber's poles outside the front door and an owner named Red shaving a man's face when we walked in. But Red didn't cut my hair that day. Instead, it was Rhonda, the beauty school dropout(?) who worked in the furthest corner. I don't know if she typically cut my Dad's hair or if he had just noticed that a woman worked there, but he thought that was just as good as any beauty salon. Oh, little did he know...

Rhonda was pretty and had huge curly blond hair that looked like the hair of my 1983 Barbie Dolls. She was very nice to me and had a very southern accent and convinced my Dad that I needed more than a trim - I needed a style. I had very thick, light brown hair that was evenly cut and fell a little beyond my shoulders. My Mom was always tying it up in pretty ribbons and putting it in rollers on Saturday nights before church. I hated sleeping on those uncomfortable pink rollers! Well, thanks to Rhonda I didn't have to sleep on those rollers for a year or more. Rhonda gave me the ultimate early 80's haircut - the feather cut. This haircut basically was your typical mullet-cut with long feathers in the back. Think Uncle Jesse from Full House. Since Rhonda obviously knew what she was doing, and my Dad was not phased in the slightest by the EXTREME change in my hair, I assumed I looked great. Until my Mom returned home. She met me with a look of horror, which was followed by tears and a harsh lecture to my Dad that went something along the lines of "What were you THINKING??" As a mom of a little girl, I cannot imagine coming home to a crazy haircut that I did not authorize. So I don't blame her for her reaction! She ended up taking me for an emergency "fix it!" cut to our stylist Rodger the next day. I had a short bob after that which took over a year to grow out! My Dad was reminded of his mistake every time my short hair fell over my eyes. Poor Dad!

The next time I cried over a haircut was in college. I had one of those mornings where I woke up and decided I needed to chop off my hair. I had experienced a few failed dating relationships in a row and I was ready to make some drastic changes. I think every girl does this at one point or another in her life. But in looking back, I should have cut off some jeans, not my hair! Without any consideration, I marched into a random salon (bad idea!) and asked to have my beautiful hair butchered. And I say beautiful because it was long and healthy and pretty and still had natural high lights. That day marked the official end of my natural high lights. The stylist gave me what I wanted and I left with locks just inches long all over my head. It was a haircut that left many layers, which is not such a good idea on a thick head-o-hair like mine. Basically, the hair stood out on it's ends in a poof and I looked crazy. It took a few hours for the reality to seep in, and once the high of "I did something drastic and different" went away, I was left with a haircut that could not be pulled back into a pony tail, that ticked the sides of my face as the wind blew it, that felt more like a wig or a hat than anything else. I called it my "hat hair". And I cried over that mess. I cried and cried! I did go back to my regular stylist (who would have never done that drastic of a cut for me out of the blue) so he could fix it. He about had a heart attack when I walked over to his chair. He made it a little better... and shorter! It took a good year to get that mess into a pony tail. That was a long year of growing it out. I remember running into people and the faces they made when they saw me. They all lied "It's so cute!" but their facial expressions and body language spoke volumes; "Dear God, what has she done to herself!!!???" I felt like Jo in Little Women after she chops her hair off for money and her sister says "Oh Jo! Your one beauty!"

And now, I come to the THIRD time I have cried over a haircut. No, it was not this past November when I cut off 9 inches of my hair for Pantene's Beautiful Locks program. Instead, it was two weeks ago, when I went in "for a trim" and came out with a chin-length bob!

I sat in my stylist's chair two Saturdays ago and told her "I'm growing it out - I want it longer - don't cut it too short, but I need you to even it out." She must have only heard "even it out" because she ended up cutting my hair to it's shortest layer, just at the jawline! I really should have clarified "even it out" because by no means did I want a short bob! I just wanted her to blend in some of the many layers from my previous haircut that were driving me crazy. That woman chopped 4 inches off my hair in the blink of an eye. I guess "don't cut it too short" is relative to a hair stylist. "Too short" could mean "don't buzz it" for all I know. I walked out of that place with a football-helmet cut and tears in my eyes. The most regretful part of the whole thing is how involved I got in a conversation with my stylist. We were talking and laughing and telling stories and I think she sort of lost track of what she was doing and I wasn't paying any attention at all until it was way too late. I remember looking up at the mirror and REALIZING how SHORT my hair was. I panicked a little and asked if I could get it into a pony tail. "Sure you can!" she assured me, but when I got home I found this not to be true. And then the tears started streaming. It will take an entire year to get those 4 inches back! What had just happened!? I was GROWING IT OUT for Pete's sake. And to make matters worse, she evened it out a little too much meaning that it is all one layer. And when you cut super-thick hair all one layer, do you know what you get? A triangle head! My hair is SO BIG that my head size (which is huge to begin with) has seemingly DOUBLED!

There is just nothing worse than a terrible haircut. It's the kind of thing to drive a woman BATTY. I had visions of showing up at my hairstylist's front door in tears, pulling at my hair shouting "What have you done!?" I replayed the haircut over and over, analyzed what I told her I wanted, re-worded what I should have asked her to do, and played scenarios where I caught her about to cut it all off, but stopped her in the nick of time. But none of it got me anywhere and I couldn't glue my hair back together. After an afternoon/evening of tears, I had to put on my big-girl pants and just suck it up. So now I'm walking around with this tiny little pony tail, with huge clips holding the front hair pieces back and the back of my neck is covered with one-inch long pieces of hair. It's enough to make me sick, but WHAT DO YOU DO? I mean, I can't rightly egg down my stylist. And if I went to get the haircut "fixed" I would just get all those short layers around my head that definitely would make a pony tail less attainable in the near future. So if you see me walking around, just do me the favor of NOT commenting on my hair! And take some lessons from me: communicate WELL and thoroughly to the stylist. Show visuals, draw pictures, do something other than say "I don't want it too short." And DO NOT engage in conversation that is distracting. This is bad both for the stylist and for you. You need to make sure they aren't BUTCHERING your hair absentmindedly! You know it's bad when you return home and your two-year-old runs the other way in fear when she sees you and then comments for an entire week "Your hair looks funny Mommy!" or "Put that in a pony tail!". Kids have the "gift" of honesty, don't they?

Spring fever

2009-03-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

SPRING IS HERE and I COULD NOT POSSIBLY be happier about it.... or could I?

Every winter feels like the longest, bleakest period in my life and this winter was no exception. While spring isn't anything as awesome as SUMMER, I still enjoy the offical announcement that winter has come and gone. I think I've done a pretty good job this winter, holding in my distaste for the season. Not too many complaints come to mind. It helped that we took a cruise to Mexico at the end of December, after which we began planning our beach trip which will take place in May. And planning a beach trip at least takes my mind off of the dreary weather.

And speaking of weather, I have officially broken out the flip flops, my all-time favorite footwear. I cannot tell you the joy I feel peering down at my naked piggies, wiggling in the breeze, big toe seperated by the "thong" of the flip flop. Though in much need of their first pedicure since the Mexican cruise, they look rather happy to be set free from the confines of closed-toe shoes. The other day I was wearing my flip flops at the playground while my girl was playing with a friend (I REFUSE to use the term "playdate")and I actually broke a sweat sitting on the bench because of the heat. A smile broke across my face as I realized what was around the corner - HOTNESS.

You see, I don't enjoy spring for the same reasons that most of you do. Sure, the flowers are pretty and the warmer temps are pleasant. But the real reason I enjoy spring is because it is the opening act for summer. You see, I like it hot. I like knowing that it is going to be hot when I wake up and hot when I go to bed. This whole whacky business of fluctuating temperatures where you have a jacket on one day and shorts on the next doesn't float my boat because the COLD still has not completely left. March and April are like the end of the flu. You start to feel better, but you still have a cough and a runny nose. There is still sickness lingering.

The worst part about spring is how unpredictable it is. After it finally reached around seventy degrees in Memphis a few weeks ago, two days later it snowed six inches. That snowfall, though enjoyable to every child and snow-loving adult in Memphis, was so utterly depressing for me! I was glad to see it go! We aren't supposed to get weather like that in Memphis!

Secondly, during spring, my allergies kick into FULL GEAR. A frequent hacking cough and the dreaded post-nasal-drip become my constant side kicks as I battle the green pollen dust currently settling on my car, my front porch and in my lungs. And this is after YEARS of allergy shots! I can't begin to explain how awful spring used to be before I started the shot therapy.

And finally, my least favorite part of spring - basketball. Yes, I am fully aware that this might be your FAVORITE part of early spring, MEN (and sports-loving female readers.) But March Madness is just as terrible to me as football season, meaning that it's ALWAYS ON T.V. which means my husband gets "the good TV" priority and I'm left with a non-HD-T.V. This is really a blessing in disguise however as more book reading has occurred. But all the brackets and basketball talk is just plain ANNOYING. Who cares? I have never understood the OBSESSION with sports. And I never will. I get PLAYING the sport and being competitive, but observing the sport is so BORING. And if you have ADHD like me (or whatever over-diagnosis indicating you are easily irritated or distracted), the constant squeaking of the shoes on the basket ball court, the dribbling of the balls and the COMPLETE visual over-stimulation is just ALL TOO MUCH.

So, while I greatly appreciate the end of the DREADED winter season, I have to wait to fully celebrate until the pollen dies down, the weather becomes consistent and the basketball is ancient history. But hey, at least I don't need to wear socks or a coat anymore, right? I've done pretty well about not complaining this winter about the AWFUL COLDNESS so I deserve to go on a complaining rant against spring, right? I know some of you love cold weather. I just don't get it. Really. My bones hurt when it's cold! I cannot get comfortable. Maybe my body was designed to live closer to the equator. With my Scotch-Irish heritage, I doubt it. All I know is that I LOVE getting into hot cars in mid-July. I don't turn the AC on to soak up the heat! I love wearing tanks and sandals and swimming and sunshine. The smell of sunscreen makes me smile. So all you spring lovers, enjoy it while it lasts. Thankfully in Memphis, it doesn't last too long. Not much in-between weather here. It's either really hot or really cold. And I for one, LOVE THE HEAT!!!!

Mom Jeans

2009-03-07T21:43:00.000-08:00

I recently inherited some jeans from a friend of a friend (thanks Nancy!) who was cleaning out her closet (she's a "shop-aholic"). Actually, I scored several pairs of jeans. It's not often (um, almost never) that someone offers me free jeans from a shop-aholic's closet. As I eyed them over and tried them on, I doubted that one particular pair would land in the KEEP pile, namely because they looked a lot to me like Mom Jeans. What are Mom Jeans? Here, let me give you a visual:

Now, these jeans weren't nearly as bad as the ones donned by the SNL cast in the above photo. But they weren't anything close to the low-riders that have been around now for years. They looked more like jeans from five years ago when jeans were beginning to creep down the hips but hadn't quite made the leap to buttoning below the pelvic bone.

They looked like expensive jeans (they are) so I thought I would give them a try. Hmm... the fabric was soft, yet durable. Wonder of wonders, they weren't too short at the ankles like most pants I try on! As I zipped the fly I knew I had found the perfect jeans. There, staring at me through the button hole was my bellybutton. This is how pants used to be. This is how pants should be. Pants were not meant to hang on the lower parts of a woman's pelvic region. At that moment I became a convert to the Mom Jean and disavowed my former low-risers. No longer would I subject myself to the pains of fashion. I had found the perfect jeans.

No muffin-top concerns, no plumber's butt fears. I was safe and secure in a pair of jeans that actually slimmed me a little. It was like finding my husband - the perfect fit. As I moved about the room I was in such glee over finding these Mom Jeans that I almost forgot to check out what I looked like from behind in the mirror. Oh boy. Huge pockets that don't cascade down to the thigh. Translation - big butt appearance. No wonder the Mom Jean had lost its appeal over time. No worries, I thought. Long length tops are in (to combat the plumber's butt epidemic due to low-risers). I slid on a top that reached my lower thighs. Perfect. And I still looked slimmer. I could get away with a fashion faux pas for the sake of comfort and ease!

You see, for a while now I have grown weary of the effects of low-rider jeans. Anywhere you look, you are bound to see some butt crack. It's the new cleavage. But it's disgusting. Frankly, I'm sick of looking at it and sick of fearing it happening to me. And I know those of you reading this, except my men-readers (I know who you are), have had this plumber's butt happen to you too. How could you not have it happen when your jeans button just above the top of your rear end? It's inevitable, which is why all the shirts are finally coming down far enough to pull over the plumber's butt when we sit or slightly bend our bodies.

Also, with low-riders, you have the horrible muffin-top waist. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you are either too skinny, in high school and still developing, or haven't had a kid yet. Even skinny chicks have little muffin tops. What is a muffin top? The fleshy area around the waist that women are supposed to have. Just a little FYI, we aren't supposed to look like this:

We really aren't supposed to look like anything, as we are all different, but doesn't this shape look a little more "ideal"?

Nicole Richie clearly does not have muffin-top. I guarantee you that Venus has muffin-top. And if the picture of timeless beauty has muffin-top, then can't we all just embrace our own?

At any rate, Mom Jeans keep muffin-top in place. In fact, muffin-top becomes obsolete. There is nothing below pushing your NORMAL ROUNDER WAIST up when you sit down or move around. Mom Jeans (or what I'm calling Mom Jeans) actually look and fit better, unless you tuck your shirt in.

So I'm proudly strutting my Mom Jeans all over town. I'm having to fight that urge when I sit down not to hurriedly pull my top down out of fear of the plumber's-butt show. And no more awkward pulling up on my pants either. Low-riders easily slide down, needing constant tugging in the upward motion to get them to stay on the non-hip area. Mom Jeans stay put because the curves hold them there.

Does this mean I am officially beginning the process of "letting myself go?" No! I'm just finding myself in a pair of Mom Jeans and feeling proud of my security. And if you have noticed, it appears Mom Jeans are slowly making a come back (or at least trying to). Yes, Jessica Simpson made a debacle of the Mom Jean, but she also tucked her shirt in. Big mistake in my book. At any rate, I'm 30-something now and I'm ready to do my own thing.

At least I'm not dressing like the girl Matt and I saw the other night at Panera. This woman (she was young, but still a woman) was sporting a navy monogrammed long sleeved t-shirt. Like what I see two-year-olds wearing around town. You know, big curvy monogrammed initials. I couldn't believe it. But what I really couldn't believe were her shoes, which I spotted later when she got up. She was wearing crocks with big navy silk bows that had been strung through them, making bows on the tops of her feet. Yes, I'm serious. But I guess to each their own, right? I mean, who am I to judge her wardrobe? I'm the one in Mom Jeans!

You won't be able to put this book down turn this book off - it's THAT good!

2009-03-03T13:53:00.000-08:00

Who says you always have to read a book? You can listen to them too! I just finished listening to a wonderful audio book - Fair and Tender Ladies by Lee Smith.

Though before you begin the book-on-tape (or book-on-iPhone in my case), I will warn you it will take you a lot longer to listen to a novel. The rate at which I read is apparently much faster than an oral reading that is recorded in a slow and steady voice!

I have listened to a few audio books in the past while on long road trips, but this is by far my favorite audio book yet because of the way in which it is written. Fair and Tender Ladies is an epistolary novel, comprised entirely of letters written by the heroine of the story, Ivy Rowe. Her letters tell the story of her life beginning with her childhood during the turn of the century and ending seven decades later with her as an aged "Mamaw" during the post-Vietnam era.

Ivy lives in Virginia's Appalachian region. She is surrounded by uneducated, mountain folk and writes her letters in the vernacular particular to her location. While I generally enjoy reading books written in unfamiliar vernacular, it was actually quite refreshing to listen to a voice, reading the letters aloud, because I'm really never quite sure if the voice I invent in my head is pronouncing the words correctly!

Ivy is a fiery red-head who is one of seven children in the Rowe family living on the meager family farm in Sugar Fork. Always fighting poverty and illness, the Rowe family does not value an education as being of importance to a child. Ivy is a reader and is academically ambitious, but the harshness of her life forces her out of school all too quickly.

We follow Ivy as her letters tell the story of her teenage and young adult years, the challenges she faces as an unwed mother and the love that she eventually finds. She writes her letters with with a harshness that is laced with tender moments, great humor and poignancy. She plainly and proudly flaunts her weaknesses and articulates the desires of her heart in a simple, yet profound manner.

Ivy not only tells the details of her personal life, but she paints a picture of early 20th century Appalachian life and the way her culture changes as a result of the progress in technology and transportation. We see "the lights come on" when Blue Star Mountain gets electricity, we witness the economical challenges that all Americans faced during the depression, and later with the coal miners of Appalachia.

She tells of mountain folklore. How Granny Rowe teaches her to boil bitters and bury them in the back yard to cure warts. She tells of the old-maid sisters who come to her cabin on Christmas, telling legendary mountain stories such as the tale of White Bear Wittington, who was a bear by day and a man by night. These fascinating stories and superstitions which have occupied the lives of the people of Appalachia for decades slowly die out as time progresses in Ivy's life. Orating legendary mountain tales, passed down through the generations, is replaced as a form of family entertainment by the radio. Whittling wood on the front porch in the dusk of the day is replaced by light bulbs and record players. We watch, through Ivy's eyes, as her world is changed forever by the invasion of technology and communication.

Ivy's letters tell of her love for the land, for the creatures that inhabit it, for the colorful people that populate it. The language of her letters which appears to be rather simple because of the dialect, is truly profound, eloquent, and deeply moving. Ivy's mountain life, which initially appears to be undesirable due to the poverty, blood, sweat and tears is transformed through her letters into a magical realm, full of beauty and splendor.

Smith takes the vulgar, and somewhat profane life of a mountain woman and paints a sacred portrait of an American story, comparable to the great American classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Only, this tree grows up in the holler on Sugar Fork.

This is truly a book I could not ~~put down~~ turn off. And it wasn't just because I have a "thang" for Southern literature and Appalachian culture. I was genuinely interested in Ivy's life, the paths she chose, the people she loved and lost. I was drawn in by the simplicity and moved by the depth. I cannot wait to read (or listen to) more of Lee Smith's books. Now, which one next....?

Below is the website where I downloaded two free audio books onto my iPhone. I highly suggest you try this out. Nothing better to accompany a work out or a boring drive in the car like a book that keeps you hooked!!!

Go here to learn more about downloading two free audio books!!

It's a SIN issue, not a SKIN issue

2009-02-23T19:29:00.000-08:00

I wanted to share some notes from the Urban Ministry Conference this past weekend in the hopes that you will be inspired as I was by the words of Rev. Rufus Smith.

This does not read in the form I like things to read in. But it's mostly taken from printed material and my messy handwriting and I just cannot attempt to re-create or re-structure it because it didn't come from my mouth.

I was so moved by what I heard and how it was said. If you can bare with me through some of these notes, there are so many pieces of wisdom to be had here...

Here goes.....

Rev. Smith addressed Racial Reconciliation, although he didn't actually call it "Racial", instead he called it "Radical (Spiritual) Reconciliation" as he pointed out that the real problem isn't race, it's sin. Or as he said several times "It's not a skin issue, it's a sin issue.

He defined racism from an academic vantage point as "The intentional or unintentional oppression of a disadvantaged people by sinful systemic structures that inhibits educational, vocational, economical or political progress. But, as Rev. Smith explains, Jesus simply defines racism as "not loving your neighbor as you love yourself." What is it to love your neighbor? And does this literally mean the people you live next door to?

To love your neighbor, or anyone for that matter, is defined by this; The setting aside of your own selfish concerns for others needs. It is doing what needs to be done, even when you don't feel like it.

II Corinthians 5:15-21
And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again. So from now on we regard no one from a worldly point of view. Though we once regarded Christ in this way, we do so no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was made reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

The radical regeneration (from the grip of our own sinful nature) accomplished on a hill called Calvary requires a radical reconciliation from those who are new in Christ. A mere humanitarian (skin) response is unworthy of the supreme satisfactory substitutionary sacrifice by our Savior.

The word "reconciliation," in the Greek "katallasso," is a monetary term and means to change from hostility to harmony, from enemy to friend and from debt to asset as the result of a satisfactory payment. Reconciliation occurs vertically, toward the Lord, and horizontally, toward mankind.

When the text says we have been made a "new creation" in Christ, the word "new" or "kainos" in Greek, means to have never existed before. It refers to something that we are unaccustomed to seeing and being, something or someone who has never existed before or who has never been a reality. It refers not to perfection, but a discernible/definite change in direction. Thus we need a radical (spiritual) reconciliation that is fitting for a newly created, never having existed before, unaccustomed being. We, as new creations in Christ, need to reconcile with mankind. We, (this is my insert) as new creations in Christ in MEMPHIS, need to reconcile with our brothers and sisters here in our racially heated city. Love your neighbor applies to the person next door, and the person across town.

Can you believe that it is still true that after 389 years, the most segregated hour in America is Sunday morning? Wow. In order for our city, state, nation, to truly radically (spiritually) reconcile, we (the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ) have to authentically model it more and discuss it less. Not to say that it shouldn't be discussed at all, but hey, let's face it: actions speak louder than words.

Reconciliation occurs on two levels: humanitarian and spiritual. So far, since 1863, most of the emphasis and progress have been on the humanitarian, the legal, political, economical and educational plane. Radical (spiritual) reconciliation is not agitation or protest. It can be as silent as salt or as soft as light but as potent as both. The difference is that racial (humanitarian) reconciliation is enforced by the law, but radical (spiritual) reconciliation is enforced by LOVE; one is motivated by achieving the greater good but the other is motivated by pleasing God; one is stimulated by that which is seen, the skin, but the other is stimulated by that which is unseen, the soul; one is empowered by the human spirit, which will get weary but the other is emboldened by the Holy Spirit which will never wane; Racial (humanitarian) reconciliation is important for a people if they are satisfied to co-exist, but radical (spiritual) reconciliation is indispensable if a people want to really live and move forward to perfect the church and improve our society, to improve Memphis (last part my insert again!)

Wow.

Rev. Smith also spoke about Acts 10, which is basically a story about Peter being invited a centurion's home. The text starts out with a vision Peter has about a sheet coming down from heaven with all sorts of animals on it. God tells him in the vision to "get up! Kill and eat!" but Peter is horrified because the animals God is commanding him to eat are forbidden by Jewish law to eat. (Apparently Peter had never tasted bacon, otherwise, he may not have remained Jewish - again and obviously, my insert). Anyway, this was a foreshadowing of what was to come as a man suddenly shows up inviting peter to Cornelius, the centurion's home. The centurion was a God-fearing Gentile who had been told by an angel to invite Peter to his house to hear what he had to say. It was against the law for a Jew to associate with a Gentile, much less visit him! But Peter explains that God told him that he should not call any man impure or unclean. He goes on to say more:

v. 34
Then Peter began to speak: "I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts men from every nation who fear him and do what is right."

He goes on about Christ's death and resurrection and the Great Commission.

v. 44-48
While Peter was still speaking these words, the Holy Spirit came on all who heard the message. The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astonished that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles. For they heard them speaking in tongues and praising God. Then Peter said, "Can anyone keep these people from being baptized with water? They have received the Holy Spirit just as we have." So he ordered that they be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ...

Peter was reluctant towards reconciliation. He did not want to associate with the Gentiles and it wasn't merely because the Jewish law prohibited it. He considered himself superior in his culture to these Gentiles who ate 'unlean' food (bacon, again, my insert.)

Peter had "racial blindness" or more accurately (since it's really a sin issue, not a skin issue) he had spiritual blindness.

Additionally, as he had never been into a Gentile's home before, he was socially distant. God had commanded in Acts 1:8 You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. Well, Peter had only been partially obedient because he had not followed the latter part of that command.

We have to get away from where we are - to the ends of the earth. This doesn't necessarily mean we need to board planes to Southeast Asia tomorrow. But are we being God's witnesses away from our own environment? Away from our cultural norm?

Rev. Smith gave an acronym for just how to obey God's command, and just how to get over our racial or spiritual blindness. The acronym is SMERK:

Seek out Another sister/brother of color and form a relationship.

Meet with them in their home and exchange home visits.

Eat together.

Read about other people's culture as an act of love.

Keep on seeking, meeting, eating and reading even when you are disappointed and disillusioned becuase people are going to disappoint you.

Rev. Smith gave three keys to a successful relationship during his last session which focused on several verses from Luke 6:

v. 36
Be Merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

We need to give the benefit of the doubt!

v. 37
Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.

WE need to commend, not condemn. Kind correction is not received well if condemnation is the norm.

v. 37b-38
Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."

We have to give others another chance. Not just a second, or third chance, but another chance as God continually gives us.

Well, if you have followed this far along, I commend you. My notes were a combination of printed material from the conference, notes I took in my hurried handwriting as I attempted to get some really good quotes from Rev. Smith and some personal reflections, namely on bacon and Memphis.

I hope I have communicated something of value here, to those of you daring enough to explore this topic. I know that I was hugely encouraged, greatly inspired and educated and that yet another layer of scales was peeled off my eyes over the weekend. Knowing God is not one conversion experience, but many subsequent 'conversional' experiences.

Rev. Smith was an incredible speaker, so any attempt to recreate his message here on my blog PALES in comparison to his sessions and sermons. I do know that the four sessions in which he spoke for our conference will be available on CD. You can contact me if you are interested in obtaining them. I highly suggest you do.

Come to All Saint's Urban Ministry Conference

2009-02-18T19:23:00.000-08:00

Below is information about All Saint's (my church) Urban Ministry Conference this weekend. If you live in Memphis and are involved with or interested in building meaningful relationships with others who are different than you, I hope you would consider coming to the conference. It is an open-invite to everyone interested. If you want to attend on Friday night, since it involves dinner, let me know so I can add you to the list. Oh, and there is no cost at all, even for food!

Here are the details...

When
Young Life Urban Building
1177 Poplar Ave., Memphis

Where
Friday, Feb. 20
6:30 – 9:00 p.m. Dinner and Session I

Saturday, Feb. 21
9:00 – 11:30 a.m. Continental Breakfast, Session II & III

Sunday, Feb. 22
10:30 a.m. Rufus Smith preaching (Session IV)
12:00 p.m. Community Celebration (Potluck Lunch)

All Saints is a church where emphasis on group life and community is combined with outreach to the physical, material, emotional, and spiritual needs in our neighborhood. We are a group of individuals who are a reflection of our diverse community - worshipping and serving together as one Body of Christ. Because significant relationships are so important, and All Saints is racially and socio-economically diverse, the theme of our conference is Each for the Other. The theme, Each for the Other, will address our personal responsibility in cultivating relationships within our church and community. The teaching sessions will address specifically how we build, maintain, and grow relationships with each other and others in our community, regardless of racial and socio-economic differences.

The conference will be held at the Young Life Urban Building (1177 Poplar Avenue). There will be a nursery provided during all the sessions for children 3 years old and younger. In addition, we will have supervised activities for children ages 4-9. For those who are 10 years old and above, we encourage them to participate in the conference.

About the speaker: The speaker for the conference will be Rev. Rufus Smith. For the past nine years, Rev. Smith has been the Senior Pastor of The City of Refuge Church, located in Houston, Texas. The City of Refuge is an intentionally integrated, biblically centered, and socially active congregation with a vision "to blend suburban and urban believers" in God's Kingdom. In response to the healing aspect of the Gospel, and as an extension of The City of Refuge, he is also the Founder and CEO of The Forge for Families (FFF), a Community Development Center for the Greater 3rd Ward Community of Houston. In addition, he is the Chairman of the EPC's Urban Ministry Network, is chaplain for the NBA's Houston Rockets, and advises on three local/national boards.

why run when you can WALK?

2009-02-17T13:13:00.000-08:00

I started running in the 5th grade. I realized I was pretty good at it (I won all the girl's races). By seventh grade I was running year-round. Summers were spent training for Cross Country in the fall, winters consisted of "winter track", then in spring there was the official track season and then... well, it started all over again. As you must know, Cross Country is distance running, but I was also running distance in track. I ran the most boring race of the whole meet - the 2 miler. They would actually ring a bell during the last lap so people could stop packing up their things to leave (its usually the last event) and look up for the last tiny bit of the race, when all of us runners were exhausted and haggard after running around the track loop 8 times!

I repeated this yearly long distance running pattern for almost 6 years. Eventually, I grew tired of the conversations in my head while I ran mile after endless mile. I grew weary of "the race" factor. So much of it is psychological. My mind was on boys.

I remember one Christmas when I was serious about running, my parents got me a subscription to Runners World magazine. Eager to be the best runner I could be, I flipped through it. Slowly, it dawned on me that the women in this magazine were very manly looking. Granted, their pictures were taken while exerting extreme amounts of physical energy, producing animal-like expressions across their faces. But, they weren't at all pretty. That was a pivotal moment in my running career. One minute I was a die hard runner and the next moment, I was finished with it all. No way was I going to ever get a date if I kept on running! I wanted curves and things that bounced. Not a body that looked like a 12 year old boy's! I decided I just couldn't possibly get a boyfriend if I kept running.

I realize that today, women seem to yearn for a 12 year old boy's figure. But this was the early nineties. Cindy Crawford was the hottest model around and curves were in. Man, I miss those days...

So, after running through four pairs of shoes each year, logging thousands of endless miles and a few broken-bone casualties I incurred along the way, I grew loathsome of running. So, I quit. And it was wonderful.

By the time I was ending my college career, I wasn't running at all. Instead of breathing like I was in labor for at least an hour every day, I leisurely walked around campus. Instead of retaining a bright red face with blotchy white streaks for an hour after each run, (again, not helpful in my pursuit of looking good to attain a boyfriend) I put makeup on and got dates. Instead of purchasing new running shoes every couple of months, I bought heels. And got dates. And guess what? I lost 15 lbs. my freshman year. Yes, lost 15 lbs! I ate in my usual pig form, but I was walking everywhere as I had no car and my college campus was very spread out. (Go Vols!)

Now, I'm no sports scientist, but all I can tell you is that every time in my life that I have been my thinnest, I am walking the most. Take the summer I lived abroad. I walked everywhere. In Europe, everyone walks! And when I came home, I had never been skinnier. Or the time I realized I had slowly amassed extra weight from being married to a skinny pig (Matt is blessed with the best metabolism this side of the Mississippi). I walked (and did some portion control) and the weight fell off.

I do know that you burn about the same amount of calories weather walking or running. You just get it over quicker with running. BUT IT HURTS SO BAD!!! And you can barely breath!!! And, most importantly, IT IS HARD ON YOUR BODY.

As we all know, walking is a low-impact sport. Not so with running and I have the "scars" to prove it. In fact, even if I wanted to run, I couldn't. Well, I guess I could, but I would be in a lot of pain because you know where all that running got me? It left me with damaged joints and crappy shins. I have had more than one doctor in the past tell me to STOP RUNNING. I was advised to take up low-impact sports like swimming or walking. I tried swimming. It wasn't the first time as I was on the swim team growing up. But I was the swim team member who never won any ribbons. I was reminded of why I never brought home any wins when I tried to take swimming back up a few years ago. Swimming = running under water with weights strapped to you and not being able to breathe. Pleasant huh?

So, I decided that bipedalism was for me and I took up the most basic form of human transportation for exercise by placing one foot in front of the other. And since I became a "walker" I haven't looked back. I see the runners on the treadmill at the gym, their feet pounding, faces panting. I find myself having sympathy pains and flashbacks of my painful running frenzies and am reminded that I DO NOT MISS RUNNING IN THE LEAST!

I applaud those marathon runners out there. I tried that once. Ouch. Seriously, do you people have a pain wish or something? But I guess if it makes you happy... I, on the other hand, will be walking behind you at a comfortable pace. I will be your tortoise. It's not so bad being the tortoise. He wins in the end anyway.

What goes around comes around

2009-02-10T14:15:00.000-08:00

Some of my worst memories as a kid involve the days that stomach viruses wiped out our family. I remember my mother in her bathrobe, sick herself, helping me and my brothers get through the throws of gastrointestinal viruses. I never once thought of how she might feel, being sick herself, cleaning up my mess and bringing me water and saltines. Well, what goes around, definitely comes around. Or as some like to say "It's payback time!"

My little household was hit yesterday by a stomach bug that veered into our home in an untimely collision. We had the very unfortunate experience of all getting sick at exactly the same time. And when I say we all came down with it together, what I mean is that the "effects" of a stomach virus began appearing in us all within minutes of each other. In other words, we all needed a toilet very badly at the same time.

It started during my daughter's nap time. I was watching a show online, knitting a scarf when my stomach began to signal to my brain that things were about to go terribly wrong. Within a few minutes I was on the phone with Matt who said he had left work because he was beginning to feel so ill. Oh boy. I wondered if it was the Chicken Tikka Masala I had made the night before. I began to believe it was, as my daughter seemed completely fine (she did not have the Chicken Tikka with us). As I began to writhe during the pre-sickness period, a very strange sound came over the baby monitor followed by high pitched screams. I bolted from the couch and made my way in haste to my 2-yr. old's room. As I reached for the handle, my mother's premonition told me that there would be vomit everywhere. As I usually assume the worst has happened, I told myself that no, she was not sick. This was the Indian food I made the night before. It had to be. I opened the door in slow motion. There she was, sitting up in her crib, her head facing away from me. She turned slowly to look at me and... !!!! ... HELLO VOMIT!

While cleaning my precious girl and trying to comfort her (because throwing up is very scary for a two year old!) I realized I was going to be sick myself. I then entered the strange world of juggling my own process of getting sick, while monitoring my sick two-year-old AND cleaning up the severe mess she made everywhere (including all over herself, the bed, her hair.) It was quite the circus side show. I'll leave the details for you to imagine. Needless to say, when I heard Matt entering the house from work, I felt a huge surge of relief because SOMEONE was there to take care of us... or not...

Seeing that he bolted strait for the bathroom upon his arrival, I was left with the sobering reality that this was going to be a day of the sick caring for the sick. There were no free hands, no settled stomachs, no rational minds. Just one thought "Get to the toilet!" Only this thought does not occur to a two year old who just throws up wherever they are, resulting in many inconvenient messes, namely the two messes that happened in our bed. And "in bed" is the only place you want to be when sick with a stomach virus unless you are desperate enough to hang out on the bathroom floor which I did do several times yesterday (curled up in a ball on the bathroom rug).

By the end of the night all three of us were lying on a bare mattress with throw blankets from the den, my daughter resting on top of plastic garbage bags to protect the precious mattress. Loads of bedding, stuffed animals and pajamas swished around in our washing machine on their second or third round of cleanings. My daughter's beloved "bunny" seemed to always be "in the bath" and she was devastated to be separated from her one security item during a most insecure time! Thankfully, bunny has a 'sister' and a 'cousin' that seemed to go in separate washing cycles, always leaving us with "someone" for her to cuddle with (and lovingly barf on.)

There were moments where I thought "this must be what hell is like." And many moments when I thought back to my own Mom and wondered how she ever survived something like this with three kids. Of course, usually a virus hits one person first, then another and so on, leaving at least one person well enough to fetch saltine crackers and clean up messes.

Oddly enough I did find comfort in cuddling with my daughter, albeit we were on top of trash bags and I was in danger of getting soaked by her. That is an image that will always remain with me. True Love, I guess you can call it. All three of us, there for each other as best as we could be, huddled in a damaged bed, praying for it to end. And even in the midst of it, I was able to (somewhat) laugh at the absurdity of our day. Humor is my buoy in times of troubled waters (no pun intended!)

In the end, we all came out okay. The only good I could find from all of us getting sick at the same time was that we all got better at the same time. There is no lingering virus, no waiting to contract it when you know it's coming. Of course there are now piles of soiled clothes and bedding that I'm slowly washing. The day after a stomach virus is no fun either because you have been run into the ground and feel like crawling into a hole. Ironically, the day after a stomach virus is entirely different with a two-year-old. It's like nothing ever even happened. Boundless energy and needs to be met. Thank goodness for television.

And just a side note to all you Moms out there that say you won't let your kids watch TV - just you wait till you get a family stomach virus! That television will be YOUR SAVING GRACE. My little girl has practically memorized all the characters from PBS kids shows with the endless hours of television she has digested over the past 24 hours. And for the record, I was "one of those Moms" too (before I had kids). Ha! The key word there is before I had kids. Anyway, what did sick Moms do a hundred years ago for their sick kids? Whew. Thank the Lord for PBS.

Well, Mom, I give you huge props for getting all three of us through our many nasty viruses which I'm sure you also had many times while caring for us. I feel like a veteran Mom now for sure. There is nothing like the sick caring for the sick. It's the blind leading the blind. A metaphor for life. And the moral of the story - TV will fix anything! That and some gingerale and saltines (thanks Rick and Nancy!) What would we do without my inlaws in town!

So some Mom lessons I've learned; I've found that even when you feel you absolutely cannot care for your child, you somehow manage to do it. I've also learned that unexpected tender moments can come at the most unexpected times (among trash bags and vomit messes) and that the madness eventually ends. I've also made a request to God that this would never happen again. Or at least that we could take turns getting sick next time!

Latest Crazes

2009-01-27T20:47:00.000-08:00

These are a few of my latest favorite things....

The iPhone 3G: Oh my heavens, this little thingy is incredible. Matt recently bought me one to match his own (after much pleading on my part) and I can honestly say I'm in love.... with a phone. It's true. Have you seen what this phone can do? It's basically a personal robot in your pocket, ready to serve and offer entertainment. I keep my calendar, surf the web, send emails, take pictures, read blogs. It can be used as a flashlight, a diet plan, a weather forcaster. This thing actually does some thinking of its own. It's utterly amazing. Oh, and it also operates as a telephone, but that's the least of its capabilities. I've never been a "techy" but I'm slowly turning into one because of my techy hubbie. THANK YOU MATT FOR THE PHONE! I LOVE IT... and you too of course!

Archer Farms Spinach & Goat Cheese Wood-Fired Pizza: Okay, so it says on the box "handmade, imported from Italy". It goes on to say on the back "Product of Italy" and "In the mountainous Peidmont region in the northwest of Italy, goats- and goat cheeses- abound. Our pizza is inspired by the Torino style, wood-fired dishes of this area. Enjoy our authentic Italian trattoria-style, hand-stretched crust with an olive oil and basil sauce topped with spinach, sliced tomatoes and delicately delicious Emmenthal and goat cheeses. All natural- no preservatives or hydrogenated oils - fresh from Italy."

If that's not enough to tempt you, check out the ingredients: Soft wheat flower, water, salt, sunflower seed oil, yeast, Emmenthal cheese (from cow's milk), crushed tomatoes, water, olive oil, salt, sugar, basil, goat cheese (from goat's milk), spinach, sliced tomatoes.

And if that still isn't enough to convince you that this pizza is amazing, how about the fact that this frozen pizza (found only at Target, because Archer Farms brand is only sold in Target stores) is only $5. Yes, that's right, imported from Italy, all fresh ingredients and only $5. And I'm telling you - this pizza is the BOMB. And it's genuine, tangy and tart goat cheese. It's my latest craze as it's delicious, imported and CHEAP! And it only takes 8-10 minutes to heat up in the oven! So head over to Target tonight, look in the freezer section (doesn't have to be a super Target - they carry it in all Targets) and enjoy the best frozen pizza $5 can buy.

Privo Hop Penny Shoes: These are my new favorite shoes. I'm not sure Privo by Clarks is still making this exact shoe, but I highly recommend the brand. I feel like I'm wearing house slippers out in public. And they are cute as can be. Totally worth every penny. GO GET THEM comfy shoe lovers. They aren't as supportive as Danskos or Chacos but they make up for it by their looks. And just a side note - how DO you heel-wearers do it? Especially you heel-wearing Moms? Do you soak your feet nightly? I just can't do it. In fact, heels are permanently banned from my wardrobe, now that I've had to start over on shoes (think water damage and lead paint hazard in our house.) I find myself staring at heels out in public now. They seem so ... foreign.

Lyin' Eyes by Benefit: Let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. And thanks to Benefit, I can hide those dark circles that show my age as well as my Mommy-tired, sleepy eyes. This handy little eye concealer hides the purple semicircles that hang out under my lower lids, offering me a fresh and youthful appearance. And who doesn't want to look fresh and youthful, even if you don't exactly feel it? And yes, I feel old. And don't you older people tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, because I feel oldness knocking at my door! I'm starting to feel myself slowing down and my little purple semicircle friends are giving away my secret! So it's high time I put an end to that. Even if I am hidin' my lyin' eyes. Contrary to the Eagle's song, you can hide your eyes with this concealer!

You may already love Netflix, but here's another reason to love it even more - if you own an X-box, you can stream Netflix onto your television. I LOVE IT! Maybe you can do it without an X-box too - I don't know - but for the first time I can honestly say that I don't mind an X-box being in the house afterall. Are you happy, Matt?

Typically when you hear "Netflix" you think of ordering movies in the mail. We still do that, but having Netflix online is even better. There are countless shows and movies that are FREE that you can watch instantly. Of course, you could sit there and watch them on your computer, but to be able to stream it through the X-box onto the TV is so cool. I HIGHLY suggest this. I also HIGHLY suggest getting away from cable. We neglected to ever order it agian once we moved back into our house and now we never watch live television. I feel a little out of it but I'll tell you, it's been so good for me. No more "garbage in, garbage out". No more JUNK shows that fill up TOO MUCH of my nights. And since you pretty much need cable to watch ANY channels in our home, we haven't watched a commercial in months! Of course I'm still watching shows through Netflix, but it's so different.

So those are my latest obsessions. Feel freet to copy me. I don't mind a little 'Single White Female' going around.

Delicate Genius

2009-01-23T11:17:00.000-08:00

I showed up 15 minutes late this morning to my doctor's appointment. My doctor has two locations and I mistakenly arrived (on time) at the wrong location, and then had to get back in my car, rush like a madwoman to the other side of town and find parking all over again. I felt like an idiot, but it's a simple, understandable mistake, right?

As I entered the waiting room I smiled at the medical receptionist who is usually so friendly. She returned my smile with a "shame on you" look. I laughed it off with "Silly me, I went to the wrong location, haha!" Not a muscle on her face moved. Her eyes remained fixed on me with half closed lids and one brow raised. No smile. No laughter.

"Did you call us to tell us you would be late?" she asked with annoyance. "Um, no... sorry" I responded with surprise. "Hmm... Let me see if we can see you" she said with a curt tone and proceeded to phone someone.

"Your 9:30 is here. She's late. Yes. She went to the other location. What do you want me to do with her?" She spoke quietly, yet loud enough for me to hear her. I get it reception lady. I committed the ultimate sin. I have inconvenienced a doctor.

Who was she talking to? The doctor? The delicate genius herself? (think Seinfeld - the episode where George is charged by the doctor for not canceling an appointment 24 hours prior, but then the doctor cancels on him to go skiing - George nicknames the doctor "delicate genius" - I love that episode!)

With a fake smile and squinted eyes she told me to have a seat and wait, and that she needed my paperwork from me. Paperwork? I looked at her with blank curiosity. My brain had already failed me once this morning, and now it was failing me again. "We sent you paperwork to fill out and bring in" she said with raised brows, attempting to jog my memory. Riiiight. The paperwork. I thought of it, sitting on a table at home with all those blank spots where I was supposed to write stuff.

"Um, I left it at home." I could tell this was going to get ugly. As she swiveled in her receptionist's chair to find the appropriate papers for me, I caught her eyes rolling in their sockets. With a huffy tone she told me to fill out 5 pages of mumbo jumbo silliness that they already have on me. "But nothing has changed. Not my address, not my insurance," I was trying to make this easier on us all. "It's office procedure and you HAVE TO fill it out," she barked at me with fierce receptionist lady eyes.

I sat down and began filling out all of the paperwork which was basically writing my name about 15 times, filling out my address multiple times, and signing and dating over and over again. While writing my name for the fourteenth time, another receptionist came behind the desk. I heard them talking and then I heard loud and clear "She's late... forgot her paperwork.... filling it out." Then I heard "Did she not sign in?" Oops. Forgot to sign in.

As I brought my paperwork back to the desk I felt like the girl in high school who overhears gossip about her in the lunchroom. I handed the paperwork over. The other receptionist gave me the same "shame on you look". I tried to be funny about it still. "Where's my brain? Went to the wrong location, forgot my paperwork, forgot to sign in." Nothing. Not even a fake smile.

I sat back down with a sigh to wait. In walked this woman who is maybe 10 years my senior. She was so put together. Beautiful. Clean. I looked down at my work-out pants and crossed my arms over my fleece jacket to hide the milk stains from this morning's breakfast with my two year old.

The woman waltzed in and stated her appointment time. 15 minutes early. Nice. She handed over her paperwork. "Here you are!" The receptionists gave warm smiles and told her "Please take a seat and we will be with you shortly." The royal treatment.

"Jennifer!" A voice was shouting at me from the open door to the delicate genius's office. I walked by, diverting my eyes from the receptionists, with arms crossed to hide my disheveled morning. The walk of shame.

The nurse was nothing but nice to me. She had to leave the room, in the middle of taking my blood pressure. And there, on the little desk next to the weird "bed" covered in paper that I was sitting on was a little rarity - an open file. MY FILE. Again I was reminded of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine steals her file from her doctor to see the notes he wrote about her. Curiosity got the best of me and I began to snoop. But was it really snooping? This was MY file. Before I found anything of significance the door knob turned and I was back on the paper bed in a flash. I'm sure the nurse saw me being nosy as the first thing she did was to close my file. Plus that loud paper on the bed didn't help things when I landed on it with a massive CRUNCH. Hmm... Wonder if she noted my rebellious behavior in the file? More violations of doctor's office etiquette.

Finally the doctor arrives, the delicate genius herself. Now, I love this doctor and I hated to be late. Before she had time to look at me I was spouting off apologies "I'm so sorry I was late! I'm so crazy! I went to the wrong office!" She smiled with annoyance "Why don't you tell that to the woman who's appointment time this is." I could feel the back of my neck go cold. She said it and just sat there staring at me for a brief moment, letting it sink in with her half smile and narrow eyes. Ouch.

As she began to examine me with her delicate genius hands, I couldn't help but remember all the times I sat waiting on her. What about those times? What about that time it took an hour and half to be seen? Or the time that she had to cancel because she was going to be out of the office? The minimum time I have ever spent waiting to see her is 15 minutes, which is exactly how late I was. Ugh. Seriously, give me a break!

How precious the delicate genius' time is, but my time as the patient does not matter! Never mind that it was an honest mistake on my part and that I was actually on time, just at the wrong location!

I just had to laugh, it was so ridiculous. The paper work, forgetting to sign in, the 15 minutes late. I threw a massive kink into the strange OCD world of this doctor's office by such small crimes.

But what do you do?

I just keep going back. Because she is the genius and I am not. And I'm not insulting doctors here (my brother included). You do have to be a genius of sorts to get in and through medical school and all that follows. Great respect for you guys. Just chill if I show up late every now and then. Without paperwork. And not signing in. And looking at my chart. Oops.

What did he just say?

2009-01-21T09:30:00.000-08:00

While I did not vote for Obama, I was so excited to watch his inauguration yesterday as he became the 44th president and the very first black president. The amazing leaps our country has taken forward over the past 50 years is amazing. Obama gives hope to people of every color that opportunity in America truly is color blind. The people who paved the way in fighting for civil rights, many who gave their lives, must be rejoicing in heaven today. My, how far we have come.

Or have we?

In my elated state of mind I happened to miss the last paragraph of Rev. Lowry's prayer. Or it was because I was chasing around my 2 year old. At any rate, when I read the ending of his prayer, I couldn't help but feel that my joyous record had just scratched.
Read it for yourself:

"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right."

Huh?

Okay, surely this wasn't a racial remark. Surely. I re-read it. Hmm... Confusion.

"we ask you to help us work for that day when .... white will embrace what is right"

It sounds like he doesn't think white people embrace what is right. At least, that's how it reads.

As I investigated what he meant by 'yellow being more mellow' (because that sounds like he thinks Asians must be hostile,) I found that what Rev. Lowry was really talking about was an old saying from the civil rights movement that went something like this:

"If you’re white, you’re alright
If you’re brown, stick around
If you’re yellow, you’re mellow
But if you’re black, get back"

This saying is about how people who have more predominate African features such as darker skin are not as accepted in society as someone who is black but has Caucasian lineage, lightening the skin and hair. In other words, lighter skinned blacks are more accepted by whites. So I guess Rev. Lowry was trying to combat this hierarchy of skin color, which I agree that he should oppose. But was the last sentence of his prayer necessary?

Rev. Lowry was one of MLK's soldiers on the front lines of the civil rights movement. It is impossible for me to know the difficulties he faced and the racism he challenged. The man is a hero and it was only appropriate that he say the prayer.

But, why the ending? Even in knowing the old saying that he is referencing, wouldn't it have made better sense to say something like "When ALL will embrace what is right" instead of "when white will embrace what is right?" This little mistake does nothing to further social progress. While I truly do not think he intended to slam white people, I do believe it was not appropriate.

What do you think?

A note to the lotion people at the mall

2009-01-19T23:32:00.000-08:00

Israeli lotion people in the mall:

PLEASE, stop harassing me each and every time I walk by your little stand in the center of the mall walkway. I actually have tried your products years ago. I might be inclined to try them again, but your constant IN-YOUR-FACE sales approach with your plates of tiny lotion samples is just ANNOYING. SERIOUSLY.

I want to offer you people some tips...

First, body language:

When you approach someone with your lotion samples and their eyes immediately look in another direction, this would typically read "I'm not interested. Please do not come at me with that lotion today." At this point you should END THE SALES ATTEMPT.

Second, Common Sense:

DO NOT try and interrupt a potential customer who is having a cell phone conversation. This only agitates said potential customer and further strengthens their resolve to NOT EVER PURCHASE any of your products.

Third, Men:

Just don't even go up to them. Trust me, they do not want to try beauty products, at least not in front of anyone. Are you that desperate? Really? (yes, I have seen men accosted and even my own husband was harassed just last Friday)

Fourth, Get Real:

Do you really think harassing me EACH AND EVERY TIME that I walk by will cause me to make a purchase??? Do you understand that coming at me with that lotion multiple times in one shopping trip is utterly ridiculous? That it makes me want to knock that tray right out of your hand and send white goop flying all over the mall floor?

AND LASTLY:

STOP with the huffy attitude when someone gives you a frown and a firm "No thank you!"

P.S. Please share this with the Japanese fast food place in the food court. I am sick and tired of being hunted down to try a free sample of their chicken on a toothpick.

All Saints Today

2009-01-12T10:24:00.000-08:00

I wanted to share an article I wrote about my church that will be published in Second Presbyterian's quarterly magazine. Second Pres is a huge Evangelical Presbyterian Church that planted my church, All Saints, in Midtown 8 years ago. The purpose of the article is to educate 2PC members about what is happening at All Saints because it's very exciting! The contents below will be edited and most likely shortened a lot, but here it is in all it's raw glory!

It all began with the humble vision that the community of Midtown Memphis would be transformed by the gospel of Jesus Christ, that there would be a church that would cross over the racial and social barriers that exist in our culture. Today that vision has become a reality at All Saints Presbyterian Church. The people of Midtown, a very ethnically and socioeconomically diverse community, have become present and active in the church. In this racially charged city, where churches are seemingly so segregated, we find something different happening at All Saints. That "something different" can only be described as the Holy Spirit at work in the heart of Memphis.

All Saints, an urban plant of Second Presbyterian Church, launched its first Sunday service in February 2001. My husband and I began attending in the fall of 2004. At the time, although the vision was still present, the church body lacked the diversity of Midtown. But God was at work within the church and its core leaders, preparing hearts and working in the community. Slowly, the faces in the Sunday crowd began looking a little less homogeneous and a little more like an accurate sampling of Midtown. Today, as I look around at the congregation on Sunday mornings, a new face is definitely present. That face is the true face of Midtown.

Though I am not a native Memphian, I quickly became aware of the racial tension that exists in this city when I moved here nearly seven years ago. I noticed there were white churches and there were black churches, and though Christians of different color were amiable with each other, they did not coexist in regular fellowship and worship. Robbie Watson, a new member of All Saints from Portland, Oregon, has some interesting thoughts on the subject.

Robbie came to Memphis from the Northwest, where racial tension is seemingly nonexistent. There, biases are held against Christians and people who don't recycle. "In Seattle, you see a guy on the street. Here, you see a black guy or a white guy on the street. In Memphis, I was told there were places in the city you don't want to be,” explains Watson.

“I was told ‘this is the white part; this is the black part’—it blew me away that racism in the south, which I had only read about, actually existed here in Memphis! To go to All Saints and see white and black people worshiping together was no big deal to me." Watson had no idea that this was something unique and very special in Memphis.

Not only has there been a shift in racial diversity at All Saints, but there has been a change in the socioeconomic face of the congregation as well. What originally drew Watson to the church was how his friend described All Saints as "living out the ministry for the poor." Attracted by this concept, Robbie observed that at All Saints, "you see someone who is off the street wearing unattractive clothes, or dirty in appearance, worshiping God next to you as just another human being created in the image of God." At All Saints, you can truly come as you are, how you are, and experience the love of Christ Jesus through His body of believers. We are one body, with different parts, coming together in unity to worship Christ and learn more about him.

The hope to embody the diversity of Midtown within the church body has not been a simple process in this racially tense city. It has taken time and patience and faith. It was not until the fall of 2007 that the face of All Saints began to change.

Rev. Waring Porter, the pastor of All Saints, describes the church as a “fellowship mercy church,” meaning that the most important aspects of All Saints are fellowship and service within the surrounding community. Porter was hired as the pastor in May 2004, after two years of the church having no pastor. In August 2005, after being the pastor for just 15 months, he and the core group of leadership re-launched the mission of All Saints, emphasizing fellowship and mercy and being intentional about establishing genuine relationships within the community.

In the fall of 2007, All Saints' Sunday morning service was relocated to the Young Life building on Poplar, just past Cleveland, placing the church in one of the poorest areas of Midtown known as Crosstown. This new location provided numerous opportunities for ministry, as the streets are full of drugs, crime and prostitution. Not only did God place All Saints within a community in great need, but He also provided means for a new staff position in the church. That October, just months after relocating, Sally Powell was hired as the church’s director of mercy ministries. This new position provided someone to organize and develop service opportunities for the church.

Powell developed programs and partnered with various organizations in Midtown, producing an array of service opportunities. She publishes a monthly calendar of service events, which include regular weekly programs as well as unique opportunities to serve. These relief and development activities allow church members to engage with the people of the community and build lasting friendships based on Christ's love and service.

One such weekly event, More on Mondays, takes place in the parking lot at Jefferson and Claybrook, where snack bags are passed out to the homeless. This simple act of giving out free snacks offers endless opportunities for cultivating new friendships. It was at this very service event where Powell began her friendship with Pat Tia, a homeless woman who showed up that day to receive some much needed food.

Tia, who is now active at All Saints and an attendee of the New Members Class, describes her encounter with Powell that day in the parking lot as an act of God’s divine mercy. Powell had asked for a volunteer to say a prayer before they began to pass out the snack bags. Tia eagerly volunteered and afterward began conversing with Powell, who invited her to attend All Saints. In a short time, Powell and Tia developed a friendship, and Tia began to experience something she had never experienced before in a church. At All Saints, Tia found true relationships and love in the church body. "I've never been anywhere like this," she explains, "and I've been to many churches, all kinds of churches. When I hurt, the people of this church hurt with me. The prayers of my All Saints family have carried me through difficult times. I can count on these people to lift me up." Pat continues, "I felt that I was always missing something. I always tried to fill that missing spot with drugs, or men, or food, but I found that what I was truly missing was Jesus." Through forming relationships with the body of Christ at All Saints, she found that Christianity is not about religion; it is about experiencing Jesus through a personal relationship. Tia has finally found hope and fulfillment in Christ. She has even become active in the Mercy Ministries at All Saints because, as she explains, "I've been a recipient of others' grace.” Now she gives back with what has been given to her.

The mercy ministry at All Saints is relationship focused rather than program based. "We don't have a set-in-stone system for when a homeless person asks us for help." explains Powell. "We don't have a big budget for that. Our process is developing relationships, bringing people from the community into the church, forming friendships." She has spent extensive time developing relationships, such as the one with Pat Tia, within the community.

It was within months of hiring Powell as the director of mercy ministries that the face of All Saints began to change. People began to come from the community. The sameness of the church body began to disappear and the true diversity of Midtown started to show its face. I suddenly found myself surrounded by people who were very different than me. It was amazing and inspiring, but at the same time a little uncomfortable. As a white girl from the suburbs, I had little practice forming relationships with those different from me. I had served heaping spoonfuls of tuna casserole onto the plates of the hungry homeless at the soup kitchen, but I never sat down to eat and fellowship with them.

All Saints is not out in the community simply to serve others a meal, but to engage and cultivate relationships. I was floored to find out that one of our monthly service activities involves simply dining with residents of Door of Hope, a home for people with mental, emotional or addiction issues. This is not an event where we feed others, but one where we actually sit down and dine with them. It is an opportunity to build friendships.

As the face of All Saints began to change, I began to wonder, "How could I, a white, middle-class, stay-at-home mom form lasting relationships with people a far cry from the world I was used to?" As I looked around me one Sunday, I saw a transvestite eagerly listening to the sermon. I noticed a homeless couple lining up to partake in communion. I realized that this is what church was supposed to be like. This was a place where you could truly come as you are—tired and weary and worn by this broken world.

Rev. Porter said something once that stuck with me: “We tend to think that the poor need us, when in fact, we need the poor.” God uses the poor to transform us as we serve. That is the beauty of the gospel and the importance of feeding his sheep.

I realized that I needed to be active in mercy ministry at the church. What I didn’t realize was that God would meet me in my service to sanctify me. I began participating in the weekly Prayer Walk, in which All Saints members walk the streets of Crosstown, meeting people and praying for them. On my second Prayer Walk, we came upon a traffic accident in which two homeless men had been struck by a van after it collided with another vehicle. The men had been rushed to The MED due to serious injuries. Later, as we stood there with the stunned group of homeless people who had gathered around the scene, word spread that one of those men had passed away at the hospital. The grief that followed was insurmountable. It became evident that these people were family to one another. The wailing that ensued was heartwrenching.

I had recently experienced my own grief in losing my four-year-old nephew to a brain tumor just two months prior. In a way that I could have never imagined, God used my own experience with grief to break down a wall that had existed within my heart for a long time. I always viewed the homeless with sympathy, but I loathed being hit up by them for money. I harbored a quiet bitterness against them. But that day, as the voices around me cried out in horror, I felt their grief. I knew it well, and my spirit broke for these people. I ached for them and saw them as people, not "homeless people," not beneath me. God united me in humanity with those grieving around me, and I became aware of my sin and filled with an indescribable love for these people—His people. It occurred to me that these were the people for whom Christ died. These were His precious children. God truly transformed my heart that day and brought me to a new understanding that we are all His children, sharing the commonality of being broken and loved by Him. This truth tears down the walls we quietly build between each other.

The weekly Prayer Walk is just one of the many service events available to All Saints members. Other opportunities to serve the area include Allsteps, a program for Advance Memphis graduates who congregate and fellowship monthly together. This is an opportunity to build relationships with those in the community who are actively seeking jobs and a stable financial future. There is also the Manna House, where the homeless receive a shower and a new change of clothes. Once a week, members of All Saints volunteer there, passing out toothbrushes or joining in conversation over a cup of coffee.

Different types of service are offered at All Saints, because the truth is that not everyone is extroverted and comfortable meeting new people. We are all different parts of the body, and for those who tend to be more behind the scenes, there are plenty of opportunities to serve. Whether it's preparing snack bags for More on Mondays, or building friendships through offering rides to church to families without cars, there is always an opportunity to serve others in the community through the gifts God has given us.

1 Peter 4:10 says, "Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms." This verse embodies the mission of All Saints Presbyterian Church. The vision that began years ago of seeing Christ at work within Midtown has become a reality. Every Sunday morning the work of the Holy Spirit is evident in the congregation that gathers to praise and worship Him together. For an hour and a half, people from different walks of life unite as the body of Christ, ministering to one another and praising God for the precious gift He offers us through His son Jesus Christ.

Special thanks to my dear friend CES who helped me edit it!

NYE

2008-12-31T19:33:00.001-08:00

I've never been a fan of New Year's Eve. New Year's Day isn't that great either but at least it's perfectly OK to just sit around and do nothing that day - but there has always been this pressure of sorts to have the MOST INCREDIBLE NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE on New Year's Eve.

Even in my early 20's, when I was less responsible and more disposed to par-tay, NYE was always a let down. It's likely (in part) due to the ushering in of my ABSOLUTELY LEAST FAVORITE TIME OF THE YEAR; The months of January and February. And except for that one cold day in January that my husband's birthday happens to fall on, I would be perfectly happy to skip that whole part of the calendar year. And whats the deal with how we spell February. Can't we change that? Frankly I'm sick of that silent 'r' being there.

And haven't we already had enough 'holidays' by now? Why do we need one more? Aren't we bloated enough from all the Christmas cookies? New Year's has always felt like having left overs for dinner. Halloween is the appetizer, Thanksgiving is the meal, Christmas is the dessert you look forward to throughout the whole thing and then you have lousy old New Years waiting for you, the cold leftovers in the fridge.

It's also the big loud horn that says "CHRISTMAS IS OVER. TIME TO TAKE DOWN THE TREE." And taking down the tree has got to be the most depressing household task. There you were, just 3 or 4 weeks ago, happily decorating the tree, arranging your wreaths and humming old Bing Crosby Christmas tunes in gleeful anticipation. Now it's time to box it all up and stick it in the dark attic. Merry Christmas only lasts till New Year's Day. And then - suddenly Christmas becomes as stale as an open box of saltines and if you don't have your tree down within the week, you border on being weird.

However, after all of my reasons listed for abhorring NYE, and even after noting the fact that as of tomorrow my final notice has been served to TAKE DOWN THE TREE, I have to say that this just might be my most exciting NYE yet. Why? Because I can honestly say that I cannot WAIT to close the door on 2008! This has been THE WORST YEAR and I am so happy, almost giddy that it's over.

So *maybe* for the first time ever, I will actually ENJOY this New Year celebration. Though we are sitting at home tonight for the first time in our married life (in part due to a sick child), I can honestly say I wouldn't rather be anywhere else. I'm just too tired, too worn, too frazzled. I have come to realize, especially after being out of my home for so long, that there truly is NO PLACE LIKE HOME. And I wouldn't trade being with my best friend/husband and adorable little girl FOR THE WORLD.

So here's to 2009. May it be a peaceful year! A better year! I think it's OK for me to say that. Sometimes, we just need a break.

A Must See!

2008-12-28T14:50:00.001-08:00

My only criticism of this film is the strange title; Slumdog Millionaire. I think I would have titled it something more catchy or memorable. A movie with the word "slumdog" just doesn't sound appealing. ANYWAY, I highly suggest that you see this fabulous film. And you must see it in the theater because it is one of those movies. Yes, it's that good. So save your money on those mediocre, better-viewed-on-DVD-when-sick-in-bed types of movies like Marley and Me, which (for the record), is actually a pretty entertaining and well written book and though I haven't seen the motion picture, I have read enough reviews and seen the horrible looking trailers to prove the 98% true fact that BOOKS MADE INTO MOVIES STINK!

So back to Slumdog - This film has every element that makes a good film - great narrative, beautiful cinematography, wonderful acting, interesting time sequence, heroes and villains, love, action, drama, humor. You will laugh, you will cry. It doesn't take high taste to enjoy this, but if you are fickle about your films, you will likely enjoy this layered, colorful, and wildly exciting movie as much as the average film goer who will be entertained by the interesting plot. But if you are looking for some big-named actors, this is not the film for you. But let me just say that I find myself often distracted by big-name actors as they carry a certain 'persona' with them in their films. It is a wonderful experience to see a film with fresh faces as there are no character expectations.

In the opening scene, we find Jamal, a young uneducated man from the slums who has somehow landed a spot on the Indian version of the popular game show "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?". Each question asked on the game show ties into major life events from Jamal's past which are revealed in flashbacks that tell his story of tragedy, love and hope.

Jamal's story will undoubtedly tug on the strings of your heart as you anxiously hope for his success and pursuit of love. But if guns and action are your thing, there is some of that here too. Like I said, this has it all, plus some and pulls it off well. I found that I was holding my breath at times, on the edge of my seat - laughing, choking back a big uncomfortable knot in my throat. This film will suck you in!

As I stated earlier, this is the type of film to watch in the theater. The amazing soundtrack and cinematographic effects such as wildly interesting camera shots will leave you feeling as if you have traveled across the globe to an amazing and foreign land full of exotic beauty and unimaginable horrors.

So bypass the typical Hollywood holiday feel-good movie, and jump into an amazing adventure in film that will leave you inspired, amazed and full of hope.

TOP TEN MOST ANNOYING THINGS

2008-12-26T21:56:00.000-08:00

Well, I haven't posted in a while, but why not return to my little blog with a wonderful complaining rant ?! After all, it is almost my least favorite time of the year and I'm still a little Scroogey as Christmas just ended yesterday (not my favorite holiday).

So without further delay, TOP TEN most annoying things...

10. When you rent a movie from Blockbuster, get all settled in PJ's with your popcorn and the darn thing skips after 30 minutes (or worse - at the very end) and then it goes back to normal. You think "just a blip" - then it skips again. You fix the problem with a little fast forwarding- then finally the thing totally freezes and nothing works and you have to restart the whole thing only to go back to the same scene and have it totally freeze again. Stupid Blockbuster movies.

9. When the Old Navy people and Babies-R-Us people ask for your phone number every time you make a purchase. Only they don't say, "Can I please have your phone number?" - they say "Phone number, area code first". If you want my number, you have to ask nicely. And why the heck does Old Navy need my digits anyway?

8. One-ply thick toilet paper. What's the point?

7. When you hit Interstate traffic on a road trip. While you are moving at 2 MPH, you creep to the top of a little hill, with the hope that the traffic ends on the other side, only to see miles of traffic stretched out before you, just waiting for your restlessness. And you have to pee... bad.

6. Those people that fly by in the right hand lane even when it says "Right lane closed ahead" and everyone else is in the left lane - like good driving citizens.

5. Getting invited to something that requires 'formal attire'. Why can't we just always wear jeans? Formal attire is sooooo uncomfortable!!

4. That first time after a long winter where you get 85% naked in your swimsuit on the beach and you feel large and pale and mostly NAKED in front of people you don't want to be large and pale and mostly NAKED in front of.

3. People who claim to be vegans for the sake of animals but still wear leather. I mean, SERIOUSLY PEOPLE!

2. Trying to remember to bring the re-usable grocery bags inside the grocery store. WHY CAN I NEVER ACCOMPLISH THIS SIMPLE TASK?!?!?!?!

1. A SEVERE shortage of size 10 shoes. All you small footed people don't know how GOOD YOU HAVE IT! And while I'm complaining about shoe size - I saw these two chicks tonight looking at the (very small) collection of size 10 shoes on sale in Macy's. They were much shorter than me and I knew they weren't in the right section (unless they had unusually large and out of proportion feet). As I began to study the sizes of their feet, they suddenly noticed their mistake, laughed and said with ridiculous tones "Size 10! Mwa-ha-ha!!" With a toss of blond hair over their petite shoulders, they snubbed the puny collection of gargantuan sizes as they headed off towards the feast-o-plenty selection of size 7 sale shoes. I felt like Sasquatch-woman, left there to dig through the dirty old Big-Foot shoes.

Anyway, it's all just very annoying...

Recent Reads

2008-12-01T13:56:00.000-08:00

4 page turners...

Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver: WOW. Loved it. A little too "juicy" at times for my taste, but the writing is simply amazing. This is my second Kingsolver book to read and I doubted it would be as fascinating as The Poisonwood Bible, for that was quite the KILLER BOOK ('killer' as in bad, rad or awesome). But, I was wrong. I devoured this one in the same manner.

The book is divided into three separate stories of three very different characters, living in the same small rural community in the Appalachian Mountains. Each character's story is intertwined with love, loss and prejudice and ties beautifully with the main theme of the book - balanced Eco Systems. I know, it sounds funny, but if you read the author's bio, you will find that before she was a novelist, she was a biologist.

I never quite understood the balance essential in nature, but Kingsolver's book educated me on subjects like moths, coyotes, and chestnut trees, extinction and preservation. Though it may sound 'boring' I assure you, it is not. I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN. Does that say enough? I simply cannot think of a better book to read than this sort - you learn, you get caught up in the story and you finish feeling more aware of the world in which we live. HIGHLY SUGGEST IT.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas: I try to always incorporate classics in my reading because 1. I never read any of my books in high school, 2. I feel like I'm missing a huge understanding of the history of Western literature, and 3. They are usually pretty good.

This one was just as good as everyone claims it to be, and I have to admit that I had a hard time putting it down as well. While it is very lengthy and has a very long list of characters (you might have to write them down), it is a quick read, full of adventure, revenge and love. I do have to admit that French Romanticism is just not my 'thang'. It's a little too over the top, and (from what I have read from critics) Dumas did not pay attention to historical accuracies (pet peeve of mine). Nor did he write with much realism or practicality. It is, however, a great story that I enjoyed reading. I just had to check my brain at times.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini: Like Prodigal Summer, I left this book feeling educated, inspired, and entertained. First of all, it's just as good as everyone says it is. So read it. Secondly, you will learn a lot about Afghani culture and the Afghan-American experience. Though for more exposure to Afghan culture, I suggest you read Hosseini's second novel A Thousand Splendid Suns which is set entirely in Afghanistan, and is equally as good as The Kite Runner, if not better.

I actually read A Thousand Splendid Suns a while ago and I have to confess that before I read it, I wasn't the least bit interested in Afghan culture. Hey, I'm a white girl from the 'burbs! But this is why I love to read. Books open up a whole new world and I really felt like I had traveled across the globe to a beautiful place. Forget the stock images you have filed away from years ago from Fox News and be prepared for a new look at a country that we, as Americans, actually know little about. Though you will recognize names of cities from those days of "Shock and Awe".

The story itself is very intense, laced with love, betrayal, guilt and redemption. There are sections of the book that are very difficult to read. So be prepared and arm yourself with a thick box of Kleenex as you embark on an incredible journey in this remarkable country.

The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards: While I fully expected to fall in love with this book, as it was constantly showing up on my Amazon's "Books you may like" list, I can't say that I exactly loved this read, though I did find it hard to put down as well.

Maybe I am alone in saying this, but the language of the book seemed to 'try too hard'. I had to re-read sentences over and over, and not in the same way that Jodi Picoult did, as she claims in her endorsement of the book "Crafted with language so lovely you have to reread the passages just to be captivated all over again". Instead, I found the passages to be too abstract and incoherent. While I am the queen of abstract thinking, I prefer to read sentences that flow and weave together. And I am all for exploring new ideas in creative writing. Just not the kind this author explores. I wish I could quickly find a few examples to put here, but I haven't the time to flip through the 400 pages to find those quirky mishaps.

At any rate, I still liked the book - enough to have trouble turning out the light at night. However, I had expected to like it much more. I would still suggest it, but it is not on my list of favorites. And it hardly stands in comparison to some of the other books mentioned in this post.

Oh, and it's about a doctor who delivers his own twins and makes the horrible decision to give away one twin because she is born with Down Syndrome. It's quite depressing actually. Anyway, maybe you will just love it like so many others. Don't take my word for it. I tend to be moody when it comes to books and movies...

Gobble Gobble

2008-11-27T08:41:00.001-08:00

We moved back into our house on Sunday. With half of our belongings now sitting in some hazardous waste dump, the house wasn't particularly inviting. But we were glad to be back home and relieved that the ordeal was over... or was it?

As if things couldn't have gotten worse, they did. That next morning MLG&W (Memphis Light, Gas & Water) came out to check out a gassy odor coming from our house. Guess what? We had massive gas leaks coming from under the house!

As I stood outside on muddy grass in my pajamas and a pair of Matt's shoes, the big burly man from MLG&W pointed with his huge stubby finger at a delicate little hand on a meter that was still quivering, even though the gas had been turned off. He said we would have to call a plumber, that the leak was from the pipes under the house.

Now, you have to understand something. For five years now, we have been faintly smelling gas in our home. We have had MLG&W out several times, as well as many other people, as we thought it might be mold. NOBODY ever told us we had a gas leak, though countless guests SWORE there was gas leaking somewhere.

The smell has been known as the 'mystery smell' ever since. One man told us it was cat pee! (We don't own cats, but the previous owner did). Another mentioned natural springs under the ground of the house, releasing sulfur. We just had no idea what the weird smell was.

The day we moved in, the odor was very strong though, which prompted the phone call to MLG&W, though we wondered if it smelled stronger because we weren't living there.

The sheer panic I felt while this huge man was describing as simply as he could that there was indeed a gas leak was a nightmare. This had been my fear, that we were slowly causing great harm to our bodies as we sniffed the harmful gas over the years. I remember an icy cold feeling making its way through my body as my fear became a reality.

I came back inside and sat on my pillow-less couch, stunned and bewildered. After calling Matt at work and begging him to look online at the health effects this could have on us and our little girl (we had no internet at the house yet at this time), he brought my fears to rest by assuring me that the only real affects are headache, dizziness, and nausea, three symptoms we never have. And of course a health risk due to the potential of a MASSIVE FIREBALL EXPLOSION. The big burly MLG&W employee did say that the gas was well ventilated through the crawlspaces outside. But STILL, 5 years of this! What in the world?

I remember, trembling, asking him "what are the health affects of this?" (after explaining the 5 year mystery smell). His reply; "I smell gas every day, all the time, and I'm fine".

After the plumber arrived, I asked him if this was the type of leak that could have caused an explosion. His assistant, who had a black eye and stood a good six inches shorter than me, replied "Yep, it could have. Phone could have rang, caused an explosion, sumthin like that."

So not only could we have been blown to smithereens, but it turned out we had many pipes leaking gas that had 'rusted out' and had to all be replaced, which meant we had to LEAVE THE HOUSE AGAIN. Yes, after one glorious night of sleeping in our home, after 5 and a half months away, we were turned away yet again.

Thankfully the entire plumbing under the house was replaced the next day (a costly adventure, let me assure you) and we were able to return again. So here we are, waiting for the next foot to drop, and I have a feeling it already has as Matt has contracted some kind of stomach virus and I have come down with a very uncomfortable cold (NOT GAS RELATED)

So it looks like our little girl will be having Thanksgiving with Matt's family WITHOUT us, as her Pop Pop just came a little while ago to take her out of the sick house.

But in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I have to say, that even in crazy situations like this, there is always something to be thankful for;

That a massive explosion did not occur
That we are finally back in our house
That though we are temporarily sick, we are (for the most part) in good health

It can always get worse. That is my new motto. So happy Thanksgiving to all of you and remember there are ALWAYS things to be thankful for.

Oh, and PLEASE do not leave comments about how gas might cause some kind of mad cow disease or weird cancer. We looked into it. We are satisfied with our findings.

Knots of Love

2008-11-25T20:25:00.000-08:00

For a while now, I have been growing my hair out to donate to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths, and this past Saturday, I finally made the cut.

Pantene's hair donation program goes to make wigs for women who have lost their hair due to cancer. As I watched my nephew lose his hair this past summer, I couldn't help but be distressed. I couldn't imagine losing my own hair, as an adult woman, so the thought crossed my mind to grow it out and donate it - it was long anyway due to 9 months of taking prenatal vitamins while pregnant, plus another 13 months of nursing (you also take prenatal vitamins while nursing) so it was nice and thick and shiny.

So I guess this hair donation is in honor of Joseph.

I have to admit it became quite the task to care for my massive mane of hair. And I received many wide-eyed comments about how long my hair was getting. It was just a few inches away from being the kind of hair you sport with a long denim skirt and a scrunchy.

Anyway, here are the incredibly goofy before-after pictures I took of my hair. I feel so silly posting pictures of myself, that I took myself, but I just thought it worthy to share - maybe inspire others to do the same!

From long and ratty to....

Free and sassy...

Yeah, so I actually naturally have really wavy hair, so obviously I used a flat iron in both photos. Which is a LOT OF WORK on insanely long hair. Honestly, I don't think I have the patience to ever do this again. My prince has already come so I have no need to hang a long braid out of a tower or anything. I actually met my prince when my hair was this short, so that should say something too.

Long hair is out, short hair is in. At least at my house.

My Rain Cloud Strikes Again

2008-11-18T14:03:00.001-08:00

So, if you have been following my life or my blog or both, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT WE ARE STILL NOT BACK IN OUR HOUSE YET?

Yes, going on 6 months now PEOPLE!

As you may have read, (or heard) our house flooded way back on June 7th of this year.

THEN, we had the "Lead Hazard Circus Side Show" where a terrible, terrible restoration company 'repaired' the house, only to create a massive lead contamination due to the dust created by the demolition, which contained particles of lead because of the lead-based paint WHICH THEY DID NOT EVEN TEST FOR.

THEN, we moved into a hotel that was infested with fleas (I am still finding flea bites) and we are STILL here to this day.

Now, I would like to bring you all up to date on our insanely complicated and terribly flawed status...

I last left the story off with a lead abatement firm that was going to clean up the lead hazards in our house for a whopping $21,000. Again, this expense is coming out of the pockets of the bird-brained restoration company that caused this mess to begin with.

So, 15 working days finally passed for the state to approve the report from the lead abatement team regarding the findings of lead in our house. Yes, it took 3 long weeks for someone to pick up a notebook, thumb through it for 15 minutes, and sign off. That's government for you. I can't wait to see how government is going to save my life and do everything for me now that we have the Dems running everything. Thank you voters.

So anyway, they signed off and the cleaning job began. Let me tell you something, our house looked like the house in E.T. when the scientists go to pick the little guy up. There was bright red tape around the perimeter of the house that read "DANGER LEAD HAZARD". Two large white metal storage containers were dumped on our narrow 1923 driveway and the windows had long white plastic vents shooting out of them. It looked like a shower station was set up outside of the front door and signs on the front and back doors read:

WARNING
LEAD WORK AREA
POISON
NO SMOKING OR EATING

I have always liked drawing attention around myself - which is why I tell my fantastic BUT TRUE stories - but this is not the kind of attention I like to draw. I remember my old roommate just after college always said that she feared her house burning down simply because she absolutely feared being the subject of the evening news and that kind of attention. I was now living her nightmare. Though not on the news, the neighbors sure were curious. Every time we were there, the cars went by S l o w l y with heads hanging out of the windows and ogling eyes. I don't blame them. It was weird indeed.

Let me clarify something. There most definitely were lead hazards found in the dust in our house due to the renovation after the flood. But, the lead hazardous dust was really only found on the dining room table. Yes, all this for cleaning the dining room table. Now, there were trace amounts found elsewhere, and since we have a toddler living there, the state thought it necessary to clean THE WHOLE HOUSE and to THROW AWAY MOST OF THE WHOLE HOUSE.

Yes, they decided to TRASH our belongings. Not all of them. Our furniture is still there, excluding some of WK's furniture. Thankfully our books, photo albums, dishes, china, silver, Christmas decorations and picture frames all made the cut. But everything else was put by the curb in a large metal storage unit with the same freaky warning sign on it.

That included all of our clothes, shoes, coats, bedding, window treatments, rugs, lamp shades, decorative pillows, towels, kitchen towels, potholders, napkins, tablecloths, etc., etc., etc... Not to mention WK's things (books, toys, etc.). It was quite a lot that these people deemed as "uncleanable" (that was the word they used, which I would like to point out IS NOT AN ACTUAL WORD)...

So two weeks ago when we found out that our belongings were going off to the hazardous waste dump I was dumbfounded. Why couldn't they clean these things? Why could they clean our sofas but not our child's upholstered chair? Why were the things in our attic spared (the Christmas decorations) but all of the coats tucked in the back of a closet considered hazardous?

"Can't you just clean your clothes in the washing machine?" was a common response I received from friends and family when I told them of our trashed goods. And in fact, I had BEEN TOLD by the state that we IN FACT COULD clean our clothes in the washing machine, as long as we used a tablespoon of Cascade dishwasher detergent (something in that stuff breaks up the lead). Since it was June 7th when we left, we obviously (in the past month or so) needed a change of wardrobe. So, I had fetched a few items for the cooler season and carefully followed the 'Cascade instructions', lest there be a trace of lead to poison us!

But now they were saying this could not happen, that the clothes were ruined. Huh? So had I been misinformed and thus inadvertently exposed myself and child to lead? Were we wearing lead contaminated clothing? Were the FOUR long sleeved shirts I fetched for myself the future contaminate to my child's development? Was this idea of Cascade a made up notion by some bored government employee? Of course the answer to all of those questions is "no".

First of all, the chances that these items had lead were SLIM, to say the least. And secondly, the lead abatement team had NO IDEA that this was the state's procedure to cleaning clothing (the 'Cascade treatment'). BUT, by the time the lead abatement team found this out, our clothing had been sitting like trash in a damp metal container that's contents were turning MOLDY. You would think a state certified lead abatement team would know and follow the state's cleaning procedures. Hmmm...

So, any notion of saving the items was squelched as a new hazard had presented itself in the 'trashing' of the clothing - mold.

What does all this mean?

Well, it meant that Matt and I spent an ENTIRE day photographing and documenting the items. And then I spent an ENTIRE WEEK grouping the items in categories, determining the age and the value (replacement cost) of the HUNDREDS of items we lost. It seems like such a waste but what can you do?

So, NO, we cannot clean this stuff ourselves or give it away and YES, it was VERY HARD to throw away precious memories of my baby, the sweater I was engaged in, my rehearsal dinner dress, the beautiful dress my baby wore all last fall, and other items of great sentimental attachment. It's enough to make my throat get a giant lump as I type this.

And to the scary old white guy that almost stopped to pick up our stuff as we were sorting it out at the end of the driveway; we were not mad at you for stopping. We know in Memphis that it is custom to set things out on your curb that you no longer want. We know people live off this stuff. We just didn't want you to get mold or lead in your lungs. And there was no need to angrily shout "I'm just a poor white guy" as you drove off. We were trying to keep you away from harm.

But on to the good part; TIME TO SHOP. Yes, we have GREAT insurance and YES we get to replace EVERYTHING. So time to do some plastic swiping and LOAD UP. Last weekend I shopped till I dropped and I seriously felt like I was on an episode of What Not to Wear only there was no Stacy or Clinton, but I think that after all of this, I DESERVE to be on that show. Not that I look like a frump, but I could use some professional advice on reshaping my wardrobe, right?

And seeing that (previous to this weekend) I owned 4 long sleeve shirts and one pair of closed-toe shoes, I think a shopping trip was just what the doctor ordered.

The only stressful part is having to re-do our WHOLE house. Excluding big furniture pieces, the rest is up for a make over (or can you even call it that since nothing is there?). Some of you would revel in this task. I, on the other hand, am totally and COMPLETELY overwhelmed by it. It takes me months to pick out a paint color. How in the heck am I supposed to coordinate a new house? Any decorators out there willing to help, I AM WILLING TO LISTEN. Or anyone willing to nominate me for one of those HGTV shows, I AM WILLING TO GO ON TV. I mean, this is just not "my thang". I enjoy beauty and all, and I think my house looked pretty good before. It's just a little too much for me right now.

So anyway, it looks like we might be moving back in TOMORROW or THE NEXT DAY! I can hardly believe it. The dogs are back, living in the kitchen and getting let out twice a day. I went there yesterday to deal with them and ended up creating quite a brouhaha.

So before I end this post, I must tell you the grand ending.

As our house has been all out of whack, something triggered this beeping noise that comes from the alarm system that we have never activated in the five years we have lived there. I suppose the previous owners had it installed years ago as it looks rather old. At any rate, I thought I might play around with the buttons to see if I could stop the beeping that was going off every several minutes that was HIGHLY irritating.

I punched numbers, hit it several times and then did something I had NO IDEA was possible after living there for five years - I set off the alarm. I have set off home alarms before (accidentally) in friend's houses. So I am familiar with the sound of an alarm going off but I have never, ever heard such an alarm like the one I set off in my home yesterday. It was ear piercing. Glass breaking. Earth shattering. Loud sirens echoing through the neighborhood. My first thought was: Air-rade! We are being bombed! This was milliseconds before I acknowledged the possibility that the old thing still might work. Suddenly an image appeared in my head - a huge speaker in a tree - I had studied and wondered what on earth a large metal speaker was doing WAY up in our oak tree in the back yard. Now I knew - it was signaling to all of Memphis that our home security had been breached. And it was the loudest most annoying sound I have ever heard.

Instantly I broke a sweat and got on the phone - but there were no numbers to call for I had no idea whom to call. I fumbled in the hall closet where the main system is, but it was very dark, and thanks to the lead abatement crew, no flashlight was anywhere to be found. So I basically had to wait for the thing to time out.

The funniest part of the story is that half of Memphis must have heard the hideous noise, but not one cop car ever showed up, even though a fire station is within walking distance from our house. I suppose they just go off all the time here anyway, right?

My luck that we got the oldest crudest sounding house alarm that STILL WORKED after all these years. Are we under some kind of house hex?

Anyway, we will be moving back in soon. As I will miss not having to cook and constant housekeeping coming to our aid, I will GREATLY enjoy being BACK HOME. And I would have NEVER expected it to take this long. All this after a $5 part that broke off the water heater. Who would have imagined? Just my luck, right?

The Secret Life of Books

2008-11-17T14:18:00.000-08:00

If this movie cannot make you cry, or at least make you tear-up, YOU MUST BE A ROBOT. A real tear-jerker, The Secret Life of Bees may try a little too hard to pull on your heart strings. But don't attribute all of your tears to some effort by Hollywood to enhance the story. Sue Monk Kidd's best selling novel, which this film is based upon, evokes deep emotional involvement as well, though you might not got through quite as many Kleenex during the read.

Typically I am not a fan of films adapted from books. The attempt to copy art (in this case a book) in a different form (a film), just doesn't work (usually). Why do you think everyone always says "It wasn't as good as the book"? Because it was meant to be a book.

But every now and then a story comes along that is so good, it can inspire a film that isn't so bad. And I guess this is one of them.

Of course I will tell you to read the book instead of going to see the movie. The experience of a read beats the short lived thrill of a movie any day. And especially this book, which is just amazing.

There is one film that I consider as good as the book. It's Mansfield Park, based on Jane Austen's novel of the same name. Though it deviates from the book with more modern inferences, I was totally taken aback by the cinematography and vivid rich color. This is what makes a movie based on a book succeed - it is less about the lengthy narrative and more about the visual and audio affects. THIS is what makes a film a film.

Then there is Adaptation which is about turning a book into a movie, which I found to be incredibly interesting as it explores ideas about film making and adaptations from novels and art imitating life.

I guess I just have a hard time swallowing the fact that we can't leave good books alone. I'm sure the authors of the adapted books would argue with me because they do make quite a killing when their work is turned into a feature film.

And it's not just about letting a good book be. Film narrative is SO different than book narrative. You have so many more senses involved (sight, sound) and it is limited to just a few short hours. You simply cannot do a book justice by cramming it in a two-hour feature film staring Queen Latifah!

I'll stop now. It sort of sounds like I didn't enjoy the film. I did. I expected it to be much worse. But isn't that just the nature of a realist? (Notice I did not say cynic)

This is why I hate driving on road trips

2008-11-11T22:35:00.000-08:00

I am no trucker, professional driver, or constant road-tripper. I do however have a basic understanding that when traveling on the interstate, or 'freeway' as some people needlessly call it, the following unspoken rule applies:

The right lane is where you remain, the left lane is for passing

Sometimes you have a long line of cars to pass. And sometimes, when daydreaming at the wheel or head-banging to some ACDC or (in my case) to "Head Shoulder's Knees and Toes", you stay in the left lane after passing, but if approached from behind by an obviously faster vehicle, you kindly move over into the right lane.

Or, HEAVEN FORBID, you are daydreaming in the left lane, a car behind you approaches, moves into the right lane and passes you, YOU MOVE OVER.

Am I crazy or isn't this how it typically works? It should be this way anyway. Because this way, I am less likely to have to take the cruise control off. And I don't know about you, but my main goal on an interstate trip is to DRIVE WITH CRUISE CONTROL AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. It's the people that ride the left lane ALL THE TIME that kill my dream of an all-cruise-control road trip.

Maybe I'm neurotic about the cruise control function, but for whatever reason, I HATE having to break and then reset the cruise later. This could be kept to a minimum if certain drivers were courteous. Fine, so you like to ride in the left lane. Maybe you like the median, the little bits of grass that constantly blow backwards from the winds of thousands of tires. Whatever. AT LEAST you could be polite and move over when you see a car waiting patiently behind you in your rearview mirror as you drive perfectly parallel to an 18 wheeler in the right lane WHERE YOU BELONG.

I'll tell you what gets me most though. It's the "ping-pongers" as I call them. There is always at least one ping-ponger per road trip. A ping-ponger is a car that is not driving on cruise, and you pass each other constantly throughout the trip. On my last drive back to Memphis from Nashville this little white pick up truck played ping-pong with me the WHOLE WAY back.

Here is a typical ping-ponger story; I am merrily riding along in the right lane, driving on cruise control. Little white pick up passes me going ridiculous speed. Several minutes later, in my attempt to pass a slow moving van, I am held up by Little white pick up who is taking his precious time in the left lane (ping pongers LOVE the left lane). I break to come off cruise control. Arrgggh... Finally pass slow van. Have to pass Little white pick up by doing a right lane pass. Little white pick up disappears in my rearview mirror. Five minutes later while I am passing a huge old Cadillac, Little white pick up flies into my rearview mirror, impatiently tailing me. Once safely past huge old Cadillac, I move back into right lane. Little white pickup speeds past leaving a trail of Little white pickup fumes.

This repeats itself many, many times throughout the trip.

I just don't understand these people. They go 95 one minute, 65 the next! Is it just thrilling or something?

Maybe I'm just a fickle driver, but I like to cruise. So shoot me.

And the LAST thing I'll complain about is this: Truck drivers who honk at women. Ewwwwwww! I've been known to pick my nose in OBVIOUS display with intention to REPULSE when confronted with honking ping-ponger tucks (which are the absolute worse since they are spying down on you and smiling/honking AND making you lose cruise control by all the ping-ponging). What do they think they are going to accomplish by a loud honk?

On my last day-time car trip, a truck honked as I passed his cab, only to wake my sleeping daughter. I was furious. I even contemplated wearing a fake beard on my next trip to protect my toddler's precious QUIET sleep in the car (and the wonderful absence of "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" blaring from the speakers).

2008-11-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

Obviously, I'm disappointed with McCain's loss. But what disappoints me more is the vast majority of democrats in the senate and house. At least while Clinton held office, he was challenged by a Republican legislative body. Our country has had such a powerful Republican influence for decades and now we are faced with an extreme shift in power, ideals and agendas. It will be interesting to see how things turn out.

I think McCain's character showed itself in his concession speech in which he promoted unification among Americans, silenced the "boos" in the audience and showed nothing but respect and honor for Obama, "his next president". His speech only solidified my belief that he is the better man for the job. He is a true American hero and I am honored to have cast my vote for him. I could not agree more with the words he spoke last night and those words of inspiration should be embraced by us all.

I think we have seen enough complaining over the last 8 years from those who opposed Bush. "Complaining" is putting it mildly. But I think we can do better than that.

And honestly, I'm pretty excited to see the first black president. I couldn't help but be a little emotional when he was proclaimed the victor. And although I disagree with his political views, I could not be more proud that this country has voted an African American into the most important and powerful job a single American can hold as a U.S. citizen. We sure have come a long way and I find it inspiring, hopeful and promising for our nation's future.

It seems that many Republicans are wringing their hands in despair over the election results. The unknown is ahead and naturally fear accompanies the unknown. But I think we should take advice from the man we had hoped to win the presidency and gracefully accept the change that America has chosen. We have to honor and respect our new Commander in Chief and treat him with dignity, even if we disagree with him.

Don't get me wrong, I am disappointed. But I have to accept this new shift in power because it is what my country chose. I am not looking forward with dread, though I am not looking forward with much enthusiasm either. It's a different place to be, after all these years of heavy Republican influence. But it is what it is and I can chose to complain and be bitter or make the best of it.

Bake sale benefiting pediatric cancer research!!!

2008-11-02T13:44:00.000-08:00

Although most of us will be busy standing in lines to vote on Tuesday, I will be with my sister-in-law, Gillian, helping with a bake sale that benefits pediatric cancer research through the program Cookies for Kid's Cancer.

If you live in the Nashville area, PLEASE stop by her bake sale which will be in the Westhaven neighborhood in Franklin, near the voting area. We will be there from 10am until 2 and then again at 5 if we still have things left over. We will have cookies, cakes, pies, breads, etc. Many items are homemade with love and there will also be plenty of donated goods from Merridee's, Bread & Company and Publix's bakery. of the proceeds benefit the development of treatments for children who are afflicted with the terrible disease of cancer.

So stop by and indulge your sweet tooth while you help a good cause!

Happy Halloween - Memphis 2006

2008-10-30T18:48:00.000-07:00

Way back when in 2006 before WK was born, we had our last 'kid-less' Halloween celebration. And it was definitely one to remember...

We spent the earlier part of the evening at a friend from our church's house who had all of the 'little kids' and their parents over to trick-or-treat throughout the neighborhood. As we were about to enter into the world of kids (I was 37 weeks pregnant), we were invited. However, we elected to not accompany the hoard of children who went on their candy adventure, and instead stayed around with all the dads who thought they were better off socializing while on the sofas.

This was my first introduction to what Halloween with kids looks like; no more adults in costume, just hyper, hyper costume clad children with chocolate beards and little pieces of lint sticking to their sticky, candy-licking fingers.

It was frightening.

But we were in for a much more frightening Halloween night upon our return home at 8pm that evening.

All other previous Halloweens were spent with friends or out somewhere, doing what kid-less adults do; get away from the kids. As I was about to welcome my first child in just three weeks, I thought it only fitting that we continue this introduction to a kid's Halloween by passing out candy to the trick-or-treaters. What I was totally unaware of was that after it gets dark in my neighborhood, it's best to just turn out the lights and go to bed on Halloween night.

You know that saying "The freaks come out at night"?? Well, in metro Memphis on Halloween night, this is true.

Matt warned me that he thought it might not be a good idea to pass out candy in our neighborhood as we are not too far away to a not-so-good area of town. But if you live within the city limits of Memphis, you are always just a street or two away from somewhere rough. It's just a fact of life here. In fact, you forget about it. Until you experience a night like our Halloween night back in 2006.

As we entered the house, I turned the front porch lights on, gathered the candy by the front door in a large basket, and anticipated the little bundles of happy, costume clad children.

The first doorbell chime rang shortly after I sat down. I struggled to get up with my 37-week belly in the way. I peered out through the locked glass security door (in Memphis we all have iron bared security doors. For good reason). With a smile that quickly vanished, I saw a group of what looked to be 15 or 16 year old African American teens who were much to old to be trick-or-treating. There was one small child in the group, but he had no costume on and looked a little confused. Out of the five or six teenagers, only one had any sort of costume on and it looked like a dirty sheet that had been cut for the occasion. All of them carried stuffed pillow cases full of all kinds of goodies. Apparently they had been at this for hours.

With their huge bags of sugary smelling treats in front of them, they let out a feint little "Trick or Treat" as I turned the key to unlock the door. Suddenly they all jumped backwards, screaming in fright! My completely docile and harmless 75 lb. yellow lab had appeared behind me in the doorway, as was her regular response to hearing the doorbell ring. Several of the teens quickly ran from the front porch while I tried in vain to assure them that my dog was harmless. Another spurt of shouts erupted after our other dog, an even less harmless 24 lb. border collie mix appeared as I shoved the lab back with my foot.

Every time people are frightened of our dogs, I have to keep from laughing because the lab rolls over on her back for the neighbor's cat and could never hurt a flea! The border collie mix lives to be pet and kissed and they both crave love more than food.

After the commotion ended, I was sure that we had experienced the unusual trick-or-treaters of the year and that the next group would be cute little witches and pumpkins, eager to shout "TRICKERTREAT!" with onlooking proud parents.

Not so. In fact, the doorbell rang again just as quickly as the group of teens had stepped away from the door frame. To my surprise, it was another group of teenagers, though this time a much larger crowd, accompanied by two smaller children, again with no costumes, with the exception of a fifteen year old girl who dressed as a fairy and had a baby on her hip.

I had not the time to put the dogs up as the doorbell had rung just seconds after the first group walked off. So, the madness ensued again - the dogs appearing out of habit to the doorbell being rung - the wide open eyes and mouths at their appearance - the shrieks - me calming them down again.

This time one of the little boys pointed at my lab (the big dog) and exclaimed "She's so big, she looks like she's gonna have puppies!". The fifteen year old fairy with the baby corrected him as she pointed at my large swollen belly. "No, SHE is gonna have puppies!"

Group after similar group followed each other. One little boy was peering through the security door, commenting on Matt's X-box (which could hardly be seen, you had to strain your neck). This made Matt and I very uncomfortable, along with the comments about our television, the house and other things noticed. It wasn't that we thought they were scoping out the place, but they were definitely peeking inside to see what we had and I thought it strange.

Just as we had decided to turn the lights out and run in the back of the house, the doorbell rang again. I refused to answer it this time, so Matt begrudgingly did. I never saw the people he passed out candy to, because by this time I had pulled down the window shades and was ready to play 'vacant dark house'. His shocked face as he reached for candy said it all. Apparently, this time the trick-or-treaters were all grown men, one with a full beard. They were also wearing no costumes and also carried dirty pillowcases full of candy. One man asked if Matt could put Millie, our smaller dog, into his bag! As far as Matt could tell they were not trick-or-treating for younger children. They were adults, out celebrating a childrens holiday.

At this point we were fed up and slightly frightened. As we went to turn off the lights for good, the doorbell rang again. Matt opened the door, saw no one there and shut it. We glanced at each other with fearful disdain. It rang again and we both heard muffled deep voices coming from the front porch. This is when my heart began to race. Was this it? Was it finally our turn to be mugged? Oh, how I should have listened to my wiser, better half! "Do we open it?" I stammered.

Slowly and reluctantly, Matt opened the door and peered out. Thankfully it ended up being another grown male trick-or-treating for his daughter who was in a stroller in the driveway. Matt passed out our very last piece of candy, quickly shut the door and flipped off the outside light in one smooth move.

My heart was still pounding in my throat as we proceeded to hide from the remaining candy hoarders roaming the streets with dirty pillowcases.

Typically Halloweens focus on the supernatural 'fear factor'. I assure you that the normal, non-supernatural elements that made our Halloween night so frightening are far more terrifying than ghosts or goblins.

It was my most frightening Halloween experience. Only in Memphis!

God is good indeed

2008-10-27T18:54:00.000-07:00

So, as you may have noticed I haven't shared too much about my grief on this blog over losing my precious nephew, Joseph. And I'll tell you why; I'm not comfortable doing so. Not that I mind people asking me how we are all doing nor do I mind talking about it face-to-face. Actually, I prefer people to ask about it as opposed to not mentioning it at all. But the reason I am just not comfortable sharing my "Aunt's grief" is because the true grief belongs to my brother and sister-in-law and it is their grief to share about and if you haven't been following their blog, you are missing out on some pretty amazing stuff.

I'll tell you what though, and I know some of you don't share my beliefs and all, but it's a pretty amazing testimony to lose a child and still be able to say through it all "God is good". It seems to me that people have a hard time swallowing the fact there is a God who loves us because tragedies occur on this planet (i.e. "how could God love me and allow so much pain and destruction in life?").

I have actually 'been there' before myself (save your gasps) back when I was questioning the whole notion of a God way back in my late college years. Yes, I questioned this whole 'Christianity thing' and asked "is there really a God?" and all of that back when I was doing some serious 'soul searching' during my early twenties. And I have to say I ruffled some feathers with my 'tough questions' because apparently, we just don't know all the answers. But oddly enough, that's how God intends it to be... for now... as it says in 1 Corinithians 13 "Now I know in part, then I shall know fully" ('then' being heaven).

Anyway, I finally admitted that I just simply couldn't make logical sense of it all and that yes, there was a God and that yes, he had a son named Jesus who was both fully man and fully God on this earth way back when and that he paid the price of death so that I could be saved from my sins and live with him in heaven.

Sometimes it sounds weird to give the basic message of what I believe in as a Christian. It tends to sound preachy and campy and I picture weird Christian paintings of people in robes and (being Southern) I visualize country churches made from partially rotted wood with an old fashioned barefoot preacher in robes screaming about fire and brimstone. But beyond all of those images that are conjured up when we say words like "eternal salvation" and "heaven and hell" and "washed in the blood", I FULLY AND TRULY KNOW that it is all real. That there is a real tangible heaven that exists in a physical realm, a place where God is a physically approachable being that we can touch, see, smell and hear. All of the weak pathetic attempts to artistically capture what heaven and Jesus are like like PUT IT ALL TO SHAME. I'm talking about the goofy paintings of Jesus where he has blond hair and blue eyes and the weird images of angels in robes and shining lights. Or even the charismatic dances or praise songs that make me cringe. Yes, I sing in church. I just think some 'worship styles' are as goofy as the silly paintings of 'white Jesus'. Yeah, Jesus wasn't white.

ALL THAT TO SAY, I do hope I have not offended any of you fellow Christian readers. If barefoot fire and brimstone preaching is your thing, that's fine. Maybe you worship differently than I do and maybe I'm wrong for calling it 'goofy'. I'm not trying to step on toes here. I'm just trying to say that I really do believe the message of the gospel and I tend to get turned off by most artistic representations of it. And anyway, does it really matter how we sing our songs or if they are hymns or a capella or rock-music-types?

So, back to my main point about God being good and all... When someone tells me about a popular book called Why God is not Great I just shake my head in the sadness of not knowing the God I know. The God who works for the good of those who love him, even in the most horrible of situations. The God who gives us hope. You see, there is no hope after life for the ones who do not believe in God. You just die and that's it. Seems logical, I guess. But is it? I mean, is that all we were meant for in life? To live here and do all these things and just become nothing in the end? What a great hope we have in what God promises us. Yes, the God I believe in PROMISES us things. And if it all turns out to be fake in the end, isn't it at least worth it to live this life with THE HOPE he offers us? Is it terrible that I'm saying that? Maybe. I guess my point is that we have nothing to lose, so why not hope in something that I SWEAR TO YOU is real. Life without hope is just dull and dead and pointless.

You see, there is still hope with the case of my nephew. And here's the hope; he's fully restored now in a new body, running and praising God and knowing what he was fully created for. He now knows as he is fully known by God. He now knows what we do not. And I CLING to that hope, though his loved ones are left painfully suffering his absence here on earth.

And though that hope does not fully comfort the grieving, it GIVES HOPE which is what we all need in this world. There HAS TO BE a reckoning for all the wrongs in this world and I fully trust and believe there will be.

We argue about theology, we shoot down notions that don't go along with our translation of the Bible, but in the end, all that really matters is that we understand, believe and trust that God paid a severe sacrifice (the death of his own son) for our company in his presence and honestly, I cannot wait to be there. Losing someone dear has made this life all the more meaningful by this; We are not created for this world. We were designed for something better. It awaits us and offers itself to us freely. It's the simple message of the gospel and if you want to tell me that God is not good, and that he doesn't care about us, or that there isn't a God, you will only be wasting your breath.

I'm pretty set in my ways now about Jesus and all. Maybe you are too. At any rate, I'm done arguing about theology. I frankly don't see the point anymore. Or maybe I'm just too tired. I do long for heaven and restoration and all this sadness being made untrue. And if you want to call me ignorant or old fashioned for believing in such Tom Foolery, then go right ahead. But honestly, I can't wait for the day when I meet my savior face to face in all his beautiful glory and I will get to see my loved ones that have left these shadowlands once again. And if you just can't swallow that, then I make no apology. And if you want to convince me that in heaven we won't barely recognize each other, don't bother. Why on earth would we not be able to fellowship with our friends and relatives that have gone on before us? I just cannot fathom that this life would be so insignificant that God wouldn't give us the PURE JOY of being reunited with our loved ones.

So maybe you feel like I have preached to you. Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. I guess I'm just being truthful and honest and giving you all a morsel of the truth that I cling to. It's something I have never clung to quite as severely as I have during these recent times. But that's what tragedy can do. It makes your whole life make a little more sense, even if it sounds like a made up fairy tale at times (it isn't).

Oh, and just so you know, I don't think I'm some kind of special perfect person or anything because I'm a Christian. The only difference I see between myself and someone who rejects my beliefs is this; I have hope. It dwells within me. A real, tangible hope that manifests itself in a supernatural way in my life. The hope for what is true, what is holy, what is great. So God is not Great, my butt.

God is good... all the time... all the time... God is good.

Even when the pain is unbearable, even when his purposes are completely unknown to us, GOD IS GOOD. One day his purposes will be made known. And I just CANNOT WAIT for that day. The day we will be reunited with our loved ones. The day this whole wrong world will be made right. The day that I will see and touch the REAL living mysterious being we call "God". I just cannot wait. Really.

Picky toes, Picky knows... best

2008-10-27T12:33:00.001-07:00

And while I'm confessing my obsession with jeans, I thought it only appropriate to admit to my fickle opinions on PURSES and SHOES. So, all you male readers of mine (yes, those of you who are embarrassed to admit you follow a chick-blog and therefore refuse to comment - Matt and Billy excluded) GET READY - this is a 'girly' entry. Though not 'girly' in the sense of pink fluffy tiny dog diamond earring "like, oh my gaaah" girly. But I'm about to talk about purses and shoes, SO BRACE YOURSELF or go find some sports blog about football or Axe Deodorant.

First of all, I'm not a huge follower of fashion trends or designer brands, so I'm not that impressed with a Louis Vuitton purse. So if you hang out with me, I likely will not comment on your thousand dollar purse or $400 shoes, where tons of girls would ogle and awe and covet. First of all, and sorry if this bugs, but I think it's UTTERLY RIDICULOUS to spend, crave, or covet such silly UBER expensive items. Sorry, but flashiness is just gross to me when there is such an UNEQUAL DISTRIBUTION OF GLOBAL WEALTH. Aren't there better causes in which to 'spend' our monies? I truly believe these 'high end' designers are just LAUGHING IT UP (not to mention ROLLING IN IT) that our society wastes so much money for a little silly label that shouts "I SPENT A LOT OF MONEY ON THIS BAG". Sorry, I'm not impressed.

Are you still reading? Maybe you share in my disgust. AT ANY RATE, if that's your thing, (Uber expensive, flashy bags & shoes) then I guess I could relate as I have 'my things' too. One of them being COMFORT. I know that its human nature to have a love for luxury. Though I do not covet luxury bags, jeans or shoes, I DO covet luxury in other forms, so I'M GUILTY TOO. Mainly my covet of luxury lies in food and pampering (massages, spa treatments) which may be even more ridiculous than a love of bags and shoes because at the end of the day I have NOTHING to show for my indulgence while bag lovers at least have a tote to last a year or two.

So, without further adieu, my obsession with shoes, I present to you. First off, I MUST have comfort with my footwear. This is why you will rarely see me sporting a pair of heels (unless I attend the occasional wedding, in which case a dress is required and I just cannot wear a dress without heels). Plus, at nearly 5'10" I always catch a lot of grief from fellow females about how a person my height doesn't need heels (I agree). So, I am a fan of the flat. But not THE FLAT because THE FLAT can cause a fallen arch and is bad for the foot. So I choose footwear that is contoured to the natural foot-bed, such as Merrills, Borns, Clarks and the like. Recently I purchased these:
And although I will NOT be jumping around creek beds in my new outdoorsy Chacos, they do provide the proper foot support I need. This is actually my first pair of Chacos as I have been reluctant to buy outdoor wear for indoor wear (don't get OUTside much these days). Maybe it was all the North Face jackets I saw running around the campus of UT on the backs of indoor loving greek kids, but as a matter of principle, I have stuck to the indoor brands of outerwear and shoes. It was this principle that kept me out of outdoor stores in fact, even though I was known to take an occasional camping trip in college where there may or may not have been some rock climbing or spelunking. After all, my college was only 30 minutes from the Smokey Mountains.

Anyway, my point is, I MUST have proper foot support and if this means faking an outdoors adventurer's life, then SO BE IT.

Secondly, I MUST have a shoe that does not exaggerate my HUGE FEET. yes, I have HUGE FEET, but at nearly 5'10", doesn't it make sense that I would need to have huge feet to BALANCE? I never understood how my colossal feet were such a crime. But apparently shoe manufacturers have something against feet in the size 10 + range because I have a very difficult time finding my size. A larger population of big footed women exists than there are shoes made for them, so if you work for marketing or footwear, PLEASE do something to create a larger mass of big shoes. I BEG YOU. Anyway, my shoe must not cause my boats of feet to look any bigger than they actually are, so this cancels out most clogs and boots leaving me with pretty slim pickings.

So there is my obsession with footwear.
Now, onto the purses.

As if my footwear requirements weren't bad enough, I have even more specific purse requirements, the first being this; The purse HAS to strap across my body, meaning I TOTALLY REFUSE to carry a purse on one arm. First of all, it's a hassle to carry something on my arm that can easily fall or easily be left behind and with my terrible memory, I need something I cannot set down and absentmindedly walk away from. Secondly, the unequal distribution of weight on one side of the body causes my back to hurt, which violates my idol of necessity; COMFORT. Therefore, I MUST have a purse with an adjustable shoulder strap that I wear across my body (over the head and under one arm) which allows hands-free movement. This is especially handy when toting a toddler or pushing a grocery cart in Memphis (where you can never be too careful and can easily have your purse snatched from the front of your cart while reaching for some yogurt in the dairy aisle).

Secondly, the purse must either lie flat or fit with the contour of my hip, where it rests while hanging from the opposite shoulder. A bulky purse is a no-go. Not only does bulk get in the way, but it creates extreme distress when searching for something like keys. I refuse to dig through piles of makeup containers, brushes and whatever else people carry in huge purses. I need something simple. Something where I can stash the essentials; keys, chapstick, gum.

And lastly, my purse must be of some durable material because unlike a lot of other girls I know, this is MY ONE PURSE THAT I TAKE EVERYWHERE. I simply cannot go through the transfer of items (keys, wallet, Burt's Bees chapstick, etc.) that is required when switching purses. I used to have several purses for differing causes (night out, daytime, etc.) but since becoming a new-forgetful-Mom I just have too much on my plate to worry about bags going with my outfits. And besides, since I have already previously explained, I only wear jeans anyway which go with EVERYTHING.

So, I believe I have found the perfect purse for me, though I have not yet purchased it because I have to THINK THOROUGHLY AND LONG before I purchase ANYTHING. Nevertheless, here it is in all its glory;

It's a purse made by LeSportsac, which I love. Though it may quite possibly gross you out, I personally love it and I find that with time, I grow to care little about what others think. That's what's so great about being 30-something. You just care less and less about other's opinions (at least I do).

SO THERE. That explains even more of my weird preferences when it comes to 'fashion'. Not that cute, but I think I am cute enough, so that makes up for it. Hey, I can say I'm cute without being vain! In our culture where women constantly compare themselves to anorexic models and have terrible self images, isn't it a good thing to say "I'm cute" now and then? It's not that I don't struggle with the same thing, but it's nice to say something constructive about our physical appearances from time to time other than the typical "I'm fat" or "I look like I got run over by a truck" (both of which I say way too often than I should as I'm sure most of you (chick) readers do too).

Blue Jean Baby

2008-10-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

I HATE dressing up. I really do. I always want to be wearing jeans, and now that jeans are made with stretchy, more comfortable fabric, ALL THE BETTER.

I think it's possibly in response to my high school experience where JEANS WERE ILLEGAL at my school. I never could figure out the deal with that. Apparently it had something to do with some theory that you perform better when dressed better, but SERIOUSLY, why is denim the least of fabrics when it comes to looking spiffy? Denim is usually pretty stiff thus providing a nearly wrinkle free appearance. It goes with anything except a denim jacket (in my opinion) and a pair of jeans can last for years because they are so durable, washable and adaptable. Sounds like the perfect pair of pants to me!

Thankfully our church is a jeans-welcomed zone so I practically never take my jeans off these days, what with being a Stay-at-Home-Mom now and all. And to be totally honest with my opinion on church wear, I still can't figure out how DRESSING TO THE NINES got all tied up with worshiping God. I mean, do we REALLY think God prefers us to show up in a stylish dress? To me it's distracting and unnecessary. I'm not saying its terrible to wear your Sunday best, I wear my best. I wear blue jeans.

You have to admit that jeans have come a long way. Recently the fashion world has showed us how to dress up jeans so (thank God) I can show up in jeans to a bridal shower or a Christmas party and not feel SO out of place anymore. And with jeans running in the $200 + dollar range, you can look pretty darn fashionable in a pair of designer ones (if that's your thing) though I find it a little ridiculous that jeans cost that much.

In closing, I would like to defend this persecuted fabric. Denim had a humble beginning as the fabric of choice for farmers in the field. But it rose to the top and is now paraded proudly by the most fashionable of individuals. Denim is diverse, both in price and style. Wear your jeans to weed your front yard by day, and out on the town 'dressed up' by night. Who wouldn't be pleased with this perfect fabric?

I think I would be perfectly fine with wearing jeans every day for the rest of my life. I HAVE TO take them off for the occasional (traditional) wedding. sniff, sniff. But if I ever go back to work, I think I'll have to get a job where jeans are allowed (previous job banned them, leaving me with MANY a khaki pant now collecting dust in my dresser drawers). So all you jeans-haters, take note! Jeans are cool. Jeans are rad. Don't be hatin' on my fabric of choice.

disclaimer; I only promote/wear denim in the use of pants, skirts that do not exceed past the knee, and jackets (worn without denim pants or skirt), and those articles of clothing must be in some form of BLUE.

Dirty Laundry

2008-10-18T20:09:00.000-07:00

I voted. Early voting started here on the 15th and I proudly cast my vote for Johnny Boy McCain. Good lord, I hope he wins. And on the same token, if he does win - good lord I hope that he doesn't die in office. I still don't know what to make of his choice of Sarah Palin!

Anyway, I have now OFFICIALLY cast my ballot. So get ready America, Jennifer has spoken.

I do have to say that in watching Obama during the debates he seemed very 'interested' in me, being a member of the middle class and all. I wasn't too turned off by his running mate either. But then, weren't they just sweet talking me, desperately seeking my vote?

After listening to the conversation between Senator Obama and Joe the Plumber, I have to say I AM SO GLAD Obama admitted to his plan for our country. He said "When you spread the wealth around it's good for everybody". You can't sweet talk that away to prospective voters. Um, does that sound like Socialism or am I losing my mind here?

OK, so I promise I'm not trying to sway those who are 'on the fence' but Matt sent me a freaky article about Obama and abortion the other day. Let me say first, that I do not think Row v. Wade will ever be overturned. 'W' is the most pro-life president we have had and not a whole lot has changed on that front, has it? Now, I'm all for overturning R.V.W., I'm simply stating the fact that it's just not going to happen. With that said, I can see how the issue of abortion is no longer an important factor for many voters. BUT, I have to say that after reading this article, and checking out the sources listed for the data, I was bothered, to say the least. Take a few minutes and read it, it's worth your time. What is the deal here? I mean, this guy is really gung-ho, pro-abortion if I've ever seen it. Not allowing parental consent for MINORS getting abortions?? Is he trying to strip away my right as a parent? It's just frightening. At first, I didn't believe it. I thought it was another 'scare tactic'. Scare, yes. Tactic, no. I mean, go to the links on this article to check out the facts. If someone can rebut this, please pass on the info. I would love to realize this was all made up. It totally creeps me out.

OK, enough of politics. I can only TAKE.SO.MUCH...of it...
Inhale. Exhale. Happy thoughts.

OK, now onto REAL DIRTY LAUNDRY...

I did laundry today. 7 loads actually. And I did it all in about 2 hours. Yes, two hours. Normally that would take ALL DAY, but being at the Hotel, we have a mini-laundry mat with three washers and three dryers. It was glorious to get it all over and done with so quickly. I haven't washed clothes in a laundry mat in years. I forgot how nice it can be. Of course it's better to have your own at home. That is, AS LONG AS YOU DON'T HAVE HAZARDOUS LEAD DUST and POSSIBLY MOLD ALL OVER YOUR HOUSE. Then of course, it's better to do it somewhere else. Of course.

Anyway, it felt SO GOOD to accomplish something so huge (in such a short amount of time). In my Mom's Bible Study, we are reading this fantastic book by Susan Yates and one of the things she talks about is how, as Moms, our work at home usually only lasts 20 minutes before it's completely destroyed again! Just think how many times the kitchen is cleaned in one day! It's so nice to feel a sense of lasting accomplishment (or at least longer-lasting than the usual). And that's exactly what I felt after completing 7 loads of laundry in 2 hours.

7 loads? Yes, it's getting colder here. I had to send Matt to fetch our warmer clothes from the Lead Palace. I can no longer go there myself. I am banned. Every time I go, I become hysterically upset and am in a bad mood for days. I mean, it looks like a natural disaster hit our home. HURRICANE HOT WATER HEATER.

Oh, and just FYI, at home I try to do one load of laundry per day. It was my Mom's tip to me when she stayed with us the first week WK was born. It really is nice and nothing EVER piles up. Free tip. Take it or leave it.

So lastly - ORGANIC FOOD (and I do have a tie in with this new random subject)

I decided recently that our laundry and cleaning MUST be done with chemical free cleaning products. Naturally, one who purchases 'organic' laundry detergent would also (probably) purchase organic foods. Not so.

I do purchase some organic products but not entirely.

Aren't you glad you now know this about me? I do have a point in this topic.

Matt found this article (he is such a fabulous article finder) and I thought it was just too interesting NOT to share. Yes, it comes from Fox News. NO, that does not discredit it.

I was shocked to read it. Granted, it's one person's point of view. However, I found it comforting a bit, seeing that (cost wise) organic food doesn't always fit into my grocery budget.

OK, so that's enough random, not-really-that-related topics for one evening.

What are your thoughts? It will be interesting to see what garners the most comments; organic foods, laundry or politics...

All Saints

2008-10-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

I just want to take a moment and talk about some exciting things that are happening in our church, All Saints Pres.

First of all, let me explain that I grew up 'in the church', the Presbyterian church specifically. And even more specifically, the Presbyterian Church of America (PCA), one of TEN types of Presbyterian churches in North America. Yes, TEN TYPES. All Presbyterians are not the same.

Anyway, in 2004, we joined a different type of Presbyterian church, the Evangelical Presbyterian Church, here in Memphis at Second Presbyterian. Shortly after officially becoming members, we became regular attendees at All Saints Presbyterian, an urban plant of Second's, and eventually members there, once the church became established.

OK, so now that you know the boring details, let me explain why I am so excited about All Saints.

All Saints is a church committed to the Midtown community of Memphis. If you are not familiar with Memphis, Midtown is the cultural heart of the city. Just minutes from downtown, Midtown is populated with a diverse group of people, both racially and economically. It is known for being the the center of the gay and lesbian community of Memphis. It is the home of Rhodes College, Memphis College of Art, Christian Brother's University and the University of Memphis (just barely outside of midtown). It is an educated community, a community of artists, a community of the struggling poor. The homeless populate Midtown's streets while some of the wealthiest members of the city reside here as well.

For several years now, All Saints has been reaching out to the community of midtown, but for whatever reason, Sundays were always populated by the same kind of church crowd I had been surrounded with my whole life; white, educated, middle class Christians. Not that there is anything wrong with this! But our church was dedicated to the Midtown community and this is not what the Midtown community of Memphis looks like.

As those of you who follow my blog know, a lot has been going on in my life over the past several months. Unfortunately, we missed many Sundays at our church. Only recently have we regularly been attending again and LET ME TELL YOU, I was shocked when I returned. It really hit me last Sunday as I looked around the 'sanctuary' (We don't even have a sanctuary actually - we meet at a Young Life building). Amazingly I realized that 'white' was not the dominant skin color anymore. There were all different sorts of people. And when I say "all different sorts", I mean this; Midtown Memphis was all around me. It was so amazing to see it.

I knew from my few visits over the past year, really, that our church was changing. But last Sunday it was the most apparent to me. It was thrilling and exciting to see something that we have been striving for to actually happen.

It dawned on me, during the meet and greet (which at our church is about 5 minutes long) that I truly do not have very much 'church experience' with people who are different than me. Most of the people I have spent 'church time' with were very "churched". This was different. Good-different.

For example, this is my experience with the very poor; Serving hot food on a plate and passing it on. But relationally, I practically have no experience with a homeless person.

To say the least, I have felt very challenged by this lack of experience and after some reflection, I realized that most of my time spent on this earth is with people who are very much like myself. Of course I'm not saying it's bad to have friends who are like me! But I am missing a huge gap from the life I am called to live - being in the world!!! I think it's human nature to surround yourself with 'sameness'. It isn't comfortable to be outside of a comfort zone. But isn't that where we are supposed to be as Christians? And not just helping the poor, but befriending them?

When All Saints started to really get out there and work with and for the community, I have to say at first I was a little turned off. Instead of women's luncheons and potluck dinners, we were picking up trash and feeding the hungry. I should have been fired up, but I wanted the comfortable church get-togethers that I was used to. And women's luncheons and potlucks are not bad things. Please don't misread me. What I am trying to say is that suddenly our church body was so active in service that it felt like every church activity was about doing things for others.... Um, well, isn't this what being a Christian is really about? I mean, Christ came here to serve others. He hung out out with the poor, the misfits. There I was wanting to sip coffee and chat about God's goodness, but not really wanting to do anything for anybody. There is a balance of being fed and feeding others, and I OBVIOUSLY was not living a balanced life. I needed a little nudge to 'get out there' and that's exactly what I got! (Thank God!)

All this to say, I am so excited for what is happening at our church. Finally, I feel like I am in a place where you can truly 'come as you are', as Christ calls us to do. I love what it says on our church's website:

We are part of the Midtown community in Memphis, and we want to share what it means to be a Christian. We don't try to pretend to be better than anyone else. Anyone who wants to know more is openly invited to come. There will be other people there, who are very much like you.

I love it! And it's true, because there are very many "yous" out there.

Anyway, I am so thankful for all that God is doing and WILL DO with All Saints. I invite you to come if you live here and are looking for a church to call home. We call All Saints home and I am so glad God put us there. It makes me feel a little less desperate about this city. There is so much hurting all around us here in Memphis. Well, anywhere really. But over the last 6 years of living in Memphis, I have become convinced that this city so desperately needs healing and God's grace. I just see our church as one place that God is truly working. I know he is working in my own heart, and for that - I am thankful.

TOP TEN; reasons I am turning into my parents

2008-10-13T23:01:00.000-07:00

My friend Beth had this on her blog and I thought it was cute, so I'm doing it as well...

disclaimer - some of these are things I have only just recently NOTICED. So they may not be exactly things that I'm slowly becoming... Oh, and sorry if this embarrasses you, PARENTS. Kids do the darndest things, ya know?

I'm turning into my parents because...

10. I tell stories just like my Mom does. When I watch her tell a story, I see a mirrored image of my own storytelling ways. I noticed this several years ago and it was a very strange realization. We both mimic people, use accents, wild hand motions and very contorted faces. In other words, HIGH DRAMA. But it's worth all the laughs we both receive!

9. My Dad and I both do this weird self soothing thing with our feet. It must be genetic. Basically you rub your feet together on the sides in a circular, irregular pattern. In recent years I have noticed that I am doing this more and more. Weird, huh?

8. I now talk EXACTLY like them both on the phone. So do both of my brothers AND Gillian and Matt from time to time as well. It's so funny. Everyone says this Southern sounding 'well' that comes out "Way-ell" over and over again whenever chatter slows. It's a slow conversation with lot's of "umms"... "alrighty's".. and "yup's!" and plenty of pauses... followed with "Way-ell"! We all are morphing into each other via the phone. What next? Identical hair cuts?

7. I'm starting to get unsettled when there is clutter around. My Mom was ALWAYS cleaning (and still is). Though I did not inherit her natural tendency towards neatness, I am starting to DETEST clutter. I find myself constantly keeping the kitchen counters cleared of anything, the couch pillows in perfect order and the toys go up after each play time. It's starting to really take off. I would have NEVER thought I would EVER be like her in this regard. If you knew me in high school or college (or worse - lived with me), you would have been SHOCKED to hear how my clean habits have improved. I STILL don't make the bed most mornings though, so I haven't TOTALLY turned into my Mom.

6. I realized I was like my Dad in many ways when I got married. I am constantly asking Matt to get things for me when he's up and I'm on the couch. Even if he's also sitting, I sometimes ask him if he'll get up and get me a drink of water or a snack. I know, TERRIBLE! But (sorry Dad), this is totally you!!

5. I move at a terribly slow pace. Friends would always tell me to meet them thirty minutes earlier than intended so they wouldn't have to wait on me. My Dad is the same way. "Rick P" time = "Jennifer time" for sure. It's not just running late either. It's just a slow kind of presence. No hurry ever (except for in the case of #4). My Mom, on the other hand, is the total opposite of this - always moving around really fast. Not Dad and I, we are in our own worlds, taking our own time.

4. But my Dad and I have this amazing ability to move in rapid motion. It's called procrastination. Everything waits until the very last moment and then it's a mad confused dash to get out of the door or finish whatever needs to be done. This drives my poor Mom crazy because she is such a planner and is always prepared.

3. I can no longer shop for myself (or at least not NEARLY as often). I used to marvel that my Mom was ALWAYS buying SO MANY THINGS for OTHERS!!! She would go out, in search of something for herself and come back with things for us. ALWAYS! Well, the wonder of this is over as I now do the same thing. I'm constantly fighting the urge to shop for WK or friends! I never thought I would be like that! I used to pride myself in being so... selfish, I guess! Kids change you!!!

2. I was afraid that after working full-time for 6 years (after graduating college) that I would have a difficult time adjusting to my SAHM (Stay-at-home-Mom) status. I wasn't that little girl who always wanted to grow up and be a Mommy and I wasn't sold on the idea of the whole 'staying at home' business. To my great surprise, I have felt the most content in this job than any previous job (or school time for that matter) in my life. For the first time ever I feel like I have found the perfect fit for me. My Mom reveled during her SAHM years. She always had creative activities for us, taught us to love reading, and made up silly songs about everything. I only hope I can come up with as much fun stuff for my kid to do. I have the song thing down for sure, to the point of insanity. I know I have turned into her now. I never thought I could enjoy this as much as I know she did.

And the number 1 reason I am turning into my parents....

1. I actually said this to my child after saying I would NEVER EVER NEVER say it;

"Because I said so"

Nooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There's no stopping it... I'm turning into them... I guess it was bound to happen!

Now... how have YOU turned into your parents???

Somebody find me some ruby slippers 'cause I need 'em!

2008-10-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

I'm writing to you from our new "home". So far, it's been a trying experience. You know that saying "There's no place like home"? Well, there's a reason someone coined that phrase. And I bet he and I might have a thing or two in common.

We arrived at the hotel two nights ago. There is plenty of space in the suite with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a little kitchen area and a den. I was surprised to find decent looking furniture and an updated look to the place. It looked like somewhere we would be comfortable and happy. But appearances can be deceiving.

As I plopped myself down on the semi-attractive sofa, I was greeted by a very firm, not-for-popping-down-on surface. In other words, the furniture is far from comfy. As I started unpacking our things I began to notice stains on EVERYTHING. Of course, this is typical for hotel rooms.

But, as each hour progressed in our new living arrangement, I began to notice many small imperfections...threadbare carpeting... fruit flies... bedside table covered with stickiness... confetti (?) all over the floor in the corners... food crumbs under the table... sticky surfaces everywhere... Had this place even been cleaned prior to our arrival?

I found my answer when I used the bathroom. To my astonishment I discovered that neither of the toilets had been cleaned. I couldn't believe my eyes. I won't go into details, but a dirty toilet is a dirty toilet. Especially if it's not your dirty toilet. I felt like I had entered a gas station rest room. In addition I noticed a white powdery substance on everything in one bathrooms and DIRT in both tubs.

I phoned the front desk and in my best 'professional manner', explained that this was unacceptable. They assured me that the head of housekeeping would be informed and that in the morning I would receive a thorough cleaning.

So, the next morning we went to breakfast, came back and noticed that the 'maid' had been in. But guess what? THE TOILETS LOOKED EXACTLY THE SAME! The white powder was still everywhere and confetti was still all over the floor. The towels were replaced and the beds were made, but other than this, there was very little difference.

There was a nice little note left on a table with bubbly writing that read:
"My name is Shar. I will be cleaning your rooms during your stay. I hope you are happy. If you need anything, please ask." It was signed with a smiley face.

Oh Shar, if only you knew me.

It's not that I dislike the attempt of a smiley face to convey niceness. No, it's something else entirely. Some of you reading already know what I am about to reveal to you; I suffer from a mild case of germaphobia. I call it 'mild' because it's highly selective. In my own home, among my own things, I am quite comfortable. If I don't clean as often as usual, I'm cool with it. And usually the interior of my car is a bomb. I call it "the junk mobile". I don't use high chair covers when we eat out at restaurants. I don't carry hand sanitizer all of the time and I don't have to have my shower every day. But when it comes to certain things and places, I can get a little freaky.

I'm talking about movie theater seats, public restrooms, airplanes and .... HOTELS!!!! Yes, I am certifiably insane when it comes to staying in hotels. But for good reason.

I made the MASSIVE mistake of watching several news shows (60 minutes or something of the like) that investigated GERMS IN HOTELS. Let me give you ALL a piece of useful advice; Don't watch these things. They only make you paranoid. And the stuff they find never kills anyone, so in this situation, ignorance is bliss. TRUST ME.

So, after watching these shows years ago, I developed an unusual fear of hotel rooms, especially the floors, walls, remote controls, headboards and comforters. If you had seen what a black light showed to be LIVING (or dead for that matter) on these surfaces, YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND.

I used to travel with my old job A LOT. For six months of the year, I was gone every other week for 6-9 nights each trip. That meant a lot of hotel visits. One would think that over exposure would weaken my senses to the good germ-scare I got from the news shows. Nope! It only strengthened my coping skills. I developed strategies for survival against the germs; shoes on at all times, extra sheets to cover the furniture, clorox wipes for the remote controls and phones, extra sheets for covering the comforter (they NEVER wash bedspreads in hotels, FYI). It was all a bit nutty. I remember being embarrassed for the maids who cleaned my rooms. Most of them left the sheets that covered the furniture and the comforter. I could just picture their raised brows as they whispered "oh, she's one of those people".

I will say that having a kid really did loosen me up a bit. In the few times we have had a hotel room with WK, I have been far less concerned. You just can't stop kids from getting germy. I DREAD the day she uses a public bathroom by herself. Anyway, I got over some of my phobias having her. But some of that germy scare still lingers to this day. Which brings me back to Shar (the housekeeper who left the note with the smiley face)...

Oh, Shar, you are so in trouble.

After returning and finding the room STILL dirty and the toilets in the SAME shape, I called the front desk to request that someone PLEASE COME BACK AND CLEAN THE TOILETS!!! Twenty minutes later, in walked Shar.

Shar was decked in jewelry, gold shimmering from her neck, arms, fingers and teeth. She was African American, tall and lean. Her walk was a graceful, slow gate that showed she had lived some years and seen worse days. She was pleasant and elegant with her steady movements. Her deep voice soothed the words "I'm sorry 'bout your toilets" as she slowly cleaned them with her spray can and towel that looked identical to the towels that hung neatly in the bathroom waiting our use.

I began to feel bad that I had gotten Shar into trouble. Her words were accompanied with genuine smiles and concerns and I got the message that she really was a caring person, albeit a bad housekeeper. After she spent 10 minutes or so cleaning the toilets, she left. I inspected them and found them to still be a tad dirty! But I wasn't about to get poor Shar into trouble again. Her presence was just too gentle and I would just be a schmuck if I tattled on her again.

That evening I decided I just needed to clean the place myself. I purchased some basic cleaning supplies and went to work. It was time to just suck it up and deal. I cleaned everything. The sticky surfaces, the headboard, the bathroom floors. I swallowed the sharp urges to freak out and cleaned the mess of a hotel room up myself. Late that night, I went to sleep with more peace of mind. Every square inch of the place had been sprayed with Lysol and I could rest assured that any dirt now would at least be our dirt. THAT, I could deal with. It was also much easier to fall asleep as Matt had retrieved a spare king comforter from his Dad's house (after much pleading from me to do so). I smiled sleepily at the thought of the 'dirty' hotel comforter wrapped up on the floor in a far corner.

Shar came again the next morning while we were out. Upon returning at 1:30 in the afternoon, I noticed our comforter was piled on the edge of the bed with no sheets anywhere to be found. I had to get Shar in trouble again as she had to re-visit our room with the sheets she forgot. Her smiles and apologies made me feel terrible all over again.

After she left, I popped my head in to see the freshly made bed and breathed a sigh of relief as I glanced around the Lysoled freshness. At least this place was clean now, I thought to myself as I picked up a few of my daughter's toys. And then, an interesting thing happened.

I was putting the last piece of a Disney's princess puzzle together when I noticed a teeny, tiny little black bug on Cinderella's castle. As I moved in for the kill, it disappeared with the flash of a millisecond. This was something I had seen before; a flea. A FLEA, A FLEA! My mind started going crazy. "Patience. Maybe you imagined it" I consoled myself. I knew what fleas looked like. I had two dogs after all and last summer we had that terrible flea epidemic from bad Frontguard. SURELY NOT! But I thought for a second... I had seen a dog earlier that day... yes, there was definitely a nervous standard poodle that had walked through the lobby on a leash during breakfast. Yes... this hotel had advertised pets as being welcomed... with a weight limit, which was why ours had to stay elsewhere... Oh my goodness... dogs are walking flea magnets... DOG FRIENDLY HOTEL... means a dog may have been in this very hotel room... I envisioned a mangy dog covered with fleas... rolling on this very floor... leaving them behind... FOR ME!

I took a deep breath. No, it cannot be a flea. I had never seen a flea in a hotel room. This was just my overactive imagination. It had to be.

Just as I had convinced myself that NO, I HAD ONLY IMAGINED IT, I felt the sting. It was the sharp burn of a minuscule bite. I glanced at my arm and there it was again; tiny and black and instantly disappearing again. OH GREAT LANDS OF MERCY I HAVE BEEN BITTEN BY A FLEA. WE HAVE FLEAS. FLEAS!!!!!!!!

My mind went to terrible places. Germs, Shar's lack of cleaning and now this? Now VERMIN? I mean, fleas have been known to carry infectious disease. Um, hello? Bubonic Plague? My legs wobbled. I checked my surroundings; child recently down for a nap, Stay-at-Hotel-Mom status fully engaged. I stood for a long while, waiting for the next flea. Minutes passed and I saw/felt nothing. Maybe the flea had been riding on the hem of Shar's pants from outside. But I knew about fleas. Equally as gross as any invisible germ hiding, fleas lay eggs, hatch larvae and wait for their victims so that they can SUCK THEIR BLOOD. Oh, I thought I was going to faint.

This time I made Matt call the front desk from work.

The next several hours were spent in a desperate effort to find another hotel that would accommodate us for the next month(?) it will take for our house to be finished. I was hellbent to find a new location for our family that was clean and flea-free. I became convinced we needed to stay in a different hotel and my fears melted with the relief that this thought brought. I converted my 'fear energy' into 'find a new place' energy. I poured through the options online, I made numerous phone calls and I even called up my parents for advice.

We visited another hotel with suites that felt like the Ritz Carlton in comparison to our 'fleabag' hotel suite. Unfortunately, we would all three have to share a bedroom. At first this seemed worth the sacrifice, but in looking around the tiny bedroom there was hardly room for a pack-n-play. Maybe for a few nights, but ONE or maybe even TWO months?? I began to doubt my initial thoughts of sacrificing precious sleep. In addition, one tiny closet and three drawers would have to hold ALL of our clothing, assuming we could even pull out the drawers with a pack-n-play in the way.

There was no kitchen, just a tiny little mini-fridge and a microwave big enough for a single sized serving of microwavable popcorn. At first the idea of eating out every day sounded fun. I mean, insurance said the meals would be comped. But I knew from all my previous work travel that eating out gets really old quick. Oh yeah, and add a TWO YEAR OLD and that will get old EVEN quicker. You know, screaming, not trying new foods. I envisioned what WK's health would look like on a 'french fry and chicken finger' diet.

My plan wasn't looking so good after all. We had a tough decision to make. Should we sacrifice these things for a clean, FLEA-LESS hotel? Anything comparable with two bedrooms and a kitchenette in Memphis was also pet friendly (and perhaps flea friendly as well) and their reviews were WORSE than the hotel we were currently in.

We decided, flea or no flea, that we would "sleep on it" and make a decision in the morning. It's no fun to move all our stuff over and over again anyway. If we moved again, we would STAY FOR GOOD.

Thankfully, a date night had already been in order and WK went to her Nana's house to spend the night. After a nice dinner out and a flealess night and morning, we made the decision to stay here, at least until we see another flea. We do have outdoor entry and fleas do live outside too. We are not in a "pets welcome" unit. Perhaps when Shar came back to put the sheets in the bed, she had just left a pet unit and a flea was clinging to her shoelace. Who knows. We could have brought the flea in here oursleves owning two dogs who lie on our things from time to time. It has now been well over 24 hours now without a single flea sighting or bite which would kind of disprove an infestation theory. Did the sole flea that found its way into our dwelling place just happen to find me? Highly possible. I'm always the ONE person who gets bitten by bugs EVERYWHERE. My Mom always said bugs liked my blood because it must be sweet.

So here we are, nestled in our new "home", keeping our eyes peeled for fleas and looking forward to the day we have a home again. I'm hoping to don a pair of ruby slippers and chant "There's no place like home, there's no place like home" and then magically wake up at home like Dorothy. But I can't seem to find any in my size (though Target carries plenty in their kid's shoes section).

I firmly believe that God is always trying to 'grow me' and I just have to look at this situation as another opportunity to learn and grow. Maybe he's trying to teach me that "God made dirt and dirt don't hurt" or that sometimes getting over our irrational phobias isn't such a bad thing. As far as I know, nobody has ever died because their hotel toilet wasn't clean. Who knows. At any rate, I have to stay level headed about this. The fact that we haven't switched rooms at all is HUGE. For somebody who usually has to move tables or seats at a restaurant (another weird quirk of mine) that's an accomplishment. I also consider it a big feat that I haven't 'lost it' with the not-so-helpful front desk people/housekeeping people/manager who won't call us back over FLEAS. Or should I just say "Flea" since we really only did actually see ONE. Usually by now I would be ducking as I passed a hotel employee because I would have 'gone off' on them over this.

For now I'm still wearing flip flops every time my feet hit the carpet and the back of my neck seems to be constantly itching when I'm here. Oddly enough it doesn't bother me to let WK wonder around in bare feet, playing with her toys and rolling around on the floor. Baby steps. Remember What About Bob? I guess I have a little 'Bob' in my blood. That and a sweet smell that attracts vermin.

Baby steps to the elevator... (It's a line from the movie and if you know what I'm talking about, its the perfect ending to this post)... Baby steps to the front door... Baby steps to the living room...

Election time snares

2008-10-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

As a Christian, I often wonder what my attitude should be like towards politics. And I do not mean "who should I vote for based on my faith?". I am talking about my attitude towards Politicians and their supporters who do not share my opinions on how this country should be run. Is it right to get all fired up and heated and defensive about my political views? Is it Biblical to get all wrapped up in it? Will I be held accountable at the end of time for not voting for the right candidate back in 2008?

Of course the last question is ridiculous, but how much of this is all really going to matter in the end? In the "new heaven and new earth" are we going to be divided over who was a conservative/liberal back in 'the old days'? It really divides us now! Why is this?

I propose that it's the age-old problem of pride. We take pride in what we value. And when we have pride, we elevate ourselves over others who do not share those same values. It's human nature to do this.

I do it all the time. I find myself looking down on others who disagree with me on politics. "What an idiot he/she must be!", I think to myself. I look at Politicians who stand for an ideology that I do not value and I see them as ignorant, lacking judgment and even down right sinister. Yes, I am embarrassed to admit this, but awareness is the first step in change. And I will be the first to admit that too often, I have found myself caught up in this "acceptable behavior".

It is apparent in today's society that it is totally acceptable to mock our leaders and law makers, attack their personal characters, name call and verbally assault their followers and get into angry screaming debates. I'm not saying it's wrong to be critical of our leaders. It is, after all, our duty as citizens of this country to make informed decisions about who we want to lead and govern us. We have a right to hold strong opinions, but to condemn and belittle others who have differing opinions is unhealthy and unproductive.

It's not wrong to debate or discuss politics either. But I do think it's something that needs to be done very carefully, with great effort to avoid character attacks and prideful attitudes. It's hard to do this and I have often dodged political discussions in the company of those who I know have differing philosophical views. But is it such a bad thing to do this? Why do we feel so compelled to voice our opinions? Sure, my grandfathers both fought in foreign lands to give me this right - and it is nothing I take for granted, believe me. But what is wrong with not talking about who we plan to vote for?

I remember when Reagan ran against Mondale. I was eight years old and very interested in hearing my father talk about the election. I must have asked one of their friends who they were voting for because I very clearly remember being told "It's rude to ask people who they are voting for". My how times have changed.

During the fall of 2004, Matt and I were visiting Seattle and took an overnight trip to Victoria, B.C. on a seaplane. It was a very cool little adventure, but I was struck by the audacity of the seaplane pilot on our return trip. He took a pole of the passengers to see whom we planned to vote for. Those voting for Bush had to sit at the back of the plane. Those voting for Kerry got the front seats with the best view. I'll let you guess where Matt and I sat.

On the same token, there is nothing wrong AT ALL with having discussions on politics among mixed company. But don't you think (at least sometimes) that things have gotten out of hand?

Listen, I'm guilty of all this. I'm not directing this towards anyone and if I am, it would be towards myself. I have said cruel words about our leaders, I have judged others as ignorant and idiotic for supporting certain causes and ideas. One of the snares that I get caught in is being with others who share the same opinions as me. You feel comfortable with those who agree with you and it's easy to bash others in that setting.

It takes awareness, practice and humility to conduct ourselves in appropriate ways when it's election time. It takes effort not to judge, not to condemn, not to hate. I have to remember that my security rests in the fact that Christ loves me. It does not rest in the fact that I vote a certain way or have such-and-such set of core values for the way our country should be run.

There is nothing wrong about being excited during this time. Change is on the horizon and we long for the type of change we believe in. But God calls us to love others and to pray for our leaders. We cannot possibly be doing any good by yelling and screaming in debates over who is right and who is not. Turn on any news show and I promise you will find people, polarized by their views, verbally attacking one another. It's quite amusing, but so disturbing.

I guess I just want to challenge myself and those of you reading, not to view opposing political leaders and followers as sinister and wrong and ridiculous. The issues before us today are not black and white as we would like to believe they are. There are valid ideas and opinions from both sides of the fence.

I actually had someone once say to me "How can you be a Christian and vote for _____?" - is this really what we have come to? Now we define our identity in Christ by who we vote for in an election for the US president?

In the end, what matters is how we love one another. God's greatest commandment to us is to love him with all of heart, mind and soul AND to love our neighbor as ourselves. There is no perfect leader or perfect form of government. We live in a flawed world where corruption is around every corner. We have such an advantage living in a "free country" where we can voice our views without fear of persecution. But that does not justify slandering our neighbors and leaders.

It's tough to cast off our prideful ways. It's tough to not elevate ourselves because of our 'supreme ideologies'. But it's worth the effort. And it's worth the effort to stay cool and levelheaded - to not let the "other side" fray your nerves. When I feel offended by offhand remarks about my political opinions, I have to remind myself this; Being conservative/liberal is not who I am. It does not define me, or give me worth. My worth is in Christ alone. This is where my security needs to rest. And when it's resting in the right place, then I won't be so quick to defend, to condemn, to judge. This is my prayer for myself during a time when it's so easy to fall into the ways of the world.

What do you think? BE HONEST!

Lead hazard circus side show

2008-10-06T20:17:00.000-07:00

Remember "way back when" I posted about how our house flooded? Well, that was 4 months ago and WE ARE STILL NOT BACK IN THE HOUSE!!!!

In an attempt to sum up the incredibly long and complicated reason that our house is not finished being repaired, here is a time line of sorts to give you an overview of this 4 month (so far) ordeal;

June 7 (3:00 pm): Plastic valve from water heater bursts. For $5 you can replace your valve with a brass one. We had no idea our valve was plastic. Most of them are because it saves the manufacturer a couple of bucks. GO SPEND $5 AND REPLACE YOUR VALVES NOW. Trust me.

June 7 (evening hours): Bird-brain restoration company places large fans in the house to dry out the water.

June 9: Fans removed; house sits untouched for one month. Insurance clowns and restoration bird-brains pick their noses all day FOR ONE MONTH.

July 14-24: Bird-brain restoration company tears down ceiling in dining room. Totally demolishes it. Plaster ceiling. 85 year old house. Lots of mess. Dirt and dust everywhere. Didnt' cover the furniture. Black dust on EVERYTHING. Put in new dry wall ceiling. repainted dining room, bedroom, hall way, kitchen ceiling. Paid bird-brains to do extra work on the den ceiling which was badly cracked.

late July: I see a segment on "The Today Show" about restorations in old homes with lead based paint and how the DUST CREATED FROM THE RENOVATION CAN CAUSE BRAIN DAMAGE IN CHILDREN UNDER 7 YEARS OF AGE. A woman was interviewed who had 2 children suffer permanent brain damage from the lead poisoning after a renovation in their old home. She stressed that if having renovations in an old home, you must use a company that is "state certified in lead abatement". Apparently, in any home older than 1978, you are going to most likely have lead paint. This isn't a problem unless you eat paint chips OR GET A RENOVATION LIKE TEARING DOWN A CEILING. In this case, the old lead based paint gets ground up into a fine dust that is HIGHLY TOXIC.

GUESS WHAT? Bird-brain restoration IS NOT CERTIFIED in lead abatement by the sate. Just as my luck would have it, right?

I call bird-brains. Ask them what they do to prevent lead contamination. Get lectured by man with very country accent who tells me "unless you eat paint chips all day, nothin' is gonna happen".

I doubted said bird-brain's theory on lead poisoning. Decided to call the EPA. After several "let me connect you's" I got a helpful woman in Nashville in the hazardous waste dept. She asked me many questions. And when I answered the questions, she gasped many times. Apparently bird-brain restoration company went about it in ALL THE WORST WAYS. For instance, they ran the AC while working. This can cause the lead contaminated dust to blow through the entire house. Another example of improper hazardous waste management was the layer of black dust covering everything. THEY DIDN'T SEAL OFF THE ROOM THEY WERE RENOVATING. I mean, even if you are totally unaware of the hazards you are creating, woldn't you at least want to close doors and seal off entry ways to keep the rest of the house FREE OF BLACK DUST?

I also came to find out through this woman that I was supposed to receive two pamphlets: "Protect your Family from Lead" and "Lead Based Paint Pre-Rennovation", the latter containing a sheet that we were supposed to sign as "having read and understood". Of course bird-brains never gave us these documents. Nor did they even do a simple test on the walls to see if there was lead based paint. In doing these things, they violated state law and are responsible for paying for the clean up using a certified lead abatement team.

August 6: Super nice lady from the local branch of hazardous waste management comes to the house to do simple tests for lead paint. Free service. Had to send tests off to a lab.

August 20: Reports come back: WE HAVE LEAD HAZARDS IN THE DUST THAT HAS SETTLED IN THE HOUSE.

mid-September: Insurance clowns finally approve a certified lead abatement team to come and assess the damage. They do tests. Tests show where the hazards are.

THEY GIVE ESTIMATE ON CLEANING BILL. Ready for this? $21,000.00!!!! NO LIE! Since you can't just wipe up the hazardous dust and consider it clean (this only spreads the contamination), a special process has to happen. Apparently, It's VERY EXPENSIVE.

They tell us they have to submit report to the state. Takes 15 working days to be approved by state. HAVE I MENTIONED THAT THIS IS ONE OF THE REASONS I WILL NOT BE VOTING FOR OBAMA? DO WE REALLY WANT SLOWNESS RUNNING OUR LIVES PEOPLE? Anything government is slow and complicated. Um, living example here!

TODAY: call to find out WHEN this 15 day waiting game is over. GUESS WHAT???? They haven't even filed the ding-dang report yet!!! Long boring explanation as to why. So starting from TODAY, we will have to wait 15 more days before the lead clean up begins. Oh, and did I mention that we are talking about WORKING DAYS? Yes, that's right. 3 weeks.

Who knows how long it will take to clean it. I mean, it is costing $21,000 so I don't think it will all be finished in one day or anything.

THEN, because our insurance clowns think that the bird-brains SHOULD have also replaced our bedroom ceiling, we are going to have that replaced too. How long will that take? Only God knows. Thankfully, the certified lead abatement team will be involved with that so we won't have lead hazards all over the house again.

So all this time, we have been living in Matt's Dad's house while he and Nancy were at their Seattle house. It's a wonderful house and they were SO NICE to let us live here in their absence (Shout out to Rick & Nancy!). They are now back "for the winter" and we have decided to move into a hotel while we wait for the ridiculous circus show to finish our house. It's a great hotel that is more like a 2 bedroom apartment, so we will be well taken care of. I mean, maid service everyday? Sign me up!

But seriously, I am SO READY TO GO HOME. Oh, and one more thing I forgot to mention - I went to the house last week. Was hit in the face with a terrible smell and found green fuzzy stuff on the bedroom floor, which at the time of the flood did indeed get wet. NOW WHAT????????

So this is what I want all of you people out there to do: take a minute to look around at your house. Maybe, like me, you own your home. Maybe, like me, sometimes you are not content in your house. Maybe you want to live in a better school district. Maybe you are outgrowing it. Or perhaps you just suffer from the common human ailment of discontentment. Please do me a favor though. Go hug a wall or a doorway and THANK GOD that you have a house that is liveable.

And please, PLEASE do not leave me comments about how worrying about lead based paint is silly. I have heard enough of this;

"But Jennifer, we grew up in lead based painted cribs and homes and we are just fine!"

or this;

"There are so many things in life that could hurt us (killer bees) and we just can't worry about it too much".

LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING PEOPLE. LEAD BASED PAINT IS A HAZARD. Please don't freak out after reading this if your home is older than 1978. Like I said, it doesn't matter unless you top your salads with the paint chips you may find. OR IF YOU HAVE A RENOVATION THAT REMOVES WALLS OR CEILINGS. So don't get all worried about your babies and the walls. But know that if you plan to tear anything down, make sure you use a certified lead abatement team.

Because I want to spread the word on this, here is a link about lead based paint hazards for those of you who live in Tennessee. On the link, you can find a list of certified firms that handle restorations like EVERYONE SHOULD.

So remember; this is a real hazard. It isn't some kind of killer bees scare. Lead is highly toxic. It is very dangerous. And yes, you may have survived a life of being exposed to it. But that doesn't mean it cannot harm people, especially if it is ground into a fine dust. Children are at the most risk for harm with this terrible toxin. And the brain damage can be very mild to severe and can even lead to death. Read more here.

So, there. That's what is going on. It's too much to explain to everyone. This is the easiest way. I guess I'm just really ready for all this to end. In the "whole scheme of things" this is really a minor issue. Honestly, I haven't been too stressed about it. I have had more important issues over the past few months to deal with. But it really is a HUGE inconvenience and stress to be "homeless". When I go to the house, I feel like I am visiting some kind of natural disaster aftermath. It's not pretty.

Anyway, please pray this circus will end. In the meantime, I'll be kickin' it at the Hilton.

Severely good food

2008-09-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

If you live in Memphis, surely you know the best Thai place in town, Bhan Thai Restaurant.

Though you may be prone to order one of their curries or their Pad Thai, let me suggest something that may be even better; the Kee Mao (or 'spicy beef with noodles' and sometimes referred to as "drunken noodles"). These sautéed flat noodles with beef, basil leaves, bean sprouts, carrots and bell peppers in Bhan Thai Secret Sauce ARE TO DIE FOR. It is served with beef, but the two times I have ordered it, I have substituted with pork and then shrimp (as suggested by my Thai servers). I preferred the pork over the shrimp, but it was good both ways. Next time I'll try it with the beef.

The sauce in this dish is perfect - a spicy buttery taste that leaves you wanting more. Not too spicy, not too mild. The soft wide noodles with crunchy veggies and flavorful meat (or seafood - or even tofu if you like) provide a nice texture and balance with the savory sauce. This is Thai comfort food at its best! By far the most succulent dish I have tried yet at any 'ethnic' restaurant in Memphis.

It's amazing that in Memphis, TN we have such good Thai food. I highly recommend this eatery if you have not visited before. Situated in an old home on Peabody, the ambiance is nice, the prices are reasonable, the service is excellent, and there is a great outdoor patio. Be sure to order a Singha (Thai beer) with your meal. And don't forget the Kee Mao!

Love affair

2008-09-26T20:43:00.000-07:00

It's 3:00pm. Child is down for a nap. Young mother opens refrigerator, scanning for food items of desired interest. She is not hungry, but is toying with the idea of some kind of small satisfaction. She is tired from the toddler fits and is looking forward to a little something to make her feel better.

Apple: Hey! I'm right here, waiting to give you some sweet crunchy health!
Young Mother: Um, maybe later (eyes scanning)
Apple: An apple a day keeps the doctor away!
Young Mother: Not true. Quiet! I'm looking for something... TASTIER....
---
Bag of carrots: Pick me! Pick me! I've been sitting here, untouched FOR A WEEK!
Young Mother: Maybe tomorrow...
Bag of carrots: But you promised you would eat a lot of me! Remember - you made that vow to eat better on Tuesday after you ate all that cookie dough!
Young Mother: Not now... Please...
Bag of carrots: (sassy tone) Fine! Keep tucking in that tummy roll every time you sit down. See if I care!
Young Mother (yelling) SHUT UP!
---

Young Mother slams refrigerator door shut, then opens freezer door.

---

Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream: You know you want me.
Young Mother: Yes. Badly.
Ben & Jerry's Phish Food: Well, I'm here, all lonely in your freezer.
Young Mother: I hate that you are lonely.
Ben & Jerry's Phish Food: Then come and save me!
Young Mother: (grabs a spoon) Alright, but I can only take a few bites.

With each bite, Young Mother lets out a quiet but drawn out 'mmmmm'

Ben & Jerry's: That's all?
Young Mother: (puts lid on ice cream) Yep. I'm watching what I eat.
Ben & Jerry's: So whats to watch about me?
Young Mother: Well, you just aren't good for me.
Ben & Jerry's: I've been SO good to you!
Young Mother: (slaps her thighs) See this jiggle? This is YOUR fault.
Ben & Jerry's: Well that's ridiculous! The way I see it, you are the one at fault! I have explicit instructions printed on my side that tell you the portion size. I'm actually 4 portions, not a SINGLE serving!
Young Mother: I was having a bad night!
Ben & Jerry's: (singsong) Not my fault!

Young Mother throws Ben & Jerry's in the freezer, slams the door and exits the kitchen. Moments later, she is back.

Ben & Jerry's: I knew you would be back.
Young Mother: (spooning big mouthfuls of ice cream) Shut up!

Young mother puts lid on Ben & Jerry's and opens the freezer. She hesitates, and lifts the top off for a little more.

Ben & Jerry's: You just can't live without me, can you?
Young Mother: (spooning another bite of ice cream) No. I can't. I try, but I just can't quit you.
Ben & Jerry's: It's not your fault.
Young Mother: What do you mean? (spoons another bite)
Ben & Jerry's: I'm just too good to you. You can't deny your need for me. You just can't say no.
Young Mother: (slams lid back down) Oh yes I can!

Young Mother opens freezer door but hesitates with spoon in hand.

Ben & Jerry's: Well...?
Young Mother: (throws spoon in sink) Yes! Yes! No more!

Ben & Jerry's is tossed into the freezer. Bag of carrots reappear.

Bag of carrots: So... you're back! What, did you steop on the scale again?... No?... Oh, having an argument with the ice cream again I see...

Pride & Prejudice

2008-09-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking lately about the chances of Obama actually becoming the 44th president of the United States. I have some serious speculations about Obama winning over the South. Considering that the South makes up over 50% of the electoral votes, it is a vital region for any presidential candidate to carry. Historically, every presidential victory has carried the majority of Southern votes. Can Obama really secure these vital Southern votes? I happen to think he cannot.

Sadly, I believe this presidential election will come down to the race issue. I hate to stereotype my beloved South like this, but I truly feel Obama will have a tough time breaking through the age-old problem in the South - the problem of racism. Certainly I would like to believe that as 21st century Americans, we would be able to look past one's ethnicity when choosing our country's leaders. However, as sad and terrible as it sounds, I just don't think the South is "ready" yet.

Of course, I am mostly talking about the Deep South. And let me tell you, Tennessee is NOT part of the Deep South (including Nashville), with the exception of Memphis. Some may consider Memphis to be a cosmopolitan area. I do agree that many who live here are free of those deep rooted issues like race. But I'm afraid to say, I don't think there are enough cosmopolitans to outweigh the rest.

Also NOT included in the Deep South are states such as Virginia, which Obama will likely have an easy win. But consider that northern VA is a suburb of DC, where many people migrate to from other regions. These people are not influenced by old Southern 'dilemmas'.

Now, don't get me wrong, I LOVE the South. And I mostly appreciate "Southern tradition". But there is a very, very ugly side to this wonderful region - the ugliness of racism.

I myself am not at all attached to this way of thinking and was not raised in any manner to hold prejudice against those who were not the same as me, be it race, religion or lifestyle. The fact that I am voting for McCain has absolutely nothing to do with skin 'color', and everything to do with my political values. I'm not sure this will matter though to many white democrat voters. At least, that's my opinion.

From what I have experienced, since moving 'deeper' into the South, racial tension is alive and well. I cannot see how this will not affect voters. It is true that the South has the largest concentration of African American voters, but historically, the more AA voters turn out, the more 'white' voters turn out as well. Things just get messy down here. It's not pretty.

I wonder why this issue is not talked about more. And I happen to believe that Americans in general tend to be clueless about what the South really is like. There exists that stereotype that we are all uneducated-NASCAR-watching-redneck-Bible-beaters who wear confederate flag hats and whistle Dixie on our way to the pea patch to pick some dinner. Well, some of us Southerners are like that. Others are not. Regardless, there also seems to be the assumption out there that 'we' (as a nation) are ready for progressive change. The whole issue of gay marriage in the last election (I THINK) had a lot to do with Bush winning. That, and the evangelical factor (yet another Southern 'thing'). But people, let me tell you, the South is NOT ready for gay marriage. The South does not see change as 'good' and (in my opinion) the South is NOT ready for a president who is not white. Why was 'everyone' so shocked that Bush was re-elected? BECAUSE THEY DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO THE SOUTH.

Maybe you disagree with me. But this is what I am predicting. And I found these two articles (one is actually an NPR broadcast) interesting;
NY Times Article and an NPR segment.

I believe the liberals overestimate what the South is ready for. And sadly, I believe Hillary would have had a difficult time winning the South over as well since SHE IS NOT A MAN. Though at times I wonder (hehe). But seriously, I think the only way a democrat president would be elected this term was if HE looked like all the other presidents in the past. So what about Palin? I would assume she would be "the lesser of two evils" in the eyes of those who cannot let go of disgusting, age-old prejudices. What do you think??

Something is fishy...

2008-09-22T21:10:00.001-07:00

... about that face! First of all, let me explain my view on plastic surgery. I don't see it as evil or ridiculous, just vain. Now, not all plastic surgeries are equal. I know that. Repairing a wound or reconstructing a deformity is something entirely different than the type of plastic surgery I am referring to. I am referring to aesthetic surgical procedures. You know, nose jobs, face lifts and the like. Of course this comes from someone who isn't any where close to being considered as a candidate for a face lift (though I am starting to see the faint appearance of wrinkles). I also have a pretty decently shaped nose (I can like a feature of mine without being cocky about it!). So perhaps if I had a terrible looking nose or loads of wrinkles, I would feel differently. I don't know. I only have my experiences to go on. I will say that after birthing and nursing a child, I can see more clearly the desire for breast augmentation, though I personally wouldn't chose it. I was reminded of this as I watched a special tonight on NatG about some tribe in Africa. Those poor shirtless women had OBVIOUSLY nursed one too many children. I just wanted to send them some underwire bras. But enough about that.

So, with the exception of that, I pretty much believe that all of the Botox, facial surgeries, chin lifts, BUTT IMPLANTS (Yes, people actually get these), and all of the other CRAZY things people do to their bodies are done out of pure vanity. With that said, when I am 55, I will probably be BEGGING Matt to let me have some kind of laser surgery or zapping of sorts to lessen the wrinkles. I'm SURE I WILL. I'm vain too. We all are.

OK, so all the moral stuff aside, I think tasteful surgery that is not really noticed at first glance isn't so bad. I mean, I can't really notice it to begin with. And if it makes you feel better about yourself, then fine. But here is my question; WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH ALL THE FISH-FACES OUT THERE? I mean, these people don't even look human. They look like extras off the set of The X-Files.

I won't post any pictures here, but *certain celebrities* just look freakish. Mostly they are women, but a few men fall into the "fish face" category as well. I usually cringe when their scary faces approach me from the covers of the trash mags in the line at the grocery store. They all seem to have that unique look - you know - huge cat eyes with practically no lids, bulging fish-lips, skin stretched tightly across the cheek bones, tiny weird nose. And if you see them on television, their eyebrows DO NOT move, nor do the creases around their mouths or eyes. Therefore, their "I'm so happy" expression is exactly the same look as their "I'm scared to death!"expression.

Is this really the desired look? Not mine, I'll tell you. There are some celebrities out there who are growing old the REAL way. Take Sarah Jessica Parker for example. She actually has creases on her face that MOVE and make little LINES when she shows expression. Wouldn't this be more profitable as an actress? I mean, you have to 'show it' with your face when you are acting.

Anyway, my main issue with ALL OF THIS is not just the folly of fish-faced folks, but the reasoning behind their fish-faced ways. WHY is it so AWFUL to LOOK OLD? If looking old is not at all desired, one must therefore assume that BEING old is absolutely NOT DESIRED. Don't get me wrong - I'm not longing for arthritis, deafness and forgetfulness (things that run in my family). But I do wonder why our culture is SO youth centered and so against growing old.

You see, I have been finding some gray (maybe white) hairs on my head lately. I'm noticing that I'm not as peppy as I used to be and as my previous post explains, I think I may be a little dated. But WHATS WRONG WITH THIS?

In so many other cultures, the elderly are valued as the most crucial members of society. Why, in our culture, is a 16 year old valued in the same manner? A person of 80 knows life well. A person of 16 thinks they know life well. I don't know about you, but I would much rather consult with an 80 year old about things like the meaning of life or how to get through difficult situations.

And here's another thought; why do "they" say that men age well, but women don't?? Maybe it's just my weird artistic eyes, but I can't see how old-age suits a man any better or worse than it suits a woman! I suppose if you believe that statement to be true then you will see it as so. But I think its absurd. However, it exemplifies another huge downfall of our culture - women are valued by their beauty. And I mean 'beauty' as in our standard of beauty which is an anorexic 19 year old with pouty lips and long eyelashes. 'Beauty' is actually quite a relative term, and I think old age can be just as beautiful as youth. But whatever.

The point of this post is that all these freakish people who spend thousands of dollars to look like plastic aliens are the eyesore products of a sad, vain culture. It's like a bad sore as the result of an infection. Maybe I'm just STRANGE in saying this, but I kind of look forward to being old. Maybe the perplexities of life will make more sense. Maybe they won't and I'll regret my words. But at least I'll be wise. At least I would hope so. I have an 80 year old in my life and I don't know what I would do without her!

So perhaps I'm too hard on those people who have so altered their faces and bodies that they look sub-human. I haven't walked in their shoes. Perhaps they are wearing pain. It sure took some pain to get their faces, that's for sure. I just hope that either we improve on our values as a society or develop some better way for making people not look odd. I mean - old.

TOP TEN; things that make me feel dated

2008-09-22T14:13:00.000-07:00

Am I dated? Are you dated? Here is what makes me feel it...

10. My hair looks almost exactly the same way now as it did back in high school. Granted, I am growing it out to donate but it is seriously long and (minus the severe side part flip), it looks much like it appears in my senior photo (circa 1995).

9. I still wear HUGE T-shirts, size XL. Most of these are T-shirts left over from church camps and college events. But looking around me at the gym, it looks like (over the years) the sizing of these "handout T's" has drastically scaled down. We were never allowed to pick a size. Everyone just got XL. It's also a sign that I am dated when my T-shirt has a front pocket and on that pocket it says 1990. People born in 1990 can now vote and I'm still wearing youth group T-shirts from the same year.

8. Seeing Fresh Prince on Nick at Night. What happened to truly old shows like Mr. Ed and My Three Sons? I mean, Fresh Prince is still so... fresh to me...

7. Going out (you know, OUT) and seeing people I used to babysit. Now, I don't go out much AT ALL ANYMORE (Ah, Mommyhood)... But I have had the experience of spotting what I thought was underage drinking, only to find that little Jimmy is actually 24 years old now. The same goes with all the people I used to babysit who are now married. I find out they are married and my first thought is that it's one of those 'shotgun' teen weddings. But I come to find out that I was actually younger than they were when I got married. Sheesh. Feeling old here PEOPLE!

6. When people call jeans "denim". I still call them "jeans" which isn't quite as bad as calling them "blue jeans" which is even more dated than just plain "jeans". When you call them "jeans" you definitely come from the 90's. I mean, I had black jeans, white jeans, green jeans, red jeans...

5. I still use words like "Awesome!" and "Cool!" - maybe these are still acceptable expressions to shout out. I don't know. Even more evidence of being dated. Has "Awesome" become the new "Groovy"?

4. I survived childhood with ADD and no medicine. Well, actually when they told me in college that I had ADD, they called it ADHD. Whatever. My point is that I actually made it through life without knowing it and I still managed to do OK and came out of college with a decent grade point average. It is considered a 'crime' of sorts these days not to medicate ADD kids.

3. Sesame street has all these new characters I didn't know about - I mean, we had Grover but he's been replaced by Elmo. The fact that I know that the boring purpe guy's name is Telly is also telling of my age.

2. I still tie shirts around my waist. No, they aren't big-plaid-flannel shirts, but it doesn't seem very hip to do this these days.

1. drum-roll please....Bono doesn't have a mullet anymore. He looks so... OLD! He looks like a "Pappy" or a "Pop Pop". So does Michael Stipe. I see them and just feel so.... DATED!

So, I suppose I'm stuck in the 90's a little. What makes you feel dated?

Super-Daddy

2008-09-11T13:05:00.000-07:00

So my little girl is sick again. Is it already 'sick season' again? Please God, no!!! This makes me dread the winter months EVEN MORE than I have previously stated.

Poor WK has had a fever that goes up and down rather rapidly. Yesterday morning I took her to see the doctor during the 'sick-walk-ins-welcomed' time. I heard those same old words again that I heard ten times last winter; VIRAL INFECTION.

I am beginning to think that 'viral infection' means "I have no idea, I'm just a doctor, and we don't really know that much." Of course, I am no doctor, but PEOPLE, why is there still no cure for the common cold?!? I mean REALLY! We have been to the moon, cloned animals and have the world at our fingertips with just the click of an iphone. I guess it just goes to show that there are still plenty of mysteries this world holds for us and this one particular mystery plagues our poor little snotty nosed kids.

So after being told that little WK has a 'viral infection', we came home for a nap. Afterward, her temperature spiked to 104.5! A tepid bath ensued with much protest from the sick party involved. Wow, it feels like you are torturing your child in the 'tepid bath' form of treatment! Finally the fever completely vanished. Relieved, we put her to bed thinking the worst was over. Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?

At midnight she woke, moaning. Her body was bright red and she was hot to the touch. Insert rectal thermometer (more torture) and there were the flashing numbers that sent a chill down my spine; 105.5 - Gulp - a pursuit to the ER proceeded as I had previously been told by my nurse to take her to see someone if the temp rose to 105. Seeing that it was midnight, the ER was our only option.

In the waiting room, I was quite nervous because of the high temp. My heart was pumping in my throat and I tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths. These deep breaths gave way to a complete feeling of drowsiness. Granted it was midnight, but something more powerful was taking over. I suddenly remembered my ill fate; I had taken drugs just minutes before WK woke with the 105.5 fever.

Not DRUGS drugs, but sleeping pills. Tylenol PM to be exact. You see, I haven't been able to fall asleep as of late due to recent events. The past few nights I have taken Tylenol PM to help and have SLEPT LIKE A BABY because of it. But, you see, I don't exactly have a good history with 'drugs'...

Apparently when I take pain killers, I call everyone on my 'contacts' list in my phone and chat nonstop with slurred words. Some of you have been victims of these calls. I'm so sorry. When I take Benadryl, I sleep for days. Literally. Some of you have also witnessed this. And when I had my wisdom teeth out, my Mom had to lock me in the car when she stopped for a prescription on the way home because I was running wild in the parking lot after her. When she came back to car I was on the floorboard in the back seat "looking for my brother". You get the picture - I turn into a crazy drugged fool when I take anything of any kind. I thought Tylenol PM didn't have this effect on me. Oh me of little faith...

I also have a little problem once I fall asleep; I PASS OUT. It happens often on the couch and nobody can wake me. AND I MEAN NOBODY. I have been told I scream at people who attempt to arouse me. Just ask Matt. He'll give you an earful.

By the time we had been admitted to a room in the ER, I was falling over, dead-tired. I remember sitting on the hospital bed with WK in my lap and hearing "Mommy! Mommy" As I was falling forward on her, my dead weight pressing on her little body. There she was, running an incredibly high fever and her MOTHER of all people looked like a passed out drunk.

Thankfully her fever was coming down as we waited for the doctor to come see us. She was in such a great mood, but I missed most of it as I was COMPLETELY OUT OF IT. I remember Matt grabbing onto my shoulders, trying to wake me saying "You need to just stand up!". Stand up? I couldn't hold my eyelids open! I kept shouting "I'm drugged" and according to Matt I did a lot of shouting.

In the room was one adult-sized hospital bed and one reclining chair. I was sprawled on the bed with WK playing around me while Matt sat in the recliner. I faintly remember she and Matt playing little games and laughing hysterically. (Do I have an easy kid or what? I mean, sicker than ever and STILL LAUGHING??!!?) Several times I was startled out of my sleep by her shrieks and movements. I vividly remember thinking that I was asleep in bed at home and that for some unknown reason Matt was tickling me. Had this been a reality, it would of course have outraged me, which is why I responded in such an angry manner. Matt said I screamed out several times "STOP TICKLING ME, MATT!". From what I remember, the walls were very thin at this ER place so I'm sure the staff thought I was the patient - in need of a lock-down facility!

This is what I remember - Matt in my face, trying to wake me up. "Why is he being so mean? Why won't he let me sleep?" Remember, I thought I was at home in bed. Then he was in my face again, trying to wake me up. Then I remember being told to be quiet. But I hadn't said anything! (I had).

Matt: "Stop shouting!"
Me: (shouting with eyes closed) "I'M NOT SHOUTING!"
Matt: "Wake up"
Me: (still shouting with eyes closed) "Leave me alone!"
Matt: "Jennifer, you need to stand up!"
Me: (still shouting with eyes closed) "LET GO OF ME!"

It seemed this 'conversation' repeated itself several times in between bouts of sleeping. At one point I remember smacking his hand. I don't remember why I smacked it, but I remember smacking it because the loud crack I made woke me for a second. I remember saying "Did I just hit you?" and then I was out again.

Poor, poor Matt. He deserves some kind of medal for making it through last night. When I called my Mom this morning, she said I "better make him a really nice meal tonight!"

So FINALLY the doctor arrived in the room. The door made a very loud noise when he opened it and I shot strait up and and shouted "I'm up!". He looked at me and started talking but nothing was coming out of his mouth. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. It appeared that everyone was waiting for me to answer a question. I looked back at the doctor who had a pensive look on his face. I said nothing. I had heard nothing. Why were we here again?

The doctor quickly shifted his questions to Matt and I became aware that they were having a conversation and I no longer had any part in it. Shaking my head and pinching myself helped to bring me more into a state of coherency.

"Has she had any other symptoms besides fever?" - the doctor's lips were forming audible words now. "No, not really" responded Matt. I attempted to talk at this point though I am sure I was talking with much higher decibels than the rest in the room. I tried to explain the history of the fever, the visit to the doctor earlier that day. I tried to speak slowly so he could fully understand me. I may have been drugged, but I was THE MOMMY! I needed to tell the story!

The doctor listened to me with a look if irritation. Maybe he thought I was a mental patient. Maybe he was looking for more excitement than just a fever. I don't know. At any rate, he wasn't too happy. None of us were happy for that matter. I was dying for sleep, Matt had been attacked, and the doctor was peeved. The exception was the patient. WK was flipping through a Babar book, blabbing about something and smiling as she turned the pages. She was perfect. Why were we there?

In the end, the doctor told us she was fine, her fever was down and that we could go home. He did make us feel a little silly for being there, which he really shouldn't have. But I suppose he had other reasons for being irritated (perhaps my behavior being one of them).

We arrived back to the house at 2:30 and I fell asleep on the short drive home and apparently stayed in the car sleeping for some time while Matt put WK to bed. I remember almost falling out of the car when he opened the door that my dead weight was leaned against.

Poor Matt stayed up till 4am to give her a dosage of Tylenol while I lay snoring in the bed from my dosage of Tylenol.

I have since apologized for my crazy behavior, which at the time (to me) seemed completely understandable.

WK is still running a fever off and on, but she is in great spirits. I have learned some valuable lessons in all of this;

1. No more 'drugs' for Mommy
2. My little girl is a champ
3. I have a pretty awesome husband.

I do feel terrible for SLEEPING while in the ER for my child - but I guess it's a lesson learned in taking Tylenol PM. NEVER AGAIN!!!! Thank goodness I married a man who could care for a sick toddler and a blabbering fool. Thanks Matt.

Bloggidy-blog

2008-09-10T12:55:00.000-07:00

So have I mentioned that lately blogging has been therapeutic? Well, it has. Lovely light topics take my mind to happy places. Am I being shallow? Perhaps. But sometimes it is in the shallow waters that we find distraction and peace, a rest from the deep end.

I think I was meant to blog. I blogged as a kid. Of course, the internet wasn't readily available until high school, but I had notebook paper and pens and set to work at an early age discussing things. Since the 3rd grade, I have kept journals full of my thoughts in addition to many notebooks and loose leaf papers detailing my opinions on life, culture and people. I wrote restaurant reviews in middle school on Po' Folks and Mr. Gattis Pizza. I interviewed friends for my "newspaper" that nobody ever read. I asked them their views on abortion and other hot topics of the time. I recently found many of these writings when digging through some old boxes in my parent's attic. I scarcely remember writing so much, but it doesn't surprise me. I have always been interested in writing short articles, commentaries and humorous stories.

I will confess, my dream job is to write for Travel and Leisure. Could you imagine? Jetting off to Paris for an article on Parisian spas... And (Oh!) to be a restaurant critic! Good food, write about the good food, go find more good food. Might gain a little too much weight on that job. Would have to be part time at a fitness magazine as well.

At any rate, I do have this little blog here to put my thoughts down. And I did get a massage two weeks ago while in Nashville that I could tell you all about, so there's a little Travel & Leisure for you.

Well, I suppose I was a born blogger. Born to share my feelings with YOU, INTERNET! Perhaps one day that dream job will come along and I can jet off to write about exciting stuff. But for now, its the not-so-boring life of a stay at home Mom, the not-too-exciting things I do in my free time and the Oh-so-crazy things that tend to happen to me in my life. (See "embarrassing moments" in the sidebar)

So I've written a blog about blogging. Lacking things to talk about? No. Just thinking in circles for now. Treading in the shallows, you know?

Eating makes me happy

2008-09-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

So when I'm down, I eat. It's a fact. I have come across some good food in my quest to feel a little better in these last couple of weeks. Here are some finds.

First, the restaurant dishes;

If you live in Memphis, you know all about Ronnie Grisanti's food; it's pretty darn good. Bol a Pasta is one of the family's eateries. The most casual of the restaurants, Bol a Pasta offers some tasty food. I recently tried the "Smoked Chicken Ravioli with Diablo" and it was TO DIE FOR. The chicken ravioli was tasty and tender and it was smothered with a perfectly paired sauce that was as spicy and rich as an Indian curry sauce, with chunks of freshly stewed tomato and a sweet aftertaste that left you wanting more. The freshly baked bread came in handy to scoop up the remaining sauce. YUM. Perfect comfort food for hungry Memphians.

Memphians, you may not know this but there is a HIDDEN GEM in Germantown called Las Tortugas Deli Mexicana and let me tell you it is absolutely fabulous. This is REAL MEXICAN food with no touches of Tex-Mex or American influence. And it is pretty darn good. Everything is made with fresh ingredients that were at the market THAT MORNING. Try the fish tacos, it is a beautiful experience. I PROMISE. It's amazing that a place like this is even in Memphis. So take advantage of this gem of a spot, Memphians!

Pacific Organic tomato & roasted red pepper soup is EXCELLENT. It's good for you (though the sodium is relatively high) and it is SOOOO tasty. It comes prepared already with milk and everything - all you have to do is heat and serve. DELICIOUS.

Oh my goodness you have got to try these chips - Tera "Mediterranean" vegetable chips. I had never tasted this variety until last week and I'm embarrassed to say that the whole bag was gone in less than 24 hours, thanks entirely to yours truly. (Yikes!)

I also made the most excellent sandwiches this weekend. Buy a loaf of fresh ciabatta bread , 8 oz. of fresh mozzarella (round soft ball), basil leaves and five or six super-thin slices of prosciutto. I got all of my ingredients at Super Target and instead of purchasing a $6 package of proscuitto, I had them slice some for me in the deli that ended up being close to the same amount, but only cost me $1.20! ---- Slice the ciabatta bread down the center, brush both sides with a bit of olive oil, lay down proscuitto on one side, top with sliced mozzarella and sprinkle a bit of freshly ground pepper. Top with basil leaves and voila, you have my version of a caprese sandwich.

So, that's whats been going in lately. Pretty good COMFORT FOOD!!!

Some like it hot

2008-09-05T20:21:00.000-07:00

So, I have another big secret to confess, besides the one about being a die-hard Republican... I love really, really hot weather. I love getting into hot cars. I love having to wear sunglasses and flip flops. I love walking outside and being blasted by burning hot,99-degree-Tennessee-late-July hotness. Seriously, I do!

Today's cool weather sent chills down my spine, reminding me that the onset of cold weather is beginning. Most people absolutely LOVE fall. I don't hate it by any means (though I do HATE winter), but its like the dawn of the frozen dead days ahead. And I'm talking about the dreaded months of January and February where (even in Tennessee) it's so cold, your bones hurt. I constantly live in fear of these months - of the static electricity - having to wear socks and shoes - the threat of frosts - freezing weather - or even (gasp!) SNOW! I ABHOR snow. The thought of dragging out thick sweaters and the disappearance of all that's green outside makes me nauseated.

So, while most people were enjoying the hint of fall today, I was holding onto that weather report that says it will be 90 degrees again in a few days. YES, I know it feels good outside right now and I fully recognize that its entirely more bearable to be outside in this weather for long periods of time. I have never claimed to enjoy long periods of time in my preferred hotness.

And yes, you read right - I like getting into steaming hot cars - I always have. I believe my Grandmother enjoys it too, but apart from her, I have never met anyone who has the same pleasurable experience that I do... You open the doors and its so incredibly hot - you sit down and the seat nearly burns your skin - aahh... feels so good... like a sauna room. I'm always amused at how disgusted people become when they see that I like it. They scream at me "Turn the air on! Turn it on!" (I usually sit in the heat for a minute or two before turning on the AC)...

And who wants to say goodbye to flip flops? The greatest shoe of all time? And the pool - oh! the pool! How I will miss those refreshing dips. I love the smell of sunscreen. Sometimes in the dead of winter, I catch a whiff of it in an airport - a vacationer fresh from the islands - and a little tear begins to form in the corner of my eye as I trudge past in wool socks and three layers of itchy clothing.

Tank tops, browned shoulders, fresh strawberries and little kids selling lemonade all go to the wayside with the onset of fall. And oh! - the days become shorter. Again, I am nauseated with the reminder of those short days where it's dark at 4:30 in the afternoon. Give me days where the sun sets after 8 in the evening with fireflies and cicadas singing in the grass.

Maybe its the perpetual scar that SCHOOL has left on me. I HATED SCHOOL. I still struggle with depression every Sunday night (leftover impending Monday-morning-school-day doom). Perhaps the return every fall left a bitter taste in my mouth for the season.

At any rate, its time for my "confessions of a summer freak" to end. And so, I bid farewell to summer. Oh, how I will miss thee. And now, a little sonnet to express my feelings...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Why am I blogging about such ridiculous topics like bidding farewell to summer? Because sometimes its the light stuff in life that gives respite to a grieving heart. And nothing gives me respite like the blaring sunshine...

Way to go!

2008-09-04T20:05:00.000-07:00

Wow, I was so impressed with McCain's speech tonight at the RNC. I was completely captivated by his inspiring message of what it means to serve our country. Not only was he inspirational, but he was fair to Obama and did not bash him. I admire this greatly. He spoke of the differences of their plans and the possible undesirable outcomes of his opponent, but nothing was below the belt and he kept the speech on his plan - his experience - his dream. I was actually moved to tears (but not the kind that fall, just the hot kind that pool in your eyes) when he spoke of how he was broken as a POW and how his fellow prisoners literally saved his life. He wasn't bragging - this is part of his story - a big part of who he is today. He preached a selfless servitude towards our great country and prompted us all to pursue this attitude. I thought it was an excellent speech, as good as any made by Reagan. Way to go McCain. Proud to be a supporter.

Oh - and what is up with these crazed demonstrators sneaking in to cause a disruption? I can only imagine they feel as if they are on some kind of crusade - but they are making COMPLETE fools of themselves. I have quite enjoyed watching the crazies being escorted out!

... And I'm proud to be a Republican....

2008-09-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

There has been much speculation by friends as to my political views. How can someone like me be a republican? Well people, it's simple.

I think this quote below best explains my political views;

"You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You cannot help the wage earner by pulling down the wage payer. You cannot further the brotherhood of man by encouraging class hatred. You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich. You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than you earn. You cannot build character and courage by taking away man's initiative and independence. You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they could and should do for themselves." - Abraham Lincoln

McCain holds strongly to these values and beliefs. That is why he is the candidate for me. Beyond heated controversial party differences, (which I also have many opinions on), the above quote best sums up why I identify with the republican party. This is why I am proud to call myself a "conservative". How controversial! What a scandal! Yes, folks, it's true. I am a closet Republican fanatic. I just can't help myself!