Focus On The Positive

The kiddie train must have been full (likely with other moms who didn't want to ride the roller coaster anymore) because I was definitely not riding along smoothly this week. However, I did have some wonderful experiences this week and in an attempt to focus on the positive, as I so often demand my family, I will tell you about them. Our family, all 5 of us, had a lovely dinner at Chili's - good food, good value, great company. My daughter got into a very hard to get into program at the college we visited. My daughter is ranked in the top 10 seniors of her graduating class. My ladies Bible study iced and decorated cupcakes for a soup kitchen. That was all good except for when the icing bag exploded . . . 3 times. I walked 5 times with my neighbor, averaging 2 miles each walk and I know this because my pedometer has decided to behave. As a result of the walking and eating better I lost 3 pounds (I know it's not a lot, but we're focusing on the positive). I finally found a pair of Sketcher sandals to replace the ones Bart ate and bought them in a whole size smaller than I usually wear. I told my daughter that the 3 pounds I lost must have all been in my feet. And finally, our son (who was just nominated for National Honor Society) made our family breakfast yesterday morning. Scrambled eggs, home-made pancakes, sausage, oranges and hot tea. It doesn't get much better than that!

Life Adapted

Our anniversary week was like a roller coaster, much like our life . . . It began fine, meeting with friends, who live far away, at an Arby's. We moved 6 tables together, fought about who would pay (we snuck two 20 dollar bills in our friend's purse when she wasn't looking - heehee), decorated the tables with flowers that were given as gifts, ate and sat for hours. Every one of us left beaming with delight. The next day we said good-bye to a lovely couple and their daughter who sold all their possessions to move to an over-crowded island for mission work. The next day I went to my son's baseball game - they lost . . . bad. The next day I had invited an old friend to lunch, but forgot and when she knocked on the door, which I answered in my sweats, all I had to offer was a bunch of rotten bananas. I made banana muffins, which I served with butter, tea served with honey and a small fruit salad of apples and grapes. We talked and laughed for about 2 hours until we noticed how sick the cat was looking. She left, I called my daughter at college (it's her cat) and she came home to say good-bye to Kate. Kate died during the night. On our anniversary morning I asked my husband to bury Kate next to the flower garden. He said, "Sure." I went out to say good-bye to Kate and realized my husband thought I said, "Bury Kate IN the flower garden." The next day I hopped on a plane to look at a college with my daughter in Florida, which is pretty far from NJ. Let's see, we got lost, but found our way, loved the college which causes me distress, visited a friend, went to the beach only to find it full of Man-O-Wars, said good-bye to my friend and then flew home. It's now a new week and hopefully instead of a roller coaster, I can ride on the little kiddie train . . .

It Began With A Broom

It all began innocently enough. I grabbed the broom and began to sweep a corner of the garage. I pushed aside an old vacuum cleaner so I could sweep under it and I saw what junk it was and I didn't want to put it back, so I grabbed a big garbage bag and put the vacuum cleaner in it. I had space left in the bag and thought it a waste not to fill the bag with other junk so I pulled other stuff out to be thrown away. But then the bag began to overflow and I needed to get another bag. The second bag was only half full when I was finished with that corner so I decided to sweep another part of the garage. I swept under a shelf that needed organizing and noticed items we had since 1988 and I easily filled up bag #2. My third bag got filled up in blink, as did bag #4, 5 and 6. After bag #8 or maybe it was 9, my foot began to hurt. Just about that time my husband pulled into the driveway. I limped over to him and said, "My foot hurts, 'feet hurt'." He said, "Don't you 'feet hurt' me! Are you cookoo?!" I ignored him and asked sweetly, "Do you think you can take this stuff to the dump?" Which he did, all 480 pounds of it! When he got back I had 3 more bags and a severely sore foot. He took away my broom and my garbage bags and didn't call me 'feet hurt' for days : ( But, alas, yesterday was our anniversary, and he is the one who is cookoo because for 26 years he's been married to me. He wrote on my anniversary card, "For My Feet Hurt." : )

A Stitch Story

When my oldest daughter was three, she loved going to visit my good friend across the street. She would pick up and run across the street. As you can imagine, this was not a safe thing for her to do. First, I scolded, to no avail. Then, I spanked, to no avail. Then, I spanked and scolded, to no avail. Then, I set her in her playpen every time I left the room. Finally, I sat her down at the curb and told her that if she ran across the street and a car was coming, SMACK! She'd hit the pavement and her skin would split open and I'd have to take her to the emergency room where the doctor would use a needle and thread to stitch her back together again. That prevented her from running across the street, however, that did not prevent her from falling on her chin in the driveway. I took her to the emergency room and the nurse said, "She needs stitches." My daughter began to scream, "NO, I DON'T WANT THE DOCTOR TO PUT A NEEDLE IN ME AND SEW ME BACK TOGETHER!" The nurse said, "Oh, she's had stitches before?" "No," I said. The nurse replied in disgust, "Well, how does a 3 year old know the graphic details of stitches?" "Because," I said, weakly, "I am a good mother." I guess it doesn't matter what we say to the ER nurses, the fact that you're in an ER in the first place reflects poorly on your motherhood. The nurse had to strap my daughter in a papoose to keep her from running out the door into the street. Sheesh, if I had had a papoose I could have kept my daughter from running into the street, too.

P.S. To Love Thy Neighbor

A friend of mine said to me, "Imagine if you had planted your neighbors plants? They could have been pretty annoyed with you." Certainly, they could have been, with every right, annoyed with me if I had planted someone else's Easter gifts in their garden. I hope I would have thought the whole thing out before I actually followed through with "loving thy neighbor." But this leads me to a whole other thought process. I really did want to love my neighbor and I really did want to follow God's command and I really did have the best of intentions and I really did love the idea of planting those flowers and I, I, I . . . who's this about anyway? . . . certainly not my neighbor . . . and there goes the good deed, lost in a sea of pride. God really does want us to love our neighbors, but in a way that our neighbors would appreciate. Last night someone said to me, "People who are hard to love are hard to love." It's easy to do an act of kindness for thy neighbor if the act is something we love to do. The real love comes from doing an act of kindness that thy neighbor would love. And as it turns out, God being the merciful and wise God that He is, I was provided with an opportunity to do an act of kindness when my neighbor said she'd walk with me. We spent the morning walking and talking and then sitting and talking and then standing and talking and then saying good-bye and talking. I do love to talk. Maybe this was an act of kindness on her part . . .

Stitches

So, my husband says, "Can you move your toes?"
I tried to and cried, "Waaaa, I can't move my toes!"
He said, "Yes, look your toes are moving."
I cried, "Waaaa, I can't feel my toes!"
He said, "Nobody can feel their toes."
I cried, "Waaaa . . . wait, what?"
He said, "Touch them and see if you feel anything."
I said, "Waaaa, I'm afraid."
He said, "Don't be afraid, because if you can't feel anything, it won't hurt when you get stitches."
I said, "Waaaa, I don't want stitches. I'll just stitch it myself. Get me a needle and thread."
He said, "Get in the car."
To the doctor in the ER I said, "Waaaa, can't I just stitch it myself."
The doctor said, "Does it hurt?"
I said, "Waaaa, it does."
He said, "What does it feel like?"
I said, "Like pain, duh."
He said, "Well, I'm done. Come back in 10 days and I'll remove the stitches."
To the nurse I said, "Can't I just remove the stitches myself and do I really need a tetanus shot and can I give it to myself if I really need it?"
The nurse said, "No and yes and no." However, after he gave me the tetanus shot, he gave my husband one sterilized Suture Removal Kit and said, "She ain't coming back, is she?"
" . . . ah . . . no," said the wisest man I know, my one and only, my feet hurt.

My Foot Hurts, Feet Hurt

One evening about 24 years ago, my husband came up from behind me and whispered (into my bad ear), "My feet hurt."
I said, "Aww, what happened?"
He said, smiling, "You happened."
I said, "What?! What did I do to make your feet hurt?"
He said, "My feet don't hurt."
I said, "Yes, they do."
He said, "No, they don't."
I said, "Why did you just tell me your feet hurt?"
He said, "You're cookoo. I never said that."
I said, "Yes, you did, you came up to me and whispered 'my feet hurt'."
He said, "I said, 'my sweetheart', I was whispering sweet nothings into your ear."
I said, "That was my bad ear and who are you calling cookoo?"
So, the joke has been for 24 years that we call each other "feet hurt."
Today I said, "My foot hurts."
He said, "You mean feet hurt."
I said, "No, my foot hurts. I dropped the toilet tank top on it and I think I need stitches."
He said, "You're cookoo."
I said, "Please take me to the hospital."
He said, "How bad does your foot hurt, feet hurt?"
I said, "Bad and who are you calling cookoo?"

Love Thy Neighbor

I had been thinking about how God commands us to love our neighbors as ourselves. It's not a suggestion and there is no qualifier like, "Love your neighbor if he is nice." So, as I was walking today I was thinking, "what can I do to show my neighbor that I love him?" I saw these beautiful Easter plants on the side of one of the neighbor's home. I thought, "I'll finish my walk, go home to get my gardening tools and come back and plant them for them." I was tickled as I walked my 2 miles and thought about it. I plotted the whole scene in my head. I knew exactly where I would plant each Easter Lily and each Tulip. I visualized the Sun's pattern across their property and their trees to figure out what spot would get the best sun/shade combination. I even vowed to go back to their house each week with my watering can and fertilizer to ensure the plants would thrive. You reap what you sow, right? What a blessing it would be for me to love my neighbor, to follow God's command. I could share all this with the ladies at my Bible study and be an inspiration, a shining example. I was smiling ear to ear . . . until . . . I walked back past my neighbor's house . . . the Easter plants were gone . . . they were loaded up in the back of their car . . . apparently they were Easter gifts . . . those rat finks!!

Praise The Lord

I am getting so sick and tired of hearing women complain about motherhood. There are new books published each day on the subject of motherhood and stay-at-home moms. Each is said to be written with wit and humor, but instead most are written with a negative spin about moms being the "victim" because no one ever told them how hard it is. Wawawa, call the wambulance! There are movies on the topic as well, with beautiful, witty and hostile mothers who are striving to feel worth in their chaotic life. I want to shout from the roof tops and slap these ladies upside their heads (okay, I do understand that some of these emotions may be the result of unstable hormones brought on by menopause . . . but now I digress). Stop complaining ladies and start praising God for your blessings. Repeat after me. "Thank you God for the miracle of life and my beautiful child(ren). Thank you for this kitchen and bathroom that I must clean and this home that shelters us. Thank you for dollar store goodie bag items. Thank you for my vacuum cleaner that vacuums up dollar store goodie bag items. Thank you for the food that I put on the table each day. Thank you that I have able hands and feet to serve this food to my family. Thank you Lord for the blessings that are abounding in my life." When you start praising God for each of your blessings you will see that there is no time for complaining because we could praise God all day long. That's it for now for this rant, I must go yell at blessing number 3 to get off the phone . . .

Believe Me

I can't believe another month has gone by. It's already April. It's getting too close to shorts and bathing suit weather. I started off my month very poorly, diet wise. For breakfast I had eggs . . . chocolate malted ones with speckled candy coating - yummy. For my mid-morning snack I had more eggs, marshmallow ones with dark chocolate coating. Then for lunch I figured I needed to clean up my menu so I had cheese . . . doodles, that is . . . lots of them. As I type this, my fingers are still orange. I decided I needed to get out and walk off some of these bad calories so I walked 3 and a half miles down to the new Shop Rite where I purchased a muffin . . . with chocolate chips. I walked the 3 and a half miles back home and I was starving. Guess what I had then? M & M's!! Yummy, yummy, yummy. . . and if you believed any of this . . . April Fool's.