The Snotty, Sweaty Side of Hope

Favorite and I try to pretend we're socially capable people.  We do this by occasionally leaving our hobbit hole and visiting restaurants, or if we're feeling particularly people-friendly, the movies.  We've even ventured out recently in search of Christmas decorations.  (Because I'm actually making it happen this year.  Well, I would if Target would ship my tree already.  C'mon Target.  I gave you business.  You give me a tree.  We all have Christmas spirit.  Right?)

But most of our forays into truly social behavior should be tempered with the fact that we rarely interact with anyone but each other while we're out, and we mostly avoid situations that would require the attention of an audience.  We may be funny, but I promise we're really only behind-the-scenes amusing.  We are not stand-up-comedian material.

You'd think this valuable piece of information would've come to mind when PastorJosh asked us to kick off the Advent season by reading in front of the church.

You'd think.

Unfortunately, you'd be wrong.  See, something about actually putting up a Christmas tree and decorating the house after seven years of not bothering coupled with an emotional gratefulness for Ryan's surprise conception tickled something in my heart.  So I forgot who I was for a second and agreed to PastorJosh's proposal.

When I read through his email, I felt good about the commitment.  The reading was about the light of the world and how Christ came to be a light in the darkness.  I nodded my head as I read each paragraph believing Favorite and I would do our part as asked.  Still, it never occurred to me that we are the people who light candles and accidentally set something on fire--information that would've been helpful to consider given the circumstances.

I was blissfully contented with our capabilities until PastorJosh brought me the print-out on Sunday morning.  Turns out, in a burst of genius, he decided to change the reading to coincide with his sermon.

"OK," I nervously thought to myself.  "All we have to do is read.  It'll be fine."

PastorJosh calmly explained he would call us up front and we would could take it from there.  Our responsibilities were three-fold:

1.  Read the assigned scripture.
2.  Read the attached information regarding the assigned scripture.
3.  Light the candle.

But by the time we were called to the front?  Favorite had started to sweat.

(A bit of a side note:  Favorite does not sweat well.  He only sweats when he is extremely hot or extremely nervous.  And it's not a "glistening" sort of glow, either.  He drenches clothing in an attempt to expel all water from his body.  It's a look-at-the-guy-who-just-got-out-of-the-pool scenario.)

By the time we'd taken the ten steps to the front of the church, the back of his shirt was completely drenched and he was well on his way to changing the color of his jeans.  PastorJosh smiled and commented that it was only appropriate to ask us to read given the fact that we were expecting our first child--a son--and during this Advent season we all look to Christ with hopeful expectation.

We smiled, but the emotional response behind the public recognition of our son was already starting to boil.

(Another side note:  Favorite and I do not do public displays of emotion well.  Because most of our public reactions tend to be socially "off," it should be obvious that emotional outbursts are red-faced, snotty messes.  And before you ask:  Yes, we are ashamed of this fact.)

PastorJosh handed us that microphone with a smile and returned to his seat.  (Likely with hopeful expectation.  He should've known better.)

Favorite began to read the words of Isaiah 9.

He really was doing a great job, sweat and all.  We'd managed to look normal, and then it hit us:  Isaiah 9!  Right as Favorite hit verse six, there was a catch in his voice:  "For to us a child is born,/ to us a son is given..."

Without much warning, his eyes teared up and he stopped for a few minutes.

Let's take a break to imagine a scenario together.  Imagine that the man you love, the one you've worked so hard with to achieve a goal, suddenly recognizes the blessing of that achievement and gets a bit teary-eyed.  That would be enough to cause the most unemotional woman to blink back tears.  Unfortunately, I'm not unemotional; I'm pregnant.  So his pause was my downfall.

I couldn't even stop them.  Tears start rolling out of my eyes and my body was involuntarily convulsing.  I was doing my best to control it, so it was only a slight shudder every now and again, but I'm pretty sure it looked like I was having mini-seizures.

When Favorite handed me the microphone, I proceeded to read my section as fast as my air intake would allow.  We just.needed.to.sit.down.  Otherwise?  I was going to fall to the floor in a fit of emotional gratitude that likely wouldn't translate to an all-church revival.  Trackin'?

Stiffening my body to control my seizures, I got to this portion of the reading:  "In times past, we looked forward to God's promise of the Messiah with great hope and expectation..."  

The statement itself, while true, should've been a relatively benign part of the reading.  But it was hot.  And my Favorite was already teary-eyed.  And Ryan was there.  After seven and a half years of trusting God to carry us.  So I really didn't have much control over myself.

I started crying.  Not the few tears I couldn't blink back from before.  We're talking an all-out-can't-speak-without-your-voice-shaking sob fest.

And when I started crying, my nose started running.  Not a feminine, little, sniff-worthy run, either, mind you. It was a rivers of mucus moment.  I actually had to take my mind off of the reading for what seemed like an eternity to make that age old decision:  do I wipe my nose with my hand in front of all these people and risk the great clinging snot escapade?  Or do I just let it run and hope this ends as quickly as possible?

Then, without much rational thought, I wiped.  With the hand holding the microphone.

Social outcasts, I tell you.

We finally stumbled through the end of our reading and, looking at the floor, managed to make it back to our seats forgetting the third part of our responsibility:  LIGHT THE STUPID CANDLE, YOU CRAZIES!

But given our stellar performance up to this point, it was probably just as well we didn't light any fires in the sanctuary.  Lord knows how that would've gone down.

The moral of the story?  We will never, ever, ever, ever read in church again.  (Make a song out of that experience, Taylor.)  And we will return to our hobbit hole where we can snot and sweat in private.

But we will do it with hearts bursting with gratitude over our situation.  And we will do it with the realization that hopeful expectation comes full circle in the hand of the Father.  We are so blessed.

For to us a child is born,

    to us a son is given,

    and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

⁷ 

Of the greatness of his government and peace

    there will be no end.

How Not to be a Christian DoucheRocket per PastorJosh

Every time I visit my blog, for the brief number of minutes I have between swearing I'm going to shave my legs and reading another chapter in The Scarlet Letter, I promise myself that there's more to me than Little Navajo and it's really time I got back to talking about what I'm learning, failing to learn or spectacularly failing to learn because most things in my life can be sorted by one of those three categories.

Take, for example, the reason I'm mostly absent from the interwebs these days:  PastorJosh's statements regarding my EPIC FAIL approach to God and life in general.

(Ha.  If he reads this he's totally going to be all insulted.  And then my dad will spend the next three weeks asking him if he's mad.  And he'll say no, but he'll really mean yes because I basically just told you he's a judgmental fool.)

I guess a diplomatic person would just say he started sermon series on Christian living and seeking God.  (I prefer interpretive meanings, though.  They make conversation so much more exciting.)  And, like any good church goer, I diligently highlighted and made notes on my Nook so I could review the concepts at some later date.  (Like five years from now.)

Somewhere in the middle of all that business, though, was this nagging push to "redeem the time."

Unlike John Wesley, my push toward redeeming the time had little to do with taking my life back from the yawning jaws of sleep.  (Frankly, Little Navajo is ensuring that fewer and fewer hours are dedicated to my formerly favorite activity so there's not much to "take back" at the moment.)  Instead, I think God is trying to claim me from the grip of "Once Upon a Time" and Pinterest.

(I seriously don't understand it.  I'm disgusted with the introduction of Mulan and the Dread Pirate Roberts, but I'm enthralled with all of my fairy tale characters.  Why was Sleeping Beauty left behind?  Why is Rumpelstiltskin the only one still capable of manipulating magic?  And Mulan?  Really?)

It's more than that, though.  To some degree, I had been forgoing responsibilities for the sake of fellowship, fun or mindless entertainment.  Necessity took a backseat to my celebratory attitude, because, frankly?  This part of my life has been an overwhelming miracle and I want to acknowledge that fact with as many people as possible as often as possible.  Restaurants!  Laughter!  Movies!  That's real celebration.  No one puts exclamation points behind staying home, doing laundry or lesson planning.

And yet there's something about not wearing dirty underwear that's appealing to me.

It's so easy to recognize priorities verbally and so difficult to follow through with that prioritization, isn't it?  In fact, here's what my priorities sound like:

Clearly, I have things in working order.

But if you pay attention, here's what my priorities look like:

I mean, it's not like my verbal priorities are completely ignored.  There's just no discernible pattern that dictates how I order my time to value those priorities.  And honestly?  I want Favorite to feel like a priority just like I want to be a priority in his life.

So I'm learning to set goals for work each day instead of trying to clear my desk completely, getting overwhelmed and then giving up.  To pray and study scripture regularly.  To spend the occasional Saturday at home to catch up on laundry and relax.  To say no to things that sound awesome and repeatedly ignore what really needs my attention.

And it also means allowing myself less time each day to share my lack of learning.

I'm still looking for a happy medium in blogdom.  For now, two to three times a week seems sufficient.

But sometimes words need to be shared.  And I have a lot of them...

How do you navigate priorities?

The Shock That Was My Diagnosis

The day we found out I was pregnant, I expected to schedule surgery.  That is God's honest truth, but I should probably start from the beginning so you get a better idea of how I got to that point.

Most of you will probably remember the fact that I had been participating in Made to Crave and had committed to training for a 5K with the CCL earlier in the summer.  We were militant in our consistency to train.  It was rare we missed more than two nights of walking/running and logged food every.single.day.  Due to my PCOS, my weight loss had been slow, albeit consistent.

Then, all of a sudden, weird things happened.  To start, I couldn't eat much of anything without getting really sick to my stomach.  I would run anyway, stopping only to throw up a few times before I continued my pace.  My belly felt distended and gross, and food just didn't sound appetizing.

My super encouraging running group consulted one evening and decided I would go to the emergency room--which I refused.  (And not graciously.)  The CCL, a nurse with only good stories to share (ha!), was convinced I had a bowel obstruction.  Every symptom I had seemed to fit with that diagnosis and PastorJosh and my mom were concerned that this really was something serious I was treating like a mild rash.  To ease their concerns, I swore I would go to the doctor the very next day.  The next morning, my mom actually called to confirm I was following through with that promise.  

Favorite and I drove to the clinic together and the doctor I saw was an energetic little guy.  He went through all my symptoms and asked me to jump up on the table.  When he pressed on my right side, I almost punched him.  "Oh, so you're a little tender there?" he said with a smile.  "Yep.  Looks like gall bladder.  We can do a screen with our machine.  Just have a run a couple of tests first."

"What kind of tests?" I asked.

"Oh, you know, a pregnancy test.  Can't expose you to all that radiation if you're pregnant."

My response?  I laughed.  (Looking back, I totally understand how Sarai could've laughed at the Angel who told Abram they would conceive.  That was such a ridiculous conclusion.  How could it prompt anything but giggles?)  Then, I spent the next ten minutes explaining why the pregnancy test was a complete waste of time and resources, and ended by asking the doctor to please perform the scan anyway.

He hesitated, agreed and left the room.

He came back in two seconds and told me he just didn't feel right about abandoning protocol and asked me to take the test.  I grumbled but complied.  It was a waste of time, but it would satisfy his requirements and then we could move on.

About 3 minutes later, he walked back into my room and said, "Well, we won't be performing any scan on you today!"

I responded, "Oh?  Is your machine broken?"

He looked at me completely bewildered and said, "Um.  No.  You're pregnant so we can't run the test."

Pregnant?  Me?  The guy must have been kidding.  In fact, the nurse ran a second test just so I would believe what they were saying.  I stared at those little strips in complete disbelief.  It was surreal.  How was I pregnant?  (Logistically, I know how one gets pregnant.  But the likelihood that I would be, particularly when one considers my history, changed this scenario a bit.  I should also probably mention that I also had gall bladder problems--likely caused by the pregnancy per my doctor.)

Since Favorite was in the waiting room, the doctor went to get him.  We were both completely shocked and the doctor was so giddy he could hardly stand it.

Our first ultrasound came almost a week later as the result of a bleeding scare.  And on the screen, Little Navajo was timed perfectly with my last period.  I don't mean that to be TMI, but for someone with PCOS, this is a huge deal.  Huge.  And that day we got to see Navajo's little heart fluttering away on the screen.

At my last appointment that same heart was beating a mile a minute--which is the whole reason Favorite believes Navajo is a girl.  Me?  I'm not so sure yet.

In the time I waited to tell, I debated how much pregnancy information should go on my blog.  In the end, I concluded that this is the only type of scrapbooking I do, so there will likely be weekly updates and pictures (if I can manage to fix my camera).

Mostly, I hope that my story gives others hope in the waiting.

Not to us, Lord, not to us

    but to your name be the glory,

    because of your love and faithfulness.

          --Psalm 115:1

7 Quick Takes Friday (7/13/12)

-1-

I have such a large pile of laundry on my living room couch, it looks as though my clothing has procreated.  But the real marvel is I'm not ashamed.  I figure I'll get around to it when I get around to it.

Tomorrow.  Definitely tomorrow.

-2-

Every time we go running, I feel like I run a little faster or farther than the time before.  Last night, I was running 200 meters at a time.  I realize that doesn't sound like much, but in comparison to where I was when I started, it's huge. 

SILSheena asked if I still wanted to die during/after every run.  I told her it depended on the day, but the truth is that's happening less and less.  I still feel like I can't breathe toward the end of the running; however, I also believe every step is another step toward obedience to Christ.  And He has been faithful to push me and allow me endurance to stay the course.

-3-

Calorie watching always creates it's own set of challenges.  As a piece of advice, I'd just like to say that if you're going to eat really well and then you have enough calories to spend on a cheeseburger and fries, you might also want to make sure you'll also be near a restroom.  For most of the evening, preferably.

I'm not saying this happened to me, you understand.  I'm just pointing out that it's a possibility.

-4-

Our current governor in my great state is attempting to require high school students to earn four years of math credit in order to graduate.  I have a lot of thoughts about this particular subject.  If I were a perfect world educator, I would think this was the best idea since block scheduling.  We would give the students the opportunity to be exposed to more material!  The success rate would be phenomenal!  Colleges would no longer worry about preparedness!  Ad nauseum!

Realistically, though, I don't think it's going to be the answer to all of our educational woes.  Sadly, I think education reform is a near sighted attempt to fix something that has been perpetuated by societal expectations.  Entitlement, apathy and familial support seem to be largely discounted by a movement that is deeply affected by all these mentalities.

And there, I will get off my soapbox.

-5-

I've spent a lot of time on Pinterest pinning things to my "Things I Want to Wear When I'm No Longer Fat" board.  In the past, I pinned things there believing I would never really wear some of those offerings.

Now, I pin with hopeful expectation that someday is a lot closer than it was five weeks ago.

-6-

This week I discovered that my good friend, DM resembles Neville Longbottom from the Harry Potter movies.  Personally, I'd like to use this as a selling point on the "About Me" section I'm writing for his photography website.

But as a magnanimous blogger, I've decided to let you decide is the resemblance actually exists:

This is DM.  He's darling.

This is Neville Longbottom.

Truly, I wish I had a picture of DM smiling with his teeth so you could see the magnitude of their twinhood.  But this is as close as I can get.  Weird, right?

The weird part was when I texted DM to share my discovery, he commented, "That's insane...I look just like that dork."

You're welcome, DM.  You're welcome.

-7-

My dogs are no longer allowed on my furniture.

I made this decision after the little one (Corky) decided that everytime he pooped, he had made himself a snack.  The grossness of this particular discovery reached maximum potential when he decided to eat said snack in front of my niece and cousin (6 and 4 respectively).

Stealing "snacks" from a dog and trying to keep two kids under the age of 8 from vomiting on my floor was more than I could handle.


(I think something about my writing makes people feel like comments are unnecessary, but I truly do look foward to them.  Please make sure your email address is connected to your profile so I can respond.  And to my email subscribers, I always enjoy reading your emails regarding the topic at hand.  Thanks for reading.)

The CrazyCowLady

I'm running a 5K.

Since I hate running with the fiery passion of one thousand suns, this wasn't really part of the "the plan."  (Though, I'm currently realizing that whatever semblance of "plan" I had going on is collapsing around me.)  And it wasn't really my idea.

See, I have this friend.  Since it's her life ambition to ride a cow, we're going to refer to her as the CrazyCowLady or CCL for short.  We're adding "crazy" to the beginning of this sentence because the CCL has this impeccable way of jumping in feet first and totally believing everything is going to be fantastic.  Forget glasses and water.  This girl sees life through a kaleidoscope.

And, to be realistic, this thing didn't really start with a 5K.  It started with Bible study.  All I did was offer to help her organize the Women's Bible Study for the summer.  I had some ideas and I'm used to handling the administrative side of things.  She agreed and it was pretty smooth sailing.  (And a blast.  She's hilarious, ya'll.)

Then she asked me to go to another class with her; her step-mom was teaching Made to Crave on Monday nights and we could go together.  We could encourage each other!  We'll lose weight!  It'll be awesome!  Almost every woman who has taken this class has lost 30 lbs!

I had read Made to Crave and believed that the accountability of a group would be a good thing (and I have a lot of free time in the summer) so I agreed  to go with her.  And, truthfully, it has been a good thing.  We're both working with the LoseIt! app on our phones (joined by  my mom and my aunt) and there has definitely been a lot of encouragement and accountability that has come out of the first two weeks of this book.

Right now, our word is "Determination."  That's been a rough one for me.  There have been a litany of circumstances that have demanded determination in my life, but sheer distrust in my ability and hatred for my body usually come out ahead. 

But the CCL?  Believes that having a buddy cancels out all negativity.  Which led us to a 5K.

Yesterday, I got a text: 

CCL:  I want to sign up for the Color Run...Think about doing it with me!  PLEASE!

Me:  You're killing me.

CCL:  Listen, it won't be hot, we can have a fun weekend and we have a long time to train.  We can walk/run!!  Come on, Friend.  It's a good goal!

Me:  You'd be an awesome drug dealer.

CCL:  LOL!  You can't stall life.  We can walk it/run it.  It will be so fun.

Me:  Right.  Fun is not a worry I have.  Dying while doing something I hate?  Different story.

CCL:  You won't die.  I promise.  The odds are good we can do it.  Come on buddy!!

Me:  (sigh that wasn't a part of the text)  Ok.  I'm in.

CCL:  Woo Hoo!  I'm so proud of you!

And that's how ended up committing myself to the Color Run in Memphis, TN.  My goal is to be able to run at least half the race, but we'll be training to run the whole thing.  Thankfully, walking is acceptable.

You ever had a friend like the CCL?  One you didn't know you needed until God slapped her in your life?  Tell me about her.  Reassure me that I'm not the only one :)

An Amusing Easter Story

I think I've mentioned once, or nine-thousand times, that I'm a bit of a dweller.  When I get something in my head, I have a lot of difficulty thinking about something else until I've worked that "something" out.  So while my head has been running the same race track, my head managed to forget that I see and experience a hundred funny things a day. 

And who doesn't want to see (or read) something hilarious?  (And honestly?  I would rather laugh with people than just about anything in the world.)

So let's take for example the man Chris and I met when we drove to Target today to purchase curtain rods for the impending bedroom makeover (pictures to come--of my bedroom...of COURSE I have pictures of this situation).

I know you can't see a ton in this picture, so I got close ups.  But first I would like to point out a few things:

1.  I am not a photographer (nor do I care to be).
2.  Those are toy, fabric flowers attached to his hood with a handpainted "Easter" sign.
3.  Yes, that is an Easter Bunny in a "car" set bungeed to his hood.

Don't believe me?

You'd think that's about as wacky as it could get, right?  I mean, who would go any further than to bungee an Easter bunny to the top of a car?

Probably the same guy who decorates the back of his car with Easter eggs.

(Seriously.)

(They were strung together with twine.)

(In varying colors.)

(You can't make this crap up.)

(And as if it didn't get any more bizarre...)

He's U.S. Air Force retired.

Which I, for some reason, found amusing hilariously entertaining.

I guess the point of this story is that the world is a pretty funny place...

If you can open your eyes enough to see it (behind the lens of a camera, especially!).

They Call Him PORK...

My dog has gotten a little...substantial.  His name is Archimedes, but my dad has recently insisted on calling him Hogamedes or Porkimedes so maybe substantial isn't really the word I'm looking for.

He's gotten tubby.

And I didn't notice because he's also fluffy and I think his tubbiness has happened over the course of a year or so.

When my dad pointed it out, I got all insulted because my dog?  Isn't fat!  He's happy.  Very happy.  And cute.  And fluffy.  And holy-cow-he's-the-size-of-a-bassett-hound.  (Even though he's only supposed to a 20 lb shih tzu.)

I noticed it when I saw him waddling from the back.  Trust me, here.  Waddling is what he does.  He can't even run without his backend sashaying all over the place.

So I started trying to account for his extra girth.

We weren't feeding him extra.  He wasn't getting extra biscuits.  Was Favorite feeding him off the table?

I confronted him and implied that is exactly what was happening.  Favorite informed me that outside of the occasional apple, Porky wasn't getting extras.

Then it hit me.

Favorite dumps our leftover food outside in order to keep our trash from smelling horrific.  When we let our little fluffball outside to do his "business," he was making his way to the dumped food and gladly helping himself.

Needless to say, we are no longer dumping food, and he's being deprived of his 7,000 calorie-a-day diet.

A few biscuits and one scoop of food a day.  That's all he gets now.  He can forage all he wants.

Maybe soon we'll call him Barky again.

Woo

You all.

My mom hates to shop. HATES. IT. But about a week before black Friday, every conversation with her is the same: "We're going shopping on Friday, right? Right?! RIGHT?"

It's like declaring you hate running, and then a week before screaming "IT'S THE NEW YORK MARATHON. WOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Yep. Woo.

Ante Up

One of my students owes me $4.50.  He owes me this money because he is an incessant gambler and feels the need to bet on the length of his classmates' speeches.

Typically, he's wrong.  Way wrong.  I even give him a ten second leeway on either side of the time and allow him the opportunity to look at the outlines and the notecards to determine length, and he still hasn't managed to guess successfully.

Bless his heart.  Some of you are probably thinking I'm not going to take the money.

You would be wrong.  Because I'm vindictive.  And I like to win.  And I think some lessons are hard learned.  Like don't gamble with your teacher.  Or your future as a bookie is crumbling before your eyes. 

Either way, I think I'm cultivating a successful learning environment.

An Ode to Freud

In my classroom, when students ask a question that no one else can answer, and I can, I'll follow my answer with some statement like this:  "Man.  I am awesome.  You guys are so lucky to have me."  The students and I then chuckle and move on with our day.

This same incident happened yesterday, and I made the same comment:  "Man, I am so awesome.  You guys are lucky to have me." Then, in an effort to out-do myself, I added, "I'm so awesome I can barely keep clothes on."

I'm going to let that marinate for a second.

...
...
...


::headdesk::  

Gracious Jeebus.  How am I even allowed around adolescents?

I looked down at my desk and prayed that no student caught what I had just said...but some prayers go unanswered.

"That was a bit of a Freudian slip, wasn't it, Mrs. House?"

I bit my lip and muttered, "Uh huh."  (But honestly, two points to a sophomore who knows the concept of Freudian slip.  He's no slacker.)

So what had I meant to say?  That I was so awesome I could barely contain it.  I have no idea how clothes came out of my mouth.

But don't you feel blessed to know I'm an educator?

Falconing

Favorite has come up with his fair share of crazy schemes, but one has stood the test of time:  he wants to become a falconer.

He's convinced that if he and one of his buddies can catch a hawk out here, he can train it and it will be his own, personal falcon. 

(I have no idea where he gets these plans.  Maybe I need to have higher expectations for things on the house.  Then he has no time to create these crazy schemes.)

Anyway, it should be no surprise that Big Bro automatically thought of Favorite when the new State Farm Commercial started airing.

Watch in wonder at the fact that there are other people in the world who think just like my Favorite...and find it terrifying.

The Residential Ants

Ants.  I hate them.  I especially hate them crawling all over my mail.  So today I vowed to fix the problem.

I stopped by the trailer on my way home to grab the bug killer and turned around to face my mailbox's tenants.  When I got down there, I tried to pull the lever and then spray, but something was wrong with the spout.  And I?  Needed to get rid of those ants.  I mean, yesterday I ended up with ants in my car because they swarmed all over my Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

I'm pretty sure the people at Better Homes and Gardens wouldn't approve.

So being the resourceful woman that I am, I unscrewed the lid and starting splashing bug killer all over my mailbox.  And by all over?  I mean ALL.  OVER.

Did I mention I was still in my dress clothes?

And that traffic picked up right when I got industrious?

Because there's nothing like a slightly dressed up woman splashing bug killer all over her mailbox.  Oh, there's also nothing like using the entire bottle on my mailbox, the pole and surrounding land. 

I'd say we can be fairly confident I will be without ants in my mailbox for the remainder of the summer. 

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen is how you get a BETTER home (and maybe a garden...but not by your mailbox).

UPS: The Reason I Need a Nap

The kids in my building are spending more time blowing noses, sniffing mucus and looking dejected these days.  Allergy season?  Maybe.  I don't want to think about the other possibilities--mostly because I want to believe that my exhaustion is due to over-working.

I don't care if it's denial.

I love denial. 

And denial may carry me through this week.

In my defense, it's been a trying week.  First, there was my fight with the UPS people.  I ordered a couple of books from amazon (Bonhoeffer:  Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy and A Series of Unfortunate Events:  The Bad Beginning--yes, I realize these books don't have anything in common) and I was anxiously awaiting their arrival.  When they didn't make it to my house on Monday, I logged into amazon to view the tracking information.

The tracking information indicated that my address did not exist.

I looked around, trying to figure out if I was the only one who could see my invisible dwelling.

Turns out, no.  The dogs can see it, too.  And so can my in-laws, because they knocked on my not-so-imaginary door.

In an attempt to rectify this situation, I called UPS.

UPS:  So the address DOES exist?

Me:  Um, yeah.  You've been delivering here for the last seven years.

UPS:  Ooooooh.  I see.

Me:  Did you get a new driver?

UPS:  *Apologetically*  Yeah.  He may not know his way around.  Could you give me landmark directions?

Me:  Sure.  There is a big pond out in front of the trailer and we are building a house beside our trailer.

UPS:  *Writing*  They are building a house...there is a pond...

Me:  I also had a second package.  Can I expect both of those tomorrow?

UPS:  A second package?  Hang on.  Let me check that.  *Pause*  Huh.  You're completely right.  We'll deliver both of them tomorrow.

Me:  Thank you.

On Tuesday, both of my packages arrived.  Written on the top of the package from amazon:  "a pond in front...their building a house."

*Sigh*  I guess I can send my struggling English students to apply for a job at UPS?

__________

If you pray for dogs, would you pray for mine?  His name is Alex, and when I got home today, he seemed very sick--won't even take a biscuit (his favorite).  I'm pretty worried.

I Hope You Laugh

I'm jealous of bloggers who have something worthwhile to say every single day.  My life just isn't as exciting (see the title of the blog if you don't believe me).  Funny things do happen to me on a regular basis, but, with this medium, it's difficult to relay the hilarity of the event.  Take for instance a conversation I had with a freshman student yesterday:

Student:  *Looks nervous*  Who are those men standing in your door?

Note:  The state fire marshal was paying us a visit.

Me:  *Smiling*  I don't know.  Did you do something bad?

Student:  *Confused*  Maybe.  Do you think they're here to get me?

Me:  *Really amused at this point*  You know, it's a possibility.  They might just take you out of my classroom.

Student:  *Stares at the men and assesses the situation.  Finally shakes his head*  Nah.  I think I could outrun them.  I'm fast.  I'm a ninja.

Me:  A ninja?

Student:  Yeah.  I'm fast like a ninja.

And there you have regular occurrences in my classroom.

I'm sure I'll have equally hilarious stories to tell about the speech team, and there have been a few funny bits about the house...including Favorite running after an imaginary intruder (outside) wearing only a pair of flip flops.  True story.

But I'll never be sure if you find these stories funny.  Personally, I think part of the funny is in the telling.  So I desperately wish we could all sit in a circle and share our collective stories.

Until that can happen, I'll just go back to baking my apple pie.

Yes, I really am baking a pie.

OF COURSE I CAN COOK.

I cannot, however, sew--which might've been a topic of conversation in the teacher's lounge today.  The Home Ec teacher was really amused with my solution to the non-sewing problem:  I staple.  Not only do I get a great hemline, but some bling as well.

Win-Win, people.

And that's all for today.  May your tomorrow be as ordinary as mine.

And may you laugh for a million different reasons.

Books, Coffee and the People Who Sell Them

Because of you, we learned to love lattes, fraps and espresso (if they are made by someone who knows what they are doing).  We developed a love for scones and time perusing shelves and shelves of awesome reading material.

We discussed authors and specific works, and the fact that some of us may never warm to the idea of the Nook.  We knocked on doors to eat in the break room, learned that you can find the strangest things in a bathroom, and not all B&N customers are dignified.

It's been a good ten years, Big Bro.  But now you're moving on.

Yep, last night was Big Bro's last night with Barnes and Noble.  He recently graduated with an engineering degree and will be starting his Master's work in the fall. 

Well done, Big Bro.  Well done.

Since it was his last night, we, of course, had to visit him. 

Mom ordered a frappacino.  An interesting conversation followed.

Mom:  It's hard to find good help these days.  I had to ask them to add whip cream and he didn't put carmel on the top like they usually do.  He had already put the lid on, so he had to squirt whip cream in through the little hole on the top...and then I didn't want to ask for carmel.  I thought it would upset him.

Big Bro:  You ordered it with nonfat milk.

Mom:  So?

Big Bro:  So they assume you want a nonfat drink.  They aren't going to add whip cream if you order it with nonfat milk.

Mom:  Yeah, but I got nonfat milk so I could have the whip cream and carmel.  It's a fat exchange.

Big Bro:  *rolls eyes*

I guess you could say we gave him a fine farewell.

And since I'm fond of sharing my purchases:

It's not a designer handbag, but it's metallic-y goodness.  And I love it.

The Festivities: Saturday

On Saturday, several of my friends met at Blue Sky to celebrate my birthday in the wonderful weather underneath an umbrella (ella, ella, eh, eh, eh, eh).  We had food, fun, laughs and mostly just enjoyed each other's company.

With the exception of my brothers (and a shocking did-we-really-see-her appearance), these were the girls who came to celebrate--mi amigas.

Bottom (L-R):  Amber, Me, Kerry

Top (L-R):  Sheena, Kate, Casey, Morgan and Lindsey

I keep telling them that I marvel how I seem to gravitate toward the same type of people no matter where I am, but it's true.  The girls have a lot in common--mostly that they are hilarious.

Of course, that was pretty evident when Lindsey and Morgan decided to dance.  Morgan loves to do the "Carlton" (and if you don't know what that is, the Fresh Prince would be ashamed).

Lindsey actually stopped dancing to witness the atrocity :)

But Morgan is a free spirit, and did her thing in spite of stares.  Coincidentally, the people sitting behind us didn't seem to care much about staring, either (am I right, girls?).

There are several more pictures--mostly of individual groups.  And I'm sure Kate and Sheena will post the fun pictures of my various hats (courtesy of Morgan and Kerry) so you are welcome to enjoy them if you go to their respective blogs.

Soon, I'll be posting pictures from my birthday party yesterday.  My camera died in the middle of the event, so I ended up using my mom's camera to take pictures.  She promised to share. 

But, at the end of the day on Saturday, I was one happy girl :)

Picture wavy lines, because it's a flashback.

In my last entry, I mentioned that I'm waiting with baited breath to move into the house; however, I don't believe I give an adequate picture as to why.  So welcome to a flashback sequence.

When we got engaged, Chris started hunting out places for us to live.  His mom and dad were gracious enough to provide us land, but we needed to provide some sort of structure to put on said land.  After several weeks (and many unrealistic discussions about buying a new double-wide), he discovered our trailer.

He took me to see it; we toured the thing in it's entirety.  He asked me what I thought.

"It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen," I responded (a direct quote, Ladies and Gentlemen!).

With that response in mind, Chris decided to go ahead and buy the place.

We did a lot of work, and it's been a good, little house for over 7 years.  Keep in mind that this trailer had more than 20 years on it when we bought it...so the fact that it's held up this long is probably a victory.  But now, we're starting to deal with eventualities that all trailer owners understand.

So why is it I'm so ready to move out, you ask?

Here's the first part.  This is a wall in the living room of my trailer.  While we don't really have problems with the roof leaking (in most areas), we do have a small problem with the water seeping in through the walls.

That's not a faux paint job, folks.  And to spare the weak stomachs, I didn't take a picture of the carpet below this wall.  You can do the math, though:  constantly damp carpet=mold, mildew, etc.

There was also a time, much to our chagrin, that we busted a water line.  For more than 3 months, water was pumping underneath one of the rooms (not in large amounts...we didn't notice a large change in the bill).  That left us with rotted wood, saggy carpet and places you can't walk in certain rooms of the house.

Then, there was the small problem on January 1, 2008.


After ringing in the New Year with Chris' family, we came home to find that part of our roof had taken up residence in the field behind the trailer.  We began the long process of repairing the roof of a more than 25 year old trailer.  Not the easiest of tasks.

But before we could manage to get the thing fixed completely, we suffered a bit of water damage--hence the saggy ceiling in my hallway.  It currently doesn't leak--which is good since we won't be moving into the house until December or so.

It's impossible for me to show you the saggy floor, the doors that won't shut and the nooks and crannies that allow our pet mice to come in and out of the abode at will.

And yet it's been a home.  While we've cried here, and laughed here and built the majority of our married life here, I really will not be sentimental when I set the thing on fire.  Sorry if that sounds hateful.  Actually, I'm not sorry.  Not at all.

___________________And now it's time for a breakdown_____________________
Shout-out to En Vogue for the line that allows me to switch subjects.

I also thought you might enjoy seeing our family get-together, and Gloria's ancient air popper (for popcorn).

Since I read too much, I'm constantly sharing my new-found knowledge with my loved ones.  My recent discovery?  A toxicologist will not eat microwave popcorn due to all of the chemicals that go in the bag.  Scary.

So, in the name of keeping us healthy and keeping an evening treat in the rotation, Gloria (my aunt...not her real name), reintroduced the air popper to her countertop.  I'd say this model is mid to late 80s.

The towel was to keep the popcorn from popping out of the bowl.

The measuring cup on top (with the melting butter in it) was used because there used to be a lid, but it has long since flown the coop.

It's just proof you can take the girl out of the trailer, but you can't take the trailer out of the girl.

And that terrifies me.

In case I go mute

Saturday=Best. Time. Ever.  Seriously.  I don't know what about a pitcher of sangria and friends that makes the day so satisfactory.  I would say that I'm easy to please, but my husband would have a different story (particulary since we're drowning in the house-building process) so there has to be another reason.

Anyway, one of the topics that came up was the various blogs a few of us write.  And it does occur to me that my blog rarely includes anything funny...or a lot of things I do on a daily basis...or a good majority of my personality.  I asked myself, "Why is this, Crystal?  Why would your blog not be a an adequate reflection of yourself?"

Alas, I have no answers for you...only speculations.  My speculations are as follows:

1.  I am hilarious.  Seriously.  Funniest person you've ever met (and if you don't agree, shut up).  Some people would say that I'm a riot even when I'm not trying to be--might have something to do with the lack of graceful and an inability not to comment on the stupid things I've done thereby making them more embarrassing.  ANYWAY...I'm so much funnier when I have people to play off of.  So maybe I should say that I'm funny in person, but in the blogosphere, not so much.  Maybe I could be?  But since so much emotion doesn't transfer on here, I'm going to either have to get a lot better about taking pictures or I'm going to have to tell you people to suck it up and appreciate what you get when you get it.  Haha.

2.  When it comes to blogging, I tend to only write about the things that I don't talk about a lot.  I do talk about books, but I don't get into a lot of detail regarding what I liked/hated, etc.  And I don't really talk about school politics or frustrations that revolve around work (and I generally don't blog about select students).  So when it comes to sharing my thoughts about that stuff, it's really a lot easier to work through my thoughts in writing as opposed to shouting at someone who really doesn't deserve it.

3.  I have an affinity for all things well-written, and if I can't get it down the way I want it, I erase the entire thing.  Hence, many a blog has never come to fruition.

But, in case I go mute, I'll always have this place to share exactly how funny I am...and all the things I cannot say. 

In the future, prepare yourself for the exploits of two clueless people who are trying to build a house without killing each other (or others) in the process.  It's not looking promising.