Noteworthy Whims

Hymns from Prison

2011-03-21T23:44:00.010-06:00

I've been doing a bible study with some friends of mine, and we've been reading Beth Moore's To Live is Christ, which follows the life of Paul. One of the chapters this week really struck a chord with me and some of the ponderings that have been weighing on my heart lately.

We read about Paul and Silas being stripped, beaten, and imprisoned. About how they spent that night in prison praising God and singing hymns while the other prisoners listened on. And about how God caused an earthquake that freed them from their shackles and broke open the prison doors. What happened next has always struck me as so peculiar:

"And the keeper of the prison, awaking from sleep and seeing the prison doors open, supposing the prisoners had fled, drew his sword and was about to kill himself. But Paul called with a loud voice, saying, 'Do yourself no harm, for we are all here.' Then he called for a light, ran in, and fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. And he brought them out and said, 'Sirs, what must I do to be saved?'"

-Acts 16:27-29

I've heard this story before, and always wondered why in the world Paul and the other prisoners didn't flee at the first opportunity. I've tried imagining myself in that position, and I've got to admit that I would probably view the earthquake as God's "go ahead" on the whole fleeing option. I'm not sure what convinced them to stay in the dark depths of that prison rather than seizing the opportunity to flee, but I'm glad they did. They remained in their prison, in their place of suffering, and they won a soul. They were free of their shackles, but by dwelling in the place of their darkest hour, they freed the guard from his.

I've been following a blog lately called Teaching Tuck and Ty. I do not know this incredible woman personally, but I have become so invested in her journey over the past few months as she has openly and honestly shared about the sudden and tragic loss of her husband. I love reading her posts, but I almost love reading the comments on her posts even more. She is dwelling in a place of deep suffering right now, but she's dwelling there as a free and saved woman. And the way that she is praising God in the midst of her darkest hour is winning souls. I couldn't help but think of her as I read this week's study on Paul and Silas.

I have been blessed lately with a season of joy and happiness and good living. Things are going well with my family, and we are enjoying the abundant joy of having each other. I'm thankful for this, but I know that this is only a season. Life has it's ups and it's downs, and I will one day find myself in a darker place, I know. I hope and pray that God would continue to teach me through the faith stories of others, in His Word as well as in the world around me. I hope and pray that I will have the strength to sing His praises in my darkest hours, and to suffer victoriously as His freed child.

I pray that I would have the strength to embrace the dark places, knowing full well that there are souls to be won those prisons.

Just a Little Fickle Pickle

2011-03-18T19:21:00.008-06:00

This is a misleading picture.

Levi is not a great eater. He's always nursed very well, but he's never taken a bottle without a fight. He just never seemed to understand the concept. He would chew on the bottle, shake the bottle, smile at the bottle, take in a mouthful of milk just to spray it back out, then giggle... I didn't think much of it, but I was looking forward to the day that we could start some solids just so I would have some other options when nursing wasn't convenient.

How I wish his biggest hindrance with solids was simply the urge to giggle every once in a while. No, giggling is no longer our stumbling block. Gagging is. And vomiting. Forcefully. Out the nose. Yep, sure miss that giggling.

He did ok with the first few things we tried, like rice cereal and pureed fruits and veggies. He seemed adventurous and willing to try new tastes. So one day I decided to chop up bananas real small and let him try some finger food. After he picked up each individual piece to examine it, showing absolutely no indication or interest in eating any of them, I decided to pop one into his mouth. Almost as if I'd hit some magic button, he proceeded to spew everything he's ever eaten. Ever. It was everywhere. With no warning whatsoever.

So we waited a couple weeks before we tried a second go at finger foods with some Gerber Puffs. Again, he thoroughly examined each little one with painstaking attention. Again, I decided to pop one into his mouth. He immediately spat it out and picked it off his chin with his left hand. The now wet puff stuck to his hand. This utterly terrified him. He frantically swatted at his tray and waved his hand in chaotic motions while working into a hysterical scream. I rushed in and rescued him from the half dissolved puff (how's that for superhero skill, Martha?). After that, he whimpered every time I walked by the puff canister, his new nemesis.

About two weeks later, after he overcame his fear of dissolving baby snacks, I managed to pop one in his mouth. And he vomited. Everywhere. With no warning.

I've tried introducing some slightly less pureed varieties of baby food. And he vomits every time. Everywhere. With no warning.

I've tried gradually making his rice cereal a little thicker. But he vomits. Everywhere. With no warning.

Oh yeah, and when he's not vomiting, he usually looks like this:

This boy puts nothing in his mouth. Ever.

SO, imagine my surprise when he made his first self-initiated attempt at solid foods today. We took Jacob on a bike ride down the street to NoNo's Cafe for lunch. Levi was sitting in a high chair down at the end of the table when out of nowhere he reached over, grabbed a pickle off of Jacob's plate, and popped it in his mouth! And guess what? No vomit! Sure, he recoiled at the taste and promptly spat it back out... but no vomit!

Such a strange little boy he is.

My Prayer For You

2011-03-10T17:02:00.003-07:00

I love your grins and giggles. I love that you are so generous with them. I love that you always offer a smile, even through teary eyes. I pray that you will always find it easier to smile than to frown. I pray that you will always spread your joy so generously to those around you. I pray that you will always find your joy, even in the midst of tears or a broken heart.

I love how you reach out to be held by anyone around you. I love how you offer kisses and high fives and hugs so freely. I love how you lay your head down on my shoulder when you're tired. I pray that you will always have such a welcoming heart. I pray that you will never forget how to offer a hug or encouragement to brighten someone's day. I pray that you will always find rest in the arms of your Father at the end of the day.

I love that you can't sit still. I love your curiosity in every little thing around you. I love your determination to get a hold of whatever it is your heart desires (though it boggles my mind that your heart desires electrical cords and other household hazards infinitely more than the mountain of toys picked out just for you). I pray that you will always be full of energy and zeal and enthusiasm. I pray that you will always ask questions and seek answers and remain forever curious. I pray that you will knock down all obstacles to grab hold of that which your heart desires (and I pray that those desires are all your own, never chosen for you by another).

I love that your heart is strong and healthy. I love that your joy is contagious and unending. I love that you are mine.

I pray that your heart will continually grow to look more like His. I pray that it will beat stronger and stronger for Him. I pray that it will remain spiritually healthy, even when flesh fails you.

I pray that you will always delight in Him, and that your contagious joy might lead others to His feet.

I pray you always know that you are mine, and never doubt my love for you. But more importantly, I pray that your life is filled with glimpses of His love for you, and that you never doubt that you are His.

What's Behind Door Number Three?

2011-03-08T14:51:00.005-07:00

A thought occurred to me early on in my pregnancy, and has continued into a growing concern ever since: Jacob and Caleb are 9- and 11-years-old. They like to play with toys that your average 9- and 11-year-old boy would. The toy companies of today appeal to 9- and 11-year-old children with millions upon millions of tiny, esophagus-shaped parts and pieces (hello, Legos?) Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Legos and think that they are the coolest toys on the market right now. But I can't think of anything more appealing to an 8-month-old's little curious hands. Between the Legos, action figures, puzzles, board games, etc... our house is just not baby-safe.

The boys have been great about keeping their toys mostly in their room, and diligent in keeping Levi away if they decide to play in the living room. However, Levi is now crawling (well, I use the word "crawling" loosely... it's really more of an army crawl, or how you might picture a legless person getting from point A to point B.) I generally try to keep the boys' bedroom door shut when they are not home for this very reason. Today, I was not diligent enough.

It took him 8 months, but Levi has finally discovered the endless wonders that lie behind that mystery door. And there is no turning back now, I can't seem to distract him with anything else in the whole apartment. He's drawn like a magnet to that room, even reaching his little fingers under the door when I close it. It's much like I imagine I'd be if I lived my whole life in a certain place, only to discover there had been an entire room full of endless, fresh Chipotle burritos just a doorway away the entire time. You can bet I'd be reaching my fingers under the door and whimpering until someone let me in, too.

Anyone have any tips for baby-proofing a home without taking the totally age-appropriate toys away from older kids?

Riddle Me This

2011-03-04T21:38:00.005-07:00

And for today's pop quiz, can you see what the following three phrases all have in common with one another?

Note: All three phrases are to be read in a high-pitched, baby-talk voice.

#1.

"Did you go poopies?!? Yes you did!!!"

#2.

"Who's got a cute tushy? Do you have a cute tushy?! You sure do!"

#3.

"Peek-a-boo...I see you!!!"

Enter Jeopardy music here.

Have you figured it out yet? Found the correlation? Time is ticking...

AND THE ANSWER IS:

All three of these phrases are wildly inappropriate when uttered in the private stall of a public restroom, especially if no one is aware that you are in there with your baby simply to use the changing table. Another one of those tidbits that just never made it into any of the parenting books intended to prepare us.

On a side note, I'm sorry Abby; it's true, bathroom etiquette just flies out the window once you've got little ones in tow. I had been warned it would happen, I just didn't realize it would be so soon.

Helmet Girl, aka: Martha Kent

2011-02-28T12:21:00.006-07:00

My family has a good time together. We joke and we laugh. Nine times out of ten, I am the butt of that joke, and the good time is almost always at my expense.

A few nights ago we were out to eat with the boys. As is so often the case, our topic of conversation steered toward comic books. Caleb asked the very thought provoking question of which superhero each of us was most like and who we would be.

We determined that Jacob would be Bart Allen, Kid Flash, because of his mischievous ways and quick wit.

We determined that Caleb would be Spider-man, because of his smarts and his pure heart.

We determined that Jason would be Batman, because, well, he really likes Batman.

We determined that Levi would be Jack Jack from the Incredibles, because that would be cool.

Then it was my turn. There was a lengthy silence while everyone sifted through the countless possibilities. The conversation went something like this:

Jason: Maybe Wonder Woman?

Caleb: No, she couldn't be Wonder Woman. She can't fly. At least not without crying or throwing up.

In case you missed this post, I have a slight fear of heights. Ok, a crippling fear of heights.

Me: I like Flash, and he doesn't fly! I could be Flash!

Jacob: No, that would be even worse than flying. You would crash into things and trip over things and knock people over if you had to move that fast.

In case you're unaware, I'm slightly clumsy. Ok, it's a wonder I've survived this long.

Caleb: That's true. Maybe someone with lots of protective gear. You could maybe be someone that wears a helmet and a lot of armor.

Jason: Or someone that can walk through things. Like Invisible Woman.

Caleb: No, she'd never remember whether or not she was in transparent mode, and then just run into walls.

That whole "pregnancy brain" thing is the biggest misnomer I've ever heard. It does NOT go away after pregnancy.

Jacob: Yeah, plus it probably wouldn't be safe for her to be around Johnny Storm (The Human Torch, Invisible Woman's brother). She'd probably trip and then catch her hair on fire.

They really wanted to drive that clumsy thing home, I guess.

Caleb: Maybe you should stick to someone like Martha Kent. She's safe.

Thanks guys.

In case this isn't proof enough of my endless teasing, please see below picture. This is on the ferris wheel at Elitch's two years ago. The only reason I set foot on that death trap was because I lost a bet to Caleb. It's hard to tell in the picture, but I was crying. That's Jacob pointing and laughing at me. Can you feel the love?

Levi's Heroes

2011-02-26T23:57:00.008-07:00

Levi is absolutely enamored with Caleb and Jacob. And who wouldn't be?! I don't think he could find better brothers than these two. Nothing warms my heart quite like watching the three of them together.

Like Wrestling an Over-sized Meerkat

2011-02-24T12:53:00.008-07:00

Why didn't I find these steps in any of the parenting books I read?

1. Place baby on changing table.
2. Place one hand firmly on chest while mastering the one-handed art of un-buttoning, un-snapping, un-tying, un-insert verb of your choice here with the other hand.
3. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
4. Re-place one hand firmly on chest while mastering the art of un-diapering said baby.
5. ~~Grow a third or fourth hand with which to~~ Try desperately, but fail to restrain little grabby baby hands from dirty diaper or dirty diaper region.
6. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
7. Place entire forearm across baby's chest in what must resemble some sort of rehearsed WWF move to onlookers.
8. Use free hand to bat away little grabby baby hands, while simultaneously using a wet wipe on diaper region.
9. Wrestle wet wipe away from baby.
10. Wrestle wet wipe container away from baby.
11. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
12. Wrestle wet wipe container away from baby.
13. Curse myself for making the decision 10 months ago to not get the changing table with that which I then considered "excessive" shelving/drawers.
14. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
15. Summon superpower speed in my right hand with which to slip new diaper on and fasten tabs before baby realizes he's on his back again.
16. Move baby to big bed for more space to dress him.
17. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
18. Slip shirt over baby's head in one fell swoop.
19. Remove shirt collar from baby's mouth, who slyly intercepted my fell swoop to victoriously claim shirt as his new teether.
20. Place baby once again in above mentioned WWF sleeper hold
21. Thread fingers of my free hand through shirt sleeve, which is now located between baby's shoulder blades as he has somehow thwarted my sleeper hold grip and is on his dang belly again.
22. Try to flip baby with one hand, but lose progress of the other hand through shirt sleeve in the process.
23. Repeat steps 20-22 approximately 8 times.
24. Successfully assume stance with one hand posed and ready with fingers through shirt sleeve, and the other hand firmly gripped on baby's arm prepared for insertion.
25. Plead with baby to please bend his elbow.
26. Gently force baby to bend elbow, all the while fearing that this may constitute child abuse.
27. Insert arm number one
28. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
29. Repeat steps 20-27 as many times as necessary until arm number two is in position.
30. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
31. Thread my hand through one pant leg.
32. Assume WWF sleeper hold stance while snatching corresponding baby leg through said pant leg.
33. Avoid thinking cuss words after realizing the wrong leg is now in the wrong pant leg.
34. Redo steps 30-32 with all the concentration I can muster.
35. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
36. Redo steps 30-32 with remaining leg.
37. Redo steps 30-32 with first leg, which baby has pulled back out of the pants sometime during step 36.
38. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
39. Repeat step 37 as many times as necessary until maximum frustration level is reached, or until baby lands a solid kick in the gut requiring that I stop to catch my breath.
40. Convince myself that 10-degree weather is perfectly warm enough to go pantsless for the day.

Anyone out there in Blogland have advice/tips/WWF moves that I am unaware of to assist in the changing and dressing of a very mobile and very energetic little boy?

Grandmaster Conversationalist

2011-02-19T23:55:00.004-07:00

Jacob: What's your favorite food?

Me: Hmmm... that's a good question. I like so many different kinds of food!

Jacob: Yeah, but what's your very very favorite? You have to pick one.

Check

Me: Ugh. I don't know. I guess Mexican food.

Jacob: What kind of Mexican food?

Me: Anything in a tortilla...?

Jacob: Lots of stuff comes in tortillas.

Check

Me: Enchiladas. I like enchiladas. They're my very favorite.

Ha, un-check.

A couple minutes later:

Jacob: What's your least favorite food?

Me: I don't know. I like most everything.

Jacob: Yeah, but what's your least favorite?

Check

Me: Hmmm...mustard? Chocolate? No. Licorice. Definitely black licorice. I can't even stand the smell of it.

Un-check. Safe again.

Jacob: Would you eat black licorice if it meant that you got to eat endless enchiladas after that?

Me: Yes, yes I would. (Hey, so what if I have no principles. Endless enchiladas? I'm in.)

Jacob: Would you eat enchiladas if they had black licorice in them?

Check

Me: Aw man... that's tougher. Those sound pretty gross. But yes I would. Because I could pick the black licorice out. And then I would just be left with tasty, tasty enchiladas.

Un-check. He'll never beat me.

About ten minutes later:

Jacob: What if there was a pile of poop next to them? Would you eat them then?

Checkmate.

Thankful

2010-11-19T22:20:00.018-07:00

Tonight I'm feeling a bit inspired (and a bit intimidated) by this over-achiever's recent boost of motivation in getting her blog all caught up. Ok, so maybe "over-achiever" is a small overstatement given the fact that she just posted her Christmas pictures this week. From 2009. Slacker...

I was originally going to steal her idea and outline a few of the events that I've missed from this past year. But once I started looking through my pictures, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of thankfulness for all those faces smiling out from those pictures at me. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I think it's as good a time as any to remind myself of all the things I have to be thankful for.

I'm thankful for my husband, who pours all that he is into taking care of us and providing for us and protecting us and being present and available to all of us. Who treats me with respect and makes it his goal to make me feel beautiful and appreciated.

I'm thankful for Caleb, who is the most caring, compassionate, respectful, and intelligent kid I've ever met. I'm thankful that he knows and loves the Lord, and is getting baptized this Sunday. I'm thankful for the way he has always made me feel welcome in his world.

I'm thankful for Jacob, who really and truly "walks to the beat of his own drum". I'm thankful for his seemingly endless creativity, his hysterical sense of humor, and his constant desire to be set apart, different and unique. I'm thankful for the smile that he has on his face at any given time, and his talent for bringing the same thing to my face.

I'm thankful for Levi, who has turned my world upside-down, and convinced me that it's infinitely better that way. I'm thankful that he is healthy, happy, and truly joyful. I'm thankful for his smiles and giggles and deep belly laughs that he shares with me so generously.

I'm thankful for my ever-growing family of nieces and nephews and cousins-a-plenty. I'm thankful for my mom, who always answers her phone and always has time for me. I'm thankful for the opportunity to work with Pa this last year, and all the extra time I got to spend with him. I'm thankful for Jason's mom, and her willingness to always make herself available to us. I'm thankful for each one of my siblings, and for the amazing blessing of getting to raise our children together.

I'm thankful for my loving Father who lets me live my life among all these incredible people. I'm thankful for the days they teach me and the days they challenge me. I'm thankful for the ways they've each helped to shape me into who I am.

I'm thankful for the unique glimpses I get to see of my Father in each one of them.

I'm thankful for pictures, and for the reminder to slow down and reflect on all that I have in my family.

The Birth Story Part II: Time Flies By

2010-11-02T21:47:00.014-06:00

Is 4 months too ridiculous a time frame to post a birth story? Oh well, I'm gonna break the rules cuz I'm a big slacker and I'm not afraid to say so. Or maybe I'll just alter the post date on this one so that when I look back on it years from now, I'll be impressed with my prompt documentation skills.

Thus, I now bring you the thrilling conclusion to The Birth Story Part I: Waiting.

After checking onto the hospital and getting all settled in, the nurse came in and gave us a brief overview of their expected timeline:

9:00pm - Arrive and check-in at the hospital (CHECK, got that)

10:00pm - Settle into the room that will be the staging area for our baby boy's grand debut (CHECK)

11:00pm - Administer the miso pill to prepare the way for pitocin in the morning (is it wrong to refer to the miso pill as the John the Baptist of labor induction?)

11:30pm - Fall into a deep and restful sleep in order to be at my best 8 hours later for true labor

6:00am-8:00am - Begin pitocin and get this show on the road

??? - HAVE A BABY!

Here is a brief overview of Levi's self-authored timeline:

8:00pm - Jason and I snapped one last belly shot before heading to the hospital

9:05pm - Arrive and check-in at the hospital (yes, we were late to our own baby's birth... but hey, he was 11 days late himself, so in my book 5 minutes is hardly worth mentioning)

10:00pm - Settle into the room that will be the staging area for our baby boy's grand debut. Currently 3 cm dilated.

10:05pm - The nurse tells us that my contractions are coming steady and regular according to the monitors they've just hooked up, so the doctor would like to keep monitoring me and hold off on the miso pill for a while, just in case I'm already in natural labor. I inform the nurse that these are the same contractions I've been having for several weeks, but we agree to wait and monitor.

11:00pm - Still monitoring. Still 3 cm.

12:00am - Still monitoring. Still 3 cm.

1:00am - Still 3 cm. The doctor decides to go ahead and start the miso pill.

3:00am - Contractions become WAY more intense almost instantly.

3:30am - We buzz the nurse to ask if it's too early for an epidural.

4:00am - Epidural is administered and I am happy. Now 5 1/2 cm dilated.

5:00am - The contractions suddenly feel different, and I really really want to push. Buzz the nurse.

5:15am - The nurse looks up from her exam with a slightly surprised look and announces that I am 9 1/2 cm and it may be wise to buzz the doctor.

6:00am - All necessary parties are finally present and I am 10 cm. Woohoo!

6:00-8:10am - Push, push, push. (We had to skip about every other contraction due to the baby's heart beat dropping a bit too low for comfort while pushing)

July 9th, 2010; 8:10am - HAVE A BABY!

Levi Daniel Fosdick arrived all on his own before we even had the chance to start pitocin. I have no idea if the miso pill played into it, or if he was just ready to come on out. He was 6 lbs. 9 oz. and 20 inches long. He was pink and healthy and alert, and SO STINKIN' CUTE (in my opinion).

My Son, Ricky Bobby

2010-08-13T01:08:00.008-06:00

Ok, so I know I said that the next post to come was going to be Part II of this post, but I just came across these pictures on my camera and felt inspired to get them posted...

Everytime I watch Levi poke himself in his eye, flail about uncontrollably, or pull his treasured pacifier out of his mouth while glaring at his hands as if he's ticked that they're working against him, I can't help but think how frustrating it may be to have no control over one's own limbs. I also can't help but think of this scene from Talladega Nights...

The Birth Story Part I: Waiting

2010-08-12T02:09:00.004-06:00

It's fairly obviously that I've let my blog fall to the wayside these past few months, but it certainly hasn't been for a lack of exciting news. While there are many different happenings and stories and whims that I could and should have been writing about, the bulk of it all can really be summed up in one picture:

I can hardly believe a whole month has passed since Levi came into this world and changed everything that I knew. I've spent the past month falling more and more in love with him every day, and learning bit by bit how to fill this new role of mine. Time as flown by, leaving me frantically grasping at each little moment in hopes of hanging on and savoring it all just a little bit longer. In the midst of it all, I realize I haven't even stopped to write down the details of Levi's birth, or the days leading up to it.

Given that it's been a whole month, I realize that most of the people that read this blog have already heard all the details. However, I still see a need in writing it down here so that when I do get around to scrapbooking the thousands of pictures I have filling up my memory card, I might actually remember a bit or two.

SO, with that said, let's venture back to June 29, 2010. I woke up to my due date with high hopes of having a little baby boy. I had been contracting for several weeks, I had nested until I could nest no more, I had begun my maternity leave, and I was ready. I showed up at my 40-week appointment, certain that the doctor would take one look at my contractions and insist that I rush to the hospital to have this baby. Much to my dismay, the doctor instead told me that I was only 2 cm dilated and showed no indications of imminent labor. He performed that awful procedure so delicately named "stripping the membranes" (the 3rd time I had had this done that month), and sent me on my merry way.

I was a bit disappointed at the lack of news, but optimistic that this baby would make his appearance any day.

Then the next day came and went.

And the next.

Seven contraction-filled days passed with no baby, and before I knew it I found myself at my 41-week appointment. The doctor took a look around and declared enthusiastically that I was now 2 1/2 cm dialated.

Are you kidding me!?!? Another full week of constant contractions and all I could muster was 1/2 cm!?!?! I tried to feign that glowing, pregnant lady demeanor of joy while the doctor performed that fantastic little procedure for a 4th time. Just to make sure all was good and well, they then hooked me up to the monitors for a while before sending me home. The monitors revealed what I had known for several weeks: I was having very regular contractions, some of them significant in strength. The doctor assured us that he had high hopes I would go into labor naturally within a day or so, but also scheduled an induction for that following Friday just in case.

My contractions continued to get stronger throughout that day, and were a steady 6 minutes apart by evening. After a few hours of that, we called our afterhours nurse to check-in. She encouraged us to go ahead and head to the hospital with our bags packed. Excited beyond belief, we happily took her advice and rushed out the door.

Once at the hospital, we checked into the triage area and got all hooked up to the monitors again. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. Things were not progessing. At all. Just the same old boring contractions. Finally, our nurse came in and told us that they would need to send me home. She gave me a prescription of pain medicine and Ambien to help me sleep through the contractions and sent us on our way. To say we were disappointed would be an understatement. The drive home felt much longer than the drive there had.

So another day passed and still no baby, which brought us to Thursday, July 8th. This was my 10th day overdue, and the day we were scheduled to check-in for our induction. The original plan was to check-in on Thursday night, get settled and get some rest, and start the induction Friday morning. However, Levi had a plan of his own that didn't quite follow suit...

Next post to come- The Birth Story Part II: Time Flies By

The End is Near

2010-04-10T01:31:00.006-06:00

With each passing day, I get closer and closer to the beginning of my maternity leave from my work. Due to some recent changes at my work, there's a small chance that I won't even have to return at the end of my maternity leave, or if I do, it will most likely only be for a few short weeks or months.

What does this mean for me?

Oh, more than I could possibly put into words. After 4 straight years in call center customer service (for a credit card company, nonetheless), I'm feeling slightly beat up. I think it's safe to say that there is no insult imaginable that I have not been on the receiving end of. I have mastered the art of deciphering drunken, dyslexic 16-digit card numbers through heavy accents of virtually every nationality. I have been called incompetent, useless, dim-witted, and a myriad of other such names that I don't care to put into writing.

I've been mistaken for an automated voice recording at least once a day for four years...

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, my name is Molly, may I please have your card number?

Caller: beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeeep-beep-beep-beeeeeep

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, my name is Molly and I am a human being, may I please verbally have your card number?

I have been threatened with litigation more times than I can count (not just against my company, oftentimes the callers specify that they intend to sue me and only me). I have been threatened with physical harm. I have been threatened with completely unknown consequences. Just a couple nights ago I had a woman hang up on me after the following closing:

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, is there anything else I can do for you tonight?
Caller: Yes, I want my new card overnighted to me and with the same number as my old card. You have 24 hours. Goodbye. --click--

....

(She didn't give me a chance to explain that we don't overnight cards, nor would her new card share the same number. However, 48 hours have now passed and no ill fate has befallen me. That I know of.)

Many people keep telling me that I shouldn't get too excited about leaving the working world behind. I've been warned that after a few nights being up at 2am with a screaming baby, I may actually miss the simple life of the call center.

I gotta say, I'm not buying it. As it is now, I'm up at 2am most nights with screaming adults. As long as my screaming baby isn't screaming obscenities at me through a well-worn headset at 2am, I think I'll be pretty content.

-----------------------------

On a side note, this is not to say that all people who call into our center are complete jerks. I talk to my fair share of very polite and considerate people every day. Most days they are all that keeps me going through the bad ones. So to anyone out there reading this, I urge you to be nice to your customer service representatives. They appreciate a kind word here and there more than you know.

Eggstravaganza

2010-04-06T17:24:00.012-06:00

There's a long standing tradition among Jason's family to turn Easter egg dying into an all day extravaganza. I am in no way exaggerating here. They get about five times as many eggs as the normal family would (a dozen a person might suffice...), spend about an hour making up every possible shade and hue of dye imaginable, and then proceed to spend hour upon hour dying each individual egg with the utmost care and creativity. I had the honor of experiencing this with Jason's dad (known as The King among Easter egg enthusiasts everywhere) for the first time last Easter. I have to admit, the title was well deserved. This was Jason's first Easter since his dad passed away late last year, so we of course wanted to honor him by carrying on the tradition. Here's some of our favorites...

SpongeBob

Made just for Baby

Ogre

Dinosaur Egg

Fire Egg

Iron Man

Plain Old Easter Egg

The Hulk (by Jacob)

When asked why Hulk had a big white circle on his chest, Jacob very matter-of-factly replied "Because, everyone knows Hulk's nipples don't turn green."

Duh...

If you weren't aware of that, perhaps you need to read up on your gamma radiation-induced mutation side effects.

Hormonal Dreaming

2010-03-28T11:33:00.004-06:00

I've heard all about how your dreams can get a little more vivid, a little more frequent, and a little more weird when pregnant. I've definitely noticed this over the past several months, at least to some degree.

In some instances, the dreams that I have make perfect sense for a pregnant woman. For example, take the dream I had a few months ago... I dreamt that I went into labor and ended up having the baby before Jason could make it to the hospital. When he did finally get there, for some reason there were suddenly 4 babies in my room and I was panicking over the fact that I couldn't remember which one was ours and didn't know what to tell him.

Or there was the time I dreamt that I gave birth in a half-hospital, half-zoo facility. And after delivery, the nurse brought me a koala bear to snuggle with rather than a baby. The weirdest part about that one was that I didn't find it weird at all at the time. I loved my koala bear just as he was. How's that for good mothering?

Then there was the dream where I was meeting my baby for the first time when he was a year old. The reason being, I had asked my sister to Meghan to "watch him for a bit while a ran some errands" after the hospital. Must have been some extreme errands. When I came to get him, Meghan tried to tell me that I had named him Macon (rhymes with "bacon"), even though I was convinced she had secretly done this herself as a twisted way of naming him after herself.

Just a few nights ago, I dreamt that I was at a baby shower. First of all, this baby shower included a few people from my current work, but other than that it was all people that I haven't seen or even thought of in years (you know, why wouldn't I invite my elementary school, male, band instructor to my baby shower??). The really stressful part though was when one of my co-workers gave me a hockey stick as a gift, and I couldn't think of a tactful way to tell her that I had no need for a hockey stick at a time like this.

All of these dreams I completely understand. Weird though they may be, it makes sense why such things would be weighing on my mind and finding their way into my sub-conscious whilst I slumber. The dream I had last night, however, I'm still struggling to understand.

I dreamt Tom Hanks died. In a boating accident. Now, I should mention that I generally don't have very strong feelings for Tom Hanks one way or the other. Sure, he's an excellent actor and I enjoy most his movies, but his and my relationship pretty much ends there. In this dream, I was terribly distraught over the loss. Stranger still, I had taken it upon myself to plan a memorial service for him, complete with sappy slideshow and all. And this wasn't one of those dreams that just goes away when you way up. Upon waking, I still felt like I was in mourning. It took me the better part of an hour to convince myself that Tom Hanks is not in fact dead. And even if he were, the chances of me being in charge of his funeral arrangements are pretty slim. Possible, yes...but slim.

Just to ease my feelings of stress a little bit, I figured I better take all preparations and throw this little ditty together. Just in case they come calling for me when that fateful day comes...

(Ok, so the real reason is that I'm feeling particularly drained today, and the thought of sitting on my couch with my laptop doing this is way more appealing than vacuuming.)

Outnumbered, But At Least My Shoes Are Clean

2010-03-25T17:24:00.022-06:00

Every now and then something happens to remind me of the fact that I stand alone amidst a bunch of boys. This past weekend, for example, served as a very muddy reminder.

We decided to venture out for a bike ride, despite the fact that we were still surrounded by melting snow and soggy conditions. For us, bike rides are never just bike rides. They're more like many brief little bike spurts divided by long stops on the side of the trail to explore.

I'm going to let these few pictures tell the story of our latest outing:

Boy #1: Hey! Can we stop and see that lake?

Me: It looks really muddy...

Boy #2: Hey! Let's stop and see that lake!

Me: I don't know guys, it really is muddy.

Boy #3: We're men, we can handle a little bit of mud!

Me: (Suddenly painfully aware of the fact that we just had our carpet shampooed last week) Ok, but let's stop and see it from over here in the nice dry grass.

Boy #1: (It feels suspiciously like no one is hearing me) Hey that looks like quicksand! I bet I can go further than you!

Boy #2: Sweet! Quicksand!

The rest of the story doesn't really require any dialog...

Since I wouldn't let Caleb put his muddy socks in my Camel Pak, he came up with this idea. I was impressed with his resourcefulness. I'll give him that...

Spring has Sprung

2010-03-21T03:55:00.002-06:00

I've said it before, but it's worth saying again. I LOVE Colorado. With the first day of Spring upon us this weekend, we found ourselves with a typical Colorado snowstorm followed by a gorgeous day of sunshine. We decided to take advantage of it and try out our new sleds.

Meghan, if you're watching this and wondering if I stole this video idea from you, the answer is yes. The only difference really is that we saddled up donkeys instead of horses.

Fathoming the Unfathomable

2010-03-20T01:14:00.000-06:00

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." -Psalm 139:13-16

I've heard this verse countless times before, but never has it struck such a chord with me as it does now. I happened upon it a few months ago and just haven't been able to let it out of my mind since. I love to think about what this verse means for the baby that God is growing inside of me day after day.

From my meager little perspective, it's so easy to feel impatient and anxious and eager and fearful all at the same time when I think about the day I finally get to meet the little boy I'm carrying. It's so easy to lose perspective and think of things on a day by day timeline; one week the baby is growing his heart, the next he is hiccuping as he learns how to use his brand new lungs. Six months ago he wasn't in there at all; today he makes his presence known with plenty of little kicks and jabs throughout the day.

It's hard to explain just how I feel when I step back and realize the weight of these words in Psalms. The fact that God already took joy in this baby's little heart and new lungs, even six months ago when I carried no one inside of me. The fact that God was smiling with each little kick and jab, even before I knew what was in store for us. The fact that God already knows everything about this boy -- his joys, his passions, his strengths, his pain, his weaknesses -- even though I still sit here wondering simply what he will look like -- the color of his eyes, the texture of his hair, the expressions of his face.

It's overwhelming and it's freeing at the same time. It reminds me that this is not just my baby God is trusting to my care. This is the life of one of His children, and He's given Jason and I the unspeakable gift of watching over him and loving him as ours. This is a human being that God has always had in His heart, since long before I set foot in this world. It reminds me that God has every day of this baby's life in His hands, and has all along.

I have no idea how anyone could approach the task of having a child without knowing God. I, for one, could never rest easy in the knowledge that this baby's life was dependent on only my strength and performance as a mother. No, I am much happier taking comfort in the fact that his life is, and always has been, in the hands of a perfect Father.

Pregnancy Brain...or Lack Thereof

2010-03-07T00:55:00.005-07:00

A few weeks ago I was asked if I've yet felt the effects of "pregnancy brain". I thought on the question for a few seconds, and then replied "No, I don't think so. Does that really exist?"

However, once the thought was in my head, I started to catch myself doing and saying some of the most ridiculous things. Now, I don't know how much of this can truly be blamed on pregnancy brain, but I've decided I'm going to soak these last few hormonal months up for all they're worth and go with the theory.

The other day Jason and I were at the grocery store. One of the only things I was there for was chicken noodle soup, but as is always the case, the trip quickly snowballed into a full-blown, overflowing cart kind of trip. I distinctly remember standing in the soup aisle at one point, and I distinctly remember scanning the labels with my keen eyesight, and I distinctly remember grabbing 3 cans of chicken noodle soup and placing them in my cart. Remember this scene, it will leave you just as boggled as it left me only a few short hours later.

First though, I must describe another picture to you. In this particular scene, Jason and I are standing in the frozen food aisle, and we've left our cart only a few glass doors down from us. At one point, Jason hands me 2 boxes of creamed spinach and asks that I put them in our cart. I distinctly remember walking to our cart, I distinctly remember rearranging a few things (namely, an 8-pack of Yoplait yogurt), and I distinctly remember fitting our frozen creamed spinach snugly into place.

Now if you will, please fast-forward about an hour to when we are just getting home and unloading our groceries.

Peculiarity #1: As I am stocking my 3 cans of chicken noodle soup into the pantry, I notice that they are not in fact chicken noodle soup. In my hand I am holding 3 cans of french onion soup. Which, I might add, is about the most different looking kind of soup one can find from chicken noodle soup (see below). I have never in my life bought french onion soup. I am bewildered.

Peculiarity #2: We are missing our creamed spinach. At first, we assume that maybe they were overlooked in the bagging process. It happens. But after checking the receipt, we determine that we were never even charged for creamed spinach. The mystery thickens as we realize the creamed spinach has somehow vanished from our cart somewhere between the frozen food aisle and the checkout line. Jason asks me if I'm sure I put it in the cart, to which I quite defensively reply "Yes, I distinctly remember moving the yogurt over to make room for the spinach!"

There's a brief awkward pause where I can only assume he is deciding whether or not to spare me my dignity. Then he replies, "Uh, what yogurt? We didn't buy any yogurt." Apparently he decided against the dignity thing. I'm about to argue back when I realize that he is absolutely correct. We did not buy any yogurt on this trip. I am further bewildered.

This leaves me with 3 theories to mull over:

Theory #1: The french onion soup dispenser is right next to the chicken noodle soup dispenser, and I mistakenly grabbed the wrong one. I have no defense for the spinach thing on this theory, but there's no need as it was quickly debunked anyway. After telling my mother the story of the soup, she pointed out that the two soups are no where near each other in her local store. I took a look at my own store the next time I was in, and she is correct. They are on almost opposite ends of the soup section.

Theory #2: Ok, so I mistakenly put the darn spinach in another person's cart. So sue me. It happens...they should really make those grocery carts all different colors or something. However, in this theory, the correct owner of the cart that I am not-so-subtly digging through and rearranging to my own liking is so deeply offended by my misunderstanding of socially acceptable grocery store practices that she decides to beat me at my own game. She sees my 3 cans of chicken noodle soup, clearly the prize of my trip thus far as they are perched honorably in the top kiddie-seat part of my own cart, and decides to swap it out with something random. Say, french onion soup.

Theory #3: Pregnancy brain truly exists, and I have fallen victim.

I'm still teetering between theories 2 and 3. Whatever the reason may be, I certainly hope that some family somewhere is enjoying our creamed spinach as much as we had hoped to.

It's A...

2010-02-23T16:22:00.002-07:00

I know it's beyond cliche to say that we would have been happy no matter what, so long as the baby is healthy... so go ahead, call me cliche.

This whole pregnancy both Jason and I have switched back and forth on the whole boy/girl thing. In fact, not just during this pregnancy, more like my whole life. For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to have a little boy. Maybe it's because I was always a bit of a tomboy myself. Maybe it's because I never had any desire to do my own hair, much less carry the responsibility of another person's long haired scalp on my shoulders. Maybe it's because I find any excuse to avoid wearing a dress, and didn't want to be a hypocrite while dressing up my little girl in only the pinkest, girliest, frilliest outfits available.

Then my nieces came along. One after another. Five in a matter of only a few years in fact. All of the sudden I was shocked to find myself wanting a little girl. I could handle long hair, princess dresses, and nail painting. In fact, all those things sounded amazing.

Jason was more or less in the same boat. While he watches Caleb and Jacob getting older and older, he of course misses all joys of a baby boy. But he also wants to know the joys of having a daughter. Watching "Remember the Titans" is enough to make him long for a little girl (he's sure she'd be just like the daughter in that movie), but then a stroll down the toy aisle at Target changes his mind right back to boy.

One night early on in this pregnancy, I remember sitting in the car with Caleb and Jacob while we waited for Jason in the store. One of their favorite songs came on the radio, and they proceeded to sing along in unison. Except instead of singing, they were just belting out the tune in various pitches of mock flatulence and other bodily functions. While proud of their ability to "sing" in key, I found myself completely certain in that moment that I wanted a little girl.

That state of mind continued until about January. All of the sudden, and seemingly out of nowhere, I completely changed my mind. Sure, a girl would be great, but I really wanted a boy. No explanation, no particular reason, just a change of heart. Not only that, but I was also suddenly certain that's what we were having.

SO... our appointment to find out was this last Tuesday. I went in with an "open mind", saying to myself that I could be wrong, but secretly thinking there was no possible way I was wrong. And the verdict is...

Can you handle the suspense???

It's a Boy!

Our Symphony of Flatulence is eagerly awaiting it's new addition of a soprano section come June or July.

Help Needed

2010-01-09T22:21:00.003-07:00

I notice that true bloggers often utilize this amazing blogging tool to either seek or post answers to life's most pressing questions. I often see posts out there addressing issues such as or "how can I make the best hot chocolate in the world?", or "how does one get melted crayon out of freshly laundered clothes?", or "what's a good plan of action when taking two car-sick prone little girls to the zoo?".

However, despite all my best searching, I can't seem to find the answer to a very urgent question that has plaqued me for the past several days. So here goes... if anyone out there has an answer for me, please don't hesitate to share.

How does one keep their dried-out contacts from popping out of their eyes when they forget to blink for too long while playing Guitar Hero?

The Wii Strikes Again

2009-12-27T01:20:00.004-07:00

You would think I would have learned my lesson the last time I ventured down this road, but alas I find myself again in the grips of broken self-esteem and tarnished self-image.

Caleb and Jacob got me a Wii Fit for Christmas, much to my pleasant surprise. I had mentioned on more than one occasion throughout the past year that I wanted one, but I had completely forgotten about it when it came time for Christmas lists and ideas. I was very touched that they would be so thoughtful as to think of such a gift.

Tonight I just happened to have the night off work and the house to myself, so I figured what better time to try out my new toy, right? I'm so grateful I chose to wait until I had the house to myself. This is not a game to be played in the company of others.

I turned the game on and it immediately prompted me to enter my age and height, after which I had to "step up on the scale" to find my weight and then calculate my BMI. This part wasn't so bad. I'm familiar with my current height, age, and weight... no surprises there. However, the screen proceeded to explain that we would now be testing my center of balance. The instructions on the screen were simple: Stand up straight on the board with your feet shoulder width apart and balance yourself.

Easy enough, right?

After a couple moments of mustering all of my best standing skills, the Wii politefully asked me to get off, and then less-politefully told me, "Looks like the Basic Balance Test isn't your forte. Do you find yourself tripping when you walk?"

I was slightly taken aback by the Wii's lack of tact, but not entirely offended. The truth is, I do find myself tripping when I walk. Often. At least now I can chalk it up to my poor center of balance.

Still holding my head up high, I continued to finish my initial Body Test. The point of the Body Test is to determine what your current Wii Fitness Age is. I felt pretty confident about my performance in each of the activities. In fact, I might go so far as to say I was feeling smug. Upon completion, the Wii makes quite a dramatic show, complete with drum roll, before revealing your score. My current Wii Fitness Age (drum roll please) : 43.

I don't mean to offend any 43 year olds that may be reading this. I'm sure you are all very fit for your youthful age. However, as a 23 year old, I am hurt.

I went on to check out some of the training exercises that the game has to offer, since I was clearly in desperate need of some work. There was a wide array of activities to choose from, none of which are appropriate to perform in front of other human beings. As I stood alone in my living room, zealously gyrating my hips in order to keep 5 imaginary hula hoops afloat while also lunging side to side to catch more as they were thrown my way, I became painfully aware of how foolish I must look should anyone be peering through my window right at that moment.

I was reminded of this all the more when I played the game called Bird's Eye Targeting (or something similar). The point of the game is to flap your wings as quickly as you can while leaning from side to side and trying to land on various targets on screen. I was having fun with it, until I leaned too far to one side and flipped the whole balance board out from under my feet. After crashing to the floor, despite all my best flapping, I decided to try something more mellow.

I moved onto the Yoga section of the game. Having never tried any sort of yoga in my life, I chose to start with the most basic of skills... breathing. The intructions were, again, seemingly simple: first inhale, next exhale. After 1-2 minutes of breathing along with the virtual trainer on screen, I was given my score. One out of five stars with a ranking if "Newcomer".

That's right, I'm a newcomer to the art of breathing.

I've made a mental note to thank the boys again for such an encouraging and uplifting gift.

Efficiency in List Making

2009-12-20T01:34:00.004-07:00

We all sat down as a family the other day to make our Christmas lists together. It wasn't until several days later that we looked closer at Jacob's list...

Guess Whose Uterus

2009-12-12T21:50:00.006-07:00

Ok, due to someone's demand for more specifics, here goes...

I am 12 weeks along and due June 29th. We are so so so excited! I endured about 5 weeks of mild morning sickness, but nothing worth complaining about. I have been feeling great for the past 2 weeks. But enough of the boring details; what really deserves blog time is the story of my own mother's creativity in helping us tell the family.

We wanted to tell the boys first, so we sat them down and told them at about 8 weeks. A couple days later, we took my parents out to lunch to share the news, and also told Jason's mom the same day. About a week later (the day before Thanksgiving, in fact) was our first doctor's appointment complete with our first ultrasound picture. I had told my mom about a little idea I had to bring my picture to Thanksgiving dinner and have her facilitate a game of "Guess Whose Uterus". Given the size of our family, and the many women of child-bearing age, I figured it'd make for a fair challenge. I had no idea the extent to which my mom would run with this idea.

She proceeded to spend 2-3 days compiling and photoshopping various different pictures of the family. She meticulously zoomed in and cropped out an assortment of individual body parts from different people (all appropriate, of course) - over 50 pictures in total. She then transferred them all to a slide show that could be played one by one on our TV, and made up individual score sheets for each of us. What began as a "Guess Whose Uterus" had become "Guess Whose Nose, Ear, Foot, Cuticle...etc".

Thanksgiving Day, after we had all stuffed our bellies to the point of needing medical attention, she announced that she had prepared a game for us. She led us all into the living room, sat us down in front of the TV, passed out our scorecards, and explained the rules of the game. While I sat there marveling at the time and work she had put into this, I couldn't help wondering if all my siblings were possibly questioning whether or not my mother's last shred of sanity had finally snapped under the pressure of hosting yet another Thanksgiving. We all knew this day would come, after all...

We worked our way through each picture as they were projected across the TV, pausing to debate over each one. This game was much harder than one might imagine. You may think you know your brother's ear lobes like the back of your hand, but detach them from the rest of his head and you'd be quite surprised at their lack of familiarity.

The very last photo was, of course, our ultrasound picture. I had anticipated that everyone's first thought upon seeing it would be that someone must be pregnant. After all, we've had about 1-2 pregnancies announced a year for the past 5 years. However, much to my surprise, my siblings' first thought was that this was an old ultrasound from a current niece/nephew. In fact, Meghan and Debbie both declared that they "could figure this out" and rushed up to the TV to try and read the date. I believe the conversation went something like this:

"Ok, so Nov 2009. Well, that couldn't be Sadie... or Maya... or... hey, wait... 2009!?!?!"

Once everyone knew that someone must actually be pregnant, they proceeded to grumble impatiently (we of course played along, so as not to blow our cover) while all 50+ pictures were replayed in order to reveal their correct answers. The final photo my mom put in was one of Jason and I, and thus the secret was out.

So, to my dear Mom if you are reading this, thank you so much for making our announcement so much fun! I think we should keep this idea in mind for next time someone gets a colonoscopy or something. They send you home with pictures after a colonoscopy, right?

And in Headlines Today...

2009-12-05T22:45:00.001-07:00

One Hour 'til the Next Harvest

2009-11-13T00:21:00.007-07:00

Ah, this is the life. Waking up at the crack of dawn for a quick breakfast before heading out to the fields. Spending the morning out under the sun, plowing your dirt and tossing your seeds. Milking the cows, then heading over to the chicken coup to check for a fresh batch of eggs. Waiting for approximately 4 hours to 4 days for your crop to be fully grown so you can go harvest your work and start all over again...

Ok, so maybe I don't know anything about real farming. And maybe it takes slightly longer than hours or days to return a good harvest. And maybe, just maybe, real farmers are more exhausted at the end of their day than I am at the end of my 10 minute FarmVille sessions throughout the day. But I have to say, the stress is getting to be unbearable. For crying out loud, strawberries only last 8 hours before they wither away!

Ok, for those of you that have not discovered the joys of FarmVille yet, I urge you to stop reading right here. You owe it to your families to not be sucked into this downward spiraling abyss that is country-living responsibility. For those of you that still doubt, here is my story:

The other night at work, I overheard two friends discussing this application on Facebook called FarmVille. One of the friends was going on and on about how ridiculous this game was, and how her husband is just obsessed with it. She started explaining the game, and telling all about how you have this virtual farm that you have to plow, then plant seeds, then wait hours for the seeds to grow, and how if you don't harvest within a certain time your plants will wither, etc. She kept stressing the fact the she just didn't see the appeal in this game, and how stupid it sounded. As I eavesdropped, I thought to myself "This...sounds...awesome!"

I more or less forgot all about the conversation until I was perusing another friend's page on Facebook a few days later, and there it was before me... a big giant turkey icon inviting me to check out FarmVille.

I clicked on it.

My life has not been the same since. I wake in the morning worrying that my crops have withered. I fall asleep at night wondering if I should get up to harvest just one more time before I turn in. I don't look at white picket fences the same way anymore, as I know now their full value (one little section costs as much as a dairy cow! who would have thought!?).

So, if any of my friends out there are wondering why they haven't heard from me or seen me in a while, now you know. I have taken up farming. And now I must be going, for my artichokes are 99% grown, and I need to harvest them while they're good and fresh.

A Tale of Excitement, Enthusiasm, and Exhaustion

2009-10-31T11:52:00.000-06:00

T'was the night of Halloween, and all through the house
Costumes did flourish and make-up did douse ...

Nope, just don't have the brain power to do this whole story in rhyming prose. If you are judging my lack of effort right now, please see post title and refer to E-Word #3.

We started Halloween night off strong with a Vampire and a Werewolf to create. The kids were so much fun and got so into everything, not to mention their extreme patience as we meticulously painted faces, applied Vampire bite marks, dyed hair, and glued fur to a fake bone for a somewhat gruesome side prop.

Once we were finally done getting all dressed up, we set out adventurously to the streets. The kids started out as one may expect, sprinting from house to house in an effort to overfill their pillowcases with candy in record time.

Then came the hunger, and the weariness, and the cold. Paces slowed and spirits soon began to droop. Jacob, too over-encumbered to make it any further, soon passed his furry bone to Jason to carry.

Then he passed his mask. Shortly thereafter, his gloves. And when finally he could go on no longer, he entrusted his precious candy to him as well.

Caleb followed suit not long after that.

Ok, so maybe I don't have as much reason as Jason to be exhausted.

October Comes, October Goes

2009-10-30T01:39:00.002-06:00

Fall is perhaps one of our favorite times of year, as is evidenced here, here, and here. Unfortunately, this year we fell way behind in our Fall Festivity Extravaganza. Oh we had great aspirations, there's no question there. But do you ever have one of those days (or weeks... or months...), when all of your well laid plans just unravel before you, leaving you grasping for that fleeting loose string that ever alludes you?

We kicked off October 1st with Jason catching a terrible case of the flu. I followed 2 or 3 days after. This was no run-of-the-mill, go-about-your-day-and-pretend-you're-well common cold. This was make-up-your-will-and-say-your-farewells flu. We both spent about a week couped up, drugged up, and grumpy as can be. During that week, we watched Cider Days come and go on the calender.

When we finally started feeling as though we may actually pull through and live to see Christmas, we realized we now only had 3 weeks to fit in all the Halloween hoopla that we were so looking forward to. First on the list was a trip to our favorite pumpkin patch. We loaded into the car and headed off with visions of pumpkins and gourds and hay in our heads. We got to the beloved patch only to find that it was apparently closed this year. No problem... we would be going to a corn maze next week, and they too would have a pumpkin patch. We went to the park instead, which turned out to be a pretty fun time, as always.

A few days passed before Jason was abruptly sick all over again, with seemingly the same exact thing as before. I followed 2 or 3 days after. Another week of couped up, drugged up, and grumpy as can be (I think the kids noticed the grumpy more than us). It was during this time that we noticed a bat hanging out outside our apartment door. Though I do hate bats, and would prefer to stay as far away from them as possible, I couldn't help but thinking it may have been a little wink from God. Ya know, a little taste of Halloween fun on our doorstep. Thanks God... but next time would you mind sending a cute pumpkin instead?

The following week we were again feeling well and more than ready to go jump in some leaves or play in some hay. On our calender for this week: a hayride. On God's calender for this week: our first snow storm of the year. It was beautiful. And yep, it was also enough to cancel the hayride. All turned out well though as we instead spent the evening playing a fun computer vampire game together as a family while we watched the snow. Hey, vampires are way Halloweeny, right?

With only one week left in October, we made plans to try the corn maze again. If you live in Colorado, you know that this past week has not been ideal for venturing into a corn maze. Please see evidence below:

Day 1 of snow storm (12 inches):
Day 2 of snow storm (18 inches):

Day 3 of snow storm (24 inches):
I've got to admit, seeing this much snow outside our windows left me with nothing in the world to complain about. Sure we didn't get to do all the things we had planned, but can you imagine anything more beautiful!?!? (Have I mentioned that I love the snow more than just about anything else in the world?)

SO... My lesson learned for October 2009: Don't stress over failed plans. God obviously has something better up his sleeves (and He may even send a disease-carrying, winged rodent your way to hold you over in the meantime).

Mother's Day

2009-05-25T04:02:00.004-06:00

In keeping with my new role of slacker blogger, I thought I'd post something that required little to no writing. This is a recent video I made for my mom. I liked how it turned out, so why not post it, right?

Parakeet Lost

2009-03-11T14:39:00.015-06:00

Ok, so first and foremost, let me begin by offering an excuse for the unacceptable upkeep of my blog. My work recently implemented a very strict "no internet" policy. Apparently the bulk of my blog time was concentrated at work, as evidenced by my two month gaps between posts. So while there are many things for me to post about from these last few months, I'll begin by sharing a tragic story of love and loss, as requested by Meghan.

Jason's birthday was in the beginning of February. I had given the boys a few simple ideas of what he may want for his birthday, and asked them to try and think of some of their own ideas as well. However, after a family outing to the pet store for some fish food (during which Jason showed some interest in the birds), the kids had made their minds up. They wanted to get him a pet bird. I should mention here that I am actually not a fan of birds. At all. There is just something about a small creature that is both capable of "fluttering" and "pecking" at the same time that terrifies me. Oh yeah, and the talons. I don't like talons. However, much to my dismay, the kids would not be swayed in their idea. And since I knew that Jason really did want one, I gave in.

And thus, the plan was set in motion. Caleb and Jacob and I ventured out to the pet store about a week before his birthday. We spent a while reading all the "Must-Knows for Parakeets" pamphlets, then proceeded to pick out the perfect cage and accessories. On the day of Jason's birthday, we hid the cage in one of our bathtubs, and then led him all over the house on a hunt for his present. When he finally found it, the kids had made cards and put them inside the cage explaining that we would take him to the store to pick out his own bird.

Luckily, Jason was thrilled with the idea, and we immediately piled into the car- all of us in eager anticipation of our new pet-to-be (well, most of us anyway). After debating for an unbelievably long time, Jason finally settled on a grey and black parakeet (while trying to upload my pictures to my computer recently, I accidentally deleted them all instead... so this is not our actual bird, just a close resemblance). With the help of the kids, he named him Grundy. For those of you that do not live with a house full of comic book boys, Grundy is DC Universe's super-strong, zombified, mobster villain. You can see the likeness, I'm sure.

And so began our new life as bird owners...

When we got Grundy home, he was quick to warm up to us and eager to explore our apartment. (All those "Must-Knows For Parakeets" had told us that it's important to let your bird out of his cage for at least half an hour a day). Day by day, little Grundy seemed to feel more and more comfortable in his new home, and even began to perch on our fingers or shoulders on his own will. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was growing to like Grundy as well. I still don't like birds, but Grundy was ok in my book.

Then came that fateful day, only four days after bringing home the new addition to our family. Jason and I were the only ones home, and Grundy was freely exploring the apartment. Jason asked me to keep and eye on him for a few minutes while he went and took a shower. I nodded a quick "sure, yeah, whatever..." and went about my business. Grundy was peacefully perched atop our windowsill, and I was a mere 10-20 feet away finishing up the dishes.

Approximately 4 minutes after Jason had entrusted his dear new pet to my care, I heard a very brief fluttering of wings. I glanced up to check on Grundy's whereabouts, but couldn't seem to find him anywhere. After a few short moments of panic and confusion, I heard a tremendous splashing sound come from our fish aquarium, and looked to find our two largest fish flopping and flailing about in mortal fear of some unknown cause. Upon closer inspection, I was horrified to find Grundy frantically swimming laps along the top of the tank, seemingly trying to escape from the hysterical, gargantuan bala sharks below.

In the fleeting moments that followed, I mustered my inner heroic instincts and scooped Grundy out of the tank. I was sitting on the couch and cradling him in a towel when Jason emerged only 10 minutes after leaving me alone with the poor bird. His eyes darted from me, to Grundy, to the towel, to the open fish tank. Suspicion set in.

I explained what had happened, and promised that Grundy's "accident" had absolutely nothing to do with my prior avian-directed hatred. Grundy seemed more or less ok after the event, if not slightly lethargic. I tried to stress the heroic part of my story to Jason while placing Grundy back into his cage. Thinking all was well, and assured that disaster had been avoided, we headed off to work. We came home that night to find Grundy on the bottom of his cage... very dead.

I've maintained my innocence in the days following the loss of Grundy, despite great scepticism and accusations from those around me. According to the kids, "Molly defeated Daddy's birthday present" (Jason doesn't like them to say "kill" or any other such related words... it's always "Batman defeated Joker"... "Molly defeated Grundy"...etc.).

Shortly after the above events transpired, we headed back to the pet store for a second try as bird owners. This time Jason picked a yellow and green one (this picture is actually him), and together with the kids settled on the name Loki. Loki is Marvel Universe's adopted brother and enemy of Thor... just in case you didn't know. Again, the resemblance is uncanny.

I'm proud to say that Loki has been with us for over a month now with no incident. While I have lost some of my previous privileges, I have been granted supervised visits due to good behavior.

Roundtable Friday

2009-01-16T01:33:00.002-07:00

Despite the fact that my brain has felt like exploding recently due to over use, I can’t seem to think of a single interesting thing to blog about. So for that reason, I’m going to ask anyone out there that may be reading this to answer a few questions that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while. They are random and in no way related to each other (other than the fact that they have all crossed my mind in recent days), but perhaps if someone out there can provide any answers and lay these fleeting queries to rest, then my brain will have slightly more room to think of something blogworthy.

1. How does one efficiently grocery shop for all needed items using coupons and store deals, without spending a straight week organizing said coupons, documenting said sales, and drawing up detailed blue prints of the grocery store layout? I have been trying to find my niche in this area, and I am failing miserably. I have always loved lists, and can organize with the best of ‘em, but this task has proven to be far more overwhelming than I ever imagined. Does anyone out there have any tips or magical systems for this that I could possibly use to my advantage?

2. Is it possible to make my blog prettier and break away from the standard Blogger layouts without actually paying for a new layout? Is there a certain site that people are going to that I just don’t know about? Or are all the people out there with pretty blogs just less cheap than myself and are actually paying for them?

3. How much would you pay someone to come and paint a mural on your wall? I realize the answer to this one may differ greatly depending on wall size and mural size… so for the sake of the question, let’s just say it’s a one wall mural, and takes up approximately ¾ of the standard household-sized wall. Any ball park idea of what a fair price would be for commissioned work?

4. In the end of Reservoir Dogs, did Mr. Pink die too?

5. What is tapioca made of? Really?

Thank you very much for your assistance in these matters. Perhaps if this works well I'll make it a regular Friday thing, as I spend most of my time somewhat confused and in need of answers.

For Just A Day

2009-01-07T01:04:00.004-07:00

Today is my dad’s birthday. He passed away 7 years ago, and while I miss him deeply, I take an abundant amount of comfort in knowing that he is experiencing something now that truly makes me envious. Yet, I would be lying to say that there aren’t certain days, or moments, which make me feel the ache of missing him a little more than others.

I would never wish upon him this broken world that he’s left behind, or the broken body that he’s free of now. But I do sometimes wish he could come hang out for a just day or two. I wish he would have had the chance to meet my nieces. I know that he would take absolute joy in them. I love to picture the delight in his eyes, and the childish grin he’d be unable to contain while doting on them.

I want him to meet the man I married, and spend a day watching football together with him. I want Caleb and Jacob to go fishing with him.

I wish he could see the grace with which Meghan has grown into her role of mother, and shake hands with the godly man that she’s committed herself to. I want him see how selfless Chad is in everything he does, and see what an honorable man, father, husband, and brother he is. I want to hear him laugh with Matt, and see how excited he gets for the things that he’s passionate about.

I want to draw with him. I want him to see the Jelly Bean Machine that Chad made for me for Christmas. I want him to watch Meghan with her girls, and to see her finish a triathlon. I want him to recognize his own sense of humor and sparkle mirrored in Matt’s eyes. I want him to see the ways that he’s woven into each of us, and I want to tell him how proud it makes me to know that I’m his daughter.

I know the value of dwelling in the joy of where he’s at, rather than hanging on the ache of where he no longer is. Still, it brings a smile to my face to wish for just a day or two, bittersweet as that wish may be. And if I’m really going to be honest with myself, a tinge of that bittersweet ache may be due more in part to my jealousy than to his absence; because as much as I long to invite him into my world for just a day, oh how much greater it would be to be invited into his world- to see that what he’s seeing- for just a day.

...oh, that's where I left my blog...

2008-12-30T23:18:00.018-07:00

Oh my goodness, I haven’t posted anything in over a month. How did that happen? I know I’m new to this blogging thing, but I think it’s safe to say that I am more of a January-November blogger, rather than the year-round type. So, in the interest of not writing a whole novel to make up for lost posts, I think I’ll dabble in the art of picture story to recap some of this past month’s highlights…

As the rest of the country has been pounded with snowstorms and cold fronts, Colorado seems to have been having ridiculously mild weather. Our first real snow storm did not even hit the Denver Metro area until the very end of November. As someone who spends all year eagerly awaiting winter, naturally I have been disappointed. But, here’s a picture off our balcony of our first snow in our new apartment!

Ironically, this storm hit us the same weekend we had scheduled to go pick out a tree to bring home and decorate. It was a very cold day, and Jason was having much less fun than this picture would suggest… (Caleb was cheering because we had finally settled on a tree and could go home).

We then spent the night decorating and making Christmas cookies.

Jacob made three valiant attempts to place the star on top of the tree before Jason finally gave in and did it for him.

My favorite highlight of the month was when my friend lost her job. Wait, that makes me sound like a jerk. Nope, I definitely meant it. Miss Annabella, I am so glad that you lost your job and had to move home sooner than expected! A year and a half is far too long to live in a different time zone than you.

The week before Christmas, we spent one cold night at Zoo Lights with my family. It was very cold. Denver Zoo’s website assures that they offer plenty of inside attractions, warming stations, and hot cocoa/cider for the weary and weather-worn masses. This is a generous description. In reality, there were 2 very small warming stations, limited inside attractions (all of which were packed and smelled of hippo dung or other pachyderm matter), and the cider came in really cool insulated cups that radiated no heat whatsoever. However, despite this paragraph having sounded a lot like whining and complaining, we really had a lot of fun. Cold fun.

Christmas morning found us at my parents’ house eating our traditional “Christmas Eggs” for breakfast. I don’t think I have ever experienced a Christmas morning without my mom’s Christmas Eggs, and I don’t ever intend to. We stayed there for a while doing a gift exchange and enjoying each other’s company, then headed home to do our gift exchange with the boys. Jason’s mom got to come over and spend the evening with us, and even made some of her famous chili. My mom’s Christmas eggs… Jason’s mom’s chili… all in one day! I don’t think it gets any better than that.

And that brings me just about up to date. I’ve got about 20 other posts flying around my head (yes Annabel, that includes the unfinished “Ode to Bella”), but those can wait for 2009. I hope you all have had a fantastic month!

The Ebb and Flow of Creative Juices

2008-11-15T02:25:00.000-07:00

I’m currently reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. First and foremost, let me just say that I love this book and would highly recommend it. In short, it’s the story of two cousins- one from New York, the other from Prague, both Jewish- and their success as pioneers in the comic book industry in America during WWII. For those that are not at all interested in comic books, I assure you this book is still fascinating and well worth reading.

The other night I was reading and came to a line that I just loved and that so resonated with me. It’s a scene early on in the book, while the main characters are still just young boys dreaming of creating their own comic book. One character, Joe, had just masterfully scaled the fire escape of an empty New York apartment building, and his cousin looked on…

"As he watched Joe stand, blazing, on the fire escape, Sammy felt an ache in his chest that turned out to be, as so often occurs when memory and desire conjoin with a transient effect of weather, the pang of creation. "

I love that line. I love it because I so understand it. I know that pang and that ache in my chest to simply create. I think this is a God-given desire, regardless of the gifts or talents He has given us. I fully believe that he has fashioned us after His own heart, and that His heart is the heart of a true Creator.

Whatever our ability may be, we all possess the desire to create. One person may make music, while another can capture a blazing sunset within the confines of a painted canvas. One person can produce ideas and methods that push the flow of business, while another person can cultivate a warm and welcoming environment that invites the cold and hungry. One may master a pencil and sketchpad; another may master the kitchen and culinary world. This world is full of thinkers and writers and visionaries and inventors and crafters and dreamers, and regardless of what means we utilize, our end is always a creation of sorts.

Lately I've really been feeling that pang- that ache to use any and all the gifts God gave me and just make something of it. I want a job that I enjoy and that provides me an outlet for my passions (don't we all). I want to draw or write or paint. I want to scrapbook; I want to blog; I want to write a novel. I want to be a published children's book illustrator. I want to learn to cook, and I want to make something worthy of selling in a Christmas craft fair. My problem is that I want to do them all, I want to do them well, and I want to do them simultaneously. The end result is this spewing volcano of creative desire that will probably erupt into one solid week of hibernating and trying to accomplish all at once, followed by an extremely deflated and exhausted me that is devoid of any creative inclinations whatsoever.

Anyone else out there go through these same cycles, or is it just me?

Does Anyone Else Think This Is Funny?

2008-11-13T21:39:00.004-07:00

Ok, so normally I really try to avoid using things like WebMD as it tends to cause me unreasonable amounts of paranoia. One moment I'm experiencing mild cold symptoms, the next I'm convinced that I've contracted some rare form of Mongolian baht fly virus, mad cow disease, or any other number of ailments containing an animal name prefix and an -itis suffix. However the other night at work I couldn't resist doing a little research on some worrisome symptoms my friend was experiencing.

For those not familiar with WebMD, allow me to provide a brief overview... After clicking on the pale little man labeled "symptom checker", you're directed to click on the specific portion of your body that is giving you trouble. It then proceeds to present you with a ridiculously long list of possible symptoms (most of which will make you feel much better, by comparison, about your current complaint or illness). While you scan the list and select all symptoms that apply to you, WebMD compiles a list of all possible diseases, syndromes, disorders, etc. However some of the symptoms you select will then prompt you to provide a more in depth description. The following screenshot is one I came across the other night:

In case that's a little too hard to read, that does in fact say "encounter with an octopus in the south Pacific".

On a side note- my friend went to the real doctor a few days later and found that she has neither Mongolian baht fly virus nor mad cow disease. She's feeling much better, in fact.

A Word About Daylight Savings

2008-11-02T01:22:00.000-06:00

I used to love the “Fall Back” time of year. Seriously, what’s not to love?

Here’s what’s not to love:

Clocks go back an hour at 2:00am. I work an 8-hour swing shift that ends at 2:00am. Therefore, as I sat here tonight nearing the end of my shift and watching that final minute pass from 1:59 to 2:00-- the minute that generally signals my freedom and all-around happiness-- something terrible happened instead. I have never felt as defeated as when I witnessed 1:59am become 1:00am. I imagine this may be what Hell is like (this, and also an eternity of trying to match Tupperware lids to their proper bowls).

I used to hate “Spring Forward” day. Oh how I miss those days…

As Visions of Pez Candies Danced Through My Head

2008-10-31T23:29:00.002-06:00

In light of the this fine Halloween day today, I thought I’d retell the story of one of my favorite Halloweens yet- made great by two of my favorite people ever.

Several years ago- I think my sophomore year of high school- my friend, Tara, and I decided to get really ambitious and make our own Halloween costumes. I think both Tara and I would fall into the category of “over-achievers, primarily in regards to projects that others may find futile and, quite frankly, a waste of time”. This can be made evident by our endless note passing games that we passed the time in class with: the time we tried to write solely in Spanish to each other (for months), the time we tried to write solely with our non-dominant hands to each other (for months), the time we refused to write to each other in any thing other than an intricate and painstaking calligraphy-type font (for months). One may look at our overflowing notebook that is a product the above discipline and think it a profound waste of time. But what can I say… we can now write in shaky, calligraphy-style, poor Spanish with the best of 'em, and I say that is something to be proud of.

Wow, that was quite the tangent.

So anyway, this one October way back when and once upon a sophomore year, Tara and I decided to make our own costumes. After deliberating over the wide array of options before us, we finally decided on the perfect idea. Pez Dispensers. Life-size, walking, talking Pez Dispensers. We went to work, and probably spent a good solid month developing and executing our plan. Being only poor high school students, we were resourceful as possible and completed our project using only felt, poster board, glue, and a few wire hangers. I tried to find the actual photos of our finished masterpieces, but unfortunately came up empty handed. So, without further ado, I present to you my best rendering from memory…

I can’t remember if we wore them to school or not. Did we, Tara? I do, however, remember winning first place in our youth group’s costume contest. Yep, there’s my proudest achievement to-date.

For some reason Tara wasn’t able to go trick-or-treating with us that year, but I did get to go with my other favorite person, Annabel (yes, I went trick-or-treating my sophomore year of high school). Annabel didn’t have a costume prior to that day, so we had to come up with her spontaneous and impromptu attire. Apparently the creative juices just weren’t flowing with much intensity that night, because this is what we came up with…

She was a sleeping bag. Which we accomplished by wrapping her in a sleeping bag. And that is all.

We set off on our merry journey, but VERY quickly discovered the error of our way. You see, neither of our costumes allowed much room for the simple act of walking. So we waddled. Slowly. After an exhausting hour of work, we had only waddled the length of one street. And to make matters worse, people kept mistaking my Pez Dispenser for a mail box (which I still don’t see. I’ve included a head-on sketch of the mask, so you can judge for yourself), and throwing candy in my eye hole… at which point I would have to stop and shimmy it down and out my foot hole, so that Annabel could kindly pick it up for me.

Finally, we decided to give up and head home so we could change out of our cumbersome costumes. Neither of us were quite satisfied with our night’s earnings though, so we resolved to head back out. This time we dressed as ourselves and told people we were Christians. Lame cover, I know.

So… to Tara and Annabel- if you’re reading this- thanks for being so amazing. I think we should all three spend the next year planning an even better costume for Halloween ’09 :)

Blunders from the Cubicle

2008-10-23T02:26:00.004-06:00

It occurred to me the other day that I have been unfair and quite biased in my previous posts pertaining to my job (refer here and here). The picture I have painted has been one extremely skewed image, in which I am portrayed as the faultless, all-knowing voice on the opposite end of a phone line connecting directly to a world of buffoons and drunkards. I am not refuting the fact that, yes, my phone line does connect to a world that contains a shocking number of buffoons and drunkards. But in all fairness, I must admit to another side of the story: I too am a buffoon (but usually not a drunkard).

Evidence Profile #1: The Mute Button

Our phones come with a feature that I find myself both praising and cursing several times each day. The mute button is a simple little button within easy reach that, upon pressing, mutes my end of the line while still allowing me to hear my caller. It’s intended purpose is mostly for sparing the caller from hearing your sneezes or similar interruptions that are not worthy of using the “hold” button for. Most reps also use it when they can’t resist the urge to verbalize their rage towards the caller without the caller actually hearing them.

Several times each day I answer my phone while it is muted and can’t figure out why the caller isn’t responding to my greeting. More than once I have tried to mute my call for the purpose of verbalizing said rage, and not realized that I missed the button. And in one awkward moment, I once muted my phone to cover an urgent and fearsome sneeze- except I had forgotten that I was already muted. On the caller’s end, it probably sounded something like this… “>dead silence, dead silence, dead silence< BOOMING SNEEZE >dead silence, dead silence, dead silence <”. Awesome.

Evidence Profile #2: Ruined by Routine:

We don’t really have scripts to go by in my job, but we deal with enough of the same situations that sometimes things just become scripted. For example, after activating a card for someone, I usually advise them to “sign the back and it’s ready for use”. Similarly, after reporting a card lost, I would advise them to “please contact your bank to order a new card”. I wish I had a dollar for every time I finish reporting a card lost for someone, and then promptly advise them to sign the back of it and begin using it.

Another dilemma…we make both outbound and inbound phone calls. On a normal day, you will do primarily one or the other, but not both. However, if need requires it, sometimes a supervisor will ask you to switch from what you have been working for 5 hours and do the opposite. This is a cruel, despicable trick. I should add here that our phones do not ring for incoming calls, they simply beep into your headset. The beep sounds identical to that of an answering machine. I have left many strangers voicemails on their home phones that sounded much like this… “Thank you for calling >unidentified credit card company<, how may I help…ummm… aww man… *click*” (Before you judge me, know that I always call them back. But there comes a point where you just can’t recover from a failed script and have no other option but to abort.)

Evidence Profile #3: Well, just read on…

Ok, so this one didn’t happen in the cubicle, but it serves to prove the same point. I had to call my cell phone provider yesterday with questions concerning my bill. After a lengthy call in which all my concerns were addressed, our conversation neared its end. It went something like this:
Cell Phone Rep: Ok, so just to review your call today, I have updated this, that, and blah blah blah…
Me: Yep, sounds perfect
Cell Phone Rep: Ok… (short pause, I assume they were making notes)
Me: And is there anything else I can help you with today?
Cell Phone Rep: …excuse me...?
insert awkward pause
Me: ok, sorry. Thanks, bye… *click*

And to think, I don’t even have the excuse of alcohol to blame.

Corn and More Corn

2008-10-19T02:30:00.013-06:00

Is any one else about to burst with seasonal joy, or is that just me?

Honestly, I don’t know how any one can justify living anywhere but here. My only wish is that the changing leaves would stay around just a little while longer. I love waking up in the mornings and being surprised at the cool chill of morning air that you haven’t felt for months. Or taking a walk outside and smelling the faint aroma of fire places being used for the first time. Or watching a hazy sunset over mountains that somehow formed a blanket of snow over night. Yeah, you can’t get much better than this.

But, you can certainly appreciate it all the more by taking in the view from the middle of a corn field.

We spent one amazing day this week at the Fritzler Corn Maize. It was way too much fun. I would definitely recommend this to any one in the Denver area looking for a fun family outing. We got to do two corn mazes, launch a corn canon, jump on an over-sized trampoline pillow, ride a barrel train roller coaster, sport 3-D glasses through a house of jumping paintings, and wander through the insides of a giant inflatable lizard. The prices were very reasonable, and I definitely felt like we more than got our money’s worth.

Ode to Old Man

2008-10-10T23:34:00.017-06:00

While looking through and organizing some of the random photos that I have saved to my computer the other day, I came across a picture of someone very dear to me; someone that I felt deserved his own post.

This is Old Man Baby (but those closest to him often call him Old Man).

And this is his story…

Several years ago I decided, on a whim, that I wanted to start collecting garden gnomes. My collection had grown to about 7 or 8 by the time I took my trip to Romania in 2005. I was elated to find that Romania has some sort of infatuation with garden gnomes, as they could be found in any and every gift or souvenir shop (garden gnomes and Dracula… yep, that’s Romania in a nutshell). After much debate and consideration, I settled on the above pictured gnome to take home with me. I named him Sebastian, after the little boy who had stolen my heart, and whom I would have much rather taken home with me.

Upon arriving home (I was living at my parents’ house at the time), Sebastian assumed his position on the mantle of my parents’ fireplace. One day my sister was over at the house with her two beautiful daughters, Aubri and Rylynn. Aubri took an instant interest in this new addition to my collection, and began toting him around the house with her. (Sebastian is actually made out of a lightweight, rubbery material, rather than the heavy plaster most are made from.)

Aubri already had a few baby dolls that she adored, each with their own names to tell them apart. I don’t remember the exact names, but she referred to each one as “Baby Julia” or “Baby Sarah” or whatever their respective names were. Naturally, Sebastian became “Old Man Baby”. When it was time for her to go home that night, she very sweetly asked me if she could take Old Man home with her. I, of course, said yes. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

From that day forward, she grew more and more attached to Old Man, taking him with her everywhere she went. One day I received a phone call from her asking if she could take him with her to the sand dunes. Thus began the tradition of Old Man accompanying the family on every trip or vacation. When Meghan took the girls for their annual professional photo shoot, Aubri insisted Old Man be in them too. And so he was. I got to experience a little taste of the odd looks that Meghan must get all the time as we walked through the mall that day with a garden gnome buckled into the front of our double stroller.

Old Man has become a staple in the family, and a common sight at any gathering. One night we were all hanging out to play cards at my parents’ house. We had spent the whole night around the kitchen table, and the girls had been in bed for hours, when someone finally noticed that Old Man had been sitting with us at the table the whole time, securely strapped into a high chair with a snack and a drink in front of him. (It has also been realized that there are more photos of Old Man in the family than there are of some of the rest of us).

There’s a quote from an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond that always makes me smile, and turns my thoughts towards Old Man; “Sometimes I forget how weird this family is, until someone new comes in and looks at us like that."

Although it’s been nearly 3 years since their first meeting, Aubri and Old Man are still great friends. Last year she honored him with the utmost symbol of flattery by insisting to dress up as him for Halloween (the costume is the handiwork of Meghan and my mom, as not many party stores offer Old Man Baby costumes among their line of merchandise).

Who wouldn’t want these two for their garden?!

Cider Days

2008-10-08T01:01:00.015-06:00

Have I mentioned that I love fall?!?!?

Jason gets really into the holidays (any holidays), and makes it his mission to soak up every little ounce of atmosphere that this time of year has to provide. This works out well for the kids and I, as it means that we get to go to every carnival, event, or Oktoberfest that comes within a 100 mile radius of home. Continuing our fall festivities, we spent last weekend at a local annual festival called Cider Days.

It was a perfect day for such an outing. The sky was overcast with the dreary clouds of autumn, and a light breeze was in the air keeping the temperature as comfortable as anyone could ask for. And of course, we were surrounded by the best part of any Colorado fall…

Not that we would need anything more to make the day complete, but the festival provided the icing on the cake. The kids got to jump in a bounce house shaped like an overturned cow…

(yep, those are udders)

And ride a donkey…

Feed the farm animals…

We all pet a yak (incidentally, I think I’m allergic to yaks. Who would’ve thought?)

We made cornmeal…

And ate turkey legs…

And of course, we drank cider a plenty.

Does it get any better than this?

Quirky is as Quirky Does

2008-10-03T01:05:00.004-06:00

I’ve been tagged! Does that make me officially a blogger? Oh dear…

Oh well, that revelation can be picked apart and examined another day, because for today Leslie has provided me with all the post content I need. 6 quirks, huh? I’m afraid of what deep personal issues this may bring to the surface for me, but here goes…

6 Quirks of Mine…

1. I am as clumsy as clumsy can possibly be. I cannot hold a drink without spilling it, I cannot walk up stairs without missing one, and I cannot brush my hair without poking my eye out at least once. In fact, I’m wincing a little as I type this, due to the excessive swelling of the finger that I slammed in the dishwasher today. Perhaps I’ll share about the time I zipped my face into my jacket in another post…

2. I don’t like getting out of bed at any time that doesn’t end in a 0 or 5. Sometimes this OCD-like behavior is so prevalent that I make myself late. For example, if I set my alarm for 8:00, and accidentally sleep in until 8:16, I will most likely lay in bed until 8:20 before making the mad rush to get ready.

3. As Meghan so lovingly shared with everyone on this post, I am a closet Lion King fanatic. I will never tell you that it is my favorite movie, but deep down we all know that it is. I claim that the only reason I have a Lion King sketch book spanning 7 years of my life is because it’s an excellent art form against which to hone one’s drawing skills. The truth is that I love The Lion King to an unhealthy extreme. (In my own defense Meghan, I partially blame you for all those nights you left your Lion King soundtrack playing on repeat all night long. I was at a very impressionable age).

4. I hate feet and often ask God what He was thinking in creating such disgusting things, much less permanently attaching two of them to us. This, coupled with the fact that I am insanely ticklish in mine, causes an unreasonable fear of people touching my feet. Another story due a post of its own- Worst Nightmare Realized: A Pedicure Story. Similarly, I cringe at the thought of someone else’s feet on me. Especially if they have socks on that they have been wearing all day.

5. I have a fear of heights, and I hate it. If there was one thing I would change in a heartbeat, it would be this. As a result, my role at any amusement park has become “pack mule”, waiting on the ground and holding all the belongings of those brave enough to actually have fun. As a result, I cannot remember much about my trip to the Royal Gorge, other than an overwhelming feeling of nausea and impending doom. And as a result, I missed out on riding the giant ferris wheel on Santa Monica pier by sunset.

6. I once ate a bee. I suppose that’s not really a quirk, and maybe it falls more into a sub-category of quirk #1, but I really felt that it deserved mention. No, it was not on purpose. Yes, it did sting me right on the tongue before meeting its fateful demise. In one of the scariest 20 minutes of my life, my tongue grew to the size of baseball and was rendered useless in the art of communication, making it near impossible to convey my desperation to those around me. However, this one event has given birth to another small quirk of mine… I will never again leave my soda can unattended on a summer day.

And now it’s my turn to tag someone (yep, I’m officially a blogger). I think I’m going to tag Abby and Annabel (because I think Angie and Amy have already done this one…if not, consider yourselves tagged... geez, do I know anyone who's name doesn't start with "A"?) And, I’m going to break the rules a little and tag Meghan, too. Maybe this will convince you to start your own blog :)

Sauerkraut and Hefeweizen

2008-09-30T15:23:00.018-06:00

This past weekend we decided to kick-off our fall festivities of the year by heading downtown for Oktoberfest. The event itself wasn’t as great as I was hoping for. It was fairly small, and most of the merchant tents were just advertisements for things like Naked Juice or local credit unions. That, in addition to the giant SpongeBob bounce house, kind of ruined the atmosphere you would expect at Oktoberfest. However, there was plenty of bratwurst and beer of all kinds, so not all was lost. Plus a small stage at one end where some people put on a brief performance that was fun to watch.

The kids seemed to have a lot of fun, which was probably more due to the fact that we rode the light rail to and from the festival. They love riding the light rail (but really, who doesn’t?). At every stop and start they’d compete to see who could hold their balance longer. Contrary to what this picture depicts, Caleb did not lose either eye throughout the course of this trip.

Once we got home, we decided to dig out the Halloween decorations and spent the rest of the evening hanging cob webs and skeletons. Who says you have to wait for October to hang up your skeleton?

Finally, to finish off an overall amazing day, we turned off all the lights and watched Monster House while basking in the orange glow of all our newly hung décor.

And did I mention that all the leaves are changing!?!? I love fall. Maybe even more than the light rail.

Mourning Toby

2008-09-27T21:59:00.003-06:00

I am a sucker. There’s just no other way to put it. If a movie or TV show wants me to be sad, I will be sad. If they want me to get angry, I will get angry. If they want me to cry, I will likely cry… even when it’s something totally sappy and cheesy that I know does not deserve to be dignified by my emotional outpouring. I can’t help it. I’m every director’s dream audience: easily manipulated.

And I’m not ashamed to admit it, because I know that I am in good company.

I just finished catching up on The Office season 4. I am so sad to see Toby leave. Even though I knew it was coming due to a certain “someone” spoiling it for me (*cough* Meghan), I feel like I am still in mourning. I love Toby.

Similarly, I spent 1 ½ seasons rooting for Jim and Pam. I was elated when Jim kissed her, and heart broken when she turned him down. I had an underlying dislike for Karen, despite how likable they made her. And I think I shed a tear of joy when Jim interrupted Pam’s monologue to ask her out to dinner.

This sickness goes far beyond The Office. My heart swells a little every time I see Rachel kiss Ross after watching the famous prom video. I was utterly exhausted about 20 minutes into the Pursuit of Happyness, and may have said a real life prayer that Chris Gardner might catch a break. I gasped out loud when Tony Almeida was shot in the neck, and gasped even louder when Michelle’s car exploded. I feel motivated in all areas of living when Maximus reminds me that “what you do in life echoes in eternity”. And a small part of me thinks I would make a great Scottish warrior every time William Wallace talks about freedom.

No amount of reminding myself that these are not real people suffices in consoling me. Sure, Wallace was based on a real man… but the fact remains that the man raving about freedom is Mel, not William. Why in the world do our brains let us become so invested in fictional characters and fabrications?

This is not intended to be a profound post, nor a breakdown of the human dilemma of reason verses emotion. I just wanted everyone to know that I am caught up on The Office (by “caught up” I mean through season 4… I have not seen any of season 5, so thank you Abby for the little spoiler you posted on Facebook). And I am terribly sad to see Toby go. He will be sorely missed.

For anyone that has read this far (which is admirable, being that this has been my most pointless post yet… I apologize for those few minutes that I just stole from you), and claim that you cannot relate to the emotional instability described above, I leave you with this:

One Touch

2008-09-24T13:11:00.008-06:00

There were a lot of things this past weekend that really spoke to me, but the part I really find myself still thinking about days later is one of the songs that Nicole C. Mullen performed. This is actually a song that she did last year as well, and I was so glad she chose to share it again. It's called "One Touch", and it's based on one of my favorite storys from Jesus' ministry.

Mark 5: 25-34
Now a certain woman had a flow of blood for twelve years, and had suffered many things from many physicians. She had spent all that she had and was no better, but rather grew worse. When she heard about Jesus, she came behind Him in the crowd and touched His garment. For she said, “If only I may touch His clothes, I shall be made well.” Immediately the fountain of her blood was dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of the affliction. And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of Him, turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched My clothes?” But His disciples said to Him, “You see the multitude thronging You, and You say, ‘Who touched Me?’” And He looked around to see her who had done this thing. But the woman, fearing and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before Him and told Him the whole truth. And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your affliction.”

There are so many reasons that this woman's account is dear to me. Have you ever read something in God's word and just felt like he put that part in there specifically for you? There is something about this woman's story that always seems to strike me that way, no matter what circumstance I'm in at the time.

I think it's interesting that the passage mentions that she had "spent all that she had and was no better, but rather grew worse". How often we spend our everything trying to fix our own situation and get absolutely nowhere- sometimes even to point of sheer exhaustion and defeat. I love when God throws a little sentence in here and there just to show us that we are not the only ones fighting our fight.

I also love the disciples' response to Him when He asks "Who touched me?" Given the situation, that really is a funny question to ask. And, really, why would He ask that? He knew it was her, even before she touched him. I'm no scholar, but I have my own guess as to why. I think He wanted her to be a testimony to the crowd. Maybe he also wanted her to let go of her shame and boldly share what He had done for her.

And finally, my favorite part is when He calls her Daughter. I think I heard once that this is the only time in the Bible that He calls someone "daughter" directly, rather than "daughters of Jerusalem" or something similar. But again, I'm no scholar and may be wrong about that. Either way though, I love it. She came to Him with a desease that made her unclean and unacceptable in the eyes of the people around her, and He didn't stop at just healing her. He offered her acceptance and belonging in the deepest form.

I can't wait for the day that I am face to face with Him, hearing Him call me daughter. And until then, I can only pray that I find the faith to believe that one touch is all it takes to be made well.

Patsy and Lucy and Marilyn, Oh My!

2008-09-18T00:51:00.003-06:00

Women of Faith! Tomorrow! Woohoo!

I LOVE Women of Faith. I’ve gone almost every year for the past 8 years, and some how I’m not sick of it yet. Sure, like every conference, there are parts I like more than others and parts I could do without. But overall, I LOVE Women of Faith. There are a lot of things to love about it. If you’ve never been, you’re missing out on some of the most incredible (and hilarious) speakers ever.

The first year I went I was a freshman in high school. I was pretty involved in youth group at the time, and the only conferences I had been to were things like Dare to Share or Acquire the Fire. You know, where you walk into the arena and the music is blasting so loud that you can feel your stomach vibrate; where the speakers are all young and relatable and have spiked hair and skater shoes; where the band members have more combined piercings than there are Nalgenes in the audience (but barely). When I walked into the Pepsi Center for Women of Faith my first year and saw this line-up of speakers…

(Ok, so some of them have spiked hair...but I'm willing to bet none of them have peircings.) I’m not going to lie, I thought I was in for a long weekend. Fortunately, I was proven utterly wrong. These women have such incredible hearts, and they share them with more energy than I could ever hope to have.

As great as all the messages are- and the skits, and the worship, and the fellowship- there’s one thing that always strikes me at Women of Faith more than anything else. It always struck me at Dare to Share and Acquire the Fire, too. I’m always in complete awe when I find myself in the middle of an arena that holds 20,000 people that is full to the capacity with followers of Christ. It leaves me speechless really. Women of Faith brings only a fraction of the Body of Christ to one place- this is only a handful of female believers in the Colorado area. But it’s enough to make me feel tiny sitting among them. Imagine just how staggering it would be to have the entire Body of Christ before you. There are so many of us, even though it doesn’t always feel like it.

This picture gives me chills for two reasons really. The first thing it usually brings to mind is the fact that this is how we will spend eternity. I’ve always read the verse and heard the idea of “all the saints” before Jesus on that day. But I never really wrapped my mind around what that would really be like. Obviously even in the middle of the Pepsi Center I have yet to wrap my mind around it, but it sure gets me one step closer to realizing the enormity of it. It will be mind-blowing, to say the least. I, for one, can’t wait.

The other shock that sets in each year is the thought of what this many people could accomplish together. What if each and every person there was constantly serving and giving of themselves? What if each one of us was jumping in with dangerous abandon and living a life of outward service and selflessness? I know that we are a broken people, and the thought of all of us being right on the mark at the same time is an unrealistic “what if”… but it’s a pretty amazing one to daydream about.

Anyway, with that said… I’m off! I’ll be back after I’ve had my much needed fill of Patsy Clairmont :)

Step-WhatNow: One Step Closer

2008-09-07T15:04:00.003-06:00

A forewarning: The following post makes at least 8 references to vomit and vomit related things.

This weekend, I came one step closer to figuring out this new role that I’ve found myself in.

Jason and I took the boys to Toys-R-Us today to buy a present for a birthday party they would be going to. While we were there, Jacob started to mention that his head was hurting. We tried to pick up the pace so we could head home, but it was apparently not fast enough. After about 10 minutes, Jacob said his stomach was hurting too. He seemed noticeably miserable instantly, and we were sure he wasn’t exaggerating (I mean really, what kid fakes being sick in order to leave a toy store?).

We gathered what the kids had already picked out and hurried to the check-out line. When the cashier handed us our bags, I had a moment of genius. Knowing that I had recently cleaned my car out, and disposed of all bags, cups, or other possible vomit-catchers, I asked the cashier for an extra bag. At first, I flattered myself thinking about what a wise thing that was to do. Maybe my parental instincts were really starting to kick in. Then I decided it was probably more likely the fact that I myself get car sick very easily. Those weren’t parental instincts; those were just well-developed vomit preparation instincts.

We loaded into the car, setting the bag in an easily accessible and open position next to Jacob. It was about a 10 minute drive home, but he was looking greener by the minute. We drove about 8 minutes successfully, growing evermore hopeful that we may just make it home vomit-free. But alas, there was no such luck. We pulled up to the last stop light, with our apartment complex in sight, and it began. I think it must have been the stopping motion. Poor Jacob made every effort to grab that perfectly positioned bag. It’s all kind of a blur and I’m not sure exactly what went wrong, but when all was said and done, there was none in the bag. None.

Once we got home, Jason took him upstairs to clean him up and do all that other stuff parents do. Me? I spent the next hour cleaning vomit out of my car. Someone else’s vomit. I even learned how to dismantle a car seat and clean out all those little cracks and holes where the vomit inevitably seeps into. Yep, I’m now one giant leap closer to owning this role of step-mother.

It didn’t occur to me until later that night just how pivotal and iconic this moment actually was. When I was in second grade, I threw up in my step-dad’s glove box in a strikingly similar situation. I wonder if he spent the next hour cleaning it all up and thinking the very thoughts I thought this weekend. I feel like I’ve gone through some sort of step-parent initiation.

Unrequited

2008-09-06T02:32:00.006-06:00

Unrequited.

That’s a really heavy word to me. Usually the first thing that comes to mind when you hear it is unrequited love, which Wikipedia defines as “love that is not openly reciprocated, even though reciprocation is usually deeply desired.” But the word unrequited by itself simply means “not reciprocated or returned in kind”.

Have you ever been on a house-building mission trip? You spend all week there laboring in the hot sun, giving your time and strength and sweat in servitude to someone else. Sure, this is sacrifice. This is honorable service. But this is not unrequited service. At the end of the week, you get to hand the key over to the family that will live there, and you receive more thanks and appreciation than you could possibly understand. At least in my experience, these people that you thought you were serving end up serving you immensely more in return. They will bask you in gratitude, hospitality, and love. They will teach you more about your Father through their actions and their hearts. You took the trip to make a change for someone else. You ride home knowing that you are the one that has been changed.

I had the opportunity to spend some time in Romania a few years ago, working in a hospital for abandoned babies. I wasn’t prepared for the sharp contrast this trip would bear to any previous mission work I had done. Our main job there was simply to love the children. There was a two-story hospital with about 10 rooms, and 5-6 babies in each room. Most had been left on the doorstep by desperate mothers – many of whom had grown up abandoned on the streets themselves. The cycle continues. Several of the babies had spent their entire lives within these walls. Several of these babies would end their short lives within these walls.

On any given day, there would be 1-2 nurses to care for these 50-60 ill children. The nurses seemed numb and devoid of emotion, carrying each child the way you might expect them to handle meat. I never could decide if I could blame them for this. Would I be the same way if I faced this world day in and day out, never given hope for improvement? Most of the babies displayed failure to thrive and sensory disorders. Several of them had aversions to human touch and felt only pain when held. Some of them had cigarette burns lining their arms. One little boy was hooked up to an IV the entire time we were there. The IV was constructed of a 2 liter soda bottle, a wire hanger, and an old tube colored with rust.

We showed up at this place day after day. We held the babies that could be held. We sang to the ones that couldn’t. We pulled some of them up to their feet for the first time in their lives. We waved at them. We talked to them. We rubbed their backs and wiggled their little arms. We rocked them. We held them. And at the end of each day, we’d lay them back down and walk away with heavy steps and breaking hearts.

For the greater part of this trip, I believed that this was unrequited service, and I struggled with the thought. The nurses did not like us and did not thank us. We seemed more a nuisance to them than anything else. The few mothers that we did see on occasion were cold and unresponsive. The children… did they even notice us? Would they remember us years from now? Would they even live to see years from now? Would our time with them make an impact beyond our short month together?

Though it was hard to feel it at the time, we learned the impact of our actions later. By the end of our trip, two little girls were walking for the first time. They were 4 and 6. By the end of our trip, babies who had spent their days staring up into stark ceilings had learned to pull themselves up on their crib sides. By the end of our trip, the bleak, broken little hospital had heard laughter.

Walking away from those children for the last time was heartbreaking, but we found comfort in knowing that God would not stop with us. We were part of a pretty amazing organization that already had another team of people to take our place. The end of our trip was the beginning of theirs. With continued love and attention, some of those babies grew into children, and many of those children moved on to loving foster homes-homes where they will be raised and taught to love others like them. I hope the cycle continues.

I’ve been told that in situations like this, it’s normal to have one or two children that grab your heart and won’t let go. Mine was Sebastian. His crib was tucked back in a corner by a glass window that faced the front door. By the end of our trip, he would pull himself up and greet me each day with a smile. It broke my heart to leave him there, and I still think of him often. I’ve been told that he was moved to a home sponsored by our contacts.

I don’t know if he will remember me when he is older. But there is one thing I am sure of. For a brief month in his life, God used my arms to hold him. And for a brief month in his life, God used his eyes to break me. I hope that we will meet each other one day, in this world or the next. And I hope that I can thank him for the difference he made in my life. I went on that trip thinking I could make a change for someone else. And I flew home knowing that I was the one that had been changed.

When God is our ultimate desire, there is no such thing as unrequited love or service.

Playin' in the Big Leagues

2008-08-28T22:08:00.007-06:00

For my sister’s birthday this year, I decided I wanted to give her something that would encourage us to spend some time together, since we’re generally not very good at that. After discussing a few ambitious options- i.e.: kayaking lessons or a small white water rafting class- we settled on a much more realistic option.

Golf.

I have only golfed once in my life (putt-putt aside). It was a few years ago, and I was with my sister and brother. My sister has her own set of clubs in a fancy bag (don’t be fooled, this is only a façade). My brother had a few clubs that I think he got at garage sale, and he carried them in his own homemade bag that would make Martha Stewart applaud. The bag was made from a pair of old jeans. One leg was tied off at the bottom, and the clubs could rest securely inside. The other leg was looped around and tied to the other leg to form a “P” shape. This leg was the part he wore over his shoulder. Perhaps I should check with him before I publish this post, in case he wants to copywrite his design first. Upon arriving at the golf course, we were told that each golfer needed their own clubs to play, so I carried 3 of Meghan’s clubs around all day. I don’t remember our final scores at the day’s end, but I’m inclined to guess that our skills paralleled our classiness pretty closely.

So, why not give it another go, right? This time we were better prepared, knowing ahead of time that I would need my own set of clubs. My sister still has her fancy set, complete with fancy bag. Her husband has a fancy set too. He also has an ancient, stained, held-together-with-a-belt, sack disguised as a golf bag. Poorly disguised. Guess which one he decided to loan me for the day?
When we arrived at the golf course (I should mention that we originally had reservations at a much fancier club, but the above mentioned brother-in-law forbid us from proceeding with these plans, insisting we had neither the skills nor the class to show our faces on such a course. I thank God for his discernment in the matter.) we decided to purchase a bucket of balls to practice on at the driving range. I set my ball in front of me, stood in the most pro-golfer stance I could manage, and then made quick glances from my ball below out to the driving range ahead, like I’ve seen them do on TV on the rare occasions I’ve watched golf. Finally, I lifted my club behind me while maintaining my proper golf pose, then let it drop towards the ball with ample strength and perfect precision, following my swing all the way through to a finality.

Much to my dismay, my ball still lay at my feet. I tried again and again, missing each time. Finally on about the 7th or 8th attempt, I made contact. The ball flew directly up at a 90 degree angle (maybe an 80 degree angle), and after a few seconds it dropped down about 10 feet in front of us. Meghan’s luck was very similar to mine. She usually made contact on the first attempt, but our balls rarely landed as far as the very closest yardage sign.

Once our practice balls ran out, we reluctantly headed to the first hole. We were disappointed to find that there was a group directly behind us, which meant that we would no doubt be holding them up as we hacked our way out of lakes and marshes. Because of this, we decided to take on this hole with a “speed golf” approach. This is exactly what it sounds like: hit and run, hit and run… no time to set our bags down, much less wait for each other, as is proper etiquette. The end result? We scored 15 and 12 on a par 4 hole… in less than 3 minutes.

We then realized that the people in front of us were quite slow, as were the guys behind us that had intimidated us so. Thus, we decided to slow down and act like we knew what we were doing. It turned out to be a really fun day, and I’m proud to say that we both improved with each hole. Kinda. I still had to take several swings on each new tee, but Meghan was nice enough to only count one.

In the end, we both scored around 90, on a 31 par course (that means we’re less than three times worse than the average person!). We only lost one ball, but found two more. And as far as class goes… well, some things never change.

Thanks for going with me Meghan! I had fun!

Social Conundrums

2008-08-14T02:13:00.003-06:00

For the most part, I like to think of myself as socially apt. Perhaps those that know me well would disagree, but it’s better for my self-esteem to not think about that. I do, however, admit that there are several social situations in which I have no idea how to appropriately respond. I decided I would throw a few of them out there, in case you too struggle with such conundrums. If anyone reading this has found a proper way to deal, please, do share.

Eating peaches and plums in public…
This dilemma may very well be mine alone. Plums, peaches, and other such related produce do not have cores. I have no idea what is socially acceptable regarding the manner in which you eat these. Do you eat down to the seed? Or do you eat as much as you would on an apple, even though you don’t have the hard, stringy core to tell you when to stop? I have no idea. For this reason, I make it a point to avoid eating such fruit in public places, lest I be judged by onlookers as I savagely nibble down to the seed.

Meeting someone on a long sidewalk…
I encountered this constantly on campus when I’d walk to class. I now encounter it daily in the halls at work. This is when you’re walking down a long sidewalk or narrow hallway, and you spot an acquaintance off in the distance. If you make eye contact, you’re then required to give a polite smile or wave. Once you do this, you then have several more seconds, bordering on minutes, before you’re within audible range to say hello or pass them. Do you have to maintain your cheesy smile and eye contact for the full length of the sidewalk? Is it rude to look away once you’ve given your obligatory nod? Both answers provide awkward results. My solution thus far has been to stare straight at my feet any time I enter a corridor or long walk way. (This causes people to often ask “what’s wrong?”)

When the dentist talks to you…
Perhaps this one is more a lesson in etiquette for the dentists themselves. You know when you go to get your hair cut and the hair dresser strikes up a conversation with you? This is ok. You know when you go to get your teeth cleaned and the dentist shoves a hand in your mouth and then strikes up a conversation with you? This is not ok. Are they really expecting you to answer? Maybe they're around it enough to understand your muffled and gurgly answers, like a second language or something. Or maybe they just think it's funny. Bill Cosby did a stand-up routine about this very situation. It was hilarious. I think the answer is to respond to the best of your ability, but fling as much spit as possible so they take cover and cease all conversation.

Returning a poorly aimed wave…
You know- when you're at the grocery store, or any other public place, and a stranger enthusiastically waves at you with a big friendly grin. You wave back, slightly caught off guard, slightly flattered, and slightly worried that this person knows you but you don't know them. Then you see from the corner of your eye that the person behind you is waving back with the same enthusiastic fervor. Realizing you've sheepishly returned a mis-aimed wave, is an apology required? Do you slink away pretending it didn't happen? Or do you proudly own your wave, telling yourself you're just a friendly, personable socialyte? I slink away.

Selecting Ripe Watermelons...
While writing this, I read a post from my cousin Amy regarding proper watermelon selection. It cracked me, and totally deserves a "Social Conundrum" catagory of it's own.

Excuses

2008-08-13T21:21:00.003-06:00

If you look up the word “excuse” in the dictionary, you will find this: a plea offered in extenuation of a fault or for release from an obligation, promise, etc. If you’re looking in a recent dictionary, you will also find my picture. This bothers me more than I can possibly put into words.

I used to think of myself as extremely reliable and dependable, and prided myself in that. I was generally the first one to volunteer my time, show up to every invitation, and take advantage of every opportunity. A few years ago, a lot changed.

I was very involved in my church, happily living on campus and going to school, and working full-time in childcare. I was busier than was probably healthy, but I was enjoying every second.

Then I was blindsided.

Without going into details, I found myself in the middle of a situation that snowballed and left devastation in its path. It was fueled by my mistakes, the mistakes of others, rumors, selfishness, and fear. It left many relationships forever changed. It hurt a lot of people. It broke me beyond the point I ever thought was possible. I left my church hurt and burnt-out. I left my school a failure. I left my job exhausted. I lost a lot of friends, and I changed.

It has been almost 3 years since this all came to pass, and while God has been good in healing and mending the pain, I am still making excuses. I have an excuse for not being in school. I have an excuse for being absent from my friend’s lives. I have an excuse for not having found a new church home yet. While some of these excuses may be rooted in truths, for the most part they remain excuses- pleas offered for release from a promise.

I’ve been leisurely “church-hopping” for almost a year. One week going here, one week going there, the next just staying home. I haven’t chosen to call one home, for no better reason than I don’t want to. I’m afraid to plug in. I’m leery to join a small group. I don’t feel like being vulnerable with strangers. I don’t want to make them more than just strangers.

I don’t make a concentrated effort to see my friends and family. I have a difficult schedule at work, but not so difficult that I should cease to have a social life. I tend to isolate myself, and honestly can’t think of a reason why. It feels almost instinctual.

I haven’t been in school for two semesters. I claim I don’t have time, but the truth is that I simply don’t make time. I’m afraid to commit to it, knowing that if I don’t wholeheartedly commit, I will likely fail again.

Recently though, things have been changing for me. Thank God. The desire for a church home has started to outweigh my fears. I miss being a part of something larger than myself. I miss the support system found in a church family, and the accountability. I miss the passion.

I miss my friends and family. Every time I’m blessed with even a small dose of them, I can feel my cup overflowing. I want to make the time for what’s important. I know that it’s not in my God-given nature to live in isolation, and I want to conquer the recent need I seem to have for it.

If you happen to be one of those people in my life, and you happen to be reading this right now, I’m asking for your help. I want you to know, and maybe understand a little better, where I am at and what I am struggling with. I ask for your continued patience, for prayer, and for accountability in righting those wrongs that are still fixable.

I found it fitting when I saw this in that same dictionary- right below the noun definition of “excuse”, you’ll find the verb: to regard or judge with forgiveness; to pardon.

**************

I think there are some of you that read this and never comment (…eh hem, Ma, Meghan, Tara…) feel free to say hello so I know you’re there :)

Fish, Worms, and Pistols

2008-08-11T18:32:00.020-06:00

Jason's dad has been visiting from California for the past week, and it has been a blast. Since he lives in CA, the kids were ecstatic to get to see their Grandpa Craig and spend time with him. Which means it's been one busy, crazy, and fun-filled week.

The first thing we got to do together was go to the Denver Aquarium. Craig is an extremely smart man and knows a ton about...well...any given subject really. He's a scientist at heart, so it was really interesting to hear him talk about all the different things there. Jason is the same way, and Caleb is quick on his way to carrying on the tradition. Sit any 3 of them down with a book about the coral reef, or a special on the discovery channel, and they're in heaven. So the day was pretty much made up of them stopping at each and every informative station, reading every word of every plague, and then talking about it...and talking some more about it...while Jacob and I entertained eachother.

Next we got to go fishing. Again, Craig and Jason are both fishermen at heart- as well as scientists- so they loved teaching Caleb and Jacob all the ins and outs. Fortunately, the lake we went to had enough fish to keep us reeling them in consistantly. Unfortunately, they were all about the size of grasshoppers. Small grasshoppers. The kids had never caught anything before, so they were still excited with every bite they got. I suppose we're just lucky we weren't depending on those for dinner...

And finally, we got to spend one day out in the middle of nowhere shooting. Craig has several different guns, and he also bought the boys a bee bee gun. This was a new experience for me even, since I've never shot anything in my whole life. It was a little scary at first, but as it turns out, I'm actually a decent shot! The boys had a blast, despite the fact that we were stuck in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a gigantic rainstorm (or perhaps that's why they had a blast). But other than the rain, everyone came home with 10 fingers and 10 toes, so I'd call that a success.

Which brings me to today, my day off. I am worn out and boy-ed out, but feel abundantly blessed for the past week and all the laughs and fun it brought. And on top of everything, Craig also announced that he will be moving out here for good in October. I don't think I've ever seen Jason quite so happy. Craig was recently diagnosed with cancer, and while the doctors think he still has several good years left in him, the diagnosis came as a sort of wake up call. Hopefully Caleb and Jacob will be able to soak up every second of their Grandpa once he's here, I know they have already.

New Shoes and a Box of Tissues

2008-08-09T20:33:00.003-06:00

Am I the only one in the world that would give anything to be back in elementary school again? I guess I don’t always wish so strongly for such a thing, but back-to-school time gets me every year. Something as simple as strolling down the grocery store aisle turns into an overwhelming onslaught of memory.

I absolutely loved getting new school supplies. Maybe more than Christmas. The fresh, clean papers, the colorful folders with bindings not yet cracked, the pencils…oh, the pencils… 0.7, 0.5 or #2… I can smell the sawdust from the electronic sharpener as I write.

There were always stepping stones and grades of success on the infamous supply list: The year I was allowed to have a mechanical pencil instead of the traditional #2… the year “ballpoint pen” appeared on the list, and it wasn’t just the customary red one for checking each other’s work… the year I graduated from wide ruled to college ruled. I hope my future children don’t mind me scrapbooking such moments- smiling proudly next to their new notebook with 9/32” spaced lines, rather than 11/32” (that’s right, I Wikipedia-ed it).

And as if the above mentioned wonders weren’t enough, you then throw new clothes into the mix. Namely, new shoes. That’s where the real thrill was for me. I was always careful to get something that looked new and crisp, but not so bright white that I felt I was drawing attention to my feet. I wanted people to notice my new shoes, but I didn’t want them to know that I wanted them to notice.

Armed with my subtle new shoes, reams of unsullied notebook paper, and surrounded by the aroma of all things new, I could conquer anything the upcoming year had to offer. Of course, that exhilaration and confidence never lasted longer than my dulled pencil tips or frayed peachy folders. By the time the rings in my Trapper Keeper bent and started hooking each paper, I was usually ready for summer. There’s a season for everything, right?

It seems unfair that this season still comes each August without fail, but passes over those of us no longer in school. What would life be like if we only got to celebrate Christmas for 12 years and no more? Blasphemy.

The other day at the grocery store, I became plagued by the need to partake in the festivities. I tried to control the urge by distracting myself in the avocado aisle, but that stand of glaring, new spiral notebooks taunted me from the corner of my eye. I could control myself no longer. I bought a notebook. A shiny, untouched, red spiral notebook. I’m not even ashamed of it. And, in what can only be ascertained as some sort of Pavlovian response, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be buying some new shoes tomorrow.

Tales from the Cubicle

2008-08-08T00:45:00.002-06:00

My job is not the most desirable job in the world. I love the company that I work for, and certainly feel that I am valued as an employee. But the work itself… well… (to better understand the tone in which that “well” was intended, read this).

For this reason, I’ve come to really savor those moments that make my job more enjoyable/entertaining/bearable. Few and far between as they may be. Here’s a few of my favorite moments that often carry me through the drudge of day-to-day…

***********

One night I received a call from a man activating his card. He sounded older and slightly confused. After accessing his information, I saw that he was 95 years old. We muddled our way through conversation and eventually accomplished the task at hand. At the end of the call I started into my routine script, which includes a reminder to sign the back of the card. He cut me off mid-sentence-
Old Man: Sign the back of my card!?
Me: Yes sir.
Old Man: I have to sign this card in order for it to work?
Me: Well, yes. Technically, the card is only valid if signed.
Old Man: (in a leery, incredulous tone) Ok… you’ll need to hold on a second…
>brief moment on hold while I hear papers shuffling and drawers opening<
Old Man: Ok, did you get that?

He thought that I had the ability, from my tiny little cubicle, to see the signature on his card. As if I’d witnessed it scrawled across my computer screen as his pen glided across the plastic. I didn’t have the heart to crush his imagination.

Me: Yes sir. I got that. Thank you very much for doing that.

Technology these days…sheesh…

***********

On another night I received a call from a man wondering why his gift card wasn’t working. The following is the best paraphrase that my memory provides (minus the excessive profanity that the original had been eloquently seasoned with)…

Man: Yeah, so I just got this card in the mail. I’m not sure why. I know all about these magnetic strips though, so I assume it’s just one more way the government wants to monitor everything I do. I can’t believe how unconstitutional our country has become. Ya know the average American has like 5 cards. That’s like, a thousand little homing devices just floating around in everyday pockets… (this continued for several more minutes, and included enough cuss words to fuel the entire country of Bulgaria, if cuss words were an effective source of fuel)… Anyway, so I microwaved my card. Now I’m sitting here with no gas in my car and my card won’t work.
Me: … >long, silent, flabbergasted pause< You microwaved your card, sir?
Man: Yeah. Why the *expletive* won’t this *expletive* card work?!
Me: … >longer, silenter, flabbergasteder pause< You microwaved your card, sir.
Man: *expletive* -- click --

**********

And finally… on yet another dark stormy night, I had the honor of receiving this fine call…

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, blah blah blah, how can I help you?
Woman: Yeah, my jeep isn’t working.
Me: (mistakenly giving her the benefit of the doubt, and assuming by “jeep” she meant “card”) … Um, excuse me? Your jeep?
Woman: Yeah, it’s making a strange clicking sound, and then a musky smell started coming from the front.
Me: (now 88% sure she’s referring to an actual jeep, and not a card) Um, ma’am, you’ve reach unidentified credit card company, I don’t know anything about your jeep.
Woman: I know, but no one else is open at this hour.

***********

Oh, all in a day's work…

A Steward of My Sword

2008-08-07T01:25:00.004-06:00

I went to an average elementary school when I was younger. As is the case with average elementary schools, it came with dorky kids, cool kids, mean kids, smart kids, poor kids, rich kids, and so on. I was lucky enough to fall safely somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. There was one girl in particular that was not so fortunate. She was quiet and shy, wore the same out-grown clothes each day and bottle-thick glasses, and had very few friends. People were so mean to her, myself included. I like to think I was kinder than the average bully making fun and throwing insults, but I was just as guilty of isolating her as anyone else. Whenever we had to form groups or team up in partners, she was always left alone. I didn’t personally have anything against her; it was all just a matter of saving face in front of the other kids. Reputation was more important than her feelings.

There was one day before school when everyone was waiting outside their classes for the bell to ring. I was sitting on a short wooden wall when I noticed her walking up in a new outfit. I remember it clear as day, and I have no idea why. She had new black jeans that actually reached to her feet, and a green t-shirt with Tweety on it. I’m not sure what led my third grade mind to abandon all cares of reputation, maybe God’s silent nudging. I got up off my wall, walked over to where she was standing alone, and told her I really liked her new shirt. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the smile she gave me right then.

Last week I signed onto my Facebook account, and she had left me a message. She also remembers that moment clear as day, and wanted to thank me for my kind words. 15 years later.

When I was in 7th grade I was as insecure as any 7th grader. I liked boys, but unfortunately boys didn’t seem to like me. There was one boy in particular that I fancied in my junior high way. After much gawking from afar and giggling with my friends, I worked up the courage to ask him out. Not by myself, of course (that’s way more courage than any 12-year-old girl has). No, I had my two best friends ask him for me. Over the phone. While I secretly listened in on another line. Courage at it’s finest. The conversation went as follows:

Friend: So you know my friend?
Boy: Yeah
Friend: What do you think of her?
Boy: Like, is she cute?
Friend: Yeah, would you want to go out with her?
>faint laughing on his end<
Boy: Um, no. Not even a chance. I would rather kiss Freddie Krueger.

I remember that moment, clear as day. 10 years later.

I think most anyone can say that they’ve been in every corner; the giving end of a kind word, the receiving end of a compliment, the insult thrower, or the butt of a cruel joke. Some of us are more resilient than others, letting things roll off our backs. Others of us are sensitive and absorb every word.

Recent events in my life have opened my eyes to the power of our words. They have the ability warm the spirit, for 15 years…or to bruise one’s ego for a lifetime. They can tear down, humiliate, and destroy reputations. They can lift up, encourage, and carry someone through the darkest season. There is no weapon or tool God gave us more powerful than our tongues.

Today I’ve decided to make this a major area of focus for myself. Not only that I guard my tongue, but that I learn to utilize it for the good it is capable of. Without the latter, we are missing out on an incredible gift.

Needed: Bulletproof Spandex

2008-08-02T02:04:00.014-06:00

Jason is a comic book fan boy through and through and has made it his mission to convert me. I have been an easy convert though; superheroes fascinate me. There’s just something about superheroes and super villains and stories of fantastic extremes that appeal to me. I have always loved stories. I love hearing people’s stories, I love telling stories, I love reading stories. And superheroes always come with stories. They always have some relatable history or back story that brought them to their current place and circumstance. They are generally average people who discover they have a gift, and are then forced to make a decision: to selflessly use their gift for the good of others, or selfishly use it for their own gain. It’s deep stuff really. And to top it all off, it’s wrapped up in a tight, colorful spandex package. Beautiful.

Well, with that said, I have an exciting announcement to make. Tonight at work, I discovered I have a gift. It was an average day at my average job, and when least expected, I saw It. That’s right, I found my superpower. Are you ready for it? Brace yourselves…

I have mastered the ability to make the little tiny hairs on my arms rise up and lie down on command, using sheer willpower.

I’ll let you soak that up for a minute. I know it’s a lot to wrap your mind around. I too was in disbelief.

I find myself now with an impossible choice to make: to serve the public, or to selfishly hoard this gift for myself. And of course if I chose the former, there’s a whole new plethora of decisions to follow. What will my alias be? What will my costume look like? Where do I find a tailor that specializes in spandex? Will I be a hero that is loved my millions, like Superman? Or will I hide in the shadows and be feared, like Batman? Do I need a PR agent?

I have a long journey ahead of me.

This edit added after initial publishing: I have decided on a name… Follicle Phantom (but my comic books will read “The Fearless Follicle Phantom”. You know, like “The Incredible Hulk” or “The Uncanny X-Men”).

Step-WhatNow?

2008-07-29T21:16:00.005-06:00

Warning: The following post contains an obscene amount of dashes and quotation marks. I apologize to any English majors out there...

The other day I was at the store with Jason and the boys. Caleb had to go the restroom, so I walked to the back of the store with him and waited outside the door. It was a small store and there were only two one-person restrooms. While I was standing there, a woman came up and asked me if I was waiting in line. I quickly and politely responded “Oh no, go ahead. I’m just waiting for my _____ […long thoughtful pause; welcome to the inner workings of my brain… the correct answer to fill in the blank is technically “step-son”, but that sure doesn’t sound right. I can’t say “husband’s son”. Even though that answer is also true, it makes me sound distant and almost burdened by the son, and that’s definitely not true. At this point I’m realizing that this woman is no longer paying attention to me, nor does she care what the fill-in-the-blank riddle will conclude with. She just needs to use the bathroom. Things are getting weird now, so I panic and throw out the first thing I can think of…] --friend.”

This is Jacob and Caleb...

They are great kids, and I love them to death. I knew that marrying Jason meant I would be a “step-mother”, but I guess I just never took the time to step into that title. It doesn’t sound right to me. I don’t feel like a step-mom. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely feel like I am with family when I’m with them. I just feel like I am the “Molly” in the family. Not the step-mom. To be honest, “friend” is the most accurate word that I could have found in that moment. Maybe that’s ok. Maybe it’s not. I really don’t know.

As I already said, they are amazing kids. They are respectful, loving, and have always made me feel welcome. We are great friends, and we enjoy each other’s company. But can I leave my role at just that? Is that healthy? How do I define my role without stepping on the toes of pre-existing roles? They have a mother, and she is very present and wonderful to them. She has a role that is hers alone.

In a lot of ways I think that I am better equipped for this situation than anyone possibly could be. Not due to anything that I’ve done, but rather how I was raised. I grew up in a blended family, and I have no doubt that my parents set the perfect example of how to get it right. I was 5 when my mom married again, and I am so thankful for the blessings that followed. I gained not only a step-dad, but also 2 step-brothers. My step-dad is amazing, and I love him very much. He filled every role expected from the head-of-the-house, but not once did I ever feel that he wanted to take a role that belonged to my father. He was respectful of my dad and his place in my life and in my heart. I never felt like I was forced to choose sides. I never had divided loyalties. I never heard a bad thing said about either one of them, from either one of them. I have no doubt that God intentionally gave me the life He did, and placed me where I am now for a reason.

I may have a lot of learning to do still, and a lot of role to define still, but I feel ok. I am well-equipped and well-loved, and am confident that all will be well. And until I figure it all out (if ever I do), I think I’m ok being “friend”. Or maybe the next time someone asks me if I’m in line at the bathroom, and I can just simplify to “Oh no, go ahead.”

My Heart Will Choose To Say

2008-07-26T20:12:00.004-06:00

One of my long-standing best friends is getting married tomorrow. Today I had the joy of being at her rehearsal, which was followed by a barbeque at her new home. I got to meet her soon-to-be husband, her new puppy, and the new house in which she’ll begin a new chapter in life. I have the blessing of celebrating new beginnings with her today, and I am so excited for her.

While at the barbeque, I received a text message from another of my best friends, Annabel. She was writing to bring me news of a mutual friend of ours. This friend was also engaged to be married soon, and today her fiancé passed away unexpectedly. My relationship with this friend has been strained over the years- the reasons for the strain are trivial and not worth mentioning. My heart is broken for her.

In one day, I celebrate joyously with my friend. In the same day, I ache for another. One friend stands at the wake of a new beginning, with everything to look forward to. Another is blindsided in the wake of loss, and sees her daydreamt plans slip away from her. I cannot begin to imagine.

As I’ve sifted through the thoughts and feelings that have crossed me today, I keep hearing the lyrics to the song Blessed Be Your Name.

Blessed be Your name

When the sun's shining down on me

When the world's 'all as it should be'

Blessed be Your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be Your name

You give and take away. How true those words are, and how easily we forget. Today I feel helpless, as often I do when people break. And so I choose to pray, as often I do when I feel helpless. I pray for my friend that is hurting, that she will praise His name in her brokenness. I pray for my friend that is celebrating, that she will praise His name in all her blessings. And I pray for myself, that I will praise His name for all that I have, all that I’ve lost, and whatever tomorrow brings with it.

Today, I Conquered

2008-07-21T22:13:00.015-06:00

I am afraid of heights. I am not only afraid of heights, I am curl-up-in-the-fetal-position-and-cry-until-my-feet-are-firmly-planted-on-solid-ground afraid of heights. That's right, I'm a sissy.

Jason and I took the boys to Seven Falls today. It's a beautiful place, but if you've never been here are some pictures...

Yes, you have to walk up those stairs. And even worse, you have to come back down them eventually. In case the above pictures don't do it justice, here is one more. Notice the tiny ant-like people down below...

I was petrified. I was gripping the railing so hard that my knuckles turned white and my forearms cramped up. But slow and steady wins the race, and eventually I made my way all the way to the top. The view up there was amazing! There were 2 or 3 trailheads at the top, so we decided to go for a hike. This was by far my favorite part of the day. The boys did amazing and didn't complain about being tired once.

I took tons of pictures of chipmunks, lizards, butterflies, fish. But every now and then I'd hear a squeal come from Jacob and he'd ask to use my camera. Here's the pictures he took...

I think he has an artistic eye.

After the hike, we had to undergo the daunting task of descending the Staircase of Doom. The boys were fine... Jason was fine... I was not fine. I was beginning to question the truth behind the old addage of "what goes up, must come down". In fact, I had grown quite fond of the mountain, and wouldn't mind making it my new home. But after watching Caleb and Jacob descend with such ease, I told myself I could handle it, too. My knuckles were again white, my arms ached, my legs were shaking visibly (which did not help the situation), and I felt absolutely nauseous. I would be lying to say that I didn't shed a tear or two. But I kept going. I looked straight at my feet and took one step at a time. All was going relatively well, until I overheard a kid behind me talking to his friend. I believe his words were "Ah man! Wouldn't it be awesome to skateboard down this!?" No. No it would not be awesome. The very thought made me swoon and near lose conscieousness right there. So I stopped and gripped the side, letting the imaginative boys pass, and after a small inner pep talk I continued my journey. Needless to say, I made it down safely. Necessary to say, I did not vomit.

Overall, the day was pretty amazing- and I walked away victorious on my still shaking legs.

Oh, Life Apart From My Headset...

2008-07-18T21:53:00.001-06:00

A new position recently opened up at my work, and my brother-in-law put in a good word for me. It sounds like a pretty good opportunity, and he really encouraged me to apply and see what happens. So I did.

I was a little torn at first if I should apply or not. On one hand, it would be a big step up including a pay raise. Also among the pros, it would be a normal schedule and no more phones. I’ve spent over two years working a backwards schedule- working through nights, weekends, and holidays. And in that two years, I have also grown more than weary of the world of customer service. I actually am grateful for my experience here. It has helped me learn patience and servitude, even towards some of the most difficult, demeaning, and downright mean people imaginable. But I would certainly welcome the opportunity to do something other than customer service. Learning something new and moving up sounds pretty refreshing.

Con #1: Having a normal schedule means having a schedule opposite of Jason. He’s pretty much stuck working nights for now in order to work around his time with his kids. I would still see him, but it would be significantly less than now. Also, I’ve realized lately that I’ve grown pretty fond of the people I work with. As much as I complain about my backwards schedule, there are some perks to the late shift. It seems to draw a much more laid back and friendly crowd of co-workers. I’m a little surprised to admit that I would really miss some of them. And there’s also the fact that my supervisors have really been pouring into me lately, and made it clear that I have great chances of getting promoted in the call center when the opportunity comes.

So, I juggled my thoughts for a day or two. I talked to my brother-in-law about it a little, who is extremely helpful and wise. I talked to my current boss as well, and he was also really helpful. He assured me that I would be burning no bridges, and encouraged me to jump at any opportunity I can. And of course I talked to Jason. Our final conclusion was that I should just go for it, and sit back and prayerfully wait to see what happens.

I have tried for promotions in the past, and been let down. I have a terrible habit of getting something in my head, daydreaming about it, and getting my hopes up so high that I’m crushed if it doesn’t happen. I’m happy to say that is not the case this time. I am excited, and really am hoping I get it. But I also feel really comfortable with the prospect of staying where I’m at. Perhaps it’s because the decision was far from black and white. When weighing my options, the scales kept coming up even. I like that. It makes it a little easier to sit back and accept what God gives me.

SO…if you’re reading this and have a free second, would you mind saying a quick prayer for me? Just that God would continue to ease my heart and mind, and help me accept whatever may be. (And also that I would win the Powerball, but that’s only if you have 2 free seconds).

A Wii Bit Sore

2008-07-15T14:08:00.004-06:00

For the past several months I've been trying to workout regularly. There is a gym at my work, so I spend most of my breaks and lunches doing cardio of some sort, then I spend a little time after my shift lifting some light weights. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I've honestly been quite impressed with myself. My brother and sister and I have been talking about doing a triathalon type thing later this year. I was actually starting to believe that with the admirable level of discipline and devotion that I had shown, we would surely take first place.

But don't worry, my wandering ego has been contained and sorely bruised. By this...

A friend of ours from work bought Jason and I a Nintendo Wii as a wedding gift. I had only played one once before, and very briefly at that, but I really wanted one. We don't have any games yet except the one that comes with it, which is Wii Sports. In case you're not familiar with the latest video games of interest, this game includes tennis, golf, bowling, baseball, and boxing. I've become obsessed with the tennis one. It's the most addictive thing I've ever experienced.

The night we got the Wii, I hooked it up and proceeded to play until the wii morning hours (ha, I crack myself up). I woke up the following morning in what can only be described as "oh-my-goodness-I-feel-like-someone-pummeled-me-with-a-raw-slab-of-beef-all-night-long" kind of agony. After resigning myself to the fact that I would probably be spending the next 4-5 days in the horizontal postion, I tried to reach over to my phone so that I could promptly text that particular friend and curse him for bestowing such a painful fate upon me. Fortunately for him, my arm had been rendered utterly useless, and seemed incapable of responding to even the simple command of "move!"

Well, only by the grace of God was I able to lift myself out of bed, and have been slowly regaining the use of my limbs since. However I can't say that I've learned my lesson, as I've been playing golf just to waste time until I'm ready for another go at tennis. Perhaps I should try pushing myself a little harder in the gym at work. Or just quit the gym altogether and switch to a Wii-centered workout regime.

On a side note... I feel pretty ridiculous playing Wii Golf when this is the view off our balcony...

Home From Paradise

2008-07-11T01:55:00.018-06:00

I am both happy and sad to say that I am home. Happy for safe travels and a safe return, sad for…well, not being on vacation any more. I now must slink back to my cubicle and reluctantly don the headset that I was so far away from these past 10 days… >insert sigh here<

Our trip was wonderful! We drove straight through the night from Denver to Las Vegas. This was my first time in Vegas…well, technically I’ve been there before, but I was under-aged and only driving through so it hardly counts. All I can say is “wow”. What a bazaar and sad, depressing place. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we had a blast there and enjoyed every minute of it; but the overall atmosphere is one of overwhelming brokenness and sin. SO, what better place to get married, right!? (hmmmm…) We got married the first day we were there. It was really fun actually. We picked a chapel and made an appointment and that was it. When we got there we met with the man doing the ceremony. He asked us a few questions and prayed with us (I know, you wouldn’t expect that in Vegas. I was surprised, too). He was actually a very sweet old man. The ceremony was brief, to say the least. I loved it though. It was intimate and personal and just what we wanted.

Here’s us outside the chapel right after (consider this our wedding picture)…

Here’s the view from the room we stayed in at Treasure Island…

We had about a day and a half in Vegas to play and explore. I learned how to play blackjack, and amazingly we actually won $125! Woohoo! We spent a lot of time just walking up and down the strip gawking at everything. It really is a whole different world there. Fun for a weekend, but not in a million years would I want to live there.

After that we headed over to Santa Monica, CA. When budgeting the trip, we decided that this was the place to cut corners and save a little. And let me just say, indeed we did. The place we stayed in was like something you don’t even see in movies. I wish I had taken more pictures of it. I mean, I’m seriously talking like holes in the walls, brown water from the faucet, and missing-a-bathroom-door kind of shady. It was amusing though, we took it as an adventure and managed to laugh it off. Other than the hotel, the Santa Monica time was great. We spent one day in Hollywood, and then another at Santa Monica beach. We swam in the ocean for a while, then spent the rest of the day roaming the pier. To top it all off, we ate at a pretty amazing restaurant on the far end of the pier by sunset. AMAZING!

Finally, for the remainder of the trip we headed up to Crestline, CA. This is a small mountain town where Jason was actually born and grew up in. It was my favorite part of the trip. After Las Vegas and Hollywood, a little nature away from the city was extremely refreshing. We spent most of our time there relaxing with no agenda. We strolled up and down the main street to look at all the shops, we hiked, and we read on our balcony that overlooked Lake Gregory. This is where we were for the 4th of July. Unfortunately, their firework show was cancelled due to a fire ban. But they did still have a 3 day festival thing complete with a chili cook-off, a beer garden, and a parade!

On the way home we stopped in Vegas for a few more tries at blackjack. Note to self: Quitting while you’re ahead = excellent advice. We lost $120. In the end that still left us with a net profit of $5, so hey… could be worse!

Thank you so much for those of you that were praying for us and our safety. Everything was so great and went so smoothly (which clearly must have been a gift from God, because the things we do never go smoothly, ever). I’m so grateful that He blessed us with some much needed relaxation and pretty perfect together time.

Oh yeah, and I’m a wife!!! Woohoo!!!

Elmo and the Obscene Tin Man

2008-07-05T16:27:00.005-06:00

Ok, I know that I'm supposed to be writing about getting married and all that good stuff, but I'm sitting here with a free moment and a laptop, and just had to get this story into words before it faded from memory...

We've spent half of our trip in Santa Monica, CA. The other day Jason took me to Hollywood Blvd to see a movie at the Mann Chinese Theater. He used to live in this area while I have never been before, so it's a whole new experience for me. I am from Colorado, and have lived there my entire life. I know full well that a trip to Downtown Denver brings with it many strange sights and sounds, and a whole different breed of people that you will never find anywhere else. I've even experienced Boulder, CO. Those that have been there know that the term "different breed" doesn't even suffice in describing Boulderites. People are just weird up there. So, in all my extensive Denver/Boulder experience, I was sure I was prepared to take in that which is Hollywood.

I was wrong.

Outside the Mann Chinese Theater, there are people dressed in various different costumes and get-ups. There's Spiderman, Batman, Marilyn Monroe, Elmo, Buzz Lightyear, you name it. Most of them seem to be self-employed people, making their living by posing for photos and taking donations. As we were leaving the theater we noticed a large crowd of people forming and voices escalating. Naturally, we joined the crowd like the tourists we were.

We soon found that the main attraction was Capitan Jack Sparrow himself. He had been making balloon animals on the sidewalk when a group of break-dancers showed up with their equiment. Capitan Jack was occupying the only space around with an outside outlet, and the break dancers were requesting he move, since he required no outlet. Jack refused. At first the whole thing seemed like it may have been staged... The dancers started to dance cirlces about Jack, while he passionately fashioned balloon after balloon to throw at them. Then things started to escalate. Cuss words flew, punches were thrown, at one point a dancer threw Jack's wig into oncoming traffic, and Jack threw him in after it. As the fight reached it's climax, a homeless woman that had to have been at least 90 spotted Elmo approaching. Her eyes lit up; beit with relief or fear, I'm not sure. She raced down the street toward him with all the fury her frail legs could muster shouting, "Elmo! Elmo! Come help!"

Sure enough, Elmo obliged and ran to join the crowd. Being the voice of reason we all know him to be, he stepped between Jack and the dancers. We will never know what he uttered to Jack Sparrow that day, but after a short embrace he and Jack walked away from the commotion arm in arm. Thank God for the sweet old woman who thought to seek help from our furry red friend.

As the crowd dissapated, and I started to mull over the events I had just witnessed, I was approached by the Tin Man himself. In a deep, grizzley voice he asked me for a light. I apologized and told him I didn't smoke. He muttered some very unthinkable words under his breath and moved on.

I miss Denver.

...and a page is turned

2008-06-28T21:19:00.008-06:00

SO… I’m getting married in two days! For anyone offended that they’re not invited to the wedding, please don’t be. There is no wedding. Though we have had this planned for a while now, we have chosen not to do a traditional ceremony at this time. Jason and I are leaving tomorrow morning for California and getting married while we’re out there. Let me just say, I am beyond excited.

It took me a while to adjust to the idea of not having a normal wedding. I knew that I didn’t really want one, but I was also very conflicted at the idea of what consequences a private union might bring. Whose feelings may be hurt if I don’t have one? How would I tell all the people I want to tell? Would I still be seeing the shocked look on people’s faces 5 years from now because they never heard the news? Would I regret not having the chance to wear a white gown and be center stage?

The last question is not likely. If you don't know me well, let me just explain: when God created me, I'm pretty sure he had recently run out of a few of those vital traits that make girls girly. Here is an excerpt from my "List of Things I'd Love To Do"
.....
1497. Lick the underside of a toilet seat
1498. Swim in shark infested waters while wearing a scuba suit made entirely of raw beef
1499. Spend a year on a deserted island with only the companionship of an angry orangutan
1500. Dress up fancy and stand in front of a room full of people
.....

As for the other questions... after a lot of prayer, a lot of talking with family and friends, and a lot of aimless daydreaming I can honestly say I feel good. My family has responded with support and assurance that feelings are not hurt. This is our day, and should be done for us and no one else. My mom told me that the only guest we’re required to invite is God, and he has very much been present in every aspect of the relationship. So with that in mind, let me just say this:

WOOHOO!

We leave tomorrow and will be gone for about a week and a half. We found an apartment that we love and have spent the past week moving all of Jason’s stuff in. It’s been exhausting and stressful, but we finally finished today. After we return, I will have another month to move my stuff over. Those that know me well know that “my stuff” equates to about 2 boxes of belongings and a toothbrush, so I’m thinking a month should be plenty of time to make the move. Oh yeah, and 8 garden gnomes.

Perhaps this posting will address the other question of how and when I will tell everyone. Of the 7 people that have knowledge of this blog, 2 already heard the news. I guess that leaves 5 more people I can cross off the list. If you’re reading this, consider yourself among the privileged that are finding out before the fact :)

And with that, I’m off! Be back July 8th!

Restroom Etiquette 101

2008-06-24T22:17:00.004-06:00

Ok, so I debated for a while about just how personal I should get when it comes to publicly blogging. With the following statement, I will take one giant step closer to exposing the true whims and passions of my heart…

I hate when people talk to me in public restrooms.

I use “hate” for lack of a stronger word. Other ones that may have worked include loathe, detest, and abhor. Now, I’m not too keen on public restrooms to begin with. Not so much for sanitation reasons, more for privacy reasons. I don’t like that people can see my feet while I’m in the stall (I also have a small phobia when it comes to my feet, but that is due a post of its own). I don’t like that most stalls are poorly assembled, leaving gaping cracks through which anyone can peer. I don’t know who would, but I’m sure some do. I don’t like that people can hear me pee. In fact, when I’m at a friend’s house using the restroom, I purposely run the sink to drown out the sound (I know that I am not alone in this).

-On a side note: I read somewhere once that in Japan they actually make these devices that women can take into the restroom with them that make various chirping sounds while you pee. The sole purpose is to hide the sound of the pee. I don’t remember where I read this, but I’m about 68% sure that I read it somewhere, and didn’t just dream about it. Either way though, I think this is a fantastic idea. I wonder if it would work if I just tried to make my own chirping sounds while I’m in there. I’ll have to try that.

Anyway, my main point is this… In a world where I am already so far beyond my comfort zone, please don’t try to converse with me. Please. I promise, I’m a personable person, and if you would just let me get outside the restroom, I would appear much less cold and much more eager to talk. I don’t even like talking at the sink when you’re both done peeing and washing your hands. There’s a weird echo, and usually the sound of 2-4 other peers in the background. God did not intend this environment for fostering relationships.

However, if all of the above words fall on deaf ears, and you take nothing else away from this, please take this…

It is never ok to talk through a stall wall. Under no circumstances. I don’t care what the topic or occasion may be. If you talk through the wall to me, I am not focusing on the conversation, I’m thinking about how awkward this is and how best I can end it quickly.

About an hour ago I went to the restroom at work and there was a woman in there talking on her cell phone while in the stall. This just brought a whole new slew of questions to me. Does the person on the other end of the phone know that they are in the stall with her? And if so, are they ok with it? I am literally dumbfounded.

Lessons of Weeza

2008-06-21T01:43:00.002-06:00

I work in a call center as a customer service representative for a major credit card company. For the sake of complying with company policy, let’s just call it Weeza. On an average day, I make or receive 240-250 phone calls. This equates to approximately 57,600 interactions yearly, for a total of 115,200 people that I have conversed with in my short career here. I should add that I work the night shift, so about 75% of these exchanges are accompanied by a dangerously high level of alcohol (on the cardholders’ end, not mine). That being said, this will probably be the first of many posts pertaining to this particular facet of my life.

These are a few of the lessons that I have learned…

- Your card number can be found on the front of your card. It is embossed and generally shiny. It is bigger than any other number you will find on the card; there is no need to search the fine print on the back for it. It is not your name. There are no letters in it…if you see an “L”, you are holding your card upside down.

- If you find that you have lost your card, consider the following before permanently blocking it… Have you just maxed out your card at a series of bars and taverns in one night? If your answer is yes, wait for sobriety before blocking. There is a fantastic chance that you have failed to check both your left AND right pocket.

- If you are a man using your card in Las Vegas at locations that are, at best, morally questionable without your wife’s knowledge, make sure that your credit card’s fraud prevention line does not list her as primary contact.

- If you are a woman and your husband falls into the above category, make sure that his credit card’s fraud prevention line does list you as primary contact.

- If you are planning to travel to a remote third-world country by yourself, please please please do not depend on a 2x3 inch piece of plastic as your one and only life line. Please.

- If it is too late for you, and you are already guilty of the aforementioned blunder, please be kind to the poor representative to whose phone your call will be randomly routed. It is simply not their fault that you traveled to Yemen after depositing your entire life savings onto a pre-paid gift card that clearly stated in the terms and conditions “cannot be used outside the U.S.” Though I assure you that their sympathy is of the utmost sincerity.

- If your name is Pat, Erin, or Jamie and you have a strikingly manly voice, you have no right to take offense when someone erroneously calls you “Sir”. Please consider a name change. Promptly.

This is only 7 of roughly 115,200 lessons learned. However as I sit here tonight nearing the end of my shift, these are the ones that come to mind. My night would have been greatly improved if only the world had taken heed.

The Point of No Return

2008-06-18T00:44:00.002-06:00

Well, I’ve finally done it. After much debate, pondering, and lost sleep, I have started a blog. Ok, so there was no lost sleep.

Five years ago I thought that MySpace and Facebook and online blogging were the silliest ideas fathomable. Then I joined Facebook (or what I refer to as 'the gateway drug'). I thus began my downward spiral into the world of Internet existence. MySpace promptly followed. I checked them before, after, and during class. My mood was soon directly dependent on whether or not I saw that little red “New Messages” link upon sign-in. “New Comments” were good for a brief high; the kind that lasts only a fleeting moment before leaving you feeling empty and desperate for more. The “New Messages” though, that’s where the real exhilaration was. Terms like “BFF” were replaced with simple numbers- #4... #6... It’s one thing to make my top 8, but if you’re on my top 4… wow, then you had truly made it. Suddenly I was amazing at remembering the birthdays of all my friends and acquaintances. Ok, I use the term “remembering” very generously… that little icon of a green man in a birthday hat sure saved my behind on more than one occasion. I continued to use, and use often, knowing all along that I was living contrary to what I had fervently believed only years before. But no matter how deeply I delved, I was always able to justify it by telling myself, “at least I don’t have a blog”….