I haven’t posted since Tuesday night and quite honestly, I’m having a bit of awriter’s block. I thought about writing about ER’s final season but that felt so pedestrian. (Although I have to say I am absolutely thrilled to the core that Anthony Edwards – Dr. Greene – is coming back. Isn’t that amazing? They guys dies but here he comes, back from the great beyond. And I can’t wait. I haven’t even mentioned the return of Noah Wyle – Dr. Carter – now, that is something to get your bp up stat, let me tell you By the way, you like that medical jargon I just tossed around? I must say I have quite the limited, but impressive, medical vocabulary thanks to my weekly date with ER.)

I wanted to post about Amy’s volleyball team and I took some good video of both matches this week but I can’t figure out how to upload them. I just tried again and can’t get it to work. Argh. The whole point of buying a video camera that recorded to DVD’s instead of tape was so I could share the action but the only way I can figure out how to do that is make copies of my DVD and mail them out to everyone. I guess if you want a copy, let me know and I’ll ship one out to you.

And there’s the election. I have a glimmer of hope that McCain can pull this out and I’m so hopeful he will. Not because I’m wild about McCain or Palin but because I really don’t want Obama in the White House. He is already so far left of center that, given a Democratic-controlled Congress, well, I can’t even begin to think the havoc he could wreak.

My folks saw Wicked tonight in Atlanta. Sigh.

Dang it, I just tried the video thing again and still can’t get it to work. And am I still supposed to call it video when it’s on a DVD? I still call my CD’s tapes. I can’t imagine how long it will take to break the “video” habit.

It’s almost midnight and I will have a house full of pre-teens and teenagers and pre-pre-teens here tomorrow for trick or treating. I imagine after that I’ll have a near-endless supply of post topic options…

Remember me?

Tuesdays are good days for me because the kids have piano lessons and that means I have 30 minutes times three all to myself. On the days I don’t have a bunch of errands to run one of my favorite things to do is go to Sam’s, get a diet Coke with their great ice (gotta find small pleasures where you can) and look around. New books are released on Tuesdays so I tend to leisurely stroll down the book aisle, seeing what I should look for in the library. I also thoroughly enjoy looking at the business supplies – pens, pencils, notepads. I love office supplies.

I am sounding like a real thrill-a-minute girl, aren’t I?

Anyway, today, as I looked at the children’s books I thought about buying “If You Give a Pig a Pancake” for my niece for Christmas when I felt tears sting my eyes. I realized I didn’t have a clue if she had the book. I didn’t know what she’d like for Christmas because I don’t really know her. She was two when we moved and I’ve missed out on watching her grow up. Her mom does a good job reminding her who we are and thankfully we get to see her and her brothers several times a year. But that isn’t a good substitute for the monthly (at least) visits we had when we lived in Georgia.

I pulled myself together, got on the phone and called her mom who gave me great gift suggestions. Sweet Elizabeth is still into coloring and princesses and paints and Polly Pockets…she hasn’t grown too much since our visit in August.

For the most part I’m okay with our move. For crying out loud, it’s been three and a half years; I hope I’m okay with it! But every once and a while I catch myself getting a little homesick, longing for what was familiar and known and comfortable.

So tomorrow I’m off to find some fabulous coloring gifts for my little niece. And I think I’ll add a picture of my family in a princess frame so she won’t forget her crazy aunt. I’m not sure how much she’ll care about it but I know it will make me feel so much better.

Reading between the lines

Last week brought unpleasant email correspondence between me and a family member regarding the election. I’ve known for some time now that he and I differ on, well, everything, and was not surprised to read that he’s voting for Obama. What shocked me was how he misread my emails. Despite the smiley faces I used, my cousin still thought I was too aggressive in tone, which was the exact opposite of what I was going for. And unfortunately, he didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt, knowing I would never intentionally hurt him. Instead he took his ball and went home and won’t respond any more.

Email is the worst form of communication. It should be used for office memos or quick shots of information and nothing else. Because no one understands emotion through email.

I’ve had a few failed attempts to communicate well via email, and I am always amazed by the backfire. Each time it has happens I’m convinced I’ve read and re-read, searched for anything objectionable or offensive, put in little smiley faces and thought I’ve worded things well only to receive an email back that lets me know I did not get my point across. This frustrates me to no end. I fancy myself a bit of a communicator; it is not pleasing to realize I have completely failed to explain myself well.

Not pleasing… heck, it drives me crazy, especially when I think back on how carefully I constructed my email. But sometimes, no matter how careful I may be, someone will read me wrong.

It’s a great lesson for me, though, to be slow to speak and slow to anger and to ask for clarification before declaring war.

I hope my cousin will think about that, too.

Hey - it's Friday!

Hey howdy hey it's Friday! I am ready for the weekend. Of course, I have to get through today but Saturday is so close I think I can make it.

Some other good news: Comcast fixed my email and it was a less painful process than I’d imagined. They couldn’t give me a good reason for the stoppage but at least it’s fixed. While it was down I realized how dependant I've become on my email. It wasn't that long ago that we didn't even have a computer; now I couldn't live without my laptop. Okay, I could, but I really don't want to.

Other good news: I couldn't be happier for my sister and her husband! They are going to see Wicked tonight! Okay, I'm happy but also just a tad green...

Happy Friday to all!

Steaming!

I am so mad - Comcast sent me an email this morning, declaring spam has been detected in my email account which is an indicator of a virus and they closed down my email.

Who doesn't get spam? Isn't that what a junk file folder is for? And does this mean they're closing down everyone's emails?!

Anyway, I'm unable to respond to any emails and my day is so crazy I don't know when I'm going to find the time to sit on hold with 888-COMCAST, which, they tell me, is the only way to resolve the problem.

I do not have time for this!

Buying for Baby

I am surrounded by pregnant ladies. This morning at church I was talking with two friends about the election when a third friend came up and I realized I was the only one whose baby bump didn’t contain a baby.

So there are those three friends, plus four others who have recently had babies and that doesn’t include my cousin in North Carolina who recently gave the family a new little girl to love. In short, I am surrounded by pregnant women or newly non-pregnant women carrying infant seats.

And I’ve been thinking about what makes a good baby gift. I’ve been going through our basement, sorting through the toys to keep and the ones to toss and I’ve realized there are only a few good baby gifts: baby tools that are actually helpful, clothes and books. And as I’ve been searching for a good gift for my cousin’s baby I came across these:

It comes under the category of clothing and they're just so adorable!

And then there’s this pacifier clip: This comes under the “helpful baby tool” heading but it's way cute. You can see more cute stuff here.

As for books, all the Sandra Boynton ones are our favorites, especially Moo, Baa, LaLaLa and Barnyard Dance. Sean and I can both recite each book from memory.

I guess it's a good thing I'm not pregnant... I'm not sure my wallet (or basement) could handle it!

Personal Conservation

When I was first married I thought being a good wife meant preparing from-scratch dinners each night. I also thought when I had children I would prepare hot breakfasts because that is so much better for them than simple cold cereal.

Sixteen years into marriage I am singing the praises of Stouffer's frozen lasagna and I think the last time the kids had a hot breakfast was when I made egg casserole for dinner last week. Needless to say, we are quite the connoisseurs of anything that comes frozen-ready-to-cook and breakfast cereal.

A few months ago Meijer had their peanut butter cereal on sale. The kids are always asking for sugar cereals but in an attempt to be somewhat true to the good mother I thought I’d be, I’ve always said no. But the sale was good and every now and again a sugar cereal won’t hurt, so I picked it up.

When I brought it home you’d have thought I’d struck gold. “Thank you so much, Mom!” “Wow! Good cereal!” And in three days the good cereal was gone and we were back to Cheerios and Wheaties. Then the griping began: “You had more than I did.” “Well, I’m 14 and bigger so I need more.” “I wish we had that good cereal again.”

Please note: we are arguing over breakfast cereal. This is a sign things in our world are going pretty well.

Anyway, this week the cereal was on sale again. And this time I think I’ve solved the complaining problem:


They each get their own box and when it’s gone, it’s gone, not to be replaced until the next Meijer sale. Amy and Rebecca chose to decorate their boxes; Mr. Neat wanted his left pristine.

And the funniest thing is happening. Since they know the supply is limited they are self-rationing. I’m sure I could take this scenario and apply it to the political world today but it would just be too dang easy.







Rebeccca put smiley faces on all the puffs.

Phantom of the Opera it wasn't

I bet no one, and I mean absolutely no one, reading this today did what I did yesterday. Sean and I had a hot date at an organ recital.

Told you so.

Sean’s organ teacher has been talking about this recital for a few weeks and, in turn, Sean’s been telling me about it. Never did I think we’d actually go, but on Saturday after his organ lesson he told me he’d really like to go, even if no one went with him. He was so excited about it and I thought, well, he’s gone to 13 Amy Grant concerts with me; the least I can do is go to an organ recital with him.

The recital, in celebration of The Year of the Organ (who knew?), was held in downtown Lansing’s Catholic church. The pews were by far the most uncomfortable pews I’ve ever experienced. The back was at a 90 degree angle to the seat; there was absolutely no way to get comfortable. I wanted to kick down the kneeling pad to prop my feet up but figured that wasn’t exactly respectful… I think the pews are made like that so the priest can say, “Go say five Hail Marys and sit in the pew for 15 minutes.” There’s some penance for you.

In addition to marking the Year of the Organ (again, who knew?) we were there to remember a long-time Lansing organ player and minister of music who recently retired and more recently died, Mano Hardies. The group of music ministers who put the event together commissioned a piece to honor him. In addition to that new work several organists played, well, forever. Some of the pieces were beautiful and some were bearable and one (Chorale #3 in A-minor by Franck) was just awful. I don’t like minor stuff and to hear it on a pipe organ… ugh. But Sean’s organ teacher was amazing. Her selections by Mendelssohn were gorgeous. It’s obvious she’s been playing a long time and is wonderfully gifted.

As we left the church we realized a group of music ministers had our attention for an hour and a half and no one mentioned Jesus. There was no opening prayer, no one thanked God for the talents He’d bestowed upon Hardies, no one thanked the Lord for the gift of music, no one mentioned God at all. Not once. How is that possible? A captive audience full of people who will meet their Maker very soon (the average age of the crowd: close to death) and no one told them about Jesus. It was depressing; for all their love of music it seemed the music ministers had lost sight of the One who gave it to them.

We left thankful for our church and our music guys. And to be brutally honest, I was thankful for our church's comfy chairs.

Finding Friends on Crack, AKA Facebook

Twenty-one years ago I spent the best summer of my life in Kiserian, Kenya, with some of the best people I’ve ever had the privilege to know. But that was long before email or cell phones or Skype with free long distance, so many of those relationships were lost in snail mail.

But now, with the advent of Facebook (which is like crack, by the way – one hit and you keep coming back for more) finding long lost friends has become simple. When my twin sister was planning our high school reunion she used Facebook to reconnect with lots of our classmates. And when I saw how easy it was I thought I’d try to find some of my teammates from Kenya.

I quickly found four of my best buddies, Shannon, Dan, James and Jim and formed a group page for our team. But even though I had full names and addresses (albeit 20 year old addresses) of our other teammates, I hit a brick wall and couldn’t find anyone else.

Until today. Angela found the Kenya group, joined, and sent me a friend request. Nothing too remarkable in that. Except that when I went to look at her profile and picture I realized my former teammate had taught Amy Michigan History the first year we lived here. And I didn’t even realize it was her.

In my defense, when we were in Kenya Angela called herself Angi and had short, blond, curly hair going on. I didn’t recognize Mrs. Angela with the long, straight brown hair as my former teammate. (And in her defense, I was, shall we say, pre-children 21 years ago. My smile may be the same but precious little else is.)

So for the past three years, one of my Kenya friends has not only been living 20 minutes from me, she taught my daughter history and her son claims my son as one of his best buddies in the homeschool co-op they attend.

To say I’m anxious to get together with her over coffee/diet Coke is an understatement.

And a note to all my girlfriends out there: ladies, please, PLEASE, for the love of Pete put your maiden name on your Facebook page! You never know who will discover you!

I dug through boxes in the basement this afternoon to find a picture of Angela. This is the best I could do; Shannon and I are in front, Angela's in the background. Most of my pictures are slides so I'll have to have them made into prints. I'm anxious to look at them now that I have a friend with the same memories to pour over them with!

Oh, John, come on!

Other than Huckabee’s strong support for the FairTax, I didn’t like any of the Republican candidates, and if you’d told me six months ago McCain would be the nominee I would laughed hysterically. I’ve gotta be honest: I have never been a McCain fan. Even now I’m only voting for him because I abhor so many of Obama’s plans, especially the ones where he’d like to give my husband’s hard-earned money to people who didn’t get up at 4:15 AM so he could be at work at 5:30 AM and work 12+ hour days. Yeah, those plans burn my biscuits.

But after tonight I think I need to get used to hearing, “President Obama.” McCain had chances to get at Obama, especially on the abortion issue but he just couldn't close the deal. Sure, he had a good line about, “If you wanted to run against George Bush you should have run four years ago.” But one good line does not make up for a horrific campaign, run by a guy who refuses to fight.

The real star this evening? Joe the Plumber. Man, that guy’s going to have 15 minutes of fame. Joe better enjoy it now before Obama decides how to spread ol' Joe’s wealth around.

Make that two pies

I’ve been working with Rebecca all morning (and by all morning I mean all dadgum morning) on a writing assignment. The assignment was to write a brochure for a familiar spot in your city using a simile and quality adjectives. You would have thought I’d asked her fly to the moon with wings made from leaves.

This should not have been difficult for her because she is a great story-teller. She can flat tell a story, going on and on and on with all kinds of adjectives and interesting happenings. But once she realized this wasn’t just a story for fun but for school she completely froze.

Miraculously I stayed calm and encouraging (to God be the glory!) and she managed to come up with a simile (“The workers are as sweet as the muffins they sell”) and lots of “colorful words” and her brochure for our downtown bakery came out quite nicely. She posted it on pink and green construction paper and wants to show it to the bakery’s owner tomorrow morning.

I should definitely get a cinnamon muffin out of this. Heck, I ought to go for a whole pie. Key lime will do just fine, and according to a great brochure I just read, will make my taste buds super happy!

You say it's your birthday

I’ve never bought into the concept of “soul mates.” It’s always struck me as dangerous; if you believe there’s only one soul mate out there for you, well, what if you missed him? As far as I’m concerned as soon as you’re married you’ve found your soul mate – thankfully I really like mine.

So I don’t believe in romantic soul mates but I do believe in neighbor soul mates, and mine is in a suburb north of Atlanta. There has never been a better neighbor set-up; her three kids are the same ages as mine. I’d watch hers, she’d watch mine and the kids adore each other. And I loved hanging out with her.

Believe me, there have never been two more different girlfriends than Linda and me. Our backgrounds and beliefs are completely different: I’m from Georgia; she’s from New Jersey (I never knew people not in the mob actually lived there). I’m a Christian; she was raised Jewish but claims no faith now. I’m married; she’s divorced (thanks to her very-bad-word-no-good-cheating-ex-more-bad-words-husband). But holy cow can we have a good time together.

Today is her birthday and I’m 800 miles away. I can’t take her to dinner, bake a cake or watch the kids so she has a moment to herself. And I am not happy about that. (I am also not happy that my card will be late because I am apparently unable to send birthday greetings on time – just ask my poor nieces and nephews. Thank goodness for the immediacy of email…)

All I can do is wish her a happy birthday from a land far, far away and hope she knows how much I miss our chats over the back fence.

Happy Birthday, Linda.

I just hope the fire alarm doesn't go off...

All the windows on the first floor of my house are open. Fans are on, doors have been flung wide to encourage cross-ventilation in the hopes that the smoke that is currently billowing through my kitchen will exit before my company arrives.

I really shouldn't bake.

Rejoicing and Weeping

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Romans 12:15

We’ve been learning a lot about that verse over the last few weeks. All three kids tried out for a musical, The Sound of Music. We’d never done anything with this particular production company and I didn’t know what to expect. But the registration form made it clear not everyone who tried out would get a part, which was a rude awakening for Michael, Amy and Rebecca; all the other productions they’ve been in had found a spot for each person who auditioned.

Sean help them practice the audition song (“My Favorite Things” – I don’t need to hear that again any time soon, FYI) and we went over the lines many, many times. When audition day came I felt pretty certain they would do well. But when we walked into the audition hall I realized the competition was stiff and the possibility that one or all of my three might not get a part became quite real.

The possibility became reality the next week: Amy and Michael got a part in the chorus but Rebecca did not. She questioned her audition, wondered what she did wrong and cried in my arms for many long minutes. After that, she brushed herself off, congratulated M/A and went on to be genuinely happy for them. For Michael and Amy’s parts, they controlled their excitement in order to comfort Rebecca. I was amazed.

So today as I dropped M/A off at the first practice I thought Rebecca might have a twinge of sadness that she wasn’t going, too. But she hugged them, waved good-bye and wished them well. She is quite a remarkable little one.


(By the way Amy was cast as a nun. To say we (including Amy) have had many good chuckles at that casting is a massive understatement.)

Admitting a problem is half the battle

I met a new person this morning at church. She seemed perfectly lovely until someone asked for her email address. “Oh, I rarely check email,” was her reply. Um, hello?! How can you rarely check email? I must check mine two or three times every thirty minutes. My laptop is in the kitchen which is where I spend the majority of my day. When I hear the chime announcing I’ve received an email I am drawn to my desk like a moth to flame. There is precious little that could keep me from clicking to see my messages.

This never really struck me as a problem. I mean, what’s wrong with keeping up with the mail? Nothing, that’s what. But the other day I was in the middle of fixing a grilled cheese sandwich for Rebecca (any suggestions on lunch options for her would be appreciated because I am sorely tired of fixing grilled cheese sandwiches) when I heard the chime announcing an email had arrived. I was still waiting for the cheese to melt so I flitted over to the computer for a quick peek at the new email.

Five minutes later the smell of burning bread and cheese brought my nose out of the laptop and instantly I remembered what I was doing before reading the email from DSW which led me to their website where I became mesmerized by their new ankle booties and completely forgot about the sandwich I’d left to burn on the stove.

Is there a support group for compulsive email-checkers? Maybe there’s one on-line…

Words have meaning

I read several blogs daily; I agree with most because, really, why do I want to spend my time reading stuff that just makes me mad? But I do make myself read a left-leaning Christian site because it is important to see how the other side (and several family members) thinks.

Yesterday I read an entry by Shane Claiborne. Claiborne heads up The Simple Way, which he describes as a community of faith, an intentional community encouraging people to know, love and care for their neighbors. Claiborne moved to inner-city Philadelphia and set up shop there. He and his fellow intentional-livers commit to live simply in order that money and things not get in the way of relationships. (They commit to a whole lot of other things, too.)

His entry yesterday talked about something he and his followers did with a donation. I’ve got no beef with that. But I do have a massive problem with how he claims the money came to him: “…We were given an anonymous gift of $10,000, money which had been invested in the stock market and now was being returned to the poor.”

When I first read that I said, tongue firmly in cheek, “Well, I hope they turned in whoever stole that money from the poor people.” Because something can’t be returned to someone if it didn’t belong to them in the first place.

I recently heard someone say each dollar you earn represents a heartbeat. You trade a moment of your life for your paycheck. With a few clicks on his keyboard Claiborne completely disregarded each and every heartbeat his donor traded to earn his/her paycheck that enabled said donor to give $10,000 to Claiborne’s ministry.

Words have meaning, a fact I try to remember each time I publish a post on my blog. I just wish some other bloggers would remember, too.

Recomended Viewing

For a good look at what brought about the economic crisis we find ourselves in, watch this:



If you don't have the full ten minutes to spare then go straight to 3:40 and watch from there. It will be well worth your while.

Good Morning!!

God graciously brought Sean got home safely last Friday after spending the week in Nashville. He was at the Spring Hill plant; the new Chevy Traverse is being built there and he was offering helpful hints on the production. I tried not to be too jealous of his Tuesday night dinner: Chick-fil-a nuggets and lemonade.

So here it is, another Monday morning. Reading and writing and ‘rithmetic await. I had a good night’s sleep and am full of vim and vigor for the day ahead.

I hope you are, too.

More Shoes

This is from the night of Palin's big speech at the convention:

She's got it all: brains and good shoe sense. That's a politician I can get behind.

And speaking of shoes, here's my latest acquisition:

I don't know what's gotten into me... I think my shoe gene was suppressed for the past 14 years when all I've done is buy shoes for little people. But a few months ago I was at DSW, shopping for yet another flat, convinced I couldn’t wear heels. This pair of hot pink pumps caught my eye and before I knew what came over me I tried them on, fell in love and bought the suckers. I had never before worn heels like that, much less in hot pink patent leather.

The shoe-lover in me was unleashed, and ever since I’ve been on the look-out for fabulous shoes that don’t cost an arm and a leg. (When we were in Chicago we saw shoes for $600-1000! There’s no way I could spend that much on a pair of shoes – that’s more than my grocery budget for the month!)

So I have two fabulous pairs of shoes and I think more will be joining our happy shoe family soon. After all, I’ve got 14 years of boring shoe purchases to make up for.

Election Overdose

Well, I watched the debate between Palin and Biden and I have to say I am over it. Over. It. It felt like I was watching two children on the playground throwing around insults like, "My dad can beat up your dad."

Palin, for her part, held her own. No deer in the headlights look, which was good. She did a good job. Biden looked every bid the seasoned politician he is, which, I'm sure, is why he was selected.

For me, I'm just tired of it. Nobody's opinions are being changed at this point. Heck, I heard a young college student say yesterday she was voting for Obama simply because he's "cool." I think it's time we started restricting who can vote. Like, you have to have a job and know what FICA is before you can cast a ballot.

I must say, though, that if McCain wins I look forward to seeing what other rocking shoes Palin wears.


I'm on quite a shoe kick myself these days. I just got the coolest black heels... but I digress.

I'm out of Kleenex

I applaud the efforts of the ribbon-wearers who are trying to raise money for all sorts of causes: red bows for AIDS, pink for breast cancer, purple for lupus, blue for colon cancer. But I think there should be a great big neon orange ribbon the size of New York City to raise money to cure the common cold.

Somewhere, somehow, I caught a cold. I’d just gotten over my last one a few days ago! Last night I was up a zillion times, coughing or blowing my nose. I was so thankful Sean was out of town; if he’d been there I know I would have added worrying I was waking him up to my list of nighttime activities. In between coughs and sneezes I did worry that the sweet family I was with last night might catch my cold. I hope not.

Rebecca and I have been trying to do her schoolwork on my bed this morning. I kept dozing in and out, so she finally gave up on me and went to practice her piano. If I stay sick she may become a great concert pianist.

Ugh.