I homeschool, therefore I know more than I want to about Latin and biology and algebra... okay, not algebra. But I'm learning lots and most days I'm okay with it.
This has been a long, long week. But no amount of teen/tween angst or drama at picnics can keep me from bringing you my funny picks of the week!
Michael and Amy have been helping out at Vacation Bible School this week. One of the guys leading the singing is a fabulous guitar player. Michael’s come home each day in awe of Brad’s strumming genius. I imagine he’d be just as upset about his guitar being damaged as these guys were:
Um...
Wonder why this one reminded me of Michael? (click to enlarge)
I totally relate:
This will make Spartan fans happy. Watch the baby cry when the University of Michigan fight song is played:
Recently we were at the park with a group of friends from church and we wound up talking about things we played when we were kids. Someone brought up tetherball. Ugh – tetherball. There was a tetherball set-up at the school I went to in 8th grade. I was horrible at it; I don’t think I ever won a game. All I could think about was the last time I played. It was no fun and by the end I was so frustrated I could have spit nails. I was surprised I had such a visceral reaction to something that happened 26 years ago... As I laughed at the memory I said, “That game makes me want to cuss!”
To which one of the men, in a grave tone, said, “It’s not the game, Christy.”
Now, for those who may not fully understand all that was loaded in his comment, allow me to translate: “It’s not the game, Christy, it’s your sin that makes you want to cuss.”
His comment stung. There I was, standing with several people from church I didn’t know terribly well but certainly wanted to and I’m being called out for giving in to my sin nature when all I was really trying to do was make a joke.
For the record, no one is more aware of my sin than I. From the minute I wake up to the second I fall asleep I know I’m a wretch saved by grace, knowledge I gain from the hourly (minute-ly?) struggle to rely on that grace to die to self, to take every thought captive, to not hold a grudge or keep a record of wrong or wrangle all the other ways my sin seeps out.
If this man knew me he’d know I don’t blame games for my sin. I was simply trying to be funny, not make a theological statement.
All I know of this man is good: he loves his wife and children, is committed to God and our church. And I’m sure he thought he was being helpful. He heard what he thought was a sinful comment and wanted to correct it on the spot. I do not fault him for wanting to point me to truth.
What I can (and do) fault him for is a horrible lack of discretion. Dude, it was a picnic. Seven other people were standing there. Have the decency to speak to me in private.
I’m no theologian, but I think it's interesting that keeping silent comes before speaking up.
I’m also no playground monitor but I'm pretty sure the right time to call someone out isn’t at a church picnic and it’s sure as heck not in front of others.
I am spatially challenged. I am incapable of selecting the correct size container for leftovers - it's either too big or too small. “Go about half a mile and take a left,” means nothing unless there’s a gas station where I’m supposed to take the left, which you better tell me about or I’ll totally miss the turn. When we were looking for a house Sean would say, “The bedroom’s 10X12.” I would stare at him blankly until he told me if that meant a twin or double bed would fit. Maybe a queen, I’m still not sure how big that is…
When it comes to talking numbers I’m even more clueless. And as the debates raged over Bush’s and now Obama’s spending I couldn’t grasp how ginormous the amounts of money really were. I mean, $50 is a lot of money to me; talks of a billion here and trillion there make me go cross-eyed. Then I found this little gem on YouTube. Talk about putting things in perspective:
That, my friends, is scary. I don’t care if you vote for the R’s or the D’s but we have got to tell our representatives to quit spending money they don’t have, and to quit taking money from our children before they even get a chance to earn it.
I woke up Sunday morning with a great big fever blister on my bottom lip. Actually there were five little blisters clumped together to make one big ol’ nasty-looking lower lip. If the blisters had been evenly distributed my lower lip would have looked like one of Angelina Jolie’s. Not a bad looking lip, but considering it was only the right corner of my bottom lip that was wonky I looked more like one of those women who’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on plastic surgery only to end up looking like a cat.
I knew exactly why my lip was revolting: stress. It had been a busy week and then Saturday morning a certain child who will be thirteen in a month woke up; need I say more? It was all downhill from there. (Watch for the post, “How I Refrained from Throwing My Child Out the Window” coming soon to a blog near you.)
The stress started earlier in the week with Michael. He was driving and I gave what I thought was good advice; he acted like I was the biggest dummy on the planet. Then later in the week I realized my soon to be teenager rolled her eyes at practically every word that came out of my mouth.
This day was bound to happen, the day when I officially became stupid. I remember thinking my parents were stupid (sorry, folks) but I was rarely brazen enough to flaunt it right in front of them. Yes, I rolled my eyes but for the most part when they said, “Jump!” I said, “How high?” That is a parenting skill I have yet to master.
Walking with Michael into his teenage years was a breeze. Thirteen, fourteen, even the first part of his fifteenth year was fun. I thought, “Man, we’ve got it made! Who said the teenage years were torture?” Sure, there were the occasional bouts of, “Mom, I think you’re crazy,” but he managed to make it seem like I wasn’t a lost cause. Lately, though, the times he’s looked at me with eyes that say, “I cannot believe you’ve managed to survive on this planet as long as you have,” have increased exponentially.
And of course, there’s his younger sister who entered this phase years before he did and she is pulling out all the stops. She makes no attempt at all to hide the fact that she thinks I’m a freak of nature who should only be viewed in a museum.
I need a shirt with a big “M” on it. Everyone would think it stood for Mom or Mommy or Mother or some other lovely word related to caring for my young. But I’d know what it really meant: Moron.
The kids know I’m on to them. Now when they give me those looks I make the “M” sign across my chest. I told them I’m going to get a shirt like Superman, only with an M in the place of the S. And maybe a cape, too. Their eyes rolled so far back in their heads I wasn’t sure they’d ever see again.
In honor of the anniversary of the moon landing I thought I’d go with a space theme for this week’s Friday Funnies. Let’s begin with Buzz Aldrin, the second man to walk on the moon. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly…
You know those people who always want to go one better than you – the toppers? Brian Regan knows how he’d like to handle them:
Darth Vader and some Storm Troopers doing M. C. Hammer:
And if you happen to see my nephew Sam today, wish him a happy birthday!
I've often complained that GM's ad agency is stinky. They produce stupid commercials and never get the word out about all the good GM's doing. For example, does anyone know that Sean’s plant is a Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) gold-certified automobile plant? It’s the only car factory in the WORLD to receive this certification. But no one knows because the ad guys don’t seem to think it’s important to let folks know that GM’s newest North American assembly plant is the greenest assembly plant in the whole pickin world. Yeah, in this age of global warming alarmism the ad boys sure as heck shouldn’t tell anyone that GM’s leading the way in reducing their manufacturing carbon footprint.
Anyway, just as I was sure there was no hope for GM’s advertising Sean sends me these pictures that will be billboards for Chevy:
I grow weary of watching the good guys get passed over for promotions, awards or recognition – doesn’t it always seem like it’s the man or woman who steps all over folks who gets the praise? Now sometimes the good ones sacrifice their career advancement by putting family first; I understand they won’t move ahead like others who haven’t made that choice. But occasionally the guy who’s a true family man and an excellent career man gets the recognition he deserves and that happened for a friend of ours last month.
Jeff Braatz owns and runs Paradise Motors in Lansing, a used car dealership, and in June he was named the Quality Dealer of the Year by his fellow dealers in the National Independent Automobile Dealers Association which is 20,000 members strong. He and his family knew he was in the running for the honor because he’d been being named a quality dealer by the Michigan association but because Jeff isn’t heavily involved with this association or that league he figured he didn't have a chance. He’s a family man who wants to be home at night, not out on the rubber chicken circuit.
I know what you’re thinking – he’s a used car dealer and they’re all the same. While I’ve never dealt with Jeff professionally, personally he’s a gem – he cares about his God, his wife, his kids and that can’t help but spill over into his work life. He could debunk that used car salesman stereotype all on his own.
Congratulations, Jeff! It's great to see the nice guy finish first.
Holy cow, thirteen hours in the car is a dadgum pickin long time.
We got in Sunday night around 11 and I was so glad to be out of that car. Michael drove the final three hours and he got to experience driving in traffic, rain and the dark; it was an excellent opportunity for him to realize driving is hard work. While he does feel the need for speed occasionally (actually always) last night he showed us he has been listening to our instructions. He’s turning into a great driver.
We tried a new route – up 75 to Florence, Kentucky where we cut over to Indianapolis to pick up 69. When we try new ways the only thing I care about is that they make the trip shorter. So far I haven’t found any that fit my five hour criteria. Kind of hard to cram 800 miles in 300 minutes, I realize but a girl can dream. The only time I’ve been able to get the drive under 12 hours is when I did it solo and didn’t stop for six hours straight. Probably not the smartest move of my life but I did pull in the driveway in under 11 ½ hours. And yes, when I got home it was a good thing no one got in between me and the bathroom.
The kids were troopers, Sean, as always, loved the ride, and I did pretty well, too, if I do say so myself. I made it to hour #7 before I felt I would lose it if we were in the car much longer. Usually that happens by hour #5 so I’m excited about that little bit of personal growth. I might have handled things even better if we hadn’t been traveling on Sunday. I hate driving on Sundays because that means Chick-fil-A isn’t an option for lunch or dinner. A CFA nugget, some cole slaw and a diet Coke can fix a world of hurt. (Okay, not really but they sure are tasty.)
The washing machine’s already going with a load of darks and I’m heading out to the grocery store. Cleaning the house and washing and folding clothes will follow… I think I like vacation better!
We've only got a few days left of our visit home. This is a happy/sad prospect for me. Obviously I'm sad to leave family and friends but I am so, so happy to be leaving the heat and humidity. I have a whole new appreciation for Lansing's mild summers. Of course, I'll forget that when I'm trudging through snow during the endless gray months of February and March...
Classic Brian Regan - this exactly what cooking is like in my kitchen. I can never find the right measuring cup:
I found this on passiveagressive.com - a very funny (although sometimes crude) website that features passive-aggressive notes/signs/memos. I thought this one was particularly humorous...
A few political cartoons:
And last but not least, a picture that fully encapsulates why I'm scared to death to go in the ocean, courtesy of FailBlog:
Sometimes a feel-good story is just that: a story. But when you actually know someone in the story it takes on a whole new life. My cousin, Beth, recently sent this story along about a 14 year old autistic, bi-polar boy who wanted to be a Marine. The Marines at the Mountain Warfare Training Center in California made his dream come true. Did I mention Beth’s husband is Col. Norman J. Cooling, the commanding officer of the Mountain Warfare Training Center? Pretty cool, huh?
“Being made a Marine has been his lifetime dream come true,’ said his mother, Jenny Saldivar. “What the Marines did for him means more to him, and us, than you can ever imagine.”
For Cooling and his Marines, Alex’s dream day included presenting him with a certificate declaring him a member of the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center team.
“Alex's own service has been in providing all of us with an example of strength, perseverance and selflessness,” said Cooling, a Baytown, Texas native. “He is an example of our institutional Corps values and for that, it was important for us to grant his wish.”
Cooling said granting the request was more than making Alex’s dream a reality—it was an opportunity to bond with the whole community.
“I wanted the people of the local communities to recognize service means more to Marines than simply the warfighting portion of our business,” he said. “We are part of the community.”
I am thankful for the men and women like Norm who serve, and the men and women, like Beth, who support them.
Well, my week of leisure is over. Michael and Amy came home Saturday and we drove down to Georgia to reunite with Rebecca on Sunday. Our drive down was one of the worst I can remember. We lost an hour to traffic caused by several accidents on I-65 south of Louisville; they were the worst wrecks I’ve ever seen. One of them involved a tractor-trailer that had driven on top of a small compact; the car was so messed up even my two car guys couldn’t identify the make or model. We drove in rain for five solid hours. To say we were glad to arrive at my parents’ house safe and sound is a gross understatement.
This drive was our first with three drivers. Michael drove for two hours and his stretch involved taking us through Nashville. It was raining and there was a lot of traffic and he did great although he was completely stressed out by the time his shift was over.
With Michael claiming one of the front seats that left only one other front seat for two adults. I’ve always joked that when this day came I would make sure Sean was nice and comfy in the back seat. But when the actual day arrived I knew it was better for Sean to sit up there with Michael; it just seemed like a good father/son bonding time. But that meant I had to be in the back. The last time I rode in the back for any extended period of time my sister and I drew a line down the seat to mark of our “sides” and heaven help us if someone crossed the line of demarcation.
As I buckled in, Amy, my back seat buddy, got herself all situated and we hit the road. We watched the most recent Indiana Jones movie (which was absolutely absurd) and I got car sick. Note to self: do not do anything but look straight ahead when riding in the back seat. Do not watch movies. Do not check emails on iPhone. Do not lean to the right or to the left. Stay completely still, look straight ahead and remind Sean that next time he should enjoy the view of the passenger –side headrest.
We had a great first day in Georgia: we all slept in a bit, then visited with my parents for most of the day. It wasn’t too hot which I know was a sweet blessing from the Lord just for me. Plus, we had Chick-fil-A for lunch and JR’s bar-b-que for dinner. Can’t beat that with a stick.
While I did enjoy my Week with No Kids it is good to have all five of us together again. Tonight the kids played together like they haven’t in a long time. I guess absence really does make the heart grow fonder. I just hope the good vibes don’t wear off before we all get in the car for the long trip back.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Ellen on flight attendants:
That clip made me think of Tour Guide Barbie from Toy Story. Couldn't find any clips of her (how is that possible?)but this scene made us laugh. Rex was always my favorite:
And one more, totally unrelated but really funny. Wait for it, wait for it:
One thing I was looking forward to not doing this week was cooking. I had absolutely no plans to make anything except reservations. But when MaryGrace called yesterday and asked me to take a meal to a mutual friend I jumped at the chance, thanked her profusely for asking and went right to the store.
Why the change of heart? Because I was taking a meal to Bonnie, a friend I’ve gotten to know through school and The Sound of Music production. Her children are friends with Michael and Amy and I’ve been more than impressed with them; they are sweet, fun, all-around great kids who have gone through hell in the last three months as they watched their mom and then their dad get diagnosed with cancer.
Bonnie was diagnosed first. It was just as school was ending. I saw her when we dropped our girls off at a birthday party; she looked drained which is exactly how I felt. We were all tying up loose ends, trying desperately to finish school for the year. I didn’t think much of it until three days later when I heard she’d been admitted to the hospital with acute leukemia. Sparrow Hospital was her home for the past two months where she endured countless treatments and unthinkable side effects. And through it all her husband was by her side. For better or worse, in sickness and health. They were a picture of that promise.
While Bonnie was still in the hospital being treated for her leukemia Steve was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s diffused large B-cell lymphoma. Seriously, what do you say to that? What?
Here’s what Steve said: “I pray that this pushes my children closer to God and relying on Him and finding their security in Him and not necessarily the earthly parents that God gave them for a while. I don’t say that as a negative comment; I just strongly believe that we all should look for our security from God and rest in Him no matter the circumstance.”
Steve began keeping a blog as a way to update everyone on Bonnie’s progress. The blog has now morphed into a his-and-hers cancer status update. His daily summaries are one part medical jargon, the other part sermon. This man is living his faith in the hardest of circumstances. Reading of Steve’s trust in God has caused me to question what I believe. Would I, in the face of unthinkable pain and uncertainty, be able to say as Steve did: “God has assigned this difficult task to us... He takes great care to make sure the assignment is the exact amount: measured and controlled. How comforting it is to know that on one hand the portion assigned to us is specifically measured based on our ability to handle the task yet the cup of God’s love, peace, joy and kindness overflows without measure. You can’t ask for more comfort than that during a difficult time as this.”
So yes, I jumped at the chance to cook for Bonnie, Steve and the kids on their first day home from the hospital, hoping my small contribution could in some way minister to them. Because they will never know how their words and actions during this incredibly trying time have ministered to me.
Day one of Week With No Kids was dreamy. I slept in, took my time getting ready, surfed the web without guilt, read a little, ran some errands and at 3:30 went on a trail ride with Kate, a friend from church. In theory it was a good idea.
My girls have been taking lessons from Kate for about a year and in that time we’ve talked about how I used to ride. And by “used to ride” I mean when I was in junior high, which in my mind was last week but in actuality was about 25 years ago. Kate was brave to let me get near her horses because I’m pretty sure riding a horse isn’t exactly like riding a bike.
When I got to the barn Kate had her horses, Cheyenne and Marie, in the cross-ties. We groomed them and got them all tacked up. Kate had me start on Cheyenne in the outdoor arena. She threw a few welcomed reminders my way: back straight, heels down. I rode around the arena a few times and I guess Kate figured I was sure-seated enough because she hopped on Marie and we headed out for a trail ride.
It was a beautiful day – gorgeous blue sky, perfect cotton ball clouds, light breeze – it was just perfect. The owner of the property has tons of it. We rode on the trail for almost an hour, chatting about horses and husbands and how we ended up where we are. It really was a lovely afternoon, a gracious gift. When I caught sight of the barn again I wasn’t ready for the ride to end!
One thing the ride reminded me was that horseback riding is not for wimps. You really need strong leg muscles to ride well. And as with any exercise it’s helpful to do it more than once a quarter-century. As soon as the horse stopped moving I realized I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. I knew when I got off Cheyenne I would have a serious case of John Wayne legs. All I could think was, “Oh, please legs don’t buckle under me when I get off this horse.” I managed to dismount and stay upright but it took considerable effort, especially because I didn’t want Kate to know my legs felt like Jell-O that’d been left out in the sun.
I kept it together long enough to take Cheyenne’s saddle off and walk her back to the pasture. Walking helped so I thought the worst was over. Not quite.
In the twenty minutes it took to drive home I realized my legs were still Jell-O-y. I pulled in the driveway and sat in my car for a few moments playing a little mind-over-matter. “Yes, the legs are little shaky. You can push through this!” So I gingerly got out and realized my mind might be steady but my legs were going to be wobbly for a while longer.
It’s been seven hours since the ride and I can just now hold my legs together. Barely. When I try to they push back with all their might, screaming, “Look, lady, you can’t ignore us for years then hop on a horse and hope for the best.” True. Very true.
No pain, no gain, as they say. And this little pain was certainly worth the gain of being with a friend on a perfect summer day. Definitely worth it.
I don’t hear a thing, and it’s not just because I ruined my hearing listening to my Walkman headphones too loud. It’s because I’m the only one here. Sean’s at work. Michael and Amy are on the east coast with the youth group on a mission trip. Rebecca’s visiting the grands.
I. Am. Home. Alone. (I’ll pause as that sinks in.)
Woo hoo!
I mentioned my alone status to someone who looked absolutely horrified that I was so thrilled to have some time off. “You mean you don’t miss your children?”
Um, no.
The kids are having a great time. Rebecca got to Atlanta on Thursday and spent the entire weekend with Sean’s parents. They took her to a puppet show, a huge 4th of July picnic and she got to ride in Grandpa’s Corvette in a parade. She is doing just dandy.
Michael and Amy left Sunday morning with the church youth group – two vans of kids and adults driving 12 hours; Amy called me last night when they arrived. She said the drive was great and they were currently figuring out how to arrange the air mattresses on the floor. I also talked to Michael, who echoed Amy’s report about the drive over. Both sounded pleased as punch to be there.
How could I deprive them of such wonderful experiences? It is, indeed, a sacrifice, but one I’m willing to make. I think the sacrifice comes easier to me; Sean mentioned several times yesterday afternoon how silent it was in the house. Yes, dear. That’s called peace and quiet. Ah.
Sean’s planned a few things for us to do and already has reservations for dinner two nights this week; I am not cooking. I am going horseback riding; my girls aren’t here for their lesson so I’m going instead! I’m also planning to read, and by read I mean I will finish an entire sentence before being interrupted by someone asking for food or drink which in all likelihood I would have to play a part in preparing.
You know those ads for Corona beer, where someone’s sitting on the beach doing absolutely nothing except sitting and watching the waves? That’s how I envision my week, just without the beer, sand, salt water and potential shark incidents. So actually nothing like that but you get the picture.
Couple One: My normal life. Couple Two: My life this week (and don't we have lovely tans?). Did I say woo hoo already?
I hope your week has some bright spots ahead, too.
Sean and I love Jeanne Robertson - she tells the most hysterical stories about herself and "Left Brain," her husband. Not too many clips of her on YouTube, but I did find this one:
This is exactly like watching a car wreck; you know nothing good's going to happen but you just can't stop watching!
How can this be real? Meth Bible Camp? You'd think the Methodists could have come up with a better abbreviation.
Several weeks ago I found a rubber duckie in my entryway light fixture. Apparently Michael was only getting started with placing things on the fixture because this is what I found a few days ago:
I turned the corner for a better look:
When I saw those yellow stuffed legs hanging over the glass I knew exactly what was up there:
First a duck, now a bear. What's next? Wait... pretend I didn't ask that.
Sean and I haven’t been on a date since we moved to Michigan in April. So when he announced he had a babysitter and reservations for Saturday night I nearly cried with happiness. (Not that I haven’t adored being with my children 24/7 for 16 weeks, of course…)
So we tried out a restaurant in Okemos, a traditional hibachi place where they cook in front of you. We shared the table with a 50’s something couple who were obviously dating, and a young family with a four year old girl and a 17 month old boy. I was quite concerned when the waitress pulled a high chair up to our table but we didn’t have anything to worry about; the child didn’t sit at the table. He just ran through the place for most of the dinner with the dad following behind.
We had a good dinner (what is it about the salad dressing at Japanese restaurants? It is so good and there’s no where else to find it!), then headed to the MSU campus to walk around. But it was move-in weekend and the place was crazy with people. And I realized I’d be thought of more as a mom of a student than a student so we opted to walk elsewhere.
We got home around 9:30 (we are such party animals) and found Rebecca asleep and Michael, Amy and Kylie, the babysitter, watching a movie. Actually, Michael was watching and Amy was teaching Kylie to crochet. There are a gazillion crocheted strings lying around our house. I have to find someone to teach Amy to connect the strings…
The kids went to bed and we started closing up the house. It was such a cool evening and we had all the windows open. But when we got upstairs and were ready for bed we smelled something funny coming in our still opened bedroom windows. We bent down and stuck our noses as close to the screen as we could and smelled the unmistakable smell of marijuana. I based this observation on my vast experience of smelling pot which consists of a being at a Genesis concert in 1987. (Sean, however, was in a fraternity and had smelled it a bit more than I, but he did concur. It was definitely pot.)
So there we are, walking through our very dark house in our jammies, sniffing at every window. And we came to our deck where we saw the lights on in the basement of our next-door neighbor’s house. And we smelled some serious smoke.
The family living in that house had just moved back to the states from Belgium, and after a quick Google search I discovered that Belgium legalized pot in 2001 Surely they know they’re in America now… and surely they know that marijuana use, for better or worse, is still illegal here. We don’t know if it was the parents or the kids (they have two sons, a senior in high school and a junior in college), but we do know where it was coming from. I told Sean how fortunate we are to have such international neighbors…
It was certainly an interesting end to our first date in Michigan. And based on our track record, we can look forward to another date in February, 2006. By then it will be too cold to open the windows.
