The Mother Hen

2011-11-09T23:12:00.000-08:00

I See the Moon and the Moon Sees Me

There's a gorgeous full moon out tonight and since Grama has died I feel close to her when I look up in that big sky and see that bright moon. About a week after I got home from Montana and her funeral I was putting Casey out and saw that moon shining down and I knew, just knew, she was in a better place.

Although my three weeks with her were labored with questions and wondering why God had brought me to Montana and it appeared she wasn't going to die, the time together was precious. Sacred.

One day, one that I spoke of in her eulogy, was particularly sweet. I was sitting there holding her hand and offered to paint her nails. They were brittle and peeling; she wasn't getting nearly the nutrition she needed to sustain them and I thought a little polish would be cheerful.

She agreed and I ran to the drugstore down the street and picked out a few colors. When I returned I laid them out in front of her. Without hesitation she quickly chose the brightest and perkiest pink of the bunch. I polished her nails and toes and when she fell asleep and scuffed her thumbs I polished them again.

After she had fallen asleep I went into her bathroom to put the polish, remover and q-tips away. Before putting it in the cabinet I looked at the name on the polish and it was "Rosy Future." I just loved that. Her future was indeed "rosy" as she prepared to meet her Savior face to face.

For the first week and half our days were filled of drinking milk shakes together and having candid talks about death and Heaven. She wasn't afraid. She didn't want to die but she certainly wasn't afraid. We told each other a thousand "I love you's" and kisses. As the days went on it got to the point where I couldn't bring my kids anymore but in the first week she had some special time with those great grandbabies who had come up with the name, "Gigi."

This picture just busts me up; here are my two Emily's sleeping in a little twin hospital bed. It just cracks me up that Gigi's teeth have fallen out and are under Emily's arm.

Late in to the second week Grama's rally began to decline. She stopped eating the few bites of 3 square meals and was sleeping almost all the time. She was still able to swallow water and so we didn't have to give her her medicine through a syringe yet and that was a blessing.

At times she would seem to be hallucinating; she would look at me and her eyes were bright and voice clear but she would call me "Mama." Towards the last week she called me Mama more than she did Jenny. It didn't hurt me, in fact, I thought it was tender and precious. I felt honored. I also thought it was precious that in the end, no matter how old we are, we all want our mothers.

After we stopped going home at night and started staying with her around the clock I was on the night shift, sleeping in the recliner adjacent from her bed. I heard her cry out, "Mama, Mama." I sat up and saw her sitting up, wide awake. "Grama, what do you need? I'm here. What do you need?" "Whose cat is that?" she asked. She was looking at the foot of her bed where there was no cat. I got up and walked over to her bed. "I don't know whose cat that is. Is it yours?" She nodded yes and smiled. "What's your kitty's name?" I asked. She looked at me like I was crazy and said in a know it all voice, "Kitty Cat." Duh.

I asked her if she was thirsty and she said yes so I gave her a sip of water and she made a spitting sound over and over and then said, "Don't give that to Kitty Cat." With that she laid down and went to sleep.

Thanks for letting me process through this bag of sorrow I'm dragging around. It isn't much fun but as I cried and smiled while I wrote this I know its necessary.

One last picture. I love this one; I loved her hands. Even as a little girl I just loved how soft they always were. This picture is special because we're holding hands and you can clearly see her two rings: her mother's ring and the ring my Mom bought herself, Grama and me. We buried her with her mother's ring and the other one rests in a box waiting for little Emily to be old enough to wear and cherish.

2011-11-05T20:20:00.000-07:00

What Did You Expect?

It was exactly 23 hours from the time I got the phone call from Hospice to come to the time I was walked in to Grama's room at Autumn Springs. I held my breath and walked in...

She was sitting on the foot of her bed. Dressed. Talking to my Uncle Gene. Waiting for dinner. She squealed and held out her arms when she saw me.

To say I was surprised at her perky condition is the greatest of all understatements. I had read and re-read Hospice's booklet on what the last days of life looked like, you know the ones where they call family all the way from Oregon to come because they are the LAST FREAKING DAYS OF LIFE, and this picture of sass was not it.

Seeing that Gigi wasn't gasping for her last breaths, I ushered in Deb and the kids. My Mom arrived shortly after and we both just shrugged our shoulders. This wasn't the first time we had thought Grama was dying.

Later that evening Deb and the midgets went home with my Mom and I stayed with Grama. She was lying in her bed and smiling up at me. I told her how good she looked and that I was actually surprised to see her doing so well. She smirked and said, "What did you expect? This?" and with that she closed her eyes and folder her hands on her chest as if she were lying in a casket. I nearly choked with laughter and said "yes."

I told her Hospice had called me and that's when she got serious and said that the last few days had been very rough and that she didn't remember much. I asked her if she had remembered telling me to come. She said no. I asked her if she remembered not getting out of bed for the last week? She said no. I didn't get into the hallucinations and the other end of life signs she had shown; I just held her hand and told her that I was glad she was having a good day.

On my drive home I began the defeating questions that would plague me for the next 3 weeks. They would rob me of my joy, my faith, and my confidence. I would become so blinded by my own petulant selfishness that I would nearly miss the sacred joy of being with my Grama in her last weeks of life and the fulfillment of God's promises that He would never leave me nor forsake me.

2011-11-03T23:05:00.001-07:00

The Beginning of the End

Probably the biggest hurdle to getting back in to blogging is knowing that I need to to blog about losing Grama before I can blog about anything else. And the kids' Halloween candy...that delicious goodness is also a hurdle.

I know you'd all, and by you all I mean Bestie Kim and Christene Johnson who are my only remaining readers, would still read if I just jumped into Samuel's epic melt down over wearing eyeliner on Halloween night and just completely skipped over the last 2 months.

With that said, for myself, I need to write about this. I was explaining to Bestie Maryanne yesterday that I've come to a good place: I have a deep wound but it is sufficiently scabbed over. To write about it will reopen that and I need to do it because I don't believe I've "dealed" with it. I'm a processer and I do that through writing/journaling and I have not had the time, nor the courage, to begin to do that.

November is blogging month and I guess bloggers try to blog once a day during blogging month. I'm hoping to blog once a day for the rest of the month and redevelop that muscle and maybe do a little healing in the meantime.

It was Wednesday, August 2nd, and I was having brunch with Bestie Kristan at French Press. I told her that Grama had worsened and that Hospice Sherry had called me that morning to tell me she thought it was nearing the time for me to come. Only the day before I had spoken to Grama on the phone and she was confused, restless, journeying back through time and asking me to be with her "in the end." As usual she was funny; I said "Grama, you really think it is close?" She replied, "Yes. Maybe this week or next." There was a long pause while I collected myself and she added dryly, "Or maybe a year." Hilarious.

Over our quiches Kristan encouraged me to go, she reminded me I would never regret the time.

All morning long I had been praying for God to show me whether or not it was indeed time to go. How can one predict death? How can a person just put a life on hold in Oregon indefinitely to go sit in Montana while one life ends? I was torn. I desperately wanted to be with my Grama. I wanted to hold her hand, to comb her hair, to kiss her face. I was tired of updates over the wire and wanted to be there. Grama had never asked much of me and she had clearly asked me the day before to be with her.

I wrestled, round and round, with the question of "what if?" What if I go out there and spend a few weeks, a month, and she doesn't die. Am I ok with that? Am I ok going out there and then not going back until it is time to bury her? What if she's right and she knows and it really is close? How will I forgive myself if I don't go and she dies without me kissing her one more time.

I prayed to God, "If I should go to Montana, give me a sign." I was going to set out my fleece: if Al was supportive and said to go, I would go. If he was hesitant and worried about coverage in the office I would wait it out until Gigi worsened.

After brunch with Kristan, I called Mom while driving to the office. "I don't know what to tell you" she said. "I will just pray that God shows you through Al if you should come or not." My jaw dropped. That was exactly what I was praying. I told her that and we both marveled at how God moves and works and orchestrates. God still speaks to us. If we will listen, God still speaks.

So I went to work, talked to Al and awaited his response. Without even asking to think about it he said, "You need to go."

Wow.

Humbled at God speaking so clearly to me and humbled at Al's kindness.

Sweet Deb had said she would drive out there with the kids and me if when it came time Jeff couldn't go with us and then just fly back to Oregon. Hot Jeff decided he couldn't go with us for an indefinite amount of time but would fly out for the funeral and then drive us home so Deb and I set our sights on Friday deciding that tomorrow, Thursday, we would use to pack and get ready.

At 5:00 that same, long afternoon Hospice Sherry called and asked what I had decided. I told her I would be coming on Friday. She paused. "Should I come sooner?" I asked. She said she thought I should, Grama seemed to moving quickly through the last stages of the dying process. I hung up quickly and called Deb to see if she could leave by 8:30. She could.

There would be no words for my surprise when I saw my Gigi 23 hours later.

2011-10-24T09:42:00.000-07:00

The Mother Hen is Back

I have gone back to being a stay at home mom; after much discussion and prayer I asked Al if I could only work one day a week and he said yes so now I'm back to blogging. You may wonder how the connection works. Well you see, when you are a SAHM you have to do a lot of housework and before you do a lot of housework you have to sufficiently procrastinate and blogging is the perfect procrastination tool. You with me?

I've missed blogging. Mostly I've missed you coming up to me or commenting and telling me how funny I am but I'll play it cool and just say I've missed blogging.

All sorts of things have happened since I last blogged, the biggest being that my sweet Gigi has gone to Heaven. This alone is like 14 of its very own posts. My emotional breakdown and long road back to a somewhat stable mental state is a couple more posts. I'm not in the dig deep emotional place this morning so instead I will tell you that I learned to crochet while I was in Montana (you will read later that I was there for almost a month, taking care of Gigi and being with my Mama). Turns out I'm not great at crocheting but I love it. Seriously, love.it. On Pinterest I pin all these wonderful and adorable things I want to crochet but the fact is that I only know one stitch and want to stay married. If I took the time to make all that cute stuff Hot Jeff would most certainly leave me for a cooler wife. One who vacuums and doesn't crochet all day long. I can crochet his new wife a nice scarf.

Samuel started Kindergarten and loves it. He's amazing. The other day he was talking to his dad about "tag" and I only caught like 2 other words besides "tag" and I thought he was talking about the Talented And Gifted program but it turns out he was talking about the playground game so he's not that amazing but amazing still. Ha!

Emily started preschool and then dropped out of preschool so we're pretty sure she has solidified herself a career of walking the streets but we let her dropout anyway. She loved it but said she "wanted to stay home with Mommy." Who can blame her? I'm buckets of fun. Roo didn't need preschool the way that Samuel did so we relented and we'll put her in next year to make sure she's Kindergarten ready. We're going to put her in a dance class instead. That way she can work on her moves and maybe be a pole dancer to supplement her street walking career when she inevitably drops out of high school.

Roo's most exciting news is that she asked Jesus into her heart! This too warrants its own post...but I'm just catching you up on the Henderson news.

I know this post is a little lame and I'm already bored with it; I suppose it is going to take a little bit of time to get back into the blogging frame of mind. Good thing my laundry and dishes never stop to help inspire me!

2011-07-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

A Lot of Catching Up To Do

You know it has been a long time since you blogged when a friend who like doesn't even have an internet connection (yes, I'm talking to you Bex) tells you that you need to blog. It has been so long since I blogged that Bestie Maryanne has stopped asking. Bestie Kim is down to checking once every 3 days. It is so sad. So sad.

Sometimes I think that I just can't come up with anything funny but I know that isn't true because my Facebook posts continue to be hil.ar.i.ous so maybe that it is that I just can't be funnier for longer than 240 characters? Do you think Facebook has ruined what would be my wonderful, blooming, blogging career?

Since I promised a blog post--tonight--I will write about the golden silence in my homestead right now. It is 8:30 on a Summer night and my kiddos are next door tormenting Melissa. It is blissful. I can hear them so I know they are happy and well cared for yet they are not here tormenting me. 8:30 is SOOO past their bedtime but don't you just love Summer and breaking all the bedtime rules?

On Monday I realized that I had cleaned my kitchen and living room (Which room is the living room? The one with the TV? Or is that the family room? I can never remember. In my world the living room is the room with the TV.) no less than 4 times. FOUR TIMES. That included vacuuming. My kids aren't exactly hoarders, I'm not sure what you would call them, but I am certain TLC could make a reality show out of them and what filthy little children they are. Not only filthy but messy. Even after I bathe them they manage to get sticky. It is like our whole house is made of syrup and they are incapable of not getting sticky. They are also incapable of not bringing toys downstairs from their bedrooms or the bonus room. They somehow have become convinced that the world is their oyster and my house is the epicenter of that oyster, the epicenter where they can just spread their toys and cars and babies and legos and foam swords all over and then when told to take them back upstairs claim that those very same toys are "too heavy."

Since I started typing this, Hot Jeff has brought them in, marveled at their filthiness and is now appropriately giving them a bath. I heart him.

So what else is going on in the Mother Hen's world?

Well we got a dog. And even more amusing than the fact that we got a dog is how we got a dog. First: I am not a dog person. I don't like dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, neighbor dogs. The only kind of dog I like is a rescue dog and only if I am the one s/he is rescuing.

So one weekend Hot Jeff went to the Deschutes for some testosterone time and the kids and I had some time on our hands. Hot Jeff and I had briefly discussed getting a lab. And when I say "briefly discussed" I mean like Jeff said, "Boy, it would be fun to have a dog." And I said, "Maybe." and the kids said, "Yah. Wahoo. Can we have pie?" (They are very random like that.) So anyway, as a means to kill time (and to tangibly show my kids what a poorly thought out decision looks like) I decided to take them to the Humane Society. Um, yes, the Humane Society. I don't know whatever possessed me to do this other than sheer lack of sleep and adult conversation.

We walked in and I said, "Do you have any puppies?" Maryanne has since told me that when you go to the Pound and ask if there are puppies AND you have two preschoolers in tow, that automatically translates in Humane Society language to "I am a sucker. If you show me a puppy with sweet eyes AND A FREAKING CONE OF SHAME (e-collar) on its neck, I will pay you a ridiculous amount of money to take that dog home with me."

You see...I really didn't want a puppy. But I certainly wasn't going to traumatize my children by taking them back to see the nasty, lice infested, found under a bridge dogs...what kind of mother do you think I am? So puppies it was.

There were 5 puppies in the kennel. The first one not only had the cone of shame on but it only had 3 legs. Are you kidding me? You would have to be dead inside to not take that dog home. Fortunately for Tri-Pod it had a nice family of 5 cooing over her. I lingered at the second kennel and pondered the smell in the air when Samuel's shrieking pulled me back to reality. He and Roo were kneeling in front of a kennel that held the little bittiest, sweetest black puppy I had ever seen. The HS volunteer, trained to watch for signs of weakness, must have seen me start to lactate a bit and said, "Would you and your kids like to go play with her in a private room?"

If you don't speak Humane Society, as Maryanne does, then you should be warned that this does not mean its 10 minutes of your kids rolling around with a pup, you take the pup back and everyone has their puppy fix. I quickly learned this as I, like a sucker, said, "Sure."

She escorted us to a little concrete room with one chair in it. The room was designed to make you feel bad about any living thing who had to permanently reside in this drab, dreary, depressing place. The volunteer told us the dog's name was "Maggie" and before she could get any further Roo exclaimed confidently that we would change her name because we already had a Baby Maggie. Taken back by her sweetness and affinity for Maggie DeBacker, I didn't even notice how Roo had already decided we would be taking this dog home. Roo, you are so smooth. I am not only impressed but threatened.

We played with the pup for almost 30 minutes all while the volunteer "interviewed" me. I explained to her that I wasn't really in the market for a dog, that my husband didn't like "little" dogs and that he wasn't even in town to run the decision by. She then proceeded to tell me about the "hold" policy...

It was time to take Puppy Maggie back to her kennel and the volunteer knew she had me right where she wanted me when I told her that I couldn't be the one to take the puppy back, it would just make me too sad. Sucker.

Cleverly I had taken pictures of the kids playing with the dog and texted one to Jeff. Not expecting him to have cell coverage well past the time the HS closed I sent him a picture of the puppy on Samuel's lap and wrote, "We have something to ask you." He surprisingly responded in minutes with, "What kind is it?" Here is the transcript of our texting...

J: Little. Chiuaua? Pomeranian? Terrier? Full blood mutt.
HJ: Absolutely not. No way. Don't get the kids' hopes up.
J: Too late.
HJ: Jen...
J: She is really sweet. Samuel is crazy about her. I think it would be good for them.
HJ: No response.
J: Kids need a dog.
JH: You hate dogs.
J: Not this one. We have a hold on her until 7 tomorrow. You can think about it.
HJ: The kids like her? Even Roo?
J: Love her.
HJ: How much?
J: What? You're cutting out.
HJ: How much is she?
J: I'm surprised you have coverage. Did you have fun?
HJ: How long is the hold?
J: Until 7 tomorrow. There is a 30 day return policy.
HJ: Go get her.

This is how the Henderson family makes decisions. Half-assed. This is what I love about us.

Before we left we sent him a video of the kids going bonkers because Daddy had said yes.

The rest is history. Now we have a sweet, sweet puppy named Casey (after the Beavers baseball coach who lead the team to back to back College World Series wins) and why I have a discussion happening AT THIS VERY MOMENT on my Facebook Wall about dog's anal sacks. In addition, I dress her in cute little outfits and carry her in a dog purse while shopping at Target. I am totally all Paris Hilton about this dog. For the record, I still hate all other dogs though and Christy Lowry your video of Ditka pulling out your daughter's tooth almost made me vomit. I did find it highly entertaining though which eventually won out over it's vomit factor.

Wow, that took a long time. Now I'm too tired to write about how I got a Smart Phone and how I love it even more than my stainless steel dishwasher, which up until I got the Smart Phone, was my favorite thing in the whole wide world. I named my Smart Phone Lola.

Of course I did.

J-Bang out.

2011-05-20T22:32:00.000-07:00

Faithfulness I Don't Deserve

My Mom was able to arrange for Gigi to stay in her little apartment! Praise Jesus. Hospice will just come there instead and the nursing staff will give her extra care than what is expected of them for an assisted living home.

They love Gigi there and were eager to keep her there and let her be in her home.

It was such a huge relief for my Gigi; Mom said she was so happy to get to go home. My Mom sounded like a different person than the one I talked to this morning...she sounded more like herself and I felt peace.

I read some articles tonight on grief, mourning and "anticipatory grief"--what we are going through right now. I was relieved to hear that all this weight and grief and anger and sadness is all normal. I guess it is also normal that one night I will write an angry tirade and then the next morning feel peace. Hmm...like the last 24 hours?

I'm not ashamed to say I am scared...I'm afraid of grief. I'm afraid of unbearable sadness and loss. I can't imagine not having Gigi in this world with me and I'm afraid I just won't be able to handle it. I know that sounds really melodramatic but that's just how I feel.

So back to the title: faithfulness I don't deserve. In my skewed sense of a holy God I thought, "Well He is being faithful to Gigi and to Mom..."

Isn't that what the enemy wants me to think? Doesn't he want me think that because I get mad I don't get God's faithfulness anymore. But that's not how it works...I can never, ever, ever earn the faithfulness and redemption of a blameless Savior which would mean I can't un-earn it either. I simply get His faithfulness, mercy, grace and redemption because I believe in Him. It seems almost too good to be true.

My Mom said tonight that she and Gigi had a talk about their faiths tonight and that they discussed that this is the time, more than ever, that the "rubber meets the road" per se. Will the profession of a Saving God and the belief in eternal life with Him all Gigi's life be what she clings to in the end or will she fail to trust in Whom she's believed at the most crucial time? Without question, she's holding tightly to Hope; she will meet Jesus with confidence.

Gigi's daddy died when she was a little girl and she has felt his loss her whole life. Tonight she told Mom she's been thinking about Heaven a lot; Mom said, "You'll get to see Bobby." and Gigi replied, "And my Dad."

Who, without Hope in a living Savior, can speak with such confidence?

While the journey ahead of me and my family seems fraught with grief and mourning intertwined with grace and peace, it appears to me that Gigi's path is straight and short and her reward is in clear sight.

May we all be able to die so well.

2011-05-20T07:39:00.001-07:00

A Follow Up to My Drunken, Weepy Post

I woke up this morning with this verse below on my lips; thank you Jesus for speaking to me even when I don't trust You and doubt Your promises.

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his mercy never fails. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22

And this one, which my Mom read to me this morning:

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5

2011-05-19T22:14:00.001-07:00

The Long Goodbye

I make a lot of jokes about drinking too much wine but the truth is I really don't drink very much. I don't even drink once a night but tonight...well tonight is a little different. I've polished off a whole bottle of Riesling and am going strong.

I wouldn't be a good alcoholic though because I don't feel numb at all. Not one little bit.

Gigi went to the emergency room for the 2nd time in 6 days this afternoon. Tonight the ER physician was brutally honest with my Mom: she is the final stage of congetive heart failure, she needs to move out of her little assisted living apartment in to a nursing home where Hospice will to comfort care until the end. He said no longer than 6 months.

For 30 years I called Gigi, "Grama" but since Samuel came along we've started calling her "Gigi", short for Great-Grandma. Tonight in the bathtub I heard Samuel tell Emily that Gigi was too sick and she was going to die. Emily said she wanted to go and hug her Gigi.

I know some of you have experienced unbearable, unimaginable grief and I'm not trying to "one up" or try to get a bunch of sympathetic comments or anything...I'm just writing. I'm just wondering. I'm just processing.

The one thing I keep thinking about is how Grama knows what is happening; she cried when Mom told her she had to go to a nursing home. She understands...she knows she won't see another Winter, she knows she won't crochet another blanket or do another puzzle and she has to walk that journey herself. I can't walk it for her. Mom can't walk it for her. With all the love and support she has, she still has to do this alone.

I wonder if she senses when the end will be or if she is wondering like the rest of us.

When Uncle Bob got sick and the end came the last 2 weeks were brutal. Horrific. I couldn't go see him, I was afraid, but everyone told me it was horrific. And there we all were--just waiting. Waiting. The Hospice team said it was time and we all were there just waiting. And hours turned to days and days turned to more days. 2 weeks in all and we all prayed to God for mercy and it didn't come and it didn't come and it didn't come until finally...it was over. And I thought I understood God is soverign and I thought I had found peace but when I heard my Mom say tonight that she was praying for God to be merciful to Grama I got so angry I almost screamed. I want to know where the mercy is. I don't know that I can see it right now and I don't have the courage to believe in it.

I think I'm surprised how heavy this grief is already. I wonder if it is more regret than grief. When I moved from Montana to Oregon I knew it was to start a new life with Jeff and I know this is the life God has for me but tonight I feel so far away and all I want to do is crawl up in to that bed and lie with her and tell her I love her.

We have a trip planned out there at the first of July and my first reaction is that I don't want to go now because if I go I don't want to leave. Not until it is over because I can't say that final goodbye. There are no words to tell her how much I love her and how thankful I am she helped raise me and how I will never, ever, forget her or stop missing her. How do you do that? How do you walk away and get in a car and frive 18 hours knowing you won't be back until it is time to lay her next to her son? I simply can't do that.

We talk just about every other day and our conversations are so light and casual.

I don't know where I was going with that. I'm a little drunk.

I actually have to go to work tomorrow so I need to go to bed. I just needed to write and this is where I do it. I'm probably going to turn in to one of those rambling bloggers that write all in one paragraph and don't capitalize or punctuate. Shut this damn thing down if that happens.

2011-05-16T17:22:00.000-07:00

Seattle= Kindred Spirit Capital of the World

Friday morning started off as any other morning: me waking up from a dream in which Mitchell and I were having brunch with Elton John and Catherine Middleton. While getting ready for work (I was working a 1/2 day before Hot Jeff and I headed North to Seattle) I packed a bag for Samily who were staying with Grammy Deb Sherwood and whistled a happy tune--I was only a mere 11 hours away from reuniting with Mitchell.

An hour or so into my 1/2 day I called a client and my heart stopped when I heard his ringtone, it was Journey's "Midnight Train!" Are you kidding me? I mouthed to Maryanne that I was getting an omen, she mouthed back, "what?" I left a voicemail and said in a clear voice to MA, "I got an omen! ________'s ringtone was "Midnight Train." As only a Bestie would do, Maryanne started singing, "Don't stop believing."

The morning passed quickly and before I knew it, it was noon and Hot Jeff was waiting for me outside in our gassed up Pilot. We started up the highway and Jeff said, "Are you going to be warm enough?" Odd question since he packed the coat that I had sitting on a bag next to the door but I answered cheerfully, "For sure."

Hot Jeff and I were merrily making our way up the highway and cracking each other up with our own lists of Michael Scott's best moments. We were on the north side of Olympia when he asked me again if I was going to be warm enough. "Yes," I answered. "I put my warm coat along side my bag that was right by the door."

"What bag?"

"The Mickey Mouse bag right next to the door with a black coat on top of it."

"I didn't know I was supposed to put that in. I didn't put anything in the car for you."

A sinking feeling swept over me; I immediately knew what else was in the bag and what wasn't in the car. My black hat; the one that makes me look like a celebrity. Mitchell wouldn't have his identifier. I quickly texted Maryanne who texted back she thought Jeff was trying to thwart my reunion with Mitchell.

As my mind raced Hot Jeff said, "That is all you have. You are going to be cold."

Ok...if he didn't pack the coat I had set out and he knew I didn't take a coat with me to work and he was clearly overly concerned about my warmth, why didn't he pack me a coat? I'm not sure I'll ever know the answer to this question. It turns out I never got cold but still...

We arrived safely in Seattle and awaited outside Safeco field for 15 minutes until the gates opened. The seats were all general admission for the evening and Hot Jeff wanted to be on the first base dugout directly behind the Beavs. We had no problem getting those seats as we were second in line and there were only about 4000 people in attendance.

After we found our seats I nervously looked around trying to spot Mitchell. It dawned on me at this point that if I actually saw Mitchell I may get a little shy. I mean, would I just walk up to him and ask if he remembered me from the football game last October? Has he been thinking about the connection we made? Have my hilarious lines been running through his mind the last 7 months? Has he been dreaming of the day, like I have, when we could exchange Facebook identities and outwit each other with our status updates? All of a sudden I was feeling chicken.

I was brought back from my reverie by a blond woman coming up next to me and taking pictures of the team. It was just a few minutes from the game starting and she was trying to get her unwilling son to smile while his buddies around him sweetly obliged the young looking mom to my right. As the Freshman scampered off to the dugout below us she looked at me and said, "Someone ought to talk to his mother." We laughed and she walked to her seats a few rows up.

The game started and I found myself not thinking of Mitchell as I started crushing on #2 Infielder, Carter Bell. There is something deliciously creepy about crushing on a college boy. You know that its wrong but you also know that he's over 18 and you couldn't do jail time for it. I'm just sayin'.

Around the 4th inning the crazily young looking Mom reappeared with her camera. This time I asked which player was hers and we started up a conversation. The conversation turned from small talk to Mom talk and I found her to be engaging and really, really funny. For example, after I had everyone move down a seat to make room for my new BFF Debbie so she didn't have to take pictures on her knees, she said, "What happens to those pitchers if they have to go poop? You know they have nervous stomachs. Like are they just supposed to stop the game and run off the field? You just can't trust a fart in pants like those."

Ok. Stop.Right.There. Are you kidding me? Who else in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD would say that to someone they've known for 30 minutes besides me? No one. I looked at her with dreamy, glazed over eyes...she was a kindred spirit for sure.

We chatted up the night and I revealed my crush for Carter Bell to her. Upon saying it I felt the rush of embarrassment go to my cheeks...that's a risky move when you're talking to a player's mom. There was a slight pause and I waited for her to storm off in a disgusted huff calling me an old dirty whore as she went but she said, "Don't get too excited. I've had him and it wasn't that great." Bwahahahaha! Hello? Bestie alert!! Kim White couldn't have said it better or faster herself.

It wasn't long until we were exchanging phone numbers and email addresses and making plans for lunch when she comes down to Corvallis next (she lives in WA). As we said goodbye I realized I hadn't thought of Mitchell all night.

Call me fickle; its ok. On the drive home, in which BFF Debbie and I texted the whole time, Hot Jeff reassured me I wasn't fickle, only friendly, and would have a better chance of reuniting with Mitchell at Husky stadium where we first connected. Until then, I will hold fast to the dream that my gay best friend is still out there, waiting for me and planning facial dates for us. I hope he doesn't mind if I bring Debbie with.

2011-05-11T22:36:00.000-07:00

I Won't Stop Believing

On Friday Hot Jeff and I are blasting up to Seattle for the evening for the Beaver baseball game at Safeco field. That's just how we roll--we blast to Seattle for the evening because we are just that cool.

This weekend Hot Jeff got all spontaneous and asked if I wanted to head North for the game and while he was droning on about a fun date night, all that time in the car to visit, time alone in a fun city... I was thinking "Mitchell. I am coming. Can you feel it in the air? I am coming."

If you're new to The Mother Hen then you need to stop right now and catch up. Mitchell is the one who got away...I was this close to having the great gay friendship I've always dreamed of.

Since last October I haven't been able to listen to Journey's Midnight Train (aka Don't Stop Believing) without thinking of Mitchell. My mind goes back to his infectious laugh at all my jokes, how he held an air microphone and sang with me to the Husky pep band, how handsome he looked in his orange and black scarf tied in a trendy knot.

Just a small town girl
Livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train going anywhere
Just a city boy
Born and raised in South Detroit
He took the midnight train going anywhere
A singer in a smoky room
The smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on

I'm going to take a moment and speak directly to Mitchell. Mitchell, if you are reading this...Hot Jeff and I will be sitting behind the first base dugout. I'll have on my same black hat; you know the one that makes me look like a celebrity, and I'll be holding a Journey album with a long stemmed red rose. Wear skinny jeans so Hot Jeff remembers you're gay and doesn't think you're hitting on me but is assured that the Universe has finally brought us back together so I can have my gay best friend that I've always dreamed about.

Now, excuse me while I take a minute to speak directly to the Universe. Universe, if you eff with me again...so help me...you'll be sorry. I have held my tongue with you regarding these saggy boobs and this enormous ass...do not screw with me again.

Just a small town girl

Livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train going anywhere

2011-05-08T16:03:00.000-07:00

Happy Mothers Day

A Letter from Mama

Dear Samuel & Emily,

Today is Mothers Day and you have made a fuss over me all day. You're just getting to the ages where you can see, if only for brief moments at a time, that not everything is about you. Finally, if only for brief moments at a time, you're beginning to figure out that it is all about me.

Now before I go getting all sappy and slushy lets keep it real. You make me crazy. Like I'm on a 2 prescription cocktail of anti-depressants/anxiety pills because of you two knuckleheads. Don't be fooled by a "chemical imbalance" diagnosis--someday when my liver and kidneys are shot and Dad can't wipe himself you'll be getting a little knock-knock-knock on your doors. You fight, you whine, you keep our home in a perpetual state of needing Federal assistance, you eat every 2 hours and when I pulled the couch out yesterday to vacuum I found thousands of half-eaten, abandoned goldfish crackers.

Yes, life with you isn't all rainbows. With that said, I love my life. You have made my life complete in a way I never knew was possible.

Samuel, you made me a Mommy. I went from being focused on myself to being focused on another human who was completely dependent on me. I gave you life and I sustained you but you saved me. You saved me from a self-centered life and taught me the fullness of giving yourself unconditionally to another. How can I ever thank you or show you the depths of my love and gratitude for you?

Emily, you completed me. You have taught me that I cannot run out of love. It sounds like a cliche but the more I love you the more love I have for Daddy and Samuel. It is funny because I seem to cling to you more than I do Samuel. It seems natural to give Samuel wings as I remind him of boundaries, but you are the baby and I find myself clinging tightly to the "littleness" of you for as long as I can. All of Samuel's "firsts" were met with excitement and anticipation (and yours are too) but your "firsts" have a tinge of bitterness to them because I know there are no more to come. So forgive me if sometimes I hold too tightly.

One thing that being your Mommy has shown me is how much God loves me. I grew up knowing he was a heavenly "father" but after becoming I mother I understand God's "Daddy" love for me so much more...and yet I know that is just but a glimpse of His great love for me.

I remember one night we were training one of you to sleep through the night so I wasn't going in and breastfeeding you but Daddy or I would just walk in and pat your back and then leave. You were both fast learners and after 2 nights or so you both decided it was easier to sleep through the night and have a big breakfast. On one of these nights I remember laying in bed listening to your sad little cries, my heart breaking because I wanted to go to you, hold you, comfort you and give you warm, soothing milk. I knew though that the best thing for you was rest and to learn to sleep through the night. I'm the parent, I saw the bigger picture and I knew sadness and confusion for a couple of nights was worth your well-being in the long run.

Samuel and Emily, this is how God is with us. He sees the bigger picture and when we're neck deep in pain, confusion and suffering He sometimes lets us "cry it out" because He knows there is something better for us on the other side. I will come to your rescue most of the time; when I don't though, don't think it isn't because I don't want to--sometimes I just know better. God won't always come to your rescue. He hears your cries, He sees your pain but sometimes we have to go through the suffering to be better on the other side.

I have all sorts of little lessons like these...little epiphanies that God has shown me as I travel on this journey of being your Mommy. I'd like to write them all down for you but so far I'm a little too busy getting gum out of carpet and making macaroni and cheese. Someday...

Know this: you are my greatest joys.

Love, Mama

2011-04-22T07:36:00.001-07:00

A re-post from last year (April 2010) but one of my favorites and expressing some of my thoughts again this year.

Good Friday from a Mother's Eyes

Since I've had my own children I read the stories of Mary, the mother of Jesus, a little more keenly. I remember being 8 months pregnant with Emily during the Christmas season and thinking of how much Mary's hips must have ached as she made that long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey. I have a little more empathy for Mary since motherhood has given me new eyes.

Today I'm thinking of her again.

3 years ago this month my dear Uncle Bob was dying from pancreatic cancer. Every day he slipped further and further from this world and closer and closer to eternity. Our family circled around him except for one person--Gigi, his mother. Seeing him in such agony had become too physically hard for her own weakened condition and so she said her final goodbye to him 2 weeks before he died as he lingered in his last moments of consciousness.

I try not to think about that goodbye but when I do, tears spring to my eyes and my heart hurts and fear wells up inside of me at the thought of having to say goodbye to my own children. There is something very unnatural, something horribly cruel, about having to bury your children.

Today I'm thinking of Mary. Today I'm thinking about how horribly cruel it must have felt to see her son struggle under the weight of a cross, broken and bleeding, dying for sins He didn't commit.

I see her standing at the foot of the cross, arching her neck to see her son as he labors for breath, moaning from the pain and praying for those who torture him.

Can you see her? Her hair is probably more grey and her skin more wrinkled than the 3 decades earlier. She has become a woman, made a home, raised a family and now she stands just feet away from her dying son. I can imagine that as she stands there watching his clothing being gambled for she remembers his first grin, his first wobbly steps, the way her heart stopped when she first heard him say, "Mama." I imagine that as the blood drips from his torn body she remembers kissing skinned knees and singing lullabies goodnight.

I wonder if Mary bargained with God. I wonder if she silently pleaded, "To hell with all of them, that is my son." I have no doubt that as He gave His life for us she would have done anything to give her life for His.

Mary couldn't see in to the future; she was as bound to this earth as much as we are. We know her faith was strong, the early chapters of Luke leave us no doubt that it was, but at that moment in time, as her firstborn son hung on a cross like a criminal, I wonder if her mother's heart didn't break, beg and bargain for a different ending.

Today I'm thinking of Mary. Before He was ever her Savior He was her son.

2011-04-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

Calling All People Who Are the Opposite of Me

You know who you are. Your name may rhyme with Vanessa, Shannon, Kara or Mia. You have a place for everything and you keep your home running with well oiled systems. You meal plan, you use crock pots, you read "Real Simple."

I'm not very good at asking for help. I'm not sure I know anyone who is but I'm going to bite the bullet and ask for help. And I'm going to see if the "help" can't come in one day or two and it be kind of fun because we're all together and making fun of how I ever survived these last 34 (gasp) years.

So who is in?

I'm thinking we (me and everyone who has gifts/talents that I don't and who needs a project) meet at my house and we start with some before pictures. Then you give me some good ideas of how to get organized, you give me ideas for systems and storage. We sit down and you teach me the art of meal planning (not freezer cooking--meal planning) and then we drink some wine. Then you either stay and help me get organized or you go home and wait for me to post pictures online or we drink some more wine. Or mix margaritas. If your name rhymes with Karen or Cary and you need help just as bad as I do then you can come over and mix the drinks and and drink with us and kick yourself because you didn't think of this first.

I'm a genius.

Who is in?

2011-04-11T20:26:00.000-07:00

Seasons

It has been over a month since I last wrote. Do you know how I know that? Because you all keep telling me. Little FB messages, little comments here, little emails in my inbox. And oh how I appreciate them (well except for the one from BlogHer telling me they were suspending my ads) because it made me feel missed and it made me feel loved and oh how I do love validation--just like my book Breaking the Chains of Low Self-Esteem says I do.

One of the reasons I haven't been blogging, besides that I just didn't feel like it (you other writers understand this) is that I've been in the process of making a big decision.

Early in March, members of Council were asked to turn in their decisions of whether or not we would be returning in the Fall. For those of you who don't know, for 2 years I have served on a leadership team at my church. It has been an amazing experience that has grown me as a leader, a wife, a mother, a Christ follower, a friend...etc. etc. etc. Serving on Council and doing what I got to do week in and week out felt like the greatest of all sweet spots. I don't know that I have ever felt that I was doing EXACTLY what God created me to do more than when I was doing what I was doing on Council: public speaking, teaching, leading, being a part of an amazing Bible study. So that's why it was so weird when earlier this year I felt God calling me out of it. I felt myself losing joy and losing passion but passed it off as just being tired. Remember I've been going through all this sleep apnea business and chalked up to that. Yet part of me knew that God MAY be calling out of this ministry and I told Hot Jeff that I was going to start praying about it very intentionally but that if God was calling me out and I would have to let go, that it would have claw marks in it.

To make a long story short God showed me in several different ways, on several different occasions that I should resign. Then I asked Him for confirmation. And He graciously gave it to me...that very evening. God is so patient. So eternally patient.

So March came and it was time to give an answer and this is where we come to my blog and me not blogging. I've been a little too busy wrestling with God. Desperately trying to make it work. Desperately trying to misinterpret the things I've heard for what I wanted. Here's the interesting thing though, God sometimes calls us out of good things. Sometimes He just wants obedience and for us to trust Him that there's something else around the corner and we can't be in His Will and we can't experience the richness of of His promises unless we're willing to let go. Even of the good stuff.

Last week I told my sisters in Council that I wouldn't be serving with them in the Fall. And I cried the whole time. And I told them I was sad. And I told them I didn't think I would ever, ever, ever leave Council and so that's how I knew it was God (amongst a lot of other reasons). I'm not exactly sure what this next season of life is going to look like or what God is going to have me do. Sensei Jen Roth has suggested that God may be calling me back into a season of fully pouring myself in to my children and husband. Samuel will start kindergarten next year and if you've met Samuel you know that this will be a huge transition for him. It's huge for any kid but Samuel is ultra sensitive to change and will need my full attention and time. I'm blogging while I sit outside and I'm watching them ride their bikes in our and my neighbor's driveways and my heart feels such contentment and peace knowing that I'm going to be spending, at least the next year, just loving on my kiddos. Just watching them ride bikes. Mixing paint for them. Building legos with them. We go, go, go and going back to work part-time has only magnified that feeling of always being on the go. We are a family of home-bodies and having somewhere to go every morning and almost every night is exhausting us.

So here's what I'm coming away with and going to hold tightly too until I'm told to do something else: margin. Sustainability. Freedom. Rest. That may sound a little cryptic and I may or may not elaborate in a later blog post but the bottom line is that I'm in a good place of knowing that I've made the right choice, despite it breaking my heart.

Finally, for those of you who I've been in Hearts at Home with over the last 4 years and on General Session team with 3 years ago and on Council the last 2 years with--thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. We had been attending Salem Alliance for over a year and I knew about 6 people. Going to Hearts at Home introduced me to countless women (and in turn their families) who changed my life. You know who you are. You gave me community; a true place to belong. You showed me that being a mother and wife is the highest of all callings and that I could honor my Maker by serving my family. You brought tremendous joy and laughter in to my life. You have loved my kids, my husband and me unconditionally and without limit and you have brought us meals and cards and flowers and coloring books when we were sick. You have loved me through seasons, surgery, bad moods, good moods, depression, joy, milestones, craziness and everything else. You have taught me to read my Bible deeper, trust God more wholeheartedly and the true joy of being my authentic self. I am in debt to every single one of you who has smiled at me, remembered my name, hugged me, invited me to sit with you, invited me to serve with you, laughed at my emcee-ing antics and told me that something I said meant something to you.

My cup runneth over. Thank you.

2011-03-06T15:53:00.000-08:00

Southern Baptist Churches and Boot Camp
Somehow I Will Weave It Together--Stick With Me

From my earliest memories up until my Sophomore year in high school my Mom and I attended a Southern Baptist church. We lived across from the church when we lived in Billings and my cousin Jeff and I would ride our bikes in their parking lot and wondering, even at our very young ages, what a Southern Baptist church was doing in Central Montana. Even at my early age I couldn't seem to reconcile all they held sacred with what I knew to be right. When we moved to Park City we found the one and only Southern Baptist church in an 8 mile radius and began attending its 3 weekly services and giving to the Lottie Moon fund.

Pastor Willis was the pastor of the rigid little church filled with men who prayed for too long; not because they liked to be in communion with God but because they liked the sound of their own voices. There wasn't an ounce of grace to be found at Calvary Baptist Church and even when I found my way to Christ at age 11 I did so out of fear instead of adoration and worship. I wanted redemption not to be in fellowship with the Redeemer but because I had been scared out of my mind of hell. You could look deep inside its dark corners and lofty steeple but you wouldn't find anything that resembled grace. Not in the building and certainly not in Pastor Willis. It was shortly after he criticized my 30 year old mother's parenting for allowing me to try out for cheerleading that we left Calvary and never looked back.

Of course you all know that high school girls in short skirts who cheer for high school boys end up pregnant. My Mom, who had ended up pregnant at 15 and had never once worn a cheerleading skirt found his philosophy (and theology) to be pious and self-righteous and off she went taking her single mother-single income 10% tithe (never more,never less...remember NO Grace, dammit) and Lottie Moon offering and politely told pastor Willis with his nagging voice of guilt and shame and his wall of doctrinal beliefs to kiss off.

We landed at a church not even 2 miles away from Calvary and as its name promised, grace abounded and Mom and I felt relief and weight removed.

Years later while in college I attended another Southern Baptist church one Sunday with an Inter-Varsity cronie. We sang all the familiar songs (all 6 verses of "Just As I Am") and at the end of the service after a typical hell, fire and brimstone sermon the Pastor gave the weekly alter call and like so many, many Sundays as a child I felt like I needed to walk the length of the aisle and beg for forgiveness not because of the prompting of the Holy Spirit but so he would stop asking the pianist to play "one more verse" and we could all get home to our crockpot lunches.

That afternoon I was decompressing with my Mom and I told her that despite my bitter memories and utter distaste for anything and everything to do with the Southern Baptist church I had oddly felt "at home". There was something proverbial about the hard-back hymnals, the shame filled message, the never ending alter call that was comforting and familiar deep in my soul. I have no way to explain this.

And so this long cathartic story brings me to Friday where I found myself at Boot Camp after a short, 2 week break. A footcation I call it. As I was getting my butt handed to me on a sweaty, weighted platter I thought back to that Sunday at Rimrock Baptist church and how I had loathed being there yet found it to be wonderful--every single gut wrenching minute of it.

My body tells me 'no' but I won't quite 'cause I want more filled the room and my heart beat to the rhythm of the song but the difference between this song and songs sung from "The Baptist Hymnal" was I didn't feel any guilt, no shame. I felt camaraderie with my fellow classmates whose legs were aching and lungs were burning. Tina, much to her credit and despite her tough outside demeanor, is filled with grace and she while she pushes you to your uttermost limit there is no shame, no embarrassment, when you modify a push up or walk the last lap of power skipping (aka as meth addicted Jan & Jill skipping).

And so there it was at Boot Camp on Friday morning that I began thinking of grace. And acceptance. And community. Every time, every.single.time, I go to Boot Camp I get acceptance and encouragement from my classmates who are all in far better shape than I am. Not even one time have I felt looked down upon as I stumble into class (always the last one) after laps. Never ever, ever have I been embarrassed or felt I was being judged while doing stairs and the first person in a line of 25 has caught up to me and is now slowed down because of my lagging, exhausted, barely moving legs.

God, as He so often does, confirmed my thoughts this weekend with Fowler's message (available on SAC's website in about a week) as he talked about coming along side people in their "journey of healing" and loving them rather than discouraging them.

I feel such gratitude for Tina and every single person in Boot Camp (ESPECIALLY Shannon, who will not give up on me even when I wish she would) who encourage me and hold me accountable. For whatever reason they have invested just a little bit of themselves in me as I am on my journey to wellness.

I can't help but wonder what community, acceptance and grace would have done for my young Mother as she sought Christ's love and forgiveness in church that didn't know how to share what it didn't have.

2011-03-02T20:45:00.000-08:00

I Heart Charlie Sheen

Seriously, I am going to devote this whole blog post to Charlie Sheen quotes. Jeff and I are keeping the 20/20 interview on our DVR just so we can go back to it every now and then for awesome lines we can use. Hopefully over time people will forget Charlie Sheen said these things and we can just totally take credit for them.

I was born dead. It was radical. I'm alive. Bring it.

I'm proud of the way I party; its epic.

Bangin' 7 gram rocks because that's how I roll.

Ambien: the devil's aspirin.

People can't process me because I'm not normal. I'm not interested in the past; I'm the sum total of what's going on right now.

I look around and I see my perfect family and I think 'Not only do I deserve this but wow'.

[Referring to porn stars] They are the best at what they do and I'm the best at what I do and when we're together it's on.

Hey kids, your Dad's a rock star...my kids are going to realize I'm a rock star and that I'm bitchin'.

People misinterpret my passion for anger.

People are relying on [my] money to fuel the magic.

I expose people to magic; I expose them to something they will never see in their normal, boring life.

You borrow my brain for 5 seconds and just be like 'dude, can't handle it, unplug this dude' because you can't handle it because maybe its not of this particular realm. When you've got tiger blood and Adonis DNA man, its like get with the program man. You've been given magic, you've been given gold.

Boom, believe it.

What's the cure? Medicine? Make me like them? Not gonna happen. I'm bi-winning. I win here and I win there. Now what?

What'ts your favorite line? It doesn't have to be here, in fact, even better if it isn't because I just can't get enough of them. I think my favorite is "I'm bi-winning."

2011-03-01T20:33:00.000-08:00

I don't really have anything to write about but my "fans" are demanding some new material. And when I say "fans" I mean 2 people and when I say "demanding" I mean they both Facebooked me about it.

I don't have anything interesting to say. Not a thing. Well I guess I do have one thing to say, today I braided Emily's hair in a way that it made her look like Legolas from The Lord of the Rings. It was accidental but all she needed was some little pointy ears and a bow and arrow and she would have been set.

You other bloggers may understand how sometimes material is just flowing out of you and you just can't write fast enough but then other times, like lately, nothing seems blog-worthy.

Oh, oh...I just thought of something. Last night in the middle of the night, Samuel came barging in to my room crying and saying, "I swallowed some hair and now my brains are going to fall out." I said, "Swallowing hair doesn't make your brains fall out" to which he replied, "You said if Em and I ate hair our brains would fall out."

Here's the amazing part, somehow in the middle of the night I was able to reason where he was coming up with such nonsense and I said, "I did not say that. I said that if you chewed your nails and ate your finger nails you would have to have your appendix out. Now go back to bed." Smarty pants replied, "I'm going to go to bed and eat 100 pieces of hair and you're going to find my brains all over the bed."

Wow. He may be a fuzz crazy.

2011-02-17T20:37:00.001-08:00

Just Call Me Lance

So as you know, Dr. College Ex-Boyfriend suggested I lay off the Boot Camp for a couple weeks to let my foot heal a bit and said instead I should try a spinning class, or as us out of shape folks say, a stationary bike.

When I told Samuel this morning I was going to go ride bikes with Auntie Shannon he freaked out a little bit thinking I was leaving the Y and that he would be at the kid center by himself. I told him no, its a bike that doesn't go anywhere. Samuel, in his cutest little voice said, "That doesn't make any sense. How do you get exercise on a bike that doesn't go anywhere?" Love that kid.

This being my first spinning class, Shannon graciously accompanied me although she is leaving for Hawaii in the morning. She reminded me of this later when half-way a painful "climb up a mountain" she looked at me and said "one hyphenated word: mai-tai." I hate her sometimes.

The spinning class pretty much sucked for a whole 50 minutes. Sucked in a good way, like the teacher is easy on the eyes, the playlist was rocking and it was an awesome work-out but oh wow does that class suck. Why didn't anyone tell me my cooter was going to hurt that bad? Why don't they just make those seats, or saddles as they call them, out of razor blades and get it over with? 10 minutes in and I started composing a letter to Hot Jeff in my head apologizing to him that we would never, ever, ever have sex again. I seriously do not see how putting a little cushion in to those saddles is going to make anyone's work-out less effective and maybe they would be a little more apt to go back if their butt bones weren't bruised after the class.

After a few sets of 8 counts up, 8 counts down, 4 counts up, 4 counts down, 2 counts up, 2 counts down we did ANOTHER freaking mountain climb, well the rest of the class did, I mostly sat and pedaled and wondered when were we going to get to the part in the class when the instructor told us to get off our bikes and walk it up the hill. It became very clear to me that's not how they roll in spinning class and I was going to just have to keep pedaling. Pedaling. Pedaling.

So here's the good news: I did not cry. I did not throw up. I did go buy a little Schwinn gel seat slip cover and I'm taking it with me to class tomorrow because I'll be darned if I'm not stick with this awful class just because of some sort butt bones. Although believe me, there is absolutely nothing I would rather do more tomorrow than sleep through my alarm that will be going off at 4:30am. I take that back; a butt and cooter transplant sounds pretty good right about now. What would that be called? 'Ginaplasty?

2011-02-16T19:05:00.001-08:00

Random Musings

Tonight I fed my husband and children a smattering of things I found at Safeway and called it a well-balanced meal. Salami & cheese on a baguette, tomato-basil soup (my latest obsession) and bananas. What kind of mother am I?

I came home to a house that looks like a tornado ran through it and I'm thinking of hiring a housekeeper and chef and see if they'll let me pay them in compliments.

I have to take a minimum of 2 weeks off from Boot Camp because it appears I have plantar fasciitis. I'm going to go to a spinning class that meets at the same time instead. Boot Camp Tina said it's a "hell ride." If BC Tina is calling it a hell ride I wonder if I'm going to come out of this alive? I'm taking holy water in with me.

Wanna know the best part of the plantar fasciitis "diagnosis?" Well you know I'm seeing a local podiatrist but I felt like I needed a 2nd opinion so I Facebook messaged Eric the not-a-bastard anymore. He's an orthopedic PA and had all sorts of good information for me. Because it was so much information he ended up calling and discussing it with me and I am telling you that it was only really strange to hear from my college boyfriend, whom I haven't spoken to in like 15 years (besides FB) for foot advice for the first few minutes.

I think when 20/20 does those shows on how evil/wonderful Facebook is they should include my foot story. I personally think I have a whole lot going on that would be very interesting to the American public and that 20/20 should just follow me around with cameras for a good week or so.

Button. Have you noticed the rockin' button Heather over At The Picket Fence made me? How great is she? I have a big ol' girly cyber crush on her and her sister, Vanessa. See the code below the button? Now you can put my button on your blog and give me lots of publicity so I don't have to pay my new housekeeper and chef in compliments.

And finally. Lots of you have been asking about Boot Camp and where you too can go sign up for this particular brand of hellish torture and I have good news for you. For the rest of THIS MONTH if you go to the YMCA downtown and tell them you heard about them through The Mother Hen blog you will get your $99 initiation fee waived! How about that? And when you are so sore you can't get out of bed and all you can do is lay there and read archived posts from this blog you will thank me.

2011-02-12T10:13:00.000-08:00

Along Comes Polly

Polly is in my Boot Camp class and we are the real-life version of that Arnold Schwarzenegger-Danny DeVito movie Twins. She is tall and thin and blond. I am...not. If we were a food she would be the spaghetti and I would be the meatball.

On Friday we had to workout with a partner and since I was standing next to Polly she turned and looked at me and said, "Wanna be my partner?" First of all, how sweet is Polly? Who wants to be my partner in Boot Camp? That class is filled with hard core workout freaks and I was thinking the only person who would want to be my partner would be someone who had just called the suicide hot line and felt like they needed a really good laugh and that watching my face turn different shades of red and purple would surely cause them to realize that their life was worth living.

For the split second before Polly asked me to be her partner I was convinced it was going to be just like 5th grade when everyone is picking teams for dodge ball and Steve Downing and Ryan Hunt are the team captains and its down to you and Sammie Fee and Steve picks Sammie.

Ok, I digress. Anyway, tall Polly and I were partners for this sick and twisted exercise that involved bungee cords of torture that we put around each other's waste and then took turns pulling each other around the track. It turned out to not be that bad until we had to turn around and do it backwards.

When I was telling my Mom about the exercise she said, "Oh yeah, I've seen that on The Biggest Loser" as if that's supposed to make me feel better. "Oh yeah, I've seen that on that show where they torture fat people and call it entertainment." Oh yeah...

So anyway, bottom line: Polly blessed me. And seriously, who doesn't need to be blessed at 6:00 in the morning when they have sweat dripping down their face and a spilled chocolate protein drink on their shirt? Yes, I dribbled some of it on my shirt in the car, on my way to BC. Polly told me she thought it was blood! Ha!

One final thought from yesterday's Boot Camp. What is with all those stupid freaking mirrors all over the place? Seriously. Yesterday during our cool down, for the first time since I started, I didn't feel like I was going to vomit or pass out. I was feeling so good about myself and feeling like a rock star and like Comcast was going to be calling me to star in my own On Demand workout show when I caught a glimpse of my butt in one of those mirrors. It startled me. No kidding--IT STARTLED ME. I was like "when did Gigi (who has an enormous ass) get here?"

2011-02-10T13:09:00.001-08:00

Drama Queen

Today Samuel got his foot stuck in the door. It bruised it a bit but didn't break the skin. He was able to walk on it but was screaming like a banshee. I mean screaming so loud that I became 100% certain there are alien life forms and that Samuel has been chosen to communicate with them through his painful screams.

He made me carry him to the couch and asked if I would prop his foot up. Then he had the audacity to say, "I have a bad foot just like you Mom." No you don't Samuel. In fact, I told him just that: "No you don't Samuel. I know excruciating-talk-to-aliens-foot-pain and this isn't it." He didn't seem to buy it and just kept talking to the aliens. It's almost as if he thinks I'm being melodramatic.

I said, "Samuel, can you please stop screaming so loudly; it is going to be okay?" and he said, "Why do you keep saying it is going to be okay? It is never going to be okay ever again."

See what I'm living with? I'm living with myself. Only a worse version of myself: a 4 year old, out of touch with reality, version of myself.

If aliens really wanted to make contact with someone here on earth they should have chosen me over Samuel. I can give a much more accurate account of things.

Oh my gosh, while I was spell checking this Samuel said to me, "Mom, come over here and kiss me. I am close to death." Hahahahahaha! Is he English?

2011-02-09T18:48:00.000-08:00

Shout Out

A shout out to Jana Avison who did this gorgeous header for me. I'm too lame to figure it out and Jana not only did it for me, but then revised it after I asked her to.

How awesome is that?

Thanks Jana!

2011-02-07T07:49:00.000-08:00

The Devil Lives in Cone Lunges

I made it to Boot Camp today. I got my butt handed to me on a sweaty platter. Oddly it felt wonderful. Thankfully my pants were black.

What is it about that class that is so addictive? I wish I knew so I could cut it out and go back to sleeping in. My arm held out great--thank You Jesus. There is something to be said about adrenaline and every other part of your body being on fire to make the pain in your arm dissipate.

On an unrelated note, Molly died. Seriously. Why can't this family keep a hamster alive? I swear I am doing everything right yet this is the second one to die after having her for only 6 weeks. Even though we all seemed to be a lot more attached to Molly than Riley there weren't as many tears. In fact, there weren't any tears at all up until I told Samuel we weren't going to get another hamster. Hot Jeff piped in and said we could get a dog. What??? A dog? Why would I add a 3rd factor in to the ruin-Jen's-carpet equation?

On another unrelated note, I am having my sleep evaluated tonight at Willamette Sleep Center. I have to be there at 7pm--that's like a whole 3 hours before I go to bed! It sounds positively delightful. The rooms are so cozy and there is a big TV and wireless internet. Sounds dreamy to me--I'll probably sleep wonderfully and they'll tell me there's nothing wrong with me. More to come on the sleep study experience for sure!

So on this sunny Monday morning I am thankful for sleep studies and friends who are holding me accountable. What are you thankful for today?

2011-02-05T22:21:00.001-08:00

Don't Cry For Me Argentina

You'll have to forgive this blog post, it is going to be a little stream of consciousness and maybe it will contain some bad grammar and maybe some bad spelling because I think I'm a little high. The atomic fire ball in my foot is throbbing (thanks to way too much grocery shopping today and standing in lines at Costco and Super Walmart for way too long) and my arm hurts--story is coming up--and I'm under the philosophy if one pain pill is good then two pain pills are better and instead of knocking me out they've kind of wired me. Not in a where-are-the-cheetos way but in the I'm-trying-to-sleep-but-can't get-comfortable-and-can't-shut-my-brain-off-way. I'm thinking a little bit about how if I accidentally overdosed (which I don't think you can do off of just 2 vicodin) how everyone will think I'm Heath Ledger but mostly I'm feeling kind of sorry for myself.

Sidebar: I know you guys like the funny posts so I'll try to pepper this post with some funny lines but I am high and I am feeling sorry for myself so you'll have to just sit through a gloomy post. I've heard that whatever emotion you're feeling when you get drunk, that emotion is just magnified. I haven't had a lick of alcohol but I'm thinking that may be true of narcotics as well. To make up for my doom and gloom, in my next post I'm going to write about the time Traci and I found a bleeding guy in the parking lot of the Metra and drove him to Lockwood because we thought he had been shot. Yes I said Lockwood and not the hospital. I think you'll like that story.

Ok, so here's why my arm hurts. Today Emily and I ran out to my in-laws' house before we ran some errands. MIL Cheryl had picked up Em some new clothes and we were going out to get them. When we got there the front door was locked so we went around back. Well because I was wearing my sporty new running shoes and because I am in Boot Camp and all of a sudden think I am an athlete I was kind of like jogging and I bounded up the back path and on to the wet deck and totally wiped out. My arms and legs went flying and I somehow hyper extended my right arm and I could tell immediately I pulled or tore something in my bicep. (Upon reading this post this morning Hot Jeff has informed me that the injured part of my arm is not my bicep. Nor is it my tricep. Its right in the middle of the two and he doesn't know what muscle that is.)

(Um, seriously, I would make the worst drug addict ever--my skin is so itchy. Can you take benadryl with vicodin?)

I hopped right up and brushed myself off and carried on with my day. My arm has really hurt all day though and while at Costco pushing that huge freaking cart and lifting 175 pounds of frozen chicken breasts and laundry detergent I started to think about Boot Camp and how my arm may not feel better before Monday.

I'm going to go off on a tangent right now. You have been warned.

I know some of you that read this blog are not Christ followers so this may sound a little hooie-hooie or like the vicodin is talking but honest to goodness I feel like I'm being "attacked" by the enemy. The Bible is very clear that Satan is out to steal, kill and destroy. The enemy doesn't want us to thrive, live life to the fullest, be healthy or to be joyful. He wants us to be miserable and depressed and overweight (along with a whole host of other things). He is the opposite of light. He is the opposite of goodness. He is the opposite of health--he is death.

So when I make a choice to get healthy; to lose weight and join a class that is going to help me lose weight, be disciplined, live a healthy lifestyle, fight my depression with endorphins, live to see my kids grow up, He is going to hate that. I believe he is going to try and thwart my efforts. He may do that through tempting me to stay up too late watching TV so that I can't drag my butt out of bed at 4:45am. He may do that through tempting me with food. He may do that through injury.

Right now I am feeling really pitiful with my aching foot and now my aching arm. I pushed through the pain in my foot last week and I was really proud of myself for doing it and I planned on continuing to just keep on pushin' on (because I love to be a walking bumper sticker). To be honest though, I'm wondering if I can push through the pain in my foot, the pain in my arm and the natural pain/soreness that comes from a vigorous workout.

I don't mind being transparent. In fact, I know that I very often cross the line between transparency and TMI. So this is what you're getting tonight--me being super transparent and vulnerable and writing that I feel pathetic. I feel banged up. I feel klutzy. I feel fat. I feel incredibly discouraged. Some of that comes from my own insecurities of wanting to control what people think of me--something you know I've been struggling with for over a year now. God showed me this control issue that I have last year at women's retreat and has been gracious enough to keep bringing it to light so that I can recognize it, name it and then pray for the Spirit to help me let it go of it. So I am totally aware that some of this discouragement is really a fear that Shannon or Kara will just think I'm looking for excuses to get out of going to Boot Camp. I know that in my dysfunction I don't want Tina the instructor or Lori who stands behind me or that guy in the red shirt or the girl in the grey pants (all of them whom I've known all of one week) to think I'm a quitter or that I can't handle it.

Ok, speaking of the girl in the grey pants...you've been very patient so I'm going to toss in some funny. On Wednesday I got to Boot Camp and there was a lady in there wearing the same workout pants as me. And it just made me laugh because she looked ADORABLE in her pants and I looked like I was carrying around two Christmas hams in mine. It absolutely cracked me up. This was also the day and these were also the pants that taught me you have to wear black workout pants to class because the grey really shows off your crotch sweat. If I can teach you anything let it be that no one wants to see your crotch sweat. You're welcome.

So, where was I? Oh yes, about to jump off a metaphorical cliff.

I don't know where I'm going with all of this. I guess I just needed to get it off my chest. Do you ever wish I would just journal about this stuff instead of sharing it with the whole-wide-internet? You know I used to journal back in high school and college and I was a very melodramatic journaler and I was always copying lyrics from songs I heard on the easy listening station to try and summarize my feelings. Sometimes no one can say it better than Lionel Richie--you know what I'm sayin'?

Ok, one final thing before I take my loaded self to bed--I haven't had a label for all my Boot Camp writings so I've been putting it under the "Can You Believe I Don't Have a Label For This" label but I think I've come up with 2. I'm going to put a poll up at the top of the blog and let you guys vote the winner. Here are your choices: "(I Feel Like I'm Gonna) Boot Camp" or "Boot Camp Chronicles". You can also vote for your favorite in the comments section.

Thanks for listening. I would hug you if you were here. And like Kenneth the page says, "All good hugs last for at least 10 seconds."

2011-02-02T17:35:00.000-08:00

Tina Eats Her Young

Tina greeted me at this morning's Boot Camp with an unreadable "I read your blog." I looked at her skeptically wondering if she was going to make me drop and give her (a modified) 20. She started laughing and said she loved it. Whew. It looked like today would be just a normal amount of torture.

I was nervous about today's class for several reasons and only one of them was if Tina had stumbled upon The Mother Hen and if I would have to pay severely for it. The biggest concern was that I have a heel spur on my left heel and it was KILLING ME after Monday's class. By Monday afternoon I had made an appointment with my podiatrist to see if I could get a cortisone shot and by Monday night I was hobbling around like Gigi and making my husband and children wait on me hand and foot.

Alas my podiatrist would not give me a cortisone shot citing "I'll be damned if I'm going to give you a cortisone shot because you'll feel better and go prancing off to that class when you should be doing non-weight bearing exercising in the pool". Ok doc, number one: I rarely prance. I mostly parade. Number two: Pool exercising is so geriatric. Number three: What kind of doctor says 'I'll be damned'? Number four: Non-weight bearing exercises? Ok, so I have a few pounds to lose but its not like I need a crane to get me out of my house man.

The good doctor did give me some anti-inflammatory pills. And some Vicodin. You know you have seriously had your fanny handed to you when you need narcotics after the class.

When I was complaining to Hot Jeff last night that the doctor would not give me a cortisone shot he said, "I think he's right. Its not like you're Kobe Bryant or anything." That just seriously irritated me because I loved, loved, loved the idea of having a cortisone shot so I could go to class because that is just such a real athlete thing to do. All athletes play through the pain with a cortisone shot. It is so Jennifer-Grey-Dancing-With-the-Stars-finale. Thanks for robbing me of my real athlete dream Dr. Old School.

So back to class today and why Tina eats her young. For the majority of the class we had to carry around a 25lb. weight. And I don't mean carried it around as a group as a team building exercise on working together, no I mean doing flights of stairs carrying a 25 POUND weight. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Wall sits with a 25lb. weight on your lap. Walking the track carrying a 25lb. weight. More wall sits with a 25lb. weight.

It was during one of those wall sits and shortly after Tina told me to "get down" and "get your shoulders back" that I realized Tina has never heard of the Geneva Convention. IF I could have spoken (not enough oxygen) and IF I wasn't afraid of her, I would have gently reminded her of it. And I'm certain she would have laughed her little maniacal laugh and made me take a lap.

When I got home sweet little Samuel was up and watching some "Curious George". He smiled and said, "Mama, where have you been?" "I was working out with Aunt Shannon" I answered. "Did you throw up again?"

"Nope, I sure didn't." But there's always Friday.

2011-01-31T18:18:00.001-08:00

This Ain't Yo Mama's Jane Fonda Workout Tape

Shannon, who used to be my best friend but is now dead to me, invited me to a workout class she goes to 3 mornings a week. Our other bestie, Kara, also goes to this class and then goes and teaches a body shaping class afterwards (because she's sick that way). The class is called Boot Camp. And its at 5:30. In the morning.

The course description is "a high intensity, military style workout class. It will incorporate cardiovascular & strength training. The class routine will vary from obstacle courses to circuit training." What they meant to say is, "This is a high intensity, military style workout class and it may kill you and your unborn grandchildren."

The instructor is this woman who is like the love child of GI Jane and Hannibel Lecter. She's pure evil and at one point in the class I thought she had sprouted horns; it turns out I was only hallucinating from the lack of oxygen but seriously, horns would be appropriate for this she-devil, drill sergeant, our-airplane-crashed-in-the-Andes-and-we're-going-to-eat-each other woman.

Surprisingly though, she does have a heart. For example, after running a million laps and then "cooling down" by doing wall squats she came and let me know she saw me in my pain on my very first day and she sat on my lap. Now I know when I think of the word "lap" I think of library books and kittens and a warm fire but I want you to know when I say "she sat on my lap" I mean the lap that was my legs that were struggling to hold me up as I sat in an imaginary chair and the only warm fire was the one that was raging in my lungs and butt.

Later in the class we "skipped" around the track but it wasn't skipping like sweet-hopscotch-and-ice cream-cones skipping it was like Jack and Jill-are-coming-down-off-heroine-and-are chasing-you-because-they-heard-you-have-a-dollar-in-your-pocket skipping. It was while I was ~~running from meth addicted Jack and Jill~~ skipping that I started cussing. In my head. Under my breath. Cussing like I have never cussed before. Words I didn't know I knew. Cussing to dull the pain. Cussing. And then the cuss words didn't seem quite adequate. And I began creating my own guttural, asphyxiated, hateful language that finally expressed the reaction my body was having to this concentration camp of a workout.

I'd like to interject a little something about myself at this point--it is true, at this point in time of my life I am a "little" out of shape and yes, it is true, the only exercise I have been getting lately is walking to the fridge but dude, this was too much. Too much. It was too much. I am not even kidding you when I tell you that at one point I started crying. I.Started.Crying. The actual exercise we were doing is fuzzy in my memory but I know it had something to do with weights and push ups and me not being able to get up off the floor after 4 of them and all of a sudden my eyes just welled up with tears and Kara turned around to see if I had died and I flipped her off.

I think I was embarrassed because I really didn't think I would be able to finish the class and I kept thinking about how it would really suck to have to crawl out on my hands and knees but then I just dug deep, like deeper than I even had to dig when VAGINALLY BIRTHING MY CHILDREN and screwed the weights, did the push ups on the wall and sucked it up. It was at that very moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would come back to this God-forsaken class on Wednesday and get my ass kicked every which way to Sunday again.

At the end of the 50 minutes I had made it. Done it. Finished the class without collapsing. It wasn't pretty but I did it. I stood with Shannon, red faced, dizzy and sweating, talking with Tina the instructor (who turns out is a pretty cool lady when she isn't making Jillian Michaels look like Mother Theresa) when I started to feel quizzy. I must have gone a little pale because voices started shouting directions to the bathroom while I looked around panicky. I ran to the bathroom, bending over the toilet just in time before I projectile vomited. I stood up and wiped my face, thinking I couldn't believe I had just thrown up when I threw up again. I started to weakly laugh when I threw up again. 3 times total.

Shannon and Kara have already warned me that Wednesday nor Friday will not be any easier and that in fact the class is just pure torture all the time. I don't even have illusions of grandeur that I will go on Wednesday and do anything but be completely dominated but I am hoping that I can, once again, hold the vomit off until class is over.

Here's to aiming high.

2011-01-27T20:21:00.001-08:00

Today I Even Surprised Myself

I shock others regularly. Pretty much daily. And every few minutes on Thursdays while at Bible Study but today I even surprised myself. I was putting the kids in the car, buckling them in their (car)seats and I thought to myself, "I can't wait until they are old enough to buckle themselves in".

And just as soon as I thought it I gasped and "took it back". With one lazy thought I wished away several years of learning, firsts, snuggles and laughs. If I would have had a magic wishbone in front of me I would have sacrificed so much because I don't like the inconvenience of having to leave a few minutes early so that I have time to buckle both of my kiddos in. All of a sudden they would be 5 and 7 and who knows the joys I would have missed out on and I would have stood standing there, looking at them wistfully, wishing I could "take it back".

One thing I always do after I snap their buckles is kiss them. Its my little thing and no matter how annoyed I am with their putzing around they can always count on me smacking their little lips with mine before I shut their doors--why would I want to hurry those years up? I don't know...

I did get to wondering though, how much of my day is spent "wishing" instead of living? If I'm being honest, I think its a pretty substantial amount.

I look in the mirror and wish I was prettier or smaller or younger. I look at my house and wish I was more organized. I look at my husband and wish he was more romantic. I think about my Mom and wish she lived closer. I think about Ames and wish she was my neighbor. I think about Shannon and wish she still worked with Maryanne and me. I look at my ministry at Hearts and wish I had more time. I look at my time and wish I was better at managing it. I look at my checkbook and wish it had more in it. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Instead of living in the moment, enjoying the body I have, the home I live in, the life I have I tend to think ahead (or sometimes I think back).

This just came to me today so I haven't had any time to pray about it and ask God to show me some things in Scripture about it but I'm wondering what you do to keep yourself grounded in today? In the moment?

2011-01-26T21:38:00.000-08:00

Make Someone's Day or Get Sick & Watch a Movie

Today Al came out of his office and told me he wanted to get rich off my blog. He said he is going to start looking for "investors" and then get my writings published. We went off on a tangent about it but in the end he said how much he enjoyed reading it. It was a great compliment and made my day.

It got me thinking, if a little bit of praise can make my day, what can a little bit of praise from me do for Hot Jeff? My Besties? My co-workers? My neighbors? The lady at the bank? The checker at Safeway?

From Day One of having babies we're told how important it is to praise and compliment them so we do it all the time and most of our kids are going to grow up with ~~super inflated egos~~ healthy self images but what if we did this with people we came in contact with all day long?

It takes no effort at all to tell someone you like their hair or that's a cute shirt or your yard looks nice or I think you're a great mom, friend, sister, hair dresser. We all need a pat on the back; we all like to be told that someone else thinks we're funny or pretty or smart or talented, right?

Hot Jeff can say whatever he wants but I know he likes being called "Hot Jeff".

On an unrelated note, sort of, I saw Salon Sara on Monday and Slutty Vixen is back baby! If you call my house and I don't answer its probably because I'm out hitting on your husband. Oh yeah, I've got the super dark tresses going and am loving it!

Who LOVES Anne of Green Gables? Don't you love it when Anne asks Diana for a lock of her "black tresses" and Diana replies, "I don't have any black dresses". Oh my I love that movie. I can't wait for Emily to get a little bit older and get a bad case of the flu so we can sit on the couch all weekend long and watch all 8 hours of Green Gables and Avonlea. Seriously, best.movies.ever. The other great sick-on-the-couch-sick-for-3-days is Lonesome Dove.

What movie do you always watch when you're sick? Who are you going to compliment today?

2011-01-21T21:35:00.000-08:00

For the Haters

You know I get all the smack talk about Facebook. I understand the criticism, I get it, I really do. Even I hate Facebook sometimes; I've said to much and been misunderstood. I've said just enough and been blasted. I've said things I shouldn't have said and would have never said to someone's face and just when I think I'm never going to make another Facebook mistake I go and make another one. I get it.

But I just gotta say, for all the haters, Facebook just may have been instrumental in saving little Maggie's life this week. If prayer releases power from heaven then 100 people praying is better than 10 and 1000 people praying is better than 1000. Within hours of Maggie's birth and subsequent intubation and other life saving measures, people were praying. They were leaving comments and posting status updates and pretty soon 20 people turned into 200 and 200 turned to 2000 and now after 4 days of having her own blog up, Maggie's blog has had over 4000 visitors. That is amazing.

In Maggie's situation, where time was critical and she would be progressing one minute and at Heaven's door the next, you can bet that the prayers of the people who were literally stalking Maryanne's Facebook page released power from Heaven.

I know I'm not going to change anyone's mind about Facebook because of this one blog post and I'm not planning on doing a series of why Facebook is great or is evil. I simply wanted to write, for all the haters, that Facebook can be pretty awesome when it comes to gettin' the word out.

2011-01-20T21:19:00.000-08:00

Dear Kind Father,

It is so easy to call You good tonight. It is so easy to praise You. For tonight, in a hospital 50 miles North of me, my dear friend is holding her baby for the first time in 4 days. For the first time in 94 hours wee Maggie is being held. She is warm. She is hearing her Mama's heart beat. She is feeling the warmth of her Daddy's chest. It is easy to call You good tonight.

You, however, are always good. You are always kind. You are always sovereign. And while I don't understand Your ways and I question Your timing, I know You are always good. You are always kind. Your timing is always perfect.

The image of a limp baby being attended to by a team of doctors will never leave me. As I stood with a petrified Auntie Jana, peaking through a crack in a curtain, we declared Your Presence in that room. As I sat holding my precious friend, whispering Your promises to her I felt Your hand on her; loving her, infusing strength in to her, filling her with hope and peace. A peace that passes understanding. Your Word is true and You never go against Your Word. You are always good. You are always kind.

Tomorrow I will get to hold baby Maggie in my own arms. I will tell her how Samuel & Emily have prayed and prayed for her and can't wait to meet her. I will tell her how Uncle Jeff has stayed awake at night praying for her and her Mommy & Daddy. I will tell her that from the moment I found out she was growing in her Mama's belly to this very moment in time I have loved her. I will tell her (with a giggle in my voice) that I'm the one who sang the "Sound of Music" soundtrack to her when she had the hiccups and that it is oh so very good to finally meet her. I will tell her that the God that her Mommy, Daddy, Grammy & Grandpa love and serve is merciful. I will tell her that He is always good and that He is always kind.

Thank You Kind Father for answering our prayers the way we wanted them answered. I know it doesn't always work that way and I trust You when that happens, but tonight, thank You. With more gratitude than I can express, thank You.

Amen.

2010-12-29T18:34:00.000-08:00

Questions

Is there anything more annoying than an almost 5 year old who has just learned the repeat-everything-you-say game? "Stop doing that". "Stop doing that." "I mean it". "I mean it". "You're a knucklehead". "You're a knucklehead".

Is there anything better than 49 cent tacos from Del Taco?

Do you really not know what you've got 'til its gone, as Cinderella suggests?

If the Beavers were going to the National Championship game would Bentley's name a martini after them or do they have a Duck bias just like the Statesman Journal does?

Why do my kids ignore me when I tell them to do something but won't leave me alone in the middle of the night?

Speaking of the middle of the night, why do they come to my side of the bed to tell me they need water instead of Jeff's side?

Why hasn't Mitchell tracked me down yet?

Why do my favorite shows take such a long break during the holidays AND in the Spring?

How's this new daycare thing going to work?

What's 2011 going to bring? Will there be more joy than disappointment?

Why do I mistake silence for criticism?

Is Ella ever going to give me some decent dirt next Spring?

What's with my reoccuring dreams about celebrities?

Are my women's retreat dramas going to be a flop?

If I wish hard enough and believe deep enough will the laundry fairy start coming?

What are your questions lately?

2010-12-27T19:59:00.000-08:00

It Comes With an EKG

Hot Jeff and I have decided, along with 75% of other Americans, that we are going to lose a few pounds come January One. We're going the Weight Watchers route which means we'll be shying away from all things deep fried and cheesy.

Before I continue, I just have to say, I understand that no one is leaving comments because you're trying to teach me a lesson for going on such a long hiatus. However, if one person leaves a comment even implying the question, "Why does Hot Jeff need to lose weight?", I will hunt you down and kill you. And trust me, it won't be anything fun like death-by-chocolate. Are we clear?

So before we do the January-One-Weight-Watchers bit we have decided to go on an eating binge and eat whatever, whenever we want. It's been fabulous. Melissa's tacos, Jana's pizza quiche, holiday beer, donuts, mochas, butter, bacon, candy, even candy wrapped in bacon.

A couple of nights ago we were laying in bed watching 'Man vs. Food' and the host went to Springfield, Ill and tried a bunch of different restaurants. One of the places he ate at was D'Arcy's Pint, famous all over Springfield for the Horseshoe.

The Horseshoe originated in Springfield and was named because it had a large piece of ham on it that was shaped like a horseshoe. It is served on two thick slices of toasted bread, then french fries are added to it and then topped with a cheese sauce. It is pretty much insanity on a plate. It is a cardiologist's worst nightmare.

Modern Horseshoes often have a hamburger patty replacing the ham and Horseshoe cheese sauce recipes are all over the internet.

Over Christmas dinner I told my mother-in-law about it and horror crept across her very thin face. Her appropriate disapproval helped me decide that I just had to make it before the end of the week.

I decided to make it for dinner tonight. Today was our last day of Stay-cation and we had a rough day of shopping with the kids so comfort food was definitely in order. I pattied hamburger, heated oil for fries and went to work on my cheese sauce. The recipe for it follows:

2T butter
2T AP Flour
Make a roux and then add 1 C. of shredded white cheddar and 1 C. of milk. Stir thoroughly and quickly so you don't have any lumps. Then add 1/8 t. of white pepper and 1/4 t. salt. A few dashes of Worcestershire sauce finishes it off. Add more milk if the sauce is too thick; it should be the consistency of gravy. (Mmmm gravy, I need to make something with gravy before Saturday!)

To put the Horseshoe together, toast a piece of Texas toast. Put it on a plate and add your cooked hamburger patty (seasoned the way you like it). On top of that, add crinkle cut french fries. In my research of Horseshoes I found that most bloggers wrote the crinkle cut is the fry of choice as the crinkles add more "divets" for the cheese sauce. Finally, top the heap with the cheese sauce.

I'll be honest, I was disappointed with the Horseshoe. At least my version. Everything I read said the secret to an awesome Horseshoe is the cheese sauce and I didn't think mine was all that great. It was missing something and I'm not quite sure what it was. Hot Jeff on the other hand thought the Horseshoe was pretty much why God made Lipitor. He ate his right up and used the last bite of bread, burger & fry to mop up the remaining cheese sauce on his plate. And just in case you eat like my mother-in-law and don't know, mopping up sauce with bread is the highest compliment you can give Gigi or any other fat girl who has just prepared you a meal.

2010-12-25T22:29:00.000-08:00

An Oldie But A Goodie

Tonight it is Christmas but I'm trying to blog more so instead of coming up with something new I'm giving you one of my favorites from the last year. You may remember the day my children fell out the window... I did but just rereading it made me laugh out loud enought to cause Hot Jeff to ask what I was up to. Enjoy.

February 5, 2010

I had given a clear warning of what was going to happen on Friday morning last night. And yet my children still decided to act like 2 and 4 year olds and ruin all the fun.

It started by them letting me sleep in. Yes, you heard that right. They let me sleep in. Jeff snuck off to work (lucky dog) sometime around 7ish. Samuel was up so Jeff put a video on and gave him a cereal bar. I was unaware of all of this, (because I was in the middle of a weird dream about losing my chap stick in a hospital cafeteria) as Jeff left for work, Samuel got bored and decided to let Mama sleep in. Now I know that sounds sweet but almost-4 year olds aren't sweet. They don't know how to put another person's needs first. They are sneaky and clever and coupled with a mother who can sleep through Disney World that is a dangerous, dangerous combination.

So Samuel got bored, came upstairs, shut my bedroom door, went and woke his sister up and down the stairs they went. For the record, I am just putting this all together from clues left for me because I was STILL SLEEPING and don't know any of it for a fact.

Some time around 8:15 I woke up with the refreshed feeling of I-can't-believe-the-kids-slept-so-late. I rolled over to see my door was shut and immediately panic rose in my chest. I crept down the stairs, frightened of what I would see. I rounded the corner in to the family room to see my kids happily eating cereal bars and watching Tinker Bell. Awwwww.

I got them some fruit, yogurt and water. I turned the video off and told them I was going to watch a "Mama show" with ear buds in and that they could play with the couch cushions. Its a small price to pay for an uninterrupted 47 minutes with Chief Shepherd and I was willing to pay it.

I snuggled down in my favorite chair with the kids in eye shot and got lost in my favorite hospital drama. With only a few minutes remaining Emily ran by and instantly a rank odor pierced my senses. It went up through my nose and penetrated my core. I recoiled and like any good mother said, "Roo, as soon as this is over I will change that wretched diaper".

Only seconds later Samuel tattled from the bathroom around the corner, "Mama, Emily took her diaper off". I paused Derek's meaningful speech to his staff and put Ruby down on the chair. I walked in to the bathroom; the air had turned a putrid green from the stench and fumes were wafting out. Emily was standing there with her pajamas around her ankles, her holocausted diaper lying in a child-thrown heap next to her with an enormous smile on her face. "Hallelujah" I said under my breath, thankful that she had done it in the bathroom and not on the carpeted floor. I turned my back to grab the wipes when she slithered past me like a stealth bomb; she traveled like an invisible dark angel the 3 feet to the carpet where she laid herself down and spread her legs awaiting a wipe all while spreading poop on my light beige carpet with her crap-covered hiney.

Sighing, I cleaned her up and sent her on her way. As I walked in to the kitchen to get the spot cleaner I saw what they had been up to while I watched Grey's in my McDreamy induced coma...they had spread animal crackers all over the kitchen floor. I vaguely remembered Samuel asking me if they could get some and me grunting "yes, just a few".

Surprisingly, I wasn't angered as I knew I couldn't expect too much from them as I had just been ignoring them for the last 45 minutes and that it was somewhat my fault. I began putting my full attention and elbow grease in to the butt shaped poop stain before me.

I was just starting to see an improvement when I heard Samuel say, "Mama, Emily just pee'd on the floor". Seriously. I had left her diaper off of her thinking that as soon as I got this stain up I would just go give them a bubble bath. They didn't have one last night and its a great time killer on a Friday when there isn't anything to do but wait for Daddy to get home so the weekend can start.

I got up from the stain and walked in to the kitchen. Urine soaked animal crackers danced around Emily's wet feet. She stood, smiling, with a remnant of pee trickling down her calf, onto her ankle and ultimately to the pool below her.

Sighing, I tip toed through the urine, crackers, and urine crackers and grabbed the naked toddler before me. Somehow I had the wherewith all to grab the dishtowel hanging over the sink and put it down on the carpet as a sort of arbitrary protector from Emily's sodden feet.

I formulated a plan, I would clean up the crackers and pee with paper towels, then mop, then sweep and then mop again. Samuel asked if he could get naked too so that he and Emily could do the "naked dance", a ritualistic, tribal bedtime routine our kids perform every night. I said yes, basically to get them out of my hair so I could go to task on the floors before me.

I started getting my mop water ready, the mix of Pine-sol and urine began to gag me so I opened the family room window for fresh air. The ground was soggy from the Oregon rain but the sun was shining and the temperature was climbing despite that it wasn't even 10 o'clock yet. Samuel and Emily were happily doing the naked dance, oblivious to the fire storm of annoyance brewing in my heart threatening to bubble over on to them.

As I finished the floor I realized I had done it backwards and now was on the other side of the floor from them. They were dancing in the family room and I was on the side of the dining room. The damp kitchen floor separated us and I exhorted, "Stay in that room. The floor is wet and I don't want you to slip".

The freshly mopped floor separating us felt like a beautiful metaphoric chasm. I took a deep breath and wished for an escape. Just for today. Just for today, I thought, I don't want to be a Mommy. I just want to go away and be Jeff's lover. I want to listen to music while we drive to the beach. I want to eat at Mo's and then walk on the beach. I don't want to just "get away"... I literally don't want Samuel and Emily to exist today. Just for today.

I love being a Mommy. I adore my kids. BUT, just for today if I could totally escape, I would. I began to formulate a blog post all about my day dream and thought about how you would all comment on how you have those days too and how you just loved the post and... a symphony of screams broke my reverie.

The shrieking was coming from outside. My mind raced and questions rose as I ran from the living room, over the still-wet floor to the family room. As quickly as it registered in my brain what had happened I saw the screen from the window I had opened earlier hanging by a bent frame, the bottom pushed out. I leapt up on to the couch and peered down out the bare window (about a 4 foot fall) to see my naked children lying in a tangled heap, bruised, covered in bark dust and howling like they had been drug behind a speeding '87 Chevy.

Pausing for a split second to wonder if I should grab the camera, (relax, I didn't) I rushed out the sliding glass door to their sides. They were fine. Pissed but fine.

I ushered them inside the house trying not to notice the enormous trail of bark dust they were leaving on the carpet. I soothed them as I calmly and sympathetically said we were finally going to head upstairs to take the long awaited bath I had promised 23 years ago. They both were lurching from the fright, pain and shock when the totally unbelievable happened. Yes, they both simultaneously wiped out on the wet kitchen floor. Their screeching reached deafening levels and I wondered if everyone in our neighborhood couldn't hear the chorus of chaos chiming loudly from the open window they had just fallen from.

So there you have it. The most unbelievable but true story of how things went utterly wrong in my world this morning.

I have since given them a bath, given them tylenol, fed them, put them down for naps, cleaned the house, got them up from naps and am now feeding them again. They are having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

This is where our story ends because I AM NOT KIDDING YOU, Emily just got up from the little kid table in the kitchen, pulled her bread apart and stuck a piece to my kitchen floor. She is smiling. She is the source of all evil.

Seriously.

2010-12-23T21:47:00.000-08:00

Nothing Says 'Merry Christmas' Like a Dead Pet Story

Before I spread a whole lot of Christmas cheer by telling you our dead hamster story I have to just tell you my wonderful Mommy story. This just happened and it seriously validated me as a mother.

We had just put the kids to bed and I went downstairs to get Ruby. While I was down there I got a Mike's Hard Lemonade and a glass of water. As I was making my way through the kitchen and living room, here came Samuel wondering what I was doing. Heaven forbid I go downstairs if he is upstairs.

I started back up the stairs with my hands full with the laptop, my Mike's and a glass of water. Samuel was a stair ahead of me and turned and took the water from my hand and said, "Let me help you Mama".

Ok seriously, how sweet is that? My heart just flip flopped that Samuel would be aware of someone other than himself and jump right in and help. It was this little glimmer of promise that he is going to someday grow out of this egocentric, albeit developmentally perfectly normal, stage and be a fully functioning person who doesn't throw a fit if you give him a blue cup instead of an orange cup.

And because I make everything about me, I also felt like maybe I am doing something right! Ok, so maybe I was heading upstairs to drink a hard lemonade while watching "Celebrity Rehab" but my kid is thoughtful! Yes, I am definitely doing something right. I also feel like I'm modeling responsible drinking. Like you know, drink as much as you want as long as you don't end up like those fools on Dr. Drew's show!!

Ok, on an unrelated note, I took a Tylenol PM right before I started writing and mixing that with a Mike's may have not been my best idea--I'm getting sleepy! Last night I could not sleep because Hot Jeff was putting on a show with his snoring. It sounded like a plague of locusts. Well tonight, thanks to my little Tylenol cocktail, he may think he's Moses.

The more tired I get (and Hot Jeff just put Avatar on and thinks I am going to be able to stay up fr 2.5 hours?!) the less I feel about writing about Riley. Sorry. You're going to get the short-I-feel-a-little-buzzed version. (How funny is it that I'm a little buzzed off half a Mike's and one Tylenol PM? Can you slur your typing?)

Last weekend Coach Riley the hamster died. We were sad.

Oh ok, I can do a little better than that.

I'm not really sure what happened to her but when I got home from work last Friday she was lethargic and way tame. For example, usually when we open her cage she would run (she was far from tame) but this day she as just lying in her wheel, motionless. Suspecting she didn't have much time left I told the kids & Jeff that I thought she was going to die.

We held her (usually when I held her she kind of struggled so we just hurry and put her in her ball and let her cruise around) and her little listless body just rested in our different, gentle hands.

Sometime in the night little Riley died; Samuel had decorated a little box with a cross on it and Jeff put her in it. We said our goodbyes and Jeff put the lid on the box. Precious, tender hearted Samuel said, "Dad, I need to see her one more time". Jeff patiently took the lid off and Samuel looked down on her and with tears streaming down his face said, "I wish you could have lived forever. You were the best hamster but you will have a good time in Heaven being with Jesus on His birthday".

So precious. It really was so tender and sweet and I was so proud of him.

That same night (we buried Riley in the backyard) we got a new hamster. Her name is Molly. The funny thing about Molly is that she is super fun. She seems like she is a lot more active and comfortable with us. Watching Molly has made us wonder if hamsters really do have different personalities or was maybe Riley sick from the beginning??

So that's the scoop. New hamster and a life lesson: don't drink Mike's Hard Lemonade and take Tylenol PM. You're just asking for trouble and just asking to not be able to get through Avatar.

Man, I'm tired.

2010-12-22T20:13:00.000-08:00

The Naughty List

So it turns out BlogHer is paying attention. After a whole month of not blogging, BlogHer contacted me by email. In the subject line it said, "We've Missed You". Isn't that nice? Don't you wish that every time you were a month late on something you were reminded in such a kind way? Nevertheless, I think I am on BlogHer's naughty list so I'm putting out a blog post to try and get back on the paycheck list.

So here it is...the long awaited post. Last week Shannon told me all she wanted for Christmas was a blog post. So I took back the diamond necklace I had gotten her and am giving her what she wanted. My Mom asked me when I was going to post again. Even Karen Garcia asked me when I was going to write again and I didn't even know Karen Garcia read this blog.

Its shameful really. November was blog month and so all my blogging friends were blogging once a day and I only blogged once the WHOLE MONTH. I think it was a sub-conscience defiance against National Blogging Month. I think it is similar to how I refused to read the Harry Potter books when everyone else was reading them. And the Twilight books. Well actually I refused to read the Twilight books because I don't have braces anymore. I believe only girls who are young enough to have braces should read the Twilight series. I sort of feel this way about Taylor Swift as well. And Justin Bieber.

Does anyone else think Taylor Swift's music all sounds the same? I really like her December something or other song but I pretty much break out in hives when I hear most of her music. And don't even get me started on that song of her's about Tim McGraw.

Since I posted last Samuel has gotten over Liesl and now is in to Jessie from Toy Story. At least Samuel had good taste. Speaking of Samuel's good taste, the other day I could hear him in the bathroom going number two and singing a Lady Antebellum song. From the downstairs bathroom I heard, "Its a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now". I know I should be a little mortified that Samuel is singing a song with the word 'drunk' in it but I was just so pleased that he was singing a great song and got the words right.

Also since I posted last our hamster, Coach Riley, died. It was a freak thing and is accompanied by a funny story. I'm going to try and shock the world and write about it tomorrow. You're welcome.

2010-11-15T20:17:00.000-08:00

Move Over Fiona

If you've read this blog for very long you know that Samuel can get a little OCD sometimes. Remember when Samuel fell madly in love with Fiona from Shrek and packed a picture of her around with him for weeks and weeks?

He and Fiona must have broken up because his affections have shifted. Yep, move over Fiona and make room for Liesl. As in 16-Going-on-17 Liesl.

We're big fans of Sound of Music over here at 5630 and while I am just gaga over the Captain, Samuel has his eyes on the lovely Soprano, Liesl vonTrapp.

In classic Samuel style, he has asked me to put her picture on the computer desktop and he sits there dreamily all day long singing to her and reading books to her.

On the thankful tree we're making he says he's thankful for Liesl almost every day and when he walks by the tree he caresses the leaves that have her name on them tenderly.

Tonight about 20 minutes after I had put him to bed he came bouncing downstairs and said, "I will go to bed in just a minute but I just have to ask you something...do you think you can find me a Liesl doll?" I replied, "Oh buddy, I don't know if I will be able to find one." He quickly cut me off and said, "Just work on it, Mom."

Ha!

Anyone know where I can get a Liesl doll?

2010-10-26T20:31:00.000-07:00

Mitchell Took a Midnight Train

I wanted to write about how I got Coach Riley to call Jeff on his 34th birthday but if I don't write about Mitchell sooner rather than later it is going to lose all of its relevance. Plus I heard a song on the radio today that reminded me of Mitchell (its pretty much "our song") and no one could understand my pain except for Maryanne. I'm writing for closure. For catharsis.

Two weekends ago while Hot Jeff and I were in Seattle for the OSU game I met Mitchell. Ugh, I'm getting ahead of myself, before I go any further I need to back up for a minute...

Ever since "Will and Grace" I've wanted a gay guy for a best friend. Who didn't just love the relationship between Will and Grace--it was perfect. Will made everyone want a gay guy for a best friend, am I right? Don't we all want someone we can sing show tunes with? I know I do.

Well so far the universe hasn't given me my Will. It has given me my Hot Jeff. And my Samily. And saggy boobs. And an affinity for nutella but so far it hasn't given me my Will. Well until I went to Seattle two weekends ago. And even then it didn't give me a Will so much as it just screwed with me.

Our seats were in the general admission end zone so we knew we would be surrounded mostly by Husky fans and if we got lucky a few Beaver fans. As the seats began filling up around us 3 Beaver fans sat in the row in front of us. We all gave the obligatory high fives and as soon as they turned around to face the field Jeff and I looked at each other and mouthed the word, "Mitchell". One of the Beaver fans was a red head with red facial hair and he looked EXACTLY like Mitchell from "Modern Family" If you don't know what Mitchell looks like and therefore can't picture MY Mitchell then I will insert this picture.

One difference, ok 2, My Mitchell has glasses and My Mitchell is a little younger.

Mitchell and I hit it right off. As soon as the awful 1st quarter was over and Oregon State started scoring we were slapping hands and becoming best friends.

At one point the Husky band started playing a catchy little tune and I looked at Jeff to see if he could name that tune. Jeff was too wrapped up in the game to play along and when I turned back I saw it... my heart skipped... it was Mitchell singing the words, "Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit...He took a midnight train goin' anywhere". Oh yeah baby, Mitchell knew the words to Journey's Midnight Train. He was singing it to me with his hand as the microphone. Was this a mirage? Could I have imagined this perfect person singing Journey, along with a pep band no less? I was in love.

Throughout the game it turned out that Mitchell was the funniest person I had ever met. And it was looking as though he thought I was equally as witty and charming (several times he repeated my witty comments back to his buddies, who laughed and then became green with envy over Mitchell's awesome new girlfriend). He was quickly meeting all the criteria for my Will: 1) Be able to sing Journey songs with a pep band. 2) Be the funniest person I have ever met. 3) Think I am irresistibly witty and charming.

Before I knew it the game was in double overtime and silence had befallen our small group of Beaver Believers. As the ball slipped out of Joe Halahuni's hands and the Husky siren blared I sat down and put my head in my hands. The only thing making me feel any better was knowing I had met Mitchell, the Universe had finally given my my Will, and I raised my head to ask if Mitchell was on Facebook only to see he was gone. The 2 other (clearly gay) guys were pulling him down the bleachers and he walked out of my life forever.

Later that night I shared my disappointment with Hot Jeff over meeting Mitchell, how could the Universe be so cruel to give him to me only to take him from me so quickly? As only Hot Jeff can do, he cheered me up by reminding me I had purchased a really killer hat earlier that day AND that I would always have the memory of Mitchell. Oh Hot Jeff, you know just what to say when your wife is inconsolable over the loss of the one great gay friendship of her life.

Someday I will return to Husky stadium to watch my Beavers play again. Probably in 2012. And I will go to those exact same seats and I will wait with bated breath for Mitchell; I know in my heart Mitchell is out there somewhere pining over me and what could have been. I know he is humming our song, Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard Their shadows searching in the night Streetlights, people, living just to find emotion Hiding, somewhere in the night. Don't stop believin' Hold on Streetlight people Ohhhhh, woooooah.

2010-10-24T21:07:00.000-07:00

Coach, We Love You So Much We Named Our Hamster After You

About a month ago Samuel asked Hot Jeff if we could get a hamster. Hot Jeff replied, "No way. Those things stink." Samuel pouted for about 45 seconds and moved on.

A few days ago Samuel asked Jeff again (I love his determination; I think he gets that from me.) and Hot Jeff says, "Sure." Sure? I questioned him, "I thought you said we couldn't get one because they stink?" Hot Jeff: "I never said that." Me: blank stare. Samuel: happy dance.

This afternoon Samuel, Emily and I were all curled up in the big bed having some afternoon down time and watching The Secret Garden. I knew if I didn't get up and get moving I was going to fall asleep and wouldn't be able to sleep tonight so I said it..."Wanna go get a hamster?"

Yeah. They did. Yeah, go ahead and comment about what a stupid question that was.

We hustled off to Petco. While we drove out there we discussed names. Samuel shouted out 'Pawnee'. What the heck? Pawnee? I can only assume that is his Native American heritage coming out in him. Pawnee? Really Samuel?

Emily tossed out 'Peanut'. I liked Peanut. Very cute. I tossed out 'Maple Syrup' and just calling him 'Maple'. The kids liked it and it got them thinking down the food-name-road. Samuel threw out 'Taco'. Taco. I couldn't stop laughing and for that reason alone decided we just had to name our hamster 'Taco'. He was probably going to end up being taco meat after all. I wanted to throw out my other inappropriate names but didn't want to frighten the children. I liked, 'Tastes Like Chicken' or 'Number One' as in we'll-be-getting-number-two-after-this-one-dies.

We talked names the whole 10 minutes to Petco and as we pulled in to the parking lot Samuel shouted out, "What about Shacky?" I swear I have NO idea where he comes up with these names. With the exception of 'Taco' that kid is quite possibly the worst hamster namer in the whole world! The suggestion, however, got me thinking of Shaq and other sports names and then I had it! Jacquizz! Jacquizz is the star running back for Oregon State and our whole family loves him. I said, "I've got it! How about Jacquizz?" Samuel cheered and Emily screeched, "Jacquizz Rodgers!" It was awesome. I was very proud.

Once inside we found that the male hamsters were a little nippy. Not one for rodent bites or rabies, I asked about the females. Samuel, not one to miss a beat, says "We can't name a girl Jacquizz." He may not be able to name a hamster but the kid is bright as a light. I started thinking about female Beaver names. Oh you know it...Riley! After the beloved Coach Riley. Someday I'll tell you how I got Coach Riley to call Hot Jeff on his 34th birthday. Maybe I'll tell you that story on Wednesday, Jeff's birthday and then you will all want to be married to me because it is quite simply the.best.story.ever and it really makes me sound like an awesome wife. Which I was. Before I had kids. Now I'm just pretty average. An awesome average but average none the less. Speaking of awesome-average, who thinks I cursed Hot Jeff with his "40 Rocks" birthday cake?

Its almost 10:00 now and the kiddos are in bed. Riley is in her Taj Mahal cage and I can hear her little exercise wheel going, going, going. Did I mention they are nocturnal? I'm glad it doesn't squeak because it is in Samuel's room. Don't feel bad for Roo, tomorrow it will be in her room. They love her. We are all kind of enamored with her actually. Well except Hailey the Wonder Cat who is convinced that Jeff and I lost our ever loving minds 4 years ago when we brought a screaming infant home. That was also the same day she began holding a grudge against me because she saw that I could produce milk from my breasts. The first time Hailey saw me breast feeding Samuel she had this pissy look on her face that said, "What? You make milk? You have been holding out on me. You are dead to me."

Don't get any ideas Riley. I don't milk anymore.

2010-10-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

The Gee Whiz Spot

Come on now... G was all primed and ready to come back but we haven't had any questions submitted. What's the matter with you people? You all getting online and doing your own research?

I want to see some comments ladies. I've got one, just thought of it, you're welcome... Are underwire bras really hazardous to breast health? If you don't submit anything that is the question G is going to have to answer. Can you really sleep at night knowing THAT is the question for next week? Lame-o.

Ok, unrelated note: who is the the Anonymous commenter who doesn't like my new title but won't leave their name? I'm not going to publically mock you (well not for longer than a week) and I promise not to turn my legion of fans on you. You can't say you don't love the new title and then not leave your name!

Also, I say no more anonymous comments anymore period. If you don't have an account, sign in as anonymous but then leave your name (unless you're leaving a G Spot question then please remain anonymous because I don't want to think about your vaginal dryness when I see you at the park).

I really have no way to enforce this and I'm only requesting. You know what you could do? Make up a fake name and then I get super excited thinking I have readers who I don't actually know. Oh and on this topic: shout out to "Rod Stewart". That's some nice referencing to prior blogs and you are my star commenter for the week. Well played.

Lastly, why do I get like 14 comments on oyster crackers on my Facebook page but hardly any on my blog? This is rhetorical but feel free to comment anyway.

Cluck, cluck.

2010-10-19T20:44:00.001-07:00

Introducing...

You know I just love all of you; really I do. And I really value your opinions and comments and I took it to heart when you told me I should leave my blog name alone.

But then the other night Hot Jeff and I were talking DWTS and how nasty The Hoff is and it hit me, I'm The Hen. So Hot Jeff and I started referring to me as The Hen and we got a lot of chuckles out of it. Then...one night I was laying in bed not sleeping and thinking about how I never blog anymore and how I'm a failure as a house wife and how I love Bristol Palin and how I want to go on a survival camping trip and it dawned on me: "The Mother Hen".

How much do you love it? I love it. Bestie Maryanne loves it and I'm hoping my one reader, Emily H loves it. And if anyone else still reads this blog I'm hoping they love it too because regardless I am changing the name.

Welcome to The Mother Hen. Now one more thing on this subject, if you've got a derivative of 'The Mother Hen' like 'Hen Mother' or anything with Hen in it that is clever and playful then leave a comment because I may like that better than "The Mother Hen".

On an unrelated note, Hot Jeff is turning 41 next week. No big deal; he's taking it in stride and actually looking forward to putting 40 behind him because its been the worst year of his life when it comes to physical ailments. Rashes, pneumonia, pulled muscles, back pain, TMJ...the list goes on and on. Poor guy.

Well the other day I was driving home from taking Samuel to school and an old memory came to mind. When I was in high school my best friend Traci and I had a little game we'd play of pointing out old guys that were hot. Tim Allen, George Clooney, George Strait, Tom Hanks, Mr. Butler. You get the idea.

As I was getting ready to text Traci when I realized those guys were the age Jeff is now (maybe even younger). OMG ladies, I am married to an old guy who is hot.

I can hardly believe it myself. I mean I get the hot part because that man is smokin' but seriously, 41? That's kinda old. Like when we watch The Real World, its hittin' me that those slutty girls are young enough to be his daughter (but they wouldn't be because so help me if Emily or Samuel EVER even THINK about going on a MTV or VH1 reality TV show I will give them the smackdown!)

Isn't getting older just the weirdest? I mean I feel totally young. Besides a little junk in my trunk I feel like a cool college kid, or at least that I could hang with cool college kids. For example, Hot Jeff and I are watching baseball and they just showed Nolan Ryan in the stands. THAT GUY LOOKS OLD. I mean remember when he was all young and suave and throwin' heat for Texas? Now he's a poster child for Ben Gay. And have you seen Robert Redford lately? Now THAT was a hot old guy and he's 74 years old. He is like attending the funerals of other old hot guys (Paul Newman).

I've heard when it comes to parenting that the days are long but the years are short. Yep. And I'm going to add that when it comes to life the days are long and the years are short.

My advice: live life to the fullest. Go french kiss your hot old guy and buy an impractical pair of shoes.

Cluck, Cluck.

2010-10-11T22:08:00.000-07:00

I'm Sorry Michael Landon But Its Football Season

I'll be honest, I'm surprised we last this long.

Tomorrow the cable is getting turned back on.

We are no longer going All Little House on the Prairie on You as of tomorrow between 12 and 2. Which means I will finally have a good reason for ignoring my children in the middle of the day. Hallelujah and Hello Oprah.

Hot Jeff and I learned some valuable lessons while going All Little House on the Prairie on You, lessons we're hoping to implement in to our with-cable-lifestyle. For sure we will not be channel surfing and for sure we will continue to be deliberate about the shows we watch and when we watch them. I got a free DVR with the package so that makes being deliberate easy. I mean how many times have you skipped a bedtime story because American Idol was starting? Too many times to count, right? The DVR is really saving children's literacy if you ask me.

So as much as I enjoyed all the butter churning it will be really nice not to go to Hot Jeff's parents house to watch an OSU game. It will be really nice not to have to steal cable from Melissa's boys' room to watch the season finale of Grey's Anatomy. And to celebrate: BIG, HUGE Grey's season finale party at my house in May--mark it down baby!

Forgive Michael Landon, forgive me.

2010-10-07T04:50:00.000-07:00

The G Spot
Your Questions, Real Answers

Dear G Spot,
What's your opinion on the Fertility Awareness Method?
Signed,
All Natural in Newark

Dear All Natural in Newark,

What's my opinion on the Fertility Awareness Method....now there is a loaded question. I have a fairly strong opinion on it and I'm not sure that it's one you're going to like but since you ask, I think that it's a big fat waste of your time and you could be having a whole lot more fun making whoopie anytime you wanted to with a more effective form of birth control. You asked.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Fertility Awareness Method, let me give you a brief rundown. The essential ingredient is being very aware of your body and subtle changes that occur cyclically. You track your basal body temperature, your vaginal secretions, the position of your cervix and your periods. Your basal body temperature is your temperature first thing every morning, same time every morning, before you get out of bed. A change in temperature of just a few tenths of a degree can indicate ovulation or the beginning of your more fertile time.

Your vaginal secretions also change cyclically as well and typically women have a dry spell after their period that is then followed by an increase in thin, watery secretions that coincide with ovulation and increased fertility. Your cervix also changes positions cyclically and doing regular manual exams (yes, with your own finger) can help you track the rise and fall and feel of your cervix. During ovulation, the cervix is at it's highest position and is more soft than it is during other times.

The easiest part of this method is tracking your periods from day one, which is the first day of any kind of bleeding, to day one of the next period. The total number of days from day one to day one is the number of days in your menstrual cycle. The idea is that you take all of this information, put it together and identify your most fertile times and avoid sex during that time in order to avoid pregnancy.

Okay, now let's talk about why all of that is a really bad idea if you're seriously interested in preventing pregnancy.

First of all, in order for this method of birth control to be effective, you have to have done your homework. You need to spend eight to ten months tracking your basal body temperature, your vaginal secretions, the movement of your cervix, and your periods. It's important to do this over a long enough period of time to establish averages. If you take info from just one or two months, you don't have a clear picture of your own cyclical changes and you could be putting all of your money in the wrong bank. Who wants to wait eight to ten months to practice safe sex!?!?!? If you are a virginal bride to be, you should be getting to know your in-laws, spending quality time with a good premarital counselor who can help you prepare for a healthy marriage, and you should be sampling cake at every local bakery even though you know your Aunt Ida will be making yours. You should not be spending your time graphing your vaginal mucous and reaching your fingers into your poor vagina to see if you can track the travels of your cervix!

For the record, most women cannot reach their own cervix. It's a tricky little devil to find and bent all the way over, twisted into some sort of pretzel shape, with your arm fully extended is not the best way to feel it.

Second of all, who wakes up at the exact same time every day, including weekends? Who slumbers peacefully every night and wakes up with their hair tossed on the pillow and their bladder calmly waiting for them to take and record their basal body temperature? For that matter, who has a thermometer and a pen on their bedside table that did not get knocked off or carried away by a small child? If you get out of bed first, the temperature that you record is null and void - it may be elevated by all of the exertion you put forth going to the bathroom and finding your pen.

Thirdly, let's talk vaginal secretions. While it is good for all of us to be aware of our body and the secretions that come from it - good and bad - I'd like us to take a look at how much time is appropriate to be devoting to the study of vaginal secretions. Do you exercise every day? Do you floss every day? Do you spend time in God's word every day? If you answered no to any of those questions, I think that you should think long and hard about committing to daily study of your vaginal secretions. Personally, I would rather get on the elliptical machine every morning than rub my own vaginal secretions between my fingers every day in order to determine if they are stickier than the day before - and I work in healthcare!

Fourthly, tracking the travels of your cervix is absolutely insane! If you eat steel cut oatmeal every morning, milk your own goat, and have harnessed the illusive power that it takes to feel your own cervix, good for you. Personally, I don't see the need to know when my cervix is coming down into the vagina for a quick peek at the sun and when it is moving back up into the highlands for a spiritual retreat. I do not want to know if it is hard like an apple or soft like a peach, I just want to eat my fruit.

Tracking periods, now that's something that I can get behind - finally! It's good to know your own menstrual cycle. It helps you know when things are normal for you and not normal for you. When planning a sunny vacation, it helps to know when you can expect your Aunt Flo and plan around her. And, it's easy. All you have to do is make a marking of some kind on your calendar the first day you have any vaginal bleeding. Next month, you do the same thing and then count the number of days from day one to day one and bam - you know how long your cycle is.

I'm not a hater of all things natural and I do believe that most natural things in life are better for us. But, I also believe that more sex is good for us too and a birth control method like the fertility awareness method asks you not to have sex approximately one third of the month - you can spend the next eight to ten months plotting your graphs and charting your rising and falling or you can just take my word for it. I also believe that orgasm is hard to achieve for a lot of women and putting so much thought into your birth control keeps your head in a linear, concrete, logical place that is kind of hard to get out of and isn't conducive to the head space you need to be in to achieve a really great orgasm. I also believe that you should be able to initiate or respond to your husband's invitation to sex any time the mood strikes. I also believe that there are lots and lots of other safe and effective options out there that are more reliable and require less of your time.

There may be those of you out there who have been taught that any form of birth control is morally and Biblically wrong and something like the fertility awareness method is the only thing between you and a full-sized club wagon. I would challenge you to read the scriptures for yourself. Find a passage that condemns birth control, I don't think that you will but lots of good research time in the Word is always good. When you come to Revelation and still haven't found what you're looking for, let me know - I would love to introduce you to a loving Father who calls you to live in freedom......so ponder that.

2010-10-06T20:30:00.001-07:00

I'm Not Buying It

This afternoon I was picking Hot Jeff up from the chiropractor which happens to be next to a Christian church here in town. The billboard outside of their church gave their service times and then said "People Disappoint. God Doesn't."

I'm calling that church's bluff. In fact, I think its just that kind of "religious" talk that turns people off. The reason why I think it turns people off is because it makes Christianity out to be this lifestyle of rainbows and unicorns and anyone with half a brain knows that life, whether you are a Christ-follower or not, isn't rainbows and unicorns.

God does disappoint. You don't have to look any further than the disciples staring up at Jesus hanging on a cross to find people who God disappointed. It isn't because of anything God did; His plan is perfect. Nothing that happens isn't something He hasn't sifted through His loving hands but the disciples didn't know an empty grave was going to be found just 3 days later. Amongst all the emotions they felt on that Friday you can be certain disappointment was one of them.

My friend Lorelei who died in August from an 18 month battle with brain cancer was disappointed with God. Her faith was intact and strong as she took her last breaths but she would have been, and was, the first person to tell you she was disappointed in God; painfully disappointed He hadn't healed her.

Lorelei preached a message of authenticity and honesty with yourself and with God. Part of being honest and authentic with God starts by confessing disappointment. Disappointment doesn't equate a lack of trust; it doesn't equate disbelief. Confessing disappointment with God is simply a sincere admission that opens the door to an authentic relationship with God. Furthermore, I think God likes it when we're honest; He already knows how we are feeling so why not get the elephant out of the room and cry out our pain, confusion and ...disappointment.

I think disappointment with God can be a slippery slope. God is sovereign. He is supreme. He is holy. He is not to be trifled with. Nevertheless, you can express disappointment without being blasphemous and insolent. The Psalms are filled with prose of that ebb and flow between praise and bewilderment; worship and wonder.

So I'd like to say to the church on Liberty next to Hot Jeff's chiropractor: Ugh, give me a break. (Insert eye roll.)

2010-09-30T23:24:00.001-07:00

There Is No G Spot...
But Just For Today

Don't worry ladies, the G Spot will resume (I think) next week. The G in G Spot has a life. I know, I know it doesn't seem fair, does it? Yep, she's shirking her blogging duties for her real life and while I'm as bummed as you are I am not a task master so I gave her the day off. She will be back next week to delight us and answer our questions so you better post some questions or I'm going to ask her about my awful Urinary Tract Infection...

Yep, I am SO going there. I am so going to put the Too in Too Much Information. I'm not going there right away but will get there eventually and you'll get a whole lot of other useless knowledge about me as well.

It begins with me not being able to sleep tonight which is as ironic as it is troublesome because all I've done for the last 6 days is sleep. 2 weekends ago I started feeling the symptoms of a bladder infection or Urinary Tract Infection; it wasn't terribly bothersome but bothersome enough and like any infection it zapped me of energy. By Monday I was feeling fine and went about my week. That takes us to this last weekend where I was a total and complete sloth. Layin' around feelin' all slothlike, taking more naps than usual and having zero energy to do anything but go upstairs and nap some more.

Monday morning was fine, still tired but fine but by Monday afternoon I was peeing fire. (And here we go with the TMI...) Seriously, tears-in-my-eyes-bite-down-on-something-solid-where-is-the-fire-extinguisher pain in my girly parts. Called my Doc, she called in a heavy dose of antibiotics, angel from Heaven next door neighbor Melissa went and picked it up along with some of that urethra numbing, pee staining stuff and I was on my way to wellness. So I thought.

Tuesday: painfully tired. Wednesday: painfully tired, vomiting, back pain, painfully tired. Thursday: still a little nauseated, still painfully tired but overall feeling like the antibiotics are kicking in and that I'm not going to die from undetected, stage 4, metastatic bladder cancer. I know, what a relief, eh?

So this brings me to why I can't sleep. For being so tired you'd think I could sleep right? Well to add insult to injury to my miserable life my home is in shambles. I haven't done much cooking or cleaning or laundry in the last week and the house is looking like it. It looks like a 2 and a 4 year old live here and they don't have a mother and their Dad doesn't give a rip about laundry or clean dishes. And when my home is in shambles it stresses me out and I don't deal with stress like most people. Most people get a headache or they drink 2 beers or they go target practicing or ok, its true, I really have no idea what most people do when they are stressed out but I'm pretty sure they don't completely melt down with a panic attack. That's what I did.

Because I am awake and because I am self-aware I know what triggered it. We were putting the kids down after a perfectly normal evening and Emily couldn't find her binkies and she was FREAKING OUT because she couldn't find her binkies. And of course I couldn't find her binkies and all I could see were piles of laundry, strewn about shoes, strewn about toys and piles of mail that needed to be sorted. Finally after frantically, and I mean frantically searching for binkies I found 2 (she needs one to suck and one to rub her nose with) and put her to bed. Hot Jeff was putting Samuel down and somehow, literally by the grace of God I was able to push through the tightening in my chest to sing Emily a song and get her down before my heart exploded. Someone give me a Mother-of-the-Year Award stat.

As soon as I walked out of her room this insane pressure filled my head and I felt dizzy and short of breath. I seriously felt like there were weights on my chest and that the house was being spun like a top. I went downstairs and outside and stared up at the starry sky and tried to picture the fresh night air filling my lungs back up. Later I explained to Jeff that I felt like my heart was a balloon that when you squeeze it it gets really thin and pale and you know you could pop it with the slightest touch.

Recognizing that I was indeed having a panic attack and not a heart attack I went to Jeff, who was reading, and told him what I was feeling instead of calling an ambulance. I did all the things you're supposed to like breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and self-talk that it was just anxiety and it would pass. I said out loud to Jeff, "There really isn't a semi on my chest. There really isn't a semi on my chest. There really isn't a semi on my chest" until I finally believed it.

Then we watched Grey's Anatomy and I felt much better.

With all of that said, my ferocious bladder infection caused me to feel crummy all week leading to me falling off the housewife duties leading me to not be able to find binkies leading me to have a debilitating panic attack leading to way too much adrenaline being released in my body leading to me not being able to sleep at 11:52pm on a Thursday night leading me to write a blog post in place of The G Spot. And its probably because of my own G spot that led me to having too much sex-a-roni with Hot Jeff which probably is how I got the darn UTI in the first place.

I think the word we're looking for here is circuitous.

How do you deal with stress? Have you ever had a panic attack? Do you target practice?

2010-09-28T18:07:00.000-07:00

Is This Heaven?

Right now I am at the Broadway Coffee House and there are no children clamoring around my legs. There are no dishes in the sink threatening to fall over. There is no laundry piled on the couch giving me glances and daring me to go one more day without putting it away. There isn't a dinner waiting to be made? There's aren't 2 sets of pre-schooler eyes looking at me like I am the anti-christ because I just had the audacity to serve them something that does start with macaroni and end in cheese.

Is This Heaven?

I'm pretty certain it isn't Heaven. The headache I've had for 2 days is still pounding away letting me know of its presence and although I have never read it with my own 2 eyes I am pretty sure somewhere in the Bible it says there are no headaches in Heaven. There are no bladder infections either. Another indicator I am still on Earth.

I'm waiting for a programming meeting to begin; well actually I'm waiting for my programming team members to get here so that the meeting can begin. They are late. I am thankful. I'm just going to sit here with Ruby and soak up the delicious coffee aromas and listen to the weird coffee house music playing.

What is the deal with weird coffee house music?

2010-09-24T10:15:00.000-07:00

The G Spot

My question is about dryness issues. I have tried different types of lubricants, but none of them seem to last for the entire experience. I usually have to reapply at least once before my husband and I, shall we say, reach the "grand finale". What can I do?
- Dry in Denver

Dear Dry in Denver, thanks for your great question. Like all of the other questions we've addressed in this blog-spot, you pose a question that many, many other women are wondering about so thank you for womaning-up and asking it!

Vaginal dryness can be a really bothersome issue. It can make sex unpleasant or downright painful and it can make your vagina an unhappy place on a regular basis. There are several causes of vaginal dryness and several things that you can do it address it - you do NOT have to just "deal" with a sandpaper between your legs sensation for the rest of your life.

One thing that can cause vaginal dryness is menopause. If that's your situation in Denver then listen up. Estrogen is really the life-giving source to the vagina. Estrogen is what makes your vagina a lush and inviting environment and your uterus a fertile ground. Like we talked about a couple of weeks ago, menopause is an estrogen killer and it wants nothing more than to rob your vagina of it's life-giving source and leave it a cracked and barren wasteland. You need to arm yourself and take back your vagina! If vaginal dryness is your only issue, you can take a localized approach. Vitamin E capsules can be inserted in the vagina, one every night at bedtime. Overnight, the capsule dissolves and the vitamin E is absorbed locally and nourishes your vaginal tissue. You can add natural estrogens to your diet by eating soybeans and other soy based products. So, take your husband out for Chinese food, load up on the Edemame and take him home for a fabulous roll in the hay. Okay, it doesn't work that quickly but increasing dietary estrogen will ultimately increase the amount of estrogen in your system which will ultimately replenish your dry and unhappy vagina. If you've eaten enough soy beans to support a farmer and his family and you have so many vitamin E capsules shoved up your vagina that you wonder if there would even be room for a penis and you're still experiencing dryness issues, you're going to have to woman up again and pay a visit to your local gynecologist. He or she may prescribe an estrogen cream that you apply directly to the vagina and the labia. I have it on good authority from patients and a personal friend that the prescription estrogen cream can be the golden ticket to bringing the action back to your bedroom.

If you're not in any stage of menopause and are in fact 32, have 6 small kids at home, drink 4 cans of diet coke a day, and can run circles around any old lady you know but also experience vaginal dryness, you too are not alone. Menopause isn't the only thing that causes vaginal dryness - see you were worried for a moment that you are in fact a freak of nature, but you're not. First of all, all of the above stuff can work for you too so try the edemame, the vitamin E capsules, and the prescription estrogen cream. Also try putting down your 4 cans of diet coke.....WHAT?!?!?!? Seriously. While caffeine may seem like your only answer to getting through the day with 6 small kids at home, it's also a diuretic which is a fancy way of saying its a dehydrator. Yep, the same diet coke that makes you pee a lot and doesn't exactly make your skin look luminous can dry up your vagina so think carefully about how much caffeine you're taking in every day. You've also got to think about hygiene and drying chemicals that you may be exposing your vagina to. If you didn't read the first blog-spot and you haven't put down your summer breezes vagina spray - do it now! Those feminine sprays and douches are damaging to the delicate vaginal tissue and they can be very drying. If you take your kids to the local pool every afternoon in hopes of losing one or two of them in the crowd, you might be overexposing your vagina to harsh chlorine that can also be very drying.

Make sure that you and your husband are spending enough time on sex and getting in plenty of foreplay. Foreplay is critical for a woman and is the part of the sexual experience that cues the body to provide adequate lubrication. If you're not warmed up enough, you're not going to be lubed up enough - bottom line. If you've tried all of the things I've mentioned and you're only experiencing vaginal dryness during intercourse and you are spending plenty of time on foreplay then you're already doing the right thing - bringing in the lube. Use a good quality lubricant though and in my opinion, that wouldn't be anything that starts with a kay and ends with a why. Look for Astroglide or an equivalent, while it may be a bit more expensive it's also more like your own natural lubrication and works better. I think that your vagina deserves the best and if you don't, you should ponder that...

2010-09-14T20:03:00.000-07:00

Blah, Blah, Blah

If you were on tonight's prayer request email list then the next paragraph will be a little bit redundant for you but bear with me for a few lines while the rest of 'em catch up.

Bestie Cary's mom is the programming director for a Young Moms group in Albany and they kick off their year this week. About a month ago Meredith (Cary's mom) asked me to speak to the moms; I was very humbled and honored and accepted.

And then I went on vacation and totally forgot about it until Meredith emailed me this afternoon asking me if I needed anything for this Thursday's event.

Holy crap...this Thursday??

Last night I referenced the journey God is just beginning to take me on regarding authenticity and living an authentic life. Of course, because that's what I'm reading and praying about that's what is on my mind for sharing with these sweet mama's on Thursday. Yet, I'm also really passionate about praying for our children (despite my lame and non-existent PYKM's lately) and have a heart for moms who compare themselves to other moms (pretty much every mother) and how much harder that makes their journey and how it is not where God wants them to live and how He desires for them to see themselves as He sees them: precious daughters redeemed by Him and chosen for an eternal purpose of raising children.

Ok, so because I use this blog as a way to process I'm going to process my thoughts on all of the above and how it may all work together. Oh lucky you. If it all seems rhetorical and redundant I am really, really sorry. If it sounds like bunk, leave a comment. If you have some Scripture to back up my rambles, leave a comment. Ah heck, just leave a comment.

Soooo...what if living an authentic life begins with believing the Truth about who I am in Christ and not believing the lies the enemy tells me? If I'm going to be ok with who I am, actually love myself the way Christ loves me, to see myself with all my faults, quirks, scars and imperfections and still know that I am deeply and perfectly loved I need to immerse myself in His Word--the Word that reminds me of who I am in Christ.

As a mother, I can't possibly begin to teach my children about how much Christ loves them if I don't know how much He loves me. It is imperative that I spend time in His Word (ideally every day) to saturate myself in His love and promises.

Just as God has called us to authentic living, He has called us to be mothers (remember I'm speaking to a group of young mothers so the "us" is the group...) and as mothers we must believe that our homes are sacred places where we raise and pray for our children. Our homes need to be safe places where our children can be themselves, learn from their mistakes, not be afraid to make messes and where they are continuously pointed to the Savior. We can help our children in ways that we cannot see and in ways we can't imagine by praying for them; their daily needs and their mental, physical and spiritual needs.

Often times, because I struggle with comparing myself to other mothers and wives, I find myself in a terrible rut of feeling like my kids are going to grow up and be dirty pigs who have great taste in music but are way too fond of margaritas. I am a less than perfect housekeeper and the enemy knows he can speak lies into my heart and mind and defeat me as a person, mother and wife on a daily basis. On the flip side, if I can be truthful with myself about my areas of weakness and confess I need the help of a Savior ON EVERY FRONT than I am 1) being authentic and 2) defeating lies with Truth.

My home doesn't define me. The cleanliness of my kitchen or my bathrooms don't define me. I am a daughter of the King; my identity rests in Him and His redeeming blood. I am more than a wife. I am more than a mother. I am more than a housekeeper. I am His beloved.

Ok, I'm tired of rambling and processing and writing. I think its helped getting some thoughts on "paper". I am sorry if its preachy or boring or redundant. I did warn you though.

2010-09-13T20:27:00.000-07:00

Vanessa, If You're Reading This Please Comment...

All day long I had been planning on writing about authenticity and the journey I believe God is just starting to take me on regarding living an authentic life.

But then...

I sat down to watch the 2 hour finale of "Bachelor Pad" and any deep thoughts I had about authenticity went down the toilet with Kovacs & Elizabeth's Rumba.

So I'm just going to write. If Stream of Consciousness isn't your style then you should check out right now.

Writing is like an exercise. I've never been very good at exercise. Don't like it. I've heard stories of women who need therapy because they have an addiction to exercise. Huh? I wish I could be one of those women.

I wish I could be one of those women who had any discipline in her life whatsoever. Then, instead of watching the finale of the "Bachelor Pad" I would be sharing my thoughts about living an authentic life.

Oh well.

Here's the other thing on my mind lately. Speaking of living an authentic life...

When we first bought this house almost 7 years I had Shannon decorate the family room for me and then for my 30th birthday (gasp, years ago) she and Hot Jeff surprised me by sending me away for the day and then when I got back my kitchen and living room were painted and re-decorated. It was awesome.

Yet, as it often happens, tastes change with the passage of time. Not only have my tastes changed but I'm a little older and a bit more aware/in tune with what my tastes and likes are.

Last summer I went to this little Shabby Chic cottage sale with Cary and really liked the style. I've also always liked antique/vintage things and loved seeing that style in a contemporary setting.

So this all brings me to my discovery tonight... while in Montana last week my dearest, sweetest Aunt Kathy gave me a big sack of old doilies. Every size, shape and color and they are just beautiful!

When I started talking my love of doilies on Facebook I didn't get a lot of positive feedback. I know--shocking. Shannon is the most horrified and for that I need to make a public apology...Shannon, I love you and I love your taste but I have a great affinity for doilies and at risk of losing our friendship, I must tell you the truth, I looked online for doily decorating ideas.

The Country Living website has such cute doily decorating ideas. I am not even kidding you. It will, however, require me to redecorate and I'm going to start with my family room and dining room because Hot Jeff has been itching to repaint them anyway.

I'm quite excited about it and all of you can just suck it if you don't like it. Look at this cute room...how can you not love it? I have really great red furniture so picture this room with my red furniture...and some awesome doilies. This first picture is a cool pillow that has a doily sewn on it and I totally am going to make one of these pillows with my Aunt Kathy doilies.

How do you even go about getting this fun look? I think it starts with paint. And throw pillows. And perhaps a hardcore built-in bookshelf. I think the keyword I'm looking for is eclectic. Anyone with me? Shannon, are you still reading? It appears I will need to get a large rug and perhaps have Samuel clean up the 137 Lightning McQueen cars.

What is that stuff on the ceiling?

I am in over my head. And I need a new label.

2010-09-10T05:22:00.000-07:00

The G Spot
Your Questions, Real Answers

Dear G Spot,
I'm loving my 30's but am already dreading my 40's when all THOSE changes start. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited about not having a period; I'm just not excited about all the other stuff that comes with it. To make matters worse, I have no idea what that stuff is. Questions abound.
Signed, Apprehensive and Excited in Salem

Dear Apprehensive and Excited,
It sure does seem like women spend their entire lives dealing with change in their own bodies, doesn't it? As a hallmark to the end of childhood, just when you've mastered the art of walking and chewing gum at the same time, you sprouted "breast buds" that completely threw off your center of balance and you started bleeding from a part of your body that still seemed unspeakable.

As a teen, the buds blossomed and you got comfortable enough with the bleeding vagina to give it nicknames and talk about it with your friends which made you, "feel like a woman". Maybe in your 20's you got married and you discovered that the body you had spent so many years getting comfortable with was an entirely different body, one you'd never even met let alone lived in,when in the hands of you new husband came.

If my guess is right, just when you felt like you had your groove going, a living, breathing, alien-creature took up residence in your body and suddenly your body contorted and changed in ways that made you feel both awe-struck and a little bit disgusted.

Maybe now you're in another one of those beautiful phases of life where you are totally in-tune with your body. You know exactly what to do with and expect from the body that belongs to you and your always on stand-by dead sexy husband. However, there looms in the distance the fear of the next phase that is so monumental that it's no longer referred to as "a" change but "The" change.

Personally, I'm a firm believer that women are so skilled at dealing with their changing body that the phrase, "the change" should be banished from your vocabulary. Call it "a change" if you must but if you want to look cool in front of your friends, call it "the menopausal transition".

Then get super hip to the lingo and throw out phrases like peri-menopausal and post-menopausal and phytoestrogens, and please, please don't start using phrases like bioidentical hormones unless you really, really know what you're talking about. If you use that one only because you heard it on Oprah, you will be the woman whose gyno just shakes their head, unless of course your gyno watches Oprah too when they should be reading the most recent publication from the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists....I digress.

What most women think of as menopause is actually peri-menopause. It is during peri-menopause that you may notice changes with your period - cycles that are longer, flow that is heavier or lighter, unpredictability when you used to set your calendar to your body and the like.

You may also experience changes with your vagina - the same vagina that first learned to accommodate a tampon and later became so versatile that it could accommodate either your husband's penis or your child's head may suddenly shudder at the thought of anything touching it's dry and paper-thin tissue. You may also experience changes in your mood - increased sensitivity, decreased sensitivity, tearfulness, or if you're like my mom was, a complete loss of your mental faculties and a need for a 12-step program to address your new anger issue. You may also experience changes with your internal thermostat - you may find yourself wakened at night by a surge of heat followed up a bone-chilling sweat or you might need to dress in light layers like it's spring all the time because one minute you're hot and then next you're cold. The good news is, peri-menopause may only last a year. The bad news is, it may last for several years. The good news is you may only have a couple of these symptoms. The bad news is, you may have them all. My guess is that if you are one of those women who quote, "has a fast metabolism" you'll probably also be one of those women who quote, "didn't even notice when my periods stopped" - that theory isn't based on medical evidence though, just life observation from the back of the boob line.

A woman is considered to be peri-menopausal until she hasn't had a period for an entire year. That means if you haven't had a period in 8 months but then are blessed with one out of the blue while wearing white pants at your parents' anniversary party, you start the clock all over again. Once you make it past that 12 month mark and you haven't had a period in over a year, you are considered post-menopausal.

So, when exactly did "menopause" happen? Menopause is technically defined as the permanent cessation of menstruation. Honestly, after more than a decade as a womens' health medical professional, the best I can figure,the moment of menopause is the moment you reach the 12 months without a period mark. So, keep track of that date, plan a party, get a pedicure, go out with your girlfriends and when people ask you what you're celebrating tell them, "it's my menopause".

The burning question for most women in their 30's is, "when will I start going through menopause?" - which you now know should be phrased, "when will I begin the menopausal transition?". The scientific answer is, "go ask your mother". No really, talk to your mom and your aunts and your grandmother if you can. Find out when they first started experiencing symptoms of peri-menopause. Unless you have medical issues that make your situation significantly different than other women in your family, chances are that you will have a similar experience with timing as they did. The average age of menopause in the US is 51 and menopause before age 40 is considered premature menopause. So, if you're 30 you have either 10 good years left or 10 long years to wait, depending on your perspective. So ponder that.....

Please leave a question for upcoming weeks. You know you have one so stop being a chicken and ask it. Remain anonymous if you must.

2010-09-03T05:16:00.000-07:00

The G Spot
(Regular Edition)

How do I help my husband keep his ejaculation longer? He's great during foreplay but as soon as there is penetration he ejaculates; is there something he or I can do to make intercourse last longer?

Thanks,
Wanting More in Baltimore

Dear Wanting More,
Hold on to your knickers because I've got an answer for you but it's not for the faint of heart!

First of all, let me say that The G Spot does not endorse or approve of "sexual relations" outside the context of holy matrimony, you know the whole solemn vow before God and witnesses thing. The good Lord created the G spot (not referring to this blog feature) and I'm guessing that He hoped that you would find it and find it often but I haven't come across anywhere in the Bible where He talks about finding it with just any Joe on the street.

If you don't believe me, may I direct you to the Song of Solomon or as I like to call it, God's Guide to Getting It On. So, if you're experiencing this "problem" outside the context of holy matrimony, my advice to you is to quit shaggin' what you ought not be shaggin' and get yourself into a Bible study. If on the other hand you are trying to achieve a sort of sexual utopia with your hunky husband than I suggest you keep reading :)

Let me clarify your question a bit. I don't think that you want your husband's ejaculation to last longer because that would just be...well....a lot. I'm thinking that you're really hoping that he can stay a bit longer in that awesome state of arousal that comes before ejaculation. You are not alone and your husband isn't either. Seriously, about one third of men experience what you're describing which is called premature ejaculation. "Premature" doesn't mean that he has a little bitty baby penis, it means he gets the job done ahead of schedule and under his original bid. If you were working on a kitchen remodel that would be awesome but since you're probably working on that sometimes elusive female orgasm, it's what I like to call "no bueno".

Understand that while premature ejaculation is very common, it's not something that guys banter about in the locker room or on the links and it's likely to be a touchy subject for your husband. Be loving and sensitive to that and be sure to let him know that you're not dissatisfied and in fact are so excited about what he has to offer during foreplay that you'd like the good times to go on and on and on....Anyway, speaking of touchy, you've got to get comfortable with touchy because you're going to be doing a lot of it if you want to help your husband and believe me, you want to help your husband with this :)

You need to understand a little bit about the male sexual experience in order to better understand what's going on and your role in changing things for the better. The female sexual experience can be looked at as a rolling, gentle curve with valleys and peaks that get higher and higher and....well you know where I'm going....The male sexual experience can be looked at as a more boxy, linear line that goes straight up (no pun intended), turns to the right and then shoots off the chart. That turn to the right is called a plateau phase and it's the phase where your guy is fully aroused but has not yet experienced an orgasm or ejaculation. In your situation the plateau phase doesn't last as long as you'd like it to so you've got to help train your husband and his boys to stay in the plateau stage for as long as you need him to. Bake cookies or a pie, that always tends to make men stick around a little longer....Seriously, an easy training method is called the start and stop technique.

I know, you'd think this would be easy for guys since they are always starting a project or flipping to a new channel and then getting side tracked and leaving it for later but with sex, it's a whole different thing.....In order to use this training method you're going to have to go to that touchy place where you're comfortable putting your hands on your husband's penis. If you're not comfortable putting your hands on your husband's penis then I might have a whole other blog topic coming.....anyway....The idea of the start/stop technique is that you start manually stimulating the penis and bring your husband to a complete state of arousal, having him pay very close attention to when he is approaching what is commonly referred to as "the point of no return". Just as he is approaching the "point of no return", stop what you're doing and allow him to retreat from that place a bit which usually takes about 30 seconds. Start working your magic and once again bring your husband just to that brink. Initially you may only be able to do this once or twice before he has to "tap out" shall we say, but after several sessions over several days, you should find that you have successfully prolonged that plateau stage. You can then take the technique and apply it during a full body sexual encounter, changing positions or backing off just a bit as your husband approaches the point of no return if you're not right there with him. Over time, you will most likely find that your husband is able to keep a steady pace with you and the two of you can fall back onto the covers with your hair messed up and a glassy look in your eyes, just like the couple on those terribly tasteless personal lubricant commercials.

A word of caution: Don't approach your husband in a pair of coveralls and a tool belt or a drill sergeant's uniform and a whistle and inform him that you guys have some work to do and he and his boys are going to be whipped into shape in no time. If you must go the tool belt route, make sure that you aren't wearing anything else and if there needs to be a whistle, make sure it's a sort of cat call that let's your guy know that you think he's drop dead sexy. Use plenty of lubrication and bring a healthy sense of humor and remember that while you hold your husband's penis in your hand you hold all of his pride as well so ponder that....

2010-09-01T05:33:00.000-07:00

Dads: Real and Fake

So yesterday I ~~implied~~ said clearly that Rod Stewart is my real father. I feel I should follow this up with a story. And its State Fair season and there is no better time to talk about my Dad than State Fair season...

I come from a long line of funny and irreverent women both on my Mom's side and my not-real Dad's side. So it was no surprise to my Mom that by the age of 4 I "got" her jokes and wickedly fresh sense of humor.

One evening when I was about 6 or 7 my Mom was in our tiny apartment's even tinier bathroom primping for a date with Roy. We all called him "Roy Boy" and for that reason alone I can be thankful that things didn't work out between he and my Mom and that he didn't become my step dad or I may be riding on the back of a hawg on my to Sturgis right now instead of writing this post in my pajamas in my sweet little suburb neighborhood.

Anyway, I remember this evening and the bathroom perfectly. I can still see the little wood plaques with a little boy and a little girl painted on them. They each had those big mushroomy looking hats on and were wearing green. You could see them from wherever you stood in the bathroom because even if you had your back to them you could see their reflection in the mirror.

My Mom was primping in the mirror and I was sitting on the closed toilet seat lid adoringly watching her put on her makeup. She was beautiful and I wanted to be just like her. That evening she looked particularly gorgeous because she was wearing the-most-awesome-brown-cowboy-boots-ever. They were super hot looking, not cowpokey, and when she wore them I always had to help peel her out of them. "Pull Jenny, pull" and I would pull until the boot came flying off and I would fall to my boney butt from the force of it; Mom and I would giggle as I stood up to do the other one.

We were listening to our favorite record, Rod Stewart! It was the one where he's wearing that shiny pink shirt and has flowy blond hair on the cover. Dreamy. Mom stopped singing Maggie May and slowly put her mascara wand back in its tube. She looked at me earnestly and said, "Rod Stewart is your real dad". She sighed and went back to applying her mascara.

Again, totally getting my Mom's sense of humor I knew it was a fabulous lie and remarkably to this day we still have the ongoing "joke" that Rod Stewart is my real dad.

Somewhere in Montana my Mom is clutching her heart and gasping for air right now because I just shared this story with the whole wide world internet. Breathe deeply Mom, breathe deeply. No one can call child services on you 28 years later.

And so this brings us to the State Fair story and my Dad. The real one. Well the not-real one since Rod is my real one.

My Dad split when he found out my Mom was pregnant. You can't blame him--here she had been having a steamy affair with Rod Stewart all this time; you can't expect a guy to stick around after he learns that so he did what any guy would do in his situation: he became a carnie. A State Fair carnie. Wow, I am so proud of my roots right now it is friggin' ridiculous.

And legend has it that on that early Autumn night in September '76 when I was born somehow my Mom got word to him that he had a daughter and not having in cigars handy, he passed out cigarettes to all his carnie buddies.

God bless the Tilt-a-Whirl, Its a Girl!

2010-08-31T06:10:00.000-07:00

Whether You Want to Know or Not

In college writing classes a writer is asked to picture their audience when they write any piece. Being the star student I am, whenever I sit down to write down to write a post I picture my audience. I used to picture droves and droves of people all over the WORLD who really like a good story. Now that I haven't been blogging as regularly I picture my Mom. And maybe Shannon every other day or so.

The whole reason I even bring this up is because as I was formulating my blog post while putting Emily down tonight I knew I wanted to ask a question of my audience at the end but I'm not real sure anyone will comment. And that makes me so sad. You don't want me to be sad, do you? C'mon, leave a comment! And for crying out loud, leave a question for The G Spot.

So I spent much of my day being a lazy turd on the couch because I had a big headache. While I was lying around I made a sweet little playlist that I like to call "I Was Drunk the Day My Mom Got Out Of Prison"...yes, that's right--17 country, drinking songs. I figure it will be the perfect playlist for camping, floating the Deschutes or barbecuing with any of the Niles' clan. Its got some classics on it like Margaritaville, I'm Pretty Good at Drinkin' Beer, Tequila Sunrise, I Need You Now (the Lady Antebellum song that Shannon and I cannot get enough of) and Family Tradition because really, what's a good barbecuing with Niles' playlist without some Hank Williams Jr.?

One of my favorite playlists these days is my house cleaning playlist which includes some sweet and jiggy Beyonce, Eminem, Lady Gaga and I'm not ashamed to say it, Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. I have Hit Me Baby One More Time right next to Rock Your Body so that somewhere in the universe Justin and Britney will be together, where they belong.

On the whole other end of the spectrum I have my workout playlist that is full of bumpin'-praise-Jesus music. I love me some David Crowder Band and have Oh Praise Him and Here is Our King. There's also some Chris Tomlinson, Lincoln Brewster and Michael W. Smith on there. I know, I know "1992 called and wants their Michael W. Smith back" but you can just stick it. Not only is this playlist workout worthy but its also good for bike rides and for car rides with the kids when I just can't take anymore Psalty praise songs. Samuel loves this playlist because it has his alltme favorite Our God Saves on it--the Paul Baloche version). Now if I'm in the car on a road trip and everyone else is sleeping then I'm listening to sermons because I just gotta have me some Josh Mann and Steve Fowler on the highway.

Speaking of road trips, there are only 2 cd's we ever listen to while rolling through the Rockies from Idaho to Montana and that is John Denver and Jim Croce. There is nothing like listening to Rocky Mountain High while reaching the peak of Lookout Pass.

One very versatile playlist is my "Smooth and Easy" playlist and its jammed packed with some Sinatra, Harry Connick Jr, Ella Fitzgerald and Tony Bennett. I've even managed to get my real Dad (Rod Stewart) on there with his sultry version of I Don't Wanna Talk About It and I love listening to it after the kids have gone to bed. I have a glass of wine and fold laundry, or look at a magazine or snuggle with Hot Jeff. This playlist is versatile because it can be the perfect baby-makin' music or the perfect break-up blues playlist. A melancholy lady could cry for hours while listening to In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning or I'll Be Seeing You.

Finally, my 80's playlist, made by the assistance and insistence of Hot Jeff pretty much brings down the house. This playlist is a must for laying out in the backyard getting some sun. And while I'm laying out in the sun my kids usually interrupt me so I start working in the garden or pulling weeds and I just love me some Bon Jovi, Rick Springfield and BOY GEORGE. I could just listen to Betty Davis Eyes, Hold Me Now and If You Like Pina Coladas all.day.long. And are you kidding me, what woman in her 30's doesn't imagine kissing Andrew McCarthy every time she hears If You Leave? Not me.

So what are your favorite playlists? Do you just like a good beat or do lyrics mean something and remind you of a certain time and place? What playlists get you going? Which ones make you want to kick back and drink wine by candlight? Be specific because I may want to make one like it.

2010-08-30T12:59:00.000-07:00

The G Spot
(Monday Edition)

Dear G Spot,
My vajay-jay is always so smelly! I shower once a day, use that FDA spray and wipe with those wonderful smelling female wipes and yet...kinda smelly. During my period it is actually better because I wear a tampon all the time. Should I start douching? I always heard that killed the good bacteria as well as the bad but is that advice for women who douche too often?
- Smelly in Seattle

Dear Smelly in Seattle,
Thanks for your great question.

Soooo many women wonder about this and I wish more of them would actually ask the question. If more women asked the question, we would have a lot more happy vagina's in the world.

Let me break it down for you...1) Your vagina is supposed to smell like vagina. It's not supposed to smell like lilacs or summer breezes so the first thing you need to do is evaluate your perspective. Do you think your vagina is "smelly" or do others including your husband think that it's "smelly"?

2) If, after you've polled your neighbors and your husband about the smell coming from your vagina, you determine that it is in fact "foul" you need to get that checked out. Let's be clear though, "foul odor" from the vagina is akin to the smell of something rotting or dying and is the kind of odor that makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little if you get a really strong whiff of it. Chances are that your husband wouldn't want to put his face anywhere near a "foul odor". If your vagina smells like a fish market, you also want to get that checked out. That means make an appointment with your local gynecologist and woman-up for the pants-down exam by a trained professional.

3) If, after you've polled your neighbors and your husband about the smell coming from your vagina, you determine that your vagina does in fact...smell like vagina. You need to relax.

There are some things that you can do to make your vagina the most hospitable and welcoming place that it can be: Stop using those sprays and wipes. They are evil and can damage the delicate tissue of your most secret place and forever change the pH balance of your vagina making it an awful, hateful place for penises - I know you don't want that! Do NOT squirt any kind of cleansing/perfuming douche up your vagina. If God had intended your vagina to smell like a summer breeze, it would. Since it doesn't, I can only imagine that God intended for it to smell like... vagina. Wear cotton underwear - it's not sexy but it's sexier than staanky vagina. Sleep without any underwear on and allow your vagina to breathe at night. After you shower, use a blow dryer on med/low heat for just a few seconds on your vagina. This will help dry the environment before you trap it in your pants all day.

So, if this smelliness of the vagina is relatively new, it's possible that you have a bacterial infection. If it's something that you've noticed most of your adult life, it's probably just the smell of your vagina. Don't be too quick to try to get rid of that smell. As gross as it is to us, the vagina smell is actually full of pheromones and is part of what attracts men to the vagina. Ponder that....

Got a question for The G Spot? Leave a comment, keep anonymous if it makes you feel more comfortable!

The information on this site is not intended or implied to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. All content, including text, graphics, images and information, contained on or available through this web site is for general information purposes only. All Things Henderson and The G Spot make no representation and assumes no responsibility for the accuracy of information contained on or available through this web site, and such information is subject to change without notice. You are encouraged to confirm any information obtained from or through this web site with other sources, and review all information regarding any medical condition or treatment with your physician. NEVER DISREGARD PROFESSIONAL MEDICAL ADVICE OR DELAY SEEKING MEDICAL TREATMENT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING YOU HAVE READ ON OR ACCESSED THROUGH THIS WEB SITE.

All Things Henderson and The G Spot do not recommend, endorse or make any representation about the efficacy, appropriateness or suitability of any specific tests, products, procedures, treatments, services, opinions, health care providers or other information that may be contained on or available through this web site. All Things Henderson and The G Spot ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE NOR LIABLE FOR ANY ADVICE, COURSE OF TREATMENT, DIAGNOSIS OR ANY OTHER INFORMATION, SERVICES OR PRODUCTS THAT YOU OBTAIN THROUGH THIS WEB SITE.

2010-08-25T21:50:00.000-07:00

Introducing Something Really Fabulous

As you may have noticed I don't have nearly the time to blog as much as I would like to. And I do miss it and more than missing blogging I hate Christy Lowry's hateful comments about how I never blog anymore. Hateful I say.

So I'm going to pull a little Oprah trick. I'm going to make a medical person famous by letting them be a guest on my ~~show~~ blog.

Last week I had a cooter question and so I asked one of my Besties, who happens to be a OBGYN nurse, the question. She emailed me back the most hilarious, yet informative, email I have ever read. Not only did it answer my question but it made me laugh. Out loud. And I don't mean 'lol' like the schoolers use but actually laughed out loud until I pee'd my pants a little bit (which could be a topic for her to talk about).

I'm not sure I want to use her real name because I'm afraid some crazy person will misuse her medical advice, die of cervical cancer and sue us; that's why you'll see some legal disclaimer on all of her guest posts. But she is fabulous and her name does start with a "G" which is how I came up with the genius name of her posts: The G Spot. Love it.

So here's how it will work: you send me questions through comments. G will read them and then answer them once a week (we still haven't settled on the day of the week her reoccurring posts will appear). This is your chance to ask anything regarding women's health: sexual, physical, emotional, mental, etc that you have questions about.

I only have one guy reader, that I know of, the fabulous Dr. Goose but he's a doctor so he shouldn't mind The G Spot. Plus, guys can ask questions about women's health too! Come on Goose, send them our way; Daisy will appreciate it.

For the rest of you, what are you curious about? Is something going on that's concerning you? Wondering if you need to see a doctor? Need advice about something--leave your question in the comments or email or Facebook me. Feel free to leave your name off and be "Anonymous", G will answer it either way.

2010-08-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

I'm not even going to lie to you...I am watching "Bachelor Pad". I swore I wouldn't but Hot Jeff the evil TV temptress got me hooked...just like he always does. I swear that man is in cohorts with ABC. You know, its not nearly as trashy as the previews and the EW reviews made it out to be--not to mention Chris Harrison calling it "spectacular"! "Bachelor Pad" is just like Big Brother but with more kissing. And crying. I think "Bachelor Pad" is like those Sweet Valley High books I read in junior high. Minus the entitled twins driving around in a Fiat.

Since I have a love of all things "Bachelor" it is only fair that you know that I internet stalked Roberto and my suspicions were correct...he is a State Farm agent. In my internet stalking I found out he had applied for a California insurance license and although that tipped me off to him being Ali's final pick I was surprised he didn't start his agency in Oregon so that I could work for him and so that Ali and I could become the bestest of besties that we are meant to be.

I'm pretty certain that somehow in the State Farm universe Roberto and I will meet and Hot Jeff and I will become he and Ali's best couple friends. We will give them marital advice and someday down the road we'll give them advice on how feed their babies and get them to sleep through the night. And they will buy a house next door to us and Ali and I will shop at TJ Maxx together.

I'm pretty certain that when ABC does Roberto and Ali's wedding in a 2 hour special you will see Hot Jeff and I up there as their best man and maid of honor. Hot Jeff and I will be up there smiling through happy tears and wearing designer wedding clothes that we didn't have to pay for but look really awesome in. In fact--I'm going to start writing a song that I can dedicate to them and that they can dance to for their first dance. In it, I will play the didgeridoo. I've wanted to learn to play the didgeridoo since my elementary principal, Mrs. Thorndal, went to Madagascar and came to our class and showed her slides. The didgeridoo is not for the faint of heart.

My only hope is that while at the reception I can dance with Craig. Or at least Craig's hair.

Ok, so we're clear: "Bachelor Pad"= Things I Like.

2010-08-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

It has been so long since I wrote on my blog that it made me sign in. Like it kind of thought the author of this blog must have died in a tragic gasoline fight accident and was certain an imposter was trying to get on and write positive comments about Republicans or something. I love its devotion to me and that it made me sign in just to be sure no one got on and wrote nice things about Republicans on here.

I know I owe you some kind of sincere apology for not writing in 2 weeks but the truth is I just don't have it in me. I haven't missed blogging one bit. I think its because I'm too darn busy to miss it. BUT I will say this, your emails, comments and Facebook notes have meant the absolute world to me. Really. It touches my heart to know that my ramblings make a difference in your life; that somehow the words I write make you smile, laugh or stop and think. I love that. And that's actually why, despite wanting to take a bubble bath, I'm writing a blog post.

So...here's what's going on.

I love being back at work. It makes me happy. And when I say happy I want you to hear it like I say it, like with the aaaaaaaaa all drawn out and the y too. Like haaaaaaaaaaappeeeeeeeeeee. I love using my knowledge, gifts, education and love for people in an office where I'm valued, appreciated and acknowledged. I work with AMAZING people and it turns I out I have freak steel trap for a memory which has made the 3 years I was out of the biz feel like 3 days. I got my 24 CE credits in less than a month and am now back to being licensed. Which all brings me to my conversation with Samuel last night.

Samuel: Mom, what do you do at work?
Me: I help people with their insurance.
Samuel: Oh. I thought you made toilet paper.

And speaking of toilet paper...

Jeff and I bought ourselves some bikes. And one of those fancy bike trailers to tow little Roo in and we are like the Brady's with our little trio of bikes and trailer riding all over Salem. Something I never really paid much attention to, until now, is the amount of hills in our neighborhood. And I'm talking like the Sound-of-Music-the-hills-are-alive-and-kicking-my-ass hills.

Since we got the bikes I've been the one riding trailer-less. And I think I am just made for biking because it is so much fun. I'm asking myself questions like "This is so awesome, why didn't we buy bikes years ago" and thinking of buying biking attire and crap like that. Then, on Tuesday I got home from work at 3:30 and was thinking I could use some exercise so I strapped the trailer on and PUT BOTH KIDS IN IT because I didn't want to have to "wait around for Samuel". I'm thinking Samuel is too slow and I'm such a fabulous biker and am going to go out and ride like the wind and take names later and can't be bothered by the slow 4 year old on training wheels.

So yes, my neighborhood has hills. Lots of them. Lots of steep hills and towing that trailer that weighs 7000 pounds and two children who weigh at least 150 pounds EACH nearly killed me. No lie, I literally thought I was going to die.

And here's the saddest part: the last 90 yards or so to my driveway is a slight hill and I COULD NOT GET UP IT. I had to walk the bike and trailer the last 90 yards to my house. Past my gawking neighbors. Past the laughing and pointing children at the park across the street. In front of my children who will forever have the indelible image of their mother WALKING HER BIKE up the hill to her home.

When I told Hot Jeff the story later that night he laughed.

I hate him.

And since I wrote a Samuel funny I'll leave with a Roo one. These kids crack me up. Thank God they are funny; I would hate to have un-funny kids.

Me: Roo, finish your milk before you go outside.
Emily: Why?
Me: Because it will make you strong.
Emily: I'm already strong.

2010-07-20T22:49:00.000-07:00

Its Hammer Time

Today at work it was just Bestie Maryanne and I for an hour or so and it was

terribly quiet so I decided it was the perfect time to show Maryanne some of my old high school moves.

You know, just your typical day at the office.

I kicked off my heels and let it go like it was 1994.

Maryanne was impressed. I don't think she knows many 33 year olds who can still perform the fight song.

My dress wouldn't allow me to do the splits or I swear I would have done them. The fact that I haven't done the splits in 16 years would not have stopped me.

For being just a tad chubby I am incredibly flexible.

How much do you love this picture? As you can see, I've been rocking the red lipstick for quite some time now.

Those red gloves are friggin' awesome. Seriously. All hail the Mighty Panthers.

2010-07-19T11:48:00.001-07:00

NOT Praying for My Kids Monday

Yeah, you read that right. I don't feel much like praying for my kids right now.

In fact, I haven't felt much like praying for them all morning.

They have been acting entitled and spoiled and disrespectful. They are disobeying, making messes and generally acting as if they are out to get me. Or like typical 2 and 4 year olds; it just depends on what your perspective is.

We all went outside so I could prune and fertilize my hanging basket and they could ride bikes. I knew it was a little too quiet and I didn't see their little bikes riding in circles in my driveway so I gave it a few more minutes and then went looking for them.

When I found them they were sitting in the garage eating rice krispies and spreading them EVERYWHERE in the garage. Like hanging a "welcome" sign for all the mice in the neighborhood, cereal was spread from door to door.

I sighed. And started counting to 100 trying to keep from yelling at them.

I didn't even speak to them; just snatched the box from their grubby little hands and walked in to the house. Samuel asked if I was mad. I simply replied that they should go play in the bonus room until I decided on what the consequence was for 1) climbing on the cupboards to get the cereal and 2) dumping it all over the garage.

I sighed. Again.

I grabbed a diet coke from the fridge and sat down to read my email and try to compose a PYKM. My email filtered in and I saw my weekly Up Words had arrived with a devotion from my favorite author, Max Lucado. The subject line of the email read, When God Sighed.

Maybe you've done your fair share of sighing today. Maybe this month has brought more sighs, tears and confusion than you'd like to count. Maybe you just need a reminder that you have a Savior who knows your pain. Maybe you just need a good read. I'm going to reprint this today because it.is.that.good. Be encouraged.

When God Sighed
by Max Lucado

Two days ago I read a word in the Bible that has since taken up residence in my heart.

To be honest, I didn’t quite know what to do with it. It’s only one word, and not a very big one at that. When I ran across the word, (which, by the way, is exactly what happened; I was running through the passage and this word came out of nowhere and bounced me like a speed bump) I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t have any hook to hang it on or category to file it under.
It was an enigmatic word in an enigmatic passage.

But now, forty-eight hours later, I have found a place for it, a place all its own. My, what a word it is. Don’t read it unless you don’t mind changing your mind, because this little word might move your spiritual furniture around a bit.

Look at the passage with me.

Then Jesus left the vicinity of Tyre and went through Sidon, down to the Sea of Galilee and into the region of the Decapolis. There some people brought a man to him who was deaf and could hardly talk, and they begged him to place his hand on the man.

After he took him aside, away from the crowd, Jesus put his fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spit and touched the man’s tongue. He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means, “Be opened!”). At this, the man’s ears were opened, his tongue was loosened and he began to speak plainly. (Mark 7:31-35)

Quite a passage, isn’t it?

Jesus is presented with a man who is deaf and has a speech impediment. Perhaps he stammered. Maybe he spoke with a lisp. Perhaps, because of his deafness, he never learned to articulate words properly.

Jesus, refusing to exploit the situation, took the man aside. He looked him in the face. Knowing it would be useless to talk, he explained what he was about to do through gestures. He spat and touched the man’s tongue, telling him that whatever restricted his speech was about to be removed. He touched his ears. They, for the first time, were about to hear.

But before the man said a word or heard a sound, Jesus did something I never would have anticipated.

He sighed.

I might have expected a clap or a song or a prayer. Even a “Hallelujah!” or a brief lesson might have been appropriate. But the Son of God did none of these. Instead, he paused, looked into heaven, and sighed. From the depths of his being came a rush of emotion that said more than words.

Sigh. The word seemed out of place.

I’d never thought of God as one who sighs. I’d thought of God as one who commands. I’d thought of God as one who weeps. I’d thought of God as one who called forth the dead with a command or created the universe with a word … but a God who sighs?

Perhaps this phrase caught my eye because I do my share of sighing.

I sighed yesterday when I visited a lady whose invalid husband had deteriorated so much he didn’t recognize me. He thought I was trying to sell him something.

I sighed when the dirty-faced, scantily dressed, six-year-old girl in the grocery store asked me for some change.

And I sighed today listening to a husband tell how his wife won’t forgive him.

No doubt you’ve done your share of sighing.

If you have teenagers [toddlers], you’ve probably sighed. If you’ve tried to resist temptation, you’ve probably sighed. If you’ve had your motives questioned or your best acts of love rejected, you have been forced to take a deep breath and let escape a painful sigh.

I realize there exists a sigh of relief, a sigh of expectancy, and even a sigh of joy. But that isn’t the sigh described in Mark 7. The sigh described is a hybrid of frustration and sadness. It lies somewhere between a fit of anger and a burst of tears.

The apostle Paul spoke of this sighing. Twice he said that Christians will sigh as long as we are on earth and long for heaven. The creation sighs as if she were giving birth. Even the Spirit sighs as he interprets our prayers. (Romans 8:22-27)

All these sighs come from the same anxiety; a recognition of pain that was never intended, or of hope deferred.

Man was not created to be separated from his creator; hence he sighs, longing for home. The creation was never intended to be inhabited by evil; hence she sighs, yearning for the Garden. And conversations with God were never intended to depend on a translator; hence the Spirit groans on our behalf, looking to a day when humans will see God face to face.

And when Jesus looked into the eyes of Satan’s victim, the only appropriate thing to do was sigh. “It was never intended to be this way,” the sigh said. “Your ears weren’t made to be deaf, your tongue wasn’t made to stumble.” The imbalance of it all caused the Master to languish.
So, I found a place for the word. You might think it strange, but I placed it beside the word comfort, for in an indirect way, God’s pain is our comfort.

And in the agony of Jesus lies our hope. Had he not sighed, had he not felt the burden for what was not intended, we would be in a pitiful condition. Had he simply chalked it all up to the inevitable or washed his hands of the whole stinking mess, what hope would we have?
But he didn’t. That holy sigh assures us that God still groans for his people. He groans for the day when all sighs will cease, when what was intended to be will be.

2010-07-14T04:21:00.000-07:00

Last night Hot Jeff and I decided it had been way too long since we took overly tired kids to Target to let them fight, beg, scream, cause a scene and eventually have to be taken to the car so we decided that on an evening when we had both worked full days was a great time to make some family memories.

Before going to Target to humiliate and torture ourselves we stopped off at Red Robin for some burgers and endless fries. While happily dining Red, a 5' 7" red feathered bird-like creature, came around the tables waving at kids and slapping fives with the adults. About the time he reached our table Little Roo locked eyes with the furry freak, let out a scream and darted under the table where she refused to come out from under for at least 5 minutes.

A few hours later I was tucking Roo in and saying goodnight prayers. Upon saying 'amen' she looked at me and said, "Where's Red?" At first I didn't know who she was speaking of so I asked her what she had said. She replied quickly and clearly, "Red. Where's Red? Red from Red Robin." My mind quickly processed the sweet little girl clinging to my legs under the table, quivering with fear to the demon possessed child screaming at the top of her lungs in Target because I had just told her that she may not have a Tinkerbell nightgown.

In my most soothing voice I answered, "He's asleep with his Mommy and Daddy in a cozy little nest...In your closet."

Nighty-night.

2010-07-13T15:38:00.000-07:00

From Keith's Perspective...

I have a new fan. His name is Dr. Goose. He's the hubs of one my friends and quite possibly the male version of myself. We like the same football team, vote the same, have an affinity for blogging and clearly believe that Anthony Edwards' character in "Top Gun" got the shaft.

Goose has a blog that is beyond funny. Its well written and quite possibly will lead to my demise as I can't seem to stop reading it. Anyway, Goose and his wife watch the Bachelorette and so I left a comment directing him to my Bachelorette post.

In turn, he wrote a hilarious post from Keith's perspective...poor Keith. Read it HERE!

Dr. Goose is fun.ny. Like so funny I'm thinking of buying up the house next to me so he and Daisy can move in, our kids can play together, Daisy and I can meal swap and Goose and I can sit around and amuse one another with one-liners. I do believe we are a neighbor-match made in heaven.

2010-07-11T19:35:00.000-07:00

A Quick Update and PYKM

Well last week's return to part-time work outside of the home was amazing. The kids did awesome at Melissa's house (although Roo hasn't figured out she still needs to nap even though she's at Melissa's) and I loved being back at Al's office and feeling professional and productive. It will be more of a challenge than I first anticipated trying to balance my household "duties" and work but Hot Jeff has stepped right up and is helping me. He's also quick to remind me that on an evening after I worked laundry and vacuuming is the last thing I need to be thinking about.

I know that my blogging will be more frequent and consistent once I figure out how it all works together. It is still a passion of mine and I feel all "pent up" from not blogging (it is so cathartic for me) but I have to prioritize and make sure the kids feel like when I'm home I'm really present with them. I'm hoping to break my old habit of blogging at night and perhaps blogging on the mornings I don't work. Again, it will all take some juggling, rearranging and retraining. I am really looking forward to this new season in my and my family's life.

Praying for Your Kids Monday
Yahweh Rophe ~ The Lord Who Heals

"The Hebrew word rophe means 'heal', 'cure', 'restore' or 'made whole'. Shortly after his people left Israel for the Promised Land, God revealed Himself as Yahweh Rophe, 'the Lord who heals'. The New Testament reveals Jesus as the Great Physician, the healer of the body and soul, whose miracles point to the kingdom of God."

The name Yahweh Rophe is first revealed in Exodus after Moses has brought Israel through the Red Sea. They had been in the wilderness for 3 days without water when they came upon the waters of Marah. However, the water was bitter and undrinkable until God miraculously made the water sweet.

If you diligently heed the voice of the Lord your god and do what is right in His sight, give ear to His commandments and keep all His statues, I will put none of the diseases on you which I have brought on the Egyptians. For I am the Lord who heals you. Exodus 15:26

This is a special reading to me this week as I found myself just telling Hot Jeff 2 nights ago that I was suffering from bitterness in my heart and I felt there was more unforgiveness I was harboring than I even first thought. Being back at the office in which I faced the most hurtful, malicious betrayal and lies ever in my life has surfaced emotions I thought I had pretty much buried 3 years ago. I'm honest with myself enough to know I hadn't forgiven this woman but I had thought I had buried it enough that I wouldn't be bothered anymore.

You'd think my therapy with The Shrink would have taught me better than that.

Anyway, reading this passage tonight has reminded me of my own "bitter water" in my heart and it also answers the question I rhetorically asked Jeff "how do I get rid of it?" Yahweh Rophe not only is the Lord who heals my physical ailments but the ones of my heart as well.

As much as I will try, I will not be able to protect my children from betrayal, pain, rejection and disappointment. I pray that they will go to their Savior for cures and help from physical sickness but that He will also be the first person they turn to when their heart needs healing as well.

"Yahweh Rophe, I bow before You today to acknowledge that You are not only my Creator but the Lord who heals me. Please heal me today, body and soul, and do the same for my loved ones. I pray that You will heal whatever is bitter in our lives, transforming us in ways that glorify You." I pray that You will be present in ____________ life and that she will long for You to be her Redeemer and her Healer. I pray You will protect her heart from bitterness and unforgiveness and give her a sweet tenderness towards Your Spirit of forgiveness. Amen.

2010-07-06T18:53:00.000-07:00

I Know, I Know...

I know my blogging sabbatical went a little longer than planned. Sorry. By the time Sunday night rolled around and I was thinking of doing Monday's PYKM it was time to go outside and ~~light money on fire~~ shoot fireworks off. And then (the excuses just keep coming) yesterday my sister in law and cousin came over and a 2 hour lunch turned into a 5 hour, delightful lunch and so no blogging for me.

And here's the big news: I got a job. I know! It happened so fast I didn't even have time to consult you about it. It happened so randomly also--just nuts.

So the very best job I've ever had was working for Al at his State Farm agency. That's how Shannon and I got to be the bestest besties ever (she worked there too) and now my other bestie, Maryanne, works there. 3 years ago there were some personnel changes and I decided it would be a good time for me to stay at home with the babies (I was pregnant with Emily) at the time. It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made, because I loved working there) but knew it was what was best for my mental health and for my family.

3 years later the "personnel changes" are no longer an issue and Al called out of the blue, clear sky and asked about me coming back part time. We emailed, had coffee and 3 days after his initial call I had a job!

God has done such huge things for this all to come about, the biggest one being CHILDCARE! My mui fabulouso neighbor is taking the kids 2 days and Jeff is taking them the 1/2 day. Voila.

I'm simply amazed at how God has provided financially for my family over the last 3 years. It has been nothing short of a miracle (and a lot of discipline on our part) how we have made it on one income and now He has done even more amazing work in providing this job at the perfect time, not to mention Melissa's willing heart to provide childcare for Samily.

Its also fun to see how God was working in my heart regarding scheduling and time management. A few days before Al called I felt like I was really making some strides in managing my time and house. Not coincidentally, now I will need that structure and skill to manage family, house, ministry and now work!

Its all good. Very, very good.

I'm going to try and continue blogging regularly and will keep doing PYKM. All you working mothers will need to give me your tips and advice for making it all work smoothly! I'm going to need it.

2010-06-29T08:08:00.001-07:00

Its Not You, Its Me

I never, ever, ever, ever thought I would be a blogger who would "take a break". And then yesterday it just happened...I meant to get PYKM up early in the wee hours while the kids were still sleeping but I decided to do one of Bex's tricks and reward myself with blogging after I unloaded the dishwasher. And I felt so good when the dishwasher was unloaded at 7:00am that I decided to do a few other little things around the house. And then the kids got up. And did I mention Hot Jeff took the day off? And I found it was like almost 3:00 BEFORE I EVEN TURNED THE COMPUTER ON and I was simply amazed at how much I had gotten done.

It was like those people who say the computer is a time sucker were right all along.

One thing the Shrink and I talked about last week were rewards. I told her about Bex's genius little concept and she told me she thinks I don't operate very well without structure and being a SAHM is the epitome of no structure. So I bought myself a day planner with the hours built in and I have started scheduling things like time with Jesus, laundry, dishes, exercise, playdates, drinking margaritas at the pool with Shannon, blogging, Facebook, etc. Anything that has to do with the internet is a reward and I am only going to do it if I feel the kids, the house, dinner plans, etc are in a place where I can take a break. Trust me, I'm not becoming some rigid neat-nick or anything (haha, I shutter at the thought) but just trying to add some balance and hygiene.

I AM NOT STOPPING BLOGGING. I WILL STILL BLOG. THIS BLOG IS STILL ALIVE AND WELL. I am however, going to take the rest of this week off. And that surprises me because I have 2 posts waiting in the wings to be posted. They just need to be edited. And one is funny too (my favorite!). Please still come by and read some of the archives--that's what Fan Favorite Christene does. Some of my favorites are here, here, and here.

I do just need to take one week and focus on my home and family and making some healthy choices regarding them and my lifestyle. Check back this week because I may surprise you and me with a post but don't have any expectations until Monday when PYKM resumes. Also, if I post something I'll throw an update on FB so you don't miss it. OR you cold become a follower and never miss a post! Hooie!

Ok, I'll catch you next Monday! In the meantime, enjoy the archives (feel free to leave me a comment of what your favorite posts are) and tell me what your time suckers are and how you avoid them.

2010-06-25T03:34:00.000-07:00

FAQ Friday

How did you come up with your kids' names?

Ok, seriously LOVE this question. Next to telling you my birth stories this is a favorite thing to write about and one that I haven't! Thanks for asking!

I'll start with Samuel since he is the oldest. Oh little Samuel Edward...

When Jeff and I started praying for a baby we had no idea our journey would last almost 3 years. By the time I finally got pregnant I didn't care what we had but deep down I wanted a boy. I had always seen myself as a mother of 2 boys and really couldn't imagine mothering girls.

At our 20 week ultrasound when the tech announced it was a boy, I was thrilled and we started discussing names. I had loved the name Samuel forever and felt a connection to the story of Hannah praying for a son.

On the other hand, Jeff's dad's name is Herbert James (called Jim) and I also loved the idea of naming our son Herbert James and calling him Jack, another long time favorite name of mine.

In the end, we just fell in love with the tune of "Samuel Edward". Edward is Jeff's late grandfather's name; Grandpa Ed was Jeff's biggest fan, fishing buddy and the sweetest man you would have ever met. He died in 2003 and naming Samuel after him in 2006 seemed like a tender way to honor the man who would have adored Jeff's son.

Samuel has ended up being the perfect name for our precious boy. In February, I was even more convinced it was the perfect name when God called Samuel in his bedroom late at night. You may remember the spine tingling answer Samuel gave me the day after he asked Jesus in to his heart when I asked him how he knew Jesus didn't already live in his heart, "God told me", he simply stated.

And finally, in most recent months I have gotten really into the genealogy of the Niles side and have found out that "Samuel" is a Niles family name that was given to many of the men in my line and was the middle name of my grandfather's favorite uncle. How perfect and cool is that?

And now for little Roo...

Emily May Irene Henderson joined us in 2008 and we knew from the moment we heard she was a girl what we would name her. I have known since I was an adult that if I had a daughter I would name her after my Grandma Emily. To read more about Gigi, which you should because she is awesome, click on the label "Gigi". You'll be glad you did.

May is a family name: Gigi's mom was Beryl May, Gigi is Emily May, my Mom is Della May and I'm Jennifer May. When I was a kid I didn't like the name, mostly because I was a kid and kids are difficult and one way they are difficult is to gripe about their names. I was pretty typical. Also, there was a boy in my 4th grade class named Jonathan May and the kids would tease me and say I was going to marry Jonathan and my name would be Jennifer May May. Kids are so stupid.

So up until about a month before I delivered Emily we were just going to call her Emily Irene, the Irene being after Jeff's grandma (Ed's wife). One night Jeff and I were feeling her move and groove in my belly and he said that he thought we should name her Emily May Irene so she could be named after me and carry on the May tradition. It seemed so sentimental and sweet to me that I was surprised it hadn't been more obvious to me before. My Mom was ELATED!

Here's a picture of Emily and Emily when Roo was 2 months old and we took her to Montana the first time. I will never forget the look on Gig's face when she met her namesake for the first time at the Montana airport...it was magical.

Now just for fun I will tell you why we call her Roo...

When she was born Samuel was only 22 months old and couldn't say "Emily" so he called her "Emmy"; we all started calling her that and in a sing-songy nick-namey way I called her "Emmy Roo" one day and it sort of stuck. A few days of calling her Emmy Roo and Hot Jeff shortened it to "Roo" and that REALLY stuck. Now, 2 and half years later if you ask her what her name is, 85% of the time she will tell you "Roo". It makes me smile every time. It also makes me smile when I hear Samaria and Caleb Brown call her Roo (I'm not even sure they know her real name) and when my friends call her Roo. There is something really endearing about it; like they know and love her.

How did you come up with your kids' names? Did you call them their names before they were born or did you have a pet name for them before they were born/a part of you family?

2010-06-24T09:45:00.001-07:00

I Got What I Deserved--I Hate It When That Happens

I want you to know I almost took Bex's advice and offered myself the reward of writing this blog post after I put the laundry away. And later this morning I would like to tell you that I will be waiting to apply sunless tanner until after I unload the dishes but that would be a lie. And while I do think Bex's idea has merit, I only read it like 5 minutes ago and so I feel like I need to let it sink in awhile. Like perhaps...all day.

I have a "when and then" saying with my kids. It goes like this, "When you ____________, then you may_____________." For example, "When you finish your dinner, then you may get down from the table". I think this is what Bex is telling me to do. Oh wise Bex...you will make a fabulous mother to Fatty. I can just see her (with her flawless skin, stylish clothing and flowing blond hair), "Jen, when you finish you household chores, then you can blog". Of course I didn't hear a word she was saying because I was wondering where she got those shoes.

Ok, where was I...oh yes, I got what I deserved.

So you may have read on Facebook this weekend (and if you didn't then you should either friend me or stop blocking my posts) that I got a speeding ticket. A ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY DOLLAR SPEEDING TICKET. I think I'm going to start taking lactating vitamins and then pump and sell my breast milk to pay for it but that's neither here nor there. The thing about this ticket is that I deserved it. I was going 78 in a 60. (Lori DeBacker if you tell your husband that I will disown you. And if you don't' know who Lori is...Lori is my dear friend and her husband is my insurance agent. And former boss. But that's another story. That has to do with an evil woman who hated me for no good reason. But that's another story.)

So there I am, minding my own business on I-5 and traveling 78 mph hour in 60 mph zone when all of a sudden I got pulled over! And when he asked me if I had a reason for going 78 in a 60 I sheepishly said, "no". So he went back to his car and ran my plates and license, where he saw I have a clean-clean record for over 7+ years, and I sat in my car and prayed. I prayed fervently, "Oh Lord, please don't let me get a ticket. I'll never, ever speed again. Please, please, please don't let me get a ticket. Please let the officer have mercy and not give me a ticket. Please, please, please".

The officer came back to my window and gave me a ticket. And although I have said I would never be one of those women who cry when they get a ticket, I cried. Like a baby. Big, huge, crocodile tears fell from eyes and down my cheeks as he explained if I went to court on the appointed date the judge would see my record and most likely dismiss the ticket. More tears. And then a really slobbery, snotty, "I'm sorry I'm crying. I promise I'm not trying to manipulate you. I can't believe I'm crying". Oh how I would love to have his recording of that conversation. We could sit around and drink margaritas and laugh at what a buffoon I am.

As I drove off I thought about my earlier prayer and how God didn't answer it. I sort of smiled thinking how silly it was of me to pray to get out of what I really deserved. I broke the law but didn't have any remorse until it was time for me to face the consequence. Oh my though, when faced with the consequence I sure had a contrite heart!

If I'm being honest, I think I do that a lot. With my family, with my friends and especially with God. And here's the quirky thing: almost always I don't get what I deserve. When I'm pissy with my husband and he calls me out I say I'm sorry and we go on with our day. He doesn't get pissy in return. He doesn't read to me from 2 Corinthians about how love is kind. Nope, he just goes on loving me and not keeping a record of wrongs.

And oh my Heavenly Father...oh I haven't gotten what I deserve from Him. Max Lucado writes that if we never receive any other gift from God other than our eternal salvation that is enough for us to never cease praising Him, calling Him 'good' and thanking Him. I don't have the right to ask Him for anything else yet I do (because through the His Spirit and the blood shed of His Son He grants me access to Himself and even desires to hear my prayers). And day after day He pours blessings out on me, provides for me and my family in measurable and immeasurable ways and ever answers my prayers.

So there in my car, driving a smooth 60 mph, I thanked God for the ticket. Yes, I thanked God for the ticket because He could have reminded me to slow down through an awful accident but again, He was kind, gracious, slow to anger, compassionate, etc. etc. I thanked Him for the reminder that His grace isn't cheap and that His blessings aren't to be taken for granted. I thanked Him that, when it came to my heart and my salvation, I didn't get what I deserved.

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

p.s.
A big hearty thank you to those of you who commented yesterday. I appreciate the great advice, blended with "don't sweat the small stuff" regarding the house. Jen R., thanks for the encouragement regarding God's work in my heart.

I have great readers!

2010-06-23T04:04:00.000-07:00

Verbal Processing

I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me lately but it seems everything I do I only do half way. And it appears my house is a microcosm of my life. Let me paint a picture:

On my night stand, next to my bed which I rarely make, is 5 books. FIVE BOOKS. All of them are started, underlined, being enjoyed but none of them are finished. It is ridiculous.

In my kitchen, everything is clean but there is clutter. There is a pile of mail that needs to be sorted, the kitchen aid mixer is on the counter and just needs to be put underneath in a cupboard, Emily's lunch box is leaning on the back splash and I have seriously no idea how long its been there--it just needs to be put in a cupboard that is 2 feet away but I just keep looking at it and wiping around it.

In my family room the laundry is clean, folded and waiting for me to put it away. We just keep grabbing clean clothes out of the pile and adding freshly washed clothes to it. A whole week its been stacked there on the back of the couch.

In my heart I feel the same way. I sit down in the mornings to spend time with Jesus and the phone rings or the kids need something or I think of something that has to be done right now and my Bible just sits open in my big, red chair waiting to be read.

The kids and I are in a disconnect. They are seriously pushing my buttons; I mean ganging up on me like nobody's business and taking me down. Lately it seems like a game of who can be more disobedient and it is totally my fault because I'm not following through with consistent (consistent, not constant) discipline. Again, just kind of half way. Insert funny story: earlier this week I told Samuel that if he didn't put his markers away I was going to take him down to China town. His reply: "Is China town a real place?"

I'm half way to the weight I want to lose by my birthday and I cannot, to save my life, get back on program. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PUT THE CARBS DOWN.

I know you're thinking it so let me go ahead and tell you: I'm in a good place mentally. My increased dosage of my crazy pills are doing the trick and I feel sane and balanced. With that said, I am having some motivation problems and am not sure if the root lies with my struggle with depression and anxiety or something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty quick to label things "Due to Depression" but I sense in my heart that this is something more. I sense this is a Me n' Jesus thing--in a good way. In a "hold your horses" way. I'm not trying to imply Jesus is telling me to not to clean out the fridge, although THAT WOULD BE AWESOME IF HE DID, I'm just processing what's going on in my heart and I think it is kind of manifesting itself in my home. Either that or I am getting incredibly lazy with age.

I feel a stirring. Does that make sense? And how ironic is it that the stirring is zapping me of any energy, vision or follow through yet I still think its a stirring? I'm not sure. I'm hoping the wise Jen Roth will read this post and shed some light on it. Good ol' Bex Mann appears to have the perfect Scripture verse for anything and is spiritually strong beyond her years so I'm hoping she'll leave a comment that spurns direction. No pressure ladies.

If all else fails, Shannon got home last night from vacation and she will at a minimum tell me to get off the computer and go get my house picked up. Shannon is a firm believer that house clutter equates mind and heart clutter and I think she may be on to something. If I'm really lucky she will come over with a bottle of something red and sand my dresser.

One final thought, clutter is clutter and its not hurting anything but I know it is not God's intention to work in my heart and while He does so me get lazy with my parenting. I do know that so will you please pray for me that I will have a good discussion with the kids about some ground rules and then have the patience and desire to follow through. Samuel and Emily deserve that and I need to give that to them instead of the short tempered, quick to swat version I've been giving them for the past couple of weeks.

By the way, the 5th book that is on my night stand..."Grace Based Parenting". A wonderful book by Ted Kimmel that changed my view on discipline and how I want my kids' hearts to look at and realized last night I need a refresher. I lost my cool on them after they dumped water out of the bathtub and while Jeff brushed their teeth I went and got it off the bookshelf. I managed to get a few chapters in last night.

Oh Ted Kimmel, can you move in?

2010-06-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

Praying For Your Kids Monday
Adonay ~ Lord, Master

I know last week's PYKM was pretty much just me quoting Ann Spangler's book and I'm going to do it again this week! Her stuff is just so good and her stories relating to Scripture are really powerful, more powerful than anything I could come up with on my own in dealing with topics I'm fairly unfamiliar with.

This week's name and prayer is Adonay, which in Hebrew means "Lord", a name that implies relationship: God Is Lord, and we are His servants.

Spangler writes, "As you pray to Adonay, tell Him you want to surrender every aspect of your life to Him. Pray for the grace to become the kind of servant who is quick to do God's will. Knowing Him as your Lord will help you to discover a true sense of purpose".

You are my Lord; I have no good besides You. Psalm 16:2

Later on in the chapter Spangler writes of the story of Nehemiah found in Nehemiah 4:7-8. Nehemiah was helping to rebuild Jerusalem after it had been destroyed by the Babylonians. He used a rally cry to remind a broken and demoralized group of people of who their God was. Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons and your daughter, your wives and your homes (Neh. 4:14).

Spangler then writes, "Thousands of years later, we still face forces intent on destroying us--enemies that eat away at our faith, that corrode relationships and that destroy families. Some of us are bone weary from the struggle, about to give up on the spouse who seems distant, the child who has wandered away, the job we hate, or the prayer that has gone so long unanswered. Let the words of Nehemiah sink into the raw places of your heart where disappointment lodges: "Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome." Now is not the time to give up or give in. Remember whose servant you are. Fight in His strength for your children, your marriage, your church. Do whatever it takes for however long it takes, knowing the Lord is with you."

Lord, I pray for _________ and that he will humbly allow You to be his Lord, his Master. I pray that in his submission and servanthood that he will be great and mighty in building Your Kingdom. I pray You would pour Your Spirit out on _________ and that even while he is young he will begin to understand that You are the One who sustains him; that You O God are strong and You O Lord are loving. Amen.

2010-06-17T03:37:00.000-07:00

The Most Dramatic Rose Ceremony Ever. Really.

Hot Jeff has discovered the ABC summer hit "The Bachelorette". Yes, Hot Jeff is crushin' a little bit on the adorable, nervous laugher, Ali. He's been getting all caught up on the last 4 weeks in bed on Ruby and despite my attempts to ignore it and read through it I have found myself caught up in the drama. I'm also rooting for Roberto--how seriously sweet and adorable is Roberto?

Anyway, after watching 11 men fall all over this blond beauty for 120 minutes I went to bed thinking about how fun it would be to be the Bachelorette. ABC is flying this gal over the world, hooking her up with clothes and she's the object of affection for 25 hot guys. Granted, many of them are certifiably crazy but it is still pretty fun when she walks in to a room and they all stop what they are doing and APPLAUD!

I began to form my own version of the Bachelorette in my mind, one where the bachelorette is me-- 33 years old and has a stretch marked, post baby bod. I'm going to direct a mini episode for you; feel free to comment and add any other Bachelorette staples that I have missed.

Opening Scene
Me silhouetted on a sunlit beach. I'm jogging and stopping every few feet because when I jog I start to pee. My swimsuit is a black one piece from Lane Bryant and skirted to hide my thighs and hips. Off camera the producer is dangling a meatball sandwich so that I'll run towards the camera.

Voice Over from Chris Harrison
"Jennifer Henderson may not be our typical Bachelorette but America has fallen in love with this 33 year old stay at home mother of two. One woman and 25 men who are all at least 10 years her junior will attempt to find love in this season's most dramatic quest for love yet".

First Scene: Cocktail Party
25 20 somethings are all standing around drinking cocktails and slapping high fives. I walk in through the french doors wearing a shimmering, floor length gown and wearing a front pack with a newborn in it. As the men start to applaud the baby wakes up and they all start to "ooh and aw". Despite never wanting anything to do with children prior to this night they know they are on national TV and the more they suck up to me and the baby the further they will go on the show.

Keith, a 27 year old accountant walks up to me and hands me a blended drink and a warmed bottle. "Can I steal you away?" he asks confidently.

As Keith and I walk out to the dimly lit pool area the camera goes to 3 gorgeous 20 somethings sitting on a leather couch. Max, a 22 year old lifeguard says, "She stunning. She's everything I've ever wanted in a woman". Blake, a 28 year old professional soccer player says, "Her hips are so wide...perfect birthing hips". The 3rd gentleman, Scott, a 27 year old college admissions counselor, nods his head in agreement and simply growls and says, "Cougar".

Commerical break for Slim Fast and Skinny Cow desserts.

2nd scene: Keith and I are sitting on bamboo furniture near a heated pool. I'm nursing the baby and he's playing a tender lullaby on a clarinet. When he finishes he takes my hand in his and says, "I know I just met you but I feel this connection to you. I hope I will get a rose tonight; I want to share my life with you and will be suicidal if you let me go tonight".

As Keith is finishing his heartfelt plea for a rose I put my breast away and hand him the baby. Cut to a confessional of Keith with candles behind him, "When she handed me the baby I knew she was putting her trust in me me. She was letting me know that she felt a connection between us...she felt the spark too. She was essentially handing me her heart".

Cut to me in a different confessional with more candles. My lipstick has rubbed off from kissing 25 men on both of their cheeks all night but my hair is perfectly coiffed. I'm wearing one of their suit jackets over my sleeveless gown. I say, "I handed Keith the baby so he could burp it. I don't really feel anything between Keith and I...I don't think he's genuinely in this for me".

As the camera cuts from the confessional and scans the empty heated pool Chris Harrison's voice comes over and says, "Our bachelorette Jennifer has had a chance to meet our 25 handsome bachelors. Who will she send home to their mothers and who will she give a rose to. Find out next in our most dramatic rose ceremony ever."

Next commercial. More Slim Fast ads and a few diapers and Disney Land ads mixed in.

Scene 3: The Rose Ceremony
I'm standing holding the final rose. I'm biting my lip and twirling it in my fingers. A toddler is clinging to my leg. The camera spans the 25 men standing in 2 rows. 14 of them have roses pinned to their lapels. The camera gives a close up of Keith, who is still holding the baby, and Jack, a 22 year old radio dj, who is wearing a t-shirt under his suit that says "Spank Me".

"Jack." I say with a bittersweet smile. Jack walks forward, "Jack, will you accept this rose?" "You know it" he replies with a wink.

Chris walks in and stands next to me. "Gentlemen, if you did not receive a rose tonight please come say your goodbyes".

Keith walks towards me with tears running down his cheeks and he's holding the baby towards me. "I thought we had something and Junior and I really connected. I wanted to play catch with your kids and take all inclusive vacations with you".

I smile and kiss him on the cheek.

As Keith walks away a large noise is heard off camera and Hot Jeff storms through the doors. "What the hell are all of you doing in my house? Jen, why are the kids still up? The city called me at the office because the neighbors are complaining about the 6 limos lining the street. Dammit Jen, somebody better tell me what's going on here".

The screen goes black and then to a picture of me hugging a dark haired man. There are sirens in the background and police lights flashing in the distance. I have a blanket wrapped around me and I'm crying. Chris Harrison's voice comes over scenes of me kissing different men on different beaches and on top of sky scrapers and in helicopters, "In our most dramatic season in over 9 years Jennifer seeks to find love. Will it be with one of our handsome bachelors or will her husband win her back?" Cut to a scene of me dressed in a ball gown in a gazebo. "All this season on The Bachelorette".

2010-06-16T03:34:00.000-07:00

Go Ahead and Take It Personal

Hi. I'm Jennifer and I'm an awfulizer.

Hi Jennifer.

If I have a stomach ache I assume its cancer and start thinking about who I want to speak at my funeral. If one of my kids complains they have a leg ache I think they have muscular dystrophy and I start planning my life around the Jerry Lewis telethon over Labor Day weekend. When I was pregnant with Samuel, but didn't know it yet, and was throwing up all the time and feeling terrible in the mornings I thought I had become diabetic.

I'm an awfulizer.

So a few nights ago when I read a friend's status update about getting lasik surgery I went to bed wondering if I should get lasik surgery. Of course I came to the conclusion that I should not get lasik surgery because most definitely something would go wrong and I would be blind and Jeff would have to be my full time caretaker and would hate being my full time caretaker and leave me for Ali, the new Bachelorette and I would be a blind old maid whose children are in love with fairy tale characters.

But then my little awfulizer, over-anxious brain began to think about all the possibilities out there that I could lose my contacts or have my glasses broken. Or worse: BOTH! And even though I'm not an end-of-the-world-go-buy-a-bunker-and-100-pounds-of-rice type of girl I began to imagine being in the End Times and on the brink of having my face melted off because I'm a Christ follower and not being able to see because I had lost my contacts or my glasses had broken. And trust me, there is just nothing worse than being as blind as me and not having my contacts or glasses. It is one of the things that get me the most anxious and worked up at any given time.

For example, when going in to surgery a few weeks ago I was neurotic about telling the nurses to have my glasses near by or to put them on me so I could see as I came to in recovery because without them I would never be able to orient. On many occasions I have told Jeff that if I am ever incapacitated and can't speak or move it his sole job to make sure I have my glasses.

Yep, I told you a was a little neurotic.

So...here I am in bed a few nights ago literally breaking in to a sweat thinking about not being able to see should Armageddon befall me. How would I care for my kids? How would I distinguish safety. On and on I went until I finally sat up, turned on the light and said to myself, "You are a lunatic. Go to sleep."

The next morning I got up and made myself a cup of coffee and sat down in my favorite, overstuffed red chair to spend some time with Jesus and read in His Word. I was reading through Isaiah and enjoying the quietness of the house and words before me. I was about to finish up when I flipped back through a couple chapters and randomly started reading in chapter 35. I sat astonished and in awe as I read these words,

Say to those with fearful hearts, "Be strong, do not fear. Your God will come, He will come with vengeance, with divine retribution He will come to save you. Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped". Isaiah 35: 4-5

The Creator of the Universe, the One who was in charge of making sure the sun rose that very morning was meeting me in my living room and letting me know He saw me and was bigger than my fears. He will come to save you. I don't need to fear not being able to see should the end of the world be upon me; the One who has already won the victory will come for me and open my blind eyes.

God could have very easily left me a note that morning that said, "Try leaving crazy in the bottle and perhaps you should bump your meds up to 60mg". I don't think He would have, but He could have. But instead, He sends me this little love note in the form of some random passage written a gajillion years ago by a smelly old prophet to let me know He loves me, He will not abandon me and He sees me. He is El Roi.

When I told my friend Cary the story later that day her voice cracked with tears as she said, "Oh, He is so personal". I hadn't thought of it like that and I absolutely loved that--yes, He is so personal and spoke to my heart and mind exactly in the way that I needed that very morning.

I went ahead and took it personal.

2010-06-15T04:11:00.000-07:00

And the Best Bestie Is...

Last week, as part being-funny on Facebook and part begging-serious I posted as my status update that the title of Best Bestie was up for grabs to the first person who brought me a Diet Coke.

About one hour later my doorbell rang and who was at my door but my friend Janet AND she was holding 2 Diet Cokes! Now not only was Janet holding 2 Diet Cokes she was in her fire fighter uniform and DRIVING A FIRE TRUCK!

Janet gave the kids stickers and trading cards and let them check out the truck. The only thing that could have made the visit any better was if Janet could have stayed and had a DC with me. Alas, she had to go check hydrants in my neighborhood so she dropped and ran (after posing for pictures).

Seriously, how stinking great is Janet? You are all pretty jealous, aren't you?

So without further adieu... I hereby name Janet as Best Bestie. She will furthermore be known as Best Bestie and enjoy all rights and privileges due to that title.

2010-06-14T11:15:00.000-07:00

Praying For Your Kids Monday
Yahweh

(yah-WEH)

This week's name of God is jammed packed with information; way too much information for me to provide in one blog post. I really encourage you to buy Ann Spangler's book, if for only for these 14 pages. She goes in to such amazing detail about this name and reading it this morning (after I found my book, of course) I was struck with how complex our God is. We simply cannot fathom with our human minds and hearts His character, His complexity and His awesomeness. This chapter is amazing.

Spangler writes, "The name Yahweh occurs more than 6800 times in the Old Testament. Yahweh is the name that is most closely linked to God's redeeming acts in the history of His chosen people. We know God because of what He has done. When you pray to Yahweh, remember that He is the same God who draws near to save you from the tyranny of sin just as He saved His people from tyrannical slavery in Egypt."

God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: 'I AM has sent me to you.'"

God also said to Moses, "Say to the Israelites, 'The LORD [Yahweh], the God of your fathers--the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob--has sent me to you.' This is my name forever, the name by which I am to be remembered from generation to generation." Exodus 3:14-15

Again, in referring to this passage, Spangler writes, "The mysterious self-description in Exodus 3:14, "I AM WHO I AM," may convey the sense that not only God is self-existent but that He is always present with His people. Yahweh is not a God who is remote or all of the One who is always near, intervening in history on behalf of His people. The knowledge of God's proper name implies a covenant relationship. God's covenant name is closely associated with His saving acts in Exodus. The name Yahweh evokes images of God's saving power in the lives of His people."

Read Psalm 103:1-13...where LORD is written you can insert Yahweh and sing this praise to the God who fights for you, who fights for your children. To the God whose name forever means deliverance, freedom, promise and power.

Yahweh, I bow before You for the deliverance and redemption You have brought in my life. You continually part seas in my life and in my heart and bring victory over darkness. I pray for _________ today and I pray You will forgive her sin, heal her disease, redeem her life from the pit. I pray You will crown her with love and compassion and satisfy her desires with good things. Yahweh, You are compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love; thank you for blessing _________ and not treating her as her sins deserve. Your love is great for those who fear You. Amen.

2010-06-14T03:50:00.000-07:00

Praying For Your Kids Monday
Slight Delay

You see, that's the problem with being me...I can't find my book. The book which I've been referencing for this series. And part of the reason why I can't find my book is because I haven't used it since last week when I wrote PYKM when I was in Montana. I'm almost certain I packed it because I have a vague recollection of actually placing it in my suitcase...

But herein lies the problem, when I went to the suitcase to find it tonight it wasn't there. And yes, you read that right. When I went to the suitcase to find it tonight it wasn't there. You have found me out. I have been home for 6 days and haven't unpacked. Yes, my suitcase and the kids' suitcase is on the floor of my bedroom and I have just been pulling clothing out of it all week long (as I did up all the laundry before I left my Mom's).

And here's another little secret: I have been known to leave a suitcase on the floor until I have another trip.

Wow, I can't believe I just told the whole wide Internet that.

So anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I can't find my book and will look all over for it tomorrow and try to get a fresh, piping hot and wonderfully thought-provoking PYKM up by noon! And maybe I'll even get that suitcase unpacked while I'm looking for it. Now wouldn't that be productive of me. Also, incredibly out of character so I doubt it.

Besides, I'm going to Seattle in 2 weeks and will need that bag and there's really no sense in putting it in the closet when I'm just going to be using it again in 14 days. Right?

2010-06-11T03:54:00.000-07:00

Head Ogre Heels In Love

We were a little on the fence about letting the kids watch the movie Shrek. It has a lot of adult humor in it but after some discussion we decided we would let them watch it as the adult humor is over their heads, it has a sweet message about beauty and they would love the 'story' of it. FYI, because we don't have a TV and don't eat fast food we didn't even know Shrek 4 was coming out but have since discovered that little tidbit out and it has helped add to the madness I'm about to describe.

Samuel, bless his heart, is me but 29 years younger and blond. He looks like me, he acts like me, he wakes up like me, he freaks out like me...He's me. He's more introverted than I would ever dream of being (he gets that from Hot Jeff) but all in all--he's me. So it comes to no surprise to me that when Samuel gets in to something he GETS INTO SOMETHING. Like full-throttle-ain't-nothing-stopping-me-now-I'm-buying -everything-in-sight-with-that-on-it. You know his Lightning McQueen phase has lasted over a full year and 2 birthday parties. He's got EVERY Cars car imaginable, a Cars bed, a Cars scooter, a Cars bike, Cars clothes, Cars, Cars, Cars. Up until a few weeks ago Samuel ate, breathed and slept Lightning McQueen...but that all changed when he watched Shrek.

We don't just watch a movie once around this place. We watch it until we have every single line memorized so about 3 days after introducing Shrek to the kids we had watched it about 177 times. That night while I was making dinner Samuel said coyly to me, "Mama, I think I need something soft to sleep with". I began to list the names of the stuffed, soft items in his bed when he quickly stopped me and said, "No Mama, I'm thinking something soft...like Fiona doll".

A Fiona doll? Like the Princess in the movie? The girl? The one with the breasts and wearing a dress? Back. The. Truck. Up. What did you say?

"But not the first Fiona" he corrected, "the second Fiona; the one at the end". "The ogre?" I questioned. Samuel nodded, love filling his eyes.

Not knowing that if I went to any toy store in America I would be barraged with Shrek toys I explained that Shrek was an old movie and I didn't think we could buy Shrek toys anymore. I suggested we find a picture of her online and print it out...big hit. Huge hit. Ginormous hit.

Here she is...

Hot Jeff "laminated" her with contact paper which turned out to be the best idea HE HAS EVER HAD because, no lie, Samuel carries her with him everywhere. I am not kidding you, he doesn't go anywhere without her. I knew there was something ~~obsessive compulsive and creepy~~ sweet about it when I went to tuck him in that night and she was lying next to him in his bed. When he said his prayers that night he thanked God for her.

Oh, it gets better. That weekend Hot Jeff camped in the living room with the kids and he overheard Samuel say to Fiona, "I love you. Goodnight." Jeff whispered to him, "Samuel, what does Shrek think about you loving Fiona so much?" "Don't say that name to me, Dad" Samuel barked.

When Samuel takes a bath at night he props Fiona up on the counter and tells us, "She likes to watch me take a bath".

Have you pee'd your pants laughing yet? Ordered a psych eval on my kid yet? Well here ya' go...while in Montana last week Samuel took his church shoes to Jeff and asked if he would help put them on. Jeff inquired why and Samuel told him it was because he and Fiona were getting married and these were his 'wedding shoes'. He walked around with her all night telling everyone who would listen that he had "married his darling". No kidding.

The next morning he announced to me that he and Fiona had a baby (I can only assume they got married because she was pregnant) and I texted Kara the news, "A mother-in-law and a grandmother all within 18 hours". "Congratulations" she texted back.

Since we were on vacation I got a lot of pictures and wouldn't you know that Fiona is in all of them. Well, why wouldn't she be? She is Samuel's darling after all.

Samuel and Fiona on the Montana/Wyoming border.

Emily, Nana, Samuel and...Fiona

Posing naked at Nana's with their silly glasses and...Fiona.

This afternoon I had a quick follow up with the surgeon who had done my stent and I took the kids as I knew it would be in and out. I made Samuel leave Fiona in the car because it was pouring and I was afraid she would get wet and I would have to deal with a devastated Samuel while at the hospital. We ended up waiting for 55 minutes to see the surgeon because he had "an emergency come up" and when we returned to the car I heard Samuel say to Fiona in an exasperated voice, "Fiona, I am so sorry that took so long. I hope you didn't miss me too much."

I found a Fiona ogre plush doll on ebay and I think I'm going to get it for him. He will go absolutely bonkers over it; all the crazy he has left in his bottle he will just dump all over the floor and roll in it. It should be awesome. I'll try and roll some video for you.

2010-06-10T03:44:00.000-07:00

Damsel in Distress

With another rainy Oregon day on our hands we declared yesterday a pajama day.

We brought the rocket ship (the box Ella was shipped in) downstairs from the playroom and Samuel and Emily flew to the moon, played hide and seek and saved the princess over and over from the dangerous, fire breathing dragon who apparently resides in our hall closet.

While unloading the dishwasher I heard them marching around the family room, foam swords in hand. I heard Samuel direct his sister, "We must save the Princess. She's going to be eaten. Hurry, we must find her". They marched in to the kitchen where I was bent over my most favorite of all household appliances. Samuel shouted excitedly, "There's the Princess. She's unloading the dishwasher. Saaaaaave her!"

Yes, please save me from the dreaded duty of unloading the dishwasher and vacuuming and cleaning toilets and folding laundry... and for crying out loud someone get me a tiara!

2010-06-09T08:26:00.001-07:00

Wash With Like Colors and Tumble Dry Low (A Precautionary Tail)

Typically I don't blog at 8:30 in the morning. Usually I blog at night after Samily have gone to bed and while Hot Jeff reads the paper and I just schedule it to post the next morning while you are sleeping soundly. Bestie Kim likes to read it with her morning coffee so I try to please her by having fresh stuff up in the am. Today though, my home is in post-vacation tornado status and I'm trying to do anything and everything instead of cleaning it. I'm pretty sure the disaster known as post-vacation is covered under my homeowners insurance.

I also needed to get another post up because seriously, how lame was yesterday's post? I'm not even sure telling you about how good it felt to sleep in my own bed counts as a real post. You can stop throwing tomatoes at me...I have a good post for you today. The suggestion comes from Eric the Bastard who I don't think is a bastard anymore. Thanks to our mutual friend, Green-Bean Stir Fry Rachel, we are now Facebook friends and it appears he has stopped breaking up with girls who have black eyes, and breaking up with girls who have black eyes is the sole reason he was a bastard.

Eric the not-a-bastard-anymore read the post about me killing my neighbor's cat and sent me a note on Facebook reminding me of the time my cat Macy got locked in the dryer. Yes, I said dryer. As in the large household appliance used to remove moisture from a load of clothing. Just making sure we're on the same page.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior year of college and I was still living at home at my Mom's house in Park City. We had some company coming from out of town the following day. Having sworn off summer classes, I was home washing bedding for the guest bedroom. The bedspread on the guest bed was a charming quilt my Mom had sewn; it was thick and cozy and a favorite place for my cat, Macy, to lay. To be ready for company I decided to wash it and hang it out on the line to dry.

Only minutes after I hung the freshly washed, wet quilt out on the line it started to rain. I darted out the back door and rescued the rung out quilt from becoming dripping with the Montana summer shower.

I had just put the quilt in the dryer when the phone rang. Leaving the dryer door open I ran to answer the phone. It was Eric the not-a-bastard-yet calling to confirm our dinner plans for that evening. With the cordless phone I went back to the laundry room and without thought or hesitation, finished shoving the quilt in and shut the dryer door. I turned it on for 70 minutes and turned the setting to "Cotton/Sturdy". I turned out the light and shut the door before sitting and gabbing on the phone.

About 5 minutes in to the conversation I said to Eric, "I hear something. I hear a weird thumping". I sat quietly, listening closer. Me-ooow. Thump. Me-ooow. Thump. Me-oow. Thump. Like a bolt of lightning it hit me what had happened, I shouted in to the phone, "oooooooh nooooooo" and dropped it, sprinting to the laundry room. I flung open the dryer door and madly dug into the quilt. I felt damp fur and gently pulled the limp cat from the inside of the heavy, still sodden quilt. Macy weakly cried as I patted her head.

This would be a good time for Eric to comment and let us know if I hung up the phone or if he had to just sit and listen to me sob and pray that I hadn't killed my cat. I don't remember. I just remember the feel of her clammy fur and how her tongue hung droopily out of her panting mouth.

I rushed outside to the patio in an attempt to cool her down. The rain was softly falling and it was cool for a June day. I sat out there, holding her and crying for 10 minutes or so when I decided to come in and call the veterinarian.

The vet had me do a few home-tests to test Macy's vision and hearing and since she was standing and her tongue wasn't hanging out anymore he concluded she didn't need to be seen. She was walking like it was her 21st birthday but overall she seemed to be coming out of it ok.

I went on to have pizza at Eric's house that night and Macy went on to live another 4 or 5 years, much to mother's chagrin. When she died years after the unpleasant event I had Mom bury her in a Maytag box with a fabric sheet.

p.s.
This is why I don't blog while the kids are awake...Samuel just cut Emily's hair.

2010-06-08T19:52:00.000-07:00

I can't think of a thing to write about. Not one single thing.

We are home from Montana and I feel all lazy and sloth-like. The kids are in bed and I just want to curl up next to Hot Jeff and read a book and enjoy the feeling of my own bed, my soft sheets and my fat cat lying next to me. Oh, the sweet pleasures of being home.

The kids were amazing on the ride home. It took us just under 16 hours to get home which is so much better than the 18 it took to get out there. We stopped so many times on the way there because of my dysfuntional kidneys and stented bladder. My husband is a saint and didn't make me pee in the container I had brought along even once. He never rolled his eyes when I said I needed to stop and he even encouraged me to drink lots of water as it would aide in my recovery. I adore that man and his endless patience and kindness.

Today was a great day of unwinding, getting the house back in order and catching up on emails and grocery shopping. Now that I'm home I'm hoping my brain will move from not blogging to blogging and once again I will lie awake writing posts in my head and arguing with myself about what to write about next.

I may have to use a prompt tomorrow...I'm just warning you. I saved all the ones from last time I was in a funk so I'm armed!

2010-06-07T03:50:00.000-07:00

Praying for Your Kids Monday
Yahweh Yireh ~ The Lord Will Provide

(yah-WEH yir-EH)

Ann Spangler writes of Yahweh Yireh, "The Hebrew raah (RA-ah, from which yireh is derived) means "to see". In this case [Genesis 22:13-14], it is translated as "provide". Since God sees the future as well as the past and present, He is able to anticipate and provide for what is needed. When you pray to Yahweh Yireh, you are praying to the God who sees the situation beforehand and is able to provide for your needs".

God first revealed this name to Abraham in Genesis when He provided a ran for Abraham to sacrifice after Abraham had not withheld anything, even his own son, from God.

I remember reading this story after becoming a mother. I heard the story hundreds of times before but my mother's heart came in to play while reading it this time. I imagined Abraham's heart as he headed up the mountain to sacrifice his only son as God had asked of him. Had he told Sarah? Did she know that this was no ordinary trip and that her son would not be returning with his father? I simply cannot fathom how Abraham, and possibly Sarah, felt as God called them to sacrifice their only son, the child they had prayed and prayed for.

In Spangler's book she asks the reader to put themselves in the place of God in this story, to imagine how happy it must have made Him to provide the ram so that Abraham wouldn't have to sacrifice his son. I imagine that as pleased as He was with Abraham's obedience His heart ached looking in to the future and knowing that one day He would provide His own Son as the ransom for the whole world.

God's grace is never cheap. Through the blood of His only Son He has provided for every spiritual, material and emotional need we, or our children, will ever need. May we never take His ultimate sacrifice for granted, may our children always know His redemption was bought with a price and long to obey Him without compromise.

Yahweh Yireh, thank You for seeing my children and their circumstances long before they ever will and long before they can understand. Yahweh Yireh, You long to bless __________ for his obedience to You. I pray You will pour Your Spirit out on him and he will never forget that Your grace isn't cheap. I pray You will help __________ to obey without hesitation and without compromise. Amen.

2010-06-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

I Found My Password

Ok, so I didn't really lose my password...I'm just a total slacker.

And since today is FAQ Friday I'll make up a question that suits what I want to write about...

How's your vacation going?

Oh, thanks for asking. My vacation is going wonderful. I didn't realize how much I needed it.

I have this misconception that vacation equates big trip with daily activities that typically include a Disney character. As I've reflected these last few days I realize I have had this misconception and while a busy vacation is a wonderful get-away its typically not all that relaxing. This Montana trip has been SO relaxing.

More times than not, when we come out here Jeff has stayed home. Not because he hates my Mom or Montana but rather because we are coming for 2-3 weeks and he just doesn't have that kind of vacation time to just blow on one trip. So, Hot Jeff is out here with me (spreading his hotness to the friendly folks of the Big Sky Country) and so I don't have that pull of loving being here but really missing my husband. 2 words: huge release.

Another thing is I really underestimated how much recovery I would actually need after my little kidney stone incident. I've been surprised at some of the residual pain/discomfort I've had and how I have needed to take a pain pill or two and watch a movie on Mom's couch. Its been so nice to have the freedom to do that.

Lastly, as I shared very briefly and flippantly a few posts ago, my Shrink increased my depression/anxiety meds from 20mg to 40mg. As you may or may not know, any change in that kind of medicine typically takes 3-4 weeks for the effects to be felt. This week in Montana has been the 4th week and its has been astounding to me to see the change those extra 20mg have made in my heart and head.

Its interesting to me that God allowed my physical and emotional needs to culminate and come to a head simultaneously. During my time on the couch or sleeping in late I've reflected and in turn praised and thanked God for giving me this week of relaxation which has brought my body and heart restoration. I truly feel like "my old self' again and I know the Lord has used the power of medicine and science to bring healing from head to toe.

In the last few weeks of emotional struggle I have felt the El Roi (the God who sees me) so close to me. Not necessarily speaking in a booming voice and giving me "aha" moments every morning but more a of a quiet arm around my shoulders loving me and comforting me. I've felt His Presence reminding me that we all have seasons of silence and struggle, and in my case, even when all circumstances are going perfect and we don't even have a "reason" for sadness or strife. Sometimes the internal strife needs just as much attention as the external.

So that's my last week of internet quiet in a nutshell. Thanks for being patient. Thanks for your funny comments. Thanks for reading my rambling thoughts day after day. Thanks for loving me through this online journal. I take full responsibility for your poor kids who most definitely haven't been prayed for all week long--poor babies.

2010-05-31T07:03:00.001-07:00

PYKM

Friends, I kind of forgot its Monday! Vacation hazard. We are headed to Wyoming nice and early this morning so I'll either get PYKM up this evening or in the morning.

-Jen

2010-05-28T04:16:00.000-07:00

FAQ Friday

Where have you been the last 4 days?

Alright, so technically no one asked me this question but I'm sure some of you are wondering so I'll give you all the gory details. You've been warned, there is a lot of talk about urine in the paragraphs ahead.

Tuesday I just didn't feel like blogging. I had zero energy. I had about 4 different ideas floating around in my head and just couldn't settle on one long enough to get an opening sentence. Zilch. Despite wanting to just lay around all day I managed to get some pretty big things done in preparation for my trip to Montana this morning. Tires rotated, trip to Costco, laundry and some initial packing. I was done in though. By that afternoon I was looking at the calendar to see if I was supposed to be getting my period because only that typically makes me that tired.

I went our for a margarita with Kara that night. Despite being tired, I felt fine and had a delightful time. I was home by 10:00 and in bed by 11. I awoke at 1:00am with severe abdomen pain. I woke Jeff up and thus began our long night. By 2:00 my pain was worsening and we were starting to toss around the idea of going to the emergency room, which made me super nervous and gave me the 'rhea (oh that's just the beginning of TMI). By 2:30 we had decided I would drive myself to the hospital, he would call and wake his parents in 2 hours and meet me there. My pain was intensifying but I felt ok enough to drive and we wanted to let his parents sleep as long as we could sensing they may be in for a long day with our midgets.

Upon arriving at the ER the admitting nurse took me right back to a triage room; I was sweating, pale, wiggling and jiggling from the pain and shivering. Before even registering me they whisked me back for a urine sample. Really funny story involving urine coming your way...

I pee'd in the cup and with trembling hands screwed the lid on. I placed it in the thick, brown bag and washed my hands. I walked down the long corridor, turned the corner to head back in to the triage area when I felt a drip, drip on my toes through my sandals. Knowingly I looked at the bag...yes, the cup was leaking. By the matchless grace of God there was a random sink in this long hallway. I rushed the bag to the sink, removed the cup and screwed the lid on tight salvaging the little bit of urine left in the cup. Sighing, sweating and racked with pain I did what all mothers would do: I grabbed a hand full of paper towels and cleaned up the drops of urine the entire way back to the bathroom. Oh, I wish you could have seen it.

Back in the triage room, another nurse took blood, got my vitals and encouraged me to breathe through the pain like I learned in childbirth classes. Genius.

Within a few minutes the admitting nurse took me back to an ER room where I was quickly hooked up to an IV and the sweet stinging sensation of morphine was in my veins. Hooray. I sat back, closed my eyes and took a several deep breaths. Wait for it. Wait for it. Minutes passed but no relief. Little D, the amazing ER nurse, noticed the pain on my face and said she was going to give me another dose. Heat rushed to my neck and I felt like I was floating, I remember telling Little D I would make a terrible drug addict because I did not love that feeling. Wait for it. Wait for it. Several more minutes passed without any relief. Another dose. 3 doses of morphine baby! Are you kidding me? When the third only took the edge off she brought out the big guns of dolotin (and the only way I can remember that name is because it reminded me of gelatin). That was the drug that made me a satisfied customer and ready for a CT scan.

By 5:00 am Hot Jeff had found me and had gotten there in time to hear the ER doctor tell me the CT had spotted a 6mm kidney stone in my left kidney. 6mm is about the size of a large peppercorn and he informed me that his experience had shown them that is too big to pass and I would need to surgery to remove it. All nervousness that had risen in my chest immediately dissipated when he said I would be admitted. Admitted?? Best news all week. I gave high fives all around thinking of an overnight stay and break from cooking, cleaning and diapering. (Side note: cute ER doctor told me there is a 4mm kidney stone ticking in my right kidney. Urologist wouldn't remove it yesterday because he didn't want "to work on both engines at the same time". Kind of a bummer.)

By 9 am I was admitted to a room on the 5th floor with a surgery time of 2:15pm on the schedule. Around 1:30 they wheeled me back to the OR prep; Hot Jeff was able to wait with me right up until they gave me happy juice in my IV and wheeled me back to the actual operating room. It was a bright, pristine, cold room that I remember seeing for all of 60 seconds.

I woke up in the recovery room oriented and knowing what had happened so instead of the 2 hours of recovery time as they had told Hot Jeff to anticipate I was in my room within about 45 minutes. On the way to my room, lying in a bed, I saw another woman in a bed being wheeled towards me. She had a cat sitting on her shoulders! I told the guy transporting me, "That woman has a cat on her shoulders. I wish I would have brought my cat!" He responded, "Lady, you are on some good dope".

After getting the post-op pain manageable, kept dinner down and pee'd on my own my doctor told me the devastating news that he would be sending me home that night. I held in my tears and disappointment as I looked at the clock and knew my in-laws would have put my babies down and I would be able to go home and go straight to bed, well straight to bed after I updated my Facebook page.

Day one of of post-op has been up and down but mostly good which means I will be taking my pathetic kidneys to Montana as planned. Wahoo!

Have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend and I'll try to stay out of the hospital. Posts from Big Sky Country on Monday!

2010-05-24T03:53:00.000-07:00

PYKM
El-Olam ~ The Everlasting or Eternal God

(EL o-LAM)

This name of God which occurs only four times in Hebrew Scriptures is translated as "eternal", "everlasting", "forever" or "ancient". The title is referring to God; His laws, promises and covenant and is first found In Genesis 21:32-33.

In the book which we are going through, Praying the Names of God, Spangler writes, "El Olam is the Hebrew name for the God who has no beginning and no end, the God for whom a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day. His plans stand firm forever...When you pray to El Olam, you are praying to the God whose Son is called the Alpha and Omega. He is the God whose love endures forever".

It seems we are all getting older.

Hot Jeff turned 40 last October and I found my first grey hair a few weeks ago. Despite my feeble attempts to slow time down (and cover it up) it seems to rage on.

I see the passage of time most clearly in my kids. Each day Samuel seems a little taller and Emily astounds me with her clear sentences. Perhaps its the hardest watching Emily grow so quickly because she's the baby; she's the one who should stay little because she is the last one.

The feeling of immortality I once held with pride fades with each yearly rendition of "Happy Birthday" and I know that while I may not be old, I am not getting any younger. My children, while always younger than me, are getting older too. Right now their worries are whether or not I will make them eat their vegetables or not but soon enough they will be worrying about grades, peers, sports and identity. Its not easy growing up and growing older.

What I learn from this name of God is though I grow older God remains the same. He is not immature from youth; He is not slower because of age. His attention is not short from a wrestling to be outside playing; He is not slumbering in the afternoon because of an achy, arthritic body. He increases my strength and renews my spirit because He has eternal vitality.

El Olam, Your promises never fail us and You have set eternity in the heart of _________. I pray that as she grows You will deepen her hope of heaven and give her a burning desire to know Your Son, the Alpha and Omega, as her Savior and Redeemer. I pray _________ will find her strength in You, Who does not grow tired or weary and Who increases the power of the weak. Amen.

2010-05-21T04:12:00.000-07:00

FAQ Friday ~ The Story of Us

How did you and Hot Jeff meet?

When this question came up I knew it would be the perfect kick off to FAQ Friday. I'm convinced the only thing women like talking about more than how they met their husband is their childrens' birth stories. Ooh, good idea for another Friday.

Travel back with me to May 1997. OJ Simpson had been found guilty in a civil trial and Princess Diana only had a few short months to live. Turn the radio on and you'd hear Mariah Carey, Hanson and Garth Brooks and Ally McBeal was just starting to heat up TV screens everywhere.

I was 20 years old and wondering what to do with my summer besides take summer courses. My dear friend Jami was getting married to her high school sweetheart, Mark, and then going to work at a remote fishing camp in Alaska. I can't remember if I was immediately turned on to the idea or not but regardless, before it was time to head out I had phone interviewed for a job and would be flying out in a few short weeks.

Mark was a summer fishing guide and worked for this camp the year prior. He was going to take his new bride Jami up with him for a summer adventure and she was going to be working in the kitchen with the camp manager's wife, Miranda. Miranda hired me to work in the kitchen with them despite my cooking knowledge being less than desirable.

(A side note on this kitchen: because the island we were on was so remote all of our stoves and ovens were run by a gigantic propane tank. Our electricity was from a generator and all of our food was flown in on a bypass order every 2 weeks. We made almost everything from scratch--it was amazing and gave me a wonderful foundation of cooking and baking knowledge. Miranda was a wonderful, patient teacher and mine and Jami's friendship blossomed and grew during our 3 months on the Togiak River.)

Mark, Jami, Mark's brother, Paul, and I flew to Anchorage where we would meet up with the rest of the small staff flying in from California, Arizona, Oregon and Idaho. It was in Anchorage that Mark introduced me to Jeff. Jeff was special to Mark as they had been roommates the summer prior; they both were returning to the Togiak for their second season.

To this day I can tell you what Jeff was wearing. Faded blue jeans with well-worn brown Danner boots. He had a bright blue Patagonia fleece over his Simms collared shirt and a baseball cap. His short blond hair barely peeked out from underneath the hat and his face was a golden brown from the Oregon sun. He was 27 and living his dream of fishing in Alaska; the last thing on his mind was romance.

The first two weeks of camp life was without any guests. We literally spent 12 hours a day preparing camp; endless cleaning, hauling out debris the river had washed in, baking and freezing. They were exhausting days and I remember going to my cabin the first night by lantern light and wondering if I had made a dreadful mistake. Loneliness flooded my heart and mind and I missed my Mom and heat.

During those first two weeks, to cut down on washing dishes (because our time needed to be spent elsewhere) Jami and I labeled everyone's cups so we could re-use them at meals. Cleverly, Jami would always set my cup next to Jeff's at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I don't recall telling her that I was attracted to his adorable face and his gentle and kind nature but nevertheless she sat us next to each other for every meal for 14 days.

On the second to last day before guests arrived the camp manager asked Jeff to take me out and show me the river. I hadn't been off the island since my arrival and to see the river that all the guides were talking about would be a huge thrill.

We set off early after breakfast and had a wonderful day. For the first time since meeting one another Jeff turned the flirting on. He was shy, soft-spoken, charming and so dreamy. We flirted and fished all day (I actually have a picture of us taken that day--I'll drum it up and try to post it this weekend) and went back to camp tired and totally crushing on each other.

The next day brought a ton of work as it was the last day before guests arrived. There was hardly any time to breathe let alone turn the charm on. As the day wore on and I didn't see much of him I wondered if I had imagined all the flirting the day before. That night after dinner was cleaned up Jeff asked if I wanted to play the board game Sorry. We took it back to my cabin and played for hours. While playing we talked about our families, our upbringings, school, etc. We laughed and joked and lost complete track of time. When one of us finally did look at a watch we realized it was almost dawn; we would need to say goodnight to get a couple hours of sleep before I needed to be in the kitchen for breakfast prep.

I walked Jeff to the door of my 10x10 cabin and said goodnight. He stepped down on to one of the rickety wooden steps and said, "Can I kiss you, freaky girl?" I stood silenced and stunned. "Did you just call me 'freaky girl'?" I finally questioned. He started laughing and looked down at his boots shaking his head, "I said, 'pretty girl'".

Oh, well then if that's what you said...

He's been kissing me ever since.

Turns out I was a little freaky. But he still thinks I'm pretty.

2010-05-20T03:45:00.000-07:00

I've Been Thinking...

Bestie Traci emailed me a couple of days ago saying her Grandmother came to her son's recital and was on an oxygen tank! She couldn't believe how old her grandparents were getting and that when she brought it up to her mother she found out they were even getting Meals on Wheels. Soooooo, this got me thinking...

Why are all these fabulous things like meals on wheels and assisted living wasted on old people?

Ok, "wasted" perhaps the wrong word choice. It makes me sound like I hate old people. I don't hate old people.

My sweet Gigi recently sold her home and moved in to an assisted living apartment in the city. She seriously has her own little apartment in a 2 story building in which she has all her meals prepared for her, her laundry done for her, her apartment cleaned (even the bathroom!) and the option of having her bed made, which she does herself. They have bingo and bible studies. They have a van that takes them places like the store, the library, church. Its pretty awesome.

Am I the only 30-something here who really wants to move to an assisted living facility? Food, laundry, cleaning? It sounds like heaven instead of what it really is...the last move before heaven. (Sorry, had to go there. You know you were thinking it.)

Seriously, sign me up. Put me on a waiting list because it sounds down-right dreamy. And what if they had assisted living for young families? They could have built in kid gyms where we could all take our kids and let them play while we sit around and play pinochle and drink ~~margaritas~~ iced tea.

We could have Grey's Anatomy night and big facility wide Survivor pools. The van could take us wine tasting on Saturday and to church on Sunday.

I mean really, why should you have to be incontinent to have all the fun?

2010-05-19T03:50:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Closet Gamer

I'm going to let you in on a little secret of mine. I'm kind of a Tetris nerd.

I was first introduced to Tetris when Bug lived with us in high school. She had a little hand held Tetris game and I would play it by the hours. I had been a big fan of video games since my early days of playing Pac-Man on my cousin Kevin's Atari. (Blog challenge: to all my blogger readers your challenge is to totally get "Atari" in to your next blog post. Who says "Atari" anymore?) Ok, so I digress. I don't know what was up with my Mom; I think she was a deliberate parent before deliberate parenting was cool and she didn't want to fry my brain but for whatever reason we didn't have video games at my house and so that made them all the cooler to me.

Fast forward to last October when I was farting around with a google toolbar on my desktop and saw the game 'Tetramino'...basically a really bad, knock off Tetris game. I was hooked.

At that time the PC was up in our bedroom (until Bestie Kara told me it totally ruined my love shack aura and made me move it) and when Jeff saw what I was doing one night before bed he almost stroked out. He made fun of me pretty hard core for 1) being a gamer and 2) being a gamer on a really, bad knock off game.

I guess after watching me play Tetramino for 2 months he felt bad for me because for Christmas Hot Jeff got me a little Nintendo hand held and a Tetris game. Here's the funny part: he bought it at some gamer store and its a vintage Nintendo and so it doesn't have a back light so in order to play it I have to wear a head lamp. Yes, I said a head lamp. And if you ask really nicely I will have Hot Jeff take a picture of me playing and I will post it for you. Its ridiculously sexy.

I only play at night, right before I go to sleep. I call it my wind down time. It has 15 levels and so far I can make it to level 12. I'm really rocking it. My favorite part of playing Tetris before I go to sleep, well besides totally dominating it, is getting lost in my head and thinking. Sometimes I think about blog posts, sometimes I pray, sometimes I process through a book I'm reading and tonight (before I decided to get up and write this) I was thinking about the Grey's Anatomy season finale.

Sometimes, and you will love this, I think about going to a Tetris tournament and blowing everyone out of the water with my mad Tetris playing skills. I like to imagine the day before I play getting a hand massage and not changing any diapers so I can just rest up my fingers. I would probably take a nice long nap too. And eat a big carb dinner.

I also play this same little pretend game when I'm cooking. I like to pretend I have my own cooking show. I walk around the kitchen talking to a fake camera crew and telling them my cute little kitchen tips and making funny food puns. I'm not really that great of a cook I just think I'd be spectacular on TV.

2010-05-18T04:03:00.000-07:00

FAQ Friday

I'm starting a new feature on Fridays called, you got it, FAQ Friday. So here's your chance, what is your burning question for me? It can be about anything: gardening, parenting, depression & anxiety, faith & religion, my personal life...anything. You can even ask questions that don't have anything to do with me but some random question of the universe and I'll research it and see what I can find out for you. The only thing off limits: math, chemistry, physics or any of that weird stuff that I cheated off of Traci to get through high school.

You can leave your questions through the comment section, email them to me or write them on Facebook. I will keep a list of them and answer them on Fridays.

Wahoo!

2010-05-17T04:09:00.000-07:00

Praying For Your Kids Monday
El Shadday ~ God Almighty

(EL shad-DAI)
The brilliant Ann Spangler writes in her book "Praying the Names of God" that El Shadday was the name God revealed Himself through when He made His covenant with Abram and Abram's descendants. Spangler writes, "When we pray to El Shadday, we invoke the name of the One for whom nothing is impossible".

My kids got to see/hear firsthand that the God they pray to is the One for whom nothing is impossible. For over a year Samuel has faithfully prayed for our dear Pastor John who fell deathly ill to a rare illness. As Emily has gotten older and begun praying at night as well she too started praying daily for Pastor John. Specifically we prayed for Pastor John to regain his ability to swallow (this was after months of praying that he would just survive. It is a long story and I'm not doing it justice--to read more of John's incredible journey click here). Anyway, two weeks ago Shannon called with the news she had just received from her mother, who works with John, that John's swallowing function had returned. Tears streamed down my face as Shannon gave me the few details she had and Jeff and the kids circled around me anxious to know what I was laughing and crying about.

Immediately after hanging up with Shannon I practically screamed, "Pastor John swallowed today! Pastor John ate yogurt today!" All four of us started praising Jesus, Jeff and I were crying, and Samuel was saying, "God answered my prayer".

Almost every night in the two weeks to follow the kids and I have talked about how God answers our prayers. It may take longer than we want or expect and look different than we planned, but God hears us, loves us and answers our prayers. He is El Shadday and nothing is impossible with Him.

But with God all things are possible. Matthew 19:26

El Shadday, help __________ to know You as his All-Powerful God, the One who is able to sustain and bless him, to fulfill every promise You make to him. Lord, will You increase his awe of You and of Your power so that, like Abraham, he may follow You faithfully, always believing You are enough for him. Amen. prayer from Ann Spangler's book

*practical tip
This week while talking to your kids about El Shadday sing with them "My God Is So Big". Don't know it? Click here for lyrics and here for hand motions.

2010-05-14T03:51:00.000-07:00

Mama's Got Her Genius On

I am no expert on saving money. Blowing through money in the first 4 days after payday and then wondering where all the money went at the end of the month? Yes, got that down.

Every now and then though I see an idea and think that its pretty fun and if I can save some money--well then even better.

I saw this idea somewhere and decided to make it with the kids. This is actually our second round with the homemade easel but the first one was such a big hit I modified it a bit and made another one.

Using the end of a cupboard, cut easel paper into strips and attach at the top. I used masking tape as it peals off easily without leaving any residue. I bought washable markers (crayons were used in the first easel) and taped craft ribbon to the lid and then hung it from the top of the cupboard. Voila.

Ribbon: $.44

Tape: $1 from the dollar store
Easel paper from IKEA: $5.00
Washable markers: $5.99
My farmy easel: $12.43

Now let us compare that to a famous toy store's easel for $39.99 and that is a savings of $27.56!

Let's go get overpriced coffee with our extra money!

2010-05-13T03:21:00.000-07:00

Real or Plastic?

Really people, only one comment on ATH's Facelift? I know I kind of just sprung it on you and didn't even do a poll or anything but only one comment? For the record, the one comment came from my Bestie of long-standing, Traci (23 years and counting) who wanted to know if Slutty Vixen had made the changes. No, my super-hero/alter-ego did not make the changes and here's how you know: there is no black lace anywhere. SV totally would have made the background black lace to subconsciously suggest under-garments.

So let me have it. Love it or hate it? Love it but wish there was more color? Hate it and wondering what is up with all the polka-dots? Really don't care because you just come to see pictures of Hot Jeff?

Thinking about my blog's recent facelift got me thinking about cosmetic surgery. Now let's just get this out there...I'm not talking reconstructive surgery or surgery for any medical reasons. I am talking good old fashioned snip-it-if-its-draggin' or saggin'-surgery. Like for example, if I were going to go under the knife I would have my neck tucked (I have a disproportionately large neck), my boobs lifted, my belly and thighs sucked dry and my butt completely removed and replaced with Jessica Alba's. I would also have the freaky taken out of my pinky toes because why not, I'm already under and out of commission for 8 weeks and I really do have some freaky in my pinky toes.

I just don't see it happening though. I think we should try to improve our bodies with diet and exercise and then make peace with who we are and how we look. First of all, most of us have these "flaws" because of child bearing, breast feeding and aging. Aren't those all really wonderful things to embrace? To be proud of? To wear as a badge of honor? And, by the way, my Shrink just bumped my Celexa dosage up from 20mg to 30mg so if this all sounds a little unlike me its just because I'm medicated.

On the other hand I understand that life is short and shouldn't we try to be happy in that short time? If that means having a nose job or a boob job or a tummy tuck or a cheek lift of whatever else helps you feel a little better about yourself, isn't that ok? I could be persuaded, in fact I'm making the argument, that some people are so hindered by an outward feature that having cosmetic surgery may help them to be even more the person God created them to be.

So give it to me straight ladies--how do you feel about cosmetic surgery? And if I get one comment about breast reconstruction after a double mastectomy I'm going to come egg your house because that is totally NOT WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Also, Christy from My Presidents suggested I comment on other people's blogs to increase traffic to my blog. I typically don't read other people's blogs because I find it messes with my own voice but I tried it and no kidding, one lady had 125 comments on one of her posts. 125 comments!! Are you kidding me? You guys so have your work cut out for you.

2010-05-12T04:54:00.000-07:00

What Will Happen If You Don't Read This Blog

Back before we went all Little House on the Prairie and got rid of our TV I watched a fair amount of cable news. One thing I think cable news is very good at is fear mongering. You know, scaring the holy living crap out of you so that you'll vote a certain way, spend a certain way, travel a certain way or finally stop wearing banana clips in your hair.

I'm not going to try and scare you with tactics. I'm simply going to tell you the simple truth and then let your conscience be your guide. If you don't start getting A WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE reading this blog so that I start bringing in a little money I'm going to have to get a job.

Gasp.

I know, tell me about it.

Please don't ask me technical details like how many more people do I need to visit this site a day or how much do I get paid per visit or anything like that because I simply don't know. No really, I don't have any idea. And I know that I have a contract lying around here somewhere that most likely explains all of that but I just don't know where. Its probably right next to the carrot seeds that I lost. I can tell you where it isn't. It isn't in the filing cabinet that Shannon bought me, made files for, and spent hours organizing paperwork for. Nope, not in there.

Over dinner when I was explaining to Jeff that I needed to increase my "blog traffic" and he asked "from how many to how many" and I told him "from not a lot to a lot" and he nearly choked on his food. He gave me that look like what-do-you-mean-you-don't-know and I just smiled. You see, all that administrative stuff just gets lost on me.

So that brings me back to the reason for this post: if you and a whole lot of other people don't start dropping by a whole lot more I'm going to have to get a real job. And just so you know, I won't even put sweet little Samuel and Emily in daycare. No, I will just find a pack of wolves to raise them so think on that a little bit. If me having to get a job doesn't make you feel guilty enough to read this blog everyday than maybe my precious, adorable, innocent children being raised by a pack of savage dogs will.

So come on over to my little blog spot. Let's say once or twice a day. And tell a friend. Or 30. And tell those 30 friends to tell 30 friends. And for crying out loud, if you are some big bloggity blog blog big deal and rolling in the money you are making off your blog then please throw a girl a bone and tell me your secret. Or give me a shout out on your blog. Or stop rolling in that money and come on over and clean my house.

2010-05-11T04:00:00.000-07:00

Shiny, Happy People

This morning I get to go see my Shrink. I am so excited. It has been way too long. Way TOO long.

I've noticed since I started having Shrink Tuesdays that if I go too long in between visits I get all crazy inside. Its kind of like when you go past your 6 month dental cleaning and your teeth start feeling all gunky and gross. When I haven't sat on the couch for a while I feel all fuzzy and looney in my head.

I have all sorts of Besties, not to mention Hot Jeff and my Mom, to talk my crazy out with but there is something about a paid professional to make you feel really validated. Plus, she's got a good 30 years on me unlike my Besties who are ~~just as nuts as I am~~ in the same stage as life as me.

For too long I've thought that everyone could benefit from a Shrink Tuesday and that prozac should be put in the water like fluoride. I should run for mayor and have that statement be my campaign slogan.

2010-05-10T03:26:00.000-07:00

Praying For Your Kids Monday
El-Roi, The God Who Sees

Ann Spangler notes in her book that El Roi is only used one time in Scripture when Hagar gave this name to God when He saw her alone, afraid, pregnant and on the run. In His loving kindness, He saw her in the midst of her pain and gave her a promise she could find hope in.

She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: "You are the God who sees me," for she said, "I have now seen the One who sees me." Genesis 16:13

What a comfort to our children when we remind them that they have a God who sees them. The God they pray to is not dead. He is not a statue who cannot be moved by prayers and tears. He is a loving Father Who sees them.

Like most kids his age, Samuel has started to be nervous at bedtime. "Scared" is a little too strong but he definitely likes a night light and has found great comfort in knowing he has angels sent by God to protect him. One night before bed I read Psalm 121 to him and reminded him that when he is sleeping, even when Mommy and Daddy are sleeping, God NEVER sleeps. God is always watching over Samuel. Tonight when Samuel goes to bed I will teach him this name of God and he will learn to call upon it in his time of fear. The God Samuel serves is alive, he knows the number or hairs on his head, he has stored up his tears in a bottle, he has plans for him to prosper. He is the God who sees him.

El Roi, You are the God who sees me. You are the God who sees __________. I pray that she will grow secure in the Truth that You see her, that You have plans for her, that even as You care for the birds of the air You surely will care for her. Although she is young, I pray Your Spirit will guide _________ so that she can rest assured that You never slumber nor sleep but that You see her and watch over her and have given Your Son so that she may have eternal life. Amen.

2010-05-07T04:10:00.000-07:00

Potty Training--WWSVD?

I'm wondering what Slutty Vixen would do.

Nana sent Roo some Big Girl Panties and so yesterday afternoon after her nap I put them on Roo to let her see how they felt. She's been going potty in the potty before bath times so I know she's not completely clueless on how the whole panty-diaper thing works. She also shows one of those old Gigi-says-she's-ready signs of going and "hiding" to do her #2 bid-ness.

And although I didn't expect her to actually potty train TONIGHT I didn't expect what happened to happen.

She was doing great. No accidents. Every 10 minutes or so I would ask her if she needed to go pee and she would say 'no'. We had dinner and were in about hour 2 of panty wearing when I told her she was going to need to go potty in 2 minutes. She protested. I set the timer. The timer went off and I went to get her. She protested some more so I said we would all go potty together. Samuel chimed right in, thinking this was the most fun game ever, and grabbed her other hand. The 4 of us started marching in to the potty when Emily stopped, looked me directly in the eye and peed in her panties. With urine dripping down her leg she said, "I go potty in the potty".

What??

What was that all about? I literally have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. Samuel potty trained himself. And I mean that. 2 months before his 3rd birthday he walked up to me, handed me the diaper he'd been wearing and said, "I'm done with these". He's been peeing in the potty (and outside) ever since. I can count on one hand how many accidents he's had and that includes night time accidents. This is a new playing field for me.

So what would Slutty Vixen do? I think Slutty Vixen would sign Emily up for one of those potty training classes where they feed the kids juice boxes and doritos all day and if the kids pee on the floor they make them wipe it up themselves. Rumor has it that the kids are potty trained by the end of the 8 hour day. I think Slutty Vixen would take Emily to one of those classes and drink wine slushies out of a Starbucks cup all day. I think Slutty Vixen would also flirt with all the hot dads.

I'll take any advice you have. And if you don't have good advice but instead have a funny scenario of what Slutty Vixen would do, throw that in as well. I could use a good laugh.

2010-05-06T03:26:00.000-07:00

Soap Opera Starlet AND Super-Hero

Why do kids act so crazy and naughty after being with a sitter? I don't get it. It doesn't matter if the "sitter" is an actual paid teenager, grandparents or my saint of a neighbor...when my kids get home they are like Satan in toddler clothes.

Yesterday was my favorite day of all favorite days: hair day. I got to go see my favorite people of all favorite people: Salon Sara and have her do whatever she pleases with me. I am the human version of Salon Sara's mood ring. If she's had a good game at soccer I get lighter brown, if she's feeling sassy I get red and if she's feeling pre-vacation I get a rich, deep black with violet strands mixed in like I got today. Its a stunning color--one of my favorites she's done. She called it "Level 3" which I think is salon talk for "darker than most people can go" but I'm calling it "Slutty Vixen" because that's what I look like: a really hot slutty vixen. I could totally be the bad girl in a soap opera.

So I come home from getting my hairgasm and I pick up Samuel and Emily from my saint of a neighbor's house and they are like, um what's the word in English? Oh yes, INSANE. Whining, crying, asking for food, screaming, hitting each other, demanding a movie, all at once and within 666 seconds of walking in to our front door. I stood in complete shock waiting for one or both of their heads to start spinning around and spewing pea soup or one of them to just collapse from a loss of air from all the screaming.

And somehow in the midst of the madness I pulled together my super-duper Mom powers and made two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while putting a Veggie Tales movie on in 63 seconds flat. I didn't even have time to change in to my cape; that's how fast I was.

And then there was silence. And chewing. And the occasional hiccup from all the crying. But mostly silence as they watched the Tomato and Cucumber who quite possibly saved my children's lives today.

So now I'm just reveling in the quiet and wondering what Slutty Vixen would have done. I'm not sure but I bet tequila would have been involved.

Slutty Vixen is SO my new Superhero name.

2010-05-05T02:32:00.000-07:00

4 Year Old Negotiations

Today I got my period (sorry guy readers) and am feeling all bloaty, back achy, tired and crabby. At 11:30am I had hit the wall and really wanted to take a nap when Emily did. Knowing there was only one person standing in the way of a wonderful, cozy nap the following conversation took place.

Me: Samuel, Mommy doesn't feel very well. Will you take a nap with Emily and me today?
S: No.
Me: Please.
S: Will you pay me?
Me: Um, yes. I will give you a quarter.
S: No, I want a dollar bill.
Me: (A whole half second of hesitation) Yeah, ok.
S: One dollar bill and one quarter.
Me: You got it.

Well played Samuel, well played.

2010-05-04T03:59:00.000-07:00

Thirty-Three aka As One Foot In the Grave and Another On a Banana Peel

I know that really isn't true and 33 is young, vibrant and only the first third of my life but today it feels a little old because I found a grey hair. Gasp.

Hot Jeff is nearly half grey-haired but he is 40. And a man. And men look distinguished, not old, with grey hair. He's also blond so you can't even tell unless the sun is shining on it.

Normally I wouldn't even know if I had a grey hair or not because Salon Sara colors it for me but it just so happens I've gone a little long since my last color and have some pretty substantial grow out. In addition, it was a nice weekend and I was driving around with the sun roof open. And here's the ironic thing, while driving with the sun roof open I was listening to MJ's Pretty Young Thing. Go ahead, I'll give you a minute to mentally picture me driving around, feeling all hot and sassy with the music blaring and the sun roof open and to pee your pants laughing.

Ok, stop laughing...here comes the Greek tragedy: stopped at a light I look in the rearview mirror. I see a flash. I tilt my head. Another flash. I lower my glasses and look closer. It couldn't be. I pluck it out and inspect it closer as the cars behind me start to honk vehemently. Yes, it was a grey hair.

I sulked in to my seat and instead of driving home as planned I drove to Walmart where I bought some wrinkle cream.

I have come to terms with this butt. No matter how much weight I lose or gain I will always have this enormous fanny. I have realized, grieved and accepted that I will never get to have sex with Brad Pitt. There have been books written on the things I have accepted about getting older but grey hair and wrinkles are not things I am willing to accept. Especially not at 33.

My Mama, who is lovely and has the most beautiful black hair has decided to stop coloring and let it go grey. This is a decision I firmly and vocally disagree with but whatever, she can do whatever she wants. I on the other hand intend on coloring my hair until I'm too old to be coloring my hair and people start talking about me behind my back. My only hope is that as it goes greyer and becomes less dark I can finally go blond like I've always wanted to be. And maybe I'll get a boob job too. 80 year olds with boob jobs are so hot.

2010-05-03T14:43:00.000-07:00

Living With Confidence in a Chaotic World Book Review

I wish I could give this book a higher rating but I just found it a little boring and dry. Technically, I thought it was well-written and relevent to Christ followers but it took me forever to get into. While it isn't necessarily a difficult read, I personally found it difficult to get into thus I found it challenging to pick up and actually finish. I believe that's more of a personal preference issue than an actual book issue.

The author does a good job of incorporating scripture into his chapters, which are broken up clearly with what I would call "advice tabs" for easy reference later. Chapter issues include "Staying Compassionate", "Staying Committed", "Staying Connected" and "Staying Centered".
Again, I was grateful the author backed up his beliefs and advice with God's Word and I think his advice was sound and in accordance with Scripture.

I will admit, I haven't read Dr. Jeremiah's prequel book, "What in the World is Going On?" but am under the impression they do not hinge on one another. Dr. Jeremiah has a radio show and if you are a fan of that then most likely you would enjoy the teaching style of this book; it didn't do it for me though.