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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.