In Which She Complains About A Good Life...

It's Monday and I feel grumpy.

So I sat down and started thinking about how horrible my life really is. And all the reasons why I'm allowed to complain and have a bad attitude.

#1: I'm tired. I was up a lot with a baby last night. And the night before. And all the nights before that since December 28th of last year. A baby that wanted to eat and add to her squeezable, kissable rolls of soft, baby fat. The nerve! What's so bad about a healthy eating baby and the ability to provide nourishment for the fat little thing? Some couples don't even have a baby.

So IF I didn't have a baby and had no hope of ever getting one, THEN I could be in a bad mood.

#2: My house is a wreck. When I look at the cause of each mess, I see a consistent trend. Toys, dirt, remote controlled car, a little red boot, dolls, scraps of papers decorated with 5-year-old penmanship, a tiny sock, an art project... on and on it goes. Clearly, there are children in this house and obviously, the children are healthy, robust and lively. Why would I complain about normal, healthy kids when some parents are sitting in a big sterile hospital watching their sick, weak child lay in a hard white bed with cords and wires and noisy alarms that constantly flash information confirming the sickness of their beloved child? That mom would give anything to trip over a pile of toys in the middle of the dining room.

So IF one of my kids were sick and perishing from an illness only known by a handful of highly educated specialists, THEN I could be in a bad mood.

#3: My husband doesn't understand. If he did understand, he would just do the laundry. And home school the kids. And wash the dishes. And offer to make supper. But would he really? Just because he doesn't offer to do all that stuff, doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's a guy. Not one iota in his body is geared towards being a housewife. If I wanted a Superwoman for a husband, I should've married something else. And besides, when I ask him to help, he readily jumps up and gets a job done without complaining. His smiles affirm me and his love supports me. I'm a mom to four kids but only because their dad is the man he is. Some women have the kids but no support from a man who's there for her every step of the way.

So IF I had a family with no real father, THEN I could be in a bad mood.

The bottom line is I have a sturdy, warm house, sun streaming through my energy efficient windows, a troop of healthy and adventurous kids, a strong and loving husband and a cute, fat baby wrapped in a pink blanket, topped with a soft tuft of dark, messy hair.

My freezer is full of food (no excuse for not being able to cook), my wash machine and dryer work (when I do get a load put through), the toilet, sinks and shower all function properly (even if they do need to be cleaned) and a vacuum and broom work wonders (when they do finally get used).

Why am I complaining then?

That's a very good question.

The Day I Agreed With My Husband 100%

I love my husband. I really, really do. He's the man I always dreamed I'd marry so it's no wonder that when I finally met him, I married him just four months later. What was there to wait for any longer? He was everything I prayed for, dreamed of and wanted. And more.

"And More" is right. Yesterday was one of those "And More" days.

After being out of town for 8 days, our house was narrowed down to just a few items in the fridge. The milk was sour. The eggs were all gone except for one. A few pieces of dry bread sat shriveling up in their bag. And the kids were hungry.

My dear husband, who was in the middle of business catch-up after being out of the office for 8 days and came home to find his office work in as good-of-shape as my refrigerator was in, offered to let me run to the local grocery store while he "watched" the kids.

"Watched" is right. (Emphasis on the quotation marks.)

I was grateful to run by myself and thanked him for "watching" the kids. The errand was done in less than 20 minutes and I was soon home, happily re-stocking our Mother Hubbard kitchen.

As I scurried around rummaging up lunch and getting the kids ready to eat, they kept mentioning "putting food away" and "getting food out" and other words that related to the food topic. Confused by what they meant, I just chalked it up to some imaginary play that they had perhaps participated in while I was gone.

But then Landon handed me a half-chewed-up bag of brown sugar and informed me Alex was eating it but Daddy told him to stop.

"Oh, it's "just" a bag of sugar," I thought... trying not to expect the worst. I had accomplished so much in that 20 minutes and I didn't want to think that those darling kids really could've un-done THAT MUCH stuff, could've they??

And then I went downstairs and found that it was not imaginary play my kids had innocently participated in. This was the real thing.

An impressive pile of food sat on the sewing cabinet in the family room, indicating where the half-chewed bag of brown sugar had come from. Originally, the food had been stored on a shelf right behind Toby's desk so I was amused at how the kids must've pulled this off, considering their dad had been sitting there the whole time.

Of course he could've gone upstairs to the bathroom for a few minutes. Or ran out to the mailbox for a few minutes. Or dug in a desk drawer for a few minutes. Or stared at the wall for a few minutes. Or fallen asleep for a few minutes. Or had an out-of-body experience for a few minutes. Or had a bag pulled over his head for a few minutes. Or.... the possibilities were endless.

Keeping an aroma of calmness and meekness and sobriety Trying to be understanding, I questioned my husband about this dilemma between his business phone calls. The amazing man he is, he maintained a level of confusion and shock at the situation involving the whole kids-got-into-the-food ordeal and then mentioned to the kids that they shouldn't play with food. He then went back to his office work.

As I stood there, trying to mentally picture HOW three kids could haul food right past their daddy and pile it out in the family room which just happened to be a straight shot from where he sat, I couldn't come up with any reasonable reason as to how it happened.

I wandered back out to the family room still shaking my head. Just then, I happened to spy another food item off in Janae's room. It led me to a whole new stash of food that had been piled very generously under Janae's bed. I had no idea what she planned to do with 10# of beans or a 5# bag of flower or a can of spaghetti sauce or a container of dried parsley, just to name a few of the food items I found. And since I never send her to bed hungry, I really couldn't understand WHY the food had a reason to be in HER room and under the BED.

It took me several loads to get the food back to it's shelf in our basement pantry and I tried to visualize how THREE small kids could lug all this past their Daddy and go unsuspected. I mean seriously: how DOES a 50# kid carry 10# bag of beans without being noticed? That would be like me carrying... oh, never mind.

When I asked Toby about it again, he informed me that he does not look at the kids every time they walk past his desk. And I agreed with him. 100%.

A little later, I found another pile of food under Alex's crib. Wondering if I'd ever stop finding stashes of food, it dawned on me that the amount of all the food piled together was equivalent to what I had bought at the store earlier that day.

Our entire "Seasonings and Herbs" section had been re-stocked in the kids' rooms. Several bags of flour had been strewn about. Rice, beans, sugar and glass cans of spaghetti sauce sat in random places. Even a can of peas had been taken along with a tub of lard.

And all while the Man Of My Dreams who has given me three, adorable, sweet, children, calmly sat in the midst of it all like a big oak tree in the summer sun.

As I reorganized the shelves of food and put everything back in it's place, I was strangely impressed with my children's ability to sweep through the pantry like a tornado and spread food all over the basement all while their unsuspecting dad focused on his work and made phone calls and planned work-related schedules AND "watched" kids while all I did was run to the grocery store. It made me wonder what else the four of them could be capable of.

Later, I had to run over to a friend's house. It ended up being a little longer errand this time so with resolved trepidation, I gingerly crept back down stairs after I got home. I came down just in time to find Alex tight-rope-walking down the length of the floor lamp that was soundly laying on the floor... broken in two.

Toby's reason this time? "Even if I was sitting right next to them, they'd still do stuff like that."

And I had to agree with him. 100%.

"Honey, I Painted the Mini-Van Pink"

...and other things you just shouldn't inform your husband about.

The other night, I was outside playing with the kidlets.

The occasion was none other than playing ball in the front yard because A) supper was in the crock pot and not quite done, or B) Daddy wasn't home from work yet, or C) bedtime wasn't quite available yet or D) we just needed some playtime.

Now, this particular night hailed the occasion of A so you can imagine the hungry herd of kidlets they were.

Not to be outdone by their famished state of being, each kidlet excretioned incredible amounts of fun and energy, as young little people are apt to do.

Landon zoomed on his bike in an impressive manner. Janae rather careened her way around objects and would rustle the romper on her young brother, Alex, as she spled (blend of "fled" and "sped") past him. It was the same idea as the wind rustling leaves, if you know what I mean. Seriously, some kids should just get speeding tickets; they're such a threat to society when they're on bikes.

I'm seriously thinking of installing a braking system that allows me to use a remote control to slow her bicycle down from a distance. She has two speeds on that bike: faster and fastest. She knows no danger when it comes to being on her two-wheels-with-one-functioning-training-wheel bike.

One day, I watched Janae hit Alex's trike going west down the sidewalk. She pretty much just bumped merrily over the back part of his poor mode of transportation, turned around and 14 seconds later, hit the same Alex's bike going east down the sidewalk. This time, she didn't bump merrily. Rather, she toppled to the ground with a rather dramatic and dangerous thud (kids can get concussions, I've heard). She wailed gustily through tears of heart ache, pain and regret as she laid in pieces under her bruised and bashed up bike, "I don't like this house, or this driveway." (Yeah the house and driveway really have a lot to do with the fact you can't seem to avoid hitting things with your bike.)

Meanwhile, I was thinking, "Watch out." I really try to be plain and simple when it comes to giving pieces of advice to my children -- I really do -- but I've realized it tends to come too late or if it is on time, they can't hear me for some reason. This was one of those "too late" times.

Another time I remembered watching Janae hit our neighbor's yard rock. It's like this huge, massive thing that's been there ever since before Janae was born learned how to ride bike but it seemed to escape her memory as to it's general location on this particular day.

As Janae was sailing at top speed down the sidewalk, she veered off into the neighbor's yard (who knows; maybe there's an imaginary slope there that pulls her bike off the beaten path) and just like that, WHAM! she hit the thing so hard, it bounced her back 2 feet. She came to a very sudden but upright stop. (notice, I said UPRIGHT.)

She giggled with glee, turned the wheel and took off in the intended direction she should've been going.

(To all you PETR --People for the Ethical Treatment of Rocks-- no rocks were harmed in the making of this scenario.)

So. As I was saying, I was outside playing with the kids while we waited for supper to finish cooking

Landon and Janae were zooming up and down the sidewalk, dodging each other and other objects such as that younger brother, while I played catch with that younger brother.

As I threw Alex (the younger brother) the ball and attempted to catch his throws (my catch is poor; his throw is impressive), I stumbled in the yard (no surprise there) and twisted my ankle.

Ouch.

(If you don't know what I mean by "ouch," you have obviously never twisted your ankle.)

I continued to play, chalked up the twisted ankle to my klutziness, and attempted to throw/catch another ball. While performing an amazing circus act catching that particular child's ball, I suddenly did this impressive awkward move in a desperate lunge at the ball and began to notice an equal amount of pain in my left knee and right elbow at the same time.

Weird, I thought, a two wheeled truck must've just come out of no where and hit me.

Then it dawned on me that my elbow had actually made an unnatural contact with my knee and the impact of both coming together, caused an unnatural reaction. There's nothing like hitting yourself with yourself because then you have automatic pain in two locations.

Not to be outdone by my advancing klutziness nor to give in to my growing embarrassment as I made a spectacle of myself to all the neighbors, I showed the kids my amazing skill of throwing the ball up on the roof and then catching it as it rolls down. I can be pretty quick witted, you know.

You should've seen their faces: they were impressed. The look of pride in their eyes as they watched their sports-man-ship-like mom, was worth the effort it took to learn the skill of How To Throw A Ball On The Roof.

They were amazed. I was like this hero, or something, to them.

As I threw, rolled and caught the ball, I continued to get braver and braver. I'd throw harder. Faster. Less-like-a-girl Stronger. The entertainment level was at 5+stars and boy, were we all happy.

Just then, the unthinkable happened: the ball got lodged between a gable-end-eave and the porch roof. (If you don't know where that location is, you are obviously not married to a roofer.)

Not to be outdone by the little set-back in our performance for the day, I grabbed a wrangled stick and poked and prodded and stabbed and swung the stick at the lodged ball. I needed a couple more feet of height --among other things; like I'm sure a brain would've really come in handy right then-- and had to come up with another plan.

So I grabbed a garden rake.

The garden rake was a marvelous idea. Until it scratched the flashing. Oops. (If you're married to a roofer, you realize the danger of scratching the flashing.)

I marched back to the garage and found a gazillion-foot-long piece of quarter-round-trim (if you're married to a carpenter, you'll know what that is.)

I poked and prodded and stabbed and swung the trim at the lodged ball. I still needed a brain height and heard Janae say, "Nope, you're not gettin' it Mom."

Thanks, Janae. It's so kind of you to point out the obvious. (Her perception amazes me.)

3 blunders on the yard playing ball, confirmed my klutziness. 3 attempts at removing the ball from it's inconveniently lodged location, confirmed my inability to coordinate ball-rescue attempts. Plain and simple, I was a doomed failure.

As Janae continued to zoom dangerously up and down the sidewalk on her bike, I recognized the finality of supper's cooking and called the kids in. We sat down to eat, gave thanks and dug into our meal. Everything was perfect until I began to tell my husband, that dear darling man, my 3 acts of klutziness.

When I got to the part about the elbow-colliding-with-the-knee, it all seemed too outrageous to even be legal. He was too confused to understand how that could happen.

It makes me have to excuse my daughter for her inability to avoid bouncing her bike off of the neighbor's landscape rocks because seriously, with a mom like me, she comes by it naturally... the poor child.

And poor husband... me re-enacting at the supper table how my elbow-hit-the-knee, couldn't be any worse than if I were to paint the van pink.

Or could it?

Poisionous Barbs, Asthma and Honeymoons

So far, the Otterson girls have a 100% guarantee that they will become unusually and extraordinarily ill or injured on their honeymoons. Brittney had 24 barbs jabbed into her foot by some cranky sea creature and Courtney had an asthma attack.

That was Britt's first dip into the ocean and Court's first experience with asthma.

Britt's new husband spent 3 hours poking and pulling 2 of the barbs out -- hours they were supposed to be spending snorkeling.

Court's new husband spent 3 hours bent over a gasping, dying woman he had just pledged his life to 4 days earlier.

I'm not sure if men just have that effect on these girls or if it has to do with being on a honeymoon. Either way, I'm thinking that any man that attempts marriage with the other 2 sisters, should be forewarned of the impending tradition that the Ott girls follow for their honeymoons.

It's like they like to live their vows to the hilt ... "In sickness and in health..." and they get that 'in sickness' part over with right up front so we all know for sure the guy is in this for the long haul.

And so far, the guys are sticking with them and proving they're committed to this whole marriage thing for life not only in sickness but also in health. That's a really good thing.

It's also quite reassuring because life always has a pretty even balance of both sickness and health. And sickness and health is seen simply as the salt and pepper of marriage: it adds spice and flavor.

I guess it shouldn't ever be a surprise when marrying the one you love, usually leads to loving the one you marry. And ironically enough, that is what happened when these two couples fell in love: they got married.

Now they live happily ever after enjoying sickness and health over and over and over.

How Big Is Your God?

You know, it's hard sometimes to hit those points in life where it feels like every where you look, go and see, you are surrounded by leaves. And I'm not talking about Autumn or literally as in "tree leaves" but figuratively speaking, of course. (I am waxing quite poetic here... bear with me.)

The truth is, they are actually more real and more life impacting than the maple leaves laying in my backyard tonight that should be raked and stuffed into a scare crow sometime tomorrow since the weather is supposed to be nice.

Despite trying to ignore these leaves, I feel like each one is being turned over and a new side is showing. Some turn with grief. Others with practical change. Still others with joy.

Yet in the past few months, I have been so amazed at the ways God has answered prayers. Prayers I never thought could ever have answers. It's almost as if I hope to pray about something but don't know how to really ask God or tell God or convey to God any of what I'm thinking, and then He hears my heart and then answers... as in, literally answering an impossible prayer!

Even down to the exact words. Like tonight I was thinking about a situation Toby and I are facing. "Lord, I really want to get in touch with my husband," I prayed honestly in desperation. (If you think I'm honest and open on my blog, I'm even more honest and open with God. If you don't believe me, just ask God.) Not 20 minutes later, my husband came to me and through the course of conversation said, "Honey, we just really need to get in touch again." (deja vu anyone?) And not only did he say it but he laid out a practical way to actually make that idea more than just a "oh that's a nice thing to say to your spouse" kind of thing.

The first plan of action? We set a coffee date. And coffee dates always makes us both talk, not just the one of us.

Dealing with parenting 3 toddlers and running a business that often keeps Toby gone 14 hours a day and then feeling the need to have friends and socialize on top of the effort we as a couple make to keep our marriage strong, is a juggling act more complicated than any circus act you'll see.

(Even writing that is complicated: I just spent 10 minutes trying to figure out how to word the above paragraph so it wouldn't look entirely confusing and then I'd be admitted to a mental institution because of the concern of my dear readers here that you'd have to spend the next 10 minutes trying to figure out what I meant by describing a 4 piece juggling act called 'my life.')

Okay, if that doesn't make sense, you are now qualified expected to move on to the next paragraph, please.

Knowing that the God who ordained the universe in a set motion and plan that was meant to incorporate even the craziest of my days, is an awesome comprehension... especially when your prayers are answered, your storms are ceased and your anxiety melts to peace.

And that same God who controls the universe, sees fit to lay on your husband's heart a prayer you just prayed not an hour before, all makes you wonder if you really know how big your God is.

It could all end right there and I'd still be impressed. But it's just like God to compile the most ironic bonus package when I least expect it, and He followed the prayer up by an unexpected early morning coffee date all uninfluenced by me.

No wonder I can't sleep tonight.

Directional Dialogue

In The Good Life state of Nebraska, I seem to be directionally deprived. I can take the winding, hilly, swampy, wooded roads of Wisconsin that make absolutely no sense (what's the difference between County Rd. S and County Rd. SS?) but when it comes to the square mile grid road system of Nebraska, I need a GPS and a compass and a cell phone.

Today was no different.

Toby asked me if I wanted to go out for supper tonight with him. That was not even a question in my book. But since he seemed to be waiting for an answer, I said yes. He said I'd have to pick him up from work. And since I'd be skipping the entire hassle of making supper just to pick my husband up from work, no big deal, right?

Wrong.

There are two things Toby and I do not agree on or see eye to eye on.

Number 1: (we have the next 60 years to figure out what this one is.)

Number 2: Directions.

We just don't agree on directions. When he gives me driving directions, they make no sense. When I tell him that he is not making sense, he doesn't agree with me.

I asked him for the directions to his work site today. Suddenly, peeling potatoes and making fresh french bread and stuffing a chicken seemed so much easier than they normally do.

He told me he was working in Bennett. And, thanks to http://www.craigslist.com/, I know where Bennett is. Our backyard fire pit comes from Bennett, NE.

So, if he is working in Bennett, this should be easy, right? Wrong.

"The road that goes through Bennett, take that straight south out of town," he said.

Okay, that was a mistake right there. We have no compass in our van. I do not know which direction south-out-of-Bennett is.

"Would that be hwy 2?" I asked him, trying to verify the correct road.

"No," he said. "Here's what you do..." he began his directions. "Take Hwy 77 to Roka Road which it actually has an exit off the highway. Take that road until it "t's" -- it should be just a short way down. Turn right and then turn left on that road and go six or seven miles. Then there's a high way -- we're not sure if it's 43 or 143 but it's a paved road and you turn east there. Your goal is to keep going east. There's a road... uh... 148th street and the highway is a mile past there. Just stay on the paved road. Watch for the Douglas sign which will tell you to turn left but turn right towards Stagecoach. The house number is xxxxx -- which actually honey, if you look up Google maps, you can see a picture of the guy's house."

"Um, yeah.... uh, okay, uh, well...ummmm..." I said, trying to decipher the ink I had just transcribed from the telephone onto a piece of paper.

"That's it. That's how you get here," he told me, as if that clarified everything on my scribbled piece of paper.

"Okay, so when I turn off hwy 77," I began the direction re-run, "Which way do I turn?"

"The road "t's" a short way down and you turn right there," he replied, completely not answering my question.

I tried again, "Yeah, but off of Hwy 77, which way do I t...."

He cut me off and answered, "Oh, you go east there -- you want to keep going east."

"Yeah, but east is which direction?" I needed clarification.

"Uh, that would be left, honey," he answered, in a tone that said I should know that already.

"Okay so then after I turn on Roka road and I go left, the road t's and I turn right, which road am I turning on when I turn left again and how far down is that?" I asked, trying to make as much understandable sense as I could.

"Well, you just stay on Roka road and follow that," was his answer.

"So that road I turn left on shortly after the Roka road "t's" is actually Roka road again?" I clarified.

"Yeah, I think so. Something like that. It's like a quarter-of-a-mile or a half-a-mile down that road before you turn left," he answered.

(Meanwhile I'm creating a mental image in my head trying to get a aerial view of the road system at this intersection.)

"Okay, gotcha," I responded.

"Now this highway," I began into another chapter of this complicated directional dialogue, "is it highway 43 or highway 143 or highway 148?"

"I. Don't. Know. Honey," he answered, enunciating every word.

"Okay so then where does this 148 number come in?" I asked, wondering if this was another one of his land marks.

"The Unknown Highway is a mile past 148th street," he explained. "Just stay on the paved roads," he repeated again.

And then I remembered that when Toby gives directions, he uses more land marks than street intersections. He uses land marks found 2 miles down the road behind a paint peeling barn sitting on a rusty tractor. He uses houses 3 blocks over to give you a reference point to the house he is working on that day. He uses everything as landmarks. And he always says north, south east and west instead of left or right..."That tractor west of the barn is facing south of where the house on the east side of the street sits."

I looked again at my directions, trying to make sense of them.

"You know honey," Toby began, "If you would just write it down as I tell you, then you'd have the directions." (as if I hadn't thought of that already...)

I almost choked. "Uh, honey? I write them down completely as you tell me but that doesn't help at all... believe me."

As I hung up, I was trying to figure out what Bennett Nebraska had to do with this job site since it was never mentioned in the directions and how much driving time should be allowed to get to this place and how would I know if I was on the right road that he had no name for but I was supposed to drive it for 6-7 miles. I noticed the screen on my phone and saw that it took him 10 minutes to tell me how to get to this place and I still had no clue how to get there.

And then I decided that since we agree on pretty much everything besides directions, I would do my part and eliminate that one thing. Of course I can't technically agree with him on this because if I don't understand how to get to a place he is directing me to, no amount of agreeableness will get me to his job site, unfortunately.

I'll eliminate the problem altogether, I decided. I came up with two solutions:

Number 1: Never go to the job site

Number 2: Get a GPS

Number 1 is really not an option. I mean, I am a loving wife, he is a loving husband. We like to see each other and spend time together like loving couples do. Especially if it involves eating supper out.

Now, if I get the GPS, I will not tell him I have it because I want him to still give me directions. I'll write them down, say, "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Okay perfect. Those directions are great. We should have no problem getting there. You are so smart honey" the whole way through his complicated directional dialogue.

So, yeah. This GPS will be an investment in our marriage. A tool to keep communication open. A program to unify our direction conversations. A practical system to keep us on the same road (pun). A time saving technique because he won't have to spend 10 minutes telling me how to get to a job site that will take probably only 20 minutes to drive. A way to help us understand each other better.

And we will never have to disagree again because there won't be anything to argue about since the GPS will be responsible for me getting lost. Not my charming, loving, smart husband who I trust with all my heart and who was so kind to take me on a date... if I can find him sitting on a roof out in the middle of a cornfield somewhere in Nebraska.

What Roofers Can't Do, Plumbers Can

We had this pipe in our basement. And it leaked more weeks than I wish to count for days. Dripping in our basement making a gigantic puddle causing some condensation, this pipe continued to drip. And drip. And drip. You know how pipes do that every once in awhile just to let a little pressure off because they're old?

Well, this pipe started dripping and like most pipes do, it continued dripping. For some reason, it is not a self correcting/sealing pipe.

So, considering the plumping expertise of the people that live in this house, we began utilizing an amazing feature. I mean seriously folks, I can't believe this plumbing repair option is not marketed yet. A person could really make a lot of money off advertising this, not to mention doing seminars, classes and home demonstrations.

What this Amazing Plumbing Repairs For Dummies involves is a strategically placed bucket that is positioned exactly in the precise angle and latitude and longitude of the impending drips coming from the invisible leak in the pipe. It takes quite a bit of concentration and investigating and calculating but once you do it a time or two, it is worth the effort.

My well experienced recommendation (and believe me, I have a lot of experience with this) would be to get several buckets and place them in the general vicinity of the drips. Although one bucket is better than none, several are better than one.

As mentioned already, this leak had been going on for several weeks a few days and the man of the house determined after some encouragement from his wife on his own that it was probably a good time to contact some professional help. AKA: plumber.

Of course, you can always hope that a leaky pipe will fix itself and I am pleased to say that we definitely gave this pipe time to heal his leak. We are such patient people, in fact, that we waited for a really long time. The Automated Reseal in the pipe just didn't happen.

Amazingly, the leak got worse. Instead of dumping the bucket a couple times a week, we were dumping it several times a day.

So the plumber came on Thursday and in no time flat, he has conquered the leaky pipe that was rotting the floor joists, growing mold up above it in the bathroom and sopping the basement floor with it's continual dripping.

Now, I hate to succumb to the "I told you so" mentality that often befalls those of us that "Told them so" but when "they" didn't listen and then it turns up that "I told you so" was right... well, the only thing you can say is, "I told you so."

What makes me refer to this is that prior to calling the plumber and prior to the plumber getting to our house and prior to finding mold in the bathroom, I had mentioned to the man of the house that perhaps he should just double check and make sure this wasn't a homeowner repair job. Toby had already decided on that and thought it would be wise to personally investigate the leak because you know how a person hates to pay an unnecessary plumbing bill, right?

My dear, brave husband checked it out one day and diagnosed the problem as an Overspilling Copper Dilemma (OCD). Considering he does not have the tools for OCD (such as a torch and other copper repairing tools), he deemed the plumber invasion a wise idea.

"You know how I am with plumbing, honey," he said. To which I calculated in my head: Toby + Plumbing = Disaster. This mental picture had built so vividly above my head that Toby could see it too so I had to immediately delete that explicit picture and say, "Leaky Roofs + Toby = Paradise." He breathed a sigh of relief to know that I am still the cheerleader for the team he's on.

Bob the Plumber is a really nice guy. He really is. Once he took pity on me and our snake filled yard and he told me how he had hit a snake with his own lawn mower and never had snakes in his yard again. I took his advice. It worked. This guy knows his stuff. And Thursday was no exception.

He had a truck full of copper fittings and copper pipes and copper this and copper that so he was ready. Entering the house armed with a flashlight, he went right downstairs to the problem. Within no time, he was upstairs and in the bathroom.

His diagnosis?

Well, you know that pipe-tube-thingy that attaches your toilet to the water supply right behind the toilet? Yeah, go look in your bathroom and you'll see what I mean. That gray/silver (depending on the year it was made) pipe-tube-thingy had malfunctioned. So as the water entered the toilet, some of it slipped out and ran down the OUTSIDE of the tube-pipe-thingy and followed down through the narrow hole in the floor drilled just for accommodating that tube-pipe-thingy and then it dripped downstairs into our Bucket Invention right past that OCD copper pipe.

The repair plan?

Unscrew the tube-pipe-thingy
Toss in bathroom trash can
Screw in new tube-pipe-thingy
And then empty that bucket in the basement one last time.

I looked at Toby and smirked smiled gleefully lovingly but didn't say a thing. I could tell what he was thinking.

The mold is gone. The basement is dry. The pipe-tube-thingy gleams a bright shiny silver behind the toilet. So pretty. It feels good to have such a modern upgrade in our old house.

All's Well That Ends Well If All Ends Well

Being home all day alone with my kids, really isn't that big of a deal. I mean, c'mon: it's my JOB. But, I usually tend to draw a line when it comes to being alone in the evening with the kids. Which is what happened recently.

Slated on schedule for the local jail ministry, Toby came home from work in time to grab a bite to eat, shower, say about 147 words to the kids and I (that is not very many words... trust me) and then he was off like a dirty sock to the county jail.

What was I supposed to do for 3 hours alone with his our kids? Yeah, I asked myself that a few times too.

First we went for a walk. But, on the walk, I felt guilty for leaving a foot of grass evenly standing in the front yard. Especially considering we just spent forty-some-bucks getting the lawn mower fixed not to mention that the grass had been mowed pre-wedding trip. (ie., 17 days ago.)

I debated mowing though; we have gone longer than 17 days between mowing's so was it a worthy investment to use a precious fuel propelled blade evenly across the yard? What about the budget? (what budget??? Toby is wondering as he reads this). What should I do with the kids while mowing? These questions and many other life altering questions stared me in the face as I trudged home with a kid loaded stroller and 3 wheeled bike strapped to my arm.

Entering the garage was my first insurmountable feat. Don't ask why but there's a stack of lumber in the garage designated for a certain house in our neighborhood. I guess the people are getting rooms built in their basement AND getting a remodeled kitchen. Lucky people! Why the lumber is in our garage is beyond me because we certainly have no need for new bedrooms and a kitchen.

Did I just say that?

Anyway, sitting in a nice neat stack of wood in our mouse laden garage is the future of my new kitchen and expanding finished basement. My dreamy eyes made it difficult to calculate the fact that I would in no way be able to cram the lawn mower between the wood and other garage paraphernalia so I did what most wise people crazy women do, I attempted to pick up the lawn mower. You know, just bend down, pick it up and carry it. Let's just say it was pretty heavy.

Plan B meant I had to go out the side door. But that didn't just mean open a door and push the mower out, end of story. It was a lot more complicated.

As I contemplated the brevity of mowing twelve inches of grass in our front yard, I was impressed to realize that my mind had the whole situation all calculated in my brain in the "Plan B Mow Yard" file. As complicated as that plan clearly was, it made me desperately want to scratch Plan B. So I tried a little harder with Plan A and literally tried to pick the mower up like I would pick up a laundry basket. That was just not an option.

Before I could open the door and push the mower out, Plan B style, I had to run into the house through the front door, charge through the house and out the back door, lock the dog in her kennel, open the twelve feet of side fence (which meant moving a basket ball hoop first), unlock the garage side door from the back-yard-side of the door, painstakingly shove the lawn mower precariously out the side door, perform a hair pin curve maneuver between the garage side door and through the narrow opening allowed by the 12 foot of now leaning green treated fencing and plow the mower down the driveway through the eight inches of fine gravel that some brainless person dumped in times past while my feet sank up to my knees past my shoe soles in the weighty, quick-sand-like gravel that was never intended for driveway use. Especially when you are alone with kids and attempting to mow with a push mower by yourself alone with the kids. (did I already say that?)

Anyway, primitive.

I mowed like a crazy person. Designing roads and alleys for the kids to run their dump trucks through was a blast. The grass was so high you could barely see their little heads bobbing up and down out in the middle of the yard, it embarrassed me. I knew their freshly mowed "roads" were well defined and they loved the exploration found in our little suburbia yard.

And I knew where they were the whole time; their squeals and screams of delight made it easy to keep an eye ear on them and did nothing to drown out the mower. My mower didn't hit any snakes (for once) and I patted myself on the back congratulating my decision to mow in the evening instead of the day time, thus avoiding the sunning snakes. The only thing to worry about were the huge crickets stampeding the yard. The blade got all wadded up with juicy cricket bodies and cricket guts were flying everywhere. Good fertilizer, I guess. That could explain why half way through, the self propelled mowing feature locked up. And we just payed part of that $40 to fix that. Must've been those crickets jamming things up inside the mower.

While Landon asked me deep, profound questions on who gets shot at jail when they're naughty, I worked hard on trimming the edge of the grass where the sod meets the sidewalk. That was a huge mess. A certain person I know (who's name I will not mention) has a deep infatuation with Roundup. He tends to use it pretty much where most people would use a Weed eater. We have an embarrassing yard uniquely designed edge all along our yard and it has turned a dead ugly brown an interesting color in about a fourteen inch strip all around the circumference of our yard. This was a one-of-a-kind display that I hope was a one-time-only application. You know, I'm all for personal individuality in landscaping and design but this was just a little too original.

Most people try NOT to have dead grass in their yard; this person attempts getting MORE dead grass in his yard. Most people spray FERTILIZER in their yard; this guy refuses to let his wife even WATER the yard let alone make it grow healthier with some hormone induced grass growing formula. Why? Because he hates mowing. He'll be the first to say it too -- just ask his wife or mother. Or you could ask the neighbors too; they know it pretty well... the poor souls they are having to put up with such an eye sore of a yard on their civilized street.

He hates mowing, like I said, and it's evident in the fact that his poor wife has no choice but to drag the kids out to the yard, strap the baby down in a safe place and then proceed to spray twelve inches of grass clippings and cricket guts all over their little plot in the universe while he the grass killing man reads the Bible to a law breaker.

But, after we got it all done, we celebrated with story time and popcorn. An innocent celebration, keen for peoples of all ages, but deceivingly dangerous I found.

While innocently retrieving an innocent mug from the innocent cupboard in which to innocently melt butter for the innocent popcorn (this was nothing illegal, folks), I did the most stupid thing inevitable: I smashed my face with the opening door. Like an innocent bystander with a clean record, I was punished for something I never did. I mean, yeah it was my hand swinging the door but what had my face done wrong to get a smack like that?

I learned the hard way that when you put your head close to the door, swing the door at your face at a very high speed and then lift your chin in order to peer up at the top shelf where the mugs are, you can result in hitting the left side of your right cheek bone. It leaves an immediate mark too, which is worth it so that the witnesses that didn't SEE what happened can know that you honestly did just crack your face open and you have proof of it for them to see now after the accident has taken place. Just try it and then look in the mirror quickly.

Landon saw the whole thing take place and calmly sat in his chair at the table watching me wishing he could have as much fun in the kitchen as I do impressed with my smart kitchen moves. The smart kid he is, he wisely asked me what I was doing. As if he couldn't tell that I was running around the house, banging my head on hard, wooden objects??! Such a fitting question, I mused in my fuming head that was pained by the sharp shooting pain caused by the violent door.

After popcorn evenly coated the dining room floor I had just vacuumed earlier that day, Toby came home. After he got the kids in bed and I was comfortably rubbing his feet, he wondered what I had occupied my time with while he was gone. Not wanting to think he didn't see the battle scarred face of his normally fair complected, loving wife and not wanting to believe that he could not decipher the smell of fresh cut grass I had arranged to greet him when he stepped out of the vehicle he had gone to jail in, I rubbed his feet pleasantly harder by taking all my aggravation out on his feet I navigated my eyeballs back to their sockets from where they had jumped from and vowed right then to invest in a whole barrel of Roundup.

Not wanting to discourage me when he heard me mumble something about mowing grass, he assured me he appreciated my effort but I should understand that in the dark he couldn't tell that I had mowed in the back behind the garage (!!!) because he came in the FRONT door.

"Honey, whoever said anything about behind the garage?" I asked him. Not waiting for his answer, I assured him... "Next time you mow, you won't have to worry about the front yard because I took care of that tonight."

He tried to look satisfied but I don't think he believed me until he went to work in the morning and saw for himself that yes, the crickets were dead the yard was mowed.

When You Could Just Really Use A Doorknob

A couple week ago, Landon was tearing our bedroom apart napping one lovely afternoon in our bedroom. Through a series of events that surrounded the entire nap time, I found the night stand got completely wiped off, a lamp was taken apart, all electronics unplugged (including his dad's alarm clock) and various and random items randomly scattered in various places. Later that night when it was finally my turn to go to bed, I found that the door knob had experienced great atrocities committed against it as well. Basically, it was in 3 pieces. And none of the pieces were able to function as a doorknob should function.

Now, perhaps he is a budding Albert Einstein or Thomas Edison but please, can't he dismantle destroy experiment with his own toys? Or with items already trashed? Or with sticks and stones? (Son, if you're reading this 20 years from now, I hope you're taking pity on your dear, old mother after all you put her through...)

Until that day, I complained that our door did not have a lock on it. Now I had real reason to complain since it now didn't have a door knob either. I neglected complaining because at that point, I was just very thankful that we at least still had a door never mind a knob or lock. You don't appreciate what you have until you lose something close to it.

So, using a tried and true honey-do-list technique that only works when it's his idea and not mine that I happened to try that day, I basically asked the husband if he could fix the door knob. I mean, it is his room too and he seemed even more desperate and disgusted when he found that the knob was broke.

He disappeared for a few minutes and came back saying it couldn't be fixed: it was missing an important screw *that he couldn't find.* (note the asterisks: they connect with asterisks later on this post.)

The kind and soft hearted wife that I am, I believed him. I mean, his amazing record at finding things that are lost is quite a document of the ability he in no way shape or form has for finding things... ie., like the glasses on his face that he can't find on the dresser because they happen to be on his face while he's looking for them, or the belt on his pants that he can't find anywhere because he's actually wearing them while looking in the closet for them, the countless times he's "lost" his cell phone only to have me find it on his desk... right where he left it. etc., etc., etc.

Still, I believed him. *He did say he looked* so you can't blame a man for at least trying. (re noting the asterisks just to make sure you notice.)

So, one bright early morning, Janae came into our room and shut the door. Now, this paragraph may not sound bad or suspecting of trouble or the beginning of a long, sad story but you have to understand that a door without a doorknob can sometimes still shut and latch shut BUT you can't open it to get out of it if it doesn't have the knob-turny-handle-thingy. Which is exactly what my door was missing. (the door knob was in 2 pieces on the buffet out in the dining room; the 3rd missing piece (the screw) was exactly that: missing.)

I was undressed (well, I mean, I did have pajamas on-- can you be undressed with pajamas on?), getting ready to shower when that door latched shut. I was trapped. I was locked in. I was a prisoner in my own house held captive by a three-year-old girl with braids and blue eyes.

So, what did I do? I rose to the challenge. My day could start bad, sure, I always get all the trouble anyway that's fine. I'll show it that I am undaunted! I'm in control! I'm woman! (blah, blah) Using a skinny, long, plastic, handy device that was randomly laying on the floor, I stuck it in the hole and tried to turn the latch. It didn't turn. But, at least I tried to open it in an attempt to rescue myself.

I could at least have that to say to Toby when I called him. For a guy, there's nothing like helping a girl if she is not willing to help herself. I had evidence to prove I was trying to help myself: I stuck a plastic thing in that hole and it didn't work. (you can't blame a girl for at least trying.)

Because I really wanted him to know about the distress I was in thanks to his incompetence Because I didn't know of anything else to do, I called Toby... "Honeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyy?" I said into the phone I was very thankful to just happen to have in my room (we JUST moved a phone into our room.)

All formalities aside, I filled him in on my day... how I was locked in my bedroom by a small child, barely 3' tall with no way to get out all because the door knob hadn't been fixed the other day because he couldn't find a measly screw because he had been distracted by reading a book instead of fixing the door the child just happened to shut the door while I was in it and the door knob was on the other side of the door.

"Besides going through the window, I have no way to get out of here," I informed him assertively with an aire that said thank-you-very-much-but-I-have-everything-under-control.

He sighed and breathed deeply and moaned and groaned pretending to show remorse, sympathy and regret over how much he disapproved of the kids doing this to me because he didn't know what to do next.

"Find something that you can stick in that hole," he advised.

"Oh, I did honey. I can't find anything that will work," I told him.

"You have NOTHING in the room that could fit in that small square hole?" He asked, sounding shocked that our room is not equipped with state-of-the-art equipment commonly used to rescue one's self from one's own bedroom. The only tool I could find was a level, under the bed.

"Dear, I have no perfectly square screw drivers made to fit in a door knob and designed with precision for emergency purposes. You will need to call your local hardware store and have them custom make you the recommended tool. I would give you the number right now but news flash: the phone book also is not something I normally store in our bedroom. If you get me out of this room, I vow from this day forward to equip our entire room with a week's worth of food, tools for emergency purposes and an adequate reference guide known as a phone book. Thank you for calling Woman in Distress Ministries, have a nice day." "No Dear, I have nothing," I informed him quite matter-of-factly.

"As long as the front door is unlocked, I guess the window is your only option," he said, regretting that he hadn't fixed the door in the first place informing me of my last option.

To which I calmly replied, "Oh it is indeed locked."

In a panicking voice tinged with disgust, he asked, "So now what?"

"Well," I said, "as long as the van is unlocked, I think I can get the keys out of there and then open the front door and then actually get into my own house again," ending my note in desperation because I didn't want him to think I enjoyed this kind of distress at such an early hour in the morning nor did I want him to think I was indeed mentally capable of handling such complicated scenarios because I truly was feeling desperate.

"Okay," he said with all the love and tenderness a man can have for a damsel in distress that he is trying to save because there really was nothing else for him to say.

Before hanging out my bedroom window and lumbering up the driveway while humiliating myself to the whole neighborhood because 1) I didn't have deodorant on yet and 2) I couldn't even get out of my bedroom from inside my house and 3) I really wouldn't want the neighbors to know either one of those facts about me, I looked one last time for something to stick in the hole.

And what should I find right behind the door with neon lights flashing blaze orange arrows at it unburied on the surface of the carpet? The missing screw.

I calmly gracefully serenely quickly utilized the redial button on my phone. His defense? "Oh, that's good... *I never really looked for it." * (were you noting asterisks?)

I didn't even go there with him. A man is always right.

Before ejecting myself out the bedroom window, I just so happened to find a Popsicle stick on the floor. Two to be exact. It fit perfectly. I wiggled it snugly in where-the-door-knob-is-supposed-to-be-hole-that-you-never-see-unless-your-four-year-old-destroys-your-door-knob-during-his-nap. The entire mechanism inside the door that the four-year-old has yet to figure out how to destroy couldn't reach when he was removing the knobs, turned in perfect harmony. The door unlatched.

I was free. And I fixed the knob right then and there because I wanted to tell Toby that not only could I find the screw but I could also FIX the door knob because I didn't want to lose that screw again and start the next day the same way I had started that day.

Within minutes, I was serving my little family a nutritious breakfast cold cereal and we commenced the morning by spilling milk on the table, crying in the high chair, letting the outside dog in, and fighting over who got the purple bowl for their cereal. Yeah, it was a great start to a great day.

Next time I'll just stay locked in my room because I think these kids had it planned all along. Seriously, I do. My kids are out to get me. Perhaps they want to have a day where they run the show and have all the cookies and candy they want and keep me locked up nice and tight. It's like they had this criminalistic plan all contrived where you have the booby-trap set-up guy and then you have the booby-trap detonator guy and then you have the good guy. Landon was Bad Guy #1 and Janae was Bad Guy #2 and I was The Good Guy.

From now on, I will sleep with Popsicle sticks next to my bed. And I'll always keep a phone with me... just for emergency purposes: you never know when a 3 year old might kidnap you.

In Sickness and Health

You know that little note they stick in wedding vows, "In Sickness and Health?" I always thought that meant in the couple's sickness and health but after having kids, I found that it included them too.

That's where we're at today. Landon complained of a headache in church Sunday night, proceeded to feeling quite warm and feverish and commenced complaining about the headache the whole way home from church. And all night. And now all morning. He basically has a headache (if he knows what a headache is for sure???) and a fever. He's getting The Treatment which means he got some yummy medicine and now gets to sleep under a fan in Mom and Dad's bed. How much better can life get? (when you're sick, of course.)

After my own restless night of not sleeping well and trying to rationalize why Janae felt it necessary to ask for a "rink" (drink) and then be satisfied and go back to bed when all I did was answer, "you had one at bedtime" and then having her get up a couple hours later to turn the bathroom light on because she thought it was too dark in the house to having Landon come in, ask for a drink, head to the kitchen to get his own drink but instead lay in the hallway and wait for me and then keep coming in the rest of the morning to ask for this or that and comment on this or that, or tell me about this or that.

Despite having a bad night of rest AND having a sick kid to top it off, I already had a full day planned. Lots to do. Projects to complete. New projects to start. Errands to run. Cleaning to do. And more cleaning. Laundry. Painting. Etc. Pretty much, my schedule was full. But, I guess this is where that invariable, unavoidable, unplanned for "in sickness and health" comes in.

Which brings me back to the basis of this all. Marriage is a big package. It seems to effect every aspect of life... sickness, health, poverty, riches, etc, you get the idea. But, there's one thing I love about being married. At the end of every day, no matter how awful/good the day is, there is one foundational and unchangeable part of every day: the part of the day when everyone goes to their own beds and the house is dark and quiet. I love that part. I love knowing that no matter how busy I am or distracted Toby is, we still have a common denominator: our bed. The house can be a mess, our days can be full and keep us separated, the kids can be sick, but we still have something that doesn't change: our bed.

Sometimes the day starts with a lurch. The alarm goes off, the phones start ringing, the kids are crying, the baby needs milk, Toby gets ready for work, I head to the shower and wham! just like that, the day is in a headlong tumble towards an endless cycle of vicious circles of everything to do and not enough time to do it.

But, I can rest assured when I peer through the whirling foggy world our day suddenly is, and know that even if I don't see Toby for the rest of the day or have the opportunity to talk to him on his phone, or even see him at the supper table, it's okay; I'll find him after the dust has settled, the noise has quieted, the phones are off and the lights have dimmed and he'll be sleeping next to me. I love that we both can stumble off into our busy worlds and feel content to know that no matter how busy we get or how much we have to do, we'll be waiting for each other at the end of the day.

There's something sweet, contented and peaceful about resting next to the one you pledged your life to. It's a picture of trust. Of love. Of no matter what happened today, we're still here together. And that's my favorite part about being married. Just the quite togetherness of doing nothing other than sleeping and resting. And recharging for yet another busy day and endless cycle of vicious circles...blah, blah, blah... you get my point.

Everyone must go to their bed at some point in their day and I'm glad I get to go to the same bed as Somebody else I know. I don't need a cruise or a Caribbean get-a-way or even a romantic date night; in sickness and health, as long as we both shall live, just put my pillow next to his and I'm content with that.

More Anniversary Tid Bits

A few interesting facts about our fifth anniversary...

-- this was the second anniversary that I wasn't 9 months pregnant, or 8 months pregnant or 6 months pregnant. In other words, I am usually pregnant on our anniversaries.

-- this was the second anniversary we spent without eating out.

-- this was the cheapest anniversary we ever celebrated.

-- this was the first anniversary I didn't get flowers.

-- this was the first anniversary that I got a set of china instead of flowers. (my idea.)

-- this was the first anniversary that Toby made the dessert for. (yes folks, I am serious.)

-- this was the first anniversary that grandparents kept the kids.

-- this was the first anniversary and time in history that we stayed home by ourselves with no kids for the night.

-- this was the first anniversary we spent in this house.

-- this was the first fifth anniversary we have ever celebrated.

-- this was the gazillionth time I've muttered to my husband with my arms around his neck as he sweetly looked down at me (11" of height difference gives him the advantage to "look down" at me all the time) "Can you believe we're married?"

After all these years, I still can't believe it happened to me. To us. Marriage is wonderful. And anniversaries are so fun. Especially fifth ones.

Off To A Good Start

It was wonderful. The celebration of our fifth wedding anniversary was spectacular. Reminded me of our honeymoon: no children. And quiet.

Toby's folks had all three kiddos for the night and we stayed home and made supper and ate candy and relaxed without kiddos. The house was almost deathly silent. I loved it although I don't think I would like that sound for very long. I remember now why I wanted to have that first baby so badly.

Everything went well until during the night around 3 am or so. I became awakened. I knew Alex didn't wake me. Or any of the other kids. So, as I layed there in sleepless frustration and not feeling very comfortable, what should I hear but the radio!!

I hate to be quite so blunt in my frustration so let me just say that I hate hate hate waking up to the radio at 3 am. It is the most annoyingly surreal feeling. It leaves you stranded between sleep and waking up. I can't sleep. But, yet I can't fully awaken. It is entirely annoying. To me it's synonomous to having sand in your bed. Or crumbs. Or even as bad as waking up to a sick child puking on you. It is terrible.

I told Toby my perils this morning over a romantic breakfast. I firmly stressed the point that he must not ever turn the radio on ever again during the night again. It makes no sense to me why he'd want to have the radio on anyway. I mean, if you're sleeping, why listen to the radio? The reasoning here is beyond me.

Not wanting to make him think this was optional anymore (we've had this discussion several time in the last 5 years), I told him I was just going to start sleeping in another bed. He didn't like that idea. But, then I got another idea that I knew he'd like even less...

"I'm going to a marriage counselor for this," I stated emphatically.

"Not a marriage counselor?" he asked me in shock.

"Yes, a marriage counselor," I was glad he was feeling the brunt of this.

"Yep and when they give me that card with a list of marriage issues on it, I'll rate them all at a 10 except for the radio question," I informed him poignantly. "That one will be zero at best."

"Oh," he said, knowing full well I know nothing about marriage counseling let alone if they give you a card to rate your marriage on.

So, I guess the next five years of our marriage is off to a good start... if I get rid of that radio. Or go to a marriage counselor.

Being married to the one I love is so fun. Notice I said I'd rate all "marriage issues" at a 10 (on a scale of 1-10) and I truly mean that. We fit together so well that when we do have a little rift (the radio is the biggest thing I can think of) it is more hilarious than anything.

No fears blog world: if we went to a marriage counselor, it would only be to cheer him up and let him see that not all marriages are bad.

Marriage Insights To Commemorate our Anniversary

It's been 5 years. 5 whole years since I began to live my life with a man. My man. 5 years since I pledged my life to him. 5 years since my life changed. And 5 years since I began this exciting experience called: marriage.

If I had known at the beginning of our marriage all I know now, I have to wonder what I'd be learning today. So, to all you single people our there or for those of you that are in your early years of marriage (that would be any number less than 5), let me share a few insights I've had to learn through experience.

#1: If he suggests it (and "it" could mean anything from wanting a cup of coffee to wanting to sell your house), don't treat it as a mere suggestion; his "suggestion" is more serious than the laws of the Medes and Persians.

#2: Never under any circumstances leave a man waiting for anything. Never.

#3: Guys are next to impossible to buy gifts for. And by next to impossible I don't mean they're on this side of impossible; they are actually a step beyond impossible. Boughten gifts are typically very difficult to get if you really want to impress a guy. I mean, really, a shirt is easy to buy but most guys don't get all gushy about a shirt. The best thing I've found to get a man is... um... well, I really can't think of anything right now. After 5 years of marriage I have learned that it is impossible to have a good "stand-by gift" for a man.

#4: You remaining calm in stressful situations (i.e. the two year old spills an entire glass of red koolaid all over the white dining room carpet) is equal to everything good in a marriage. This really impresses men. Obviously, the contrary is also true.

#5: The longer I'm married, the more complicated I believe that men get. They don't like to be usurped over yet there are some things you better be in charge of OR ELSE. They don't like it when you throw leftovers out yet they can get tired of the same thing, day after day. They may not like ice cream with their dessert but mention Dairy Queen and that sounds good. They like to have peace and quite and be left alone sometimes but at the same time not want you to leave. They are complicated. But, that can be so fun because of the creative situations you can create in order to get around their complicatedness. I love that challenge.

#6: Marriage is a bed of roses... without the thorns.

#7: Seriously. Being married is one of the best situations I have ever found myself in. It is fun. Fulfilling. Satisfying. Blissful. And honeymoons don't have to end.

#8: Oh and if you ever disagree with your spouse, that disagreement can do one of two things: pull you apart or draw you closer. In a good marriage, it will draw a couple closer together. (So bring on the disagreements right?... of course not but you know what I mean.)

#9: A husband reveals the bad in you... and the good too.

#10: To have a good husband you have to be a good wife. (Ignore this point all you husbands! Your wives may kill me for saying that but really, it is very true.) And no, I have not seen the contrary to always be true.

#11: The longer I'm married, the less advice I have.

#12: (read insight number eleven again.)

I'd like to take this time to make a little speach and say that I married a good man who makes everyday an adventure. I never thought being married would be this good but ever since I met Toby, he has proven that some things in life are better than they appear they could be. Or should be. Seriously. Sometimes I feel bad for enjoying life as much as do because of my husband.

As we enter the "year of grace" in our marriage (number 5 = grace), I look forward to it with joy and know it will only get better.

I love you Honey!

An Important and (often) Forgotten Date

I know it's far from November 24th but I thought it would be good to remember that day as we approach the date of our wedding anniversary. And what better day to do that than on Valentines day.

Let me explain.

In the early hours of the evening of November 24th, 2002, I heard the sweetest thing anybody had ever said to me.

"I want you to know that I do love you," I heard from the driver's side of the Ford Ranger I was in.

"And I want you to be my wife," the words went on to say for the first time in my life.

"Will you marry me, Courtney?"

I said yes. I married him. And I am glad.

Months later, we laughed about this proposal; it was so short and to the point. I assured Toby that I thought it was sweet. Plus, he is not the get-down-on-one-knee kind of guy so I really didn't mind that he simply asked me to be his wife without including a bunch of fanfare. I like originality too and since no man had ever asked me to be his wife or told me he loved me before, whatever way Toby did it would've been meaningful and original.

Plus, I've never heard a couple say they were engaged in a Ford Ranger pick-up truck while making a quick trip home from Church. That just seems orginal to me.

We still drive down that dusty gravel road where he asked me to marry him. And I think it will forever invoke a flair of nostaligia everytime we make the turn where he slowed to a crawl and told me he loved me for the first time.

I've learned through marriage that a happy woman doesn't need things to make her happy. She doesn't even need a thoughtful husband who thinks of any way he can to surprise her and impress her with his ability to demonstrate love. Her only need is to be loved. Simply loved. And to know she is needed and wanted.

And Toby is good at loving me and showing me that I am needed and wanted in his life. I am content. Helplessly content.

Although he's dashingly thoughtful in so many ways and can remember what I wore the day we met and that the dress had a tiny wrinkle down by the hem, I still marvel over the fact that he never can remember the exact date of our engagement. It's been this way since before we were married -- and we were married 3 1/2 months after this proposal. To this day, he needs me to remind him that, Yes dear, it was indeed the 24th that you proposed to me on.

But, that's okay. I like to feel needed in such an important way in his life. Plus, he hasn't ever forgotten that I am his wife and that I did indeed say yes. So, it's alright.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Just Hope Your House isn't One of Them... or your husband's computer

It's funny how you can have plans for a day, make arrangements, prepare, perspire and even pray about an event and then have everything change.

That's what happened today.

We were scheduled to have a major event take place in our basement aka: The Water Hole. We were getting a high class drain tile system put in so that we could use our basement and keep our socks dry. Not only to keep our socks dry but also to store a few kids down there.

This was our list before the basement people came:

1. Clean garage
2. Clean out basement and put everything in pre-cleaned garage
3. Dig 2 large holes next to exeterior basement wall
4. Cut 2 large holes in basement wall
5. Install 2 large windows in the holes in basement wall
6. Sweep up the entire mess
7. Repeat sweeping
8. Do all laundry
9. Move washer, dryer, freezer, non-garaged storage items to center of basement
10. Make plans to leave for the day
11. Resign to having a house full of dust upon arrival home
12. Surrender to vacuuming, sweeping, dusting dust for several weeks from the basement
13. Dust, dust, dust, dust, dust, dust, dust...... etc.

All the above was completed so everything was in order, right? Wrong. Little did we know about the predicament of a very important little thing: the structure that made up the footings, walls and floor of our home. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Toby planned to run errands today in preparation for the upcoming home show. Now, the home show is a big event for us. We advertise our business there and have done so 4 out of the 5 years we've been married. I have a little animosity for the home show. Yes, it helps my husband bring home the bacon and all that good stuff but the home show and I are competing for the same affection: Toby.

You see, we were married February 15, a mere week after that first home show Toby and his brother participated their business in. I was not aware this would be a yearly affair. I was a gullible, young, girlfriend that thought getting married was simply picking a date and establishing a wedding that would transpire into a marriage. I forgot about the anniversaries that always follow a wedding.

So, I said all that to say that every year, the home show falls right before, on or after our anniversary. EVERY SINGLE YEAR. The home show people and I must have been thinking the same dates when we both planned for our big events.

As Toby planned the errands he had to run, I looked forward to cruising around Lincoln with him in a loud, big truck. How romantic! Especially with 3 screaming kids. Well, make that 2 kids and 1 screaming kid.

We woke up this morning to a Nebraska Prairie Blizzard. After the almost 50 degree weather we had the two days before, 8 degrees above zero was pretty cold. (at least we were still above zero though). Toby said his plans had changed because of the weather and he would just stay home and do book work. Fine with me since I knew we'd still all be together like one big happy family.

Then the basement people got here and got right to work. I could here machines running, guys talking and real work going on down there. I ran to the grocery store to get coffee and milk and braved the frigid weather and bad roads.

Arriving home I could hear nothing but Alex screaming loudly in the highchair. He was saying something about being left alone, everyone leaving and wondering why everyone hated him. Tears were literally spraying off his face.

I could hear no work. No people talking. No machines. The silence sounded interesting. I made coffee, consoled Alex and put groceries away while Landon and Janae ransacked the packaged groceries. A ripped package of beef caused by a child's finger and another child wanting to open up a cake mix because he promised he wouldn't eat it was making my day a tad stressful.

And then Toby came up and broke the news to me. I couldn't understand all the logistics but it had something to do with the fact that our basement was originally constructed wrong. The footings were not being used like they should and the floor was in the wrong place. They couldn't install the drain tile. Bummer, especially when you can't just move the floor like you can move a wall.

The crew was waiting on a supervisor to get here before arriving to a verdict and Toby wallowed in a big pool of What Are We Going To Do Now. It sounded bad. This cute little bungalow we bought last year was a lemon. And when you want a house and get a lemon, that is not a good thing. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade but how do you make lemonade out of a lemon house? We figured we'd just have to do that by tearing the entire basement out and starting from scratch. But, how could we do that? We couldn't afford that. So much for new bedrooms. So much for a new kitchen. Poor wasted egress windows already installed in the basement.

The head honcho guy got here and had a few solemn talks on his cell phone outside in the frigid wind and snow. The guys downs stairs started hauling their tools and machines and noise outside back to the truck. Toby looked like he was preparing for a long swim in his What Are We Going To Do Now pool. (that look is similar to what most people would look like when they prepare to attend the funeral of a loved one.) I was trying to find a recipe for lemonade but I had none of the ingredients except for one big fat ugly lemon.

Finally, a verdict was made. The supervisor head honcho guy became the hero. Superhero. He explained the situation of our walls and that there was a product available that would be used in situations like ours. And the best thing was this: the new product (though it cost a tad more) was installed via Epoxy on the existing floor! No jack hammering out the perimeter of the basement floor! No dust! No waiting a week for 18" of cement to dry on the perimeter of the basement before we could build rooms! No more lemons!

Never before have I felt like worshipping something other than God but a part of me wanted to utter reverent praises to Thrasher Basement Systems. They truly saved the day and our house. The only draw back was the fact that they couldn't get here to do that installment until the middle of February. But, what's the big deal? I mused... we already have the home show then, our anniversary and Valentines day... why not add another historical event to that week?

Shortly after, the sun came out. The landscape was covered in a fresh blanket of white snow. The blizzard stopped. It was so pretty. Toby got back to work on his book work. Just then, his computer froze and began to flash really weird. It then wouldn't turn on. Another lemon. Why the computer? Why Toby's computer? He needs his computer for book work just like you need money to pay your bills. He needs his computer for work. For that home show. He doesn't just need a computer; he needs it to work. So, he made plans to take it in and get it looked at.

He went to our reliable, steady van only to crank the key and hear nothing but a dead battery. He decided to try my computer and began to transfer files from his portable hard drive. Word shut down unexpectedly. He had gotten none of his bookwork done all day and it was now 1:30 pm.

Finally, the van battery got charged and Toby left for town. I told him I still wanted to be a wife by the end of the day so please, stay safe and don't have anything else bad happen. He couldn't promise anything and mumbled something about being jinxed.

So, with that, I kissed him goodbye, found a cup of coffee and sat down and blogged. That's my way of making lemonade when life gives me lemons. Aren't you glad?

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

Just for the record and because of the context of this blog, I almost posted this twice to Toby's blog because I didn't see that he was signed in on this computer and not me. I signed out and signed back in twice before it worked. It is a miracle that with all the copying and pasting, this post actually survived it's traumatizing journey to the wide web world.

What I Expect in the New Year

Before I commence blogging in the New Year, I believe it is most necessary to bring to light a true and definite need. It's a burden I'm sure many of you faithful readers are not aware of. A burden that I carry daily.

If I could do anything to stop time, I would.

Why?

Because it's been 5 years since I walked down that aisle and out of singleness. And I left all but 2 friends behind me. And I'm already 5 years ahead of all my single friends. And when they do finally get married, we will hardly be able to be newlyweds together anymore!

And this is tragic. I mean, true friends stick by each other to the end and here I am enjoying marriage and kids and babies and child birth and labor and they sit there on the side waiting. Alone. With no one there beside them. I am not being a very good true friend.

So, I made one New Year's resolution this year. Yes, ONE. I decided to take one day a week to pray for a certain friend and her unknown prospective spouse. The next day, another friend, and so on and so forth. Seriously.

I know if I stop the time right now (even if I could) I would mess with God's plan... unless He had it in His plan to have me stop time but we all know that's probably not possible. But, if I support God's plan and pray for all you lassies out there, perhaps it will turn the heart of your prince and cause the wedding sun to shine on you.

We all know that marriage is not for everyone; some of us do never marry. But, a wise older man once told my husband (it happened to be in the week he met me) that most people do marry.

We all believe that singleness is a blessing. And we are single unless we marry, not until. (a little change of perspective there.) But, scripture also says that "he that finds a wife, finds a good thing and obtains favor of the Lord." (Proverbs 18:22)

It high is time for some young men out there to start obtaining favor of the Lord and for you girls to become "good things."

That is why I'm praying.

Blog: No Time To

I just can't figure out it out. Everyday I read blogs written by mothers with lots of kids and almost always, their blogs are updated. Daily. Sometimes several times a day. And the part I can't figure out is the how-do-they-have-time-to-do-it part.

I have only 3 kids. Some of these women have 3 times as many as I have. Others have twice as many. Some have as many as I do. But they all blog daily. Or several times a day. Or at least several times a week. Plus besides having kids, they do tons of other things like.... home school, have a clean house, cook 3 times a day, decorate their house daily, sew all the time, paint anytime they want, live frugal, and never seem to be tired. I do none of that. And yet my blog goes for ages without having any sign of present life. That just seems wrong. I don't get it.

I reconcile myself with the fact that I do have three kids. And this is the first time I've ever had three kids. And it wasn't long ago that I had the third one. So, life is relatively unique, unusual and unrelenting.

Exciting too is another way to look at my life; never a dull moment. Not that those other moms don't have exciting lives but apparently I haven't figured out how to balance exciting with blogging. It's a mystery to me.

--- Like this morning when I opened the fridge and found a cell phone in there.

--- Or, going to church without a hem.

--- Nursing my baby all night -- and not just every 3 hours but rather for 3 hours at a time. And then for 3 more hours at a time. I'm tired and drained by morning --in more than one way.

--- Making a meal for a family and not getting the potatoes in the oven until an hour after we should've. (and we were going to serve the meal hot so an hour makes a big difference. Especially for potatoes.) Oh, and then the oven started smoking and Janae started hitting Alex with a horse and Landon threw a temper tantrum (I could almost safely say that was a first for him) and the phone rang twice with calls from friends I rarely hear from and the hubby was late coming home from work and was hurrying to get ready for jail Bible study when he finally did get home and I strapped Janae down in a chair just to keep the environment safe -- as well as the baby -- (she thought it was funny to be strapped to a chair...) and the baby needed to nurse and the house smelled like it was on fire, thanks to the oven, and the baby was screaming and the clock was ticking and the potatoes weren't getting done and I was running late with my screaming and hitting kids.

It just never slows down. It doesn't help either that I'm tired lately. Not just the oh-it-would-be-nice-to-take-a-nap kind of tired but the I-need-to-sleep-at-some-point-in-this-24-hour-period kind of tired.

So I drink coffee. Not just for nostalgia or for the smell or because I like aerosol bottles of whip cream to swirl into my coffee. I drink it because I need to. I used to not understand why some people talked about needing coffee. Now I can't understand how people live without coffee. Literally, that's my lifeline.

On a more positive and sweet note, Toby has been romantic lately. And I always like that. The good and romantic husband he is, Toby has thoughtfully considered the plight of his wife and her unquenchable need for one-on-one time with her spouse... especially at the beginning of the day. Not that he's not usually romantic, it's just that this romanticism is a rather new found routine he's settled us in. But, he is a morning person and I am a night person. Actually, right now I'm a anytime person -- as long as I got sleep at the other end of the clock. The morning setting is so fresh and sweet and new-dayish. There's something about facing the day ahead with the one you pledged your life to at your side. But I'm so tired in the morning and so can't keep my eyes open. He lovingly pleads me out of bed and tantalizes me with hot cups of coffee fixed just right.

And then he says (after I'm standing groggily in the kitchen) that it was my choice to get up and he's glad I made the right choice. (I'm thinking, "CHOICE???! You call that a choice?) I'm still glad he's so romantic and good though and helps me stick to my plan of getting up even if I only did get 3-4 hours of sleep the night before.

We sit on the love seat (a fitting place), and enjoy our steamy and creamy bean juice. We read the Bible, talk about the day's plans, discuss our kids and then pray. It's been a wonderful start for both of us and for me, this is the ultimate of romantic. I mean, I like flowers and that kind of thing but I LOVE one-on-one time just talking together. No kids, no distractions, no phone, no blog...

Okay, that last one was just plain mean, wasn't it? I do enjoy a good blog moment when it hits but I'm glad to sit quiet with just Toby and not think along blog lines or anything else.

By the time he leaves for work, Janae and/or Alex are usually up and BAM! just like that, the day starts. Tired or not, I'm still the mom.

So, that’s what is going on here, on the other side of my blog page. Countless times I can sit down with my laptop only to have to jump up, set the laptop down, hop/skip/run/fly to the other end of the room and rescue a baby from his sister. Or dash to the door where my two toddlers just escaped from. Or save a young man from being bitten by his sister. Or set up a train through the living room and dining room. Or make a snack of crackers and cheese and "neg nok" (egg nog). Or give coffee to my two year old. And by the time I find my laptop again, I've lost my blog moment.

And then nap time comes and I breath a sigh of relief (or is it exhaustion?) and tuck my children all soundly in bed. But, if one goes right to sleep, another one will insist on taking no nap that day. If the older two do go to sleep, the baby will decide that today is the day he will nurse through his entire nap. Or else. And if all three of them sleep, the phone rings. Or I decide to blog. But, rarely do I nap anymore because as soon as I go to sleep, within 10 minutes someone will wake up. It’s as if an alarm goes off or something. Now I know why my own mom used to talk about only getting 10 minutes for a nap. She always said it was just enough to keep her going through the rest of the day. That is so true for me. Plus, it’s all my kids will let me have and at this point and I take every second I can get.

So, if days go by without an updated post on here, know full well that life is just too exciting to have a minute to sit down and blog. And not only is my blog being neglected, my pillow is too.

Ever Wonder Why You're Not Married Yet?

Check this site out here to find out why.

Just another reason why men should ask for directions...

(Link courtesy to this dear gal, and of course her sweet blogger cousin who first posted the above quote.)

The Man I Thought I Knew

When a man gets married, he is relieved to give up many tasks to his new, lovely bride. And that bride is so happy to take on these new tasks.

Those tasks include:

• restocking clothing when it is worn (she buys his socks, underwear, t-shirts, patches his pants, sews buttons back on to Sunday shirts, keeps track of his belt, finds good bargains for shoes and other out-door wear, keeps his dresser stocked with in-season clothing, etc.)
• washes and dries and folds and puts away ALL his laundry.
• irons his church clothes.
• makes his bed every day.
• packs his lunch for work.
• makes his meals.
• cares for his children.
• cleans his house.
• mows his yard sometimes.
• cleans his vehicles.
• scratches his back.
• finds his lost book.
• keeps track of his wallet.
• gives gifts to all his relatives.
• keeps inventory on his hygiene care... deodorant, toothbrushes, shaving equipment, soap, shower gel, shampoo, etc.
• cuts his hair.
• and the list goes on.

Overall, she cares how he looks. Her concern is for his well being, his health, his image, his cleanliness. She takes pride in his personal upkeep. She helps him and enjoys every minute of it.

And when it's time to pick out new glasses for the next two years, she embraces that challenge and makes it a very important priority and spends her own personal time considering the best style, frame, size and nose bridge.

Until he goes to Walmart by himself to purchase the week's groceries and she finds out later he got his glasses picked out so that item on his to-do list could be considered taken care of.

If only he knew that this project wasn't just a thing to cross off HER list: this was a matter of important priority and one she was putting valuable thinking time towards.

Apparently even after four years of marriage, he's still getting to know her and... vice versa. There's nothing so sweet as being in the "newly weds" category even after this many years and children. But still, those glasses better be classy.

For Better Or For Worse

We were both having a conversation. We both knew that too. Even I. Although, an observer listening in and watching us would've thought quite the contrary was going on.

"Hey Honey," I began as I sat down near him, "I need to talk to you about something."

Immediately, my listening husband said, "Okay, talk." And then he picked up his cell phone and made a call.

A few minutes later, I told him again we needed to discuss something.

"Okay, talk," he attentively said as he resumed the program on his computer, giving it his full attention.

The phone rang at this point and he answered it. I knew I definitely couldn't talk now so waited for the call to pass.

After he hung up, he headed out the room. Through the doorway as his voice grew distant, I heard him say, "Honey, you can talk now."