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.

A Question Worth Asking

"What have I to do with thee,
Jesus
thou Son of the Most High God?"

A Matron Of Honor Recounts THE Wedding

It was a lovely day for a wedding. Perfect weather. Perfect sun. Perfect temperature. It honestly could not have been any better.

After a short night of sleep the night before, 3 of us girls piled out of the same bed and the 4 other room mates got up as well. The nice thing about going to bed at 2am and showering just before you crawl in your bed is the fact that you don’t need a shower a mere 5 hours later when the alarm goes off. It’s like a glorified nap. We saved water and time that way although we did lose sleep using this sleep vs. shower method.

A short hour and 45 minutes later found a whole passle of smiling, giggling girls spilling out of the same hotel room and bustling down to a waiting, shiny limo. A couple of us weighed our options and opted for coffee instead of a limo ride. Yeah, that's how important coffee can be to a person: instead of taking your first limo ride ever, you’d settle for coffee instead. I almost felt foolish mature watching the gawking hotel guests drool over the our limo while I slipped into a blue Corolla instead and went to a drive through coffee shop. But, my priorities were in order and that's all that mattered.

Arriving at the church we immediately plugged in irons, set up ironing boards, began fixing hair and spraying perfume. I personally became heavily intoxicated with the cloud of hair spray and perfume and nail polish that filled the room we were in but hey, at least we all looked nice and smelled good too.

After getting my hair done, I began to prepare for putting on my dress. The Dress. That bridesmaid dress I had slaved over along with my kind sister-in-law who had finished it up for me and made it fit perfect.

As I went to get my hand picked undergarments that I needed before putting the dress on, I found that they were no where. I looked everywhere I knew I had put them and they were entirely missing. I ran out to the limo that had just arrived with the male wedding attendants and interrogated the driver about the location of my clothing. The petrified driver kindly assured me my clothes were not in the luggage area as he nervously dodged my flailing arms and threatening jabs while preparing to step back in his limo. I searched the church foyer, the car I had come over to the church in and ransacked all the luggage and duffel bags that were not my own. But, nothing turned up. The clothes were missing.

I called a family member still at the hotel asking them to please check the room my clothes were last in. The clothes were gone. I just knew they were probably sitting in the corner of an elevator or laying strewn on a parking lot somewhere getting black tire marks on my much lacy necessary “clothing.”

I was desperate and really needed to be dressed and practicing the piano instead of running around like a chicken with my head cut off in search of lingerie. I finally decided to just go to the bathroom and think. While in my perfume intoxicated state of mind and feeling dizzy from all the smells and lack of fresh air, I found in that hazy bathroom that the clothes I needed were already where they were supposed to be: on me. I was so relieved that the embarrassment of the whole ordeal did nothing to keep me from relieving the worried bride and my fellow bridesmaids that this matron of honor had indeed accounted for everything she needed for this day. I was met with scoffing laughter instead of sighs of relief.

And I don't understand why.

Anyway, now the dress. The Moment had come. I put it on, stepped out of the bathroom for inspection. I was met with yeah-it’s-okay-but-are-you-sure-you-can’t-tighten-your-bra-straps type of reaction. Not the type of response a maiden of honor expects. Or appreciates.

I decided to try on a different dress. So, I grabbed another one laying over the back of a chair. That one was too tight.

I slipped out one last time, hoping I hadn’t lost/gained too much weight over the course of time that had lapsed since my dress was sewn and grabbed the next dress I could find. Finally, it fit. I am making a mental note to personalize matching dresses I make from now on in order to save on time and the embarrassment of trying on every pink dress I could lay my hands on. Bare in mind that this is moving closely to about an hour before the beginning of the wedding and I still needed to practice the piano –before guests arrived—and do the finishing touches on myself.

I zipped into the still empty sanctuary and ran to the piano, relieved I was alone to practice the song assigned to me by the bride for her special day. I began to play and suddenly out of no where, people dressed in black began flashing lights at me, zooming in on my playing and taking in the piano from different angles. That was an excellent practice set up because it made me feel like I was seriously performing and definitely on display. It was realistically intimidating which was what I needed to live in the moment of performance without actually performing.

My fingers glided perfectly and as the damper peddle faded the song at the end, the photographer began to tell me how much he liked that song and the arrangement he heard and how he had it on his Ipod and perhaps I could listen to it later on that day. It was the inspiration I needed and appreciated but didn’t expect.

Doing the finishing touches on myself, opening bridal attendant gifts and then racing to the kitchen to get a bite to eat in order to help eliminate a sure tendency of fainting, I realized this was it. The groom was visiting with his attendants and looked out-of-the-ordinarily sober and serious. I felt an advantage on my sister (the bride) because I got to talk to the groom and see him on HER wedding day before she did. HA! Wait! That was the point… duh.

Teetering on the gold, pointy heeled sandals strapped to my feet, I attempted to gracefully flit around and make sure everything was in line that I was in charge of: flower girl, ring bearers, husband-of-the-matron-of-honor, etc. I found myself happily accepting the steady strong arm of the brother-of-the-bride who also happened to be my brother too. Those darling sandals were for looks, not for wearing. But, if you had a handsome soldier to escort you around, you knew exactly how Cinderella must’ve felt.

Helping the bride put on her beautiful gown, I couldn't believe the miracle that takes place in a girl when she becomes a bride in that one single moment. It’s a transformation. The point in time when she enters that portal between single hood and marriage. The radiant beauty the dress inspires in the girl that is now The Bride is heavenly. It was HER day. And she looked every bit of it too.

The moment came for us to line up in the order of our attendant positions. And then the tears of happiness came. I have never in my life had obvious tears on my eyes because I was happy. I was petrified my make-up would run and began receiving directions from all kinds of friendly people on how to dab one's eyes when you wear the kind of make-up you are not used to wearing. The rest of the people I was with told me to just quit crying because if I cried, then they would cry too. I felt so responsible in my out of character state of my mind and quickly controlled my tears. And that make-up.

The music started. The Grandmothers were seated. It was too late now to do anything else. Everything had to be ready. The first attendants entered the church. And then the next. And then the next and so on and so forth until it was my turn.

I stepped out on the white runner with my sparkly, tipsy sandals while taking hold of the strong arm of the attendant I was attending with. Thankfully, he had a much more substantial base than I had and it allowed me to thrive in the moment of dainty heels, shimmering dress, climaxing processional music and the fact that my sister was getting married. Immediately, I felt all the excitement and emotion of such a special day and my smile felt like my face would break. I was so happy.

I remembered back a few years when I walked down the same aisle on the arm of my father to the smiling groom waiting for me at the front of the church. I looked over to where that groom sat watching me and saw that same smile and that darling wink. I was so happy.

This was Brittney's day. The day she had waited for. Her groom had a very pleased smile on his face when we met eyes and I could tell he partook of the same joy I had for Britt only his was deeper. He had so much love for her in his eyes. This man that had won my sister's heart was worthy of her affection. He was so happy and I could see in his eyes what a million words could never say: she's all mine now and I will cherish her forever.

In a shower of pink petals and bright, giggly smiles, the flower girl and ring bearer put on a delightful show of sprinkling flowers down the aisle runner. They were perfect. I had no idea those children could possess such perfection. Anyone could tell they delighted in the participation they had in their Aunt Beemoo's day and the joy they had was evident in the pink cloud of petals they were all the way down the aisle.

And then the bride. She was beautiful. Her hair was perfect. Her dress sparkled like a ray of sunshine. Her smile, her confidence, her happiness, her composure, her love... all were as evident as the sun was outside. She didn't take her eyes off her groom the whole way down the aisle. She was radiant. This was the moment of her life and she celebrated every minute of it. I was so happy.

The ceremony, special music and vows were all perfect. Nothing went wrong. The first kiss was beautiful and the smiles and peace the couple had together was so inspiring to watch. They were definitely on a good start to a great marriage.

I never knew a day could be so perfect. But it was. And I was so happy but even happier that the happiness didn't end when the last notes of the recessional died down. A good marriage is sure to follow this happy wedding and I look forward to at last having a married sibling and settling down to life as young married couples together.

As hard as it is to believe, I have an idea I'm not half as happy as Andy and Britt are though. And for some reason, that makes me real happy.

I would post a picture from the wedding but due to previously committed-to requests, I was unable to photograph any part of the wedding. I guess that's part of being IN the wedding: you can't take pictures OF the wedding yourself. So, I captured it the best I could in words although I do realize that a single picture is worth a thousand words.

And So Ends The Day

Folded laundry stacked in piles all over the house for some reason does not leave me with a feeling of accomplishment. The reason is probably because I know that until they get put away, each folded stack has a 99.99% chance of getting toppled over just like a short lived terrorist's regime.

Dark red luggage left on the deck to air out with Febreze is marked up with sidewalk chalk. One hefty duffel bag holds various pieces of chalk "so that we can take it to Grandpa and Grandma's house." Lovely. At least the suitcases smell pretty, though the white clouded covers and insides look like they were wheeled through a flour factory.

A wake up call bright and early this morning was in the form of excreted substance from my teething 14 month old. Poop on the sheet. Poop on the blankets (all 3 of them). Poop on the pillowcase. Poop on the bumper pad. Poop on the crib. Poop on the floor. Poop... you get the idea.

A fresh sheet, clean blankets and fluffed pillow were more than that 14 month old could ask for when it came time for a nap. A little cow pie pile of baby poop sat in the middle of the bed when I went in to get him up. Oh yeah, and it had streaked on the clean blanket as well. I am debating whether or not to change the bed because by morning he'll be back at it again. (just kidding... the original sheets are clean and ready.)

We are leaving on a 10 day trip. I have tons of stuff to do. Everything I start, gets interrupted, destroyed, turned upside down, and then pooped on. My to-do list ends with "Finish Everything On List" because I was so desperate to find more work to do so I could cross it off my list because getting my list completed is a job in and of itself.

Oh, and that pooping teething 14 month old? He has Mad Baby Disease. Basically, he is depressed and down about everything in life. His weight bothers him -- especially on his thighs. His latest hair cut. That new bruise on his forehead after he ran into the piano bench the other day... He's just sick and tired of running into so many problems during his day (pun intended). He never gets fed. His diapers are left unchanged. He even wakes up in his own excretions. This is America folks, yet this twenty-five-pound-fourteen-month-old-food-scarfing-hefty little kid is suffering from the bad life he has. Yeah... he has it rough. No wonder he's so sad.

So, instead of sitting down and having a good cry myself because life is one never ending uncompleted falling apart pooping project after another, I sat down and blogged. Hey, it's either bawl or blog. At least this way, someday I can blackmail my kids look back at the good ole' days and say "Boy, I'm glad those are over!" "Those were THE days!!" because I have them documented in something other than tears.

Babies Come From Policemen

Holding up a life size replica of a 11-12 week pre-born baby, Landon made a keen observance...

"You can't get this baby in your belly, can you Mom?" he said sizing the tiny baby in front of my waist.

"That's right Landon, I can't." I agreed, impressed with his ability to comprehend such deep knowledge.

"You just need a policeman to do it, right." He finished.

"Uhhhhhh.... only if the policeman is the dad," I said in a tone that said go-have-this-conversation-with-your-dad.

The Mad Sad Bad Glad Blog

Blogging.... ahhh! One of things that for some people is a steady diet, for other's like a cup of coffee: you only do it when it's hot, strong and fresh. And you can just really enjoy that cup, wax nostalgic and not be interrupted by 29" and 36" and 43" long people.

I'm the cup-of-coffee blogger -- it has to be hot, strong and fresh on my mind or else it's just not a good blog post. Right now, between trips and weddings and projects and sewing machines, I have so many things to blog about. Seriously. My mind is full of blog thoughts but there are too many things to think about.

I've said before that when I'm mad, sad, bad and glad all at once, I cannot blog. And that's how it is now.

If I'm mad about something, I better cool off before I write about it. If I write about the things I'm sad about, they'll come across selfishly pathetic. If I write about the way I think about some topics, I'll come across bad. And if I write about what I'm happy about while I'm still in the midst of gladness, it comes across belittled because of a gitty tendency to explain my happiness.

To complicate this, if I write about what I'm mad about while I'm sad about something else, I'll send a pitiful message about a topic that probably could be a lot more light hearted than I make it sound like. If I write about something I'm glad about while being "bad" in another area, I'll overlook the joys and humor in the happy topic and allow the "bad" thing to shadow over delightful topics.

I know: it's complicated and you're probably getting ready to delete me from your blog favorites and send a notice to my county nurse and have me sent to an institution but really you should be impressed that I have figured all this out about myself at such a young and impressionable age. At only 25 years of life experience, I have learned the absolute truth that the thing called "life" just is complicated sometimes. And I've had a lot of life around me lately. So that explains my blog hiatus.

You're probably thinking you had heard it all when it comes to reasons/excuses why people don't update their blogs from time to time. Before I leave you entirely shaking and scratching your head and saying this is by far the most unbelievable excuse, I'll mention a few titles that keep flashing through my head over in the "Blog This" category just so you know I am still an official blogger since my mind does still have the ability to think in "blog thoughts"...

You may notice I won't always tell you what is making me glad, mad, bad and sad. That is for me to know and you to just not find out.

---Mice in the basement walls are better than mice IN your basement. These Wall Dwelling Mice do not get into your things like food, storage, clothing, etc. I'll admit right now this makes me glad because if I HAVE TO have mice, I'll take the wall kind.

---Just because you are fortunate to have Wall Dwelling Mice, doesn't mean you only know about them because you have a good memory of seeing your cat pull out the screeching live Wall Dwellers on a pretty regular basis. Rather, you may be hit with the reality that you share your home with another family/race/creature every time you open your basement door. It doesn't take a hound dog to smell mice pee and I know this for a fact because I happen to not be a hound dog and I can smell mice pee and recognize it's origin the second that door swings open.

---I have had heavenly impulsive visions of tearing out the entire stair landing and replacing the flooring and anything else that could possibly be tainted by mouse pee.

---I hate to publicly announce an absolute must be done now project a possible job on Toby's honey-do list especially when I know how much he can't wait to make me completely happy by eliminating mouse pee from our house how busy he is right now. And, I have to hate to admit that Mice Pee makes me mad, sad and bad.

---If I can smell things on a regular basis -- especially disgusting things like stale cigarette smoke in our walls, mouse pee downstairs and a poopy diaper in the trash, I tend to go crazy with impulses like completely scrubbing down the bathtub or vacuuming every carpet fiber in our house or dusting all the woodwork. We all know that scrubbing your already clean bathtub is a sure way to eliminate mouse pee odors from your basement.

---Knowing that no matter how many spring cleanings I do a week, my house will still stink so I may as well drink coffee, sit at the computer and wish I could live in a single family dwelling and not share our little home with entire generations of 4-footed-pee-producing creatures.

And so ends the spurt of blog thoughts from the "Blog This" category of my brain. I had no idea mice pee fumes could intoxicate a human brain was such a big topic in there until I mentally opened that file and found how full it had become. I'm just glad those peeing mice are only in our basement.

(Now you see how I'm mad, sad and bad about those stinking mice (literally) but glad that they're not upstairs. Thus proving my whole Mad Bad Sad Glad theory and the reason why it's too complicated to blog when I share all 4 emotions at once.)

Sleep, Baby, Sleep

You tiptoe stalkingly to the closed door. Afraid of the non-existent floor boards that are sure to creak loudly.

You peer cunningly through the key hole. Afraid that even the slight movement of your eye in front the key hole is sure to alert the occupant on the other side of the door.

You scan the entire premises of the baby crib through the key hole like a trained detective examines evidence. You see nothing suspicious.

You then take a deep breath, step up sharply on the very tips of your toes and very carefully peak around the barely-cracked door, risking all just to know for sure that the baby is still sleeping.

And he is. Peacefully. Totally unaware of the pains and mental strain you just went through to find out for sure that he is totally unaware that you saw him sleeping.

Family Planning

I have a new Family Planning method. I figured it out this morning and it really does work.

All families need plans and mine badly needed one this morning. So, since I AM the lawyer policeman executioner mom and I do have the ability to reign with an iron fist authority here, I made a plan.

After removing all the knives and sharp objects from the dish washer, I designated Landon to put dishes away empty the dishwasher. Alex helped played in the kitchen with him and I gated their community by... you guessed it: putting the gate up. They were safe, secure and out of trouble... as long as they didn't fight.

I delegated Janae to:
1: go potty
2: put underwear on
3: get dressed

Knowing my family was functioning around a plan and each member had assigned projects and jobs that would take them an "x" amount of time, I knew I had approximately 4.37 minutes to shower, put deodorant on and get dressed.

Sure enough, when I got done, Landon had all the dishes lined up on the counter ready to be put up in the cupboard, Janae was completed and topped off with a backwards jumper and Alex was happily dumping pantry items over the gate and into the dining room.

They were all happy, no one was fighting and work had actually been done in my absence!! I on the other hand, was showered, clean and dressed and enjoying the aroma of peace that rarely graces our mornings. A hot cup of coffee waited for me on the table.

I'm thinking Family Planning is something I should do more often.

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.

Coffee.

I fell in love a couple weeks ago with a really good cup of coffee. If you don't have one of these and you drink coffee, you have no idea what you're missing. It's called a Bodum French Press. Sounds fancy shmancy but in all honesty, it's a plain jane contraption that's nice and compact and good for small kitchens. And it makes great coffee.

It retailed at Bed Bath and Beyond for $49.99 but with my 20% off coupon, I struck a good deal.
(I finally realized what the "beyond" means in Bed Bath and Beyond: it means a Bodum French Press.)

It was especially a good deal since my old coffee pot was giving out and needed to be replaced and had always made gross coffee anyway. It was actually hard to tell that it was giving out since the coffee had never tasted good but the flood of water surrounding the pot every once in awhile indicated that the Mr. Coffee was going the way of all coffee makers and would soon end up at the landfill where we know all coffee makers go.

Some should just go there right now anyway and you'll agree with me when you buy your very own Bodum French Press coffee maker and enjoy a cup of it's robust, dark yet creamy goodness. You haven't tasted coffee until you've tasted Bodum's. (In case you're wondering, I am not getting paid for this advertisement -- except in the good cup of coffee sitting next to me.)

But, when you pour your cup of coffee, be sure not to put it in this cup like I tend to do. I love the $1 deal I got on it at TJ Maxx and absolutely adore it's tall, narrow elegance but find it's natural tendency to tip-over-easily-when-bumped to be a slight inconvenience... especially when it spills my good cup of coffee all over a crisp, white, piece of eyelet fabric with the pattern already pinned to the fabric. And gets on the books sitting next to the fabric. And goes under the serger just beyond the fabric.

Not to change the delicious subject to something less appealing, I just thought in case any of you are still wondering about my computer as I am still wondering about it, I thought you might be interested to know that it is still sitting in that nice computer bag. In the corner. On the floor. Out of sight, out of mind. Well, not quite out of mind but you get the idea.

Back to that cup of coffee... I need a refill.

What's Worse?

So, I find out that the gravel Alex was just having a blast playing in, was sprayed with Round Up yesterday. And the twenty-first-century-mom that I am, I go right to http://www.google.com/ and look it up, just like all other moms do these days when their kids do deadly and toxic things.

Okay, so Poison Control is still there for you but at least you don't have to head right to the phone in the heat of a disaster if you use Google. Plus, I can never remember that number or find the "convenient place" I stored the number at. Google is so much handier, faster and obviously safer since it's literally at my finger tips. And it's not on the phone.

Speaking of phone, that seems to cause a disaster in and of itself anymore these days. I get on the phone to check on a sick relative or verify wedding plans and even though it's a tender caring thought that is propelling me to connect with my phone, it turns into a serious problem.

A problem like a 3 year old climbing in the fridge, looking for her vitamins that she already had. The phone rings/I call someone and suddenly, there she is in the fridge... every. single. time. I. get. on. the. phone. It's like that's her cue to get her pills for the day... "Oh Mom's on the phone -- GET ME MY ACIDOPHULUS!" I should just start putting her in the fridge as soon as the phone rings/I dial a number so that I don't have to wonder what all that racket in the kitchen is about.

Or that four year old that follows me around exhaling in a balloon, screeching the air out and then asking me politely (but loudly) if I would please blow his balloon up. Oh yeah, like I'm going to huff and puff into a rubber bag with a small opening and carry on a phone conversation. Balloons can wait. And so can those banana flavored pills.

So, back to the Round Up scene... after sitting at the computer for about 27 seconds which was also roughly about 25 seconds after I put Alex down on the floor, I begin reading that on skin contact, "No first aid procedures are required for Round Up. As a precaution, wash skin thoroughly with soap and water," I happen to jump up and remember that I have a 13 month old on the loose and the bathroom door was left open.

I make one step away from my computer (and breathing a sigh of relief that my child is going to survive the minimal contact that he may or may not have had with Round Up) just in time to see him splashing in a very unflushed toilet.

So, I guess I saved his life from the wolves only to hand him over to the lions on a shiny, silver platter. He may not be contaminated from toxic chemicals but toxic biological waste is a sure guarantee, thanks to the evidence I found on him.

I'm not risking utilizing Google's bar and the keys on this computer that would spell "my child played with pee" in case he decides to play with matches or stick a metal prong in an outlet or drink bleach or crawl out to the street or choke on a cheerio or do some other deadly thing while I'm checking on the procedure prescribed for urine smelling children. We'll just wash him up and keep him out of trouble instead.

(In case you're worried, the said child was sleeping through this whole post, safely and soundly.)

Working It Up in the Corn Husker State

Nebraska continues to amaze me. Which is actually a good thing otherwise I'd be bored stiff after 5 years in this flat, corn field state.

Seriously though, 'corn field' is about all I can think of right now. Cobs and cobs of corn filling and overflowing pick up trucks. And about a quarter of that (okay, my figuring could be off... I stand corrected if so) mounding high in the back of my van.

It all magically transformed into a tractor bucket full of neatly shaved corn cobs and about 200 bags of sweet, yellow, juicy corn all ready for a hand full of freezers spread across this side of the state.

First the corn had to be picked. That was only for the strongest, the bravest and the smartest (I have to talk these people up because really, their job was a big one.) "The Slackers" stood in knee high grass with grass hoppers climbing our legs and large bee-like flies buzzing around our head while we husked.

Husking for several hours in the hot sun brought "close fellowship" and an array of topics to discuss. Grass hoppers and bugs added to the excitement as well as certain children that failed to remove all the hair from the naked cobs. Sharp knives hacked the ends of the cobs off and usually an aunt or two would shriek in horror when the child closest to them would start flailing and stabbing at a cob of corn. It was scary. Children with sharp knives should always be careful or better yet, they should just not have knives at all when their aunts are around. Or, the aunts should just stop shrieking in horror. (says an aunt who shrieked a time or two).

Then the corn was "cleaned" and stacked/piled/dumped into a place where it waited to be cleaned and cooked.

A double propane heater boiled the kettles of water which cooked the corn for either 3 minutes or 5 minutes, depending on who was cooking it and if they were getting their way with the timer or not.

Then the corn was quickly transported to cold water. Once the cobs began to float, they were moved to an even colder tub with ice in it. There it was cooled and carefully watched so it could be moved out ASAP in order to keep everyone busy (namely the cutters).

The Person moving the corn would shout an echoing "CUTTERS" as he carried the cold corn in colanders to the make shift, plywood-board-on-saw-horses table where about a dozen people stood ready with bowls and sharp knives. From there the corn was cut into sticky, kernelly bowls and then carefully measured into hundreds of bags (okay, just make that 2 hundred) and then counted, re-counted, counted, re-counted and then re-counted again before being stored in a cooler, freezer or box.

A home cooked meal spread itself throughout the processing part of our corn work and our hostess was amazing. She seemed to manage being at least 7 places at once and yet stayed unstressed, giddy and throwing her two cents around. I love people like that.

I would've taken pictures but I didn't bring my camera. Just envision big tables heaped with yellow corn. Huge rubbermaid bins piled high with a juicy mound of corn. And old wash tubs filled to the brim with waiting, yellow corn. And then picture lots of dirty, wet, sticky people yelling to be heard above the loud fans and noise while cleaning, cutting, packaging and tasting corn.

I learned some new phrases today and what they mean. Also, some new experiences were experienced today.

"Working it up." Three little words, but whoa, they mean a lot. WORKING must be emphasised (if you know what "work" means, you understand how to emphasis it) and use the word "up" to the fullest, highest amount you can fathom. 'Working it up' is a great way to call what we were doing with corn today.

"Shucks" is not always used as a euphemistic word to describe frustration, disappointment, etc.; it's also another word to describe the husks wrapping the corn before we strip it off.

"Shelly" is a cow. And she knows her name.

You don't have to have OCD in order to insist on counting all the cobs just so you can know how many cobs to pick/plant/plan on next year. Or wanting to throw the shaved cobs off the tractor bucket in the dark one at a time in order to count them... "one... two... three...." Is it even possible to count that high in the dark? What would happen if you accidentally threw an extra cob but didn't know if it was just one extra or two extra? Unanswered questions remain as the person wishing to intricately count each cob did not get their wish to come true. We will never know how many cobs of corn we effected on this green, growing earth. Or how many we should effect next year.

Bare feet on a cement slab sandwiching a green, gooey worm is a very impeccable experience. Don't try it. Just don't.

The R on your vehicle does not stand for "roll forward." It actually means 'Reverse' (or, backwards, if you use simple English) and if you don't intend to go that way, I suggest putting it in D for drive. Because we all know that the only way to go forward is to 'drive.' (You'd think you'd remember this stuff from your Driver's Ed book...)

And when the bowls are finally empty, the kettles have quit cooking and the knives are laying still, we all know what the corn is then: it's all; the term used when something is gone/finished/empty/over/etc. in Nebraska.

That sums it up for Nebraska Corn Season First Picking Of Season 2008: it's all. But, it all was very fun.

That Computer Again

Well, it's back, in all it's splendid glory. Yes, that's my computer I'm talking about. It's sitting somewhere in this house closed up, cold, unused, dead and lifeless. Basically, as normal as ever.

I did find a snazzy computer bag for it at a discount price. That's nice.

The smart Geek (ie., the dude with Geek Squad at Best Buy) informed us that the real problem with my computer is that the new ram (or would it be Ram? Or RAM????) that we put in when we first bought the computer is not compatible to the mother board. He assured us that the ram is fine and the mother board is fine but they are not compatible to each other.

You may notice that I italicized 4 words in the above paragraph. For those of you that didn't notice, go ahead: re-read the whole sentence just to know what I mean.

For the rest of you that are still reading, that ram was installed per Best Buy's suggestion/recommendation and included in the purchase of that computer. Basically, what I'm saying is that when Toby asked what ram we could get to "upgrade" the computer to a higher gigabyte/speed/power/performance (whatever), they pointed to a package and said, "Here. We'll put this in for you." And now they blame us. And will charge us to re-purchase the original ram.

The nice people they are, they offered to put it in for free but from what I hear from a reliable source, slipping a ram in a computer is similar to injecting a memory card in your PC box. So, we'll handle it from here, thank you very much.

Even my non-computer savvy sister-in-law who so kindly stood in line for hours (well, not quite but almost) just to pick up my computer on her trip into to town the other day, offered to re-insert the ram for me. I honestly trust her more than the Geeks in that Squad at this point.

That service plan at Best Buy isn't bringing us much service. After one long stay at the computer clinic, hard drive wiped, screened cleaned and full analysis and diagnosis made then shipped across creation and finally landing back in our laps, the computer didn't work. Why didn't they check the ram then?

After another even longer stay at the computer clinic, the computer comes home with a repaired bottom (yeah... it had been cracked but that was how I could tell it apart from any other computer), no wiped hard drive, no replaced motherboard (like they told us they'd probably do) and still functioning wrong, it's back in our laps. And they say, "Oh, the problem with your computer all this time is that the ram is too big for it." So, tell me why it had to sit in their warehouse for weeks??? They obviously weren't doing anything to it all that time.

And guess who is required to fix it after all the "professional help" that was supposed to fix it? Not them and their service plan Geeks. Why couldn't they just slip a ram in while it was at the computer junk yard? I mean really, is it THAT big of a deal compared to replacing the motherboard like they thought they would do?

So, they wrote down the garbled and gibbered numbers that should be on the new ram we install. They couldn't sell it to me because they didn't carry it in the store. (not like I really want to buy anything more from them for that computer...) The place of purchase they recommended was a website online. (where else is a website?) But, Toby's computer blitzed out and our house was honestly computer-less for 24 hours. And there was no way we could get mine "fixed" since our internet access was the link to the missing piece for my computer and that was gone thanks to two faulty, Best Buy computers that wouldn't turn on. It was at that point that I got that nice computer bag. It looks really nice, all filled out with a nice, closed up lap top inside it.

Turns out that Toby's computer has a glitch in it that needs to be repaired. But as long as you don't do any irrational thing to it like close the lid without hibernating it (or did he tell me it was "sleeping" it?) or pull the chord out while in use, or the electricity goes off unexpectedly, etc., you're fine. I'm on that computer now.

Toby on the other hand, decided to purchase a desk top computer because these laptops seem to have traditional hiatuses that make it very inconvenient/impossible for him with his business work. So, now we have a desk top and two back up laptops... if you can call that one in that nice computer bag a back up computer.

Not to make this into a rant or anything but just to get the word out, if anyone googles "Best Buy's computer service is the best" I hope they come to my blog and get the rest of the story.

Random Realities of Real Life

While splurging in luxury, and drinking coffee while surfing the web (ie., checking email, blogging, etc.), I am listening to a busy dad upstairs making pancakes with 3 small, motherless children. The busy-ness above me could be a reflection on the busy-ness of life around us and ahead of us lately.

My computer is still with the Geek Squad at Best Buy. (No comment on it's "success" because I have none: they don't return my calls or answer the phone when I call.)

My generous, sisterly heart offered to make 5 bridesmaid dresses for my sister's wedding in order to pay back all that nanny service she gave us for several years. Thankfully, my sister here was the "umph" I needed to just go ahead and offer my sewing services. It happened in a phone call when I told my sister-in-law that Britt could not seem to find any dresses but the idea she had seemed simple and you-wouldn't-think-too-hard-to-find. "Why couldn't we just make them?" was the question asked and the next thing I knew, I had yards and yards of shimmering bridesmaid fabric sitting on my porch. Now that we're trying out another pattern, things should start taking shape soon.

My daughter is also in the wedding and is required to wear a flower girl/miniature bride dress. That project sounds really, really fun. I want to do one of those white, fluffy, full, yards and yards of tulle, little dresses. Thankfully, the boys require no sewing for this event so I'm really thankful that we have 2 boys and 1 girl in our little family, just for sewing purposes.

My schedule isn't quite full yet so we're sticking in a little camping trip next weekend. That sounds like loads of fun. We're going with a group of couples/families from church and we're just staying one night, about 45 minutes away. The plan is to split our family and Toby's brother's family between a tent and a camper... girls in one, boys in another, type of thing. The kids are really looking forward to "canting" (as they call 'camping') and Toby and I think it'll be fun to just chill and hang out for a day or two with friends and family.

Since this is a very random post, I'll fill you in on another few details...

2 applications of sun block does not keep me from burning on July 4th.

Alex is not walking yet; if he learns within the next 2 months, he will walk down the aisle at Britt's wedding. (Not exactly to commemorate his achievement but you could look at it that way if you want.)

Mowing on a gigantic John Deere tractor in a cemetery can result in tipping one gravestone over. I know because I tried it. Well, I didn't exactly try but it did happen.

A cat that mouses by pulling live mice out of a hole in the wall, five feet off the floor and then kills them and puts the dead mice on the office chair is good. A cat that "snakes" (she catches/kills snakes) and puts them in a plastic grocery bag that just happens to be laying on the floor is better; you just take the bag out and throw it away without even touching the snake. Let's just say our cat is definitely earning her keep.

Fourth of July is by far my favorite holiday. It always has been ever since I can remember.

I always look twice when I see a National Guardsman so when they're in the parade, I tend to stare. The National Guard in our town's parade is my favorite display -- even if they do tuck their pants into their boots. They're my favorite next to the Pro-Life float. I saw a quote yesterday that made a lot of sense: "You can't have Liberty and Justice for all without Life."

Fire trucks that spray water in the parade are a big hit.

Taking pictures of fireworks is easy. Getting pictures of fireworks to turn out nice is hard/difficult/next-to-impossible/etc.

Not turning all the lights out in the park where the town fireworks are displayed, is annoying and takes away from the fireworks.

Seeing 3,200 white crosses on the college lawn was stunning and shocking. We all know that many babies die every year in our country but to see a symbol of each life is heart breaking. Pray to end Abortion!

I am feeling guilty for sitting here while Toby slaves away on his Saturday morning breakfast tradition. I should at least go get the syrup on the table. Or set the plates out. Or offer 2 adult hands in a kitchen overran by toddlers.

Hope you all had a wonderful Fourth and remembered that the Liberty and Justice we have in our country is because of God. But still, our liberties would be limited if it wasn't for the freedom our country has given us to worship and live the way we want. May we never forget The Hand that turns the king's heart.

Fun In The 'Good Life' State

I've been in Nebraska for 5 years. Over 5 years, actually. And I've done a lot of things in that time while in Nebraska. I've lived in 4 different houses, owned 5 different vehicles, resided in 3 different cities, birthed 3 children, laughed, cried, cooked, cleaned, etc. BUT, I have never found a nice place to go in the dead of summer when all you can think about (at least when you're from Wisconsin) is a good, old fashioned, swimming hole.

Until recently.

At last! I have found the place! It really helps to have friends in high places... ie., friends that are aware of such a wonderful retrieve from the summer's heat. I guess I should've just asked a lot sooner.

My friend/beach buddy, Sarah, is one of those "think of everything" moms so of course, she didn't forget to suggest buckets and shovels and sand toys for the kids. The boys (and maybe the girls did too) would drive their dump trucks at full speed into the water and race them around on the lake bed. It seemed like an imaginary way to play with a dump truck but I've heard that imaginiation stretches a child's thinking habits and developes their brain better.

So, yeah. Our kids should have better brains now because Sarah thought to even bring dump trucks to the beach which resulted in good brain expansion through imaginary comprehension of driving truck under water.

What fun it was. 9 kids, 6 and under really made it fun. It was like watching a whole flock of fishing bobbers float in the lake. Only these "bobbers" had arms and legs and a mind of their own to head deeper in the lake.

We had a rushed lunch, since everyone wanted to get in the water, and even had a couple dads/husbands show up in time for the food. It was great fun for everyone.

Mouthfuls of water and sand. Buckets of sand clinging to wet clothes.. Scattered sand toys across the beach. Basically, there seemed to be a lot of sand. But it was still fun. Especially for those that used it for other purposes: you can't tell from the pictures very well but Alex topped his lunch off with a generous serving of sand. "Some like it hot; some like it cold..." he liked it just the way it was.

No matter how careful I am to put on even amounts of sunblock, or stay directly aimed under the sun's glare, I always always get burned on one side of my body and hardly warm on the other. This beach day was no exception. They tell me that the sun is more direct in Nebraska than in Wisconsin because of elevation. But, wow. This is pathetic.

I think I need some type of scope like guys put on their guns in order to zero in on the target with precision. Only this would be used the other way around: I would be in the scope, all zeroed in and slowly adjust to the sun's position in order to not become a half baked lobster instead of an evenly ripened strawberry. No pictures of this but I can assure one arm is dark/red and the other is light/white. And it just looks weird. I suppose after it happens enough times this summer, I'll eventually be evenly roasted like a rotisserie chicken.

The beach was public but we were surprised to find it large and private and the water not too sea-weedy. I think it helps to go in the morning and then leave right after lunch. Not only do you avoid the hottest sun of the day but you also can find your swimming hole to be quiet, partially secluded and fun to be had for everyone.

We're already talkin' about doin' it again. Anybody wanna come?

Quote Of The Day

(Or maybe the title should be, "Tongue Twister Of The Day")

If you think you know what you thought I meant when I said what you think you thought you heard, then tell me what you think you thought I meant when I said what you thought you heard me say and then I can know what you think you thought I meant and you can know for sure what I meant when I said what you think you heard.

Better Than A Friendship; Deeper Than A Relationship

We all have people in our life that we're related to. We call them "family."

We all have people in our life that we hang out with. We call them "friends."

We all have people in our life that we share all our secrets with. We call them "good friends."

We all have people in our life that we go through hard times with. We call them "faithful friends."

We all have people in our life that love us despite what they know about us. We call them "true friends."

We all have people in our life that live nearby and are available at a moment's notice for anything. We call them "reliable friends."

But when we have people in our life that are all of the above, what do we call them?

A Revelation

COFFEE. That's what I was going to say. It's coffee that gets me going on a blog moment too. A nice big open window and hot cup of dark, creamy coffee and I am on a roll. Right now I'm just stuck with the coffee. But that's okay because I highly doubt I could live without the stuff, blogging or no blogging.

And a reliable computer always helps too. Still no word on the screen-freezing-wayfaring-wild-daring computer.

On Sick Kids And Overnight Shipping

After a shockingly good night of sleep with no one asking me for a drink in the middle of the night and no one else puking, I am ready to hit the floor running. Oh wait; I already did hit the floor and in not the literal sense of the word, I am running.

I love waking up not a moment sooner than it's time to get up and realize that I had a nice, long night of sleep. I was even asleep before midnight last night so go ahead and call me an "early to bed-er." I don't mind that title once in a while in my life. Especially since I've been working on obtaining that title for quite some time now but my kids just don't seem to cooperate with my lofty aspirations.

Today looms before me in a this-is-going-to-be-a-long-and-tiring-day-way. Janae has her "final" two cavities scheduled to be filled and she is not too excited about going back. I say "final" because at 3 years old and having a dental history of 4 cavities, I have this annoying hunch that she will probably have many more cavities to fill as her life goes on.

I thought about meeting up with a friend of ours and heading to the lake as an incentive for Janae and the dentist appointment she would rather avoid but the 98 degree forecast mixed with 157% humidity made us realize that it was probably not The Best Day Of The Year To Go To The Lake. So, I'm enticing her with that tempting "Prize Box" that the dentist has at his office, just for Janae. And the fact that she has to "help" the dentist today and that they'll put a band aid in her mouth (they really do that while they're filling the teeth) and that she'll get her teeth painted, etc. etc. It's not really working. She says she doesn't want to "help" the dentist today.

Topping the situation off is Alex and the worrisome symptoms he's been fighting the past 10 days. It started with a runny nose and fever. Very predictable teething symptoms so I didn't start worrying. But, now he's got a bad cough, low grade fever off and on and a pretty good size lump under his ear (presumably a swollen lymph node.) Plus, he's been puking every morning. Well, actually, it's been 2 mornings in a row so maybe "every" is a little extreme. Especially since he's not up yet this morning so today hasn't proven itself yet. He's also quite irritable too -- except when he climbed a slide at the park and went right up into the huge playground contraption and attempted to go down another slide. He seems to be sleeping more than usual as well.

Now, if you Google all those symptoms together, you may be tempted to just call an ambulance and rush him to the doctor ASAP and assume the worse. Or just skip a doctor and head right to an oncologist instead. But, if you happen to notice in your research, woven through out the dreadful diseases that are associated with his symptoms, you will find without looking very hard that he indeed has every symptom of "The Common Cold," a "Viral Infection" and "Teething." So yeah... I'm pretty much confused/worried/don't know what to do. I have a pretty good idea that I'll end up taking him in today or tomorrow. Or maybe I won't.

Since having my third baby, I don't worry hardly at all anymore. I almost worry about the fact that I don't worry anymore. Like this last week when Landon was sick... he had a 104.5 fever late one afternoon and normally (by normally I mean, back when I only had one baby) I would've ripped his clothes off, double checked the temperature rectally, sponge bathed him in a tub of lukewarm water, put cold rags on his forehead, called the doctor, researched his symptoms online and started wondering what life was going to be like without him. But now, I just say, "Oh, that's kinda high, Bud." And I give him his next dose of Motrin, take off his shirt and ask him if he wants a Popsicle. Then we all pile in the stroller and walk down to the park.

Toby has been having some long days at work lately and it never ceases to amaze me how usually on the first hottest day of the year, he is ALWAYS on a difficult job. (high, steep, large, roof with several layers of shingles needing to be removed and new sheeting put on the roof.) It's as if he purposely must decide to do those jobs on the day of the year that is predicted to be one of the worst. Of course it's all fate and he has nothing to do with planning but seriously, this happens all. the. time.

Tonight he has Bible study at the jail so he'll just head from his job to a pit stop (where he'll "clean up" and change) and then go to jail from there. It just dawned on me that I won't see him for about 15 hours today. These kinds of days make me think that maybe I should just take a road trip and visit my family for a weekend. But, then I remember that even though it will be all of 15 hours that we're apart today, we WILL sleep in the same place tonight and that's what makes these long, hard days only part of our life and not ALL of it. So, as long as he's coming home every night, I'm gonna be there waiting for him.

Yesterday proved to be one of those "Life Is Good" days where I felt like I had gotten out of bed for a reason. About 10 loads of laundry (several with puke on them--and I just don't do puke) and tons of dirty dishes and soiled bed sheets and dirty floors and a messy house gave me so many reasons to have purpose for the day. I am not one to ask for help and usually put off doing that because I hate making people feel obligated. Or responsible for my work. Or imposing on other's days. Maybe it's a pride thing or maybe I don't want to take advantage of people, but I just do not ask for help.

But it dawned on me in the last month or so that most (and when I say most, I mean about 98.9% of families) have someone to rely on for a helping hand. Or a babysitter. And usually grandparents fill that need and are a reliable source of strength and help. But, I've noticed that a lot of my friends have someone else to rely on as well... a family member, or a young girl that comes once a week, or a close friend.... you get my point. I realized that in each case, a relationship was established first and then the "we're here for each other" mode kicked in and just like that, every major task you faced is shared with this close person.

A young girl in our area has repeatedly offered to help me and I decided to just take her up on that offer. I mean really, she did offer several times. And I did have a house full of puke. When I called, I found out she had company for the day but was more than able to watch my kids at her house if that would help me out. I jumped on that and for 4 hours, I got ALL my work done. That hasn't happened in probably 3 months or so. And I'm talking about house jobs that most people do once a week.

Even though I only have 3 kids and the older two are becoming more responsible in doing tasks I give them, there is still the constant supervision that can become so distracting when you're trying to get something done yourself. Hanging your head over a toilet while you clean it out makes it hard to watch the kids across the house that are fighting over who gets to put the spoons away. Running downstairs to switch a load of laundry gives a three-year-old just enough time to run out the front door and hide in the van. Vacuuming in the living room also gives the said child ample time to find her vitamins in the fridge and run to her room with a mouthful of pills and the rest of the bottle heading to a place under her bed. Or the four-year-old will decide to wash his hands with a half-a-bottle of soap simply because you are in the kitchen sweeping and can't see him.

Needless to say, I really appreciated the effort made by the family that kept the kids for a few hours. And from the dirty faces and feet and happy smiles, I have a pretty good idea that Landon and Janae enjoyed digging in a sandbox, playing with bunnies and swinging in a tire swing that went higher than our roof. Landon's only concern was when he came home, found a clean house and a stray blanket laying haphazardly on the floor in his room... "What's that doing there Mom?"

Since this has turned into a "Family Update" post, I may as well top it off with the latest marvel in my life: Free Overnight Shipping! I can't seem to wrap my head around that magical phenomenon! It must be another marvel of the 21st century like the Internet is.

The Internet is one thing I never can quite understand... all these websites that have no tangible location where everything is headquartered at. It's like we connect with drifting planets that sweep back and forth through the atmosphere and through invisible and technical connections, we connect wirelessly. Have you ever thought that The Internet is the place where gazillions of websites are based in but there's no huge building any where in the world that is a physical location where the website sits? No monumental location of "The First Ebay Website." No parking at the building of "Blogger.com" where you can go to see the real-life permutations of the places you visit daily from your desk chair. There is no such thing. Are these all figments of our imaginations and we've all become equally disillusioned? Are we an entire society wrapped up in imaginary places? (I hope you're not taking me seriously.)

Back to Free Overnight Shipping... I ordered some sandals from a website late yesterday and according to my order sheet (and the guy who answered the phone when I called the company just to make sure this was all for real), my package is destined to arrive today. Like, sometime today. I placed my order late yesterday... as in, almost evening time. And they're supposed to come today. Now, I don't know where this company is located but I can guarantee I haven't seen this store title any where around here. But, just waiting for my order, an airplane sat parked on the runway in hopes that my credit card would send an instant signal for a pair of sandals to be put on that plane and when that happened, down the runway the jet sailed, all the way to an airport near me where the package was then put on a truck and sent directly to my doorstep.

In a matter of hours.

For free.

I just don't understand that. No wonder the economy is crashing -- the whole world is revolving around a stupid pair of sandals that set the course for a whole night's job for a huge chain of people and planes and trucks and companies for free.

I can promise you I'll enjoy those sandals. Unless they don't fit. Then they go back to the place they came from and I don't pay a cent for that either because it's called, "Free Return Shipping." I know... life just isn't fair, is it?

Well, that about sums up the gist of my blog moment for the day. Gotta get back to the grind and get the kids cleaned up and fed and out the door to the dentist office. I keep hearing a three-year-old make interesting noises on the floor above me and I have a pretty good idea she's looking for another dose of her vitamins while I'm not looking.

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.

Landon Lines, Tierra Times

Time To Go
Landon had an urgent request... "Mom, Brittney wants us at her house really bad. They can't wait very long for us to get there."

A 7-yr-old's Research on 'The Old Days'
"Hey Courtney," my 7-year-old neice, Tierra, called from the back of the van. "Did you know that Fredda is from the old days?" (she was referring to her 70-some-year-old great-aunt.)

"Really? How do you know that?" I questioned.

"Because she got her sewing machine then and her sewing machine is from the old days," she informed me.

"Oh!" was all I could say, surprised at the logic.

"And she also lived in a house without lights," my neice went on. "And she had to get up during the night and feed cows and that's what they did in 'the old days.' "

They Do Hear What We Say
"Did you know your eyes are bigger than your stomach, Courtney?" Tierra informed me. Realizing her intention was to fill me in on an important fact, I didn't want to squelch her enthusiasm so I asked how she knew that. "Because my mom told me that once," was her honest answer.

Fire and Fier
"Why is there 'fire' in 'pacifier'?" Tierra asked me. (Try explaining that one.)

Dad Always Knows
Piping from the back seat, my niece Tierra had another question... "Hey Courtney, do you know the way from Omaha to Haiti?"

"No, I don't Tierra; do you?" I asked.

To which she replied, "No, I don't but I bet my dad does."

Grandma IS Older Than Mom
Tierra had another piece of (mis)information for me. Realizing she has learned that 30 IS younger than 31, I can understand that even a year to a 7-yr-old makes a big difference. It was still amusing to consider this "fact" from Tierra... "Courtney, did you know that my mom is 30 and my Grandma is 31?"

Just Another Day

All afternoon yesterday, my computer worked fine. Just fine. Even when I picked it up and set it down a couple times. I credit it to flipping it over and smacking the underside just hours prior to when it started functioning correctly. Today now, nothing on my computer is working. I saw my email screen for about 2.9 seconds and then the Code Blue screen took over from there. That's pretty much how it's been going ever since.

I read yesterday's paper today, minus the Sports section. I feel bad that with all the words that somebody takes time to put in the paper, it's doubtful that most papers get entirely read. I mean, who has time to read every word and section of the paper? I think the paper is slightly under rated; you should take time and learn about all the police calls and business changes that happen daily in your world, in your town and in your neighborhoods. You might be surprised -- even if it is day old news.

My mom called today to tell me she was having surgery this afternoon. Just like that... "How ya doin? What's goin' on? I'm having surgery today. How's your day?" Yeah. Basically like that. 536 miles really hurts today. Especially considering part of our route is under water in Iowa. Right before she called, I was reading in the paper how some Iowans are taking plane trips between towns that normally are 30 minutes apart on the road. But, with the flooding, the recommended detour takes hours. The plane ride results in about 15 minutes of travel time. Not bad but also not entirely promising when you have a van load of luggage and you NEED to drive on that stretch of road that would normally take minutes. I wonder if those little Cessnas would have luggage room for a Honda Odyssey?

Seriously though, the long distant family members advised me to not worry; this was an "outpatient" operation and would not be considered high risk. That's fine and I'm glad but really, the destination I'm thinking of that's at the end of that 536 miles feels like it may as well be at the other side of the globe. I want to go "home."

I woke up with a sore throat and most of the cold-like symptoms that go with a.... you guessed it: A Cold. Janae's lip is still swollen and kind of whitish but she's not complaining. Ironically enough, she just fell out of bed when I started writing about her lip. I've learned that with her, if she's critically injured, she doesn't really cry. So, if after hearing a thud and you notice there is no crying/wailing/sobbing or other injury related sounds, it is best to examine the scene and make sure she is okay. But, in the event you do hear sounds of "general displeasure," she's in fact and in deed perfectly fine. (It was the latter in her case today). If falling out of bed results in prolonging the impending naptime that usually comes with being in bed this time of day, she'll take that option.

Well, this post is rather disconnected and dismantled. I'm on the basement computer today so can find no inspiration from the windows I need to be motivated by while writing a blog. I know that's weird but really, this is another proven piece of evidence that supports my theory. So, chalk it up to that and the fact that last night, the cat caught a mouse just feet from where I'm sitting. Bless. her. heart. The world is one mouse short because of our cat.

How To Fit 4 Of Something Into 3 Of Something

At three-years-old, Janae has something I have never had: FOUR cavities. That's more cavities than years and probably the only time you can fit 4 into 3. I know... bad, bad. I can assure the "concerned" (judgemental) people that yes, she brushes her teeth daily and has been doing so for over a year. Actually, she gets help brushing her teeth so in case that concerns you as well, no, we do not put our child's dental health in their responsibility... at least not when our child is only 3.

So, she went to have 2 of her 4 cavities filled today and she did GREAT. Never cried or fought or resisted or screamed or pushed away or... you get the idea. She just laid there and smiled. And no, they didn't knock her out. It was just the old fashioned numb-the-gum with Novacaine!

BUT, on the way home, when she was just beyond my view in the rear view mirror, she chewed ravenously on her numb lip. Folks, she looks horrible. It's chewed, swollen and bloody.

Pray she heals fast because once the Novocaine wears off, she is in for one huge load of pain.

Oh, and we go back in 10 days to have the other 2 teeth filled. After this is all done, that's $534.00 worth of work done on teeth she will be putting under her pillow in a few years.

Back To Normal

Well, my computer is home. For the time being. Before we all have a "welcome home" party for this unreliable peice of technology, let me break this to you softly: I'm afraid to get too attached to this laptop and I'm fantasizing thoughts that maybe my computer is a scientific experiment that computer geeks will dub "Disposable Computer." Which really isn't a bad thing because just think about what you CAN'T buy that isn't disposable? Everything you buy, you have the option of getting it disposable or indisposable. I meant to buy an indisposable laptop but apparently they had the packaging messed up when I bought this one.

It's like a sick patient that needs hospice care. Only you can't set up hospice for a computer.

I've had this laptop just a month over a year (ie., 13 months). The hardrive (or is it hard drive?) was replaced once and wiped another time. The bottom of the laptop heats to a temperature comparable to your iron. My skirts are always nice and smooth at the top because of this added feature on my laptop computer.

So anyway. I thought my trouble would be over but apparently not. Even getting this thing "fixed" was an ordeal.

Like the day I called Best Buy three days after they told me this would be done. I found the number in the phone book and called. No big deal but I had heard horror stories about how hard it was to actually talk to a computer rep.

The phone rang and rang and rang and rang. And continued to ring. I didn't know a phone could ring so many times without going hoarse. But, I had been warned so shrugged it off. Finally, somebody answered and asked if they could help me.

"Hi! I'm calling to check on my computer that was supposed to be fixed 3 days ago. Just wondering if I can come in and pick it up," I said.

The receptionist acted like she knew who I was, what computer I was talking about and simply needed to look in the "Ready For Pick-up" bin. "Let me check. Hold on please," she said.

Wow! They actually knew me without asking for my name, telephone number, social security number, serial number on my computer and order number on the sheet of paper they gave when I brought my computer in for repair.

I waited for several minutes. Finally, another person got on the line. They needed my name and number. My hopes for personal ties with the first receptionist were dashed when I realized I was just another number. Just another phone call. Just another person with a broken computer.

So, I gave them my number.

About 47 seconds later, they needed my number again.

35 seconds later, they asked again for my number.

In a 4 minute phone call, they asked for my phone number 4 times. FOUR times in a FOUR minute phone call. Okay folks, that's on average once a minute.

They couldn't help me very speedily so they took my number down that last time, told me they'd call back later since their (okay, get this): computer wasn't working right.

It took all my self control, personal dignity and an intense measure of patience to not blurt out that I knew the place where they should send their computer to get fixed.

I got a call a few days later that my computer was ready for pick up. Last night I went into town and got it. There was nothing dangerous, scary or impressive about picking it up. I checked my email after I got home and felt good that maybe my computer was back to normal. This morning I realized that it is back to normal. But, normal doesn't always mean predictable or reliable or good. Normal in this case means: just the way it was when you sent it in for repair.

Not to dash your hopes or oust the good luck I'm sure you all have been sending me but I need to be honest and tell you right now that this computer has been blinking weirdly and crashed TWICE since starting this blog. I've seen the "configuring updates" and "please wait" signs more often than not since I attempted a blog today. And that blue screen... ugh. It's shown it's face too. Only this time it has white, vertical stripes with it. So, I guess it's a little fancier than it was before.

I think we're back to normal one again and before my computer goes into it's perpetual "disposable" mode, I'm dashing my mouse to the "publish post" button just so cyber space will know that I'm still out there somewhere, floating around trying to connect with the blog world while dealing with that disgusting Code Blue screen that cuts me off entirely from the life-line found in the twenty-first century called: The Internet.

Baby Elysha

We do everything to protect our children. To insure their health and safety. To keep them from harm. And to make them know without a doubt that we love them with a love that only a parent can have.

But, when you've done all you can and there's nothing more you can do, relinquishing a child; a little baby girl, to the Arms that created her precious life, has got to be the most heart breaking experience known to mankind.

Maybe it's because I have my own chubby baby just a few months older than Elysha that the thought of having to plan his funeral while he's still alive, makes it seem almost surreal to know that death is imminent. To know that time is so short, counting his breaths would be a treasure to cherish. And to know that memories are all I'll have in just a few short days.

Yet to remember that no matter how much a mother loves her child, God loves that child even more. And has a place not only in His heart but also in His kingdom where no harm can come to the child. Where all is peace and joy and love. I can't imagine knowing my child could be as safe as Elysha is destined to be in a few short days. But the aching arms left empty by her passing will need a sweet relief that only comes from The One who gives hope.

Even if you don't know this young family, keep them in your prayers.

On Inspiration, Windows and Failing Computers

I am without my computer. The computer that I always use to blog on. The computer that has given me so many fits and trials since about a month after we got it. The computer that deleted all our Christmas 2007 pictures. Yeah, that computer.

Even though it's been a horrendous computer and hardly reliable, I shared a lot of blog moments on it. I hate to admit my personal feelings about a piece of technology and how it can best derive my thoughts from the cranial corners of my head but the truth be known: I relate best to blogspot.com when I can look out a window while writing. It's always been that way. When I need inspiration and I can't quite think of the word, I look out a window. Yeah... I know... you probably think I'm a tree hugger now but really, I'm not. It's just a change of scenery that I find out a window that inspires me.

The reason I'm blogging right now is because I stole away to Toby's computer while he was away for a few minutes. I looked out the window long and hard before I came down here because, horror of horrors, his computer is firmly lodged in the darkest corner of our basement and there are no windows to look out of. Thus why this blog post is lacking in articulate lingualistics. (is that even a word? I have no window to look out of in order to find a better, more fitting, accurate description/word/phrase/something-like-that.)

So, until I get my computer back and until I can blog by an open window, my blog is taking a hiatus. Or going into hibernation. Or taking a break. Or waiting for the repair man to fix my computer. Or whatever way you want to look at it. Like I said, I'm lacking window inspired inspiration right now.

I meant to contact those of you that offered advice on the layout here. I will do that when I can more easily get in contact with my email without having a busy business man hang over my shoulder in hopes that I will just relinquish his computer back to him so that he can save the world one roof at a time.

For now, I'm going to go back upstairs look out a window and wonder what I may have forgotten to tell you just now. I'll be back when all is well... or when I have a, um, chance and time to ahhh, well, I just better go find a window since I totally lost my train of thought.