A Birthday

Today would have been my step-Dad's 89th birthday.

=)

Yep. 89 years of ornery would have been too much for anyone to handle.

Come and Get It!

If you have a weak stomach, do not scroll down.

If you are an expectant mother, don't scroll down.

If you get the heebie jeebies easily, don't scroll down.

The explanation is this - I ordered a dish from Dinner A'Fare. When this had first appeared on the menu, I noticed a side note that read "These did not come out great" or something to that effect. When I asked Lisa about it, she told me that one customer decided to ignore that advice and loved it. I read the list of ingredients and decided that it would probably be good, so I ordered it.

It has a name: Mongolian Beef Noodle Bowls.

Now, I've been to B.D.'s Mongolian place before. It wasn't bad, just a glorified stir-fry place and a bit over priced.

The most hilarious thing about this dish was the facial expressions of each family member when they first saw it.

Kelly, stopped in her tracks: Whoa! What is that?

It's Mongolian Beef Noodle Bowls.

Kate's coming over, and there's no way she's eating that.

You're right. She should eat before she comes.

Himself comes to the table ready to eat. He does a double-take. I hastily feel a need to relate the whole conversation with Lisa on the dish. He sits down, barely disguising his apprehension.

Glenna comes to the table with her nose in her new phone. Her reaction was much less subtle.

WHAT? WHAT IS IT???

Gamely, and because of a previous post about the rules in our house, we all sit down to eat. Pretty soon we're each reaching for more bread and more water.

Son, you'll be glad you missed this one. This is where the aforementioned persons can stop reading.

The Let Down

Ok. One good thing about steroids is the energy boost. Oh, and the reduction of swelling in the ear.

Here's the bad news:

I want to eat continually.

Now that I'm no longer taking them, I'm exhausted.

Did I mention that from now until the end of February, it's my busiest season? Actually, make that from now until May.

Ear-igation

Over a week ago, I went to the doctor for my annual physical. As I mentioned before, that's where he found my ear infection and that my left ear was blocked with infectious matter. It wasn't blocked with ear wax. That would be too easy and less gross.

When he asked the nurse to flush out my ear, I have to admit I got a happy feeling inside. I've had it done once before in California with a waterpik and it was my closest experience to heaven besides being married to Himself and having three children and watching a cute little baby James once in while.

She filled a container with warm water and put this huge, metal syringe in it. She then asked me to hold a container under my ear and informed me that this may be a little uncomfortable.

You know when you're scratching a dog and you hit a sweet spot and its back leg begins to go up and down in a rapid-fire motion?

Well, I get that now. It was all I could do not to groan.

She filled the syringe a second time and that time, the infectious matter dislodged.

Well, that's it, but I'm not sure I've got it all.

You do have plenty of water left.

You're right. I'll go again.

Suddenly, I was three years old and wanted to keep shouting, "Again! Again!" like I would on a merry-go-round or swing.

My ears have been a constant source of literal irritation, related to environmental allergies.

Where can I get one of those things, and how often may I use it?

Tuesday is Guest Star Day!

This post is exactly why Ann Voskamp is loved by so many.

Her writing is a definite gift.

Whimper

I thought that being on steroids for swelling in my ear would be a good time to start an exercise program.

I am fortunate in the fact that I am at a healthy weight for my height. My clothes fit. Sure, I'd like to lose a couple of pounds so they'd fit a little more loosely, but I really have no complaints.

The problem with this is that I rarely feel a need to exercise. After all, isn't exercise for people who have weight problems? When I watch The Biggest Loser, it's only the obese ones who are sweating and grunting and puking their guts out. The trainers, the ones without the weight problems, are the ones inspecting, directing, and encouraging.

That's me. The Inspector, Director, Encourager.

This was all well and good until I took a very short bike ride with Glenna to the video store. My legs were screaming after two turns of the cranks. By the time I got to the store, I was breathless and wanted to puke.

I've also been noticing that I become breathless if I do anything the least bit strenuous, so there you have it: I may be have ideal shape, but I'm horribly out of shape.

So, I did what all exercise programs recommend; I went to my doctor before starting any exercise program. It was there that he discovered an infection and swelling in my left ear, which would of course would explain the deafness. I have been given a regimen of antibiotics, steroids, and ear drops for ten days.

My first day of steroids, I actually felt . . . well . . . energetic. I headed off to Borders to use the gift certificate from Himself that had been burning a hole in my wallet since Christmas. I courageously/foolishly picked up the 30 Day Shred by Jillian Michaels. Wednesday was the first day, and my thoughts were immediately I don't ever, ever want to be face to face with this woman. Lord, I don't ever, ever want to be on that show.

Still, the words she was saying rang true - This doesn't come easily. You have to work for it. Quitting is what got you where you are. You can do this!

Never mind that after a measly 20 minutes of exercise at the beginner level, I collapsed on the couch for an hour, whimpering.

Just never mind that.

All Things Warm and Wonderful

I had posted here about all things shower, tub, and shower cap. Since tub baths were something we didn't have the pressure or hot water for, they were a longed-for luxury in my life.

About every two years, I would make the trip to New Mexico to visit grandparents and other family members. My paternal grandparents lived in a double-wide trailer with a huge master bedroom and an enormous step-in tub. When I was 10, I distinctly remember asking Grandma if I could possibly, if it was ok, take a bath in that tub.

"Well," responded Grandma, "I don't mind, but only on one condition."

Here goes. I'm going to have to heat water on the stove or go out to a well and hand pump.

"You may take a bath, but I insist you use bubble bath."

Ok, I want to put this into perspective. Those of you who grew up in Southern California will know exactly what I'm talking about here. What if the conversation were actually something like this?

"Grandma, could you please take me to Disneyland?"

"Well, yes, but on one condition. You have to take this extra money and buy only E Tickets."

I still remember that bath. Wow.

When I married and moved to the desert, water, especially hot water, was something that came cheaply and easily. I must have spent the first 3 of twelve months in the tub. I couldn't get enough of that hot, bubbly, wonderfulness. My cousin's family has coined a phrase for this. Each time they see Vicki, his wife, heading off to the bathroom with a good book, they'll holler out, "There goes Mom! Tub-ernating again!"

And who wouldn't want to spend an hour or two in the tub?

Many will think that the stay-at-home Mom soaks in the tub because it's the only place she can be alone. Those who think that are obviously not stay-at-home moms. Believe me, my mind is fully aware of the pulse and happenings in my home.

I thought I would be safe last night by taking a later bath. As I sank into the hot water, each of my muscles groaned aloud and sang my praises at the city gate. I had no sooner settled into "tub position"* when my mind began to go through the checklist.

Ok, Himself is fed. Rats, I forgot to buy creamer again. It's so cool that Glenna is hanging out with her Dad and enjoying a show. I know Glenna did her Algebra and Spanish today. Wait . . . what about . . .

"Glenna?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"English?"

"Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhh!!! No!!!!"

I sigh and snuggle in a little more. There's no hurry to get out now because it's going to be a long night.


*Tub Position: Head leaning back, toes shoving wash cloth against the annoying round overflow, knees sticking up. Occasionally sift to sitting up more with knees covered. Repeat.

What to Do . . . What to Do . . .

The Women at my church are starting a new Bible study this week. It looks SO good. I'm intrigued and would love to be a part of it.

BUT . . .

The Women at my church are also starting an 8 week Apples of Gold study to encourage wives and mothers in a Titus 2 fashion. I'm definitely going to be a part of this one.

AND . . .

Our pastor is starting a study of the book of Romans on Sunday mornings! We have started it in our Sunday School class (Pastor is the teacher) but from his outline handed out on Sunday, I can't WAIT for the sermons. Did you know they're on the web now?

PLUS . . .

Until Bible Bowl ends for JV Trek in February, I spend extra time at church with the team. Oh, and I home school.

SO . . .

Have any of you ever had too many excellent studies as choices? In one month?

I sure hope so.

A Moment of Reflection

Sunday, my Chargers lost their run to the Super Bowl.

I can only now bring myself to talk about it.

Glenna had a JV night to attend and I left them. I LEFT THEM! I left them in their time of need.

First the Gators, now this. Makes a fan want to hang up her hat.

Don't worry. I wont.

Tuesday is Guest Star Day!

Here's a small taste of the excellent post by Mary Grace:

For me, the cost of that kind of life is more that I care to pay. Even though it is tempting, when I begin to see my life through the eyes of those who "have more," to begin to feel discontent with my surroundings or my stuff, I am brought back to the image of my hulking sofa, circa 1980. By the world's standards, it is an item that--like full-time mothering--has outlived its usefulness. But it is beautiful. Not for the sake of itself, of course ... but for how it has served. There is no glamour, no fame, and no show in patiently tending to a small flock of souls days after day. There is no honor or glory associated with serving hot meals and putting the laundry on hold long enough to fit in a game of UNO. -Books and Bairns

I know, I know, yet another blog supporting the stay-at-home Mom. I needed these words. Perhaps one of you need them as well.

Snake Steak and Turtle Soup

Whenever I would ask my mother what was for dinner, Dad would reply, "Snake Steak and Turtle Soup." I learned pretty quickly to eat what I was given and be thankful.

The result of this: I'll eat just about anything.

Friday, I was preparing our meals at Dinner A'Fare. I was next to these two ladies, one who was there for the first time, and of course couldn't help but hear their conversations.

Will you give this to your kids?

Oh no. I wouldn't expect them to eat this. I'll probably just give them a taste and then fix them something else.

Me too. I'm so thankful that little Janie loves Steak-n-Shake! Just about every day she asks me to take her to Steak-n-Shake.

I tried giving mine a casserole and they didn't like it. I guess they just don't like the food when it's all together like that.

I bit my tongue. Literally. Good thing I have a blog to let it all out!

Why on earth would a mother not expect her child to eat nutritious food? Since when is a daily craving for Steak-n-Shake a cause for celebration? And if they're not eating the nutritious meal prepared, what on earth are they fed instead?

The rules for food at our house was/is simple.

1. You must taste everything.

2. You don't have to eat it if you don't like it, but you're not getting anything else.

This is not to say that my children are perfect eaters. In fact, many meals had Glenna asking, "Will this be a meal with bread? (We then limited her bread intake to two pieces, the little buggar.) However, my kids are not, for the most part, picky eaters. I certainly never played restaurant with them and fixed them a meal of their preference instead of the meal I had already prepared.

When Ty started eating solid food, I read in our favorite childcare book (lovingly called, "The Owner's Manual" by Himself) that as long as I offered nutritious food to my children, they would not starve. I also read that if they were not hungry now, they certainly would be by the next meal! Glenna would eat a huge breakfast and lunch, then almost nothing for dinner. Poor, deprived kid. Kelly spent the year as a three year old spitting food out in the sink (she remembers this vividly and at the time thought to herself Why am I doing this every single night?). Tyler ate pretty much everything we put in front of him until one day he decided broccoli wasn't his favorite. It's just one thing, Mom, out of all the food you make. Just one thing!

I can't help but think of Phyllis's children eating pumpkin curry soup and loving it. Why? Probably because they weren't told it was gourmet or fancy or icky or any other adjective that may turn them off from it. They gobble it right up!

Why do so many moms choose to make the dining table a battle ground? I'm sure there are exceptions to this, but I've yet to see one. When I see a kid who's a picky eater, I have also seen a mom who indulges.

While these two mothers gushed over the poor eating habits of their children, I suddenly felt like a mean, mean mom.

Then I smiled.

Maybe they just need a taste of Dad's Snake Steak and Turtle Soup.

The Sock Whisperer

Milestones

I live in the city.

Himself argues that we are not in the city because we don't live downtown.

Remember Reserve, NM?



Let's just say that where I live, there are many, many more streets and buildings.

I live in the city.

Today is Glenna's first day volunteering at the downtown library. As I navigated the streets and observed the people downtown, I could finally see the appeal to living there. There's a heartbeat and life to downtown that would certainly make life interesting! How cool would it be to leave my building, walk to the local bakery for breakfast, stop at the store for some fruit, and then head upstairs to prepare it all?

How fun would it be to join the group exercising in the park?

How soon would I know the names of the strangers sipping coffee in front of the cafe?

When I dropped Glenna off in front of the library, the doors hadn't opened yet. It took a supreme effort of my will to give her a kiss and drive away. I had already given her the lectures about stranger danger, given her my cell phone, and given her my prayers.

Don't strangers look much more dangerous in the winter when they're bundled up in coats, gloves, hoodies, and knit caps? My girl saw a woman with a baby and stood near her.

That's my girl.

Still, her face looked so pale and young and alone in that little crowd of people. I think it was obvious that we're new to this.

Kelly just called down the stairs, Hey, Mom! Glenna just texted me and she's still alive.

=)

Nine from the Canine

Jack had to have nine teeth pulled.

Did you know dogs have 42 teeth? I didn't know that. Each morning I get to pry open his sore mouth and give him a pill.

I'm so glad he's not a cat.

I also get to crush up his soft food and spread it out on the ground like I would for chickens.

Remind me again why I have pets?

Speaking of teeth, I have a dental appointment tomorrow and the rest of the family is jealous. If you can't say that about your dentist, get a new one!

Tuesday is Guest Star Day!

People who think that homeschoolers are confined simply to the set of skills that the parents possess are missing the beauty of an amazing array of curricula, online classes, community resources, tutors, mentors, instructional CD-Roms, apprenticeships, lessons, clubs, and--one of my favorites--DVD instruction. Homeschooling, as it turns out, is only limited by the creativity of the parent-facilitators responsible for identifying resources for their children. - Mary Grace from Books and Bairns

Though the above link will lead to a home school product review, I just loved what Mary Grace said on this post. Even though this is our 12th year of home schooling, I still get mixed reactions when people find out we teach our children at home.

The truth is, the biggest struggle for home school families is to STAY HOME and do school! The second biggest struggle is choosing which wonderful resources to say NO to so we're not driving all day. I am thankful that I was able to limit my driving to one day per week this year with Glenna, and Kelly can drive herself to her college classes. (Poor girl has one class each day this semester!)

So, with all this home time, the house should be perfect, laundry caught up, and meals on time, right?

Yeah. I thought not.

Common Ground

My father and my oldest brother have several things in common.

They were both born on January 9th.

They were both wiped out with back problems on their birthdays this year.

They both wouldn't answer their cell phones.

I was finally able to track them both down (a quick text to my niece brought the desired results) to wish them a happy birthday.

Here's praying that the first day of their new year is no indication of how the rest of the year will go!

From Christmas

This is us with Junting Li, our student from China who stayed with us at Christmas. It's the first time we've hosted a male student during the holidays. Funny, because we've only hosted male students from France or Spain but when it comes to the Christmas experience we've always hosted female students from Asia! I'm guessing a female from France would be another story?

Anyway, Junting (sounds like "Hunting" but with a "J") was so great. He's already earned his masters in chemistry and is attending school in South Carolina for his phd in chemistry. His grasp on English was excellent. We hope he stays with us again! It was his first time ever in an American home.

If anyone is considering hosting an international student, I highly recommend it! It's an outstanding cultural experience for you and your family, especially the children.

Sister's Revenge

The heat woke me at 2:30 this morning. I guess we really need to turn the thermostat down at night because if I'm too hot, then the girls are roasting upstairs.

As I tiptoed with bare feet through the house to grab a drink of water, I couldn't help but think back to my visit to Mom's in October. Walking barefooted through the house at night is simply something that isn't done in the country. Walking barefooted through the house without a flashlight is just plain foolishness.

When the girls and I went out there during the summer of '06, We noticed this strange paper on Mom's fridge. Beginning with 2001 and going to 2006, there were columns with tally marks. We quickly found out that this was the indoor scorpion count. We also found out that scorpions glow bright green when a black light is present!

Each night before bed, Mom would grab her black light flashlight and scan the bedrooms. We found a total of six scorpions during our visit (one had me standing on top of the toilet seat, hollering for my Mommy - but we won't go into that).

That first night during our visit in October, I helpfully mentioned to my brothers that they might not want to walk through the house without shoes. They thought I was kidding, but Mom was there to verify the story. I then explained how none of the bedding touched the floor so the scorpions wouldn't climb up onto their beds.

The next morning, both brothers stumbled out of their bedrooms looking a little haggard. When I asked them how they slept, my brother Mark replied, "Not too well, actually. All I could think about were scorpions. Thanks for that, Sis!"

I think Dad would have been proud.

A Fine Tune

He reached forward and did a most unusual thing.

He turned the stereo volume down.

It was Labor Day weekend and I was driving Ty to the college where his brown-eyed girl was about to play piano. Normally, even at an early hour, I knew he'd enjoy listening to the band that was playing. I was so puzzled when he turned the music completely down.

"Too early for this?"

"No. Don't you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Your tires. There's a hum."

Of course I didn't hear it. I wouldn't know what I was hearing even if I did hear it.

Flash forward to Thanksgiving weekend. Ty is home once again and changing the alternator in his truck. He takes out the old one and gives it a spin.

"Hear that? Bad alternator." He gives the new one a similar spin. "Hear? No sound. Good alternator. I hear that stuff now."

Mind you, he hears it while the engine is running. If I don't hear out and out banging or clanking, I think everything's fine!

I had always known his hearing was amazing and did everything I could to protect it. I insisted the band wear earplugs when practicing in our living room and kept them in ready supply. Tyler quickly realized that any career in music would require acute hearing and soon protected his ears on his own. It would boggle my mind to watch him play and then suddenly stop because there was a slight "rattle" that needed attention. This while playing a drum set, mind you, not something soft and quiet like an oboe! We would drive down the street and his hand would suddenly shoot out to stop a rattle, one that had already shifted to the back of my consciousness and wasn't even noticed by me.

At the time and because of his passion and pursuit of music, we thought God had given him a gift for a profession in music - either playing, or in sound and recording. It would appear, however, that God is showing us His true purpose. One of the most important tools a master diagnostician will need . . . are his ears. I think we have definitely moved from a fine tune to a fine tuning, although great music will always be as appreciated as a smooth-running diesel engine; I hope.

One Bad Hombre

Himself and I went to stand in the milk line.

It was 45 degrees outside. I don't want to hear from anyone NOT in Florida how that's not cold. I'm here. You're not.

Needless to say, we were wearing layers. I had on a teal beanie, white cable scarf, and striped mittens with my black jacket. Himself was wearing a his dark jacket, jeans, and an Ezekiel's Eye beanie/skull cap.

We huddled together and tried to stay warm. It was going to be a long wait.

I turned to speak to Himself and then stopped. After perusing his outfit, I stated, You know, the only thing keeping you from looking like a real Bad A are your glasses.

He quickly whipped off his glasses and stuck them in his pocket. Full effect.

More waiting.

From the woman in line in front of us to one of the milk men, I heard you complaining about an ailment. I'm a massage therapist and I study blah blah and I can tell right away that your face is not even.

Himself leans forward. I'd say something, but I don't want to frighten her while I'm looking like a Bad A.

You would. You'd totally scare her granola-eatin' heart.

More waiting.

Behind us, the line grows longer. The weather feels like it's dropping a few degrees to everything except my toes, which I can no longer feel. I turn once again to Himself and notice his exposed neck. I promptly place my frozen nose there.

Hey! That's a cold nose!

Mmmmphmfpmmfp.

You know, I'm getting my pistola tomorrow, he whispers, for the third time.

I know. I'll feel so much safer in this milk line just knowing you're packing some heat.

The boxer dog who has been there every week is making her rounds up and down the line, trying to see who will kick her very slobbery, very deflated soccer ball. We all take turns trying to psyche her out on the direction of our kicks, but she's a pretty good blocker. She can read any direction we choose.

The yuppie (do they still call them that?) husband in front of me points to the residue of slobber left on his shoe after kicking the ball. I look at my own shoes and see she's left her DNA there as well. Oh well. Mine aren't spotlessly clean to go with my leather jacket, leather gloves, and striped skull cap, like his are.

After contemplating all of this, I turn one last time to Himself.

Are my glasses the only thing keeping me from looking like a Bad A?

No. Your danglely turquoise earrings are.

Thanks, Dad. Really. I love them.

Finally, it's our turn to pay the piper and grab the white gold. We pass many characters on our way back to the car and I laugh to myself because I certainly look like one of them today. We load up the Escape and quickly jump in, cranking the heat full blast.

Nose running from the cold, Himself requests a napkin from the glove box.

A napkin? A real Bad A would just hawk it onto the sidewalk.

I wondered if they could hear his laughter as we drove away.

The Shower Cap Chronicle

I wrote about a certain rite of passage a while back. When my son was first reading it, he thought I was going to say it was cable TV that I was struggling to avoid and then caved and bought. I'm still resisting cable, but we did get a digital converter and an antennae.

Some people were unsure what the big deal was about a measly shower cap. Some people understood my dilemma immediately. Shower caps were worn by grandmothers or mothers, not hip and happenin'gals!

Perhaps a little background is in order:

When I was growing up in California, I had wash-n-wear hair. Who didn't? There was a brief stint with the curling iron when they became popular in the late 70's, but for the most part hair was worn long and straight and parted in the middle. Since I had long and VERY straight hair, this was simple!

Also, I must confess, I hated taking showers.

The main reason for this is that our house was always cold.

Not really, Mom! It was great!

I could see my breath in my room.

Only on the coldest days, Mom. Most of the time, it was just a little chilly.

I couldn't wait for the spring thaw.

Because our house was mildly chilly (Eskimos built igloos in my closet), I learned how to avoid exposing any skin to a cold and drafty shower for as long as possible. See, not only was our house mildly chilly, we never had real water pressure or lots of hot water. The water pressure in the shower was so low, we practically had to run around in the shower to get wet!

Baths were a luxury. I remember once heating water on the stove to try to have enough hot water for a nice, long soak. Mom soon nixed this and told me to just get in and get out. Moms have a way of getting to the point like that. So, I showered only when I absolutely had to and the other times I would do a spit and polish at the sink with the space heater full blast.

Ah, the memories!

Mom always had a shower cap hanging in the bathroom and I'd played with it once or twice, but I never saw the real purpose. Mom bravely showered daily, but didn't wash her hair each time. I never really thought much of it but remembered the times she would dry her hair at night and then put some curls in it in the morning before work. All this at 5:30 a.m., plus putting out lunch money or lunches, making her own lunch, then heading off for her work day; I still don't know how she did it.

Since I no longer have my wash-n-wear surfer girl hair, I found a new reason to avoid showers. I hate having to dry and iron my hair. I would try to keep it from getting wet when I showered, or I would try to wrap it in a towel (cumbersome and usually slipped off). Since I was already a pro at the spit and polish at the sink, I once again kept showers to a minimum.

Don't judge me.

Since washing hair daily is actually harmful to hair and scalp, I guess one day I had an epiphany - what if I were to get some kind of cap to keep my hair dry while I was in the shower?

Ok, those of you who have figured this out long ago can go ahead and laugh. Some of us take a little longer.

Now, with my handy-dandy shower cap, life has been a dream. It works so well, in fact, that Himself thinks it's an every day solution.

I have to take a shower and it's a hair day.

Why don't you use the cap?

Using the cap won't help in this case! I actually have to wash it.

But the cap! The cap!

On New Year's Eve, I used the cap. I was thrilled when a teen girl turned to her companion and, after pointing to me discreetly, whispered, "See? That's how my hair was SUPPOSED to look. Instead, I got this horrible haircut!"

If she only knew.

Running Over

My son is on his way back, chugging along at a mom-approved speed up I-75. I'm praying he'll avoid any traffic back-ups this time.

What a vacation this has been. I really don't think I have the words to describe how wonderful it was, and any attempt will come out drippy and sappy.

Could we just say my cup is not only full, but it's overflowing?

Careful. You may just get some on you.

Compatibility

A stroll through our local Ikea has revealed what I've always known: Himself and I don't really have much in common in the way of personal taste.

I tend to draw toward a lot of wood furnishings with woven rugs, plump sofas with loose fittings, and a distinct western feel. Himself oohs and aahs over sleek, modern lines with a high gloss or polish, leather couches, and dark colors.

He'd like a huge personal recliner that he can claim as his own. Most likely, it would take up a quarter of the living room. I like smaller pieces that don't overwhelm the room.

I like to arrange things with a little thought into what would be pleasing to the eye. He tends to go right for convenience. I've had to keep a close eye on him over the years or our home would have beer labels (only from the imports), moose heads, hats tossed on any pointy surface or statue, and pictures stuck willy-nilly about the house.

Home decor is only one area where we don't agree. When driving, he gets right into the fast lane. I get into the lane I need to be in. (He'll get there faster than I will, but I avoid the stress of having to switch lanes quickly.) He watches intense action movies. I keep my nose in books. He loves to eat tons of meat. I usually take a lighter meat portion and fill up on sides. He thinks a flannel shirt over a t-shirt with jeans is acceptable to wear out of the house. I don't. =/ He listens to talk radio. I often drive around in silence.

In fact, there are so many things that we don't agree upon (covers vs. no covers, smooth jazz vs busy jazz), I guess it's safe to say we're pretty incompatible. I wonder how many people would come to this conclusion and decide to end their relationship?

We have nothing in common.

We can't agree on anything.

He/She's too different.

I suppose I could dwell on the areas where we differ, but I know that when I do, it stirs up discontent. Instead, I try to find areas where we agree.

We both love a tasty meal, and we both eat too much!

We both hate clutter.

We both want a home where people feel welcomed and relaxed.

We love music.

We have three amazing children.

We love to watch movies.

We hate onions on our pizza.

We like to make plans for home renovation (though can rarely afford to do anything about it).

We love our family, near and far.

Ice cream = bliss.

We love our Sunday School class.

We love the Lord our God with all our heart, mind, and soul.

We struggle with our sin natures that keep us from spending daily time in His word and prayer.

We both would rather be with each other than with anyone . . . except our children!


Bottom line is, of course, that contentment is a choice. I have a million irritating habits. He has a million . . . and two. We can focus on what makes us tick or what makes us ticked. Daily, hourly, moment by moment, we choose to love.

It's a wonderful, compatible choice. At least, it's worked for us.

So far!

Oh No She Didn't!

I did NOT buy a JUMBO Reeses's Peanut Butter Cup and eat it on the way home from Walmart. I especially did NOT do this in light of recent resolutions to eat well.

Oh no, I didn't!