something to remember

Psalm 91 (thank you, Nancy)

1 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

2 I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust."

3 Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare
and from the deadly pestilence.

4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,

6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.

7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.

8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.

9 If you make the Most High your dwelling—
even the LORD, who is my refuge-

10 then no harm will befall you,
no disaster will come near your tent.

11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;

12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

13 You will tread upon the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

14 "Because he loves me," says the LORD, "I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

15 He will call upon me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.

16 With long life will I satisfy him
and show him my salvation."

standing before a giant

I normally don't listen to "Christian" music, but my cd's have gone missing around here (hmmmm could it be that the kids don't like my musical tastes???? Seriously ALL of my cd's end up out of the car and in no-man's land) and I only have their cd's to grab while driving. This one song keeps going through my mind, on an endless loop; even in the middle of the night it plays in my brain.

Casting Crowns "Voice of Truth"

Oh, what I would do to have
the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the Voice of truth tells me a different story
the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the Voice of truth says "this is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

Oh, what I would do
to have the kind of strength it takes
To stand before a giant
with just a sling and a stone
Surrounded by the sound
of a thousand warriors
shaking in their armor
Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out
my name and he laughs at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The giant keeps on telling me
time and time again
"Boy you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the Voice of truth says "this is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

But the stone was just the right size
to put the giant on the ground
and the waves they don't seem so high
from on top of them looking down
I will soar with the wings of eagles
when I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
singing over me

But the Voice of truth tells me a different story
The Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
And the Voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me (calling out to me)
I will choose to listen and believe (I will choose to listen and believe)
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

I will listen and believe
I will listen and believe the Voice of truth
I will listen and believe
'Cause Jesus you are the Voice of truth
And I will listen to you.. oh you are the Voice of truth


Do not be afraid... the thing is, I don't swim, and I need a lifeline. The waves are crashing. And the giant... he is huge.

But I am huge-er

c is for...

Beats me... what IS this thing?

I don’t know about you, but while cleaning my house, I’ll come across odds and ends and wonder, “What on EARTH do you belong to?” There is one thing in particular that I have been coming across for over a year now. It is rubber, gray, and curves into a circle – almost. It says, “I am important.” I say, “Why don’t you go around in a full circle, though?” Something triggers in my mind… a trigger that says, “I’ve seen you before once upon a time. You have use. You have purpose. I think I should keep you.” And I do.

I find it again and again as it mysteriously tends to escape, and I put it back, again and again, where I think it belongs. The front closet. I used to have a junk drawer that I threw this kind of stuff in, but I no longer have one of those. Therefore, it goes with the other gray things having unknown and mysterious yet exceptional qualities and characteristics of usefulness, in the front closet of gray-dom.

Speaking of gray, Mr. W has been sick. He’s had a fever for almost a week now and alternates between looking red hot and pasty gray. He is very chatty, and wants to watch movies with me while I do my school work. I’ve watched more Disney movies in one week than I have in years. Last night we watched Beauty and the Beast. It first came out when I was pregnant with Miss J, 17 years ago. I had morning sickness all the way until the end with her, and Mr. D was my only child. He and I watched it every day. It was the only time he was ever still. Just hearing the opening strains of the music makes me want to vomit, however. Funny, how sounds and smells can immediately elicit physical and emotional responses.

Mr. W has been through the thermometers this week. He is constantly checking to see how hot he is. I’d say he checks 20 times a day. He used the digital armpit thermometer until he accidentally dropped it while going to bathroom. Apparently he wanted to see how hot he was then, too. He washed it off, and it stopped working. His dad got him a new thermometer - a temple thermometer. We all had to play Star Trek with it, except we registered differently each time we took it. It didn’t work, despite all its coolness. I got the real guns out – the oral mercury, glass thermometer (at least I think it was the oral one. At any rate, it was thoroughly sanitized several times before I allowed Mr. W to use it). I shook it down and presented it to Mr. W with the ancient instructions of long ago: “Put this under your tongue, keep your mouth shut and don’t talk for three minutes.” It is hard for a child who has never had to do this before to “get” what all that means. It was especially hard since Mr. W loves to talk, and it was agony for him to sit still with his mouth shut for three minutes. He timed it and we’d look. That is also a talent – finding the reading of one of these babies. Mr. W has been hovering at 102. The temple thermometer had him at 97.8. It’s definitely going back, tekkie, trekkie and all.

This morning, I called for a doctor’s appointment, but since it is Monday no one examine poor little sick Mr. W until tomorrow. His entire goal is to get better for the field trip on Wednesday, which is to my college for a Veteran’s Day ceremony. The kids like it since the cafeteria (still run by Chuck) is famous among elementary students for its ice cream machine and international food options. My children come home wanting to talk about the food instead of the chapel service ;) “Mom, when you were there did you eat… Mom, where you were there did they have….” I wouldn’t know as I never ate the food when I went there. I paid my .20 a day solely for the honor of sitting with my friends who did eat the food.

Speaking of college, Hubby is off to Hoosier-land today for a funeral. His college room-mate’s dad died this week. I informed him that there is an epidemic of dads dying this year. Particularly those dads of whom he has roomed with. Steve, Dave and now Tom. Hubby corrected and informed me that Steve was a unit-mate in college, Dave was a house-mate (if you call that thing a house – it was the epitome of a hole in the wall in more ways in one), and Tom was a room-mate. The kids looked at me and asked, “Who’s next?” I’m giving you a heads up, Daddy – run!

My dad turned 83 on Oct 25^th. He has been in and out of the hospital more times this summer and fall than I can count. He had a defibrillator put in a few weeks ago and is on oxygen. Rumor has it that he weighs a whopping 160 pounds, although I am hoping that rumor is false. I don’t want to imagine my tall dad that skinny. Here he is long, long ago.



He wore these glasses or ones similar for decades. They are back in style. Of course, my funky glasses are similar to ones I wore in 3-6^th grade. I would say he wore that same flannel shirt (red, in my mind) for decades as well, but flannel doesn’t last that long. Alas, I wish it did, since my favorite polar bear jammies are flannel and I want them to last forever. I want the best things in life to last forever, but I found they don’t.

I haven’t seen my dad in 7 years and only three times briefly in the past 14 years. But he has a daily abiding presence in my life, and I have learned a lot from him. He is one of those scary-smart people and was a rocket scientist, a physicist, a professor, an accomplished musician on many instruments and could rattle his brain at will ;) . He gave me a love for music, planes, trains, photography, humor, quality TV reception, star trek and appreciating the beauty of God’s creation. He however, forgot to pass along his genes for actually playing an instrument or understanding math and science. That’s ok. I am good at using my imagination.

This morning Mr. W was taking his temperature with the glass thermometer, broke the cardinal rule of keeping his mouth shut, and was talking. Of course, the thermometer fell out between words and shattered. Mercury balls went rolling here, there and every where. I managed to roll the balls into one big-ish ball - it’s pretty darn cool - and I had great fun trying to pick it up with index cards. Then I moved onto vacuuming up the glass shards. My vacuum cleaner has convenient “on-board” attachments which I can never locate as the tubular extensions are inconveniently “off-board,” frequently being used by the boys as light sabers and swords. However, having located them in various flower beds this summer and having relocated them to the front closet, I got to use them this morning. But alas, after attaching the weapons of little boy destruction, I found there was a hole in my suction tools/rods/tubes – a hole that was supposed to be there, mind you, as it states “suction tools on or off.” Not to worry, I was clever enough to use my finger to close off the opening – however, I quickly realized this was not as brilliant an idea as I initially thought for sucking up glass thermometer bits.

But now I have finally figured out what that gray thing in the front closet is for. I hope I remember where it goes when I find it out in the daisies next year.

Resurfacing Part B

I have gone back to school.  Currently I'm taking two classes, which were normally 16 weeks long, but now crammed into what they term as an "accelerated 8 week course". That means lots of reading. They are online courses, which means lots of reading on my laptop. Online means go at your own pace, but they don't really mean that. They mean, "we've shoved 16 weeks worth of work into 8 weeks and we expect you to turn it all in by midnight on Sunday each week or you receive a ZERO. No late work is accepted. However, you may do this at anytime you want. Cram it in-between work, driving your kids all over creation... we're flexible!"

Actually, it is flexible and I am fitting it all in somehow, however it is ending up being way more work than traditional college ever was. Did I mention the amount of reading? I am required to write a paper, turn it in, but not to the teacher. Nope. It goes to a discussion board. Everyone in the class gets to read it (roll eyes). And I get to read theirs (roll more eyes - maybe the ones in the back of my head). And I have to respond to their content (in a precise manner... which means in a manner which gets graded). 20+ students in each class means I am reading 40+ papers each week. I can't imagine letting my peers read my papers way back 25 years ago. Some of my classmates would have happily ripped my papers to shreds. I would have been paralyzed with fear to know what I wrote had to pass in front of their eyes.

Did I mention this equates to Way Too Much Reading?

As I am reading, on my laptop, the laptop with the glassy, glossy screen, this old woman is looking right back at me. She won't go away. I see her right now. I see her on dicussion boards, I see her while reading short stories, she is there when I write my papers and post my comments. She never leaves me alone. I think she even eats my chocolate.

When I bought my laptop, the sales person didn't tell me it came with this wrinkly old woman. I don't like her.

I decided to try to do something about her. I bought some of this revolutionary anti-aging cream from Avon. It has actual gold in it. It also has a money-back guarantee, which is one reason I really like Avon. It doesn't work? Send it back. This what the website states: Introducing ANEW Ultimate Night Gold Emulsion. Look 5 years younger in 14 days or your money back! 

Five years younger in two weeks? But how would I tell? 

:)

I put it on only half my face, that's how I would tell. I faithfully used it.  It was sparkly and felt good. I used another cream on the other half of my face. In two weeks, my left side would be five years younger. Or maybe since I only used it on one half of my face, perhaps my face in total would only look 2.5 years younger. I even gave it an extra week. Then I started asking my friends which side looked younger?

They all said the same thing.

The right side. Oh yeh, definitely. The right side does.


The RIGHT SIDE.... that was the wrong side. 

Puh. Yes, Avon is getting it back. I will keep using the other cream. On both sides.

I also have been using this: ANEW Clinical Advanced Dermabrasion System. It's cool in that it has a dialy thingie that gives you control over how much grit you squirt out to rub on your derma. The theory behind dermabrasion is that when one's skin is precisely irritated by extreme control, this stimulates new skin growth, and one looks younger. To gradually irritate the skin has been the key and is typically done surgically, but you guessed it, skincare manufacturers decided to get in on the action. The twisty knob on Avon's dispenser is their key. Here is what is supposed to happen after using this product: 100% of users showed improved skin texture, clarity and tone. Pores begin to shrink, skin-tone is dramatically evened out, deep wrinkles are visibly diminished. Hmmm. I've been using this for a few months now. I haven't noticed all of that, but then again, I didn't do it on just half of my face as it didn't quite seem as practical. I do know that my face feels very clean. Whose face wouldn't after they scrub sand all over it for two solid minutes? Dirt doesn't have a chance.

On the off days of not sanding my face, I use a Daily Resurfacing Cleanser which "instantly" makes the skin look smoother, pores less noticable and in three days, the fine lines and wrinkles are reduced. In two weeks, the skin looks dramatically younger.

uh huh.

All I know is that by Christmas, that old lady in the laptop better start looking like a toddler. Or at least a teenager. Heck, I'd take early 30's at this point ;)

major resurfacing ahead....

resurfacing - part A

I have often wondered when I see the signs "Road Closed", what happens to all those people who actually live on that road that is now closed? Does the Transportation Department contact all those people who live there ahead of time and let them know they can't use the road? And what happens then? Do they move in with friends and family? Do they hunker down until the construction passes? The road is closed, after all.

But sometimes, don't you see someone turn down those roads anyway? Do they have special permission? A hall pass from the DoT?

I live on a dead-end road. My road is connected to another road. I stop at a stop sign and can turn one way on that road and get to a SR... I proceed another way and get to another SR. Very handy connection. Very convenient. However, it is not convenient when you wake up one morning, drive down your road, stop at the stop sign and see the sign "Road Closed".

No one called me. No one told me they were resurfacing. How am I supposed to go anywhere? How do I get from point A to point B?

Ah, I think, they must have left me a jet pack or hover craft. That's what they did.

Unfortunately, I just can't find the darn thing anywhere. oh... wait... it is my JETta... not jet pack. bummer.

I was looking forward to being George Jetson. or Buck Rogers.

M is for Mischief

(and markers)

Mr M is in preschool. He started just a few weeks ago. Many of you are asking how it is going.

We are still getting the hang of it. He brought home a box the other day. He was very proud of his box. I didn't know what it was for, but I could tell it was a special box, handled with care by many small hands, and worn over the years. In the van, I read the top aloud which proved to be a mistake:

1. Choose something to put in the box.
2. Write out some clues which describe what you put in the box. Tape to outside of box.
3. Bring it in on Friday.

Mr M took this to heart.


While I was still putting away my purse and emptying his book bag, he was busy writing out clues in his bedroom with a hot pink "marks-a-lot" permanent marker. He was very proud of his clues. The hot pink marker had been in a top shelf in the kitchen. How he got it, I do not know.


I created a new label and taped it over the old one. I noticed this was not the first layer and hoped the one(s) beneath had been just as proudly marked upon as this one I was hiding. I took a peek. They weren't.

On Friday, I opened the lid. Mr M had a giant dog inside, almost as big as he was, furry, brown and tan. He dictated his clues to me: "It is small. It is black and white. It doesn't have a tail." I listened but I wrote down, "It is brown and tan. It has a tail. I can make it bark."


When we arrived at the school, Miss J, carrying the magical mystery box, called out, "What happened to the index card you taped on here, Mom?" I looked about the van, but found none. She made another one for him in the classroom. Maybe she actually wrote down what he said. I have no clue.


I picked him up from school. He got to the car, but he had forgotten his dog which really is Mr J's dog. "Do you think Mr J will be a little sad that you didn't bring home his dog? Maybe you should go get it," I urged him. He ran back to the building and the teacher brought out a garbage bag filled. Certainly, Mr J's dog was there, but along side him were all sorts of other animals: black and white ones, ones without tails and ones that didn't bark. "He brought all of these?" I asked, very surprised. I hadn't actually thought to take out the ginormous dog to see if there were other things underneath him. I was quite taken with the fact that the dog alone fit into the box.

"Yes," she said. "He brought all of those." She didn't remark about the new label and I didn't bring it up.

On Wednesday, he came running to me, "Mom, Mom! Come here, there are one thousand ants in my bedroom!" I sighed. Yes, we have ants, big black ants that seem intent on eating our house. I knew from experience that once a bug ends up in little boys' rooms, they don't sleep that night. They think the bug is under the blankets with them. I braced myself for the worst, but even if there weren't one thousand ants, even a single ant would be enough to disrupt sleep. And I wanted a peaceful night.

As he led me to his room, he turned around, grinned impishly and said, "April Fools!"

stinker. he is a stinker. I didn't even know he KNEW about April Fool's. Must have learned it in school, but I must admit, he had got me the best that day.

The next day, he slid down the stairs in a box. Quickly, violently, he was at the bottom with a bang. I looked, in alarm, at him. That had to hurt. He said it didn't, that it was very fun, but his face betrayed him. "What hurts?" I asked. "Perhaps this isn't a good idea."

"Oh, nothing hurts. Nothing but my wienie." He did it again and again, surfing down the stairs. "Don't worry, Mom, I have my hand over my wienie." Boys.

Later that night, when he went to the potty, he started to cry. "OWWWW, it hurts! I hurt my wienie!" Going potty the next several times hurt him, but he bravely pushed past the pain. I was alarmed, though, when he looked up and said, "It's GREEN, Mom!! My wienie is GREEN!" Someone told me I need to hide all markers. I thought I had.

He has preschool M-W-F. T and Th he is busy growing MooseTaches. We 'shave' them prior to school. He is not discouraged and simply finds another marker somewhere to grow a new one. The latest was purple.

Yesterday when I got him from school, we waved to the teacher, climbed in the van and buckled in. "My wienie didn't hurt when I pee'd, Mom. I told my teacher that. I told her my wienie hurt but it doesn't any more. I told her that, mom."

That's how it is going.

I am a Reader and that means

When I read, I have a couple of quirks. Number one, I read every.single.word. I figure the person wrote the words, carefully chosen, for me to read. I figure if I ever am published, I would want my readers to read my words.

I have never been one of those people who skip around, skimming the pages and hastily digesting anything. And when I write, sometimes I read the words out loud, to make sure I am clear. HA, I hear you say - that doesn’t always work - you're as clear as mud!

But I have read enough books to my children to know that some words don’t do well when read aloud. I had to quit reading one book to them, since the words the author chose simply weren’t conducive to being read-aloud. The words didn’t slide off of my tongue at all; in fact, they tripped over my tongue and I spent many times, going back to read the sentence again. That book made me realize that there is a real art to this whole writing thing.

So if I read every single word, and I am absent-mindedly thinking about something else, I sigh, and read the paragraph again, to fully engage in the material. Sometimes that means I read the same paragraph (or page) many, many times. Oh stop rolling your eyes, you know you have done the exact same thing. OR perhaps my eyes go faster than my brain. I will think “Hmmm, I believe I missed a tiny little something back about two paragraphs ago” and I will re-read it. The whole thing. Just to make sure I read every single word, important or not. It is obsessive of me, I know.

Then there are names. I must tell you that I don’t always do names in books very well. Names tend to throw all the phonetic rules out the window, and especially if I am reading a foreign book, I simply see that name as almost a symbol, instead of sounding it out. Russian books, in particular, are challenging. I see an Rasldfjalksdfjlasjfklsdjf and think “Oh that is the ‘R’ dude”, think of the face I have chosen for R dude, therefore, not even attempting to try to figure out his name.

I am now reading The Diary of a Wimpy Kid, by Jeff Kinney. Mr. Kinney is a champion of using R names. I have gotten very confused over Roderick, Roger, Rowley and Rodney. Rory? I can’t even remember anymore. And these aren’t even Russian. This R-dude? No, that R-dude. Fortunately, the stick-figure drawings have come in extremely handy for the visual person I happen to be. Circle, dots for eyes, nose, mouth. And Rory? He is a stick-monkey. Ah forget it. It’s meant for elementary kids, anyway. And, by the way, great fun.

I'm not the only person having problems with names, though. Last week, I met someone who said she hated fantasy. She especially disliked Lord of the Rings, since Tolkien used so many weird names she couldn’t even pronounce. I agreed with her and related my story with LOTR. I remember reading this for the first time in high school, and using my typical “Oh this is the “S” dude. Except I got myself into trouble. Sauren and Saruman. Oops. To me, spaced several pages or chapters apart, they were the one - Big S, A, U, R, N - and the same until I got so thoroughly confused and finally realized they were two different S dudes. You guessed it, I had to go BACK and reread it to figure out who really was doing what. Come on, what was he thinking, making up two evil villain names that were so close?

But the woman I was talking to wasn’t disturbed by those two names. Oh no… she stopped at Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Sam. Confusing… Sam? SAM? How can Sam be confusing? Everyone should have a Sam in her life. Ah, Sam…. I adore Sam, true and faithful to the end. That is one Tolkien S-dude I don't have any problems with.