Stacey's Space

Sometimes My Eyes

2005-09-14T04:56:00.000-05:00

As I type these very words, I can hear my alarm clock going off upstairs, where by some strange and amazing God-given ability my husband can sleep straight through the BEEP, WEEP, MEEP, MEEP. How he does this, I don't know, but if I could bottle it up and patent it I would be a rich woman from all the insomniac sales I could generate.

When the thunder clap jarred me out of bed at 2:30am and my heartbeat raced through my body reverberating the echo for the next five minutes, I knew sleep was a hopeless case for the remainder of the two hours which consisted solely of my eyes checking the clock to estimate the mental countdown of "how many hours of sleep I can still have if I fall asleep right this very second."

Perhaps this sleeplessness has to do something with the fact that 7th period today, I will be evaluated for the first time, by my BOSS. Staying home for the last four years with my kids has kept me from the professionally articulated formal evaluations of one's job performance. Sure, I knew if I had a bad day, the kids knew I had a bad day, and sometimes my husband even knew I had a bad day (ok, probably knew every time) but I didn't have to live it out in a pre-conference meeting, job site performance evaluation and post-conference follow-up.

Perhaps if my husband could have developed this method, my transition into the "real world" would be a bit less stressful and I, at this moment, would not be sleep deprived and for sure ready to crash off my over-tired high like my 2-year-old does after her head stops spinning long enough to crash nose-first into her pillow. Imagine how helpful Tim could have been these last four years if only he had taken the time to schedule routine check-ups on my performance.

Husband: Explain your plans for tomorrow when I arrive in your living room for our evaluation.

Me: If you arrive anywhere between 1:00 and 3:00, check my bed, I will be trying like crazy to fit a nap into the time when Kayla stops spinning, the washer stops spinning, and my head stops spinning.

Husband: How do you plan to accommodate the different needs of each of your children?

Me: If they are not whining, crying, throwing, or screaming; I will be working on some aspect of re-cleaning what I have already cleaned for the forty-third time. If any other -INGing is going on, I will be addressing that need in the method which subsides it the quickest (i.e. bribery, threatening, beating, more bribery)

Husband: Are there any special circumstances I should be aware of when I come for my observation?

Me: Flying pans, underwear, and televisions.

Husband: What time would you like to meet to post-conference?

Me: How about between the minutes of 10:45 and 10:55 because that's all it really takes and that's all you really need.

It the kids threw-up on me, if I felt shitty and like laying on the couch all day and never getting dressed, there wasn't a box inked in red pen F by someone who does not see me though eyes of familiar love. This fact, up until this moment I would have considered to be of no affect on my emotional-psychological status, could potentially be the cause of my inability to CLOSE MY EYES for an extended period of time, in succession.

I know I am a good teacher, I know I am called to this profession, I know I am making an impact in my students lives, I know, I know, I know...but will he?

Three Days of Work

2005-09-03T09:07:00.000-05:00

Last week, after a long discussion with my husband (translation, me talking lots and lots, him nodding his head in agreement every so often to give the perception that he is listening and really does care) I decided to cancel the Labor Day BBQ I had planned. This single act was so freeing for me. I simply didn't care. I just can't do it all, and I'm OK with that.

Who ever said wanting to be a teacher would be great? You only work 9-3, have 2 weeks off in the winter, 1 week in the Spring and all summer? Yeah right! Let's see, this week I think I put in a total of at least 50-60 hours, lesson planning, grading and staying after school for meetings....wasn't this supposed to be the perfect job for a working mother?

My school district is really great because they give us "Big Sister" mentors. My mentor came in, brought me a huge double expresso frapaccino, and assured me that being five minutes ahead of the kids is completely normal the first year of teaching. I keep telling myself, next year I'll have it all together...

On a happier note, I have completed my thesis. My grade has been posted and well, not to brag (Ok, I am bragging but it's my blog and I have that inordinate right) I successfully finished graduate school with straight A's. That's 4.0 baby! My professor said, and I quote, "StaceyÂI rarely get to perform in the role of ÂcheerleaderÂ for theses, but this is really excellent work. YouÂve really owned your project, and have created an important critical investigation into the developing field of memoir. Your work is among the top 5 theses IÂve read, if not the best one." WHOA...after I picked myself off the floor, I did the dance of joy. IT IS FINISHED!

Updates

2005-08-28T21:48:00.000-05:00

First let me just give a big cyber hug () to Jeff for clearing up those name issues for my fellow readers...Jeff you got every pronunciation right...how did you do in one minute what took me four days and three embarrassing moments to get right???

Tonight was a sad night. One of my student's mom passed away on Wednesday, but she still came to school on Thursday and Friday (the student, not the mom) she must have taken my syllabus very literally under the attendance section where I wrote "Come to class EVERYDAY. You are a valuable member of our class and we need you here." Next year I'll need to give specific examples of what constitutes an "excused" absence. Since she made the effort to be in school, I thought it only appropriate to attend the wake. So sad. I will be keeping my eye out for her this year, to help her make it through.

Here is a brief updated list of what has happened in my life over the brief summer hiatus...

husband and wife agree to "try to sell our house and see what happens"
place FOR SALE sign in yard
first people on first day make offer we want
we are homeless
find similar home six days later, closer to work, with pool and hot-tub for substantially less than the price of former home
buy new home
move in with mom and dad for 3 glorious weeks
write thesis in make-shift office of folding tables and overcrowded townhouse
lay out in pool for one whole hour all by myself
move into new house just in time to start new job
back to blogging

It's All About the Names

2005-08-25T11:23:00.000-05:00

I think I have got down a good 70% of my students names...and they're not easy...I have six Jessicas, two Stephanies, and two Codys. I have one of each of the following Shunita, Karam, Antwonicqua, Shaquila, Shaneikwa, an Naajee. Don't ask for the pronouncations...I'm still working on that myself.

I am settling in and starting to feel comfortable, overwhelmed, but comfortable none the less. Wanting so bad to be "the best teacher" and teach the students revelant information, I struggle with lessons and planning, wanting only to bring to them the absolute perfect lessons that will spark their ambition and cause them to probe deeper and further...

Today I read them two stories Sel Silversteins The Giving Tree and Spencer Johnson's The Precious Present. Then we compared and contrasted the two. It was really good and the students seemed to really grasp onto the concepts.

One other final thought, as I peer over the pile of highlighters and post-it notes that my students had on their supply list, next year I will give each class different supplies to bring, as I am pleasantly amazed at those who broght in extras.

Second Day Jitterbug

2005-08-22T08:22:00.000-05:00

Well, the kiddies will be walking into my classroom in approximately 15 minutes. I think I'm ready. I think I know what to do, but there it is again...that nervous hazy feeling in my gut. Yes, I am new to this, but I was here all last year doing the same thing. I have soft music on and am hoping that venting this out will calm my psyche down just a tad...note to self, next year skip the large expresso one the first day!

It was a rough night last night. Kayla did not want to go to sleep, then she was at the side of my bed, doe eyed at 3am. I was supposed to get up and go work out...a fantastic DAY ONE...that never happened...so here I am...here's to a FABLOUS FIRST DAY!!!!!

First Day Jitters

2005-08-18T23:38:00.000-05:00

What a summer it has been. I don't even know where to start. I don't even know if there is anybody out there that still reads my blog it has been so long since that last post. So many changes and things have taken place, but the biggest one is the new job which I start in aproximately seven hours from now.

One of the reasons I am feeling so overwhelmed right now is all the fears that are running through my head, will I be a good teacher? Will I have the right answers? Will I make it through this? I sure these are completly normal feelings, esp. at midnight the night before I start, but still in the back of my mind I can't help but wonder.

My goal for this blog is going to change. I think, rather than use it as a "creative outlet" for my growing writing skills, I am going to use it as a "My First Year as a Teacher Journal"...since I don't think anyone reads my blog anymore, no one will probably notice anyways.

Today, I will remember the first day of school. The anticipation. The expectation. The walk through the parking lot at 11pm and seeing only one other lonely care. The excitement setting up my room. The wondering what my kids are going to be like. Today I will remember these things.

Summer Vacation

2005-05-25T08:53:00.000-05:00

Well, summer is here and I just can't seem to keep up with everything. Baseball games, walks to the ice cream parlor, mowing the lawn, etc....so, as if you haven't already noticed...I'm taking my summer vacation and will be stepping away from the blogging.

Please come back and visit me in September.

And a special "thank you" for all of those who "checked" in on me while I've been away....you know who you are!

Things That Make Me Want to Pull My Hair Out

2005-05-05T09:53:00.000-05:00

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Continuing in the tradition of lists, that you my viewing public have asked for, my cyber-twin Stacy and I have come up with a combined list of things that make us want to pull our hair out.

SHE SAID:

People that do not return their carts to the cart caddies at grocery or super stores. Even worse the people who actually place that cart behind the car of another so that when that person comes out they have to move the cart to get their own car out.

Our contractors who are anxious to get their work done but are not anxious to pay their bills.

When you call a customer service number for assistance with something and the agents accent is so strong you cannot understand anything they are saying.

The loose ends that appear everywhere in our lives.

Network television programming.

People who use vulgar profanity in public.

Fat chicks in skinny clothes.

Skinny chicks in skimpy, tight fitting clothes; and them wearing them in very inappropriate places; such as in your church's worship band, and she's up on stage in front of thousands of people looking like she's dressed for the bar, not church.

Movies that are made for children but are filled with adult sexual innuendo.

The ADL producing a pamphlet on diversity and tolerance that they intend on distributing in elementary schools across the nation.

People that either sit or stand too close. Hey, your a stranger, BACK OFF!

When I'm in the middle of doing something and my husband calls for me to come and look at something on either the Internet or television and it's completely ridiculous and I just want to look back at him and say "you made me stop what I was doing for this?"

People who play rap music so loud in their cars that you can hear it in yours.

Guys who are still wearing their pants so low you can see their boxers; FASHION ALERT: That trend is over.

People who don't know how to properly use a Round-About; how hard is it to yield to the car on the left?

I SAID:

When my husband gives the baby a Popsicle after I just gave her a bath.

The mailman accidentally putting my neighbor's not-so-clean magazines in my box.

Pulling out of the car wash as it starts to rain.

People who still say "cool beans" and mean it.

People who say "that sucks"and don' mean it.

Doorbells that don' work.

No new comments.

When you remember to click save just as you are moving your mouse up to the disk icon to click, the computer freezes and you loose 12 pages of your thesis.

Not knowing the number on caller-id, so you answer, only to find out it is someone you didn't want to talk to--you just didn't recognize their cell phone number.

Bloggers who use short sentences for effect in every blog. Just.Like.This.

The fact that I'm never sure which one is "dessert" and which one is "desert."

Forgetting that there are tags on clothes for a reason and finding I just turned a really cute GAP sweater from a woman's medium into a toddler's 2T.

The shower could have mildew thick like pink salmon cuts plastered to the wall, but no one else seems to care and will continue to shower therein.

Insults disguised as compliments.

Garbage days when there is no chocolate in the house because the day before, feeling strong and full of will-power, perfectly good chocolate found itself in the trash.

The Case of the Uncooked Mom

2005-05-02T23:40:00.000-05:00

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Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, tonight I will present to you a case which will undoubtedly prove to you the innocence of my client. I will show you all the facts: the dirty kitchen sink, the long-grain rice which was stuck to her sock, and to the chocolate frosting found in well...ummm...we will get to that later in the trial.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, I will prove to you that my client, doting wife and loving mother, was truly the sole responsible party for the dinner presentation on the night of May 1st, 2005.

I will prove to you her husband's late arrival home from work, while yes, admittedly, found Mrs. Gonzales still in the pajamas he kissed her in before he left for work, was greeted into loving arms of enthusiasm, joy, and happiness. My client, while she may be guilty for avoiding cleaning her closet, is innocent of the lavish meal which was placed in front of her family at exactly 7:21pm on that aforementioned evening.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I submit to you a woman who while pregnant with her second child, worked a full-time job, maintained a 4.0 GPA in graduate school, and raised her children with tender loving care. I ask you to look at the accomplishments in Mrs. Gonzales' personal and public life, and challenge you to stretch you minds. Could a woman of this caliber really not cook her family the meal they so deserve?

Thank You.

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Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, this is a closed case. The defense would have you to believe this woman is completely capable of performing the simple God-given task of providing food for her family. They will attempt to present her as the modern day June Cleaver. But you have to be smarter than that, appearances can be deceiving.

You must judge the facts and not be swayed by her face. We will present to you the numerous witnesses who will testify that they saw Mrs. Gonzales' SUV in several local fast-food drive-thus. The credit card receipt found in said SUV from McDonalds (they do accept credit/debit cards). The best friend who will testify that Mrs. Gonzales admitted to forgetting to feed her son all day long and that Apple Jacks for breakfast are "fine because they have fruit in them." My lawyers will examine her own husband's inability to come up with three things his wife can cook.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, with all do respect, one healthy home-cooked meal does not constitute a true appreciation for the health of one's entire family.

Thank you.

Meet The Bloggers

2005-05-01T08:48:00.000-05:00

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My fellow bloggers,

I invite you to our new site "Meet the Bloggers." You can find out more about me and my co-interviewees Jeff, Nettie, and Stacy.

It is a fun way to build the blogging community and get to know some of our fellow bloggers better. Go and check it out. And let me know if I can draft you for an interview.

Return to Sender

2005-04-29T13:28:00.000-05:00

Don't you just love getting packages, letters, and email? I get so excited when I hear the UPS man's big brown truck rumbling onto my street. I run to the window, excited to see if he will stop and drop off a package at my doorstep. When we see the mailman stopping at my box, the kids excitedly yell out in unison "Can I go get the mail? Pleeeeeeease." I LOVE, absolutely LOVE to open up my inbox and find that I have personalized emails from those I love. I savor the click of opening each one and finding the morsel inside that is just for me.

But, I hate spam and junk mail and companies trying to get me to accept their "free" gift. I don't want that junk. I want to take those things and take a big red permanent marker and write across each and every one of them...RETURN TO SENDER!!!!!!

And God wants us to do the same things with the thoughts that aren't' from him.

"You never do the right thing"--sorry you've got the wrong addressee--RETURN TO SENDER!!!

"You're a horrible wife/mother/friend/human being"--oh you must have made a mistake, that woman doesn't live here anymore she died with Christ--RETURN TO SENDER!!!

"You are stupid"--wrong name, the only person who lives here is called a child of God--RETURN TO SENDER!!!

"Just quit now, you will never get it"--I can't sign for that one either because I endure to the end--RETURN TO SENDER!!!

So next time that thought pulls up to your doorstep and tries to get into your mind...get out your permanent marker and use the Word in red...Jesus said, "Get thee behind me Satan." And don't feel bad about returning that thought back to its original sender!

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmmm

2005-04-26T22:16:00.000-05:00

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A special thanks to Misty who took me up on the offer to receive a personalized blog topic of said choice...

Now, on with the list of things that make ME go hmmmmmmmm:

~~"private" cell phone conversations while in line at the grocery store, working out at the gym, and in the stacks of books at the library

~~people who slam on their brakes after they pass a stopped police car

~~switching lines several times in the grocery store in attempt to be in the fastest line, only to get out of the parking lot to sit in traffic

~~people who let their children, who can't even speak yet, answer the telephone

~~parents who take little-league t-ball seriously

~~the sound I make when talking to someone on the phone while secretly blogging "hmmmmm, that's interesting"

~~the fact that my husband can purchase tickets to the cubs game online, get there on time, and enjoy the game, but can't seem to make and show-up at his own dental appointments

~~if you sneeze to hard you really can fracture your rib

~~there are people in churches across America moving away from God, while there are people sitting in a bar right now moving towards God

~~not getting what I want, not wanting what I get, getting what I don't want, and wanting what I don't get

~~spongebob squarepants

~~do we really need another star wars/lord of the rings prequill, sequel, mekwill type thingy

~~toys for newborn babies

~~Yo, MTV cribs...a bunch of thug rappers who got lucky, are making millions of dollars, are wasting it away on frivolity, and are complete idiots and don't have any respect for the things they have...to provoke our youth to want to be just like them

~~I've never seen a #1 pencil, and I've looked

~~of course, my high school theme song by C&C Music Factory

~~and finally, this picture, which I starred at for several minutes trying to figure out and going "hmmmmmm" "hmmm hmmm hmm hmm hmmm"

There you have it Misty. I hope I haven't let you down and you laughed a good amount of your fanny off...or at least pretend like you like it, so I can continue to be the glorious writer of blogs that I am. OK...who is gonna be next????

Oh Yes, There Are Things

2005-04-26T00:03:00.000-05:00

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List of things that are more boring than JeffH at ThinkSink:

listening to grandma tell the story again of how she walked to school two-miles each way in snow up to her knees with bare feet because they couldn't afford shoes
The way my son feels about playing with one of the thousands of toys we mortgaged our home to buy for him...Mom, this is so boring!
my blog topic today
logging onto your homepage, which of course is Google, and not being able to think of one single solitary word to google
googling "boring" and finding this boring site
going to the movies, getting there early to get just the right seats, and being held captive for 45 minutes and seeing only previews you've already seen
the cd player accidentally turned to repeat 1, instead of repeat all
clicking the "next blog" blogger icon for over an hour and not finding one blog worth reading (well maybe one) (nope, I was wrong, other people's baby pictures are boring, especially baby pictures that aren't taken in English)
having the same wardrobe which was in style right around the same time I had bad hair in my 1992 high school graduation picture
Watching Elmo's World on Saturday night, while your smart single friends are living it up in the Real World
Condi in flats
Not being able to come with anymore things that are more boring than Jeff
Checking Darlene's Blog everyday and thinking its still Nettie's birthday (oh wait, that's not boring, that's just stupid)
long, obsessive posts containing lots of dialogue about one man's infatuation and narcissistic belief that a congress woman, a rock star, and a furniture maker are all in love with him

And there you have it JeffH at ThinkSink a post blogged just for you! You send the ideas I write the post.

It Is Finished

2005-04-25T20:38:00.000-05:00

Well the paper is done and ironically I can't think of a thing to blog about...what's up with that???? It's like my blogs are only as good as when they are written at a time when I should be doing something else.

So how about this...send me an idea and I'll write you a blog about it...just for you...personalized blogging.

What do you say????

Write in the Pants

2005-04-23T19:02:00.000-05:00

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I am attempting to teach my four-year son to read. We use the book called, Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons. If I had written the book I'm not sure I would have called it “EASY,” a better description may have been “Teach Your Child to Read in 100-sit-your-butt-in-the-chair-and-pay-attention Lessons.” Sometimes, I want to put on my old army fatigues and yell, “GET YOUR NOSE IN THE BOOK SON!” Sometimes, I want to pick up the book and throw it against the wall for a dramatic effect. Sometimes, I don’t want to feel guilty for using candy, fruit snacks, and other sweet treats as rewards for reading each and every word—no wonder the kid can’t concentrate.

And I’ve discovered something: I write papers the same way my son does his lessons.

He puts the pencil in his mouth and spins on the chair, I check my email and pick at my belly button. He says, “I don’t want to do it, just one more word and that’s it;” I say to myself, “I don’t want to do it, just one more page and that’s it.” He gets up and walks around; I get up and walk to the pantry. He looks up at the ceiling and wonders when he can play with his Rescue Heroes; I look at my armpits and wonder when was the last time I shaved? He wants to watch cartoons; I want to write in my blog. He calls his sister to come over; I answer the phone when a friend calls. He is easily distracted if someone else walks in the room; I am easily distracted when someone else walks in the room.

Yes, I am going…right now…to finish…my paper…page 8 here I come…can anyone come over in Army fatigues, I need a kick???

Restaurant Stop

2005-04-23T13:37:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed how leaving a restaurant and leaving a stop sign bring about the same strange momentary lapse and indecisiveness?

Even though where I live four ways stops are as common as the squashed bug guts smeared on the windshield on the first day of spring, no one EVER follows the appropriate rules of the road. We, as citizens and drivers in the United States of America, understand “red light--green light”, turning lanes with “turn left on arrow only,” and most certainly the looming DO NOT ENTER warnings; however, when it comes to four-way stop signs all the things learned in driver’s education are spit out the window with your stale gum.

“A four-way stop sign means that there are four stop signs at this intersection. Traffic from all four directions must stop. The first vehicle to reach the intersection should move forward first. If two vehicles reach the intersection at the same time, the driver on the left yields to the driver on the right” (Rules of the Road).

You pull up to the four-way stop. All cars have stopped at about the same nano-second as you did. Unless there is an “aggressive” driver who goes first no matter which order she arrived at the stop sign in (usually me), the following dilemma ensues:

You hesitate, take your foot off the brake, at the same time the other drivers consecutively lift their foot off their brakes. So, no one wanting to make the first move, you all sit in what seems like the most uncomfortable three schizophrenic-seconds of your life, thinking “should I go, should I not go, should I go…” until the guy across from you waves you on and you begin slowly, cautiously proceeding into the intersection (unless you’re my husband, in which case, you wave on another driver, when he doesn’t go quick enough, you then go yourself instead, but call him the “idiot” after he begins to go after you are already half-way through the intersection and he almost hits you). When you make it through the intersection and breathe a sigh of relief, you carry and forget you wanted prescription for panic attacks…until you pull up to the next four-way stop.

The same thing happens at a restaurant when dining out with girlfriends. You’ve finished your meal, the waitress has cleared away the dishes and cashed out the check, the chit chat has relinquished to less important meanderings to fill up the silence, and someone (usually me) inconspicuously glances at their watch. You’re not sure if your friend intends on finishing the ½ cup of cold coffee, you’re not sure if you need to wait a few more minutes because the friend who really needed encouragement just isn’t able to ask for it yet, and you’re not convinced you really want to go back home to the chaos and kids. You all think the same thing “should I get up, should I remain seated, should I get up…”

Until one person boldly says (usually me), “Are we ready?” Everyone nods, starts putting on their coats, and grappling through their purses for their keys.

Seen It or Scenic?

2005-04-19T13:26:00.000-05:00

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Driving home from baseball practice last night, with the windows wide open in the car and the wind whipping in our hair, I quickly made a turn left through neighborhoods instead of hopping on the expressway. I told the kids, "We're gonna take the scenic route home." Clearly not understanding this new vocabulary word, my four-year-old piped up from the back, "What are we gonna see Mom?" And I smiled, thought for a moment, and told him to look for new things and then describe to me what he saw. I passed him my cell phone, "Call me up, pretend we're on the phone and you have to describe all the beautiful things you see because I can't be with you."

"Hi Mom, this is TJ. I see a tree. It is green. And look I see a blue car."

"What else do you see honey?"

"Ohhhh" he pointed extending his finger out the open window, clearly forgetting that he's supposed to be "pretending" to be talking into the phone, "There's a man sitting on the steps. He's smiling and laughing. " "And look," he said, "The trees have really pretty pink flowers...Mom, do you see it....I mean you should see it...they're amazing"

With this, my daughter started to understand our game and started pointing out the window and "ohhhhing and ahhhhing" too. We saw:

a plastic bottle on the side of the road and wondered who dropped it there
a small yellow glove soaked and dried though seasons of wet and dry
a sign on the post, "Mom what does E-A-R-N-B-I-G-M-O-N-E-Y spell?"
an older gentleman riding solo on a bicycle built for two
a large sculptured cow
The Creamery "Mom, can we get ice cream?"
a wet dog in the back of a black pick-up truck

Later on that evening, after we bathed, brushed and booked--my son was tucked in ready for bed. As he bowed his head, his prayers began, "Father God, thank you for the blessing and for the fun day and for our friends, and Lord for the scenic things we didn't see before. Amen."

How many times had I driven down that road and never noticed the yellow glove that was obviously there for a very long time. It is the same way with the Lord. How many times have I read my bible and thought, "Yes, I know that scripture...I've seen that before." But if I had taken the scenic route through my Bible, the Lord just might show me something he clearly wants me to see, instead of hearing me tell Him, "Yes Lord, I know, I've seen it already."

Will you take the scenic route today or will you be blinded because you've already seen it all?

Da' New Snizzle Gizoogle Style tha Word

2005-04-16T15:53:00.000-05:00

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Gizoogle translation of Gensis:

In tha perpetratin' God created tha heaven n tha earth. And tha earth was witout form, n void; n darkness was upon tha face of tha deep ya feelin' me?. And tha Spirit of God moved upon tha face of tha wata. And God said, "Let there be light . Keep the party crackin while I'm steady rappin'" n there was light. And God saw tha light, thiznat it was good: n God divided tha light friznom tha darkness cuz I put gangsta rap on tha map. And God called tha light Day, n tha darkness he called "N-to-tha-izzight". And tha pimpin' n tha morn'n were tha F-to-tha-izzirst day gangsta style.

Try it yourself for free...just type in the URL below

(for my conservative bloggers...gizoogle at your own risk...may not be PG)

Mom's Confession List for Her Children in 30 Years

2005-04-14T23:03:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I bribed you with candy to go to sleep--after you brushed your teeth.
I often told you your brother was going to sleep too, but he was secretly watching a movie in his room, having snacks and fun while you were made to suffer in your bed--asleep.
More than once I let you pretend you were really making your bed, but then I secretly made it "the right way" when you went downstairs.
I watched well-behaved children in public and wished they were mine.
I laughed out loud before I told you it wasn't nice to call your sister a "booty-pee-pee-penis-head."
I let you fall off the kitchen stool hoping it would teach you a lesson. It didn't!
We took your brother on vacation and left you at home---we burned the pictures so there wouldn't be any evidence.
I bit you back to teach you the lesson--"No Biting!"
When you were able to get your own breakfast, I didn't see it as losing my little boy, but rather gaining a maid...now you could make your sister breakfast too.
I sneaked and closed the blinds in your room so you wouldn't see your friends outside and want to play because I didn't want the neighbors to see me in my pj's.
I let you ride in the front seat without a seat belt.
I let you run around the house buck naked and wasn't embarrassed when you took off your clothes in public.
I got out the video camera when you were throwing a temper tantrum.
I secretly wished you would be the star of your T-Ball team. I prayed that at age 5 you would be "noticed" by a talent scout and signed over to the "big leagues" by age 7.
I let you sleep in our bed, right in-between Mommy and Daddy, only when it was "convenient" for Mommy.
I told you peas were really "green balls of power for superheros" and carrots were "orange weapons of magic force-fields."
I thought about giving you up for adoption, more than once.
When you didn't listen in public, I indiscreetly pinched your bottom--right between thigh and buttock, in the good spot--and when you screamed out in pain, I looked around innocently and held you close in loving arms while whispering in your ear "You better NEVER do that again, do you understand me???" with a grin on my face.
I left you at home alone for over 5 minutes because you were taking nap and your brother's preschool was just down the street.
I slept you on your stomach when you were 4 weeks old.
I let you stay in the tub until your body turned blue and your lips moved involuntarily because the mess could be contained to a 3x6 area.
I made you "perform" for the "audience" of friends and family because I was so proud of myself.

Simple Answers

2005-04-13T23:37:00.000-05:00

On the way to church tonight I had the pleasure of driving my son TJ and our friend's daughter, Skylar, (both 5 years old) to church. The conversation went something like this:

"So what do you want to talk about Skylar? Like how was your day and stuff like that?"

"It was fine. How was your day?"

"Good. What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. What do you want to talk about?"

After about five minutes of this, TJ finally says,

"I know, let's talk about The Incredibles."

"Wait, TJ, I know, let's talk about Jesus."

"No, I don't want to talk about Jesus, let's talk about The Incredibles."

"No thanks, I want to talk about Jesus."

"Well, you can be Violet and I can be Dash...Ok? Ready, Go?"

"No." In a very quiet, subtle quiet voice, "Can't we just talk about Jesus?" Then in a sweet baby voice "Pllllllease."

"Ok, but then after we're done, then can we talk about The Incredibles?"

"Yes. OK, Now TJ, do you know where heaven is?"

"Yes, it is in the clouds, in the sky, right Mom?"

Me, thinking about the best way to answer this, when I don't really have a specific concrete answer...my pause is much too long for Skylar...she continues...

"TJ, heaven is way up high, high in the sky. And you must be born again to go to heaven."

"I know, so when I'm born, like a baby, I go to heaven."

"TJ did you ask Jesus in your heart?"

"Yes"

"TJ do you know when we get to heaven we will be with Jesus?"

"Mom, is Jesus in heaven?"

"Yes honey."

"Oh, I thought Jesus was in my heart?"

"Well...when..."

"TJ, When you get to heaven and get to be with Jesus, guess what?"

"What?"

"You NEVER have to go to sleep, you can stay up all the time."

"Cool."

"And guess what else?"

"What?"

"You never have to even take one single nap...not ever...NEVER!"

"That is AMAZING."

"Yep and you get all new clothes too."

"Cool. I wonder what kind of clothes God wears...Mom, what kind of clothes does God wear?"

"Well...ummmmm...."

"And TJ do you know what else?"

"What?"

"When we get to heaven we will get a whole new body."

"Do I get to keep my bones?"

"No TJ. You don't have any bones in heaven."

"Mom do I get to have bones in heaven?"

"Well..."

"TJ and you know what else?"

"Skylar?"

"And in heaven..."

"Wait, Skylar?"

"And Jesus will..."

"Skylar?"

"Yes, TJ"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes"

"Can we talk about The Incredibles now?"

Time Takers

2005-04-12T17:36:00.000-05:00

I am really trying to get away from the thinking, "I would do __________ (fill in the blank), if I only had a bit more time." This kind of thinking is dangerous because if truly followed, nothing would ever get accomplished.

For instance, if I have 10 minutes to spare and I haven't exercised yet today, I usually think, "I only have 10 minutes, that's not enough time to get in a real workout." So instead, I eat a bag of potato chips. Or the days I wake up late and think, "I only have 10 minutes, that's right about when I'll be getting into my prayer time, I might as well forget it." So instead, I turn on the T.V.

I'm reminded of Elizabeth Cady Staton, one of the most prominent proponents of women's legal and social equality in the 1850's. What if she decided because she had 7 children (unlike Susan B. Anthony who never married or had children) she just didn't have the time to study, research, write, and influence a nation. Where would I be today?

I think about Rosa Parks. What if she got on that bus, sat down in the back, because today she was already late for work, and she didn't really have the time to cause any trouble--much less start a revolution. Where would I be today?

I think about God. What if after giving Adam and Eve specific instructions which they willingly disobeyed, decided he didn't have the time to come up with a new plan, after all, he just finished creating the whole world and that took some planning. Where would I be today?

And of course, I think about Jesus. What if while walking through the crowd, felt the woman pull at his robe and instead of taking the time to stop and heal her, he pretended he didn't feel anything. Nobody else noticed she had pulled his robe. The disciples immediately thought he was crazy telling him hundreds of people had just touched him, couldn't he see the crowd. You can almost hear the urgency in their voices, their desire to keep on moving, and get to the other side. What if Jesus kept walking because he thought, "I would stop to heal her Father, but I have a plan to follow, I have things to do here, don't you know I need to save the world. I don't have time for this one woman." Where would I be today?

I'm glad I wrote this blog, but I'm also glad I took the time to tickle my two-year old when she walked up to the keyboard with a smile.

What will you take time to do--the time for something--that you don't really have enough time for today?

Mother's Day Comes Early

2005-04-09T23:54:00.000-05:00

After Tim's blessed announcement he was taking the kids to the zoo this morning, I, without hesitating: corralled the children upstairs to get them dressed; answered dozens of seemingly unending questions (Why do I have to wear a sweatshirt? What time does the zoo open? Do they have a octopus at the zoo? When are we leaving? Can I go play with Nathan? Why aren't you going to the zoo, Mommy? Can I watch a movie? Where is my other shoe? Moooooooom, Kayla won't give me my shoe!); packed one diaper bag with one pull-up, one pair of princess underwear, baby wipes in a ziploc sandwich size baggie, an extra hair clip, ponytail holders, one dirty I Love My Aunt bib--which found its permanent home when I babysat my niece, a large plastic ziploc baggie just in case, two extra outfits and one pair of socks; stuffed a cooler full of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches (some cut in triangles, some cut in squares, some cut into 16 pieces, and some not cut--all with the crust on--I drew the line), individualized baggies of pretzels, 2 lucky charm fruit snacks (boy), two princess fruit snacks (girl), some random Nilla wafers found in the pantry--opened for god-knows how long and probably soft and mushy; fixed Kayla's hair (because you know I don't know how to do it), jammed the kids into their car seats because hey, look, Mommy will chase me if I run away; smeared sunscreen onto their too-small noses; placed too-big fishermen caps on their heads; waved and yelled "Have a fun time" to their smiling faces as the car gave way to a silent house.

I can see it in the headline of tomorrow's paper:

"Mother's Day Comes Early: Zoo Adventure Gone Awry."

Yesterday, faithful husband and committed father blessed his wife by taking the children on an adventure of sorts. Stacey Gonzales, 30, wife and graduate student was pleasantly surprised when her husband woke up and unselfishly announced the ensuing trip to the zoo. He knew this would absolutely give her the time and space she needed to finally finish writing her research paper or updating her blog. After returning from a perfect spring day at the zoo, he was shocked to find her body limp on the couch. Fortunately, just as young TJ rushed to call 911 (our thanks to Skylar), Stacey turned over just in time to answer the question, "So, what's for dinner?"

Fighting Writin

2005-04-06T23:12:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been so unmotivated, the only thing you are motivated to do is be completely unmotivated? That's where I am at right now.

I have two enormous research papers due in two weeks and one large annotated bibliography--that's where I have to write not only the reference citation, but also a paragraph describing what the book or article is about. The only problem with the bibliography is that, well, umm can't quite write a good paragraph if I haven't read the material. And the only problems with the papers are, ummm, can't quite write a research paper if you haven't done the research.

So instead of writing my papers, I'll write in my blog. It's so much less pressure and so much more fun.

Why do I do this to myself??? I try to be really good and make a schedule, give myself ample time weeks before the papers are due, but alas I just can't seem to get into the groove. Must I always wait until the fourth quarter, 5 seconds left in the game, and I need a three-pointer to win?

It's kinda like the way the Illinois has played in the NCAA this year. I can see a clear parallel between the fighting' Illini and my life fighting to be a graduate student. It was fun in the beginning, no pressure, just go out there and shoot around until I make a basket. Well, someone was shooting around all right and the basket appeared to be coming from my stomach. Right after I received my acceptance letter to grad school, I found out I was pregnant with my second child. I decided it's now or never, so as a prego mamma I waddled to class, squeezed in the tiny auditorium seat, and tried to limit my bathroom runs to three times per class.

With baby on board, and husband on the couch, I was ready for the coming semesters. In retrospect, those early classes were easy wins. Winning the hearts and minds of my teachers and fellow students alike, I found myself on a straight "A" winning streak. While sitting in class they would spontaneously break out into the wave, the crowd had my back. I could hear them cheering "Go Stacey, Go Stacey, Go Stacey, GO!!!!"

Unplanned and unprepared for the making of stardom, I am starting to hope for a personal foul and a chance to take an easy two at the free-throw line. I yell out in proverbial rhetoric "Can someone throw me a freakin' bone here?"

I am feeling the pressure to keep riding the waves of my winning streak and prove to the world my worth. It certainty isn't easy, and even when the final two weeks or two minutes are on the clock, I somehow find a way to drive it to the hole for a slam-dunk.

I'm hoping and praying that my final outcome won't be as disheartening as Illinois' loss on Monday night. And if it is...well, I can always let my husband come back upstairs to the bedroom...and even in that case, there will still be only five seconds on the clock.

You Choose This Day

2005-04-05T13:21:00.000-05:00

Last night, while laying in bed with my husband, I started thinking about the recent Terri Schavro debate. I basically told my husband, if you really think YOU can believe God for a miracle for me, great go ahead and try, but if after a couple of months, there isn't a manifestation...let me go home to be with the Lord. I don't want to be trapped in my own body, a slave to it's inability to do what I tell it to do. Or even not being able to think at all. What a sad life that would be for me.

OK, OK, before you think I'm not a "real" Christian, let me explain myself...I am saying, if I were in that predicament, I would feel trapped (if I could even feel). I am not the kind of person who can ever sit still. I often ponder that verse "Be still and know that I am God." I know He is God, it is the "be still" part that I am continually working on.

I don't think God meant for us to live as unproductive individuals. Jesus said, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel." Where can I go...if I literally cannot "go"? I don't think God meant for us to live with a unfruitful mind. He has given me "power, love, and a sound mind." He said he would give me peace beyond all understanding. I can say I definitely would not be feeling the peace if I were to lie in a bed for 15 years while the world around me continued to move and I could not partake in the call of God on my life.

You know what, I believe in miracles. I can't say I understand miracles. If God were trying to make a statement about life and the power of prayer, wouldn't Terri's life been a really great place to gain some major accolades? When Jesus performed miracles, they were always the most difficult and highly recognizable . Everyone knew who the madman at Gadera was, it was a high profile case, just like Terri.

I prayed for Terri to get a miracle in her body, but it didn't happen. I know lots and lots of people were praying for her...so I guess prayer doesn't cause miracles to happen. I think it has a lot more to do with the faith of the person who needs the miracle, than the faith of the one praying. I can't answer why some people get them and some people don't, but I do know that God is the author of life, but after life He's done His job. It is up to us because he has given us a choice. We have a choice to make in the situation, God said, "I set before you life and death, choose you this day whom you will serve." How can a person make that choice, it their brain won't allow them the ability to choose. If Terri truly had the ability to use her faith to live, wouldn't it have become manifest when they took out the feeding tube? I would like to think so.

Some might argue that Terri's call was to bring about a greater awareness of the value of life and in doing that she did fulfill the call of God on her life. I think it's ironic that we think we are fighting a battle for a "right to live" or a "right to die." It is not a right to live or die...it is a choice. It is making the choice while we are able to and saying "I will live for God." Wheter or not I gain national media attention as a result of my choice, yet I can stand up and say, "I will serve the Lord." And in the instance when you can no longer make that choice, I think you've made the choice.

Daycare Dilemma

2005-04-04T10:03:00.001-05:00

I have been searching for a solution to the working mom syndrome, that is, finding a quality daycare provider that will do and be everything I can't, or even for that matter, won't be, even when I am home with my children. These are some of the things I have found to be true so far on this journey:

if while interviewing a home daycare provider she has the "time" to spend an hour on the phone with you explaining her child "care" techniques, she is talking more about them than actually executing them
here are some key phrases you can use when firing a nanny: "It's nothing personal but do you think maybe you could smile once in a while." "Watching the kids play is different than playing with the kids." "When I say "Just jump right in" I mean like, immediately, not next week."
We have a "flexible" schedule translates to "the kids sit in front of the television all day"
"You can pay me whenever is convenient for you" really means "I want my money now"
When a friend offers to "help you out" if you take advantage of that offer, you will undoubtedly feel like you are taking advantage of her.
If she sounds scary on the phone, she probably is.
Paying money to someone you don't know to watch your kids is better than giving money to someone you do know and feeling cheap.
Some nannies can live in your home, see your weaknesses, behold you in all your glory and still not feel very much a part of your life.
Finding someone to do better what you ultimately should be doing is next to impossible.

It Takes A Few Days

2005-04-04T09:33:00.000-05:00

Here, where I live, yesterday was daylight savings time. I think I only had to "spring forward" two clocks and one of three watches because the others actually never "fell back" last October. Every year I forget daylight savings time, twice a year we are either super-late or extremely early for church, and every year it takes a few days to stop these conversations with myself :

Day One--Forgot to change the clock

It's 2am...Oh my God what am I doing up so late and why am I not tired...oh right, forgot to change the clock, well, technically it's only 1am, so I'm ok. I guess I can go to bed now.

Day Two--Don't feel like changing the clock

Rolling over in bed, first eyes glancing at the red digits, Well the clock says 8:30, but it is really actually 9:30, I guess I should get up.

Day Three--Remembered to change the clock

Rolling over the next morning, Well the clock says 8:30, but I know it's really only 7:30, I guess I can sleep another hour.

Day Four--What clock???

Daylight savings time say what???

Just for Drew

2005-04-04T01:57:00.000-05:00

Not only did I update my blog, but I changed the colors too...just for you!!!!!

Night Train

2005-04-04T01:23:00.000-05:00

There’s something uniquely comforting and wholly satisfying when I lie in bed at night and feel the train crying out into the silence. The blazing warning signal emitted into the night air preempts the reassurance that quickly comes with each and every thud-da, thud-da, thud-da. As its steel wheels rage upon the worn metal tracks, it speaks to me softly. The world lies dormant behind closed eyelids, but I am the sound of accomplishment, the sound of progress, the sound of security. And I tell myself, only I hear it, because—only I am listening.

There's a Hole in the Table

2005-03-20T22:43:00.000-06:00

When I was a little girl, I would often hear “Pacer, come here. QUICK. I need your help.” My Dad, Mr. Larry “Why pay a repair man when you can fix it yourself?” Mirous, much to the chagrin of my mother (who eventually did call the repair man to fix the off-centered ceiling fan) was seemingly always working on a home “improvement” project of some sort. Sometimes when the tools started flying even the dog couldn’t be found, possibly cowering somewhere in a corner. While cuss words were exclaimed (words, as kids, we thought no adult knew), we understood one of Dad’s missions was not going as planned.

Whenever my Dad needed an extra hand to lift something back into place, hold a screw in position, or simply to watch what happened as he flipped a switch in the other room, never having the son he always wanted, he settled for second best—his Staceypacer—known to the rest of the world as his oldest daughter “Stacey”. I never quite knew what I was getting myself into and I can’t say that over the years I was all that helpful (especially the teenage years when talking on the phone with your girlfriends was way cooler than helping your Dad figure out why the toilet wouldn’t flush), but alas my kids know who to hand the plunger to when the pots spilling over with too much poopie-paper.

These days my Dad is the first person I call when I need help figuring out the joys of being a homeowner. Here is a list of some of the things my Dad has helped us with:

~~Putting in a garage door opener (Dad did you ever get that receipt I sent you for the replacement garage door?)

~~Putting the water line in for the refrigerator’s ice maker—which flows ranging from slow to super-slow

~~Hanging shelves in my son’s room which really can support the weight of a 40 pound boy—well almost, you can only see the head wound if you look really hard (just kidding Dad)

~~Hanging a picture on the wall and trusting me to calculate the distance—soon to find we were off about 2 feet—on each side.

~~Hanging window treatments while at the same time drilling a hole in the kitchen table.

And as I lightly wipe over the hole in the kitchen table on a daily basis, more than once, I think to myself I am so glad it is there and he is still here. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I love you Daddy.

Bloggin Blogger

2005-03-17T15:03:00.000-06:00

Does anyone else think it's ironic that blogger doesn't have "blog" in their spellcheck?????

First Official Day

2005-03-14T11:06:00.000-06:00

Well, it's my first official day "off" since I finished student teaching and the long-term substitute position that ended on Friday. I had fully intended to lay around the house all day, eating bon bons and watching Jerry Springer; however, my husband decided he would begin major house reconstruction.

Last week while moving the desk, in order to hook up my much-beloved wireless router, my husband holding one end while I lifted the other and....opps "Sorry, it got too heavy" I exclaimed as the desk began to fold like a house of cards. This desk dilemma had hubby at the office furniture store quick as a whip.

And, you know, you can't put a "new" desk in an "old" office. And since we are going to paint the walls and put up a chair rail, might as well put in the laminate floors too. And since he's going to do the laminate floors in the office, might as well do the kitchen too, since that's what we had originally intended to do when we bought the house. So up into the wee hours of the night, I could hear the whoosh, whoosh of the roller up and down the walls. And he guarantees me it will be done by my daughter's birthday party this Friday or my money back!

I'm the type of person that when someone is working around me...I can't just sit back and chill. I think it's rude as someone intensely labors to kick back and observe them, perhaps that's also why I find myself perturbed when others are sitting around just watching me work my fingers to the bone.

So, this morning I was up at five and began the major spring cleaning that was very well needed. My bedroom and bath are done, as is the kids bath....I had to get something done after waking up at 5am on my first day off. There's just something impossible about sitting around in a house when there is always work that can be done, especially when just coming off the go, go, go mode.

So as for the bon bons and trashy T.V., well maybe it will happen on the Second Official Day.

Maternal Desires

2005-03-07T10:30:00.000-06:00

I sit with my 8-week-old, newborn niece on my lap, flipped over my leg belly side down, while my two-year old tries to be a part of my blog and a permanent part of the baby's head--by sitting directly on top of it. I, as the wonderfully helpful sister that I am, agreed last night to take Baby LeLe (as my two-years olds tongue cannot form the vowel sounds to say Alyssa) to my house for a sleep-over.

This decision--to spend my day off with a fussy newborn--had nothing to do with the fact that my sister has watched my kids a thousand more times than I have ever watched hers, it has nothing to do with the guilt I am still carrying around because of that one time I was really rude and made my sister cry because she wouldn't watch my kids--you would think that two hours was ample advance notice. Nor was it to become the final test for the silent voice that asks me...Are you sure you don't want another one??? No it has nothing to do with these facts, but rather the wonderful kindness and goodness of my heart--because, ladies and gentlemen, that's just the kind of girl I am!!!

After my mini-breakdown last week, of which I'll spare you the dramatic details (none of which require you reporting me to DCFS--I'm not that psycho), my four-year old looked me in the eye and said, "Mom, you need to let go of your anger" and he was right. Apparently, I may need to learn preschool lessons by watching Veggie Tales with my son instead of using it as the babysitter so I can get my housework done. I was a little worried over this last break-down, but ready to redeem myself with an act of kindness.

I found myself on the couch with the baby sleeping in the carrier on the floor (I didn't want to disturb the rest of the family). My sister was beginning to feel a bit stressed out because the baby was keeping her up all night crying. That little girl slept soundly for me, so sound in fact I kept waking up and looking in her little car seat to make sure she was still breathing. Isn't that the way it goes, the minute you give her to someone else she's a perfect angel?

This little bundle of pink flesh has made me smile, made my kids absolutely delighted with a new toy in the house, and even surprisingly made my husband melt with a softness I forgot was there. Even though she is a really good baby and really cute; I have solidified my previous decision to discontinue the "be fruitful and multiply" command in my own personal life. It's final, no more fruit multiplying in this womb thank you very much!

Honey, here's the info, your appointment is scheduled for Thursday at 3:30.

Drive-Thru Disaster

2005-03-02T09:32:00.000-06:00

Each and every single time I actually convince myself: This is the last time I take my kids through the drive-thru. Each and every single time, I lie.

There is a small family-owned hotdog stand right on the corner of my block. They make all their food fresh to order and, for the convenience of the mother with two small kids, they also have a drive-up window. The other day cooking dinner just did not seem like an option I wanted to consider, so I enthustically asked the kids, "Who wants chicken rings and french fries???" After the shouts of "MEEEEEEEEEEEE" subsided long enough for the microphone to hear our order, the girl on the other end told us to drive on up!

It was a nice enough day and knowing we would have to wait about five minutes at the window, I kept the window rolled down at a comfortable level. I paid the woman, using my bank debit card (another reason this place is the preferred choice), and waited patiently--after all I'd rather wait five minutes for a fully cooked meal, than the 60 minutes it would take for me to make it at home--not including the clean up. So the voice screamed and won: DRIVE-THRU!!!!

As we were waiting, the woman disappeared to deep fry my fatty food, my son spoke up softly from the back seat, "Mom, what's her name?" I replied, "I don't know honey." "Well, Mom you have to ask her her name." And for some reason, this day, this time, I did not want to ask her her name. And for some reason, this day, this time, I could not ask her her name. It was as if my mouth was stapled shut, wrapped in plastic, stamped, and already placed on the truck for delivery. Going to the drive-thru was not the only voice that won that day.

As we sat in silence, waiting to get our fried feast, I talked myself out of all the reasons why asking her name was so simple--so simple, in fact, that disobedience would haunt me longer than a simple act which would slip away like words against the backspace. I talked myself out of all the reasons that people are really good deep down and care about others. I talked myself out of all the reasons why it was important to be a good example in front of my kids. I talked myself out of humility and into pride. I talked myself out of courage and into fear.

I grabbed my bag of food, humbled a meager "Thanks," quickly rolled up the window and drove away. My glance in the rear-view mirror reflected the face of a little boy who somehow understood he had just lost a part of something he would never be able to replace. Innocence.

Washing Machine Mayhem

2005-02-28T19:55:00.000-06:00

This lovely blue Sears van has been in my drive-way, not one, not two, but three times in the last month. And this van will appear once again because I have come to the only possible explanation possible, my washing machine is demon possessed.

A few months ago I stuffed the machine packed full in the same manner I always do: jeans half-inside-out, socks still shoved in pant legs, red t-shirts, dryer sheets still in the bottom of the basket, molding towels. I whipped the dial to heavy load, deep clean, fabric softener diluted and slammed down the lid.

The next day, when I couldn't find the jeans I wanted to wear, I remembered to put the clothes in the dryer. To my dismay, they were still soaking wet. This certainly won't do for a girl who is such a perfectionist when it comes to laundry, so I immediately phoned Sears Repair and they sent out a repair tech. Since my husband has a more flexible schedule than I do, he was happy to have his morning coffee with John and the spin cycle.

John couldn't find a thing wrong, except the too strong coffee my husband made, and was on about his day. I was thrilled to come home and again find my machine grinning at me, its button eyes glaring, mouth open wide "The better to eat you with my dear." Of course, as you might have guessed, next couple of loads...soaking wet skibbies.

For the next repair visit, I scheduled it for a Saturday knowing that two men together just aren't capable of understanding such a domestic discrepancy. Apparently, John is off on Saturdays and his partner Groucho Max was thrilled to witness the spin cycle with this desperate housewife. Again, I didn't know what to tell Max when, as he and I stood there, the machine was purring like a kitten in front of a warm fire. He convinced me my shameful over-loading was the problem and I needed to determine not how many jeans to wash, but what size jeans my washer could withstand. After some tricky mathematical repair-man manipulation, I had now increased my washing time from a simple thoughtless act to a complicated "fill the machine only to this dot line, watch the top item for five seconds, if it's still a floating--you're a overloading."

After this tricky technique failed to work and an all-out screech became evident during the spin cycle I was convinced my machine had seen its last days. I once again called Sears repair, put the phone inside the washing machine to prove my point, "See can you hear that???" and promised the customer service professional that when the man came back out it would be broken.

Today, right after John handed me the bobby pin stuck in the bottom of the machine to stop the screeching, the machine again reared its innocent act in front of the repair personnel. He had me load it up and the towels came out drier than a worm on the sidewalk. He walked out, shaking his head and I could practically hear his inner-dialogue calling me a cooke.

After dialing 888-4-REPAIR for the 4th time, the customer service agent sarcastically asked me, "Let me just get this straight. So what you're saying is when the repair man is there the machine works and when he leaves its doesn't work. Is that what you're saying?" "Well, ummm, yes that's right," I casually agreed. "Well, the best I can do is have him come out again on Wednesday."

Does anyone have the number to a washing machine exorcist???? I'm beginning to think I need a exorcist with a hurse, not a repair man in a blue van.

You've Created A Monster

2005-02-27T22:58:00.000-06:00

My wonderful husband bought me a laptop for my 30th birthday last November. I was so excited, until I realized without understanding how to use it and never taking the time to figure the thing out, it sat in the box until this weekend.

Finally, a friend came over and hooked up a wireless router, showed me how to use all the features of this mini-midnight lover and I am up and running as hubby lies beside me sleeping. Is he annoyed with me yet??? He hasn't said so, but as I type this blog, he has turned over and fallen asleep. He is not yet snoring, but I anticipate that soon to come. I mean seriously, I can lay in bed, surf the net and catch up on all my reading via the internet.

It really is a beautiful thing.

Just Right

2005-02-24T07:39:00.000-06:00

The Napkins: hand-shuffled together, perfectly placed in the holder with the folded side up, centered vertically and horizontally on the island. Just Right.
My Socks: Matching pairs, with their mate snuggled close together, placed perfectly in the drawer like sardines. Just Right. (Unlike my unfolded underwear draw, which allows bras, special undies and once-a-month pairs to intermingle like guests at a cocktail party).
Sleeping: My pillows placed one on top of the other, open-pillow case end towards the wall, fitted sheet pulled tight, hair in a bun, on stomach, one leg bent at a 90 degree angle, one leg and arm straight, other arm under pillow which allows for a tad of extra head elevation and therefore better breathing (only through the nose), and a Honey will you please fluff the blanket, turn the fan on medium, and close the door only 3/4 of the way??? In that order...Thanks honey! Just Right.
Milk: Only in a plastic cup...Never, Never in a glass, sometimes with ice depending on temperature of the fridge, which is determined by amount of groceries available within. Just Right.
Large French Vanilla Coffee with Cream and Sugar at 7:10 am from Dunkin' Dountus on the corner of Larkin and Jefferson made by Rita: Just Right.

Thrashing Temper Tantrum

2005-02-11T11:34:00.000-06:00

Tonight I had the pleasure of watching my two-year old daughter as she carried on and thrashed her body all over the kitchen floor in an all-out,-academy-award-performance-temper-tantrum. This beautiful child turned from lovely to Lucifer in all of about two seconds. This was not my daughter, the one whom I often wondered if she was a deaf-mute, the one people always asked me "does she ever make a sound," the one I have scheduled for a speech evaluation...how could this be that same precious silent child?

The tighter I tried to hold her...the louder the screams. The more I tried to reason with her...the greater the flailing. The more I gave her the rod...the more ferocious she became. And softly, slowly I kept repeating and rocking "You have peace...you have peace...you have peace..."

And then all of a sudden, for just a nano-second, I saw myself in her and the Lord in me. As her screams became a distance noise, my rebellion in the sight of the Lord was magnified in my own eyes. Her rebellion now didn't look so bad. After all she's two years old--at least she has an excuse.

While still holding her, I quickly threw away the excuses that I wanted to use as fig leaves to cover my exposed skin. Thoughts, statements, attitudes swam before my eyes as a racing river carries the unattached leaves floating on the surface. In this moment of nakedness, I could not deny the accusations of these swarming sentiments. I could only embrace them, cast them into the river, and grab on to the solid rock.

As my daughter's cries began to subside, so did my pride. He had been holding me tight the whole time...I just couldn't feel his arms until I sat still.

Rough Night

2005-02-09T20:47:00.000-06:00

My intention was to send out a post about my favorite books of all time and some great reads; however, I am being pulled in several different directions right now....so you will have to wait patiently....

And any prayers you would like to send this way would be greatly appreciated!

Fisty Foot Mouth

2005-02-08T14:45:00.000-06:00

I would say I have a pretty strong personality and a pretty big mouth. When I was in the 6th grade someone challenged me to see if I could fit my whole fist in my mouth and I could. I used this trick quite often to impress my family and friends. Surprisingly many couldn't do it. I haven't attempted the fist in years, but my foot has found a home inside many times since then.

Because of my outgoing and easily excitable personality, I am definitely one of those people who: dart across the room to greet an old acquaintance, begin in-depth lengthy discussions with the other customers standing in the check-out line, and can pretty much find out all the vital statistics of why every person is also sitting in the waiting room, including height and weight.

For the most part, I am confident. Usually. For the most part I can handle myself well in a variety of contexts and situations. Usually. For the most part I am mature. Usually. Truth be told, much of this I owe to my husband. Over the years he has taught me, by simple gestures such as a slight elbow to the arm meaning "stop while you're ahead" and a slight head shake with down cast disapproving eyes which warn, "might think twice before you continue your verbal brigade." Unfortunately sometimes he is no where to be found and and I am left out on my own without the friendly reminder to look both ways before I cross the street. Sometimes I jump too far out and get hit by a truck.

Like yesterday, at a neighbors party when I asked another neighbor if I could still come to her baby shower even though I forgot to RSVP. She blankly looked at me and said, "I don't know a thing about it. I didn't even know I was having a shower." Resisting the temptation to ask, "Who were you thinking was going to buy you all those items you registered for?" I simply apologized, excused myself, and made my way to the cheese ball.

Or that time I showed up to a friends candle-party a day early. As soon as she opened the door, before she could even speak, I asked her sarcastically, "What are you thinking still wearing your pajamas?" After realizing skimming the invitation at 3am can sometimes changes the words "Saturday" to "Sunday." I bowed out, tail between my legs, put the car in reverse and plowed down the mailbox. Needless to say, I never did find out the actual day of the party.

Or how about that time I was sitting around chatting with a bunch of friends about the church choir and continued going on and on about the woman in the choir who is always jumping up and down and looks like she has the joy of the Lord not only in her heart, but in her hands, feet, hair and every other body part as well. It wasn't until the very strange silent hush finally spoke to me louder than my words that I realized something was amiss. My friend leaned over and said, "That's her mom," while motioning to the new girl sitting across from me at the table. I've looked, but I haven't seen her at church since.

And there was even the one while I was a student teacher. I told my cooperating teacher the sub who was there the day before was on crack, and I quote "like seriously worse than some of the kids, I swear she was higher than a kite." Only to find out later that that same sub just so happened to be her best friends sister--who conveniently also works in the building.

What can I say, I'm working on it. Thankfully my husband hasn't given up on me. I'm sure we'll be 90 years old, sitting at the table, when I'll feel that refreshing nudge ever so slightly attempting to rescue me from myself. Maybe one of these days I'll get it. Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, and I just tried to fit my fist in my mouth again...Can't do it for anything and I actually think I just broke a tooth. Hopefully, my foot hasn't gotten bigger, but rather my mouth has shrunk.

Tell the truth...How many of you just read that and actually tried it...Come on fess up.

Sleepless Dreams

2005-02-06T11:37:00.000-06:00

11:00pm By the time my husband and I arrived home from a friend's party last night, the tension was so thick between us, I didn't have the wearwithall to attempt to machete through it, so I simply put the kids in bed and retired myself for the evening. He, apparently, found it necessary to stay up late extricating the new computer software which can now merge all our bills and pay them online. By the time I shut Enough About You: Adventures in Autobiography by David Shields, my eyes were so heavy with sleep, I hardly noticed the office light still blazing on into the darkness beneath my door.

4:30am I rolled over to find myself starkly alone. His half, still cold with the night air, jarred me awake right in the mist of a dream in which my husband admitted to kissing another woman. This too-real dream, along with my empty bed, refused to allow me to tenderly drift back off into a peaceful sleep. After lying there for nearly an hour, I sat up and saw the light still penetrating through the crack of my closed bedroom door.

5:30am I shuffled down the stairs carefully feeling my way down the dark hallway. I walked into the office squinting at the man I've known for the last 10 years, sat down on the chair next to him at the desk, looked him square in the eye and asked, "I want to ask you something, do you promise to tell me the truth?" Avoiding the temptation to laugh, he looked past my frumpy pink p.j.'s, my frizzy hair atop my head in a bun, and ignoring my morning breath--he somehow must have picked up on the estranged way I spoke and the panic in my eyes. He looked directly at me and said "OK, I promise."

7:00am I tried to roll over but found his arms still wrapped tight around my body. I was uncomfortable and wanted to move over to my side of the bed, but instead I laid there quietly and reminded myself how blessed I was because I was the one being held...

Insomnia Brings Peace

2005-01-29T23:50:00.000-06:00

Insomnia brought me browsing back though old word docs, only to find this gem I sent a friend a long time ago...and when I wrote it then to my friend...God knew yesterday, what I would need today.

Are you too busy with work and school and all the other things that pull and vie for your attention? Slow down my friend. Walk with me. Hold my hand and let me pray with you and tell you what a wonderful God we serve and how today He is waiting right for you to tell you the things that no one else knows and longs to draw you closer to his side. Let Him give you rest and peace and let him talk to you about how wonderful you are to Him and how when He created you He set you apart to serve Him wholeheartedly without reservation. Let Him flood your whole being with thoughts of peace and peacefulness and some more peace. Let Him wrap you in Him so tightly that you scream to be let go, but both of you knowing all the while you are really screaming for Him to hold on tighter. Let Him laugh with you as you laugh out loud. Let Him see the parts of you no human has ever seen before and take you to a place you've never been before. Let Him watch over you as you smile in your sleep which makes Him smile all the more. Let Him comfort you with empathy and compassion and let Him wipe away the tears with His blood. Let Him in on the secret selfish ambitions of your heart and let Him burn them out with His fire. Let Him work like a construction worker on the inside of your heart, tearing down the old roads and bridges of past failures and building a new stronger, wiser heart with all roads that lead only to Him. Yes, walk with me today. Hold my hand today. Be brave with me today. Don't let anything hold you back. Let Him do what only He can do for you today.

Blog Thoughts

2005-01-29T14:02:00.000-06:00

One of the reasons I didn't want to give my blog out to people I know, is because of the previous post. All these things run through my head. What will they think of me? Will they judge me because I used a naughty word? Can I seperate myself from "Stacey the writer" and "Stacey the Christian"? Am I a sell-out? Are bad words really bad? Should I have another "private" blog I don't give out to anybody?

Well to those of you who have been privledged enough to have access to my site and those of you bored enough to find the time to read through this sea of nothingness and insecurity...this is all of me. This is who I am. I am real here in the space...in this place...embrace me for who I am and the struggle to rid myself of who I'm not.

Great New Website

2005-01-26T13:11:00.000-06:00

Would it be wrong to send an email back to people who have my email address DEMANDING them to stop forwarding me emails that:

A) have been forwarded and circulated around the internet thousands of times by the same stupid people who think it's OK to forward some cutesy, feel-good email and clutter up my in-box

B) fall into the category of just want to know all your favorite likes and dislikes. If you have to send me an email to find out what I like and don't like...do you really even care and will you even remember and do you even know who I am?

C) they just can't stand to live with themselves if they pass up the chance to receive a free laptop from Bill Gates...because this one REALLY works, REALLY IT DOES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

D) guarantee that if I add my name to a list of 500 people the President will certainty respond to our plea, which by the way, never mention who is sending this list to the President and how the names will eventually be circulated back to the original sender

????????????????????????????????????????????

I am fully convinced that people who send me this ridiculous forwards are the same people who don't think it's rude to answer their cell phone mid-conversation in a restaurant with the ringer up so loud everybody turns in disgust to stare at the oblivious person who actually thinks it's freakin' cool to set their ringer to play "Aude Lang Syne" for the world to enjoy.

I think I've finally come up with the perfect email response for the next person who forwards me one of these unnecessary emails:

To: The person who thinks I like to read their fun little forwards
Subject: FD: FD: FD: Great Website

Dear Sender of that Last Great Forward,

I've forwarded you the address to this website...I think you should check it out...and please make sure to forward it to everyone on your address list.

www. stopfuckingforwardingme.com

Best Regards,

Rushing to Wait

2005-01-20T07:50:00.000-06:00

Hurry up. Come on let's go. You're not reading this fast enough. Don't you know there are other blogs waiting for your attention? There are precious words zipping thru cyber-space faster than the Dunkin' D’s drive-up window and they're calling out your name, man. Don't you realize the faster you get through this uninteresting pile of thoughts, there are others. Lots of others, out there waiting eagerly for your eyes to scan the verbage? What???? You still have dial-up???? Archaic.

You get in the car, honk the horn, and rush...to wait in traffic. You race through the grocery store, cut grandma off in the cookie aisle, and scan the registers for the shortest line. You decide definitely Lane 4. Turns out the man in front of you decides he really had to have the last item with no price on it and will gladly wait for the price check. You then decide, better change lanes because price-check bad. Looks like granny is in front of you after all in Lane 5. Because she got a personal phone call from her not-so-sick daughter who couldn't go to school today, you wait impatiently because the cashier won’t take your money. You restlessly bag your own groceries, smashing the tomatoes underneath the coffee because the "minimum-wage-making-I-could-give-a-rip-about-this-stupid-job-bagger" is too busy being preoccupied with the "clueless-forced-by-her-mother-to-learn-responsibilty-and-pay-for-her-own-cell-phone (which by the way she will still pretend not to know you tomorrow in the hallway after second period) jane-bagger on register 6. When the puppy-eyed chap finally makes it over, just in time to ask "Would you like help out to your car?," you put on your best patronizing smile and politely relinquish his foolish request. Once you get within 20 feet you begin friviously pressing your keyless trunk entry key until finally it pops and you think to yourself, "so that's where I parked." Finally, you finish stuffing the trunk to capacity and slam the lid down tight. Remembering to push the cart kamikaze-style across the parking lot aiming for the cart coral makes you give yourself a pat on the back (hey, you are a concerned citizen who is registered to vote). Bullseye, well not quite, but close enough. You step back to your trunk, which has popped ajar and you slam the lid down just hard enough to completely smash the bread. Now you are ready to high-tail it out of the parking lot, only to see granny pushing her cart, smiling so bright at you in your rearview mirror--and even though the temptation flashes like a bumper sticker RUN HER DOWN--you must simply wait...and you force yourself to smile back.

Attitude Adjustment

2005-01-18T13:02:00.000-06:00

He walks in late, head hanging low, low, low and I watch as the bodies in the room begin to stiffen, shift and become uncomfortably resonate. In a split second my classroom has turned from warm and inviting to shaking a cooler than cool Polaroid picture. I turn the snapshot in my hand as the dark black film slowly fades into lifeless reality and instantly faded faces don’t smile back at me.

Roosevelt Taylor. That’s his name. Don’t try to find him, you won’t. Why? Because he is just one of the million poverty-stricken young black males who just know they are gonna make it out my classroom, his high-school, and this town riding high on a rap contract or NBA draft. And I struggle daily with the question: how do I teach this young boy the only thing that will take him out of here is the one thing he is unwilling to give.

A willing attitude.

So I suck up my pride, take him out in the hall, humble myself before him and ask him how I can help him. Turns out, he doesn't want to go to the NBA or the gansta rappers hall of fame, he just wants to go and see his counselor to find out how he got placed in the wrong classes. Funny, and I thought the one who needed the attitude adjustment was him, turns out it was me all along.

Faith Feelings

2005-01-17T18:56:00.000-06:00

Well, I have been informed it has been 13 days (14 now--thanks Andrew) since I last blogged, so since it seems the world is eagerly anticipating my next big blog...here it comes...get ready and hang on tight...it's gonna be quick, free, and easy.

I have a friend who told me this once and I think it is the truth "Feelings will follow Faith, if Faith refuses to follow Feelings." Actually, she reminded me of this truth today on my voicemail, and I smiled when I heard it again and began to think about it. How often are we told not to trust our feelings, not to go by what we see, feel, hear, taste, smell, sense...we live by faith and not by sight right???? Well, didn't the same Lord who created faith, also create our ability to feel? Didn't Jesus sense that a woman was drawing near and pulling at his faith? Wasn't that something he literally felt, pulling on his robe, not only knew.

Without faith, we would never feel anything. And without feelings, we would never have the audacity to faith anything. For instance, what would a loving intimate marriage be like if the partners never felt any type of emotional connection towards one another? That marriage would be more like a business partnership, not a special union. In a loving relationship aren't the actions of love, provoked purely by a feeling, a faithing if you will, of God's love for us? When I think about how good God has been to me, when I look at my husband and realize what a blessing from God he has been in my life, when I start to think about all the really important, wonderful aspects of his persona--then I am truly overwhelmed with feelings of love for this man. My feelings did follow my faith, but my faith was completely dependent on my feelings. Without the feelings there would be no gas in the Ford of my faith.

Feelings energize the faith that is available through the Word of God. The secret is to be able to have an accurate amount of both faith and feelings. To balance them both ever so gently that the response to your faith must only be the overwhelming feeling of living in the love of God.

(I'll be waiting for your link Andrew)

Teacher Turn-Around

2005-01-04T18:33:00.000-06:00

Well, today was my official first day of my first "real" job...if you can call being a teacher a real job...and if you can call a permanent sub position a "real" position...as if the title "teacher" should actually carry with it some sense of implied power...when actually I really should be more like a facilitator that enables learning, instead of creating drones to recite my knowledge back to me ver batim...aren't we supposed to be steering clear of plagiarism??? Isn't teaching about equipping our youth to locate information and make their own informed decisions? It's not about knowing the "right" information...it's about "finding" the "right" information and presenting it in a way that others just might be inclined to listen.

Many of my colleagues, from the old-school lectern, find the method of telling students what they should think and how they should believe most effective practice...and if you ever find yourself bold enough to challenge why what they say is fact, you have pushed them resort to the ambiguous end-all "Because I said so." There is nothing more annoying to me than a person who believes something, yet has never done the research on the subject. They've read one article, forgot to mention the fact that they read it in "People" magazine, and now are totally trying to convince you that you should never eat any food that is white, espically if you are within 50 miles of an ATM machine. That's almost as good as getting your information on the internet. No basis. No facts. No brains.

The teacher we are will determine the students we have in our classrooms. We don't create the students, we simply create the environment where sincere ideas can grow. We are to foster an environment that will draw out the student in each of our hearts--for the student, as well as, the teacher. We forget that we will have the kind of students we choose to be. I am saddened by what I have seen around me.

For the first in-service of the year my school flew in a consultant from Kentucky. She had a sweet southern drawl and a kind disposition. Several times while going through her powerpoint lecture, several teachers were actually talking out-loud to one another carrying on side conversations. And these very same teachers wonder why they cannot control the noise in their classrooms.

Shame on the educators of America. It's time they stop being the bad examples they blame on their students.

Booty Boot Camp

2005-01-01T06:14:00.000-06:00

We're potty training--#2 (no not that #2). This time it's our daughter. And this time it's a drop in the bucket.

A year and a 1/2 ago with my son, it was quite a different story. The screaming "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" after the simple question "Do you want to go on the potty?" The dramatic one-woman act I put on to ensure he and I were both completely grossed out by the poopy monster in his underwear that to this day still has me wondering "who was that woman?" The pictures I attempted to draw of the toilet bowl and cuing my son, "Oh look, what's that...yes, that's right a potty...ohhhhh, and look what's in the potty." All of it to no avail. Until I came up with a plan.

Booty Boot Camp.

Seven full days of pure unadulterated training. Drill Sergeant Momma Yes Ma'am was ready for business and young private would be getting his privates ready to do business. This wasn't a camp made with stickers and sweets, there were workouts and chants. The uniform: one camouflage T-Shirt. Absolutely no socks, no pants, and most definitely no underwear allowed. Every move Young Private Project Boot Camp made was fully inspected. There were no "It's so quiet around here...hey what's he doing behind the couch?" moments allowed. DSMYM was like a bloodhound on a hares butt. She didn't miss one trick (well except that one when she herself had to go to the bathroom and private continued eating his Cherrio's, with lips that read cheery O upon discovery of the muddle under his seat--but that was early on in the camp.) Much of the time was spent parading around the makeshift obstacles of pillows and blankets, marching in sync, chanting.

DSMYM: 1-2 Pee Pee
YPPBC: 1-2 Pee Pee
DSMYM: 3-4 Poo Poo
YPPBC: 3-4 Poo Poo
DSMYM: 5-6 Potty
YPPBC: 5-6 Potty
DSMYM: Pee Pee Poo Poo Potty
YPPBC: Pee Pee Poo Poo Potty

Finally after 5 straight days of complete isolation in BBC, it was decided a field trip would prove a worthy test of understanding. A full-fledged all-out readiness test: complete with full uniform, steel armored tank and durable helmet. Destination: Wal-Mart. The place where all good soldiers must place both feet firmly on the battle ground. DSMYM was well prepared with kitchen tongs (for enemy fire), battle garb (in case of soiling) and power aide (for pushing this test to its limits). It was time to see is YPPBC had the makings of a fine soldier.

The time came when all good soldiers and all good sergeants are put to the test. Stuck between the extra-large grandma taking up both sides of the cookie aisle and the single-mother with five children (two in the cart, one under the cart, one on the side, and one in the aisle) the small voice came. Like a short whisper in a long cave, "Mommy I have to go potty." And we were off, like a steed shot out of the opening gate. The cart shimmied between granny and the oreos knocking them right out of her hand. No time to look back. Around the loop, cutting off a old man lazily sweeping the floor, we flew into the unsanitary bowl, whipped down pants, and let it pour. The battle had been won. And we didn't have to clean the pee off the floor.

Booty Boot Camp was a success the first time around. Thankfully I won't have to go there again.

3 Kisses

2005-01-01T06:08:00.000-06:00

Every night before he goes to bed, my Dad indulges (or so I've been told). In the time and space between p.j.'s and toothbrush, he begins his love affair. I can just see him leaning back in his recliner, snuggling his heavy throw blanket up under his bare arms, channel surfing -- waiting for just the right moment. They are lined delicately to his left on the side table amid the magazines and day old newspapers. The shiny silver wrappers create the illusion of a miniature fortress. The blue and white stripped papers stick up like flags at high seas. He smiles as he lifts the tiny morsel to his mouth. He lets it melt slowly, the chocolate leaving a soft film of residue on his tongue long after he's swallowed. Like any ocean wave, the taste recedes but lo there are two more waiting. Just as patiently, just as particularly he enjoys the remaining candies.
Just enough.
3 kisses.

Simple Things

2004-12-31T23:47:00.000-06:00

1 year.
12 months.
52 weeks.
365 days.
8760 hours.
525,600 minutes.
31,536,000 seconds.

Which is better:
1. To make huge goals but never fully reach them?
2. To make small aims and hope to be better sometime in the future?

I will choose the first. Is it unrealistic to set goals? Well, no not quite. But it is unrealistic to set goals, and so many "I will do's", that your grocery list looks pale in comparison to your personal to-do list. Don't get me wrong. I think it's great that people want to be positive and "reach for the stars." The only problem is they forgot to figure in their lack of a spacecraft carrier that will get them there. In essence they don't have the resources, wherewithal, and means necessary to get a hold on their desires. Their grip begins to slip and they quit. Wouldn't a more realistic goal be more appropriate and more attainable?

New Years doesn't have to be filled with the famous all time lies waiting to show you just what a big hypocrite and liar you really are. You know some of them, you've said some of them, you've failed at all of them:

1. I'm gonna lose weight and be skinnier than I was in high school (or at least as skinny) and I think I'll get my 17 year-old pre-baby stretch mark body back.
2. My house will be clean everyday this year.
3. I'm going to pay off all my credit cards and never borrow a single penny again.
4. I'm going to have a perfect marriage.

Enough said.

We cannot attain the looming generalized statements. These kind of promises feature the all or nothing mentality, which single-handedly sets up for immediate failure upon the first inkling of mis-performance. Don't believe me? It's simple. It really is...Just...Simple.

It's the simple things. The little things. The small redirection in attitude, technique, and mindfulness which can bring about lasting change. How about this one? I'm going to purpose to drink more water. When I am out to eat, I'll just get water. I'll reserve pop for a special occasion (even diet) which in turn will cause me to enjoy it more. It will in the long run prove good for my health and body. Or what about this simplicity? I will walk right to the coat closet when I get in the house, hang up my coat, and put my shoes away neatly on the shelf. This is simple because I have to take my coat of right away anyways and the closet is conveniently located upon entry through the door (almost like they specifically built it that way for that reason), so why not just work this right into my schedule--let's see, 1 minute a day times 365....Out of some 500,000 minutes that's not too much. Or what about this simple I will return the shopping cart to the cart corral or better yet to the inside of the store...MY DEAR LORD SHE CAN'T BE SERIOUS!!!

What are the things that make you smile? Are they the huge gigantic feats where you conquered the unimaginable? Or is it the moment a tiny voice, stops whining for just long enough, to whisper "Mom, I love you as high as the sky and as deep as the ocean." It's the simple things that bring joy and pleasure and it's the simple things we can do to be better on a yearly, month by month, week by week, hour by hour, minute by minute, and second by second basis.

Simple, isn't it?

Control Freak

2004-12-30T01:57:00.000-06:00

Well, I think today was a very successful day...we ended up in the food court at the mall and I kept my lips tight shut. No french fries, milkshake, or hotdog in this mouth. It took A LOT of self-control, but you know what....I DID IT!!!! I am the only one that decides what goes in my mouth. I am the ONLY one.

I often think about that with my kids...eating is pretty much the only battle they CAN win. Broccoli--mouth tight shut. Asparagus--lips thin as a line. I can make them sit at the dinner table til morning (which I don't do...using this example simply for the illustration) and they can boldly REFUSE to eat the food on their plate. I can use betty-crocker sprinkles to spice up those mashed potatoes (yes, I've tried this). The sprinkles start to bleed, the potatoes get hard, and the colorful mashed potatoes still eventually end up in the garbage. Just like a child refusing to eat...I, too, am the only one that can control what goes into my mouth.

I get a funny picture of my husband and I sitting down to a family dinner. I have a proud look on my face, telling him I'm not going to eat my peas—and by the way “You can’t make me!!!” He gets up out of his chair, points his finger in my face and declares "You will eat your peas young lady or no dessert for you tonight!!!" I stubbornly shake my head and look down. He gets up on the kitchen table, grabs my throat and starts shoveling spoonfuls of peas onto my closed lips. I see green. Smashing green peas everywhere. Peas mushed into the floor by the rolling kitchen chairs, in my face, and in my hair--Peas EVERYWHERE. Split-pea soup for dinner the next night.

Just simply shows how ridiculous it is to think that someone else is responsible for the way I am. Silly isn’t it???????

The irony of this whole not-being-able-to-control-food-issue is the constant desire and acting upon controlling everything and everyone around me. My husband, “Honey turn right at the next stop sign, it’s faster.” My kids, “That is not the right way to make your bed.” My boss, “Well what if we did it this way instead?” I want to control everything I have no control over. And the one thing I CAN control—what goes into my mouth-- I choose not to. If I spent half as much time trying to control myself as I did other people, I would probably be much further along than I am right now. Twisted. Sick. Disappointing.

Proverbs 5:21-23
For the LORD sees clearly what a man does, examining every path he takes. An evil man is held captive by his own sins; they are ropes that catch and hold him. He will die for lack of self-control; he will be lost because of his incredible folly.

I read this verse and it floored me. The Lord is not blind to what I do. When I over-indulge it is sin. The Lord is examining the path I am on. My own sins are holding me captive. I can just see it. The French fries, shotguns in hand, waiting to pull the trigger. The chocolate chip cookies, grenade chips ready to pull the plug. The peanut-butter sandwich. All holding me captive, holding me a knife-point screaming at me, as the peanut butter yells out, “SPREAD ME, SPREAD ME, SPREAD ME.” They will kill me and I will die if I refuse to show ‘em whose boss.

I am the only one that can loose myself from the ropes that hold me. I will DIE if I am not able to have self-control.

I Peter 1:13 So think clearly and exercise self-control. Look forward to the special blessings that will come to you at the return of Jesus Christ.

There are blessings, special blessings that come as a result of having self-control. Self-control is daily-control. You don’t just turn it on one day and that’s it…it’s on forever. But you continually have to go back and turn it on again and again. That’s why His mercies are new everyday. Every morning when we get up, we have an opportunity to choose to live in the things we can control and not the things we can’t.

I want the special blessing. I’m gonna control to get it!