Some years ago I was....

involved in a relationship that had its troubles. At one of the many attempts to repair, restore, and reconcile, she mentioned that there were numerous times when she did not tell me certain things because she was afraid that I would disagree with her.

I was shocked to hear this because, as I told her, one of the reasons that I appreciated her friendship and told her certain things was to have her confront me if she thought me wrong. I told her that while I didn't think friendship was meant to be combative, I did believe that it was meant to be rightly and lovingly confrontative. I don't want friends who only think that everything I do is absolutely right. I know it's not. I am grateful for those who lovingly, Biblically point out my error so that I can repent and be corrected.

The friendship with this particular woman did not last. In the years since I have often replayed that conversation. I do not think my error was in pointing out truth or even in disagreeing with her on things, but I do know that He has allowed me to grow in tact and graciousness. And still growing.

Yet, the truth remains that when it comes to saying what I think, I am decidedly plainspoken. The most common comment on my plainspoken habits is that I can be intimidating. Maybe I'm a verbal bouncer of sorts. I don't set out to be, but I admittedly do not care to "play the games the reindeer play." (Think Rudolph's song.)

I was having this conversation with another friend via phone the other day. I told her I wondered what people meant when they say that a friend to them is like iron sharpening iron when realistically it sounds, looks, acts, and quacks as though they only seek out those who verbally affirm everything they do and or say.  Isn't that more like a silver polishing cloth on silver, barely tarnished?

Iron that sharpens iron involves grating and filing and even comes with sparks! too. The friends that have most helped me grow in understanding and compassion and in the Lord are those who challenge my thinking, my feelings, and my actions. They cause me to measure myself not against them or against my own wrong standards but against His Word. And Hebrews 4:12-13 will give you all you need on what it's like to have His Word work you over, work you through, and work in you.

Plainspoken I desire to remain. Growing in understanding how to confront lovingly and Biblically, with tact and graciousness, I desire as well. Sparks are in my future it seems.

Melting in Middle Georgia.....

is currently what we're doing these days. I know our area is not the only one so affected by these intense temperatures. These last days of June and the glimpse into July are not comforting. Even so, as we look for ways to manage the heat, I am thankful for the luxury of A/C.

I am proposing that shops consider a different heat modified schedule for the weather. How about being open from 6:00 a.m. until about 11:00 a.m., closed until about 4:00 p.m. and then open till about 11:00 p.m. Walking across black asphalt in the heat makes me lose all memory of what errand I'm supposed to be accomplishing once I'm in the store. Probably that standing underneath their air vents to catch my breath and the hyperventilating is to blame.

I'm also instituting a no cooking rule for summer heat survival. Working over the stove or using the oven causes too much heat buildup in the kitchen which makes the A/C work harder. Besides, not one of us wants a hot meal right now. I'm scouring recipe sites for all things cold or that require minimal heat output either in the making or eating.

So far we've come up with cold pizza, cold cereal, frozen ice cream, cold cuts on bread, lots of salads (all types)--you get the picture. We did splurge today with some awesome BLTs but the oven was on less than 15 minutes for compliance. Egg salad is tomorrow's dish. What other ideas do you have for me?

It has been so hot in fact, that our internet has been blinking out in the afternoons. Solar flares, sun spots, or maybe the cables are melting, I'm not sure but this is the first time since about 11:00 a.m. that I've been able to get online.

Days like these make me long for the mountains. So far our summer doesn't hold that promise. Sweaty contentment is mine instead.

How are you beating the heat?

TGCW12 was....

really, truly, simply, overwhelmingly wonderful. And that's just using a few of the adverbs I'd love to spew in description of the weekend. My brain is overflowingly full. If you poke me, doctrine and theology and Here is Our God quotes will leak out in squeaks, gasps, spurts, and sighs.

Several of the speakers I have read or heard via internet. But there is a whole new dimension to sitting in an audience under a megascreen view of the speaker, so close I could pick their noses, and receiving the teaching of God's Word in real time excitement.

These speakers, Piper, Carson, Keller, DeMoss, Nielson, Brown, Sandom, Salt, all big names, all absolutely human and all passionate that the crowd's adoration would not be for them as persons but for Him, for God as a Personal Lord and Savior. That theme was clear as they demonstrated clear, convicting, accurate Biblical exposition on texts ranging from Psalm 40 to Revelation 21-22, from 1 Kings 18 to 2 Corinthians 12.

I feel as though I attended a fast track seminary of three days. And I haven't even mentioned the workshops I attended. Yet. Those were hour long talks where the above speakers and others more closely focused on a topic.

I went to Nancy Guthrie's workshop on Word-Based Ministry to Women. Her key question to a room full of Bible study teachers and leaders and women who want to be teachers and leaders was, "What is going to be the distinctive of your ministry to women?" She spent the hour in Heb. 4:12-13 explaining the 5 marks of a Word-centered ministry to women.

Sheer meat. A veritable feast. I want to go through my notes and put them in a cohesive blog post.

But I must wash some underwear and towels around here. Re-entry after a vacation is tough. Re-entry after a trip to the mountaintop is tough times the number of laundry loads and grocery items that must be purchased to feed the people that didn't go to the mountaintop with you but still need the benefit of what you received while there.

Off to do life. Blogging later.

If all goes according to schedule....

I, with three other "girls," in less than an hour will be in a minivan headed to Orlando for The Gospel Coalition's Women's Conference (TGCW12).

We're counting on what some say is a 5 hour trip taking us more like 6-7 hours. Because of our bladders. In defense of one of the girls, she is 7 months pregnant.

I have no defense. I just have a teeny tiny bladder. And you can't expect a walnut to hold a gallon of fluid. Not this side of heaven anyway.

And if I'm not blaming the need for stops on my bladder, it is because of my back. Walking every now and then is better for keeping all things in alignment and out of kink.

We're looking forward to the trip. It seems like I've been preparing for this weekend since December. Seeing as how that is when I bought my ticket, that would be why. I'm looking forward to the speakers, to the music, and to the time with sisters in Christ.

And maybe even the pool.

If you're there, look for me. I look like the girl in the lighthouse picture. And I will be in line at the bathroom.

Blueberries and birthdays....

Today I turn 43. I'm not afraid of my age. I believe age should be the crown of glory that the Lord intends for it to be. Of course, that means you had better wear it well, in His grace, and always, always, always, superintended by His Word.

My years have shown both the failures and the fruit of such a goal. When I turned 40 I told a friend that I was going to take my Mimi's admonition to say what needed to be said and drop all the pretense that binds us. Her husband hearing the remark said, "And this decision is different, how?" Apparently my reputation for saying what's on my mind preceded the turning 40 landmark.

One year while we were in the hospital with James I thought I was two years older than I really was. That's a bit scary. Husband finally corrected me when he heard me tell someone I was 27 but I was only 25. Hospital time does age you.

This morning I woke the boys up at about 7:00 and asked them if they would go pick blueberries with me. The older two said yes right away. The Chairman said, "No, thank you. I'll stay home."

But the blueberries beckoned. It was a real present to have my guys there with me picking. I love blueberries if you can't tell. We came home with 16 pounds in less than an hour. We also picked 3 lbs of blackberries, 3 lbs of squash, and were gifted 3 green tomatoes.

It's storming most of the day so it looks like it will be a great day for baking--cobblers, squash casserole, fried green tomatoes. Yummy! Happy Birthday to me.

Old mom at the pool....

is what I have officially become I realized today. The boys and I were invited to a mostly all day pool party about a half hour away. It was one of those eclectic gatherings at a backyard swimming pool where the kids outnumber the adults by 4 to 1 and the floaties outnumber the kids another two times. Everyone brought their own picnic lunch and snacks and juice boxes. Everyone slathered their own kids with sunscreen and any kid standing in near proximity to their kid. Everyone then counted the number of heads that swam and the number that would try to drown. The pool rules were handed out and the chaos ensued.

Except for me and my crew. They were responsible for packing their own stuff, from towels to sunscreen. They slathered themselves. Okay, I helped the Chairman with getting the stuff on his nose and under his eyes. Mine are all accomplished swimmers so I instructed them to make sure the kids near them were not drowning and asked them to keep it down on the cannonballs.

And then I laid out my towel in my beach chair and sat down with an actual book and began to read. I read two chapters before the noise was too much. I didn't have to count heads. I glanced up now and then to make sure the screams from the littles were not being motivated by my biggers. I had complete conversations that were not punctuated by the voices of the Interrupters. When it was time to eat, everyone fixed their own and cleaned up their own. I ate my lunch in one complete sitting.

Did I feel useless? Inadequate? Unneeded?

Absolutely not! It was divine.

When we left, it was not because anyone was falling apart or needed a nap (although I took a short one when we got home). We didn't have to leave because of bickering or punctured floaties. We left because we had been there long enough and home welcomed us back.

Mothers of littles, this is not a gloat or a boast. It is a picture for you of what one day at the pool will look like for you. One day. And not even all that far off if time travels as quickly for you as for me. So, hang in there with the juice boxes and floaties, with the training on obedience and not interrupting, and with the sibling issues and cleaning up after yourselves. The days pay off. 

One day you'll be the old mom at the pool.

Brain dump, status report, part three...

it was a dark and stormy night....no, wrong novel.

It was actually a partly overcast morning. Perfect for driving to D.C. Which was the plan in place. Leaving Greenville, S.C., at around 8:30 a.m., we were scheduled to arrive in Springfield, V.A., nine hours later. Give or take a bathroom and/or food break.

Digression: along with K's strict instructions regarding packing, she is militant regarding stops. She, therefore, has trained her girls' bladders to expand to greater than normal size while in the car and not expect emptying but every 13 hours or so. I almost kid. On this side of the fence, my bladder needs emptying about every 30-40 minutes. Friends who know us both were overtly calling our planned adventure, "Felix and Oscar Go To D.C."

Knowing the task ahead of me, I had been in training, as in weaning off of water and coffee for the four previous days, so as to prepare myself for the Olympian task ahead. (You think I kid.) By Sunday, I was ready.

Into the SUV we piled, packed to the gills, and plowed off. Food and bathrooms came four hours later because we needed gas. Never have I been more thankful that Chevy has not converted their full-size SUVs to electric/hybrid/whathaveyou vehicles yet or my bladder may have needed a transplant. There are advantages to a car that still needs fuel.

And so it went, all the way to V.A. I hesitate to tell you what time we actually made a nine hour trip in because some of you with mad math skillz will be able to figure out if two trains are going 80 miles an hour and pass a rest stop every 930 miles but do not stop, what time they cross the equator in central standard time.

Anyhoo. Arrival meant another blessed toilet and uncramping our legs. We were staying with my cousin's family so it was also a sweet family reunion for me. The kids, all seven at that point, were immediate BFFs, eager to live happily ever after if it meant no more driving.

I suppose I could regale you with tales of the actual in car time, but my brain has mercifully blocked out those things.

I kid. On the whole spectrum of this temporal life, everyone cooperated, helped out, there were snacks! and only a couple of times did the moms think we would need to chew our ears off for greater world peace and unity.

So ends part three of the telling.

Brain dump, status report, part two...

picking up from last edition, I was in Greenville, S.C., learning tons and hacking greater tons due to an onset of the Bronchitis, Pollen Specialty.

The workshops and seminars of the convention lasted from around 9 a.m. until 9 p.m. We had to pick and choose, share notes when one of us attended something different, and decide whether to order CDs or not for the ones we missed all together. In between our workshop choices, we cruised through the exhibit hall with eyes wide open, stopping by the vendors we were familiar with, and being introduced to new vendors for further consideration. I went to bed early every night to conserve energy for the next day.

By Saturday evening, we were done in, believing we had squeezed every possible moment out of a truly rewarding weekend. Part one of the 10 day adventure was now over. Part two to begin in less than 24 hours.

My friend, K, and her girls arrived early Sunday morning. The goal was to fit two adults, five kids, and their assorted luggage into a Suburban for a 9 hour trek to D.C. K's youngest uses a wheelchair so that was taking up one corner. To accomplish this feat, K had purchased large plastic totes for better stacking. Each of us had one large, one medium, and two smalls.

I am not known as a "light" packer. I do like options when it comes to both clothes and footwear. Husband is very used to the assortment of bags that accompany me. He knows that I come from a long line of "bag ladies," and fairly early on he chose not to die on that hill of marriage.

K, on the other hand, could fly to Europe, with her two girls and all of their stuff, for a 12 day trip, with a carry-on. I stand amazed. Holding bags in my arms, but still amazed.

The gauntlet had been thrown. The ground rules were thus: as long as you only use the provided plastic containers, you can take whatever you can fit in them. Well, that meant two sets of clothes for each boy and the rest of the room for me.

I kid. The boys stuff took the medium container, and I took the large container. With two pairs of shoes in the top of the boys' container. I kid not. It was progress, people, trust me. In compensation for my shoes in the top of their container, I packed the two small boxes with food snacks for them. Because when you're dealing with boys-to-be-Husbands-one-day and luggage, the way to their affection for you and your "bags" is food.

Once packed, stacked, and stuffed in, the show of Two Mom, Five Kids, and we left the husbands at home was about to roll.

Here ends part two. You are welcome.

Just one of the bazillion....

people who struggle with Daylight Savings Time. Yep, me. The news articles report it, confirm it, blah, blah, blah.

I'm not opposed to getting up in the dark. Most mornings, even while on the Fall Back time schedule, I get up while it's still dark. I like that stillness and quiet. My study time is rich and even if when I crawl back into bed for a few more minutes of cuddling, warmth, and shuteye, the day already feels begun. The day has received its stamp of come and get me.

But Spring Forward. Ugh. The dark seems unfriendly. Like an attack of insomnia that started with the alarm going off. A baker's dozen of reasons clangs in my sleep drenched head as to why staying in bed is definitely the wiser course. And I relent.

Even yesterday's two and a half hour nap of compensation sleep did not stave off the unwelcome effects of Spring Forward Hangover. My circadian rhythms are rebelling at the imposition of today's extra hour of light.

Eventually, and by that I mean hopefully quite soon, all things will settle back down into their slots. The dark mornings will be a welcome rest. In this part of the country, that dark will soon be the only coolness of the day. And I will eagerly get up to welcome it.

To everything a season.

Maybe this means...

I've decided to embrace the weather. Possibly, on a whim, I asked Chess to set up the outside table and chairs so I could sit, in the sun, and write. I might pay for it tomorrow with the allergy attack, but I am weary of waiting for a winter that will not come. I like winter. It's a time of shutting down. Of stopping. Of rest.

I really needed February to be a month of winter rest. I wanted to hibernate. Not stop life and only sleep. (Although that does not sound unpleasant.) Instead I mean that I wanted to enjoy that the hustle and bustle of sports practices and events and stress levels would reduce. Just a bit, but at least some.

February was not a month of rest, and I can't blame the entirety of that on a non-winter. However, the chaos in my closet, that fault rests squarely upon the shoulders of weather that cycled every three days from highs in the 70's to the 50's. Throw in some rain every other week and I have spent roughly the last four months sniffling. I would walk around with a tissue stuffed up each nostril if it didn't cause such a stir. And staring.

Back to February not being about rest. Exhibit #1: the blog was non-existent to me. All that was happening in a non-restful manner was not fit for blog fodder. Exhibit #2: I have developed TMJ issues. From the non-resting life. Exhibit #3: The shortest month in the year became the longest month in my life. Exhibit #4: I was actually relieved to see March enter the picture even though it is proving to be the busiest month. Evah.

But today, I'm breaking the code of silence to say sitting on my deck, in the sun, listening to my folk music mix, sniffling, nursing a sore jaw, writing, is all right. Not everything from February has been solved, but God in the midst of it all, made Himself ever present in help, in love, and in comfort.

And today seemed to be a good day to say that. In the sun. On the deck. With M&M's in my pocket. Definitely with M&M's.

A critter in the cracks....

of the house was scritching and scratching away. At 1:00 a.m. this morning. The noise was so loud both Husband and I sat up wondering which one of us would missile a pillow at the stupid cat we thought was making the noise. It sounded like he was rolling a bowling ball around on gravel scattered across a tin roof, occasionally hitting up against a metal grate.

Stupid cat was at the foot of the bed also looking for the source of the noise.

Husband took the bedside flashlight and shined it at the left wall of our bedroom. I expected to see a raccoon sized hole with a raccoon, a bevy of squirrels, and perhaps a terrorist sized rat sitting and gnawing away either the insulation, the electrical wires, or even the wall studs themselves. Nothing but a wall. My imagination too large for that time of the day.

Husband went into the boys' room next door to see if the sound could be heard there. Not. But it grew louder in our bedroom. Loud noises early in the morning are directly proportional in loudness to how early it actually is.

Husband got up and examined the wall, the vent, the outside eave, and the ceiling. No entrance into our bedroom. Yet. But the captive critter caught between the eave and our bedroom sheetrock was determined to be free. Or create significant havoc in freedom's quest.

There was nothing to do at 1:00 this morning other than ask Husband for a pair of ear plugs, plug them in, roll over and pray I wasn't eaten by a raccoon, a bevy of squirrels, or a terrorist sized rat before morning.

I don't know if the critter successfully escaped or died in the wall. I guess we'll find that out next.

Status report, Feb. 2nd....

Something needs to get me started this week and this morning. Lisa's Status Report is a good start.

Grateful.....that today is Thursday. Sleep in day. Recuperation day. Roam around in comfy clothes day. The week was stressful. Today is for recovery.

Drinking.....my spinach, peanut butter, banana, blueberry yogurt smoothie. (Breakfast is late today. See above.) And my coffee is right behind the smoothie.

Studying........1 Corinthians 1-7. It is a great deal of material to go through, but the first chapter gets me all fired up with my purpose for studying the Bible anyway--to know the wisdom of the Cross and Christ crucified though the whole world thinks it foolish.


Planning.....an upcoming homeschool convention trip and a tour through Washington, D.C.

Fighting.....a weather system headache. Our wonky 30 degree ups and downs in 24 hour periods plus rain plays havoc on my sinuses.

Thinking.....about what must get done today and what can wait because today's focus is some much needed recovery. Two of the five in this household are fighting upper respiratory infections so not pushing past the essentials, hopefully, will keep the rest of us from coming down with the junk.


Loving.....the Downton Abbey series. As so many are. I convinced three friends to watch the first season and then watch this second along with me. Then we share our favorite Violet lines with other another in our best British accents. Hy-ster-i-cal!

Ending.....here because the fifth grader needs math assistance. Bring on the coffee!

Mondays and rain....

make it nearly impossible to get out of bed. The second time.

Because I was actually awake at 4:28 and out of bed by 5:06. I studied 2 Thessalonians in the quiet and warmth of a Georgia morning (unseasonably warm--Midwest, please share some winter with us); I prayed; I thought about homeschooling plans for this week; and after an hour and a half, I crawled back into bed. For just a minute. I promise.

Husband says I am like a diver with too much nitrogen in my bloodstream, suffering from the bends, who enters the re-compression chamber before re-entering the morning, the second time.

The plan was for everyone to get up at 7:00. School needed to start by 8:00. But something happened in an hour and a half. It began to rain and the sweatiness I felt earlier was now a chill only warmed by snuggling in bed. The wide awake state I struggled with before sunrise was now a heavy sleepiness that only 10 or 35 minutes of dozing would cure. The productivity that I was chomping at the bit to begin was now procrastination.

All because of a little rain and a lot of Monday.

When you pull forward to a stop sign...

and stop so that you can see over the hill to your left before you pull out into traffic, and the man behind you thinks that like everyone else in that county you are actually treating the stop sign as a yield and he anticipates that you are going right through the stop sign because he does not see the white truck coming over the hill either, this is what happens:

When you have first moved into your house in the cul-de-sac, ten years ago, and are still learning to navigate the awfully long driveway in your relatively new minivan, and you think proudly that you can not only back up down the awfully long driveway but that you can also back up to your mailbox; however, you inconveniently forget that your neighbors have a mailbox too, this is what happens:

So when your fault of ten years ago meets another's fault from last week, this is the result:

New dent meet old dent. May you co-exist peacefully and bring no others of your ilk to my bumper and tailgate.

As for the minivan occupants involved, none were harmed in the birth of the new dent. That is all.

This weekend turned into...

another project event for poor Husband. The garage door opener broke on the right side. Virtually imploded into shreds because the plastic gears ground themselves into smithereens is the more technical description.

Of course we discovered this fact as we were trying to open the garage door to go to church on Sunday morning. So while in Sunday clothes, Husband is manhandling the door up so we can go out and down so we can come back to an unburgled home. Good times.

After lunch he headed over to Lowe$ to purchase the new unit. Lowe$ is kind of like the Man's Wal-Park. And Sunday afternoon seems to be a big day for wandering around purchasing stuff to do household projects at some time future. Or not. I've come to call the store The Vortex. Because Husband will go in, but I'm never sure until I see him again that he has successfully pulled free from the tractor beam.

Once he did get home with the supplies a marathon of disassembly and re-assembly began. The original door assembly was not square which probably contributed to the opener's gears grinding themselves into oblivion. We've had trouble with the door over the years from the spring popping off and nearly taking a head with it to a man-child backing into the door with a lawnmower during yard work training and bending it. Considering the scope of yesterday's project, those fixes were minor.

Yesterday was the day to fix all of it. To start nearly from scratch. And six hours later the doors were square, the sensors were replaced, the track was re-aligned, the new opener installed, and a new keypad placed on the outside so I can get into the house when I lock myself out. Hypothetically, of course.

It's not Thankful Thursday yet, but I'm entering this post as an early installment to my gratitude for having a handy Husband who spared me from a Manic Monday.

The New Year and all....

its pressures of new projects had me hankering for a fresh vision of cooking breakfasts. Some years ago I made the switch to cooking breakfast six days out of seven because we could not afford the milk and cereal that was otherwise being consumed by the pre-teen boys. Not only due to the amount they wanted to consume but also due to that amount still not being enough to fill them up past an hour and a half.

The children needed eggs! bacon! pancakes! sausage! fruit! muffins! and the like! The like meant cooking.

I had a fairly good selection of breakfast recipes which we tucked into without much transition trouble. Several things could be done ahead of time as well, which always helps with the morning grumble.

I found a recipe for homemade doughnuts a while back and tried it for the first time this morning. It was not a success. The dough was uber sticky and even though I rolled it out on a floured counter, per instructions,  the doughnut shapes did not lift up to make it into the hot oil with any triumph. Rather they stretched and tore and twisted themselves into odd shapes of confection. As they turned in the hot oil, I felt rather like a medieval torturer watching them writhe. And fry.

I gave up trying to make actual doughnuts with a hole in the middle and stuck to the holes part. The odd pieces of dough stayed just that---odd pieces of dough. Fried to a golden brown. Except for the ones that I burned black because I was busy fighting with the uber sticky dough. However, I reaffirmed the truth that cinnamon sugar and powdered sugar will make almost anything taste good.

The game at breakfast quickly became "Name Your Fried Dough Shape Before You Eat It." I heard wolverine, Nebraska, horseshoe, tibia, headless cougar, and a starfish with a missing arm as suggestions. Maybe homemade doughnuts are in my future, but it will have to be with a new recipe. I'll take suggestions.

Because the boys need doughnuts!

Before and after....

Husband's New Year's Eve project was a rousing success. Honestly, no duct tape involved even. A bit of gorilla glue to create one of the compartments, but truly what began as I thought a sure disaster of sawdust and drill bits and a skill saw ended in a great piece of furniture.

I trust Husband. I really do. That walk to trusting him has come with fear and trepidation at times, sheer will of obedience at others, and behind it all the certainty that God has gifted him for His own glory and I, as his wife, benefit from that. On Saturday I had that choice again. To stomp my feet at the disaster previously known as the den or say, "I trust you," and walk away.

I went through door number two on Saturday. Call it sanctification. That and I was able to blog about it and text with a few empathetic friends.

I wish that I had a before picture, but Husband is not a blogger and does not think of these things. Add to that the fact that I'm near illiterate with this blog when it comes to taking pictures, and well, there you have it. Who thinks of a before picture?

So I went through my photo library and came up with this picture of last year's Christmas. Chess is in the foreground showing off a prize, the Chairman is to his left, my hospital bed is in the right corner, and just behind you can see the TV cabinet as a before shot.

Now using your blog reading powers of imagination, imagine a large screen TV in front of that cabinet on a small table. Got it? Okay, now look at what Husband did to the old cabinet.

Amazing, huh? He essentially cut out the middle and created the three cubbies and left the three cabinets on the bottom. Here is the finished project with the large TV on top.

Yep, that's my man. Considering that the first TV cabinet was a cast off from some friends and Husband's creativity and skills gave us this cabinet, I'm thinking we saved near $1000 when it comes to the price of pressed board these days.

More valuable than the cost though was hearing Husband say later, "It all happened because you said you trusted me so I went with my instincts." Priceless.

Later, I'll tell you about one of my own projects. Prepare yourself to be underwhelmed.

End of year madness...

is happening here. But first the formalities:

Happy Thanksgiving! Ours was full of food for everyone and a chest cold for me. Blah, blah, blah.

Merry Christmas! Ours was full of food, presents, family, get togethers with friends and a chest cold for me. I'm running on a once every 30 days hack up a lung plan. I do not recommend it.

Now the original plan was for me to leisurely get up this morning, make some returns, and shop some end of year sales. I was good with that.

I returned home to discover that the den was in a state of flux. Major flux. Last year while I was in a hospital bed recovering from spinal fusion surgery, Husband bought a large screen television. It did not fit into the existing tv cabinet.

No problem. We simply put the thing on top of a table in front of the tv entertainment system that was housing the other multi-media things (VCR, DVD, stereo, Wii, etc.). And that is how it has remained since then. Until today.

Back to my return home. Husband actually said that he wished I had stayed out longer. Shopping, even. His plan, which he admitted he was making it up as he went along, was to dissemble the entertainment system and cut off the top to make a new tv stand/cabinet.

Which is approximately where we are right now. In the disassembly period.

There is probably some large metaphor for this happening on the last day of 2011 but I'm too busy breathing sawdust and wondering as to the outcome to figure it out for you. Bottom line, I trust Husband to figure it out. Some way, somehow, that stand will come together.

Because we have duct tape.

Happy New Year!

P.S. Because I'm a dork, I took a video instead of a picture. You get a quick glimpse of the GUY, though I didn't mean to, and you get to hear me clear my throat of sawdust.

A question of import....

Where do you hide your chocolate?

I ask this because in only a matter of days houses all over this great country will experience a massive chocolate explosion. We will engage in some form of candy tsunami. Perhaps you will participate in the Halloweenie type of event or its substitute Harvestial Festival or even its close cousin Reformanda Eventada.

And for those of you who will graciously bypass all the former markings of the season, how tempted might you find yourself the day after as you stroll through your local grocers to the view of 90% off candy? Chocolate included.

It is almost too good to be true. For whether our children bring it home and we scrupulously examine it for opened packages and razor blades, or we throw the loot in our own bags, the question remains: After you have pilfered, purloined, or purchased, where will you hide the booty for the following days and months?

Every woman needs that secret space of goodies. I have a few options. For several years I kept my stash in an upper cabinet over the broom closet. None of the children were tall enough to reach into it, and they were not allowed to use the step stool so it was a perfect place.

Now they tower over me who still needs a step stool to get into that cabinet.

Secondly, I stash some things best kept cold in the refrigerator freezer. I hide the bags behind the corn meal or the frozen peas. Definitely items that I know they will not be picking up for consumption.

However, I have discovered that this sin of stashing has passed to the next generation and they have discovered its value in regards to stowing away their own loot from their own brothers.

Thirdly, I have relented to putting my goods away upstairs in my room. That is still a somewhat hallowed place for them to trespass as from very young we taught them to respect the space called Mom and Dad's Room. I'm probably only safe with it there until Husband finds it.

Unless the chocolate contains peanut butter and then he will leave it alone. I do not mind that concession at all.

'Fess up. Where do you hide your chocolate?

In case I visit, of course.

Today I'm embracing....

my inner Martha Stewart. She's a very, very, very small inner person. In fact, even she proclaims that I am craft challenged and doesn't know why she puts up with me.

Nevertheless, I am participating in a blanket tying, knots precisely, workshop. We are making fleece blankets for the Chemo Center patients. They use the blankets when they are receiving their chemo and then they are allowed to take one home. I suppose this is our generation's version of an old-fashioned quilting bee.

Although having sat for years and seen the intricacies of my grandmother's quilt, and even helped my mom make some squares, I believe we have come down a bit in the world of skill that now we get together to tie knots of fleece. The power of the social interaction, I hope, will not be lost.

We live in an isolating environment behind computers and smart phone no-glare screens. We give status updates and send emails and tweet our latest thoughts, but for many the idea of sitting together with required eye contact and small talk is intimidating. Perhaps tying knots of fleece is the skill necessary to remove isolation and teach interaction.

I understand from a friend of mine that has done this workshop before that uniform knots are highly prized. That worries me. Eye contact and small talk I can handle. But uniform knots? Now I'm sweating. I suspect I may end up producing a blanket that a more eclectic chemo patient will appreciate.

Have a Happy Saturday no matter what you're doing!