PICK ME!

This is it folks! The last day I torture you with my aimless blogging. (that's a lie, I'll probably keep doing it) But it is the last blog post for the month of November, ending the wonderful NaBloPoMo. I can't believe I actually completed it. Anyone who knows me will say the same. I'm just really hoping that as Fussy is closing her eyes and randomly picking blogs to win the glorious FREE prizes, that she'll fumble onto mine.

Fussy, if you are here selecting me to win one of those magnificent prizes, I leave you this:

My Dad

I took this picture when my dad was here visiting in April. He drove alone for 12 hours from Louisiana to be here for Belle's birthday.

This may not seem like a huge deal for most, but for my dad it was. About 5 years ago he was in a motorcycle accident. The left side of his body was mangled badly. I remember him describing his leg to me, as if I needed to know. He said it looked like ground beef laying on the table mixed with gravel and grass. Of course, it had to be amputated. He was in the hospital for months and a couple of years later he finally started getting accustomed to life on one leg. Now he gets around well, as well as any other one legged person, I suppose.

Something like that would break anyone's spirit, but for my dad, I think it healed his. I'm sure it was a combination of getting older and being faced with death a few times (he's had a couple of heart attacks as well.) But this picture is a perfect example of the difference in my dad. It would take me entirely too long to explain 18 years of living with my father and the last 10 years of our relationship. So, I'll just tell you a little bit about who he is now.

He absolutely loves his grandchildren. In the picture, he's actually watching the kids play at the party, while I take shots of him next to my cat's butt. ::giggle:: Anyway, he loves my kids so much that he'll drive anywhere in the country, on his social security income, just to spend a few days with them. He realizes the mistakes he made as a father and doesn't hesitate letting me know he wishes he could change it. To quote him:

I am sorry for a lot of bad choices that I made . Mainly because they affected the people I LOVE the most .

Even though I know he can't change any of it, the fact that he would makes it all seem to be a part of someone else's memories. He's a really hard worker. Growing up, he always seemed to be in and out of jobs, but now he'll work on his bleeding nub without complaint.

I don't ever remember being proud of my father as a child. But I'm so very proud of him now.

*Update: I found this and just had to post it. It's of me and my dad. I think I was about 5.

One Word

I borrowed this little booger from Old Blue Socks

The One Word Meme (Note: I just discovered what "meme" means. I'm slow with the blog lingo)

Yourself: stress
Your partner: handsome
Your hair: wet
Your Mother: Indian
Your Father: loud
Your Favorite Item: slippers
Your dream last night: unsure
Your Favorite Drink: cold
Your Dream Car: hybrid
Your Dream Home: cozy
The Room You Are In: miscellaneous
Your Ex: none
Your fear: tornado
Where you Want to be in Ten Years: cozy
Who you hung out with last night: keyboard
What You’re Not: confident
Muffins: Bridget
One of Your Wish List Items: expensive
Time: morning
The Last Thing You Did: shower
What You Are Wearing: slippers
Your favorite weather: fall
Your Favorite Book: funny
Last thing you ate: cereal
Your Life: quick
Your mood: irritable
Your Best Friends: far
What are you thinking about right now: schoolwork
Your car: paid
What are you doing at the moment: this
Your summer: boring
Relationship status: married
What is on your TV: sesame
What is the weather like: gloomy
When is the last time you laughed: earlier


Picture of my Pretty Indian mom

3 more days...

...until I no longer HAVE to come here to post an obligatory blog in order to have a chance to win free stuff. The lengths I'm willing to go at the mere shot of winning this or one of these is just shy of driving myself insane. But hey, it's free stuff.

smells

I have lost all sense of smell due to a head cold, which made me think of all the things that I enjoy smelling. Here are a few smells I had to miss out on the last couple of days:

*Strawberry Burt's bees wax lip balm as my daughter smeared me with kisses.
*My husband when he came home from the barber shop. Something about the generic shaving cream turns me on. ::giggle::
*Flatulent fun with my son. Okay, I don't really enjoy that smell, but he enjoys my reaction to the smell.
*The seasoned chicken my husband prepared for dinner. It's rare he cooks, but when he does I like to smell the meal that's being prepared without my assistance.

Game Night

Game nights are always fun with friends, especially the drunk kind. You'll find that you can get men to do things they probably wouldn't do under sober circumstances.

Sergio the Astronaut
Jason was the puppeteer

Jason...
"flying by the seat of his pants"

Victory...
was not theirs. The women totally dominated.

It was a good time!

Mike and his red eyeball friend Kevin

Grandma

My dad emailed me this picture today. My grandma is so young. I was born when she was in her 50's, and I don't think I've ever seen a picture of her younger years. Sometimes it's hard to image grandparents young, vivacious and able to chase after toddlers all day, who happen to be my dad and aunt. I have my grandma's hands. I heart you, Grandma.

Happy Thanksgiving

Like the rest of America, I had to run to Walmart this morning to get a few things I forgot. The parking lot is full. People are everywhere. I start to notice I'm a gender minority. I walk pass the baking aisle and staggered down the aisle is a plethora of men on their cell phones staring blankly at the spices and baking products.

Giving Thanks for:
Healthy family
food on our table
fabulous friends (you know who you are ;-)
a year filled with blessings despite the hard times of a deployment
my husband home safe from Iraq
Togetherness
pecans.yum.
I hope you have a Wonderful Day filled with pie and sugary delights.
Happy Thanksgiving!

Yo Quiero Corona!

La Cerveza es muy bien. Hasta La Vista baby.

P.S. I'm only bilingual when drunk.

no turkey?

My family rarely gets together because they love one another's company. Holidays were spent together, but the times I felt it was enjoyed were very few. We always had turkey and ham. Bowls filled with things like stuffing, dirty rice, cranberry mush, and fruit salad lined the counter tops. Pumpkin and Pecan pies were prepared the night before. The food was delicious and we were together for the sake of it. We couldn't disappoint the turkey by not showing up. Who would eat all that pie?

My husband often chuckles at some of the things my family does to each other. He says I should write a book about my 40 something year old uncle, who still lives with my grandma. He's on his second mail order bride from the Ukraine. I have a cousin who, at the age of 25, feels her superiority over the human race gives her permission to give our 86 year old grandmother evil looks. Still not exactly sure what ensued their hatred for each other, but my grandmother was delighted when she didn't show up to the most recent get together I attended.

I'll have to admit my grandmother isn't the most tactful of women. She certainly says what's on her mind, regardless the outcome. I can remember back when I was planning my wedding, she wanted to make my wedding dress. At first, I was ticked because the dress I wanted was cheaper than it would have been for her to make it. But I calmed down, realized I wouldn't get my way by stomping and allowed her to make it. We went out in search of a comparable pattern. I brought a friend along. As we sat, flipping through catalogs of patterns, we eyed a few dresses that we thought were cute and made mention of it. My grandma took a look at the dresses, gave out a groan and said, "You girls are too big boned for that style of dress." (blank stare) I'm not sure how my friend recovered from that comment, she probably has some mild eating disorder.

Before my uncle died (not the one previously mentioned), the adults would sit around the table after bellies were full and play cards or dominoes. They talked to each other in Cajun French as they sipped their coffee and laughed about who knows what. I don't remember when that stopped exactly. He died right before my eighteenth birthday, so I suppose it was a combination of his death and the kids growing up that changed the traditions of our family gatherings.

Now I have my own family. I want to start new traditions. I want my children to have happy memories, albeit mixed with imperfections. This year for Thanksgiving, my husband and I decided I would make gumbo. He doesn't care for turkey and I can't cook it, so we mesh well. Being originally from Louisiana this seemed like a perfect way to introduce our kids to some of the foods and culture that I had growing up. My husband asks, "So, when was the last time you made a gumbo exactly?" I thought for a second, "Ya know, I don't really remember making it myself." The husband suggested we get a ham instead.
So, I'm not going to have my Cajun Thanksgiving this year, but I'm still going to try my hand at the gumbo this weekend. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Ü

It's late. School stinks. That's right I'm in college. The internet has not been my friend tonight. I think my eyes are experiencing muscle failure from all the reading I've done today. Time for bed. I leave you with Captain Orbhead and his fight to save the planet from the evil Red Head and her monster apple turkey. Night.

meep meep

Driving along with a friend, someone cuts her off. She honks, gives out a grunt and we laugh.

me: Your horn doesn't sound as puny as mine.
her: Really? I don't think it sounds authoritative enough.
me: Mine makes a little meep meep noise, like a little squeaky mouse.

Driving along someone cuts her off again.

her: ASS LICKER!

Wouldn't it be great to have a horn that blares out obscenities? The ultimate road rage tool ever!

nothingness

What's the first thing you think of when you read the following words?

cheese - cake

rubber - gloves

clothes - on

big - zits

dress - plaid

jacket - furry

polyester - pants

kite - high

washing - clean

A Must

Family and friends now know that I'm a 'blogger.' Yes, they are on guard now, wondering what they should or shouldn't say because it just may end up on my blog. I blog because I want to. Because I love it. "Because I am going to die. And so are you." And they are slowly coming to grips with the new me. The me that can no longer speak in coherent sentences because in my mind I'm typing every word I speak on my blog. I have visions of ingenious design headers and witty post titles swimming in my head. My family and friends must truly love me, because they are very accepting of the new blogger freak that I've become.

Anyone who blogs knows, that you can't be a true 100% blogger unless you read other blogs. NaBloPoMo has opened the door of a world I never knew existed and I MUST share my blog world with you, my faithful readers.* Here is a list of the blogs that I've been visiting every day, religiously. I just can't help it. Sometimes I forget that I've visited before I've removed the crust from my eyes in the morning and do it again only a dozen times throughout the day. Please don't be offended if your blog isn't on the list, I randomize A LOT and I'm sure I'll come across you.

Pea Soup
The Delaney Diaries
you, me, and a baby
Mandajuice
Losing True
O, Pish Posh!
Stefanie Renee
Superhero Journal
Heather Anne
Mom to the Screaming Masses
between me&me
Candice, Interrupted
Notes to Self
patron saint of smart mouths
Kerflop
jen lemen
Schnozzfest
Big Girl Underoos
Othersideofmymind
A Dingo Ate my Baby


*okay, so I only have one or two.

The Money Maker

Dinner Time Fun

Job (the first born): Hey mom, I want that new star wars game for Christmas

Dad: Get a job.

Job: You get a job.

Dad: I have a job, where do you think I go all day?

Job (shrugs shoulders)

Dad: Where do you think all your stuff comes from?

Job (he looks at dad for a brief second, grins and points to me)

Dad: What!? How do you think mommy pays for all that stuff?

Job: When we go to the store she gives them her 'dedit' card and I get my stuff. (He says this as he shovels a bite full of dinner in his mouth that he's sure mommy bought at the grocery store with her 'dedit' card.)

Apparently we need to talk to the children about money management. As well as the fact that money does not magically appear through the magnetic stripe on my debit card causing all dreams to come true.

zombie & Thanks

When an obsession takes over all aspects of your life, you realize that you no longer have the ability to function without that one thing being on your mind constantly. As I sort my laundry I'm trying to think of ways to add colorful details that might interest someone if they read my blog. Mundane chores like scrubbing a toilet or walking to the car to bring my children to school are all open for discussion.

Maybe if I add that I first clogged the toilet, before scrubbing it, with the most ungodly thing you ever did see and yes it came out of my body, you might come back to read more. Or if I tell you that my children were so enamored by a wiggly worm crawling on the side walk, that they caused their mommy to trip on her way to the car, causing a passing car to honk in applause, you might think about leaving a comment. These things may or may not be true, but regardless I'm here to tell you that I've turned into a NaBloPoMo zombie. Not a good thing when you have a friend with a zombie phobia.

When something happens in our home that is remotely comical, my husband immediately asks, "You're not going to blog this are you?" (He doesn't read my blog, so what he doesn't know won't kill him.) He walked in on me laying in bed trying to think of my next blog content and I didn't realize he was there because I was staring very intently at the light fixture. "Hon, you're starting to scare me." I couldn't tell him what I was thinking about or he may pull the plug on the computer. We're at the halfway mark and I have my eye focused on the end goal ::FREE STUFF::

I'd like to say Thank You to all of you out there taking the time to read all the blogs entered. Especially Suzanne. You TOTALLY Rock!

Connoisseur of sorts

Yesterday I realized that I don't post very many spontaneous anecdotes about Job, ya know our first born. I got my camera and sought him out to take a picture of him in order to get inspiration for a post just about him.

me: Job? where are you?

J: in my room watching tv

me: hey, take a picture for me

J: sure (insert finger into nose without taking eyes off tv)

me: yep, you are your father's son, love you

As I leave the room, the laughter echoes through the hall. This nose picking picture doesn't even begin to describe his enormous personality, but it certainly gives you a feel of what I deal with on a daily basis. I'm sure your gag reflex may become weak as you think of all the "rolled up" boogers that have been flicked around my house. He's a connoisseur of such things. Boogers, farts, burps and the like.

Junkie

My four year old has sucked her thumb since in utero and is finding it very difficult to stop. My husband, having been a thumb sucker himself, doesn't want her having problems with her teeth. Throughout her day he gives her gentle reminders to help her kick the habit. Well, she's getting annoyed with his reminders, which is putting it lightly. And like most junkies, she's starting to get good at hiding her habit from the one person that bugs her about it the most.

Daddy: Stop sucking your thumb.
Daughter: hmmmph (sad face while she reluctantly takes her thumb out of her mouth)

Daddy waits a second outside of the door, while daughter waits a few seconds to make sure daddy is not watching. He peaks his head back in, notices she hasn't put her thumb back in her mouth and commends her on her obedience and her effort.

Daddy: Great job not sucking your thumb
Daughter: I don't really want to suck my thumb anyway Daddy (with such a mild mannered tone you actually believe for a split second she's serious)
Daddy: That's great sweetie, daddy is proud of you.

Two minutes later I walk by the room, her thumb blatantly shoved in her mouth and she's sucking on it so hard her eyes are scowled and her cheeks are moving so fast it looks as if she's about to suck the thumb right off. "Better get that thumb out of your mouth, daddy's coming!"

Sweet

Every morning for the last 13 days, I've awakened to the whispers of my sweet little girl. She leans in very close and says in her itsy bitsy whisper, "mommy? mommy, can I have just two pieces of candy?"

I have a theory that she secretly wishes I'll be too asleep to respond, which she will be able to interpret as a yes. She will then pitter patter her itsy bitsy feet into her room, grab her little chair, and place it strategically next to the counter in the kitchen. She will climb up onto the chair, hoist herself up on the counter and reach on top of the refrigerator to grab her trick or treat bag full of glorious chocolate delights.

Unfortunately for her, I do hear her tiny little whisper every morning at 6:45am on the dot. I offer a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead, and her world seems just as sweet.

Hugs from God

I'm going to blog about something today that I usually keep to myself. Mostly because I don't like throwing my truly private thoughts out in the open for people to read and misinterpret or scrutinize. It's common knowledge that not everyone will agree with each other. Whether the topic be religion, politics, child rearing, or the like. Those differences make us all individually unique.

Individualism is something that people have fought for, and died for. Individualism is an aspect of freedom that I think we sometimes take for granted. That being said, why is it so hard for us to accept others for who they are? I've stumbled onto many blogs that have discussed some rather controversial issues, such as religion. While I may disagree with them in some areas, I can also empathize with their frustrations.

When I was in my early twenties, I attended a Bible College that was produced out of an Independent, Fundamental, King James Version, Baptist Church. That sentence is enough to make some of you reading this cringe. Others, who happen to be Baptist, may look on that with acceptance. Memories of those days come rushing back to me every so often and I'm reminded of not only who I was before that experience, but who I became during it. I'd love to say that God molded me into this fascinating no-pant wearing, submissive Christian that knocked on doors thrusting bible literature in people's faces. That did not happen. Instead, my husband and I left the church and college because we began to realize that we weren't helping anyone by being there, and we certainly weren't being used of God.

The Things I learned:
1. Women should not wear pants, if they do, they are out of the Will of God. This is a barometer for a woman's spiritual walk.
2. Women must be submissive to their husbands, they can not question any of the decisions that are made by a man, whether they be good or bad.
3. Women must keep their houses clean clean clean, that is their place.
4. If you weren't careful, God may just have to take you out of the picture.
5. If you are sick or suffer from misfortune, then you better clear the sin out of your life that is causing the turmoil.
6. You should have fear, not only for the Lord, but for the Man of God. After all, he has been chosen by God to lead the flock.

This list is small in comparison to the things that were drilled into my thought process. It's been 7 years since we left, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't have to reprogram my thoughts concerning, not only this list, but hundreds of other things. Not everything I learned there was bad, even though the church was borderline fascist.

The fond memories I do have are of the kind hearted people. The people who cared for us. They were the ones that if I went to and asked for prayer, I knew that my prayer request would be on their hearts until it was answered. They didn't try to "read my barometer" to see if I was worthy of prayer, or if I needed another type of prayer. They loved us for who we were and for the people God was molding us to be.

The church is no longer there, imagine that, but I can still picture the faces of the congregation and where they sat every service. I can see their smiling faces as I pass to go to my seat. I can almost feel their warm embraces as they said hello with a hug. Those are the things that God wanted me to keep. He wanted me to hang on to the oh so very human like qualities of being flawed and loving others regardless of theirs.

If an atheist would have met me 7 years ago, I would have been living proof of why they stayed away from Christianity. There was no compassion, no understanding, no acceptance of anything or anyone that did not dress, talk, walk, and act the way that I did. Tears begin to swell up as I imagine how many people I pushed away because of my superior view of myself. All the while, I went about claiming it was God's love that made me into that person. He did change my life, but I decided to take over at some point in order to make myself into the cookie cut Christian a few others thought I should be. (i.e. the pastor and his family) Too often, people don't see God in Christian people because they are living their lives by others dictation, rather than seeking God. Yet, they firmly believe that the way they are is going to be blessed of God because Preacher so and so said it would be. Or simply because they believe they are right and everyone else needs saving.

I still go to church. I still attend a Baptist church. I still struggle daily with not only my walk with God, but how I should be towards others. I am very much disgusted with silly things like someone smoking or what they wear (mild examples) being the judge of whether or not I should reach out to them or befriend them. Those things shouldn't matter when people enter your life. What should matter is how you treat them and how you interact with them. Do they know you love God, even though you don't say it? Do they know you are different on the inside, even though you never utter the words? What do others see when they look at you? What do others see when they look at me?

Do they see the weight of the world, or do they get to witness through my eyes "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding?" (Philippians 4:7) Although you may feel I'm preaching, this post is meant for me. This blog is meant for me. I'm slowly realizing that in order to be honest with myself and honest on this blog, I have to talk about this part of my life. It's who I am, whether I like admitting it or not. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely Thankful for the things that God has done in my life. I just don't particularly enjoy sharing it with people who are only going to hold me under a microscope and say "um yeah? where did you say God was exactly?" I'm not claiming to be perfect, merely a human that has been blessed with a warm hello hug of God's perfect mercy and grace.