And Right About Now, I Want to Throw Up

I just saw a mouse on my bedroom dresser.

I’m freaked out.

My husband is not here.

My kids are asleep.

I was reading Harry Potter, which is creepy.

My brother is on his way, and it’s after midnight.

His Christmas present will be good this year.

The exterminator came TODAY and rebaited and everything.

This was not supposed to happen.

It’s bringing back horrible, foul, scary memories of the mouse invasion of 2009.

We killed 16.

I’m not over it.

I still jump every. single. time I open a door, expecting one to run out at me.

I hate gross animals.

My brother is here. Thank you, Lord.

And So We Sit

Michael and I stay up too late. It’s a problem.

We’re tired. We both are too busy and have so much to do during our days that we need our rest.

And yet, we’re sitting here at 11 pm, wide awake.

I take that back, we’re not WIDE awake. We’d like to sleep, but we can’t. He’s grading papers for the college class he’s teaching right now and I’m awake because he is. I’m loyal like that.

I could have been a golden retriever. (The long-haired kind. They’re pretty.)

Some nights we listen to music while we (I mean he) work. He likes the group Downhere. I don’t. I think the guy sounds like Freddy Mercury, and it’s hard to catch the power of the lyrics when all I can hear in my head is “Mama, I killed a man”, or however that song goes.

I learned something about my husband’s musical taste last weekend. We spent 3 days in Fairhope/Gulfshores, Alabama and had a marvelous time. We went to a Brad Paisley concert, and shopped, and went running, and slept late. Michael pretty much spoiled the mess out of me, and treated me like a queen. It was wonderful. But then on Saturday night, I was scanning the radio stations in the car and I heard Peter Cetera singing “The Glory of Love”, and I stopped on the station to listen. Michael came unglued. He acted like he was going to throw up in the rental car. He was so offended at that choice of song.

I was shocked. This is the same guy who shopped for seven hours at an outlet mall with me. He never complained. He didn’t say a word about me falling asleep on his shoulder during a movie the night before. He had been so accommodating and easygoing.

He can’t handle Peter Cetera. Soft rock from the 1980s just does him in. I had no idea.

That’s not true. I actually knew that about him, I just had gotten so spoiled, I figured that surely I had control over the radio as well.

Not for a minute. He’s not THAT easygoing.

I can overlook that slight imperfection on the personality meter, though. Because he’s just darlin’.

And he loves me a whole bunch. I’m not braggin’, just sayin’.

He’s a man who will fight for my honor. He is the hero I’m dreaming of. We’ll live forever, knowing together that we did it all for the glory of love.

(It really is an awful song. But don’t tell him I said that.)

These Boots

Were made for walkin’, so I have.

A lot.

I was looking at them yesterday and decided you should know how much I love them.

They are the best boots I’ve ever owned, and unless they just fall apart, I don’t plan on replacing them anytime soon. I bought them for my birthday two years ago, and they fit me like they were designed for my feet.

If you know anything about me and my size ten, flat, skinny heeled feet, then you know that to find a shoe that loves my foot is like finding a needle in a haystack.

I got them at Boots N More, and they are made by Justin. That’s not even important. I know there are fancier brands out there. I think boots by Luchesse are beautiful. I know I could have picked some with some fancy stitchin’ on them. But these spoke to me.

I get sad every spring when I have to put them away, and then when I pull them out in October, it’s like Christmas for my feet.

I love every crease in the leather and every scratch on the sole. These boots have seen some major events this year. I wore them when my foot was broken, and no other shoe was comfortable. I wore them to my Mamaw’s visitation, with the broken foot, and was able to stand for hours and visit with so many precious friends and family. While I attribute the emotional stamina to the grace of God, I know for sure these boots helped out my pitiful foot.

I wore them all over England. It was July, but it’s not hot over there, and I walked miles and miles, knocking on doors and sharing the Gospel.

I wore them on every hayride, to every festival and field trip. I wore them last weekend all over the Alabama coast on a weekend away with my favorite guy.

Someone told me they are actually ropers, not boots. I don’t know about all that stuff, being the city girl that I am. I do know that they go with everything, and they represent to me a permanence that I’ve had trouble finding in the last eleven years. We’ve moved a lot, we’ve made a lot of decisions, friends have come and gone. I pull on these boots and they’re just…there. They are worn. They’re comfortable. They help my feet take me where I need to be. I trust that they will be the same every time I wear them. I’m not one to shy away from change, but I love knowing that while the rest of me is trying new things, my feet are safe and sound in their brown leather home.

It’s kind of like Norm and Cliff, hanging out at Cheers.

But not really.

The End.

How Am I Weird? Let Me Count The Ways…

I’m really okay with being different. I understand that everybody has their own drummer, it’s really a matter of whether or not we choose to walk to the beat of our drum, or try to keep up with someone else’s.

I’ve got this problem. Actually, I’ve got lots of problems, but not one of them is big enough to complain about, so I’m just going to tell you about this in a factual, but not complaining, tone. Because it’s not a complaint, it’s just a weird thing. Anyway…have I clarified enough?

I have a fear of getting hit by a car changing lanes.

I don’t know when it started. I can vaguely remember my senior year in high school, coming home from the Reba McEntire concert and my white Grand Am was full of my friends and we were on I-20 and I tried to change lanes and someone honked because they were there, in my blind spot, and I almost hit them. It was a mom and daughter. I don’t know why I remember seeing them so clearly, it was dark and I got back in my lane and we went on our way. Plus, it was 16 years ago. Why do I remember that? Anyway…when I’m on the interstate, going above 65 mph, I get so nervous when someone changes lane close to me.

It’s crazy. I know they probably see me, but what if they don’t?

It was really bad last spring, when I had to take Aidan to school a lot, and we take the interstate for most of that thirty mile trek. I eventually got over the panicked feeling and could pray my way there. So this year, I’m a little calmer and we’re making it to school without me breathing into a paper bag.

But lately, it’s gotten worse. I jump when I’m riding in the passenger seat and someone changes lanes and moves closer to me. I think they’re going to keep coming and just take me out. Michael just holds my hand and tells me he is sorry I am dealing with this. He’s probably thinking, “My wife is a freak. She’s had her license for almost 20 years. What’s the deal?” But he never says it. He just holds my hand.

Anyway…this means nothing to any of you. This is not a lead in to a profound thought or scripture. I’m just weird, and I’m sure by the time I’m 75, I’ll have to have a driver and just sit in the back with those big sunglasses that will block me from seeing what’s going on around me.

But then I’d get carsick.

And that’s another one of my issues.

Good grief.

So Much Brain Activity, So Few Coherent Thoughts

It’s gonna have to be a list tonight, my friends. But I’ll make it a good one.

1. We’re going to the beach, soon and very soon. Brad Paisley will be there. Fun is gonna happen.

2. Michael and the kids ate at Waffle House tonight. It was their first WH experience (the kids, I mean). It was a large time, and Aidan may not ever be the same.

3. Molly got some hand me down jeans today. They’re bedazzled with butterflies. Her mouth fell open when she saw them. It was priceless.

4. I’ve lost about 15 pounds. I probably shouldn’t say that, because now I have to keep it off and that means no french fries, but I am a little bit proud of me. (Not proud enough to wear a swimsuit at the beach, but still proud.)

5. I cleaned my parents house last week. Their house is much nicer than mine, and only two people live there, yet it was still dirty. I learned that dirt doesn’t discriminate. It made me feel better about my life.

6. Aidan is making really good grades, and shared his “About Me” poster with his class today. He stepped it up a notch and played the Star Wars theme in the background. That makes him awesome in so many ways.

7. He also buzzed his hair off. I like it, but I don’t. I’m conflicted.

8. Paisley colored on her new, white, beautiful daybed. She got a spanking. It was either a spanking, or make her eat the crayon she colored with. I chose the milder of the two.

9. Molly is getting frustrated with not going to school. I’m getting frustrated with our schedule killing us and not having time to do what I want to do as far as teaching her. We’re working it out.

10. I’ve had five speaking engagements recently. It’s fun to talk about something I love (my mission trip to England). I try to be funny, and not boring. So far, no one has fallen asleep or started texting while I talked. I don’t think WMU ladies would ever text during a speaker, but you never know.

11. I’ve discovered that I don’t like to eat barbeque anywhere else but home. Michael’s is the best, and it’s just a waste to go anywhere else.

12. One of my best friends is having twins. That makes me giddy.

13. We subscribed to Netflix last week. Good gracious, watching instant movies through the Wii is amazing. Especially now that Aidan can watch whole seasons of The Munsters. I’m in the middle of watching Camelot, the musical made in the 60s. It’s gorgeous, and I love it, but I really wish they’d used a different makeup artist on Richard Harris. His eye shadow is creepy.

14. Thursday is the Canton Flea Market. I’ve gone every time for the last several years, but not this year. I actually don’t care about it at all, and I couldn’t figure out why…then I remembered. The outlet malls at Foley are in my near future.

15. And we’ll end with a rant: I can’t stand it when someone doesn’t have good people skills, and says and does things on a regular basis that show that there are no people skills present, and gets excused by people who say, “they just don’t have good people skills.” Why is that okay? If you don’t have good people skills, you work at it and LEARN SOME NEW SKILLS.

The end…for now. Adios.