This is the title Grandpa Fred gave to this picture and I think it's quite appropriate. My boy is a deep thinker. Like his mama. ~snort~
Pensive
Sunday, July 26, 2009
An open letter to Target
Monday, July 20, 2009
Dear Target,
Please stop foisting your 'Back To School' supplies at me each and every time I enter your store. It is not 'Back to School' time. 'Back to School' means fall. It means pumpkins, colorful leaves and cold. It does not mean sunshine, pool noodles and watermelon. I, frankly, am squarely in the center of the pool on my noodle enjoying my watermelon and I like it that way. I would like it to stay that way forever, but even if that can never be on this side of heaven, I would sweetly request that you at least let me enjoy the few months of the year I have instead of forcing me to think about the fall and thus, the impending winter. It's just not polite.
While I have you, might I also request that when I enter your stores slathered in sunscreen looking for a tall bottle of Dasani water, I prefer not to be assaulted by jack-o-lanterns, turkeys and Rudolph all on the same aisle.
It. Is. July. For. Pete's. Sake.
I thank you in advance for putting all that stuff back into storage where it belongs and bring right back out my plastic ice cubes shaped like lemons, the fancy beach towels with the dangly flip flops, and the picnic baskets. Where are the picnic baskets? We need picnics more than Frosty the Snowman wrapping paper!
I knew you would understand.
Thoughtfully,
Our trip to the ophthalmologist
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I love to shock people. That may come as a surprise to those of you that know me as the demure, quiet, soft-spoken, dainty little flower that I am.
::crickets:: ::crickets::
No one sees me that way? Not even one of you? Ahem, moving right along.
This morning Hannah and Cindy had eye appointments. This is a rare occurrence because I am not one of those mothers that goes running off for those pesky yearly exams. I sometimes even wait two years between dental appointments. ~gasp~ I'm not a big fan of the poison fluoride and radiation to the head every six months, but that's just me.
Hannah was having her second ever eye exam and Cindy, her first. We've been to this eye doctor before when Hannah cut her cornea on the corner of her brother's spiral bound notebook when she was on the "winning" end of a tug-o-war. I use the term "winning" loosely here.
All went well for the first part of the exam and then we were in with the doctor as he was pronouncing them perfectly perfect at seeing things. This alone is no small miracle since their father has been blind as a bat since birth. I am certain there is at least one of my children walking around legally blind. It's a statistical certainty. It all started to go downhill right there in that exam room when he asked Cindy what grade she was going to be in this fall. Cindy stared at me blankly because we're "in school" right now and the fall means nothing to us. So, I saved her by answering him for her. Then he turned to Hannah and asked her what school she attends. Hannah told him we homeschool. He slowly turns to me with an uncomfortable chuckle and asked, "So, how's that working for you?" I smiled soooo sweetly and said, "Quite nicely, thank you for asking!" He dropped the subject like a red hot potato. It's rare these days to have someone react negatively, or even look at me twice, about homeschooling. It is so common that I think it's shocking to run into people that don't homeschool. I might live a sheltered life so take that into consideration.
As we were checking out, I asked the receptionist if I could make appointments for two more of my children.
"Two more?", she asked.
"Yes", I responded.
"You have two more in addition to Flibby, Cindy, and Hannah?"
"Why, yes. Actually I have three more than Flibby, Cindy and Hannah, but who's counting, right?"
~insert light hearted chuckle by me here~
~insert stare of horror and disbelief by receptionist here~
After a few awkward minutes of silence where the receptionist sat in a paralyzed state I can only assume was the early stage of shock, I decided to snap her out of it by explaining that I have six children and I stagger appointments like these because co-pays add up with six kids and two adults so it's easier to spread them out over a few weeks so that it's easier on my budget and...
"Are they ALL YOURS?!" (she snapped out of it)
"Yes they are. All mine."
"Do they all have the same last name?"
(Let me mention here that I get most irritated by the assumption that we are a "blended family" as though the only way anyone would be stupid enough to have this many children would be the blending of two divorced parents. Gag.)
"Yes, they all have the same last name and I gave physical birth to each and every one of them. One without benefit of an epidural due to my incompetent quack of a doctor at the time, I might add. And, they all have the same father, my husband to whom I have been married for 22 years come September."
(I thought it best to get the whole story out there for the poor dear lest she burst a blood vessel.)
"Well. OK then. That's great. Your next appointment is next Wednesday at 2:30. Thank you."
I am quite sure the poor girl had to go have a Coke. Possibly she even had to lie down with a cold cloth and count the ceiling tiles for a while. This concludes my day of shocking the general public with my GIGANTIC sized family. You'd have thought I walked in there with a nose ring. Next time I plan to bring every one of them in with me.
Visual impact and all.
I'm mischievous that way.
Musings on the King of Pop
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
I apologize in advance for this post. I swore to myself an oath that I would not get sucked into the Michael Jackson mania. But, I did get sucked in just a little. So there it is.
I've been observing over the last week or so the amazing outpouring of obsessive worship toward Michael Jackson. It's weird. Weirder than him. And, that's saying something.
What did Michael Jackson mean to me? Not a lot. I knew of him in his prime. I mean, what teenager couldn't do every step of the Thriller dance? Don't EVEN try to deny it because I won't believe you. From there, he went downhill in a big way and I tried not to notice.
I struggled not to watch an inch of coverage of his memorial service. It was impossible. It was everywhere. Even on the TVs in the gym when I was on the elliptical. Can't a girl sweat without Michael Jackson in her face? Not lately.
I started considering his life, his legacy and why he is so beloved and reviled all at the same time. Here are a few of my thoughts.
First of all, poor Michael had an awful childhood. We can all agree to that. His dad was a tyrant, according to him, and he suffered at his hand and his greed. That wrote on his soul in a way that he never could recover. He tried. All his life he attempted to reclaim a childhood that was always just out of his grasp.
He loved himself. Who would name all three of his children after himself if he wasn't in awe of his own being. He was clearly striving for that perfect look. He overshot that one by about 37 surgeries. In his quest for perfect beauty he became ugly. In his quest for peace and happiness he became more tortured and miserable. In his quest for rest he seemingly turned to a drug that cost him his life. He was a sad vexed soul because there is only one Person in whom we find peace and Michael Jackson did not know Him. No matter how much money, fame, adoration, exotic animals, plastic surgeries, and countries you travel - these things are not the source of joy, peace and contentment. Only the Lord can give you that. Is there a better example of this than Michael Jackson?
Michael Jackson's death is sad and tragic, not because he died. Not because his sweet faced little girl cried tears of grief before a worldwide audience professing her love for her daddy (which broke my heart). Not because it seems his life was cut short by drugs. His death is tragic because today and for all eternity he is separated from the love of God Who is just.
May his death be a wake up call for all those living in rebellion to the Lord and may the Lord be glorified in it.
The same goes for poor Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon who quickly took second billing to Michael Jackson. Their strive for fame fell short even in death. Poor them.
In which we ponder and reflect on our independence
Monday, July 6, 2009
I'm sure like most Americans, you spent your 4th of July in grateful reflection on the sacrifices of our founding fathers in the establishment of our independence and the birth of our great nation.
Yeah, us too.
Then right after that we did this...
Mr. P set up a fabulous and daring Slip 'N 
Slow ride.
Fast ride.
Faster ride.
This is where I found him hours later. Medical attention was needed.
Once he recovered, Mr. P carved the traditional 4th of July watermelon.
It was enjoyed by the masses.
And, then there were fireworks. Many loud booming fireworks.
It doesn't get any better than that! I hope you all had an equally wonderful 4th of July!!