Miscalculation

I'm a terrible judge of measurements. Doesn't matter if it's distance, time or quantity... I just can't wrap my brain around measurements.

I planned to buy a "slew" of strawberries to make two batches of jam. I had my two boxes of Sure Jell purchased. I had my sugar ready to go. Surely a "slew" is equal to the amount of strawberries needed for two batches of jam.

Uhh, yeah. And then some. Feast your eyes on five batches of jam.



I made my two batches and realized I had a bunch of leftover strawberries, cleaned and capped.

Because I love her, I called my mother-in-law to see if she planned to make jam this year and could use them. She sure did and could, but this week was our revival at church, and she was already running late getting home from work.

Again, because I love her, I said I would stay up late after revival and make her batches for her if she'd bring me her containers and some more Sure Jell and sugar. She gets up WAY early for work and is in bed most nights probably before our kids are.

Well, I missed every single sermon of revival. Sunday morning I had Children's Church, and Sunday night we skipped because we have been running too much lately and just needed a night at home. Monday it was essential that I grocery shop because we were out of everything. Tuesday I was nursing a raging headache following the optometrist appointment where my eyes were dilated (does anyone else get horrible headaches that last the whole day after having their eyes dilated?). And last night, Bruce was in a late meeting at work and got home late, which means we had a late supper and couldn't get to church on time.

Bruce took the kids out last night after supper to buy Mother's Day gifts for me. He has class tonight until late, and we're supposed to leave to go camping Friday, so it was last night or never.

I enjoyed my time alone. I blasted the kitchen radio and made Sharon's batches of jam while singing and dancing to Christian tunes.

I hate that I missed revival. But I still feel revived. Last night's sermon just came to me in my home via the radio. And, boy, was it good!


"You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever."
Psalm 30:11-12


"Let them praise his name with dancing
and make music to him with tambourine and harp."
Psalm 149:3

Thankful Thursday - Debt Reduction

Ohh, today I'm so thankful I could sing.

And you just be thankful that in this little slice of cyber world you won't be forced to endure listening.

Earlier this week, Bruce sold his truck. I should say, his old truck, which is actually newer than the truck he most recently bought several months back and is currently driving. Is that as clear as Kansas during a dust bowl?

You see, a year ago we decided to dive right into debt by getting a camper. We considered it for a year prior to the actual purchase. Much research went into which one we wanted/could afford. We got a great deal. Our camper looked brand new because it was repossessed, but we didn't have to pay a "brand new" price.

We've enjoyed that camper as much as possible in the last year. However, if you know guys... scratch that. I don't want to be so general here. If you know my husband, you'll know that he likes to "trade up" on a regular basis. Thankfully, this trait isn't one that creeps into the wife realm, just all things with some form of power source. (Wait a minute! I'm a Christian. I got a Power Source!! But I'm getting off on a tangent and I'm really trying to be a more focused person. It's not working for me too well.)

Anyway, our Ford F-150 towed that lightweight camper okay. But, in Bruce World, "okay" soon loses its luster and an upgrade becomes necessary. (I am not being ugly when I say this about my husband. I'm poking fun. I'm just not sure that comes across accurately via text, so I thought I would be specific.)

How convenient that shortly after the "trade up" bug hit Bruce, a co-worker put his older, but more powerful, Ford F-250 up for sale. And Bruce's great pitch to me was that in the long run, we wouldn't be out any money. Because our newer F-150 would sell for nearly the same amount we would put down for the F-250.

And that was true.

But here we are MONTHS later... and that F-150 just sold earlier this week.

The shock waves from our falling debt hit way over in Nashville, very near Dave Ramsey's headquarters. I think he knows. I think he's smiling.

I know I am.

"The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is servant to the lender."

Proverbs 22:7

Ranting Blindly

I am in a mood. And it's not good.

I'm blindly typing this, and I mean that literally. My eyes have been numbed and dilated in the last couple of hours. But that's nothing compared to how I feel I've been raked over the coals by my kids and our latest attempt at finding a new family optometrist.



Bruce and I have been due our annual eye check-up for a couple months now. Our appointments fell in February, but shortly beforehand our former optometrist's office called to say that our new insurance was not one they accepted. That stunk enough, because we all loved our previous eye doctor that we'd had for the last seven years.

Searching for a new doctor stunk pretty badly, too. Ultimately we decided to go to the same optometrist my father-in-law recently switched to. When I made the appointments for Bruce and myself, I specifically said, "Do you work with our insurance company?" She did not know. So I said, "Before my appointment, I want that verified, because I do not want to pay out of pocket for this. I'll need to cancel the appointment if you do not work with our insurance." She assured me that they always check before they make their appointment reminder calls to ensure they accept a certain insurance.

I had planned to either have my father-in-law or a babysitter watch Spencer and Allison, because today's appointment was where I finally planned to discuss LASIK surgery... with every intention of following through on the discussion. But I forgot to get babysitting lined up, so I took them along.

They went with me last week to two doctor's appointments in a row and then on to the DMV to update the tags on the van, and they were great. I mean, like, incredible. I checked to see if they were pod kids slipped in place of my children by aliens, but after much scientific study they indeed proved to still be my offspring.

Evidently I can't count on exceptional behavior to happen even just twice in a row. They were Children of the Corn today. And I felt like a woman with a severe case of OCD the whole two hours we were there.

"Don't touch that."

"Move away from behind the door so you don't get whacked when the doctor comes in."

"Put all those brochures back, in their proper places, with no new creases on them."

"Quit pulling out the contact lens boxes."

"Give me my glasses back." This last one was said as I flailed my arms about hoping to connect with something solid that would help me verify my surroundings. I heard my kids shuffling around to avoid me.

Every time the doctor or nurse's backs were turned I shot every threatening look I have in the direction of my kids. At least I think it was in their direction. It could have just been in the direction of the giant eyeball poster in the room. I'm really not sure.



Even if the looks went straight into the fields of vision of my children, it achieved the same results as if I had stared down the eyeball poster.

I am not good at eye appointments. I have a phobia about my eyes. Fainting has occurred at prior eye appointments. I can't stand the thought of something resting on my eyeball, whether I feel it or not, while it checks the strength of my cornea or for glaucoma issues. Freaks me out.

And I take it as a bad sign that a nurse who does not know that about me felt it necessary to remind me to "breathe normally" before she dosed my eyes with the numbing liquid drops. Well, even if I had planned to breathe normally all along, that little admonition took care of all chances of that happening.

After she left the darkened office, I spent a few minutes with my head between my knees. Forget it. That wasn't accomplishing anything. I crawled down to the floor to sit criss-cross applesauce (I didn't want to be politically incorrect and say Indian style because someone might be offended. Someone with 5 percent of Chickasaw blood passed down from their great-great-grandmother's aunt's side of the family. Being courteous about these sensitive things is important to me.).

My kids asked me what I was doing on the floor. I said the air was fresher down there. But it wasn't. I think the eye doctor needs to have his carpet steam cleaned. The sooner, the better.

I might have been embarrassed when the nurse walked in while I was sitting on the floor, but I couldn't see her face, so her expression didn't register. I rather enjoy living in the state of ignorant bliss.

After asking the nurse if patients who have LASIK ever receive drugs to calm them, I assured her that I'm not an addict. I'm just a basket case. And not even a certifiable one, at that. I'm not sure she believed a word I said. I'm certain I saw her glance at the bruise on my inner arm that is there because I had a couple of vials of blood drawn at last week's appointments.

To shorten this story a bit (I do try!), my kids lost all hope of earning a meal at the Pal's drive through. They did get a spanking and are now in their rooms alone. I haven't made up my mind about whether I'm feeding them lunch or not. It was THAT bad.

And it was made OH-SO-MUCH worse, when I went to the counter to pay the co-pay only to hear the magic words: "We don't accept your insurance."

I did not bark... or bite... but I did cancel Bruce's appointment for later this week. And I said, "When I made this appointment, I was assured that I would be told before this appointment if you did not accept our insurance. I could have then cancelled this appointment and gone to a doctor that does work with our plan."

Poor girl was new. And the girl who usually works there wasn't there today. Figures!

On the inside, I was seething. Thinking about how much money Wal-mart had sucked out of me at last night's grocery shopping trip. Remembering that the stinkin' gas light had come on this morning when I drove Clay to school. Knowing that I had planned to buy a slew of strawberries to make jam today. Recalling that I still have a birthday present to purchase for Clay during this pay period.

So this concludes my session. And thanks to blogging, I saved money somewhere today, instead of visiting a shrink like I probably need to do. Perhaps I just need to hit up a doctor for some of those drugs they give before a LASIK surgery.

Nah, that would just cost more money.

Lucky me! I know where there's a stash of chocolate in this house. That's where I plan to be for the next little bit. Maybe until the dilation of my eyes wears off. The doctor said that could take up to four hours. Sounds about right!

And if you see me sitting on the floor with sticky fingers and a chocolate moustache, it's just because the air is fresher down there.

Ahead of Her Time

I received a catalog in the mail recently that made me realize that my mother is a woman ahead of her time.

The catalog was for a company called Flor that does carpeting, but with a twist. I'm not sure how they got our name or address, because we are definitely NOT in the market for new carpeting. Or for any other home-improvement items at this juncture.

But if my mom had thought to patent the idea she came up with back when I was in the fourth grade... we might be rich today. Instead, I'm pretty sure Flor stole Mom's idea. (I'm just kidding. Any Flor representatives that might read this, please don't consider suing us for slander or defamation. You'd be sadly disappointed in what you'd get.)

Back in the day, I shared a room with my younger brother and we lived on Myrtle Beach A.F.B. I'm sure there was no agreeing as to what color our shared room should be. There weren't a lot of options for color anyway, because it was base housing, where all walls remain white. Until the second coming of Christ.

I remember my bedspread was a knitted flowery concoction (that I still have!) that my Oma made in pastel pink with a bit of pastel green. I'm positive those colors did not appeal to Chris at his tender age of six or seven.

My boys are that age now. The older one wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near pink. My younger one is in touch with his feminine side, though, and doesn't consider pink to be the carrier of cooties. Then again, he spent nine months in utero with a sister, so maybe that's why. We aren't at all concerned about his gender role recognition. Spend five minutes with him and you'd see why.

So, back to the dilemma my mother had in choosing a flooring option for my shared room.

She went to a local carpet supplier and asked them for all their color samples that were out of date. Each swatch was seamed at the edge. Then she got home and flipped those things over in no apparent attempt at color-coordination... and stuck them together with Duck tape. Until the whole shebang was large enough to cover the entire bedroom floor.

And that little carpeting creativity was free, by the way.

I know. She's brilliant.

I wish I had a picture. I can't recall specific colors or how well they blended (or didn't blend), but I do remember thinking it was WAY cool.

Then again, I'm not known for my fashion sense. And neither is my mom.

But who cares? It was free! And we kids were happy. And that IS cool.

Wish it would happen more often in our house.

Thank You!

From the band 33 Miles, which also sings, "There is a God".

Extraordinary

I spent Friday evening and most of today at the Extraordinary Women Conference with friends Christy and Cassie.

I'm still digesting a lot of what was said, but it was good.

I went mostly looking forward to hearing Mark Schultz, who I think is just a wonderful musician, and listening to Lisa Whelchel, because... well, she was Blair, for goodness sakes, on Facts of Life. Ain't that enough?

Actually, she hits high marks with me more for her book Creative Correction, which I have checked out of our church library on more than one occasion. And I had every intention of buying that book Friday night. Had it in my hands even.

But then I found this little gem that had my name all over it.



The timing of finding this book is just perfect. Last week I attended a BSF seminar called Personal Quiet Time. I do not wing it in my time with God. I need structure, so I use devotionals, my BSF materials or the study guides for preparing to teach Sunday school.

But, when I grow up, I'd like to do my quiet time like my mother-in-law does... with just a Bible, a notebook and a pen. Oh, and some quiet time. I'd need that first and foremost.

And this next one snuck up on me.



I had the Creative Correction book in my paws, ready for purchase. But then I saw the one on wisdom and I thought, "I can certainly use a little more of that!" Well, I can actually use a LOT more of wisdom, but let's not quibble about the details.

I love this book because it has 52 sections... one for each week of the year. I can stretch a little wisdom across the whole year. And maybe at the end of the year I'll have absorbed it well.

There were so many other great musicians and speakers there, but like I said, I'm still digesting.

Mandisa blew me out of the water. And I love the following song.



I just gave Bruce a very strong hint that on Mother's Day, I'd very much like to receive her CD.

It's a doggone good thing I gave that hint, too, because his response was, "Oh yeah. When is that?"

I can't fault him for not knowing. He's stunned right now. He's spent the better part of the last 24 hours alone with three kids, having two baseball games and a batting practice session to attend, a toilet seat that needs fixing, and a lawn that needed mowing.

Where To Go?

Next year is our 15th anniversary.

It just so happens that our happy occassion coincides with the year that Bruce gets an additional week of vacation as part of his benefits at work. I'm thinking we should put two and two together and see what we can do with that extra week of vacation. So I have a survey of sorts for you.

Where should we go? Throw out some places for me. I'm stumped.

Only one stipulation: No cruises. We've never gone on one, but neither of us really feels like that's a loss either.

Thankful Thursday - Meds

This past Monday I called our pediatrician because Clay's allergies are no longer manageable with Claritin and Benadryl. His eyes are terribly irritated and the redness and extreme swelling looks hideous and painful.

I am so thankful today for our pediatrician. He knows Clay's history with allergies. He had prescribed Patanol last year, but I never filled it because the allergies weren't as bad last year, and the prescription expired. This year when I called, Dr. Mitoraj called a prescription in to the pharmacy without us having to schedule an appointment. (That in and of itself is a huge blessing because I take all three kids nearly every visit. It's a bit much, especially around the time that lollipops are handed out.)

Clay is our notoriously terrible medicine taker. But he has adapted to these eye drops like a champ.

And while you can do the drops twice a day, so far we've only had to do it once a day. If things continue to worsen, we still have some wiggle room before taking this allergy thing one step further.

This week, my oldest has been bright eyed and not bleary eyed. It's quite a sight. He looks as handsome as can be in this Momma's eyes.