Tidbits: Unexpected

• Friday afternoon, Walker and I sat in traffic on the interstate. We'd been to two hospitals to visit a friend. (She was actually in the second one.) Hurrying to make it back from Dallas in time to pick up kids from school, we found the drive slower than expected. We were stuck at 3:40 on a weekday afternoon behind two street sweepers and the a third truck flashing lights to announce that work vehicles. Walker scooted as far to the right as possible since the street sweepers were working away on the inside emergency lane. Only to find traffic grinding to a halt mere minutes from Pleasant Suburb. We sat there watching with absolute incredulity (and maybe a little laughter) as the street sweepers passed us, and then cut over to cruise a car length or two ahead while the traffic lanes on the left began to zip past at speeds effectively trapping Walker's Mom Mobile in the slow lane. That was definitely a first.
• Saturday, the mister and I headed back south on the same highway. We drove for hours, and were rewarded with hugs from The Boy. He is finished with his orientation period, and has settled into his new dorm. Sometime in the weeks since we saw him last, he has grown again. The Boy is taller than I am. And I did not know. (Of all the things to be struck sad over, this is probably an odd one, but emotions are sometimes funny things.) He has also learned that the timing of his transfer to the new school was really, really bad. He missed his midterms, and he has now lost all credit for the first half of his sophomore year in high school. He will make it up, but it will slow his plans to complete his high school diploma ahead of his original 2013 graduation date. He is hopeful, and it is hope that will see him whatever curve balls are thrown at him.
• Temperatures were in the 70's over the weekend. It was glorious, but there really was little time to spend outdoors enjoying the warmth and sunshine. Later today, temperatures will begin a descent into the teens that is forecast through Thursday. It will be colder in Pleasant Suburb, Texas than it will be in Poland this week.

Stuff Moms Say: Friendship

Last week, the words, "Absolutely! I'm always in if you want to celebrate!" were said in response to a phone call about a joint birthday celebration. Yes, please do call when there's a new baby to welcome, a wedding to attend, or simply the chance to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee. These are not the only calls that come, though.
Mother used to refer to what she called, "fair-weather friends," and she used the term like a curse word. Not knowing what they meant, but wanting to not be whatever it was, I eventually asked her to define this Very Bad Thing. She explained that there will be people who be happy to walk alongside one as long as everything in life is good, but who will either run screaming or quietly disappear when Trouble comes knocking.
Trouble is a fairly consistent party crasher, too. As much pleasure as there is in celebrating with people, my hope is not simply to be invited to all the best parties, but to also be the friend who gets the call, text, e-mail, Facebook message, blog comment, or opens the front door to find the friend who is being tossed about a little by one of life's storms. Because that's when one truly needs a friend. So, not to be a permanent addition to the Guest List, but to be on the call list when Life Hands You Lemons is the sort of friend I want to be, but also the sort of friendships I hope to build.
This reminder is not born solely out of thoughts of the friend slated for a hospital visit today, or the friends who will be waiting in the reception line at the funeral home tonight, or the one who will text about her husband's chemo tolerance. Neither am I necessarily thinking of the one whose daughter will be baptized Sunday, or even the one driving her child to an early college interview this morning. None of them are far from my heart and prayers, but today I'm feeling a smidge selfish. All these thoughts on friendship are crystal clear because of the ones who don't bat an eyelash when I call them up last minute and ask for a ride to and from a medical appointment that precludes driving myself and turns their schedules topsy-turvy. My mother's mother used to have a saying or two about friends as well. The one that comes to mind today is, "To have a friend, first be one!"

Ongoing

I am waiting. (Again.) Diagnosed with pediatric Thyroid Cancer twenty years ago, I take thyroid replacement hormone in an effort to prevent any regrowth of the cancerous thyroid tissue decimated in the 90's by surgery and subsequent radiation therapy. Sometimes, cancers recur. Having just failed a lab test, I'm going in to see the endocrinologist today to see if regrowth might be the issue causing the lab results. If there is a recurrence of the previously cured cancer, it would be helpful to know sooner rather than later. If not, then it would be equally good to get the labs back in line quickly since my hormones are out of control at the moment causing everything from insomnia to acne. While not exactly blase, I'm not particularly freaked out either. Thyroid cancer is easily treatable, and my immunologist and I both had the same comment in regard to the possibility signalled by the blood work results, "Well, that's got potential to be inconvenient with the travel schedule to and from Honduras." Hardly something to fret over, friends, and lovely that this doctor completely gets my priorities and helps make it possible to live life rather than simply preserve it.

Unlikely

Finally! I've missed the weekly and biweekly scheduled volunteer shifts at the children's shelter and the after school program immensely over the Christmas break and then the extended vacation from volunteerism with snow days, days off of school, and other opportunities for the  organizations to givew their volunteers a day off. Last week, it was good to be back at the shelter for children who have needed an emergency removal from abusive situations, and this week saw the return to helping with homework and hanging out over at Neighbor 2 Neighbor on the east side of Pleasant Suburb.
Making the drive over, it was good to be headed back to the apartment complex where the program ministers. Pulling into a parking space, I was watching for familiar faces. Sure enough K. came across the parking lot as I got out. "Hey! What're you doin' here?!" was the greeting. "I came to hang out and help with homework. What about you?" was my response in a similarly confrontational tone. K.'s answering smile made my day. He informed me that he was glad I was there. That made two of us.
K. was reading a chapter book based on a t.v. show today. That's big improvement over last semester when he was still reading simpler stories. We talked about the book and discussed whether or not we had ever eaten, "tapenade". (I had not, but since it's made with olives I theorized that it was salty. He had not either, but he thought it sounded sweet.) Eventually, he got up and left with his friends.
I know it's good to rest. To take a break from time to time. I'm also entirely thrilled to be back to our regular routine.

Tickets

The plane tickets to take us from the U.S. to Central America were easily purchased on the airline's web site that was available in both English and Spanish. No problemo. Today, it was time to place the order for the flight on a smaller regional carrier online. The web site was solely in Spanish. Despite the generally universal information needed for booking a flight (names, passport numbers, dates, destinations, and valid payment information), it was a puzzle to work through determining exactly which blanks were for what. We wanted to fly from La Ceiba to Puerto Lempira, and not the other way around, after all. I copied the screen and e-mailed it to Laura who said it looked good. Except that the screen had timed out.

I reentered the information requested, at least that was the intent while calling the credit card company to be sure the unusual charge would be approved. (Credit card companies get kind of paranoid about "unusual charges" involving international travel.) The card representative got off the phone just in time for me to send the information completing the purchase. Except that I pushed the wrong button because I didn't know which button said what and just deleted the whole thing. Grrr. Reentering all the information for a third time, I hit the correct button to process the desired transaction only to have the purchase received by our credit card issuer and declined.
While the mister looked up assorted unknown words in an online translator just to be sure the right information was being given, and I redialed the credit card company while entering the desired flight reservation once more. This time everything went perfectly. The information was entered correctly, the transaction approved, and our confirmation printed in anticipation of the trip in three more weeks. These small hurdles feel like great leaps as I stumble along gaining experience with travel. Hopefully, the light at the end of the tunnel is a warm, tropical sun... and not the glare of airport fluorescent lighting in the wrong place at the wrong time!

Yoga

It was 18 degrees outside this morning. Walker suggested that we try a yoga dvd inside. With the heater on. There was instant agreement. Having slept in sweats last night, it was a simple enough thing to roll out of bed workout ready. Walker had a pair of bright yoga mats unrolled across the living room rug and the coffee table out of the way. She was failing to make the dvd work with the "intuitive" remote, and I was trying to stuff down the trepidation over trying to embrace a workout that involved something more complex than walking.
Artist wandered out of her bedroom and studied us momentarily before issuing the warning that her friend was coming over. (Goody. An audience, or maybe people to call 911...) Artist explained to Walker how to work the t.v. patiently (Seriously, Middle Child just takes the remote away from me and pushes the appropriate buttons to make Evil Electronics work in similar circumstances.), and we eventually had three women (in better shape than us) confronting us from the screen. I started to laugh while Walker and Jillian Michaels both pointed out the lady who would be doing the less painful beginner movements and poses. Of course, the poses have sometimes silly names which failed to diminish the urge to laugh.

Jillian, Walker, Beginner Lady, and More Advanced Lady all assumed the opening pose and inhaled. I tried. The attempted seriousness just led to laughter. The poses led to even more laughter. There was potential for hysteria when the poses were coupled with their names. Artist's friend arrived while Walker and I had our middle-aged behinds pointed skyward and Jillian blathered on about camels or dogs and encouraged us to keep breathing. Artist quietly informed her friend that I'd been laughing the whole time as they passed through. That, of course, struck me as funny.

Walker continued to follow Jillian and the Wonder Twins through the workout. Sometimes I figured out what they were doing before they were all done with it. I eventually quit laughing after a sharp pain radiated from my lower back in response to one of the suddenly less funny poses. Ow. I looked over at Walker and remarked that it was going to be kind of pathetic to have thrown my back out doing the Level 1 Yoga workout. (What the heck do they do at Level 2 anyway?!) She nodded in sympathy and managed to simultaneously keep thrusting her leg into the air in time to her breathing.
After our experimental workout, Walker mentioned that Half Price Books might have a copy of the yoga dvd. Then I could do yoga at my house, too. Mmmph. I thought about the assorted movements and poses. Then I reconsidered them from the male perspective since my mister works from home. Mmm. No. The only way I could see yoga at home being helpful would be if we were trying to get pregnant.

Scary

Today was my day at the children's emergency shelter. My new friend and I flew a Big Batman doll action figure around the room. When asked where we were flying Big Batman to exactly, Little Guy pointed to a Little Batman doll  action figure across the room explaining that Big Batman was the Dad flying to see his son Little Batman at the shelter. Upon arrival, Little Batman flung visiting Dad Batman across the room into a window. Then Little Guy handed me a toy phone explaining that I could, "talk to his Mom... she's real nice." (Where is a play therapist when you need one?) It will be very easy to keep Little Guy, and his Big Batman and Real Nice Mom in my prayers in the days to come, but for today it was enough to simply play with my new friend and to hear him explain how one dealt with scary things over milk and graham crackers. Apparently, being a super hero makes stuff like Zombie Parties manageable. (We didn't get into exactly how much experience LG has with actual Zombie Parties.) The hours at the shelter flew by, and the final half hour was spent stretched out on the floor working a dinosaur puzzle with the shift ending far too soon today.

Motions

It will all work out in the kitchen. The processes of gathering the odds and ends and putting the ingredients together to create something are soothing. Fortunately, there is almost always an activity waiting to busy the hands while the mind chases down rabbit trails and wrestles with the often not-so-fuzzy bunnies to be found along the way. The process of food preparation is soothing, the art of combining ingredients and arranging plates resonates with the need to create, and hunger is cyclic guaranteeing endless opportunity.
The large trays are slapped out onto the counter followed by the packages of meat, cheese, and the bakery boxes. Glaring at the knife, the croissants fall victim to the thoughts rattling about in my head. The thoughts heave and roil, but I am going forward making dozens and dozens of sandwiches for the hundreds who will gather today. The process allows for taking out my unnamed emotions on the hapless meat, cheese, and bread combinations until the trays are piled too high for a lid to fit over them and Little Bit is begging for a ride to school before the tardy bell catches her out.
Sliding the trays into the fridge until this afternoon's memorial service, I reach for the keys the fourth grader has helpfully found. In yesterday's shirt, fuzzy socks with a pair of flats that were located in the kitchen, and a pair of sweats (from the furthest possible color family from the shirt) we stand by the car where my mismatched attire only registers as a neighbor drives by staring. We drive to the school where Erin confirms that she will be picked up early today and that her fractions homework is on her iPod ready to work on while the adults congregate at the church. She specifies which clothes she wants brought for skating (since there may not be time to come home and change before practice and her lesson tonight), and then she's off.
On the drive home, I pray. Turning into our neighborhood the stray thought invades that there was a time when the idea of praying for an hour was a serious discipline that I questioned--- wondering if it would be likely to become repetitive to pray for so long. Today that errant thought brings a sharp, barking cough of ironic laughter. Stuffing down the direction of the thoughts that threaten escape along those lines, I am back to the list of Prayer Requests. Running through them with hope, amusement, sadness, and the various emotions that embellish such prayers, until I reach the house where it's time to turn around again to take Middle Child and her science fair project to school.
Eventually, the activity of the morning slows temporarily. The kids off to school, the mister at work, and the food for this afternoon ready to go means there's no huge rush this morning despite a list of errands to run. Moving a load of laundry into the dryer, I head upstairs to knock out a few miles on the elliptical. After a few minutes and a single mile, I give up and head for the shower. There is no peace in this activity, and the to-do list of minor tasks to be ready for the memorial beckons relentlessly despite plenty of time.
Once in the shower, it all comes undone. The desire to celebrate a life well lived gives way in that private moment to the overwhelming loss of that rare breed: a truly great man. The normalcy of the morning is offensive in light of this loss. We were not created for this, and today I feel it keenly. The tears are not cathartic. This is no more than the tip of the iceberg, and I sense that there's far more grief waiting jagged and irregular below the otherwise calm surface; however, I step out of the shower to dry myself and the tears simultaneously in order to get on with all that needs doing today.

Whoopsie

Frequently, I feel smug reading the little blog posts that pop up in my home page's features about substituting high-fat,-sodium, -calorie, or chemically creepy foods with better-for-you choices. That smugness presages an obvious conclusion. Pride comes before a fall. Always. Into that same browser that so often says lovely things about dietary choices, the words calories+sunflower+seed+kernels was typed with the expectation that there would be happiness galore in the nutritional news. Selecting a known and trusted nutritional info entity to answer the query regarding the latest favorite snack was quick enough. The window opened, and after a moment of shocked silence the howling began.
Those tiny, yummy kernels have been mindlessly popped down my gullet for several days a half cup or a cup at a time thinking that they are chock full o' wholesome things like fiber and protein. They're good-for-you. It's not like inhaling cheesecake. Because cheesecake would've saved some calories. Sunflower seed kernels have 745 calories per cup. And I've definitely consumed a minimum of 5 cups over the past couple of days. One pound = 3,500 calories. I thought the scale was off this morning, but, no. It was the sunflower seeds. For the record: it was so not worth it.
But. If you're ever in the market to put on a few pounds quickly: Sunflower Seeds. Now you know.

Recipe

This morning was spent in the kitchen knowing that tomorrow is going to be hectic with a memorial service, kids back in school, the middle school science fair projects due, and both girls' skating lessons. A batch of bulk sausage browned for a breakfast casserole. Another batch browned with Rosemary, Basil, Oregano, and Black Pepper for a quick pasta sauce tomorrow. Finally, a pound of ground beef browned with green and red bell peppers, dried onion, oregano, and garlic. The breakfast sausage was sprinkled over slices of buttered bread in a foil baking pan. The hamburger was divided into a batch to mix with the Italian seasoned sausage and another tossed into the open mouth of the crock pot. The breakfast casserole was sprinkled with cheese, black pepper, and a creamy egg mixture was poured over the top before the pan was covered with first a sheet of foil and then a plastic lid that featured quickly scrawled baking instructions in black Sharpie. The breakfast casserole occupied a shelf in the fridge until time to deliver it to friends later, and it was back to the sausage and beef mixture with the Italian seasonings which were also to be sealed away in the fridge until needed. Finally, the crock pot received the makings of tortilla soup to go with the remaining seasoned beef. A sprinkle of chili powder and cumin finished off the soup for our lunch. Whew.

Erin wandered down into the kitchen shortly after the multi-meal prep fest was cleaned up. She had her homework assignment in hand, and pointed to the reading assignment for the week. Eh? Really... She needs a family recipe that she can write down. Then she is to follow the recipe to actually make the dish. A parent is to sign off on this specifying whether Erin made the dish from the recipe on her own or with help. Well, of course. So we made dessert.

Red

The Little Black Dress that hangs quietly in the closet in reserve as a go-to for all occasions is still on its hanger. Unfortunately, it does not fit. It was the immediate answer to the silly last-minute wardrobe panic over the mister's work party, but it was too big through everywhere. So, I ended up wearing too-big pants held in place by a mismatched belt under a tank that looked bulky thanks to the bunching of the pants underneath. Ugh. 

Unfortunately, that same little go-to dress was what I had been planning on wearing to a memorial service next week. It clicked this morning that it would not fit any better now than it did two weeks ago, and paper bag waist pants should always be a fashion no-no. The opportunity to go along with Lisa and her lovely infant daughter in search of clothing that suited both the occasion and Lisa's Mom's (the widow's) wishes presented an opportunity to avoid another unpleasant last minute "What to Wear?!" scenario. We quickly found comfortable, pretty frocks to suit Lisa and Whit, but the only thing I saw with any real appeal was a deep red dress. 

Red. For a funeral? Really?! Well, actually the widow is wearing red. She has also requested that the family not all wear black, and Lisa's family has chosen to go with gray, black, and pink. The memorial service for Ralph is to be a true celebration of his life. This in no way detracts from the mourning of those who miss him dearly. It just puts a proper face on the reality that we believe that Ralph's work here is done, and there is a place in Heaven reserved for our friend. If the widow is wearing red, then I shall wear red, too.

Schooldays

The Boy will miss our next trip to Honduras, but it's not really his cup of tea anyway. He will be staying behind, and likely worrying. (Never mind that we've told him again and again that there's no need to worry when he can pray.) He phoned last night to say that he will not be moving to his new digs yet. He hopes to have some idea on Friday, but the bureaucratic process could still see another schedule change. His Moving Day will likely come with little warning for him (and less for us), but it will be good when he is finished with his orientation and able to concentrate on his program and working toward a possible early high school graduation.
He's not the only one getting back into the swing of things at school in the next couple of weeks. Reach Out Honduras has seen the first eight children sponsored, and Laura is hopping to get children ready for school. The matriculation fees are due in a couple of weeks, and it's exciting to know that there are students who would have been unable to attend high school this year without the gifts of both their sponsors and those who have donated through the education fund over the past couple of months are readying uniforms and looking forward to their First Day of School.
Our family will arrive the day before school starts. It would have been fun to help Laura gather and distribute the school clothes and supplies, but it will be satisfying to be in Puerto Lempira as the students head back to class knowing we have had the privilege of playing a small role in their futures. Of the twenty-plus children receiving the combined care of four dedicated aunts (that number includes the aunts' own children as well), three will begin high school this year. Hopefully, next term will see Reach Out Honduras established to a point where all the high school candidates will become matriculating students.

Tidbits: Brrr.

• Warning: Knit gloves can become entangled in orthodontia. Should one's gloves become caught in one's brackets, seek a mother out immediately. She can probably fix it, and if you plead the photos won't be posted to Facebook or her blog.
• Cinnamon Vanilla Pancakes eaten while still in one's pajamas snug in a nice, warm kitchen looking out the window at the night's snow accumulation may be a perfect breakfast.
• The weather may be affecting Middle Child's hunt for a Science Fair Project on the net. (Her original project "...had too many variables,", and she messed around too long to be able to complete it.) Most of her ideas center around snow and ice. I wonder if the Home School population is skewing the online results by searching for science projects with ice/snow today?
• If the back door is left wide open, the heater cannot keep up. I do not care if, "Bella [the cat] wanted to go outside."

Picture Post: Powder

We drove to church this morning in a steady rain. By the time the final service let out, there were fat, white flakes of powdery goodness piled up on the ground and the cars. The drive home was a little slick, but it's been nonstop fun since!

 



Mom has really bad aim.

Little Bit

Middle Child

This expression accompanies smashing a pile of snow on her sister's head.

 



Fuel

Whirlwind day... that started at 3:00 a.m. There were good reasons for the wee hours wake-up call. In Texas, a forecast that so much as hints of snow or rain causes a run on the grocery for milk and bread. Those two items were at the top of my grocery list, so I rolled out of bed to shower and dress at dark o'clock. Running to the 24 hour market while the mister showered knowing that I prefer not to slide around on the roads drive in potentially icy conditions meant a cart full of the odds and ends that would make meals out of the sundry items in the pantry. Stops on the way home saw the car filled up with gas and donuts for the girls' breakfast in our absence. Finally, the car pulled up at home to unload the groceries and hit the road while the sky was still dark.
While saner people were snoozing snug in their beds, the two of us followed one highway until it met another taking us south. I pulled up our son's new address on my phone and watched as the blue dot that was our vehicle move in slow blips toward the red dot in it's unfamiliar location. Just after 9:00, we were sharing hugs with our Boy for the first time since December. The two hour visit passed quickly, and we departed too soon freeing up space for other visitors shuffling into the sterility of the communal space. We were fortunate to see him because he expects to move from his orientation on to a new location anytime after Tuesday. Again the reality of the unknown with the bonus of a roadside stop involving a sodium-soaked chicken sandwich with a side of greasy tater tots. And an ice cream cone.
Freed up from the tyranny of the grocery list (and a little sorry about the lunch choices and the leftover donut eaten on returning home before topping it off with a taste of ), a nap was in order once we made it back home. The mister nudged me back into consciousness just after 5:00 in the evening. Which was great, except that I had a meal to deliver between 5:30 and 6:00 for our recently bereaved friends, and the manicotti needed to bake for 45 minutes. Rushing down the stairs to pop the stuffed pasta shells into the oven, it was a race to get the salad fixings washed and prepped. Tossing everything into a bowl, the sudden knowledge of an item left off the grocery list carried the mister out the door while the crazed veggie slicing continued. He came through the door in time for the bread to go in the oven while the mozzarella slices were layered with the tomatoes sprinkled liberally with basil. The (teasing) text came across at 5 after 6:00, "Where's our food?"
I called Lisa to inform her that her food was coming on Holly Time. Explaining about how the family's dinner fell behind because I was napping in the Land That Time Forgot, I promised we would be there soon. Only to realize there was no dessert. "Um. How important is dessert?" She informed me that someone making a condolence call had just dropped off the mother of all goody trays from a local bakery. Perfect. The dinner could be there in about ten minutes since there was no stopping to pick up a ready-made treat to top off the meal. Don and I drove over together since he had yet to make his condolence call.
We'd covered hundreds of miles to love on those dear to us over the course of the day. On our way home, the low fuel light lit up. We covered over 300 miles in the space of 13 hours seeing the sun rise from inside the car and remarking on the clouds coming in as it set with the pair of us again going down the road away from home. The car was running on fumes, but we were far from running on empty considering the blessing of so many loved ones with which we share our lives.

Attending

It was going okay until she said, "This morning, Ralph said..." Because she won't be able to say that ever again. Tammy was referring to her husband. I stood on the screened porch staring at nothing while Tammy, those family members who live in town, Tammy and Ralph's pastor, several ladies (who are more sisters than friends to the newly bereaved), and two little children playing on the floor waited for the Medical Examiner to conduct the necessary business inside the house.  The memorial service will wait for January 18th at 2:00 p.m. It will no doubt be well attended because there is much to celebrate when considering the life of Ralph Adler.
Gentle Readers may recall that the Spring of 2008 was spent in preparation for a prayer team to travel to Poland, and that the team faced an unexpected challenge. Missionary to Poland Shelley (ShelleyinPoland) and short-term team member Lisa's father became gravely ill that March. There were huge prayer chains formed via e-mail across the globe to pray for Ralph, and for his family. Months later, when he returned home, I took a scrapbook documenting the months of his illness and recovery with the prayers of individuals pasted into a book along with the faithful updates sent out by Tammy. That book was a testimony to the power of prayer, but it was a small thing compared to the impact of the man who mentored countless men including my mister. Steve Lucas put it well today saying, "The world has become poorer, and Heaven richer."

Having been part of a team praying for Ralph, a team including two of his daughters praying for Poland, and a smaller team praying for Ralph's daughter Lisa to be blessed with a child, I contemplate an image of Ralph holding the hand of that daughter shortly before the birth of his granddaughter. It is an image that speaks of faith and the power of prayer, and of the legacy of a man who loved God and others.

May, 2010

Tech No

In my mind there exists a line that cannot be crossed. The line between those with technical skills and those without such. Feet firmly planted on the "without" side, I tend to peer over into the realm of the technically adept with something between awe and frustration. Frustration because those like my mister make it look very easy to navigate through the strings of gobbledy gook referred to as code. Except that there are occasionally incentives that push me over the line by a hair's breadth.
A hair's breadth that feels like a mile to the inept. (That would be me.) Except that Laura had a teensy break with reality today. More importantly, she knows the key to motivating this particular stubborn, technologically illiterate individual into at least trying. The Sponsorship Page  through Reach Out Honduras did not reflect the latest new sponsors, and our links were not gong to the proper places. This seems like a big thing in my head. (Likely a bigger thing than it truly is, but in my mind there are dozens of potential sponsors cruising the page trying to determine which child... and we're not up to date! Um, yeah. I know. But, still...) My mister has access to the web site, and Laura suggested that I, "...just make the changes. If you are okay with that..."
Waaah. I do not know how. There is no way. As the wails reached a new high, my mister e-mails me a link. He then tells me to click on the link with a misplaced calm rationality. (Perhaps he does not grasp the futility of me + code?!) Then he directs me to a side bar where I click on "Pages". Oh. The page is a blog. Really?! I make the changes. I click "Update", then feel foolish for freaking out. Pshaw. Ditching foolish, I am feeling remarkably technologically literate. Literate enough that I agree when the crazy lady asks for several other changes to the website. And I think I can. If not, I will learn.

Request

Ah, it's a funny thing how one can come to feel a camaraderie with those whose worlds are given view through the words, photos, and videos shared on blogs without ever having met. Having followed the ups and downs of Green Girl's Team Testosterone over the past couple of years, it is with hope that news of another trial to take her Mr. T off his anti-seizure meds is received. Perhaps this is the time, and so, I will pray. Absolutely. Resolutely.

Tidbits: Yay

• Hello, 2011! This year is off to a lovely start. The offspring are all back in school, but my mister had one more day off today. This was brilliant, and we should try to schedule this sort of thing on purpose in the future. It's a welcome change to hug the man without Middle Child informing us that we should, "Get a room! Ew." Really. We have a room. In fact, she lives in the string of rooms we call our house. So there.
• Green Girl's January Giveaway has resulted in the likelihood that I will be getting to know the mail lady better. GG's posts last week offered a combination of homemade goodies for her giveaway. The trifecta of mitts, raspberry jam, good-for-you granola will be headed this way, and the anticipation is entirely enjoyable. Last week's comments on her posts were, ah, well, mostly about the giveaway goodies. See, I can focus when it's really important.
• The list of Stuff to Take to Honduras is starting to form. The pile of stuff on my dining room table is also forming in response. Hopefully, we will be carrying audio Bibles in Miskito, dehydrated vegetables to supplement our friends' diets, a DS charger and styluses for a friend of Middle Child's, and the fourth season of the t.v. show Seventh Heaven. One can only imagine what else will be added on to the packing list in the weeks to come.
• Firefly is on Ovation tonight. Who would've thought a Western Space epic would be a good idea? Only Joss Whedon.

Wardrobe

I panicked. The Little Navy Dress (LND) went back to the store in a New Year's Day flurry brought on by the news that two of the three wives from last year's party were possibly wearing pants. (I would be the third wife. And I had not really considered pants.) Except that my dress pants no longer fit quite right. The not-dressy Little Black Dress that seemed like an easy go-to solution to the oh.but.no of this unexpected last minute "What to wear?" was also too big. The weight lost (yes, people, lost...) over the holidays was seeming like less of a good thing with under five hours to go until the mister's work party started, and nothing to wear but jeans or sweats.
Asking, well, melodramatically howling might be more accurate, "Why, oh, why isn't flannel dressy?!" in the midst of the hunt for something (anything) that fit, it became abundantly clear that we had been hasty in our drive over to drop off clothes at a local charity because everything tried on should have gone into the give away bag. Ugh.  Again whining about the dressy occasion that had been a Happy Place a couple of weeks ago, the reality that we were going shopping set in with a sinking sort of dread. Again with the, "Ugh." Grabbing keys, the LND and matching accessories with receipts for returns, the mister and I tore out of the house.
After hitting a succession of shops, the mister and I finally gave up on finding something that matched the texted description of dressing, "...nice, but not a cocktail dress," and "...either pants or a dress depending on which looks better." We headed home empty-handed with the certainty that we had exhausted our options. The dress pants that were a little snug earlier in the Fall were threatening to fall off, but that's what belts are for, right? We made it out the door, and headed for the destination with insistence that we were not going to fret further over the wardrobe dramas of the day, but would instead focus on enjoying a wonderful meal with a nice group of people. Attitude adjusted, and pants hiked up, we entered the restaurant.
Where all of the other wives were wearing... cocktail dresses. *sigh*