No, this is not turning into a cooking blog.

However, my wonderful, darling husband served this up for dinner. There's nothing sexier than a man who can cook ... cook well ... and even serve your plate. I love that man. 

Now, before you think I just sat on my butt, while he served me, think again. I did cook the rice and the asparagus.

Other things:

* My girls have discovered that they love the game of charades. However, La Petite Belle is challenged in the "sounds like" aspect of the game. For "Andy Griffith," she acted out "Cherry Ship," as a sounds like. Ummm .... no, not close. We have played charades, or "shu-reds," as she calls it, two nights in a row.

* In a month, my oldest daughter will be 12. What?!? How does someone of my age (cough) have a 12-year-old?

* A little advice: Don't allow your husband to have access to your Netflix account. Stupid movies will suddenly appear in your queue.

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" will arrive today. I am quite wary of this movie, knowing the whole unbelievable premise and all, but will give it a shot. And, Brad Pitt ... I'm not a fan. But, Cate Blanchett, I absolutely love.

* I ran a little over 3 miles last night and it was actually the first time I think I could have gone 4 miles. I think it was due to the cool weather after the thunderstorm we had. Needless to say, I didn't because it was almost 8:30 and dark. Running in the dark is not cool.

* K Belle is headed to see Demi Lovato tomorrow with a friend. If you have daughters, you know who she is ... another one of Disney's superstars. David Archuleta is with her. When I asked La Petite Belle if she wanted me to get tickets for she and I to go, she said, "Nah. I don't really want to go." Thank you, Lord.

* My daughters have informed me that my newest bathing suit is inappropriate. I have taught you well, young daughters. (Obviously this suit will have to become a private sunbathing one.)

* One of the greatest things about summer ... watermelon. I crave it. Can't get enough of it. In fact, I think I'll get some now.

Happy Tuesday!

I'm disgusted.

Strange how my mental state can change from one minute to the next.

One minute, I feel totally fine about me. In the next minute, I am totally disgusted with myself.

I hate it.

I am my own worst enemy.

I hate so many things about myself. 

And, the world we live in doesn't help. Women, we are bombarded by images and ideals that we can never live up to.

I can spend a whole day in torment ... my mind speaking things like, "you are so fat," "you're disgusting," "your friends don't really like you," "you will never be pretty enough," "you will never be good enough," "there are so many people better than you at so many things," ... the list goes on.

This is common. If you've spent any time here, you know that. Don't worry. I'm used to it.

But, I still hate it. I don't want to have these thoughts.

Last week, as I was praying, I cried.

I cried because of how I break the heart of my Lord, my God, every single time I do this.

Every single complaint I have about myself ... His creation, His daughter, His treasure ... breaks the heart of my Father.

I felt the pain that He must feel, when He spoke ... "How would you feel if your daughters felt this way about themselves? How would you feel if your daughters said such horrible things about themselves?"

Answer ... it would kill me.

What would I say to them? I would say, "How dare you say that about yourself? You are beautiful, created by God, designed for His purpose." I would want to hold them and love on them and make them understand the extent of their worth.

I'm trying, Lord. I really am. Just when I think, I've got it down, those thoughts rear their ugly, little heads.

Thank you, God, that You love every inch of me.

And, I pray that my daughters will know who they are in Christ and will never doubt their worth, identity, or calling. May they be strong, confident women of God, never wavering in their faith and in the Truth.

(Disclaimer: These are my thoughts. This is my therapy. Don't you dare say something about how beautiful I am. That's not what this is about. It's just something I'm always working through and I hope it helps to know you're not alone.)

Pie is from God.

Feast your eyes on just one of the delightful dishes I slaved over for my precious husband for Father's Day.

Pie made with fresh blueberries picked by K Belle herself.

Served only after steak, delicately rubbed with spices, and cooked in butter & olive oil in a cast-iron skillet, then, creamy garlic mashed potatoes, & salad because we're watching our weight.

Did I mention the pie was topped with Breyer's ALL-NATURAL vanilla ice cream? "All-natural" ... that's synonymous with health.

Dang, I'm good.

OK, stop your begging. Here's the recipe.

The Best Blueberry Pie I've Ever Tasted

(from Recipe Zaar)

5 cups fresh blueberries
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 (15 ounce) package refrigerated pie crusts
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon sugar

Sprinkle berries with lemon juice; set aside. Fit half of pastry in a 9-inch pieplate according to package directions. Combine 1 cup sugar and next 3 ingredients; add to berries, stirring well. Pour into pastry shell, and dot with butter. Unfold remaining pastry on a lightly floured surface; roll gently with rolling pin to remove creases in pastry. Place pastry over filling; seal and crimp edges. Cut slits in top of crust to allow steam to escape. Brush top of pastry with beaten egg, and sprinkle with 1 teaspoon sugar. Bake at 400° for 35 minutes or until golden.
Cover edges with aluminum foil to prevent overbrowning, if necessary.
Serve with vanilla ice cream, if desired.

(I would add another 1/2 cup of flour to make the center a little less runny.)

You're welcome.

If I Were a Flower ...

I would be one of the stinkin' rose bushes out of my flowerbed. These babies are so strong and deep-rooted that nothing I do will or can kill them. Believe me, I've tried ... the electric hedge trimmers won't even do it.

If I were a song, I would be Kari Jobe's, "You Are For Me."

If I were a movie, I would be "Gone With the Wind." (no question about that one)

If I were a place, I would be a charming cottage in Nantucket, which beat out Italian villa and Old English cottage by a hair.

If I were a book, I would be Max Lucado's, "Next Door Savior." Seriously. One of the only books that I cried through. He is really that close ... even closer.

If I were a holiday, I would be Christmas Eve.

If I were a time of day, I would be sunset.

If I were a drink, I would be a skinny (yeah, you know it) cinnamon (spicy) dolce latte with no whip (who wants fluff?) and an extra shot (energetic, baby).

If I were a food, I would be a Deano's Cajun Executioner pizza (ice cream, a close second).

This pic is only half Cajun Executioner, but close enough.

If I were a gadget, I would be Beau's iphone.

If I were a piece of clothing, I would be the little black dress. Always in style no matter what.

If I were a shoe, I would be these Jessica Simpson red beauties. Every woman NEEDS a pair of red heels. Just sayin'.

Thanks, Lula.

How 'bout you?

The Day the Fish Died

Last Friday, we had some kinda morning.

Remember these guys?

All, but two are dead. And, one is now mentally-challenged.

And, no, we don't keep them in a Rubbermaid container. 

They only live there temporarily when this is getting cleaned:

I awoke Friday morning to a panicked Beau. I heard him from downstairs saying something about all the fish being dead. 

Let me say, first-off, that the fish and pond are Beau and La Petite Belle's thing. I am not involved. I do not get attached to fish that may die on any given day. K Belle is more or less like me. It's their thing. They take care of it all. La Petite Belle holds the fish, talks to the fish, pets the fish. They have named the fish and we've had these fish for about two years. They were quite attached.

La Petite Belle heard this bit of information, proceeded to cry, and ran down the stairs. Lots of wailing ensued. 

My statement to Beau at this time, being the sensitive one I am, was, "You killed the $20 koi too?" (that I bought for his birthday)

Le Petite Belle's favorite fish, Lil' Miss, was also dead.

I headed upstairs to continue to get the girls ready for camp, which they needed to leave for in half-an-hour. I dressed and consoled La Petite Belle and told her we'd get new fish.

Beau called up to me, "What am I supposed to do with the fish? Put them down the garbage disposal?"

WHAT?!?

I said, "No. Absolutely not. Wrap them in trash bags and throw them in the garbage. Double-bag them." The thought of putting the fish down the garbage disposal was first, disgusting, and second, would  be devastating to La Petite Belle.

A little while later, I heard the garbage disposal. I thought, of course he's not putting them down there against my better wishes.

He was.

And in the process of doing this deed, one of the pipes for the disposal came unattached and water sprayed all over the kitchen.

I didn't say, "I told you so." I said, "I told you not to do that."

In order to dry out the cabinet under the sink, Beau left the cabinet doors open.

About two minutes later, La Petite Belle was alone in the kitchen, doing the only logical thing short people do when they need a glass ... I have experience with this ... hopping up on the cabinet counter to get one.

When she hopped back down, the back of her leg hit the corner of the open cabinet door and cut and bruised her leg like you would not believe. We thought she might need stitches, but it turned out OK, after we took her to the church camp nurse. 

Look.

All in all, everyone is recovering.

And we are proud to welcome two new members to our family: King Arthur and Baby Carrot or Russell (La Petite Belle's torn between the two. I'm leaning toward Russell.).

I guess Dr. Phil really does have some wisdom.

If after all these years, you still don't know what your personality is, go here.

I'm sure this test is totally accurate ... because what better way to test your personality than answering 10 random questions made up by someone who doesn't even know you. Totally reliable.

I would think 12 questions would give a more accurate personality reading.

This test reminded me of the Love Meter. Remember the Love Meter? Or was it Love Tester? The "testing" is mainly done in restaurant waiting areas or amusement parks ... only the best places to test your love levels.

I'm sure you can imagine which one I always was because you know I'm quite strong. Basically, the stronger the grip, the hotter the person ... hmm. Well, that's totally accurate.

I wish we had a test like this for everything.

Your answers would be there in black and white all the time. No doubts.

Faithfulness Tester

Loyalty Tester

Good Mommy Tester

Cuteness Tester

Close to God Tester

Good Cook Tester

Then, you'd always know where you stood. You could fix it. Then, go back and retest. 

I think I'm onto something.

Anyway, I'm quite off-track. Going back to my "personality test," here are my results.

The Loyal Friend

Others see you as sensible, cautious, careful & practical. They see you as clever, gifted, or talented, but modest. Not a person who makes friends too quickly or easily, but someone who's extremely loyal to friends you do make and who expects the same loyalty in return. Those who really get to know you realize it takes a lot to shake your trust in your friends, but equally that it takes you a long time to get over if that trust is ever broken.

I think it's quite true (except for maybe the modest part ... hey, don't judge, it's a work in progress ... everything else - TRUE). Good job, Dr. Phil.

Whatcha think? & The Winners

Here it is in all its glory ... my new layout. Thanks, Jackie. You did an amazing job.

The winner of the $10 Sonic gift card is Daiquiri (not the drink, the lady), from Call Her Blessed. Here's what she said about poop:

Daiquiri said...

I'm reassured that I'm not the only blogger writing about poop ;) I guess it just comes with mommy territory. I agree though - much easier to deal with when they're tiny and sweet and snuggly (the kid, that is...not the poop).

This post has great timing. My little guy (20 months) walked up to me today and did the little hand motion he does when he has a diaper full of unpleasantness. I squeezed his diaper a bit...didn't feel anything. So I grabbed the back of his diaper to take a peek...and realized that I'd just stuck my finger in a substance that...well...fingers shouldn't be stuck in.

It was my first poop gag as a mommy. Big day.

Hope the little tummy in your house is feeling better :)

The winner of the free header from Jackie is my real-life friend, Amber, from Random Musings of a Stay-at-Home Mom.

And for all of your information, I would have never worn it to the pool in its current condition. I bought a plain solid black bikini bottom. Thank God for the swimskirt that covers it.

On to other things ...

Got some great pictures taken. Here's a few of my favorites.

Any if you locals want to get some incredible pictures taken, contact this lady.

Little Girls

Little girls think boys are yucky and have cooties, and definitely don't think the Jonas Brothers are hot.

Little girls don't smell like puppy dogs dipped in garbage when they come in from outside because they forgot to put deodorant on.

Little girls most definitely do not wear a bra.

Little girls do not ask their mommies if they can shave their legs because they are the "only" girls in their class who don't (even though the hair on said legs is not visible).

Little girls would rather spend time with their mommies and daddies than anyone else.

Little girls don't have hormonal issues.

Little don't use words like, "random," "smarticle," "snap," "burn," or "you just got served."

Little girls don't spend 30 minutes straightening their beautiful, naturally curly hair.

When did you become not a "little" girl?

Like it or not, you'll always be our "little" girls no matter how big you get.

One thing's for sure ... little or big ... these girls will always love their daddy.

Happy Father's Day, Beau!

The girls couldn't have been blessed with a better daddy. They love you and think you are the greatest thing since sliced bread. When they see you, I literally see their eyes light up. You're the best!

(Don't forget the giveaways. Scroll down. Last day to enter is Saturday.)

(Insert loud, frustrating scream here.)

I had an all-day, knock-down drag-out with Blogger, Feedburner, and Facebook yesterday.

Long story short ... my feed is dead.

I had to create a new feed. So, if you were subscribed before, you will have to re-subscribe to my posts to get them in your email.

Sorry. Feedburner burns me up.

No one got my post from yesterday, which was a giveaway post. As was the previous one before that. So, I am redirecting you to yesterday's post, which involves a post on my new bathing suit and a free header, and the previous post on poop, which involves a $10 Sonic gift card. Enter away until Saturday.

The question is: Will anyone even get this post since I changed my feed? Hmmm ...

Bathing Suit Catastrophe & Free Header

First off, did you all get to enter yesterday's giveaway? Helloooo ... $10 to Sonic. You can't beat that. Read yesterday's post and enter there.

Well, along with that, my friend, Jackie, is giving away a free header designed for your blog. To enter, leave a comment on this post. For Sonic, previous post. Got it? I'll pick for both on Sunday. You must be entered before midnight on Saturday.

OK.

My body donned a two-piece bathing suit 2 weekends ago. 

Shocking. I know.

It was a bikini. Sort of. With a skirt. Does a skirt make it a non-bikini? 

Whatever.

My stomach hasn't seen the light of day for about 16 years.

I warned my girlfriends ahead of time.

But, thought, that I'd seen a lot worse on the beach and felt comfortable enough with these friends to do so.

I had some good advice offered to me by my friend, Courtney: Stretch marks look better tanned. 

You know what? They do. They really do. That's not to say they're gone. Because there's not enough tanning in the world to make those babies disappear.

So, I decided to buy my own two-piece bathing suit. Another bikini. With the skirt of course.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this.

Oh ... wait, wait, wait.

Look at the first picture to get perspective. Cute. Skirt modestly covers.

Once again ...

Imagine my surprise when I saw this.

Beau says I'll be the hit at the pool.

Apparently I'm missing a piece.

Poop

When my babies were babies, I could handle poop.

A poopie diaper ... no big deal. It was sweet, little baby poop.

Granted, it didn't smell so sweet, but I could change the diaper without gagging. (Although there was that one time when K Belle had that leak in her diaper that led to other areas ... I'll spare you.)

I even ... and I'll try to put this as lightly as possible ... chiseled away at poop with a thermometer due to baby constipation.

I have a very strong constitution.

Nothing really gets me sick.

Until today.

Two poop incidences in one day ... neither one of them human.

Beau cleaned out our 420-gallon fish pond and, of course, as luck would have it, needed my help. Curses. (see Soliloquy, no "crap")

I had to hold some type of pipe thingy for him and in the process, realized I was touching a butt-load (no pun intended) of fish poop. 

Ya'll, fish poop is gross. And totally, gag-worthy.

Then, I even carried, gallons of water filled with fish poop, to empty out in the yard. I was literally grunting and about to hurl several times.

Then, to add insult to injury, Roxy Belle, had a little bout of diarrhea. Beau says probably from drinking some of the fish water. Well, I guess so. Fish poop in, fish poop out.

I'm done with poop for the day.

And as a reward for reading through this whole post on poop, I have a surprise for you.

Well, actually, I'm doing this to kick off my new blog layout which my friend,  Jackie, is working on. It will go up next Monday, which means I will pick a commenter at random on Saturday evening. I will announce the winner on Monday morning. Please leave me your email address in with your comment. And, your comment, make it about poop or Sonic. How's that?

Leave me a comment and you have a chance to win a $10 gift card to my favorite summertime drink spot, Sonic. And don't forget Happy Hour drinks 2-4. The Mango Limeade ... to die for.

Their newest dessert, the molten hot fudge bundt cake, I'm not too sure about.

Bundt cakes just remind me of this.

Leave a comment before midnight on Saturday night and you'll be entered to win.

No Rest for the weary.

Yes, weary.

I like this definition of "weary": having one's patience, tolerance, or pleasure exhausted

To be truly weary, you can't even enjoy pleasure. You can't rest.

Beau and I just had a discussion about the phrase in the title of this post. He says, "It's no rest for the wicked." I say, "I know I've heard the phrase 'no rest for the weary' also."

So, of course, being the type of person who has to know the right answer right away, I looked it up. Because I'm totally OK with Beau being right and me being wrong (cough). No really, I am. 

There have been a handful of times that this has happened in our marriage. OK, seriously, he's extremely intelligent and I'm used to it.

However, on this point, he's wrong.

"NO REST FOR THE WEARY":  (actually a form of the phrase, 'no rest for the wicked') one's heavy workload or lack of tranquility is due to one's own choices, or to one's sinful life.

Yikes.

I was just about to post about all the things I had to do today on my "day off."

Basically, that definition says the reason you can't rest is because of you. You are in control of your own rest. Even heavier ... your sinful life may be to blame.

Excuse me while I examine some things. (insert Jeopardy music here)

OK.

True rest is hard to find. Relaxation even harder.

As wives, moms, and many of us, employees, there's not much time for that. Trust me, I try to take every opportunity to do so.

What choices have we made that cause us not to rest?

And, what would we ever be able to give up? Cleaning? Cooking? Grocery shopping? ('cause I'll gladly give that one up) Making sure our children are taken care of?

Really, there is nothing to give up. Except for maybe the delusion of this idea that we can be these perfect superwomen, who have it all together, and not to mention, we must be beautiful and in shape too because of all the extra time we have to spend at the spa and the gym. Puh-lease. It's not happenin'. So, there's where our rest comes in ... knowing that we'll never be perfect, no matter how hard we try. We can rest in the fact that all we can do is do the best with what God's given us. And that's really all He asks us to do. (Except for the whole ... "Be holy as I am holy" part I struggle with, but that's another post. For me, totally unreachable.)

Now, off to run, do laundry, yardwork, dentist, yadda, yadda, yadda .... and life goes on.

Just hoping I get one hour of rest today. Gosh, I still haven't had my coffee yet.

By the way, Beau was not totally wrong because the phrase comes from "no rest for the wicked." He made me say this.

Sugar and Spice and everything nice? Not always.

(except for this little angel) (cough, cough)
I was in Dance Recital Hell today (hours and hours were spent at the performing arts center with lots of little girls and their mommies). Here are my observations.

* I've heard enough arguing between mommies and daughters to last a lifetime. And enough mommies complaining about their daughters to one other.

Examples of what I heard today:

"In 2 seconds I'm gonna whip you." (about 20 times)

"If you don't be still ... "

One little girl calling her mommy, "fatty."

* The girls were whiney and bored as they waited for their next dance.

La Petite Belle even proceeded to do one of her classmate's make-up. Not good.

* I've also never seen so many girls spending so much time dancing and singing into the mirror. There were no self-esteem problems in the room.

* Too many girls in one room bring out the bossiness in every one of them. Each one telling the other one what to do and where to stand. I saw much potential for cat fights. Oh well, there's always tomorrow. Funny how as soon as they hit the stage ... huge smiles. Show-offs.

* Know what else is funny? How girls can't just sit and be still unless they have a Nintendo DS in their hand. Precisely the reason we don't have one.

* I definitely am itching to take a Hip-Hop class. For real. I have had a long-time, serious relationship with dance that was squashed about 18 years age, but that relationship is about to be rekindled.

La Petite Belle even asked me yesterday to show her some of my dance moves. She knows her mama can bust a move. Although, I learned last weekend from my girlfriends that some of my moves are inappropriate. I'll need to tone it down a bit for the girl.

I know that you're so looking forward to dance recital pictures and videos. So, why disappoint? Here are the only lame pictures and video I was able to get. They're not good.

La Petite Belle in her Belle costume. (Well, look how that turned out.)

Hanging out backstage, begging me to record her as a honeybee.

Ready to go onstage for "The Flintstones."

She's the one in the middle most of the time, until someone was trying to pass in front of me as I was recording. Thanks, lady.

La Petite Belle reminded me to make sure I get her flowers for tonight. She's not like her mother in this area. I'll take money or jewelry any day over flowers. But, it's her deal.

And her pick for dinner ... Olive Garden. The question is: Will I be able to withstand the temptation brought about by the breadsticks?

Sisters

If I had a sister, I picture her as Rosemary Clooney.

We would be like the Hanes sisters. 

I would, of course, be the skinnier one (Vera Ellen) ... hey, it's my dream. There's nothing better than this song.

Devoted sisters.

Caring. Sharing .... every little thing that we are wearing.

All kinds of weather, we stick together ... the same in the rain or sun.

Two different faces, but in tight places, we think and we act as one.

Sounds like a dream.

Well, that's totally not how it is in my house with these sisters. (Don't let the expressions fool you. I'm sure after this picture was snapped one backhanded the other one.)

Seriously, it's the second week of summer vacation and my day would not be complete without hearing a few screams, grunts, and sassy tones.

Enough, already.

The kicker happened last night as I'm putting the girls to bed and La Petite Belle says: "You treat K Belle (except she used her real name) like royalty and me like trash."

Uhhh ... come again?

Listen here, Little Missy ... you are the baby. Everyone knows the baby gets a little more mercy than the oldest. You know it's true. Stop being such a drama queen all the time.

Of course, I told her that the reason she sees it that way right now is because she's in way more trouble most of the time than K Belle is. And that she doesn't love obedience like she used to when she was younger. She really did have a heart that longed to obey .... now ... not so much. Let's just say .... we're working on it or she's working on it.

Oh, how I long for the day that these sisters, will wave their feathers and twirl around in their blue dresses, proclaiming their love and loyalty to one another.

Until then, pray for me.

There ain't enough cream in the world.

Interesting statement from La Petite Belle the other day as we're laying down to take a nap (yes, she wanted to take a nap ... to cuddle with her mommy ... weird ... and I loved every second of it):  "Let's just go straight to sleep, Mommy. No creams."

Interesting.

She obviously watches me very closely.

Every night I do what every good, healthy, thirty-something-year-old woman does (at least I think they do):

1. Cleanse

2. Tone

3. Moisturize

4. Apply more night cream (this one for those fine lines)

6. Apply eye cream (again ... fine lines)

7. Apply more eye cream (puffiness)

Please tell me I'm not the only woman in America who does this. If you tell me you only wash with Dove soap and your skin is perfect, I will disown you.

It made me think about all the effort I put forth to take care of my skin and my face and my outward appearance, and how little effort I put forth to take care of my insides ... my heart, my soul, my mind, my relationship with God, my relationship with others, eternal things.

There aren't enough creams in the world to make me more beautiful to my Heavenly Father. He loves me just the way I am.

I think He's telling me, like La Petite Belle, to put down the creams (those things that distract me from Him) and just cuddle (spend that time with Him that He so desires). Really in the end, the wrinkles and saggy skin will still be there.

Now, don't be gettin' any ideas that I'm gonna stop puttin' on the creams. I mean, a woman's gotta look her best. Just know I learned a lesson. And God can speak through a little girl. And that little girl can teach her mama to put things into perspective.

Just as friends, right?

The first time Beau ever saw me ... well, let's just say, I was otherwise engaged ... with someone else's lips. Yep, for real. I was kissing a former beau (notice the lowercase) good-bye. Actually the guy was a friend of Beau's. This took place in the music building parking lot at our local college.

That's it. We weren't introduced. Nothing. I didn't see him. He just saw me. He says he thought I was beautiful. 

Little did he know, he would see me again.

Over a year later, he did.

You see, when he saw me the first time, I was away at another college and not serving God at all.

However, after running from God for a couple of years, I finally gave my heart to Him fully, with no abandon, no compromise. True love found.

I was meeting a new Christian friend at the Burger King on campus, where a local youth pastor (now my pastor, chief boss, and friend who has spoken into my life and given guidance the last 17 years) met with his college kids for lunch.

And, guess who was there with his long, curly, rocker hair and shorts?

You got it ... the real Beau.

We were introduced and he proceeded to do the whole, "Haven't we met before? You look familiar." (Remember the parking lot ...) He says he wasn't trying to pick me up. I just said I didn't know who the heck he was.

And, that was it.

I started attending the same church he attended and we were involved in the same ministries.

Ya'll ... he was a jerk and I didn't like him. So cocky. So obnoxious. So mean.

He was that boy in 1st grade who was always punching me. I didn't like to be around him because he was always teasing me.

Several years past. I dated other people. He dated other people.

Then there came a day when neither one of us was dating and I was just enjoying being alone.

This mean ol' boy had become a lot nicer, but still sassy. 

We had lots of mutual friends and hung out often. I was able to tolerate him more and more and actually started to think he was quite witty and fun.

Time passed.

One night after a church service, he cornered me in the foyer area.

He asked, "Would you like to go out after church? To dinner?"

I said, "Just as friends, right?" (just wanted to lay it all out there)

He said, "Of course." (His plan was set in motion.)

I was kind of nervous and felt awkward the first 15 minutes or so, and then totally natural ... comfortable.

Who wouldn't be comfortable at TGIFriday's?

We ate and talked and laughed.

We headed to the park because we couldn't stop talking and the restaurant was closing. (Don't get any ideas. It was a first date, people. And we were "just friends.")

We talked until 4:00 a.m. (not the most appropriate time to head home, but I lived alone ... he couldn't come back to my place ... even more inappropriate)

The conversation was great. So natural.

After I finally got back home, I thought of what a wonderful time I had and how great he was.

This guy made me feel so special. So beautiful. So interesting. 

We talked quite a bit the next few weeks and finally announced reluctantly to the world that we were dating. You know how it feels when you have to tell everyone you're dating. Weirdness. We secretly dated until we were ready to face the music.

He always treated me like a princess and like I was the best thing that ever happened to him and the most beautiful woman in the world. He made me complete, for real, ya'll. (I know it's cliche'. Deal with it.)

Those "just friends" will be married 15 years this year. And he still makes my heart flutter.

As a matter of fact, I just read this to him and got a little choked up. God, I'm thankful for that man.

Rachel made me do this ... sort of. She'll have more stories at her place. Go on over.

Comfort

A big bowl of ice cream.

A hot bath.

Reading the Sunday paper.

Vick's Vaporub being rubbed on your chest when you're sick.

 Being held in your hubby's arms just because.

Rocking your baby.

Pajamas.

Reading a good book to your children.

A great cup of coffee.

A clean puppy cuddled up with you in the bed.

Psalm 27.

A Sunday nap.

The sound of the rain.

A clean house.

The company of great friends.

Laughing until you cry.

Laying on the beach from sunup to sundown.

Real conversations.

Letting your hair down, for real.

Getting into your own bed after being away.

A Few Thoughts Before I Go

I'm going to the beach. Again. This time with girlfriends. Good times.

Here's some thoughts ...

* Beau and I have been discussing this question lately: Would you rather know when you're going to die or die instantly? Heavy stuff.

* Just heard that Angelina Jolie is the most powerful and influential celebrity. Really?

* My meals today consisted of a skinny grande caramel latte, a medium Coke, 2 bite-size Reese's, a Jolly Rancher, and 4 pieces of pizza for dinner. That's healthy. (said in sarcastic tone)

* I'd be OK with not seeing another Cialis or Viagra commercial. Ever. Seriously.

* La Petite Belle is an emotional mess this week due to long, hot days of soccer camp. She's cried every night before bed over the silliest things. It's almost humorous.

* Beau gets irritated when I rub him with my feet, like I'm doing right now as I lay on the couch. I'm a foot-rubber. I just can't help it.

* Summer television ... boring.

* Bathing suits are not as flattering as clothes.

* God is doing some stuff in me. Not sure about it. But at 4:49 a.m., I was awoken by this statement in my head ... "You ask me every day to purify your heart." Not that I'll ever have a pure heart, but hmmm ...

* Next Bible study on sex. Should prove for some interesting discussions. Lord, help me.

* I'm not taking my computer to the beach. I will not let the fact that this post will show "0 comments" for 2 days bother me.

Happy Weekend!

Bitter Laurel

Yeah. That's what my name means.

Not, "pure," or "grace," or "beautiful," or "God is gracious."

Not "wisdom," or "strong," or "peace."

Nothing like that.

Bitter. Laurel.

A bitter tree.

Explains a lot.

I'm not sarcastic at all.

If you've been around the old blog long enough, you know I'm serious about 38.2% of the time.

Life's too short and got too many problems of its own to always post about deep, serious stuff.

Now, don't get me wrong ... I have come up with some humdingers that were quite gut-wrenching (check the archives ... they're there). Because when I am serious ... it's big-time.

I am a firm believer of the daily renewal of your mind. (major struggle for yours truly)

Every. Day. 

Every. Hour.

Every. Minute. Of the day.

I found this video over at Birdie's. It totally cracked me up because (A) it's extremely sarcastic, so I can relate, and (B) the sarcasm speaks volumes about the subject.

There's some great truth in this, ya'll. Watch it.

Sometimes this type of thinking is just the way I think. For real. (Well, maybe not to this extreme.)

Renewal of the mind daily is the only thing that will get us past our own mental misery. 

Tell your mind to SHUT UP and speak the TRUTH to it. When you speak it, your mind has nothing to do but listen.

Misery sucks.

(Is "sucks" a curse word? I get my kids' "bad words" mixed up with the real bad words. Sometimes "stinks" just doesn't do it.)

The Ring Dilemma

Everyone has forgotten to put on their wedding ring in the morning. Granted, I rarely do. In fact, my finger feels quite uncomfortable without it.

Yes, I know there are some people that never take their wedding rings off. Whatever. I don't understand that one. I think the ring is better kept out of the shower and dishwater.

But I digress ...

A few years ago, we went on vacation and I forgot my wedding ring at home. Beau did not like this ... like men are just waiting around to pounce on me at the sight of my naked finger. I actually went out and bought one of those cheap, fake rings to wear for the week to ensure the fact that men should not even look at me because I was taken.

Seriously.

Well, Mr. Faithful-Ring-Wearer himself forgot his wedding ring Sunday. He realized this fact on the way to church. I, of course, had to harass him.

I said, "Great. Now, every woman will think you're available."

He said, "We'll be at church. And I'll be with you most of the time."

I said, "So. That's one of the worst places to be." (You know it. There are men and women on the prowl there too.)

I really wasn't worried, but because of the hard time he gave me, I had to do the same in return. Right?

Well, one good turn deserves another. Always.

I didn't wear my wedding ring yesterday morning to run errands ... doctor, dentist, Target, mall, dropping and picking up kids, etc.

I say (with a sassy tone), "I'm not wearing my wedding ring."

(FYI: I usually don't wear my wedding ring to grocery shop or just run errands, especially when I am in work-out clothes, ponytail, no make-up, etc. You know the look. Really, no one is eyeing me. Really.)

Beau and I bantered back and forth. The girls giggled in the back seat.

Then, La Petite Belle says, "Mommy, if you don't have your wedding ring on, someone who doesn't know you're married, might come up and ask you for your digits."

We all laugh hysterically. "DIGITS," really?

Beau then told K Belle, who would be with me all day, to make sure she kept an eye on me and that no men talked to me. And that every man knew I was married.

At one point, when we stopped to eat breakfast at a bakery and I was standing at the counter, a man walked in, and K Belle caught my eye and did the whole "Meet the Fockers" gesture.

Honey, you don't have anything to worry about. I'm an almost 40-year-old woman, with two kids in tow almost everywhere I go. The only men that are looking at me usually don't have hair or all their teeth.

But, even if Jude Law or even Gerard Butler, glanced my way, I wouldn't even notice.

I only have eyes for you ... with or without the ring.

By the way, Beau is the bass player in the Carman video from yesterday, since some of you asked.