The Reason My Husband Should Be Blogging Again

This was his post on the Crysler Sebring Convertible Club Forum Page (Yes, dorky, I know. What can I say? He's into cars, FOX news, and naps.):

Hidden Treasure in Seat Belts

OK, let me start this post by saying that I LOVE my car! I've had it for about six weeks now, and I've had to do a few things to it, but, overwhelmingly, I just really dig it.

Now, for this part, I'm sure I'm gonna get a "too much information" award, but here goes... From day one, I noticed that my car smelled like sweat. I would even leave all the windows down in the garage overnight, just to see if it would air out, but to no avail.

Well, last week, I was driving my daughters to school, and I just happened to get a whiff of my seat belt. YEOWEE!!! It stunk like nobody's business. You know the kind of smell: fat man's self-made gravy. (OK, all you fat guys out there - chill out. I'm 6'0", 315 lbs.) It was on the driver's AND passenger's side front belts. I just kept getting a picture of some overly tan, and super-overly oily, hairy-chested ladies' dude in a tank top (or shirtless) driving my baby around in the Miami sun, flashing his gold teeth (or maybe just one tooth) to the chicks, trying to pick them up or something. My mind's eye guy even has oily hair (implants), and those eighties sunglasses with the little red leather blinders on the sides. Anyway, this morning, I got after it with some all-purpose kitchen cleaner and a toothbrush. Upon closer inspection, my dark gray seat belts were actually kind of brown. I got most of the smell out with just that cleaning.

BTW, the dampened towel I used to remove the excess cleaner was also brown after I was done. After a couple more cleanings, I think she'll be good to go. OK, so there you go, just in case you were interested. Special thanks to the oily dude who left all of his man-funk in my seat belts.

Reminds me of the "Smelly Car" Seinfeld episode where Elaine figures out that the valet has stunk up Jerry's car with his body odor and the smell won't come out.

I'd read his blog every day if he blogged again.

What the Weekend Has Taught Me

The Chinese buffet & me are on the outs. I can no longer stomach another bite of Chinese-chicken-on-a-stick or lo mein noodles. Barf. I have had enough & I have forever banned this cuisine from one more family meal. (Although, my children think that eating at a Chinese buffet is equivalent to eating at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse.)

My iphone is way more important to me than I thought. After thinking I lost it and it was gone forever, forcing me to go back to using the dreadful $40 transitional phone, I had to force back quite a bit of tears. I was just as surprised as you. It has obviously become more than just a phone to me. Thank God I found it (and the Asians who owned the newly-banned Chinese buffet for their honesty). Mmm-wah ... I love you, Mr. iphone.

I would much rather sing than talk. When you sing a song, the words are already written, but when you talk, all kinds of crazy things can come out and you may have no control over them.

We have resorted to some line-writing in our household ... something I thought I would never use as a consequence. The statement below says it all.

I have always been a good sleeper. No insomnia. No waking up in the middle of the night. And, it was always difficult for me to wake up ... until now. I'm thinking Ambien may help or maybe just lots of Nyquil. I must sleep again soon.

If you think your hips are wide just when you look in the mirror, you'll be amazed at how wide they look on camera.

K Belle has started raiding my closet. Not only do we wear the same size shoe, but now she's wearing my dresses and tops. Huh? How'd that happen?

Did I mention I need to lose about 10 pounds in the next 3 weeks? SlimFast ... ugh.

Well, that went well.

My post from yesterday. Sorry ... venting.

None of you were the object of my rant. You, dear peeps, are my joy.

Anyway ...

You know my friend, Jodie?

She kind of took a little blogging hiatus, but if you go to her site, you will be smitten and want to read every post.

I had something identical happen to me that happened to her.

It was kinda creepy how identical it was.

Here's her incident.

And, here's mine.

I was driving home alone last night. It was late. I had stopped at Taco Bell for dinner for K Belle and me. It was the perfect end to my day of SlimFast. I'm sure a bean burrito and two soft tacos was not their idea of a "sensible dinner," but whatever. Beau and La Petite Belle had gone to Subway, which was a much better choice. Although, the visit ended in Beau asking for the manager's phone number.

As I headed home, I stopped at a nearby intersection and waited for those waiting to turn left.

A car began to slowly coast into the opposite lane ... no lights, no power.

I noticed the older African American (and this part is important when you read Jodie's post) woman was alone.

At that point, I needed to make a decision.

Should I stop? Or should I just keep going because someone else will stop?

Obviously, I couldn't do anything to help with her car and my tacos were getting cold.

I don't even like to pump my own gas.

But, I put my car in reverse and spun around.

I pulled up on the side of her, rolled down my window, and asked if I could do anything or call anyone for her. She politely said that she had called her daughter and she was on her way. Then, she thanked me, and called me sweetie.

But, here's the kicker ...

As I'm talking with this lady, a guy in a truck has pulled up behind me and is intermittently blowing his horn.

So, in between my kind words I'm trying to give to this woman, I'm screaming and motioning to this trucker guy to go around me. Can't he see I'm trying to be obedient and help someone here?

So, basically I blew it.

Because in my mind, I was not thinking nice things about this guy and really wanted to give him one more motion as he finally pulled around me, while laying on his horn the entire time. Jerk. Oops, there I go again.

Read Jodie's post. It's way more enlightening.

Stop bothering me.

Sometimes I get bothered.

And, I am not that type of person.

Not. At. All.

Usually I am doing the bothering and don't realize I'm doing the bothering until the person I've bothered tells me I'm bothering them.

Understand?

And, then when someone says, "I wouldn't let that bother you," it just bothers me more.

No matter how much I try to get it out of my head, it bothers me. I'm not one to kid myself.

All I know is this ... I'm trying to be obedient and you are messing with my mojo.

And, by obedient, I'm not referring to marriage (although Beau wishes I was).

I'm talking about obedience to God, obedience to authority, and doing what God's called me to do.

I will not be distracted. I will stay the course.

So, stop bothering me already.

My husband's in heaven.

What man wouldn't be when he's driving in his convertible with a scantily clad, hot blonde, with her hair blowing in the wind?

I would be worried if La Petite Belle wasn't riding with him. She's played chaperone on their romantic getaway to Lowe's.

Balance

I'm all about balance.

Anyoone can go overboard with anything in their life and let it consume them. But, not me.

Although, my daughters say I'm addicted to exercising. But, I wouldn't be as addicted if it actually worked. Not to mention, an addiction is something you HAVE to do every day, not something you FORCE yourself to do 3-4 times a week. So, I do disagree with their belief.

Here is some evidence of my balanced lifestyle.

I ran a 5K this past weekend.

My pose in each of my team's pictures was rather interesting. Same. Exact. Weird. Like-I-Need-to-Pee Pose.

Again.

And, again.

The very next day I ate two servings of mashed potatoes, bread pudding, and a piece of the yummy pie pictured below.

Now, that's what I call balance.

Dang. Back to the drawing board ... exercise tomorrow.

What's Going On ...

Notice my bed companion from last night. No, Beau and I are not on the outs. He took a quick trip to Arkansas. (Or as La Petite Belle says, "the state that the ark was built in")

My newest obsession - Sonic's cherry limeade chiller. I warn you not to try this or you will have one more craving.

La Petite Belle has resorted to sleeping on the floor amongst an array of stuffed animals and dolls. She says it's more comfortable than a bed. Whatever.

As a result of Beau being out of town, I stopped to get one of my favorite coffee drinks - Guilt-Free Turtle Latte from CC's. Beau doesn't care for coffee ... I know, crazy. And, thus he doesn't care to stop for coffee. Today ... Starbuck's.

Massive preparations are taking place for this woman to arrive next month for our women's conference. I am so excited to see all that God is going to do through her and this entire event. One thing's for sure ... we will be BFFs before this is over. Wanna come? Go here for more info.

And, lastly ... this week brought two big things into my life: a new friend (whom I now adore) and an encounter with tough love (which I hate).

What a week!

It's like I write for The 700 Club.

(Two spiritual posts back-to-back. Wow.)

It's here.

Spring has sprung.

And, with the beginning of spring comes one of my least favorite things to do ... pulling weeds. And, when I say, pulling weeds, I mean back-breaking labor. Check it out. This was just one section of my yard. Serious stuff.
As I nearly died from this pain-in-the butt chore, God made some things real clear to me. (Did I just use the word "butt" and God in the same sentence? That's some great writing there.)

Remember the Scripture about those old nasty weeds.

Let me refresh your memory:
Luke 8:4-8
As they went from town to town, a lot of people joined in and traveled along. He addressed them, using this story: "A farmer went out to sow his seed. Some of it fell on the road; it was tramped down and the birds ate it. Other seed fell in the gravel; it sprouted, but withered because it didn't have good roots. Other seed fell in the weeds; the weeds grew with it and strangled it. Other seed fell in rich earth and produced a bumper crop.
Luke 8:14
And the seed that fell in the weeds—well, these are the ones who hear, but then the seed is crowded out and nothing comes of it as they go about their lives worrying about tomorrow, making money, and having fun.

As I pulled these massive weeds that had overtaken my flowerbeds, it stinkin' hurt. It hurt my hands. It hurt my back. It hurt my arms. It hurt my knees.

It was painful.

But, like I told La Petite Belle who was helping me, if you don't pull the weed up from the root, it'll just grow back.

I mean, look at this weed root.
It made me think of how pulling up the weeds in our own life is hard, even painful at times, but if we don't, it'll just produce more weeds. And, who wants a flowerbed full of weeds?

God reminded me that these weeds can be so many things in my life that are good. Heck, look how pretty a weed can be.
It can even produce a flower. But, in the end, it's still just a weed with a pretty face. Even doing good things can get in the way of what God has really called us to do.

Once all these weeds are gone (and it does take time ... days, weeks, months ... with lots of cultivating, more pain, more discipline), a real flower will grow. Not a fake. Not a pretty weed. A real flower.

God, I don't want to have a life full of weeds. Help me to recognize what these weeds are and to pull them up from the root so that I can accomplish all that You want me to do.

Walls

Walls keep us safe.

They keep bad people out. But, they keep good people out too.

Walls look good and can be adorned with all kinds of pretense.

After walls have been up for so long, they're very hard to tear down.

Every once in a while, you carve out parts of that wall where a select few can see in.

But, then they betray you. They hurt you.

Those open parts are filled back in and that wall is even stronger than before.

You wash your hands of this. It's over.

Years go by. You forget.

You start to trust again. You WANT to trust again. You're scared.

You let others see through that wall, even tear the whole thing down.

Then, you pray ... pray that you didn't make the wrong decision.

You continue to question and doubt.

You desperately want to go back and put that wall back up, but it's too late.

They already know you.

But, in you letting your wall down, they let theirs down too.

They're just as scared as you are.

Both scared. Both vulnerable. Both trusting.

And, when it all works itself out, and passes the test of time, you really have something of great value ... something rare ... something treasured.

Compliments? Or Maybe Not?

You decide.

Example #1:

Lady in church hallway: I've been meaning to tell you that you've been looking really pretty lately.

Me: Thank you (walking away with a "huh?" in my mind and questioning, "How hideous was I before?")

Example #2:

Nameless younger, male friend: Have you lost some weight?

Me: No

Nameless, younger male friend: Well, you're lookin' good.

Me: (jokingly) What are you trying to say? I was fat before?

Nameless, younger male friend: No, you know how you go through stages. You have a thinner stage and a plump stage. You know your Christmas stage.

(the rest of his babble I can't remember)

Me: Stop talking. Don't say another word.

Example #3:

Other, young, nameless male: Ms. Mama Belle, I think you are very attractive for an older woman.

(Nice.)

Whatever.

It's a good thing I am quite secure in myself.

We are not mere mortals.

I read this by C. S. Lewis and, like a lot of his writings, it empowered and inspired me.

"It is a serious thing," says Lewis, "to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.

(Here's the best part.)

All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no 'ordinary' people. You have never talked to a mere mortal."

It's true.

We move one another to life or death with our words and the way we treat one another.

We are so much more than ordinary people and should treat one another as such.

This is hard to do when I need God's help just to show me how to love Him, much less everyone else.

How many opportunities have I missed or even destroyed?

How many times have I failed my Lord in this area?

In rejecting others, even ignoring others, I've rejected and ignored Him.

Matthew 25:45
⁴⁵"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'

No one is ordinary ... not even close.

"Explain to me ... this conspiracy against me."

Quoted from one of my favorite bands, Paramore. I couldn't have said it better.

Exhibit A:
Second edition of unsubscribed-to "American Baby" magazine, Sneak Peek Ultrasound Company, Enfamil advertisement and coupons, Gymboree coupons.
Why, oh why, must you and I continue to tangle over this issue? You creepy, evil "coincidence," you, I will beat you down.

I know I'm too old and this is no longer a possibility. Now, leave me be.

Getting Baby advertisements and magazines in the mail + Being a (ahem) mature woman = Ridiculousness

Exhibit B:

Remember? 5K in two weeks?

Rain + Running = Having to do one of Jillian's stupid DVDs & nearly having a heart attack when I run that 5K

Exhibit C:
Sale on Edy's Slow-Churned French Silk Ice Cream ... perfect timing.

Rain - Running + Ice Cream = Failure ... Happy Failure

Exhibit D:
Since I started watching this series about a month ago (yes, five seasons in one month), my life has come to a stand-still. I have decided it's either demonic or deeply spiritual. I am totally addicted. And, now the series is over this season. Ugh. What will fill this void? "24," you have big shoes to fill.

LOST + Raining + No running + Edy's French Silk ice cream = Pure Awesomeness

Add in the sushi my husband brought me this afternoon = Perfection

Procrastination

I am not a procrastinator.

Not at all.

When I am given a task, I complete it as quickly as I can so that I have one less thing to think about. This brain can only hold so much information. I'm a realist and know what I can handle.

That's why it makes it so hard for me to understand those who are procrastinators.

Why would anyone wait until the very last second to complete something they've known about for weeks or even months?

My mind just can't comprehend it.

Really, I think it boils down to we only procrastinate with those things we have no desire to do, no passion for.

Even me, the non-procrastinator.

For example, this non-procrastinator ... me ... is running a 5K in two weeks and is completely unprepared. Running + Me = No passion. However, if I was preparing for a eat-a-thon, I would be totally ready.

There are always things in our lives that we have no passion for that we still have to do, like laundry and grocery shopping, which are my typical Monday duties. Boo. I hate them. But, my family must have clean underwear and milk or I am a bad mother and wife. I must say, I do have a passion for my family. Otherwise, if I were living alone, I would just eat Stacy's cinnamon and sugar pita chips with water. Not much grocery shopping involved there.

There's a little procrastinator in all of us. How true is this video! Watch it. It's only a little over a minute. I'm sure you can wait a little longer to do what you were going to do.

I will get my stuff done today ... after about six LOST episodes.

Not sure about her logic

We had a late night last night.

K Belle was the first to claim the shower.

As La Petite Belle waited, she complained about having to take a shower, saying it was too late.

I tried to reason with her and told her that if she didn't take a shower before bed, she would have to wake up early and shower before school.

She came up with this solution:
"How 'bout I take 4 showers tomorrow night?"

I had to explain to her that it doesn't work like that.

I want to be hated.

Blessed are you when men hate you,
when they exclude you and insult you
and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man.
Luke 6:22

After reading this passage, I had these questions:

Do men hate me?

Have I had anyone hate me because of my stance for Christ?

Has my stance for Christ been bold enough to make someone hate me?

Or am I too concerned with being politically correct or not offending anyone?

Too concerned with making others uncomfortable?

The Message says it this way,
"Count yourself blessed every time someone cuts you down or throws you out, every time someone smears or blackens your name to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and that that person is uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—skip like a lamb, if you like!—for even though they don't like it, I do . . . and all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company; my preachers and witnesses have always been treated like this."

I am considered "blessed" when others hate me or cut me down because of my faith.

God likes it. All heaven applauds.

This is disheartening to me because I don't know if I can say anyone has ever hated me for my faith in Christ.

Oh, I've had people hate me. Trust me. But, not hate me for what I should be hated for.

I should be hated for Him, not for who I am.

Are you hated?

I was never fond of bow-heads until now.

I told this precious baby's daddy, Beau, to make sure he carried her under an umbrella as to not get her hair wet. He gave me that look.

Spoiled much?

Not the good stuff

Two sets of good china sit in my china cabinet. So pretty to look at; so scary to use.

Grandma's china doesn't get used much ... holidays mostly.

Beau and I have only used our fancy, discontinued Lenox china that we registered for over 15 years ago two times. Still trying to complete the entire set, seeing as a cup and saucer set is $65.

But, it sure is pretty ...

I often think if I don't start using this good stuff, I never will.

I had the perfect opportunity last Friday night.

Beau and I hosted one of four fancy dinner parties at our house. It's all part of a small group, titled "Restaurant Wars," where we "compete" against three other couples for the title of "Biggest Glutton for Punishment" "Best Restaurant." We are each required to cook a four-course gourmet meal and then the guests judge us.

I am a pretty competitive person, however, I would like to just get through this experience without having a nervous breakdown or accidentally piercing my husband with a steak knife.

I'm not sure I realized what I was signing up for when I agreed to do this.

Yeah, I can cook. I'm a pretty good cook. I'm an excellent cook for 4-6 people, but for 12-14, I turn into Gordon Ramsay (minus the expletives).
I kinda freak out. Just a little.

I freak out especially when I realize 45 minutes before the guests are supposed to arrive that I don't have enough potatoes and have already started to boil the ones I did have.

I nearly killed myself driving to Winn Dixie in a monsoon to pick up a bag for just four more potatoes. Of course, I got behind every grandma who could barely drive on a sunny day, much less in a thunderstorm.

Freaking out causes me to make rash decisions like deciding to put a little milk in my mashed potatoes, when the recipe doesn't call for milk. Then, they're runny.

I asked Beau what I should do. He said, "Add more potatoes." No, duh. No time for that. They thickened up a bit before I had to serve them, but weren't the best they could be.

Another rash decision was adding gravy thickener to my madeira sauce to hurry up the thickening process. Sauce got clumpy. I ladled out all the little clumps. Stupid.

Cooking in a small kitchen with four bodies (two waiters) also can be stressful. We were often in each others' way. So much so, that Beau (the one who said we shouldn't use Grandma's china because someone might break or chip a piece) was the one that broke the top to the sugar bowl. Let's not talk about it.

I took no pictures until the end due to the freaking out part and pictures were the last thing on my mind.

All the guests seemed to enjoy themselves and complimented the chefs on their dishes. There are some things to tweak for next time, but all in all, it was a good night.

This was the end result.

This was officially the dirtiest my kitchen has ever been. I ran the dishwasher four times and still had left-over dishes in the sink the next day.

And, I may need to rethink using the good stuff ... at least for Beau's sake.