Wednesday, November 29, 2006

The Girl Who Couldn’t Shut Up

And other tales of woe from my super long and supremely stressing day yesterday

It was only a Tuesday. You would think a Tuesday wouldn’t be that stressful. Mondays are supposed to be stressful.

My day started out a little gloomy and not just because of the weather. I’ve been having a lot of mouth pain recently. At first, I thought it might be TMJ and made a dentist appointment for December 5. Over Monday night, however, the pain localized in the upper right part of my mouth, along the gum line. So, now I’m thinking I may not have TMJ but instead have a raging infection of some kind. The pain has gotten consistently worse, so I’ve moved my appointment to tomorrow, the earliest that they could get me in.

So, I hadn’t slept much on Monday night, on account of the severe mouth pain, and when I got to work on Tuesday, everything just took on monumental proportions. I am so swamped at work! I have a 64 page program book to design, our regular 16 page member newsletter, cookie press, regular press releases, and (on top of everything) my boss just keeps giving me more stuff! It was overwhelming to a person who has gotten little sleep, is still in pain, and already has enough on her plate, you know?

Anyway, I managed to muddle through the morning. Although, I still wasn’t able to get any of “my” job tasks done, since I was tied up helping other people all day.

Then, Mom and I met for the noon meeting at Weight Watchers. I found out that I weigh ---! Seriously, ---! You didn’t honestly think I was going to tell you, did you?! Ha! Ha!

Anyway, the meeting was good, and Mom and I went out for lunch afterwards. As we were talking, I noticed Mom seemed like she had to get going. But, when I asked her, she said, “Oh no, I’m retired. I just have to go to Wal-Mart.” But she kept giving me non-verbal clues like looking at the time, glancing towards the door, and eventually picking up her cup and standing up. So, I got the message. I really wanted to talk some more, but it seemed like she wanted to get going, so we both headed out in our separate directions.

When I got back to work, I double checked with our Executive Director on our in-house volunteer policy. When she e-mailed her response, she cc’d my direct boss, and it ended up making me feel like I’d been trying to hide the volunteer work (for another organization) that I’d been planning to do. Long story short, everyone was okay with my volunteer work, but I got a little reamed out for not clearing it ahead of time. I saw the point, and no one was angry with me, but I still felt like I’d been reprimanded for doing something good and honorable.

Later, I headed out to my volunteer spot. My friend who works at the Alzheimer’s Association had asked me to design a brochure for the organization’s upcoming event. I was excited to meet the Executive Director and talk to my friend.

As we were talking, I discovered they didn’t just need help with a brochure – they need a theme, a logo, along with design help on the brochure, save the date postcards, a program book, awareness flyers, and paid print ads. That was WAY more than I’d thought I’d be helping with. But I wasn’t able to say “no” to any of it, since they are all tied together.

So, now, I’ve also got that on my plate. I was feeling WAY stressed by this time. My friend and I began talking, but before I knew it, she had to run out to an appointment. This was the second person to have to leave me in the middle of a conversation! This was kind of difficult - especially, when I all I wanted to do was talk, share some of my stress, and ask for advice.

But I was looking forward to having a cup of tea and (finally) some conversation with Carleen at Barnes and Noble. So, I headed out there from the Alzheimer’s Association and spent time browsing the bargain racks. I found a very interesting book by actor Sean Astin who played Samwise Gamgee in the LOTR trilogy movies.

Carleen showed up right on time and said she had accidentally left her wallet at home. So, we drove to her house together, got the wallet, and went back to the store. We looked around for a bit, and then (just when I was thinking that maybe we’d sit down and have some tea and conversation), she told me she was just exhausted and needed to go home and spend time with her kids (since her husband had looked a little overwhelmed when we stopped back at her house). Of course, I understood, and it was nice to see her, even if it was just for a couple of minutes.

But, then again, I felt completely abandoned, since I just needed to talk all my stress out and feel the healing power of venting, you know? I wasn’t mad at anyone, just overwhelmed and in need of a friend willing to invest some time with me.

So, I got home and was able to talk to Brett, but (yet again) only for a few minutes, since he had to go to work.

There I was, all alone, extremely stressed, in terrible mouth pain, and feeling very, very isolated in my house.

I spent most of last night tossing and turning, dealing with the pain, and also wondering if I was “the girl who wouldn’t shut up.” In a way, I felt like people had been running out on me all day. I knew they were all dear friends, people who like me, and didn’t mean to run out on me, but it was just their busy lives and circumstances. I know that.

But I questioned my friends’ (and my mother’s) ability to see my stress outwardly. When someone looks like she wants to keep having a conversation – wouldn’t you think that maybe she had something important to share? I don’t know. And I’m sure I’ve done it to others many times. It just seemed so overwhelming to me right then. Was I the girl who couldn’t shut up? Were they running from me?

So, this morning, still with very little sleep, I got up and rode my exercise bike. Depressed and stressed aside, I’m sticking to Weight Watchers no matter what this time!

As I was riding, listening to Damaris Carbaugh on my headphones, I prayed and asked the Lord to just help me get through it. I imagined myself bogged down in the Slough of Despair and seeing Jesus come by, reach out His arms, and lift me from the despair. It did help.

Then, I saw Brett standing there watching me. I didn’t even hear him come in from work. And I didn’t even know I’d been crying. He just came over and hugged me. Time was calling by then, so I had to settle for just a hug and then run and get ready for work.

It was a long day –and I’m glad it’s over. And I’m grateful that Jesus is always there. He never has to leave on account of circumstance, and for that, I can always be grateful!

And He doesn’t even care if I am the girl who couldn’t shut up.

Monday, November 27, 2006

To The Underwhelming Class of 1996

While riding my exercise bike this morning and listening to Phil Vassar’s Carleen on my headphones, I got to thinking about high school.

The Carleen song always makes me wish for the day where I could show up at some type of school reunion in front of my old classmates as a slender, successful woman. (Not that I am either at this point – I’m imagining I am in my head during the song, though)

I would say, “See! See, I told you I would amount to something.”

It was with that imaginary action I realized I have been out of high school for ten years. Ten years! When did I get to be so old, huh?

The thing is that my graduating class wasn’t bad…or good. We were just 9 completely apathetic people trying to get through school. None of us were particularly close, and in a class of only 9 people that is a little unusual.

We didn’t dislike each other, but we didn’t really like each other, either. Our Senior trip was a practice in avoidance. Literally. We all wanted to go to Washington D.C., just not with each other.

Oh well, we can’t all be the cast of Beverly Hills 90210, Dawson’s Creek, or The Breakfast Club – and goodness knows, we were never that interesting to begin with.

So, as 2006 draws to a close, I’d like to write a few words about my graduating class – The Class of 1996.

Amy E.
You were the girl who had “the girls” before the rest of us. You learned to deal with lecherous guys the hard way and were forced to grow up a lot faster than the rest of us.

You taught us all about training bras, lady-like leg crossing, and emergency hair care products. You were the only one of us girls to ever have a “real” boyfriend, then another, and then another! You were the first girl to get married, even though (as I recall) I did try to talk you out of it, feminist that I was then.

You were always nice to me, and I enjoyed many sleepovers and secrets shared, before we drifted apart.

Amy T.
I will always admire you for having the guts to stand up in a locker room full of gossiping, snickering seventh grade girls and tell us what we were doing and saying was wrong. You stood for truth and against character assassination at a time when it cost you your reputation. It was a heavy burden on your slim shoulders.

You made a full recovery later, when we all began to realize your inner stand –up comic. You and you alone, made my Senior trip worthwhile.

Beecher
You were a sweet boy - a few eggs short of a dozen, but a heart that seemed to be genuinely warm and caring. I know I baffled you. You would always explain the legalistic blather you had been indoctrinated with to me. And, when I argued with you, you’d give me that sweet, sympathetic look that told me you felt sorry for me, since I obviously just couldn’t hold your words in my tiny little female brain.

Your willingness to be molded into a godly servant led you into the clutches of he-who-shall-not-be-named, but you seem to have come out of it all right – with a wife who is kind and gentle and (how shall I say?) fits you perfectly.

Unlike the majority of boys in my high school experience, you were never mean to me. At least not to my face, and I thank you for that.

It will always baffle me that you (bottom of our class scholastically) and me (top) were the only two to obtain a college degree. Go figure.

David
My relationship with you had two sides. You were the jovial guy who dated my best friend, and you were also the guy who swore at me, humiliated me, and used me as your shield against Josh in middle school.

You hurt me deeply.

But, I know what you’ve been though – marriage, divorce, and addiction - so I guess you’ve paid for your mistakes in heart wrenching ways, so I’ve let go of the dark past we share and wish you a full recovery and a hopefully happy life.

Eileen
Oh, Eileen! What can I say about you? You made me laugh. Harder than I ever knew I could. Your focus on the here and now and looking your best always made for funny conversation. I will never forget your explanation of “the first time” to all of us girls during the Senior trip. We were never so glad to have a former public school girl in our midst.

Jerry
Ah, Jerry – I barely knew ye. I guess all I can say is that I sure hope you found the right girl. Goodness knows, you dated enough of the wrong ones.

Nick
You were so laid-back, sometimes we weren’t even sure you were conscious. You were the epitome of cool. You didn’t need us, and you knew it. You had a car full of public school friends who thought your life at a private school was hilarious. You were never mean, though I think it was mainly because you never cared about any of us one way or the other.

Pat
You were the silent type. I think you said six sentences to me our whole Senior year. Most of it in mumbles. I think there was a lot going on behind that stoical face, but I guess I’ll never know.

Mr. H.
Poor man - stuck with a class of people who defined the antithesis of school spirit and spirituality. Not a Jeremy K. in the whole bunch of us.

I know we didn’t make you proud. You wore our stigma – the underperformers – with a sarcastic wit (although you didn’t know) that we always thought was funny.

You loved your home room before us. They were better, brighter, and bolder. We weren’t even second best in your book. But you put up with us, drove to D.C. with us, and tried to be helpful when we asked for help.

Still, your deadpan humor was hilarious at times, especially when you told us that, if we didn’t start raising money for our Senior trip, the only place we’d be going was Beloit.

Every time I watch The Office, I think of you – trying to manage a group of misfits.

So, there we are – The Class of 1996.

May we all go on and do better things than we did then. Not that we set the bar all that high, anyway.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

The Odd Couple

We are a weird couple.

It’s okay. It’s okay. I knew that going in. And part of the reason I married Brett was precisely because he wasn’t like ALL those other guys.

But, sometimes our weirdness (kinder perhaps to say our “uniqueness”) makes me laugh.

Take last night, for example – there we were, tangled up in our bed sheets, our legs overlapping, holding hands. With our free hands, though, we were busy. Brett was listening to his new police scanner – which he bought with his birthday money from me – and I was reading the exciting thriller mystery Without Fail (The Jack Reacher Series) by Lee Child. On the floor, our bunnies thumped and jumped and frolicked with glee.

Tell me that’s not a little weird.

There are times I’m grateful for our weirdness. When you truly know each other – really know the other person – you feel absolutely close to them.

For instance, I know Brett doesn’t trust the glue on the inside of envelopes. He uses water to seal the envelopes then tapes them over with clear Scotch tape. He also loves cork boards and tries to hang them all over the house when I’m not looking. He hates to dress up – at all – and believes the world would be a better place if we could all wear jeans and T-shirts all the time. The only time you’ll see Brett in a suit is at a funeral or a wedding.

Now, admittedly, I’m a little weird, too. But, if you’re reading this, then you know that.

The thing is that I made a promise to myself when Brett and I got married. I promised to try and not change him. To remember that I love him for WHO he is, not who I might think he needs to be.

Over the years, I can’t say I’ve always stuck to that promise. But over those ten years, I’ve also learned a very valuable lesson. I can’t change Brett (even at the times I’ve wanted to). Only God can change Brett. And, I suppose, only God can change me, too.

Because, of course, I am not exempt from weirdness. Brett knows this. I have my strange little quirks. Like I HAVE to take a Sunday afternoon nap or I’m cranky all week. Or how I hate the word “fine” as in “How are you today?” and “I’m fine.” Long story, I just don’t like the word. Or how I hate vegetables on my sandwiches. And how I really LOVE commercials. Stuff like that.

The thing is that sometimes I wonder if our weirdness keeps us from having friends. Brett’s really only ever had one good friend, and I can count on one hand the number of “couple” friends we have. And Mom and Gary count!

See, in our Christian circles, it’s assumed that “the man” is a certain way – funny, boisterous, jack-of-all-trades, back-slapping during the week, yet suit-wearing, sober, and serious on Sunday.

There are similar expectations for “the woman.” She trends to the little ‘uns, cooks a mean casserole, and her house sparkles under her care. She takes a back seat to her husband, stands behind him, and submittedly bats her eyelashes in stunning surprise when complimented.

But, see, me and Brett aren’t like that. Those aren’t the personalities God gave us.

I’m funny. He’s serious. I’m ambitious, career minded, and focused. He’s laid back, calming, and earnest. And I love our relationship. The problem is that we haven’t found any godly couples we’ve really “clicked” with – except my cousin Aaron and his wife who have the nerve to live in another state!

And, of course, the clincher is that we lack the squirmy substance that often does bring “couple” friends together – children.

So, we’re childless, until God deems otherwise. It can be a lonely position. We both have peace about our child bearing situation and are grateful we’ve been spared the mental and physical anguish that many couples suffer.

But, peace aside, being childless does limit our fellowship opportunities. It is difficult for us to have people with kids over, because their children will have no one to play with or anything to do. And it’s the height of rudeness to invite yourself over to someone’s house.

Most young families’ conversation revolves around children. We understand that. It’s just that we are (always unintentionally) given the cold shoulder.

Being childless hurts in other ways, too. To know there is a possibility that you will never bear or be able to afford adoption is one thing. But to then hear motherhood heralded as the exultant peak of womanhood makes me feel as though I am nothing and will never be anything just because my ovaries aren’t up to snuff.

And I don’t buy it.

I’m not saying that motherhood is anything but wonderful. If you’ve read any part of my blog, you know the heavenly relationship I share with my own mother and the amazing one I had with my late mother-in-law. I love mothers. And I’d love to join the mother club. But I’ve had to accept that I may never be “Mom” to anyone.

And if that is the case, and the peak of womanhood is motherhood, then why did God bother to create me at all? And see, that is where I find hope. God DID create me – out of His mercy and grace. Therefore, He HAS a purpose for me. And one that may not involve my ovaries in the least. I believe in that fervently. And I pray that He will continue to guide and direct me in that way.

After all, He directed me to Brett, in all his sweet, goofy weirdness. Brett has great peace with our childless situation. He has been an amazing comfort to me, in so many ways. He accepts me for who I am. He believes I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

And I love him, too. I love that he comes home and embraces me like a sailor who hasn’t seen a woman in 12 years. Or how he literally chases me around the house! I love that he gets mushy over our two rabbits. I love that he’s a little paranoid about identity theft (as though anyone would want to steal our sorry identities!) and yet totally careless about if the house is clean or dinner is on the table.

So, yes, we are a weird, childless couple. But, for the most part, we’re a happy, weird, childless couple.

And I think that if we weren’t us, we’d want to be friends with us. Because we’re friendly, loyal, and if you did hang out with us – I guarantee you’d have a good laugh, a good time –

And your identity when you left.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

All I Want For Christmas Is…EVERYTHING!

Lyrics from I Want It Now from the 1971 movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory -

Veruca Salt:

Gooses! Geeses!I want my geese to lay gold eggs for Easter

Mr. Salt:
It will, sweetheart

Veruca:
At least a hundred a day

Mr. Salt:
Anything you say

Veruca:
And by the way

Mr. Salt:
What?

Veruca:
I want a feast

Mr. Salt:
You ate before you came to the factory

Veruca:
I want a bean feast!

Mr. Salt:
Oh, one of those

Veruca:
Cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake with no nuts
So good you could go nuts

Mr. Salt:
You can have all those things when you get home

Veruca:
No, now!!

I want a ball
I want a party
Pink macaroons and a million balloons
And performing baboons and ...Give it to me
Rrhh rhhh
Now!

I want the world
I want the whole world
I want to lock it all up in my pocket
It's my bar of chocolate
Give it to me
Now!

I want today
I want tomorrow
I want to wear 'em like braids in my hair
And I don't want to share 'em

I want a party with room fulls of laughter
Ten thousand tons of ice cream
And if I don't get the things I am after
I'm going to scream!

I want the works
I want the whole works
Presents and prizes and sweets and surprises
Of all shapes and sizes
And now
Don't care how
I want it now
Don't care how
I want it now

Sometimes I feel like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I really identify with her when she sings how she wants it NOW! Neither patience nor contentment has ever been my strong suit.

And, no, I don’t care what that says about me! :-)

And there is never a shortage of things I want, let me tell you! So, in that materialistic vein, I have assembled my once-a-year-although-I-add-to-it-all-though-the-year Christmas list.

Mostly, I keep this list up all year for myself. So, I’ll remember that book I checked out from the library and now want to have as a permanent part of my meager collection. Or that movie I really enjoyed on the big screen and would now like to own. Stuff like that.

So, I don’t really ask people to get me these things (well, except Brett on occasion). It’s more to help me remember. But this kind of list IS handy when it comes Christmas time.

Because a lot of times, people really do want to know what to get you.

They don’t want to get you something you already have or don’t really want, so my list (although I know it seems a little forward) is helpful to the people in my life. Believe me, I wish more people kept lists and passed them out in December. It would make us all happier gift givers and receivers.

Mind you, these are things I WANT, but don’t necessarily NEED. I have them divided up categorically, as you will see. This is how neurotic I am about keeping track of what I like! Both my mom and Brett get a copy of the list, and I provide it to anybody who asks me what I want for Christmas. Ha! Ha! Ha!

There are big ticket items and cheap things like books, but really it’s just a conglomeration and amalgamation of the hodge-podge of stuff I yearn for all year long.


DVD’s:
The Family Stone
Lucky Number Slevin
The New Guy
X-Men 3


Books:
The Promise (Chaim Potok)
Last Man Standing (David Balducci)

Books by Lee Child:
Persuader
The Enemy
One Shot
The Hard Way

Books by Paul Johnston:
Body Politic
The Bone Yard
Water of Death
The Blood Tree
The House of Dust

CD’s:
Walk the Line (Original Soundtrack)

Yankee Candles Scents:
Jack Frost Tea Lights
Home Sweet Home
Vintage Chardonnay

Gift Cards:
Hallmark
Lane Bryant
Fashion Bug
www.whatonearthcatalog.com
(gift certificates)

Big Tickets:
Laptop PC
iPod

It’s all fun and games at the Soderstrom house! Happy Holidays!

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Creative Christmas

Well, I’m inspired to do what I’ve wanted to do forever - design a sweatshirt specifically for the showcase spectacular that is the REHFELDT CHRISTMAS!

My motivation came from a recent viewing of Steve Martin’s Cheaper by the Dozen. So, here’s what I’m thinking:

Front:
Christmas isn’t Christmas
unless it’s a
Rehfeldt Christmas


(I’m seeing this centered on the sweatshirt with “Rehfeldt Christmas” in funky letters. As for colors, I’m thinking red sweatshirt, white lettering.)

Back:
Life Is Better By The Dozen!
A listing of the twelve names


What do you think?

There is a great company in Rockford that does custom clothing work – Creative Pig Minds – so I’m thinking of going to them to see what they offer. I’ve also done stuff on zazzle.com, but I think I would need a little more design help on this one.

My cousin Candice also has a great idea for a Rehfeldt shirt. It would say 1+1= 12 on the front and list the twelve names on the back. I think it’s a great idea, and I’d like to see us do it for a reunion gathering one year.

Over the years, I’ve had many ideas for customized Rehfeldt clothing. One of my favorites is a dark green shirt with black lettering that says The Sherman Avenue Rehfeldts. I’ve always thought that would be cool.

Here’s another Christmas one: Santa’s My Uncle! Ha! Ha!

So, anyway, all ye of Rehfeldt blood please send me any of your Christmas sweatshirt suggestions.

I’ll get to work on it!

Wanted: One Big Brother

Sometimes, I can be such a girl.

Like tonight, for example, I was all hyped up to watch Criminal Minds – this great crime/mystery drama about the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the FBI. This group of FBI agents traverses around the globe solving serial killer crimes by figuring out the killer’s motivation and personality.

Of course, as it is with all Hollywood shows, everyone on the BAU is incredibly good-looking. Thankfully, the writing is excellent and the actors are very good. So all I really have to do is suspend my belief that everyone who works for the federal government is incredibly handsome and or model-gorgeous, and I have a great TV watching experience.

Well, as I was flipping through the channels, I saw that Steve Martin’s Cheaper by the Dozen remake was also on TV tonight. Since it also stars the yummy Tom Welling (of Smallville fame), I thought I would check it out during the Criminal Minds commercial breaks. I mean, I’ve seen the movie before, and (other than Tom) it wasn’t like I was all that impressed.

Well, of course, you know what happened. I ended up watching Criminal Minds during the Cheaper by the Dozen commercial breaks. I got sucked in. What can I say?

I pride myself on not being a chick-flick kind of person – TV or movies, but this one just got to me. I mean, of course there was Tom, who I would pay good money just to see sit in a chair for two hours. Mainly because, as gorgeous as God made him, the guy can’t act his way out of a paper bag. (I saw his remake of The Fog – and it was terrible!)

Anyway, back to the movie. I think I identified with it since my Mom is also one of twelve children. It’s a wonderful family legacy, and one I am deeply grateful for.

As I was watching the movie (and Tom), I got to thinking about family.

I am so fortunate God ordained for me to be an only child. As with all families, there are pros and cons to only childom. I wouldn’t trade my fantastic childhood for anything. Being an only child gave me many, many opportunities I would never have had otherwise.

I had closeness with my mom and dad that many children only dream of. I had educational, growth, and development opportunities I wouldn’t have had– since my parents never had a lot of money. And so much more!

I say this to preface what I am going to say now. There was only one thing I really wanted in the way of family. And by the time I was born, it was already too late.

I wanted a big brother.

My friend, Lindsay, had a big brother – Adam. I was in love with Adam. Not because he was older, taller, and handsome (although he was), but because he was an incredible older brother to Lindsay and her three sisters. He took his job seriously. You’ve never seen a big brother treat his sisters so nice.

I’d be over at Lindsay’s and all of us girls would be playing together, and (as it often happens with bunches of girls) a fight would break out. Then there’d be stomping off, door slamming, doll throwing, and down the hall yelling. Then, Adam would come out of his room (his fortress in the mostly all-girl land where he lived) and go talk to each one of his sisters, until eventually everyone was back in the same room laughing and dog piling on Adam. He’d slip back out to his room, eventually, and I would just stare lovelorn into the hallway wishing I had a valiant older brother.

That’s probably yet another reason why I have problems with men.

Until I met Brett, no man was ever there to defend me. My amazing father was misled, so he wasn’t there to stand for me when Josh tormented me. The boys in my class stood idly by or were active participants in the abuse I suffered. In high school, I was the target of mean boys who enjoyed taunting me. At church, I was (gratefully) mostly ignored by the boys, and only singled out by one or two for occasional humiliation.

So, it’s no wonder I would have appreciated an older brother.

It wasn’t until I got to college that I discovered there were lots of different types of men out there – and some of then were actually good. I hadn’t believed it up until then. And after what I had been through, can you blame me?

I wouldn’t have minded a younger brother, either. But, unfortunately, my little brother, Nathan James, died during my mom’s miscarriage when I was only five years old.

I didn’t even realize Mom had a miscarriage until I was eight. I had a flashback of organizing my books on a bottom shelf so there would be room for the baby’s things. So, in all my eight year old naiveté, I turned to my mom and asked, “Weren’t you going to have a baby?”

Mom was shocked – it had been THREE years, and I’d never said a word - and then broke down. Over the next couple of years, I learned the horrible pain and heart wrenching agony that miscarriage caused my parents. Mom said that if they hadn’t already had me (after being childless for 11 years), she wasn’t sure she could have handled it mentally.

The story of the miscarriage - and its ramifications – are another post altogether. But suffice it to say, there are times when I think of Nathan and wonder what it would have been like to have a brother.

I guess the sad thing for me is that I never found anyone to fill that unique void. My brother-in-laws are hardly brotherly, even though I’m young enough to be their younger, much younger, sister. And for all my cousins, not one ever stepped up into the roll. Not that I blame them – I don’t believe I was all that easy to love and/or imagine as a “little” sister – since I was anything BUT little growing up.

There is one time I remember where I had a “brotherly” experience. Several of the Rehfeldt families had rented a cabin next to a lake up in Wisconsin one summer. My cousin Jason (three years older than me) and I rowed out to the middle of the lake and talked for hours about God and the universe. He was sweet to be so kind to my somewhat cynical twelve year old self. And I’ve always treasured that moment.

I think my big brother void manifested itself in who I chose to marry. I loved Brett for who he was, but I was drawn to the fact that he was a big guy. He could defend me if I was ever in danger. And, to be honest, I’ve only ever seen Brett really lose his cool once and that WAS to defend me on a Chicago street.

So, psychosomatic as it sounds, I guess, I am still looking for my big brother.

At least, I know that, one day, I’ll get to meet my little brother in heaven. And it’ll be nice to say, “Hi, Nathan. I’m your sister.”

I’ve never been anyone’s sister before.

When It’s For Better

Well, yes, so the other day I did complain about my husband not doing enough around the house. Then he goes and does something very sweet and very nice for me today, so I figured it would be only fair to record his GOOD actions.

This morning, while I was still fast asleep in a nice warm bed, he put gas in my car and then took it through the car wash. Now, the feminist in me knows I can pump my own gas, but the lazy person in me loves that he does this for me every so often.

I’m even more appreciative for the car wash. See, the thing is that I HATE going through those automatic car washes. I can never line up my tires with that magic metal thing on the floor. I have HORRIBLE depth perception and always end up running over the metal edge, getting stuck, and having to go call the attendant. They know me by name at the local Mobil stations.

After I got ready for work, he bought me an on-the-go breakfast from Panera’s and dropped me off at work. And how is he going to spend the rest of the day? He’s going to look for a replacement right-side mirror for my car and take Peyton to the vet. So, I guess he’s redeemed himself for NOT cleaning the litter box and NOT washing the dishes the other day.


I’m actually a little anxious about what the vet might say about Peyton. He’s been moping around the house which isn’t like him. He has this very sad look, so Brett and I have been calling him “Sad-Eyed Joe.” He has this look even when he feels fine, though, so it doesn’t really tell us anything. He’s usually such a little fireball, so Brett thinks he may just have a little bug, but we figured we better have the vetest-with-the-mostest, Dr. Sandra Durst, check him out. Hopefully, he’ll be fine.

Anyway, it was nice to be pampered a little bit this morning and to remember that a lot of marriage is actually for “the better” part.

P.S. – I can’t remember where I read or saw it, but this quote has always stuck with me, because it is so true.

“Marriage is basically two selfish people trying to pretend they’re not.”

Somebody hit that nail on the head!

Ahh, Blissful Silence!

T’was the day before Thanksgiving and all through the office
Not many people were here

A LOT of people take the day before Thanksgiving off in order to travel home for the holidays. And my office is no different. I actually like having less people around, since it means I get a lot more work done.

My job is pretty varied, but a lot of it depends on helping other people. I help them design flyers and programs. I offer advice on best practice standards and copyright issues. I train and coordinate my own group of on call media girls and adults. I cultivate and maintain all the media contacts in our three county areas. And when I’m not doing all that – I’ve got numerous publications to design, press releases to write, grants to oversee, and just the general office “stuff” we all have to do. But….on a day like today…I can tackle those projects I’ve been putting on the back burner – and it is SO profitable to have the time.

So, here’s to a half-empty office and the success of quiet! It’s fleeting, so I might as well enjoy it!

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

It’s the Little Gifts That Matter

Do you remember your favorite wedding gift? How about a wedding gift you still use?

Mine are these two OXO plastic grip mixing bowls with pour spouts. I even remember who gave them to me. I opened the package at one of my bridal showers and thought, “What are these? I didn’t register for these.”

And I didn’t, but as time went on in my married life, those bowls have become two of my favorite things. They’re perfect for everything I do, since they have a grip on the bottom to keep the bowl from sliding across the counter, the pour spouts are designed for batter, and the grip on the side is great for easy stirring.

It is the perfect example of how a small gift (one I didn’t even want at the time) ended up being perfect. Sometimes, the little unexpected gifts are the ones I appreciate the most.

My mother-in-law once got me a candle wick snipper. I love that thing. She saw me admiring it at Cracker Barrel (all of $6.95) and bought it for me. I use it everyday. And now I think of her and smile every time I use it.

My friend Julie bought me stay-at-home socks for my birthday. What are stay-at-home socks? Well, they are wonderfully soft, super fluffy, and fantastically fuzzy socks. What makes then stay-at-home is the fact that when she bought them – they were all out of popular colors. So, she had to buy the last two pairs – salmon orange and neon green – hello, 1989! So, she told me I could have them, love them, and that she’d kill me if I ever wore them out of the house. And you know what? They are my absolute favorite socks and they go with absolutely NOTHING I own, so they’re perfect for cuddling up and watching TV on the couch.

Angie once included me in her May Day project and dropped off a carefully decorated soup can filled with candy and May Day wishes. The soup can (still beautifully decorated) made a perfect pencil cup for my counter. It’s great to have two pencil holders now. Small thing, yet it makes me think of her every time I jot down a note.

Camille (Gary’s daughter) gave me a little notepad that says, “Chicken, Egg, Chicken, Egg – What to buy first?” I don’t know why, but every time I look at it, it makes me laugh.

I’m a giver. I like to give people things. It’s how I give and receive love. But it’s nice to know that it isn’t the cost that counts. It really is the thought!

Let He Who Is Without Sin Write The Play

Whoa, Nelly!

I just read a couple of blogs that really made me think. The blogs were about the play I recently attended at Maranatha. People are upset that an Oscar Wilde (a man of dubious character) play was presented at a “sacred” institution.

Oh, give me a break.

This is JUST like those people who stopped singing Amy Grant songs after she stepped out on her husband. If we judged every artistic work by the artist’s character and conduct, we would never be able to participate in any thing. Do they think the people who wrote Amazing Grace were perfect and sinless?

Can’t we just accept a work of art – whether it is song, drama, or any such thing, on the merit of its own value? Am I supposed to stop singing People Need the Lord because Steve Green ran a stop sign one time?

Okay, that was a rant. But I feel better now!

The Parking Putz

Believe it or not, I can be obstinate. I can be stubborn. I can even be demanding.

Please try to suspend your disbelief.

And often, it is over things that are not really so important. Do you ever have tiny moments of rebellion? I do. One of them is so small, so insignificant, and yet so infuriatingly irritating to me that I just have to tell you.

It’s our church parking lot. Well, that and my husband.

You see, our church meets in a town hall, so there isn’t really a parking lot at all. It’s just a lot of yellow dust mixed with yellow gravel mixed with gray dirt. You get the picture.

Well, anyway, recently my husband decided to start parking WAY over on the other side of the parking lot, in the grass. When I asked him why, he said that he thought we should save the “good” parking spots for the older people in our church.

Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that really selfless? Isn’t that SO inconvenient for ME?

Parking there means I have to walk over gravel, dirt, and wet grass in order to get in the door at church. Which, of course, means my nice shoes are coated with muck when I do get in the door. This bothers me. Greatly.

So, I considered my options. First, I asked if he could drop me off at the door. He said he wanted to walk in with me. Okay. So, then I just asked him if we could maybe park a little closer, so at least I didn’t have to walk through the grass. No such luck. He’s still parking there. Last time, I lost my patience and told him that if he did it again, I was going to drive my own car to church and park in one of the “good” spots.

I know what you’re thinking. Because I’m thinking it, too. Why the big fuss over it? I don’t know. I just know that it drives me NUTS!

Because, YES, of course, I know what my response SHOULD be. I should be glad my husband is thinking of others. I should be glad that the older people have a closer parking spot. I shouldn’t care about my nice shoes that are basically unrecognizable as such now. I shouldn’t care what they look like and realize that mucking through the mud and grass isn’t the end of the world. I know, okay, I know.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who struggles with the right response to the little irritating things in life.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Thanksgiving Humbug

Well, it’s almost Thanksgiving again. Yippee.

I’ve never been a big fan of Thanksgiving, the day. Thanksgiving in general, I’m in favor of.

Or, as the lady at the Dollar Store wished us, “Happy Turkey Day.” I’m not sure if she said that because it has now officially become politically incorrect to say “Happy Thanksgiving” or if she really didn’t know what the day is actually called. Either way, it was annoying.

I don’t know why I don’t care about Thanksgiving. With all my cherished holiday memories, I can’t remember a single Thanksgiving that holds any special meaning for me. And, I guess overall, I really don’t understand its significance in the big picture.

Okay, so we’re supposed to give thanks. That I get. But why on one day? I mean, I’m grateful for stuff everyday. And the Bible is pretty clear that we are supposed to be in constant thanks.

Maybe it’s the food? Maybe that’s why I’m not all gung-ho about Thanksgiving. In the Rehfeldt-Trotter house, we never needed an excuse to eat. That’s also why we needed Weight Watchers.

The thing is that there were ever only three of us. A big meal with three people just isn’t that exciting.

Even now, there are just two of us. I always feel bad I don’t have any kids to contribute to Mom’s Thanksgiving dinner, which always feels a little sad and empty – like a Hallmark commercial when little Bobby doesn’t actually make it home for Christmas.

An all grown-up Thanksgiving is actually pretty boring. We eat, Brett sacks out on the couch to watch TV, Gary washes dishes, and Mom and I play a card game. Then, after a while, we go up to Brett’s sister’s house to have Thanksgiving with them.

Only this year, two of the sibling are holding their families hostage, since one half of the family is not talking (nor thankful, apparently) for the other half. Now that’s holiday spirit in action.

So we go up there, eat more, and make excuses to leave a little early, since Brett’s family is still actively competing for the World’s Dullest Family. Seriously, I take my pulse when I’m there. Just to be sure.

I’m not saying I’m NOT thankful for the pilgrims, Squanto, and the explorers who discovered the New World. That’s great. Really. I’m just saying it’s not my favorite holiday.

For me, the real fun starts the day after Thanksgiving. When we go shopping up in Geneva with Brett’s brother and his wife (the one who is still talking to us and not competitors in the “dull” category). We go to the Geneva Commons – truly a shopper’s paradise – a HUGE outdoor mall.

Actually, this year the outing will bring back some sad memories. Because last year, we all went with Brett’s mom. I remember us perusing the aisles of Crate & Barrel together and laughing until our sides hurt at a ridiculous squirrel ornament! We both got one, actually, because we just couldn’t believe someone had made a SQUIRREL ornament!

So, I guess that’s something to be thankful for this season – that I had the opportunity to know one of the world’s sweetest and godly women – Jean Soderstrom, my mother-in-law.

Oh, and for Squanto. Wouldn’t want to forget Squanto.

Observations on a Migraine and the Way It Completely Disrupts My Life!

My amazing father left me with a legacy of wonderful things.

He gave me his sense of humor, his unconditional love and acceptance, and 20 years of great memories. Unfortunately, he also passed down his medical history – high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and migraines.

Now, I am grateful I only suffer the occasional migraine. I know there are those who live in constant pain from migraines. Their pain is so intense it become debilitating and prevents them from living a normal life. Brett’s sister is one such example.

So, my occasional migraine is not such a big deal in the scope of things. However, being a migraine sufferer, I can tell you it is also no picnic.

Due to my blessedly limited experience, I can now tell the vague differences between headaches. There are slight headaches, normal headaches, pounding headaches, throbbing headaches and then the warp speed blast in migraine territory.

Personally, I’ve only ever gone to the migraine stage of throwing up, sobbing, and rocking back and forth from the pain – but, believe it or not, some people get it worse. There have been reports of people taking a gun to their head to try and stop the pain. My own sister-in-law once said she got to the point where all she wanted was for someone to crack her head open to just relieve the constant, paralyzing anguish.

Most doctors believe that migraines have “triggers” – something in a person’s body make-up that brings on a migraine. The problem? Everyone has different triggers, and some people (like me) don’t know what they are.

We have suspicions, of course. I think the barometric pressure and allergies (ragweed, smoke) may contribute to my occasional migraine, but I’m not really sure. And, at this point in time, there’s not a lot doctors can do to treat a migraine. It is one of the most horrible ailments in modern medicine today, and (sadly) there’s no cure.

Today I am in MRM (Migraine Recovery Mode). It’s that all-over-achy feeling the day after a migraine – when you feel like you’re recovering from someone beating your head in with a baseball bat. I called in to work and am now sitting here sipping hot green tea and feeling somewhat philosophical.

Yesterday started out like a regular Sunday. We got up a little later but still managed to make it to morning service at church. I felt a slight (and what I assumed was normal) headache when we went Dollar Store shopping after church.

But the migraine was starting to take over by the time we started grocery shopping. And by the time we got home and put groceries away, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed; put the covers over my head and just cry.

So, that’s what I did.

Brett went to evening church, and when he got home, things were worse. I had gone into my throwing up, sobbing, and rocking back and forth phase. He got me some aspirin and a cold pack and tried (for a sweet but non-nurturing person) to sympathize.

The thing that amazes me is how confused Brett gets when I’m incapacitated for any measure of time.

I do a lot of work around the house. To be fair, he does a lot of work, too, but it’s more occasional stuff – taking out the garbage, mowing the yard, cleaning ducts, etc. I do the everyday stuff that HAS to get done – dishes, laundry, cleaning, feeding the rabbits, cleaning up after the rabbits – stuff like that.

Well, last night, Brett took the initiative and washed all the produce for the rabbits and packaged it for the week. That’s a prolonged process and one I usually do. So, that was very nice.

I also asked if he could clean their litter box. I could tell he was a little annoyed – “Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” he asked me.

In my head, I know what he’s saying – that I’ll feel better by tomorrow and then (of course) I can do it, instead of him. That irradiated me. Still does. Cleaning the litter box is definitely NOT a glamour job, but it’s not hard to do, and I do it every week. I also “do” the vegetables every week. He can’t do it for one week? He loves the rabbits as much as I do, but when it comes to caring for them, he’s a little bit of a disappointment.

I pointed out to him that the litter box was full, full, full – and I usually do clean it out on Sunday. “Okay, okay,” he says and then lies down on the bed next to me to “rest for just a minute.”

The next thing I know, it’s 12:30 a.m. and all the lights in our room are still on. My aching head is berating me for those stupid lights. I shake Brett lightly and ask him to go turn off the lights – knowing full well that this extended “rest” is his way of “getting out” of cleaning the litter box, but not caring, since all I want is the blessed coolness of dark at this point.

“In a minute,” he tells me, rolling over. I can’t help it. The time for politeness is past. My migraine is a tough task master. “NOW!” I practically scream, clutching my head.

“Fine!” Acting more irritated at the inconvenience than sympathetic (although I would have thought he’d have been happy to have avoided the litter box task) he rolls out of bed, stomps over to the light switch, and flicks it off.

Too tired and in too much pain to care, I promptly fell asleep.

This morning, I am feeling better, although still in MRM. I got up and called in to work – I’d be no good to them today. Then, I went downstairs to make a nice hot cup of tea.

And saw them.

All the dishes Brett used to wash the produce – piled high on the countertop. Understandably, this caused me some irritation. Now, still in MRM, I have the task of washing dishes AND cleaning the rabbits’ litter box.

I’m tempted to leave it all be.

The thing is - I’m always telling Brett that a household job isn’t done – until it’s done. You can’t make dinner and leave all the dirty dishes – that’s part of the job. You can’t do laundry and leave clean clothes piled on the bed for someone else to fold – that’s part of the job. You can’t stuff the garbage so full that eventually the other person has to take it out – that’s part of the job.

It’s frustrating to be in MRM and still have to think about functioning.

So, I’ve decided not to do it. At least not now. I’m going to have another cup of tea, a bagel, and curl up on the couch.

Let the world and my chores wait. No one else will do them for me, obviously, so I say they can all wait until I’m ready.

And I’m not ready yet!

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Watertown Weekend: After the Play

After dinner, we headed to the play. Candice and I rode with Jonathan and Leeanna, and later Candice told me that she spied FLOWERS in the front seat! Hmm, it was a “date” after all!

The play! The play! The play (The Importance of Being Earnest) was EXCELLENT! We had the BEST seats in the house! Literally, front and center! The only way we could have been closer would have been if we were actually ON the stage.

The actors did a phenomenal job of getting lost in their characters, and the whole thing flew by in record time!

During intermission, I saw some familiar faces. My old drama teacher, Mrs. Traum and her husband had come up for the play. I also saw Pastor and Kay Walton (from Memorial Baptist Church). They were there because their daughter was one of the principal actors in the play – and did a great job, I might add!

Driving home after the play was an adventure! Jonathan and Leeanna had plans afterwards, so Candice and I had to pile in the car with Uncle Darryl, Aunt Jan, Mom, AND Aunt Linda! There were six of us, not particularly skinny people, stuffed into this ridiculously tiny car!

We kept joking that Uncle Darryl was going to get a reputation – driving around with five women in his car!

When we got back to Aunt Jan’s, we had popcorn, ice cream, tea, and played Apples to Apples. Even Uncle Darryl played! It was fun, and (of course) yours truly WON!

We were all pretty exhausted, so we went to bed around 11 p.m. Mom and Aunt Linda shared the “real” bed in one room, and Candice and I slept on twin bed mattresses on the floor in another room.

I tried to talk to her, but she was pretty much out as soon as her head hit the pillow. So, I just worked out some story details in my head, and the next thing I knew – it was morning!

Well, it was only 6:00 a.m., so I figured no one else would be up yet. Thankfully, Aunt Jan had put us in a room with a bookcase, so I started perusing my choices.

I noticed that she had John MacArthur’s new book – Twelve Extraordinary Women. Our church women’s group is currently studying that book, but it’s on a night I can’t be there. So, I thought this would be a good opportunity to look it over. I’d kind of been thinking about buying it.

Well, turns out that it wasn’t such a good idea. I got hot under the collar just reading the preface to the book. I now have to refer to the author as John MacSexist in my own mind! I found his phraseology discussing women to be extremely condescending and overtly sexist. I don’t think he was TRYING to be intentionally sexist, but YUCK!

He talked about “feminine excellence.” Okay, first of all, what would a man know about feminine excellence? Secondly, that sounds like a commercial for sanitary “napkins.” Thirdly, have you ever heard of “manly excellence?” Who comes up with this stuff?

He also talked about how feminism and egalitarianism have destroyed women. He said that women aren’t “special” anymore. Yeah, well, the Muslim men seem to think their women are pretty “special” too, and they live in an oppressed and male dominated world. You know what? I’m okay not being so special.

He went on to say how women’s roles are defined by creation – to give birth and nurture the little ones. Okay, so what does a barren person like myself have to do to discover her freakin’ “role?” Are we useless if we can’t bear children? According to the preface of this book – pretty much.

He also bemoaned that women are being integrated into society - that we are “forced” to be on the front lines, into doing physical work, and harassed daily at the workplace.

Well, there are brave women who want to serve their country on the front lines. There are strong women who live to do physical work. As for harassment in the workplace, do you know what happens, Mr. MacArthur? They get sent to jail. That’s what happens.

So, let’s crawl out from the rock we’ve been living under for the past fifty years and get with the program. Women can do great things. They are special and capable, and they don’t need YOU rushing to defend them against imaginary wrongs. Just write your profiles on Biblical women, okay? Please. Geesh.

So those few pages got me a little worked up! To calm down, I read Aunt Jan’s yearbook from Auburn High School in 19--. Very interesting! Very, very, interesting!

By that time, Mom and Aunt Jan were up. We enjoyed zucchini and chocolate chip muffins along with English muffins and cream cheese – and tea – we always have to have tea! Oh wait, we had hot cocoa, too!

Eventually, Aunt Linda and Candice got up, and the four of us headed back towards home! We had a nice trip back, listening to Christmas carols in car and singing along occasionally.

All in all, it was a truly wonderful trip!

Thanks to Aunt Jan and Uncle Darryl and Jonathan for putting up with the lot of us!

Watertown Weekend: Before the Play

My trip to Watertown started out with a brisk early morning drive to Mom’s. For some reason, my car takes FOREVER to warm up! I thought I was being smart and taking the short route to Mom’s, but I ended up in horrifically slow moving traffic on Rockton Road, due to the new Super Walmart construction. It was really nasty – very slow and lots of toxic blacktop fumes!

When I finally DID get to Mom’s, I realized I had totally forgotten to eat breakfast. Thankfully, Aunt Linda had brought some butter croissants! Yum! Candice and I still talked Mom into stopping at a gas station so we could get Coke (her) and Diet Coke (me).

Aunt Linda had brought some of the photos she’s taken over the last couple of months. She wanted us to have something to look through during the trip.

Well, they were very convicting! As I looked at the photos, I saw a totally different person looking out at me. I’m very glad Mom and I are starting back to Weight Watchers on Tuesday!

It’s funny that I don’t see that same face in the mirror. I was honestly shocked at some of those photos. I think I’m going to post one at work and one at home, so I’m constantly reminded that I need to work at getting the weight off!

Anyway, so the four us piled in Mom’s car and headed up to Aunt Jan’s. Mom and Aunt Linda sat in the front and talked about (I’m sure) much more mature things that Candice and I discussed.

Actually, we mostly discussed the lyrics to “Sante Fe” from Newsies. She swore the lyric “save the world” was in there, and I swore it wasn’t. Guess what? I just looked it up on Google – and I was right! Ha! So there! We also talked about BJ moving to Tennessee this Sunday, and Candice’s love life – oh, la, la!

We also enjoyed driving with Mom – well, actually we laughed about it a lot. Mom’s in love with her brake pedal and tends to stomp on it every couple of seconds, and so we knew all of our seatbelts were functioning properly!

Eventually, s-l-o-w-l-y we got to the Johnson Creek Outlet Mall. Aunt Jan met us there. It was SO good to see her! She’s so sweet. She even let me and Candice use her coupons to get new lotions from Bath and Body Works.

Candice got Winter Candy Apple, and I got Twisted Peppermint. Mom said she knew I would pick that because – and I quote, “You’re twisted.” From my own mother!

We went to Harry David (yum freakin’ yum) together, and then broke off into two groups. Candice and I went off together and “the aunts” went off together. We visited the Welcome Home Store where I got a candle screen (only $10!) and a piece that matches a tea light holder I got from Home Interiors forever ago.

We also went to Aeropostale, Gap, The Paper Factory, The Children’s Place, Dress Barn, and Nike.

It was so fun in Nike! We just walked around and held up various athletic attire and said, “Darn it! They don’t carry this in an extra small.” Then, of course, we’d ask if they had anything in the 0-2 size. Ha! Ha! Ha! SO funny!

Aunt Jan had coupons for Arby’s (actually, she had coupons for everything we did!) – enough for the five of us AND for the complete party of people behind us. We were all passing out coupons! They loved us at Arby’s.

After that, Aunt Linda and Candice went back to Aunt Jan’s to sleep. Aunt Linda always has to take a nap, and Candice worked the night shift, so she hadn’t had any sleep yet.

I went with Mom and Aunt Jan to Kohl’s. We found great Christmas gifts for Linda and Molly Sturgill. I also discovered a good gift idea for Colleen. I’ve thought about it for a while, and I really think I’m going to get it!

Mom and Aunt Jan are SO funny! They kept asking for my opinion on certain clothes, and when I said I didn’t like them, they were like, “Well what do you know?” I told them they shouldn’t ask for an opinion if they knew they weren’t going to like it! Ha! Ha!

Aunt Jan could have shopped FOREVER, but Mom and I were exhausted – and my feet HURT! So, we went back to Aunt Jan’s and took naps – in very uncomfortable chairs, since our sleeping partners were hogging the beds. The NERVE! J

At 5:00 p.m., by the time Uncle Darryl got home, we were all up and gussied up for dinner before the play. Dinner was DE-licious. Aunt Jan made Chicken Chalupa Casserole, Cornbread Casserole, Strawberry Jello Salad, and Chocolate Mousse-with-a-graham-cracker-crust-Squares. Mmm-mmmm-good!

My cousin Jonathan, a graduate student at Maranatha, joined us for dinner. He also brought his friend Leeanna (I’m guessing on the spelling of her name) to dinner. He is SO thin! You could almost SEE his bones! I’m not entirely sure he’s a Rehfeldt! Ha! Ha!

Well, in spite of being SO tall and SO thin, he’s still very, very handsome. And what a GOOD guy! I was very proud to be his cousin – he probably wanted to crawl under the table with the lot of us Rehfeldt women talking the whole time!

Leeanna seemed very sweet. Although I did stick my foot in it during dinner! Somehow, we got around to talking about education and the topic of home school came up. And I said how I’ve noticed some home school students lack the social interaction necessary for normal development.

Well, turns out, Leeanna was a home school student! Ooops! Thankfully, the word “some” saved me. She regaled us with tales of her parent’s successful experience with home school. She laughed about it being her “high horse,” but I don’t think she was ever dogmatic about it.

And judging by just the few hours we spent with her, I must say her parents did something VERY right. She’s an accomplished, well-spoken woman. And we could all see why Jonathan would be smitten!

My Good Friend vs. My Managing Editor

I had a great time with Carleen on Thursday night!

We went to Atlanta Bread Company, and she helped me work out story ideas, character sketches, and timelines for Gangland. I’m so glad she’s agreed to be my editor!

It’s great to have a smart friend who reads as avidly as I do. Her input was invaluable. She was kind but honest about where I needed to make some changes. Now, I really feel like I have clear direction on Gangland.

Now only if I could get one on Bruised! I’ve been sitting here at my PC for an hour now, and I’ve only reformatted a few paragraphs.

I have a 150 page novel so far, and since I was too stupid to do a clear outline before, I’ve got this GIANT plot gap between my two main story ideas. I did decide to re-write one character’s personality, so those were the paragraphs I reformatted, but now I’m stuck!

I’ve got to go back to the beginning and ACTUALLY do an outline. At least, with Gangland, I’ve got clear direction – at least enough to get started.

Anyway, back to Thursday night, I had printed out Bruised – 153 pages to be exact – and brought it along so Carleen could see how far I’ve gotten with it. Well, she talked me into handing it over to be looked at. I really, really didn’t want to do it, since it is still very rough and unedited, but she was persistent enough, that I ended up handing it over.

I’m a little afraid of what she’s going to say. Handing over your freshman story to be critiqued is sort of like having other people yell at your kids. You can critique your own stuff to death, but you get pretty protective when other people do it.

Well, I’m just going to have to get over it – especially now that I have an “editor” who I do want to be honest with me – even if it hurts! No pain, no better writing!

I got home about 8:30 p.m. and Brett was still asleep. He had Thursday night off from work. He slept from 6:30 a.m. – 8:30 p.m.! Can you believe it!!! Then, when I went to bed, about 10:00 p.m., he went downstairs to “work on stuff.”

Then, the next morning, he told me that when he went downstairs, after sleeping 14 HOURS, he fell back asleep on the couch! And slept another 7 HOURS. I told him that he should be extremely well-rested for his Friday-Saturday hunting trip! In fact, he shouldn’t need to sleep at all!

So, Friday morning, (I took off work, too!) we were both putzing around the house getting ready for our trips – him to go hunting and me to go to Maranatha!

We had an exciting weekend ahead of us!

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Rehfeldt Women Weekend Excursion in Watertown

The ball started rolling with a phone call from my Aunt Jan.

Knowing how my mom and I love plays, she invites us to the Maranatha play every year. She and my Uncle Darryl (He’s a VP of something at Maranatha.) get free tickets every year, just because Uncle Darryl prays at the beginning of the play – what a racket! Ha! Ha!

Anyway, several family members have gone with us to plays in the past, including various cousins, husbands, and even Grandma. It is always an excellent play. I remember going to a great mystery play there where I was totally surprised by the whodunit at the end. The actors were THAT good. We also especially enjoyed the Pirates of Penzance musical. It was spectacular!

So this year, the play happens to fall on a hunting weekend, so both of our husbands were out of the picture. Out in the woods, actually. Ha. Ha. Anyway, so we decided to invite my cousin Candice and Aunt Linda as our tag-a-longs.

I am really looking forward to it. The play is The Importance of Being Earnest which I’ve never seen. Plus, we are going to go shopping at Johnson Creek Mall, eat Aunt Jan’s delicious cooking for dinner, see our cousin/nephew Jon (an accomplished Maranatha student – and has a girlfriend who we’ll also meet!), and spend the night!

I always feel a little weird stepping on the Maranatha campus. Going to college there was never really a consideration for me. First, they didn’t have a Communications major. Second, going there would just have been a continuation of the oppressive and legalistic Baptist regime I had already endured in my younger years.

Now, in all fairness, many, many of my wonderful friends went to Maranatha and received a brilliant education, a great college experience, and met their soul mates. So, I’m not downing the college. I’m just saying it wasn’t the right place for me.

Anyway, it still feels a little like stepping back in time when I’m there. Candice, my entirely delightful cousin and kindred spirit, asked me what I was going to wear to the play. She said, “Are you going to dress up or just wear church clothes?” It made me laugh! Only WE would get the distinction between REAL dress up clothes and the Maranatha translation of “dressed up.” Translation - “Wear your go to meetin’ clothes!” Ha! Ha! Candice SO gets me!

My Aunt Linda should also be a blast to hang out with. I didn’t really know her growing up, since she lived in France, but I’ve gotten to know her over the past couple of years. She’s a very smart, insightful woman who does a great job of analyzing just about everything accurately! Plus, she’s hilarious!

So, I’m looking forward to it, and I’ll be sure to report on it afterwards. And yes, Aunt Jan, I promise I’ll be good and not say anything embarrassing.

Or at least I’ll try.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The Swearing Situation

I don’t think I heard a “real” swear word until I was at least thirteen.

Growing up in a house with two parents who didn’t swear, going to a school where swearing was reason for expulsion, and of course, there was church where, for the obvious reasons, not many people feel comfortable swearing – I didn’t have much of an opportunity to become well versed in profanity.

I was exactly thirteen when I said my first bad word.

Actually, being the writer I was, I wrote the bad word in my diary. I even remember the sentence. “Those stupid cheerleaders think they can do whatever they d--- well please!” I think I went on to be rather indignant of cheerleaders in general.

Not two days after I wrote that particular entry, my Mom and I had a big fight. I was thirteen and so that was pretty much par for the course. Well, in the middle of the fight, my sainted mother, from whom I’d never even heard so much as an “Oh, dear!” exclamation, said, “You are acting like you can do whatever you d--- well please!”

I was furious and burst forth with an accusation. “Have you been reading my diary?” I demanded.

“What?” Mom was totally confused. Then, so was I. Turns out she hadn’t read my diary, but that our two minds had somehow latched on to that phrase and used it within days of each other.

I stormed off to my room. I was less upset that my mother had just sworn at me, and more worried that she’d want to know exactly what kind of filth I was writing in my diary.

After a few minutes, Mom knocked on my door. She came in and apologized for swearing at me. Being the smart mouth teenager I was, I agreed to forgive her…if she was d--- sure she was sorry.

Now, most parents would have hit the roof. But Mom didn’t. Instead, she sat down and told me a story.

She told me her own mother, who raised 12 children, had also used the “d” word once. Mom remembered it all very clearly. She said all the kids were in the kitchen, clamoring for attention, when my Aunt Laurie, who was very young, picked up a pair of scissors and started playing with them.

“D--- it, Laurie! Put those down,” my normally even-tempered grandmother exclaimed. Mom says the kitchen fell silent, Aunt Laurie dropped the scissors, and Grandma just went back to her chores. Mom said that no one mentioned it again until years later when they were all old enough to laugh about it.

By that time, both of our tempers had cooled off. I apologized for swearing, and Mom joked that all Rehfeldt women were allowed to say the “d” word once, and we’d both just used up our turns.

Later, I told the Grandma the story, and we laughed about it together. She told me how incredibly guilty she had felt, but also how (in that instance) it sure did get her point across!

So, mostly, I am a stranger to swearing. But now, after having been in the professional world, and just less sheltered, I suppose, I have been introduced to swearing in regular conversation.

I have always worked in professional offices, so my swearing exposure has been less intense. Brett assures me that the “factory” work world is just one long swear word after another.

But swearing definitely also exists in the “office” world. I’ve worked in a nurses’ office, a Chamber of Commerce, and a non-profit office, and I’ve heard clever and not-so-clever uses of profanity in all of them.

The thing about people who swear – they get uncomfortable when they realize you don’t. In the different places I’ve worked, I’ve gotten a reputation as a goody-two-shoes, people who try to get me to swear, and even the nicest people who say the obligatory “Sorry!” in my general direction after taking the Lord’s name in vain.

Mostly, I take it all in stride. I figure that the people who are swearing are, most likely, not saved, so it’s not like they are under Holy Spirit’s influence. And, since it IS an office environment, the swearing is mostly light and never used professionally.

Occasionally, I’ve had the chance to make a point here or there. Once, our bookkeeper took the Lord’s name in vain, and then started choking on a hard candy. It took her several hearty coughs and throat clears before she could speak again. She looked at me, and since I knew her pretty well, I said, “Serves you right.” She nodded, smiled, and said, “I suppose you’re right!”

But occasionally the swearing gets to me. One of my pastors once said, “When you get bumped in life - whatever you’re really full of - will spill out.”

I work with a woman about my age. We get along very well and work great as a team. The problem? She swears more than anyone I know. I could take her through the alphabet, and I’ll bet she knows a swear word for every letter.

One time I made a joke about how much – and how graphically – she swears. She kept insisting that “I’m not THAT bad.” But she is, and being with her all day seems to push the words through my ears and into my brain. And a couple of times, when I’ve been “bumped,” a word has come out.

Last night, we were at Wendy’s, and Brett was joking about eating some of my fries. I was jokingly thinking, “Oh, no you don’t.” But that’s not what came out. “Oh, h---, no!” I said.

Before the words were even completely out, I clapped my hand over my mouth and stared flabbergasted at my husband. My eyes must have been huge.

I know exactly why I said it. My swear-prone friend from work had walked around all day complaining about a recent project using those exact words.

I was instantly ashamed and apologized to my husband. He was really surprised but could tell I felt bad about the whole thing.

Brett has sympathy for the swearing situation. He knows what it’s like. Unlike me, he didn’t grow up in a Christian home, attend Christian school, or go to church. His parents didn’t swear, but that didn’t help him from being introduced to swearing at a very young age.

Now, people who know Brett, know he is mostly a very quiet person. But that all changes when he gets behind the wheel of a car. That’s when his swearing temptation is at its highest. He knows this and has worked for years to control it. That’s not to say his control hasn’t slipped from time to time in the years we’ve been together. He’s had to apologize to me for the very same reason from time to time.

Still, it frightens me to think that I am so easily influenced. I used to think that being a Christian somehow inoculated me against something as small a little old swear word.

Apparently, that little old swear word has a lot more power over me than I realized. This means, of course, I have to be more vigilant and sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s leading. And purpose in my heart not to swear. Even unintentionally.

The thing is that I think people who swear often “cheat” at their words. If you don’t swear, you automatically have to be more creative in your language. You can’t fall back on the old familiar way of describing a situation or expressing emotion, you have the opportunity to express your ideas in a totally clean and higher way. It actually makes you appear more professional and in charge of a situation.

Mr. Thompson, my eighth grade teacher, was talking about swearing in one of our Bible classes. He said that swear words, with the exception of the Lord’s name, were mostly just “made up” by the masses. That the “real” sin was behind the actual words.

He told us that if we had sinful intentions in our hearts when we talked about someone – if we called them a name – any name – it was just as wrong as swearing. He even said if we called someone a “hammer” but meant another word or had a sinful emotion in our mind, we had just sinned. And that was just as bad as swearing.

That has always stuck with me. I hope my everyday words have honest intentions behind them.

So, I can honestly say that I’m going to keep trying not be influenced and not to swear – not even (sorry, Grandma) the “d” word.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

A Very Special Episode

ER, the TV show, was just hitting its stride when I got to college. And, thanks to George Clooney and the Noah Wyle, it was a female campus favorite.

Every time ER was on, there would be a mad dash in my dorm. The elevators would be packed out with excited girls as we all rode down to Houghton 2, the only floor with a TV. It was commonly referred to the ER Rush.

We’d all be in our pajama pants, Diet Cokes in hand, bowls of popcorn in giant tubs, and wait for the opening credits when we could swoon over “our boys.” There was always quite a crowd, so sometimes, my roommate and I would try to sneak down a little early so we could get a seat on one of the couches, as opposed to the floor option offered to late comers.

Many, many boys wondered why no girl wanted to go out on those nights. We knew. We were already “booked” with the Men of ER.

ER started when I was in high school and has now morphed into a completely different show. Or at least, I think it has. I stopped following ER closely after I graduated from college, and it amazes me that it is still on at all.

What I don’t understand is the new ER marketing campaign. I mean, I know it’s been on the air f-o-r-e-v-e-r and all, and they’ve probably run out of storylines AND ways to make it sound new and exciting, but now every time I see a promo it’s “Tonight on a very special episode of ER….”

Now, how can EVERY episode be a special episode? Doesn’t it prevent it from being “special” if every one is? I just wonder. And they also seems to be raising the stakes – like a soap opera – I have a sneaking suspicion that eventually someone will have an evil twin brother that appears and tries to sleep with someone’s wife. Call me psychic.

I think it just needs to just go off the air. Then maybe, we can convince George Clooney and Noah Wyle to star in a new show.

Now, that one, I’d watch.

Plain Jane

In most respects, I am not a Plain Jane.

I color coordinate my cosmetics, do my hair, and wear carefully selected clothes. I don’t ever leave the house unless my hair is done and NEVER sans lipstick and mascara.

In college, nothing drove me MORE nuts than those girls who showed up to class in wet hair and pajama pants. My poor roommates had to listen to me rant and rave about how time management and personal presentation were lost arts.

Once, I even had a potential suitor tell me that, as much as he liked me, he thought I was too high maintenance for him. He was right! But then again, his idea of a good time was spitting off an overpass.

However, there is one area in which I am totally a Plain Jane – when it comes to sandwiches. Whoever decided that we should slap random food groups on otherwise-perfectly-delicious-sandwiches?

If I wanted a salad, I’d ask for a salad.

And who decided to add vegetables anyway? In my opinion, they do NOTHING for the sandwich. Instead of tasting beef-chicken-tuna-whatever – you taste lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion. So, why waste money on meat and a bun? Just get a salad, you know?

And who got to decide on veggies? Let’s throw some peanut butter on that chicken sandwich. How about we add maple syrup to that hot-beef-and-cheddar? See what I mean? If you wanted to taste peanut butter, you’d eat peanut butter. Same for maple syrup.

I know, I know. People like to make their sandwiches to their own particular tastes. I mean, otherwise Subway would be out of business, right?

So, I’ve been like this for my whole life, right? And the other day my husband, who has known me for TEN years, brings me sandwich with lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion.

When I exclaimed, “What?!” He looked down and realized his mistake.

Then, before I could even say it, he held up his hand. “I know. I know. If you wanted a salad, you’d order one.”

You know, maybe I do say that a little too often!

Monday, November 13, 2006

The Scope of Sarcasm

My cousin Beth says my posts have sounded a little depressing lately. The truth is that I’m not depressed – I’m sarcastic, and (unfortunately) tone-of-voice doesn’t translate well to the written word.

My friend Julie and I have talking for two years about trying to becoming radio personalities. She plays a great straight man to my sarcastic comedienne. We even have the perfect name for our show – The Julie Ann-Marie Show. See, when you say it, it sounds like “The Julie and Marie Show.” Ha!

We’ve also tossed around crazy ideas for new careers. One of my favorites has been our Anger Advocacy Corporation. Our motto would be “If you hate it, then we’ll hate it, too!”

Let’s say you hate your boss. Well, we would host a Boss Hating Convention where people could come and take baseball bats to fake rubber bosses or go tell a fake boss what a horrible job they’re doing. Let’s say you hate people who drive too slowly – we’d make you a virtual car where you could pass those slowpokes and leave them in the dust. You get the idea.

We’re just kidding of course, but it’s nice to be with someone who gets me.

Although, if I truly was going to do a radio show, there is only one person whom I would choose to be my co-host – my old roommate, Kelly.

Kelly is the only person I have ever clicked with 100%. We met in college and became fast friends. It was like meeting the twin I never had. She connected with me. She understood my humor and played off it brilliantly. Some of the funniest moments of my life happened in my dorm room. It was like a never ending Saturday Night Live sketch.

For once, I was with someone with whom I didn’t have to guard my “real” self. So, when we did have a falling out (as it is with all fights, over something very stupid), it was like chopping off a limb to be without her. We’ve since reconnected, and I’m reminded every time I hear from her how much we are (still) in sync.

See, the problem with me is that I don’t know HOW to be FUNNY without being sarcastic. ‘Tis me, what can I say? To be honest, I’m not really sure it IS possible TO be funny without sarcasm. Does that make me warped in some way?

I can’t remember the last time I laughed at something that wasn’t at least vaguely sarcastic in nature. For me, self-deprecation and sarcasm are just a way of life.

My boss, who is slowly and strangely becoming my friend, says she used to be like that. Then she realized her life became consumed by it. In every sentence, she was looking for the inevitable punch line (much like I find myself doing).

So, now, she makes a conscious effort not to be sarcastic. She says sarcasm can put a negative light on your personality, especially to others. But the truth of the matter is that when I’m in her office and I get going, she laughs so hard that her face turns bright red. In fact, she can rarely look me in the eye at staff meetings anymore.

And you know what? Being funny is my legacy. My dad was VERY funny, and the people who truly knew him, know I inherited his distinctly unique take on the world.

My mom loves my humor. It reminds her of my dad. She says that my sense of humor is what has saved her from crying time and time again. It’s my view of this crazy world that saves ME from crying.

You see, to me, sarcasm is free expression. The way some people sing. The way painters create. A way of celebrating and accepting what life you have. Making good out of bad. When life is darkest, finding the way to laugh.

Of course, as with all good, there is a flip side. The darker side. While sarcasm can be freeing and allow us to make fun of ourselves or of what may frighten or scare us, it can be also be used as an extremely dangerous weapon. Trust me. A few times I’ve been on the receiving end. But mostly, I’ve used it as a weapon when it’s suited my purposes.

See, the thing about being good at sarcasm is also that you can also use it when you’re mad. Sarcasm, especially mine, cuts very deep to the bone. I know how to hurt people. Most people aren’t as quick at comebacks as I am. So, after I’ve lashed out, they sit there looking all hurt and wounded.

My husband has discovered the secret. He refuses to let me play the sarcasm game when I’m angry.

You see, sarcasm can’t exist on its own. In order to BE sarcastic, you have to be able to feed off someone else. When you’re being sarcastic in a light hearted manner, it’s great. It’s just comment-bounce, comment-bounce, like a great drum rhythm. In fact, there’s nothing I like more than finding a sarcastic kindred spirit and just keeping that rhythm going for hours and hours.

And there’s nothing I hate more that someone who instantly gets offended or gets afraid of offending someone else. There’s no one worse than someone who can dish it out but can’t take it. They’re officially TABOO in the true sarcastic circles. In order to play with the big dogs, you have to be willing to get bit occasionally.

Anyway, back to my husband. The first time I tried to use sarcasm on him, in a VERY nasty and mean way, he just looked at me and said, “I’m just going to wait until you can talk to me like a real person. Why don’t you come find me when you’re done acting like a child?” And that was that. He doesn’t tolerate sarcasm when we’re fighting. Which is extremely frustrating to me, since it’s the weapon I am most well-versed in.

But, like I said earlier, I don’t know if it’s possible to be funny, truly funny, without sarcasm. I know it’s probably cultural, but I’m also pretty sure the pilgrims made fun of each other’s hats on the Mayflower.

Which brings me to something I’ve been considering lately, is it okay to be funny? Is it godly to be funny? Or are we all supposed to be serious all the time? Sober-minded? If so, is being funny a sin? I don’t mean the hee-hee funny sermon illustrations, I mean, is it okay to truly belly laugh at something that is REALLY funny?

I refuse to laugh at something that is only barely funny. Is it my fault that I see the funnier side of life? Is it wrong?

And maybe that’s why I don’t fit in - in some circles.
Because, although I don’t know how, there are some humorless people who simply don’t “get” sarcasm. You drop a great one-two, and they sit there with a disapproving look on their face, while the rest of the group howls with laughter. Those people make me nervous. I always wonder if they’re missing a chip somewhere.

Mom once said that God has a sense of humor. Her proof? When God said it was easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven.

Now, THAT’S a little sarcastic, don’t you think?

Smells Like a Great Idea

Story inspiration often comes to me in one fell swoop.

I’ll read an article or watch a movie, and a story will come together in my mind. I never know when it’s going to happen, but it’s always amazing when it does. It’s like a tiny miracle seed that grows into a mighty oak.

My stories are like children. Each one is different, yet each one reflects different parts of who I am and what I believe.

So, about two weeks ago, I was inspired! I was reading about the anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s suicide. For those of you who don’t know, he was the lead singer of the grunge band Nirvana (Major Hit – Smells Like Teen Spirit) in the early nineties. His frantic rise to fame coupled with a sensitive soul caused him to spiral into heroin addiction and eventually commit suicide. He also had a shaky marriage to the lead singer of Hole, Courtney Love. (Read his complete biography at
www.burntout.com/kurt/biography/ )

Now, I never listened to his music, but I’ve read his lyrics before, along with various biographies. He seems like a kind and sensitive person who just couldn’t handle the pressures of fame. As I was reading his biography again, I felt a new story take root.

I banged out some of the details in my head over the past couple of weeks. And last night, I sat down and wrote out a six page story synopsis. It’s a different turn from my usual style, and it means I’ll have to do more research on music, but the story – oh, the story – is GOOD! So good - I can feel it.

I love writing. I love writing. I love writing.

Even when I don’t, I love writing!

Loving My MV – No, Not Really

Well, well, Aunt Flo is back in town.

When you’re me (and I am), getting my Monthly Visitor is always a surprise. I have a really whacked out system!

When I was on birth control, my MV was always right on time, lasted for four days, and had very few of the more unpleasant side effects. Ever since I’ve been off BC, ever since we’ve been trying to get pregnant, my MV has gone back to the unpredictable roller coaster I *et-hem* “enjoyed” in high school.

Getting my MV is a bittersweet experience. It means that we are YET AGAIN, NOT PREGNANT. But, it also means that my PCOS and Diabetes are NOT WINNING, either.

Ever since I’ve been on Metformin, my cycle has returned to a somewhat normal schedule. It lasts more than four days, though, and includes those unpleasant side effects I mentioned earlier. Before the Met, I was going three or four very painful, very emotional, MONTHS before getting the-mother-of-all MV’s.

So, I have my MV this week. I got it on Friday, and it really intensified on Sunday. I stayed home from church and just lay on the couch with my friend – the heating pad. I watched the remaining two Quantum Leap’s on my Netflix DVD, Notting Hill, AND the gorgeous Christian Bale’s Batman Begins – all before Brett got home from church.

Brett has weird fascination with my MV. Despite growing up with two sisters and the requisite public school health class, he didn’t know a whole lot about the female system until we got married.

Get this – he thought all women got their period on the SAME day and that it lasted for ONE day. I told him, “Honey that would be one VERY BAD day for the world.”

Anyway, Brett’s fascination with my MV leads him to treat me like a china doll the whole time I’m on it. He goes out of his way to give me back massages and foot rubs. And, since he knows I barely feel like moving, he’ll grab dinner and bring it home.

Yesterday, on his way home from church, he called me and found out what I wanted from Panera. I told him their YUMMY Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup and a tuna sandwich, plain (except for cheese), on Three Cheese Semolina Bread.

Well, when he got home with the soup and sandwich, I discovered the sandwich had lettuce (yuck), tomato (yuck) onion (not-so-yuck) and mustard (double-double yuck).

When I asked him WHY, he said, “Oh that’s right. You don’t like that stuff.” I was like, “How long have we been together – 10 years – and you still don’t know this stuff? Sheesh!”

But I couldn’t come down too hard on him. The man did bring me lunch, after all.

So, I get to look forward to a painful, cramping week with my lovely MV. Stupid MV - even though I’m grateful for it. At least I can look forward to those back massages and sympathy from my husband.

Oh, and he bought me Diet Coke, too, from the store. I didn’t ask him, but he knows I love it (although I rarely buy it for myself) and that the caffeine helps ward off the yucky parts of my MV. Oh, and he bought me CHOCOLATE, too.

Thank goodness my MV is no match for my GH – great husband!

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Cleaning Through the Tears

Can I admit something to you? It’s something I am ashamed of. Here it is:

I hate to clean.

I don’t mean “I hate to clean” like most people mean it – you know, it’s an unpleasant job, but it needs to get done, and so on.

No, I mean I really hate to clean. I detest it. I abhor it. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach revolt.

In the apartment, when we were first married, it wasn’t such a big deal. There were only a few small spaces to clean. I’d grit my teeth, hold my breath, and it would all be over in a matter of minutes.

But now that I have a good-sized house, it has become downright unbearable.

One Saturday morning, Brett found me sitting on the stairs, sobbing uncontrollably. He asked me what was wrong, and I just couldn’t keep it in any longer. I told him how much I dreaded cleaning the house. Instead of giving me the you-are-absolutely-the-worst-home-owner-ever look, he sat down beside me, patted my back and just let me cry it out.

After I was done sniffling, he asked me if I knew why I hated to clean. I couldn’t really put it in the right words (imagine that!). But now, after having several years to mull it over, here are some reasons why I think I find it so horrible.

It’s never done.

It doesn’t matter how good of a job you do, it will get dirty again. You have no control over that. Do you understand the futility of doing something that will never get done? It makes me feel hopeless. It’s like pushing a bolder up a hill to just see it go rolling over the edge to the bottom again.

It’s disgusting.

I DO clean on a regular basis, simply because I have the ages-old-guilt of what happens if I don’t. And I like living in a clean environment as much as the next person. But I hate the dirt, the filth, the dust mites, and mold that invade my house. Occasionally, when I forget to wear gloves, some of it gets under my fingernails, and I swear, I get thisclose to just chopping my hand right off.

I just can’t do it well enough.

I have a lack of “elbow-grease.” I try to scrub shower walls and floors. Really, I do. But those stains just don’t come off. I scrub, and scrub, and scour, and scrub again. Nothing changes. Then, my mom comes over, tackles a small area, and it immediately shines like the sun. I keep trying, but I just can’t seem to get the knack of it. Maybe I’m just not strong enough.

Now THE reason - this will take you on a tour of my sin nature – deep down, I believe I am too good to clean. I went to college for four years. I have my degree. I have a salaried job. I shouldn’t have to clean. Period.

Isn’t that awful? It is! I know, but it’s the way I feel. And you can bet (in a second) that if I had enough money, I’d pay someone else to clean for me. That’s right, I’d hand that job right off. I mean, I’m educated, and I have better things to do, you know? Oh my gosh, it’s so bad that I just admitted that reason! Again, sad but true.

So, my tug-of-war with the cleaning demon goes on. I still hate it, and I cry almost every time I do it. I just let myself sit down and have a good five minute – futile – cry before I start.

Our church doesn’t have a janitor. Instead, the members all go on a six month cleaning schedule. The first time we were called and told it was our Sunday to clean, I just sat down and – you guessed it – cried.


Now, this is where an understanding guy like Brett comes in – he told the people at church that he would willingly come out and clean – then, he told me not to worry about it. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing, ever? I was so grateful!

We got another call this morning, and I avoided my usual breakdown. Somehow, knowing my husband is willing to shoulder that burden for me, made me want to help him clean this time.

So, I’ll be there, Sunday morning, cleaning through my tears, and knowing that it will – almost immediately – get dirty again.

I’m telling you – it’s hopeless!