Tuesday, May 29, 2007

My Undulating Despair Over Underwear

I’ve never understood the appeal of fancy underwear.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a body that would fit into anything AT Victoria’s Secret.

All through college, my girl friends would excitedly tromp out to Vicki’s and return with striped pink bags overflowing with lace and see through lingerie.

And these were, for the most part, “good” single girls, who wouldn’t show their underwear clad areas to anyone until they got married.

I just didn’t get it. Why spend your money on something no one is going to see?

Now that I’m married and someone does get to see my underwear clad parts, I have an even stronger argument. That person, namely my husband, just wants me OUT of any underwear, no matter how expensive or fancy it might be.

I understand the rules of attraction and how fancy underwear excites men, but I’m still not willing to shell out big bucks for the ten minutes wear I’d get out of it.

He’ll survive as long as he gets what’s underneath WHATEVER I’m wearing.

And, yes, I make the concession of pleasing my husband, if that’s what he wants at the time, but the truth is that I still don’t get it.

And this is one time I can’t say it’s because I don’t think like a man.

I know plenty of women who are overjoyed – overjoyed! – to shop for (and wear) fancy underwear.

Not me.

To me, underwear has had the same function it has had since I was 12.

1. To separate me from my outer clothes (that’s the reason underwear was created, after all, so I’d have to say it’s primary.)

2. To make me appear thinner. All I’ve ever asked my underwear to do (besides covering my girl parts) is help hold my stomach in. I’ve worn spandex underwear since I was 12. I kissed comfortable underwear goodbye a long, long time ago.

I also wore a girdle to school everyday for four years. It was painful, and (looking back now) didn’t make a bit of difference. But at the time, I thought it made me look thinner.

Ask my high school friends. It didn’t.

3. As for bras, well, that’s another story. I’ve always been a weird size. Small cup size, LARGE strap size. Strange that for a “big” girl, I wasn’t blessed with a great big…well, let’s say…personality.

Shopping for bras and underwear has always been an unpleasant trip to the mall for me. And that’s saying a lot for someone who LOVES to shop.

After 16 years of confirmation, I am still convinced that comfortable underwear makes me look fatter. I know it certainly makes me FEEL fatter. I can count the number of times I’ve worn comfy undies on one hand. And each time, I felt like a blimp on display for the world to see. At least with the spandex kind, I feel like I have some kind of support.

So, I look for the spandex kind. These are not very comfortable, but at least it’s better that the 12-hour girdle I wore in high school.

In the bra department when I whisper my odd-bodkins size to the sales person, I get the raised eyebrow, and the “We don’t carry THOSE kinds of sizes” sales pitch excuse.

When I finally DO find a bra in my size, I’ve only ever had three options – plain white, plain black, and plain beige. So, I guess it’s good that I’m not a fancy underwear fanatic.

Underwear has hardly been my friend through the years; it’s just been something I’ve had to contend with.

So, I guess it didn’t come as much of a surprise when one of my bras committed suicide the other day.

It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. After getting out of the shower, I put my (plain white) bra on. It made a strange squealing sound and then burst apart in the front, spewing forth little cotton bits like a mini-foam volcano. It literally jumped off my body onto the floor.

I have to admit I stood there for a minute trying to take it all in. It seemed like such an unusually violent end for an undergarment.

Then, of course, I had to mourn the loss of one of my three good bras.

I tried to decide what had made it want to end its life (and its usefulness to me).

Where there signs I had missed? Had it tried to tell me? Had I enabled it by trying to hook the second hook instead of the third hook? Had I put it under pressure to be something it was never meant to be?

Poor bra. I gave it a decent burial in the trash can in recognition of its many years of service to me and my…personality.

When Mom heard of my loss, she kindly offered to look for a new bra while she was out shopping. And (as good fortune seems to follow my mother on occasion) she found TWO bras in my size – a lovely plain white and stunning plain beige.

“I looked forever. It IS a hard size to find. They were out of black,” she explained sweetly, as I nodded my head in expectation.

So, yesterday I took my new beige bra out for a spin. It fit perfectly, and I walked around in my everyday work clothes, knowing that I had something NEW on underneath.

And that was annoying because (obviously) I couldn’t show anyone. And telling people that I was wearing a new bra could constitute sexual harassment in today’s workplace.

So, no one knew but me.

When I got home, I showed my husband. “Look at my new bra,” I crowed.

He looked up, smiled in appreciation, and said, “Looks nice. Want to take it off?”

I just can’t win.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Hating Heat

There aren’t enough fervently incensed words for me to express my intense hate for heat!

I was in Chicago for a marketing network meeting yesterday, and it was 95 degrees outside! Thankfully, I spent most of the day comfortably cool in the Chicago Historical Museum (interestingly enough…across the street from Moody church). However, in the hour (total) I spent outside eating lunch and walking to and from the car, my make-up melted off my face (literally) and my hair was as limp as Wal-Mart’s lettuce leaves.

To and from Chicago, I was spoiled by the marvelous dual temperature control in my boss’ car! I had a 69 degree ride down there, and she kept asking, “Aren’t you cold?”

As if.

Then I got home where I sulked around our sweltering house making obscure references to divorce, until my husband finally agreed to turn on the AC. Poor guy. Even then, I said it wasn’t cool enough, and he said, “It feels cold to me.” I replied, “Then you and I have different definitions of cold!” So, he cranked it down a little more.

I do get my way – said the only child.

This morning I discovered the AC in my car was broken. Well, at least until I experimentally rolled down my window and realized the morning cool was still in the air. So, I rode to work with all four windows down – hair style be ruined!

Tonight, it’s supposed to get up to 90 again!

AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH! I HATE this weather. Hate it. Hate it. Really, really hate it!

Oh, fall – where are you?!

Monday, May 21, 2007

Welcome to a New Edition of…Words I Don’t Like

I was surfing the blogosphere the other day, and I came across a word that I have always disliked.

Now, I hope I’m not being blasphemous, since this word is actually IN THE BIBLE. But…here it is:

Helpmeet

I know this is nothing wrong with the word. It’s just a word. But are some reasons I have never really liked it:

1. It sounds like some kind of “meat.”

2. Take out some letters, and you get “helmet.”

3. I’ve often heard it used INCORRECTLY by men who want to dominate/oppress/control women.

4. It sounds like some kind of accessory. Picture, if you will, a man about ready to leave for work – “Let’s see, I’ve got my wallet, my watch, my briefcase. Ooops, I almost forgot my helpmeet.”

None of these are great reasons, and I probably couldn’t defend a one of them, but that’s the way I feel.

And now you know what I’m thinking whenever someone uses it. “That meat helmet makes a bad accessory!”

Helpmeet that.

I’ve Been Tagged!

My friend Joy tagged me for this fun activity.

“Rules”
After posting these rules, each player proceeds to list 8 relatively random facts/habits about her. At the end of the post, the player then tags people and posts their names, leaving them a comment on their blogs to let them know.

Here are my 8 random facts, in no particular order:
1. When I was 12, I accidentally broke a kid’s nose with a baseball bat at our church picnic.

2. I’ve always wanted to play Maria in a theatrical version of The Sound of Music.

3. The meanest thing I’ve ever said to someone was, “I thought God didn’t make mistakes, but I guess I was wrong since there you stand.” (in my defense, it was my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart)

4. If I had to pick a superpower, I would choose to be able to make time stand still for everything but me.

5. I think Jewish guys are super sexy and was hoping to end up with one (Messianic, of course) before I met my husband.

6. When I was four, I chipped my front tooth by riding into our front yard fence on my Smurfette Big Wheel.

7. My favorite bird is the chickadee.

8. I have no idea how to talk to atheists and (therefore) God has chosen to surround me with them!

And I “tag” the following people, in no particular order:
Heidi, October, and Jennittia (and anybody else who wants to play!)

Thanks, Joy! It was fun thinking everything up!

Party Poopers

What we do for our friends!

Recently my friend Carleen gave herself a much needed break from being a full time stay-at-home mom. She has now entered the business of selling USBORNE books in the evenings via home parties.

I am a very supportive friend. I’m a darn good friend. I am SUCH a good friend that I didn’t run the other way when she asked me to host a book party for her.

ME! Me, who has no kids and almost no relationship to any children (at least not to ones for whom I’d presume to buy books).

I sent out 45 invitations to my family and friends, thinking that there were teachers, mothers, grandmothers, and much better aunts than I who would like to attend a book party.

Well, apparently, 43 of my “friends” had other plans.

Okay, I KNOW that sounds like I was a little bitter.

Well, I was.

I KNOW there are MANY valid reasons why people don’t come to home parties, among them:

Previous engagements – two people couldn’t attend due to a Cub Scout event; two more were needed at a college graduation; and one person had an anniversary dinner with her husband.

Lack of interest – “What do I need children’s books for?” my co-worker and friend Sharon asked, “I have an only child, and he’s eighteen!”

Finances – Many of us don’t have a lot of extra cash and feel it would be wrong to attend a party only to be faced with financial temptation AND/OR let our hostess down by refusing to purchase anything.

I get it, okay. I get it.

I was still disappointed. I mean, FORTY-THREE people turned me down. FORTY-THREE! That’s a lot of rejection to stomach.

Part of me felt like I am a much better friend to many of these people than they deserve. I go to their parties, and I order whenever I’m unable to go. And, if for some reason I can’t order, I always say, “Please invite me next time. I really want to be supportive of you.”

That’s the kind of friend I am.

I told Mom all this the other night. Poor Mom. She gets back from her trip, is extremely tired, and all I can do is whine, “Why don’t more people like meeeeeeeeee?”

She’s a bona fide saint for not telling me to stuff it.

I was going on and on about THOSE PEOPLE and exactly what I was going to say the next time they invited me to one of their parties – “Oh, you’re having a Tastefully Simple party and would like me to come? Remember my book party? Yeah, I Don’t. Think. So.”

And YES, I’m aware how childish and self-centered that makes me sound. So sue me. I was being honest. Have I mentioned FORTY-THREE people rejected me? Have a little sympathy.

My mom, electing to be spiritual rather than judgmental, calms me down by re-affirming the possible reasons (see above) why people didn’t come to my party. I already knew those reasons, of course, but I felt like being difficult. So, I continued my rant a little longer.

Even though her ear was probably still hot from my rant of wrath, Mom asks me, “I wonder how Jesus would feel about all of this.”

“Jesus? Jesus is a good friend,” I inform her. “Jesus would have come to my party.”

She starts laughing. “Now, I guess that’s true. In fact, I’d venture to say Jesus has probably been at every party you’ve ever had.”

Realizing that Jesus HAS been to every party I’ve ever had and was also no doubt listening when I just blasted my invitees, including sister believers and non-believing friends, I felt a little hot rush come to my cheeks.

It’s not an emotion I feel often enough, although I should, but just then I felt a little ashamed.

In my head, I saw Jesus sitting at a home party for carpentry supplies. I could just see the host holding a wooden handled saw out for inspection.

“Just look at those sharp teeth, Jesus. I mean, there’s no way you can you pass this up! Only 10 shekels! Free shipping!”

Back to my conversation with Mom, I was so worked up that I continued on in my self-righteous I’m-a-better-friend-than-these-people-deserve tirade, but I’d started to lose steam.

I was starting to realize that my actions weren’t exactly – okay, they weren’t remotely – Christ-like.

I’d even forgotten to thank God for the two party attendees. In fact, I’d prayed that morning in my devotions that God would bring the people HE wanted to my party and that the seeds of belief would be planted.

And here I was – telling HIM – that HE didn’t do it MY way.

So, I was humbled and even more ashamed with the realization of how spoiled and selfish I had just acted.

So, this post is - in a small way - my apology to all those who couldn’t or decided not to attend.

Apparently, God didn’t want you there.

That was a joke, people. Sorry, (you know me) I just couldn’t resist!

Anyway, even though my invitees would never have known how I felt and what my attitude was after the party, I’d still like to apologize for making assumptions and being angry towards them.

It’s okay. I’m okay. And, if you ask me, I’ll probably still go to your Tastefully Simple party. I do love their dip mixes.

And hopefully you’ll still be willing to be friends with this (as of yet, still very flawed) dip!

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Square Dancing, Shrek, and…Siblings?

I have vivid dreams. I can’t tell you how many times I wake up thinking, "Boy THAT was weird!”

Last night was no exception. I had another doozy.

The dream began in a big, beautiful, log cabin style church. The church had three-tiered stairways with a wide platform on each tier.

Starting out in the dream, I was square dancing (in full puffed-out skirt regalia) on one of the tiers with a partner. Someone was jealous of my partner though, so I had to hand over my partner and climb the stairs back up to the auditorium.

Then, I headed over to join the choir as we were about to march up to our place on the stage. But we discovered that the stage was empty, so we had no where to sit. So, we lugged chairs up on stage until we ran out of chairs. Then - in a blast of inspiration – we decide to lug pop-up trundle beds on stage, so the choir members could lay down while singing. (Why the church had a huge supply of pop-up trundle beds, I’ll never know).

So, there I am - laying on my stomach in a pop-up trundle bed next to one of my sister choir members in front of a large church congregation singing my heart out.

After we sing, the first speaker stands up. It’s David Letterman! At first, I am surprised, but then I remember, “Oh, that’s right. We’re in Chicago!” (Which makes NO sense, since David Letterman doesn’t film his show in Chicago, but anyway…?)

David Letterman, all dressed in white, finished his speech, thanks the choir, and then introduces the next speaker – Eddie Murphy!

Eddie gives a speech and then asks the choir to leave the stage. As we are all stepping down, I notice a small garden fountain that needs to be moved to the side. I quickly and quietly move the fountain into its proper spot. When I look up, I see Eddie Murphy with a mean look in his eye. Without warning, he pulls the hose out of the fountain and drenches me with water!

The congregation laughs but people are quiet as I pass by their pews. When I get near the back, a kid dressed as an 80’s punk rocker in an electric orange shirt pulls a giant yellow pew away from the door so I can get back into the lobby.

When I step into the lobby, I see the Foster siblings from our church. I wonder why they would come to hear Eddie Murphy.

I think I’ve made Eddie feel pretty bad about drenching me with water by my “walk of shame” to the lobby, but then I see his notes in an accordion file on the window ledge.

Suddenly, I remember Eddie (apparently we have the kind of relationship where we talk every so often) once told me that he only APPEARS to be an off-the-cuff comedian, but he really needs his notes to study beforehand.

So, in retribution, I take the accordion files to the top of the three stairways, and turn them upside down. I watch as the papers float and flitter, all out of order, to the bottom of the stairs.

And then I woke up.

As I analyzed my dream, I was able to pick up some of the places my subconscious had pulled the ideas from – here they are:

Square dancing – my co-worker is a big square dancing fan and the other day she told me a long story about how she has square dancing earrings

Pop-up trundle beds – I had one of these as a kid

Eddie Murphy – Before I went to bed, I read an article about Shrek 3 coming out

Small garden fountain – I saw one of these for sale in a magazine the other day

Foster siblings - I read about the Fosters on Joy’s blog

The “scene” where I throw the accordion file from the top of the stairs is from one of my favorite movies – 10 Things I Hate About You

The rest of the stuff, I have absolutely NO idea where it came from!

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Speculating about Schooling

I was surfing around the blog world today. Several of my friends and relatives have extreme GUTS and therefore home school their children, so I was surfing their home school web ring.

In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea. I should know better than to surf sites where I might start to get a little twitchy with indignation.

Now, I’m NOT pronouncing judgment on all home schoolers, but there are those home schoolers – I’m going to call then fanatics, because (frankly) that’s what they are – fanatics that are…well, according to the blogs I read, a little outrageous.

One woman (whose blog title referred to her “Rearing Royalty” – is that anything like potty-training a prince?) talked about the horrors of having to “work” “out there” “in the world” and how GLAD she was to not being doing that anymore.

Well, unless she was on call for some sort of sex ring, I can’t imagine what kind of a job instilled those “horrors” – waitress at Beef-a-Roo? I don’t know. I work out “here” in the real world, and you know what? It’s not so bad. In fact, it can be pretty great. To make a difference in the world though your hard-working, ethical actions.

She has a right to her opinion, of course. But she made it sound like a sin (which it’s not) and a repulsion (which it doesn’t have to be) to have a J-O-B outside of the house. Once you find your passion, you should pursue it. Whether it’s inside your split level ranch or the great big world outside it.

Okay, and while we are on the topic of home schooling – I have an honest-to-goodness question. I’ve always wanted to ask someone this, and I’ve never had the guts. I know, I know…I’m mighty brave in cyberspace.

Why home school?

I’m open to hearing answers. I’m just curious. Really. I’m not making fun or being judgmental. I mean, I know I went to a private, Christian school. And I know that not everyone has the finances to make that a reality. Heaven knows, if Brett and I were able to have kids, we couldn’t afford to send them anywhere expensive.

The thing is that waaaaaaaaaay back when I went to Christian school; we viewed public schools as a place fraught with danger. We thought kids got raped every day and imagined we’d be forced to smoke, drink, and do drugs.

Imagine my surprise when I first set foot inside a “real” public school – to take my ACT test. There I was surrounded by smart, college-bound kids who were nice, polite, and very friendly.

Afterwards, I was rapidly re-evaluating what I had always thought. I had to re-adjust my opinion once again when I got to college. I discovered the majority of kids in my freshmen class were from public schools.

I marveled at how dedicated these kids were to their Christianity. Of course they were. Unlike me, they’d had to live out their Christianity in the real world – and it showed. These kids were ten times more on fire than we Christian school braggarts.

I’m not necessarily advocating public school, but I’m also not condemning it. My dad once questioned his and Mom’s decision to send me to a Christian school. “If we take the light out of the public schools, then why are we surprised when it becomes a dark place?” Later on, Dad encouraged people to send their kids to public school where they could be a witness.

Back to home school – the other question I have concerns the teachers/parents. First, I believe my mom was a great teacher. But not in algebra.

In fact, the first time I asked my mom what home schooling meant, she laughed. She hugged me, patted my hair, and said, “Oh, mommy doesn’t have the patience to do that. I’d kill you. I don’t mean I’d want to, but I would.” Then, she laughed some more.

I think there is a line between parent and teacher – a different relationship. Sometimes, you need someone else to consult outside your immediate family. That kind of contact can give you the valuable perspective you may need on a situation.

Secondly, I worry that some of these “teachers” aren’t adequately trained. There is a reason why people go to college to become teachers – because they need a degree to do so.

There are people “teaching” out there who only have a high school diploma. That scares me to NO end. Just because you are a decent human being, a nice person, and managed to make it through high school – doesn’t give you a teaching degree and the ability to teach children what they may need to know to succeed academically or professionally.

I think at that point, I feel comfortable saying – “leave it to the professionals.”

I’ve more questions about how kids are exposed to socialization and social order without the benefit of organized schools, but this post is already long enough.

There are probably good and solid answers to some of these questions, and I’m being honest when I say that I am genuinely interested in hearing some explanation. I like to be well-informed, and I definitely try to have an open mind.

Hot & Bothered

First of all, it was so hot you could fry an egg…on my head.

There I was this morning – trying to do my hair (includes blow drying and hot rollers), and the sweat was just rolling down my face. Then I tried putting make-up on. Good luck. I think it had all melted off by the time I made it out the door.

How I hate the heat and humidity! WHAT do people SEE in summer?! WHAT??? It’s sticky, hot, humid – body odor pollutes the air. People drive like maniacs. I saw four accident sites on the way to work. People scuttle about scantily clad and expect you to do the same. It’s madness!

So, it’s hot. And then I get in my car – thinking that at least I can drive to work with the windows down, hot air coming in the windows, at least cooling me down a bit. I’m NOT turning my air conditioning on – in my car or in my house. I’m just NOT going to do it. It’s too expensive and frankly…it’s TOO early. Madness.

Oh, but then it starts to rain. “It’s okay,” I assure myself. “It’s just a little rain. I can still drive with the windows down.” So I said to myself...until it was coming down in sheets.

So, I was forced to roll my windows up in my cramped little car. Set the sauna to 8, please. It was hot, no air flow…and to make it worse, I had just put a new air freshener in my car. Balsam and Pine – full strength. Mmmm. Yea, that was fun to smell all the way to work.

When I walked into work, someone said, “What smells like Christmas trees?”

Thankfully, my office is air conditioned, and someone had the great mercy to turn it on. Oh, but how I am dreading the dog days of summer.

It’s madness I tell you…madness!

Mother’s Day Manifesto

A friend of mine e-mailed me this story about the truth behind the beginning of Mother’s Day. I found it quite enlightening.

While honoring one's mother is important - see commandment #5 - like most holidays, Mother's Day has been distorted nearly beyond recognition by the greeting-card-candy-and-floral-industrial-complex.

For the record, Mother's Day was first declared in the U.S. in 1870 by pacifist Unitarian suffragist Julia Ward Howe. This was not a day originally intended for saccharine sentiment - it was proclaimed as a day for empowerment and activism!

Howe's Mother's Day Proclamation:

Arise, then, women of this day!
Arise, all women who have breasts,
Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:
"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

"From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Sweet & Silly Squabbles

It’s nice to be able to have silly squabbles once again.

When Brett and I went through our “difficult December” (as I’m now referring to it), we were seriously fighting over things that mattered. His job, his attitude, my frustration, our spirituality. It was so exhausting and especially hard because those things were important and so worrisome that it easily became overwhelming.

Now that we’ve worked through those issues, we’re back to normal. Or normal for us, that is. Here is a little multiple choice quiz. This weekend, Brett and I argued briefly (and barely seriously) about:

A.) Which movie to see - Spiderman 3 (my choice) or 28 Weeks Later (his choice)?
B.) Whether or not he should eat both boxes of steamed corn in the freezer or whether I could have one?
C.) Why I ate half his M&M’s and blamed it on the rabbits?
D.) All of the above

You guessed it! D is the correct answer.

We had such a relaxing weekend that I think our Weird-Meter just went into overdrive. As you can see, we argued about the strangest things (often laughing in between), and I found myself wondering, “Are we really having this conversation? Seriously?”

It was nice to be joking about movies and (yes, even about) steamed corn. Sometimes marriage squabbles can be fun – even if I don’t win.

Like when I had to admit that “Fine, already. The rabbits didn’t eat those M&M’s. Happy now?!”

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Craving Creativity

I started writing again last night. For real. Sometimes, I can’t help myself. I just wish I had more time to devote to it.

In fact, the whole thing started up again when Brett took me out for lunch. There I was – sitting next to the man I love, by the window of a sunshiny restaurant on a beautiful day with the delicious smells of fresh bagels and cream cheese just wafting by – and I’m imagining how cool it would be for my characters - Josh and HER - to direct an electronic pulse through the window of a café causing a heart attack in their mark who steps outside his office to grab a hot dog from a street vendor. The whole plot storyline also includes a very cool GPS laptop and a laser IN HER SHOE!

And when Brett asks me what I’m thinking, I say, “Oh nothing. How’s your soup?”

If he only knew.

Brett has a lot of faith in me. It’s one of those mixed blessing. While it’s great and infinitely encouraging having a husband who thinks you can hang the moon, it’s also a lot of pressure.

He knows how much I love to write, and one of his favorite things to say is, “Baby, I know you can write a best seller! Then, I can retire.”

But, Brett is NO bookworm. A book collector – yes. A book reader – no. Over the years, he amassed a HUGE library of biblical books. I could never figure out why he would buy books that he would never read. He has a learning disability that forces him to read every word twice before comprehending it, so you can imagine reading is no day at the park for him.

I was relieved (immensely) when he decided to donate the books to our church for Pastor’s library. I never figured out if owning the books made him feel like he was ultimately going to read them or for other people to assume that he had read them.

But then again, you are hearing this from a girl who ONLY buys books if she’s already checked them out from the library 20+ times and still wants to read them. I take book-buying very seriously in a land of libraries. I hate to waste that valuable resource!

Anyway, back to writing. My latest venture is the tale of two assassins-in-training – Josh and Her/She. Her/She does not have an identity, a birth certificate, or any record of her existence, which really does make for the perfect assassin’s background. Anyhoo, these two early twenty-somethings were raised as children in an unconventional way by an older assassin (the back story of how the three of them came together is FASCINATING but it’s integral to the plot twists, so I’m not revealing it…YET) who is now training them to take over his business.

It’s fun writing, and I like the characters. The older assassin is named Jaeger (pronounced like Mick Jagger). I’m actually thinking of that for the title.

Speaking of fun characters to write for – I’m having a hard time keeping twin, teen heartthrobs Sam and Harry Hathaway as side characters in Bruised. When I write dialog for their scenes, it’s like I’m not even writing. I’m just listening to them talk.

Carleen was reviewing my manuscript the other day, and she told me the interactions between Harry and Sam were the best. She said their scenes were the most real and grounded the rest of the story in truth.

So, that’s good. Except for that they’re NOT my main characters. Huh. Maybe they should be. But I’d hate to give them top billing. They’re very bad boys.

Rebellious. Great looking. Very bad boys.

I worked on Bruised some more last night. I’m still having trouble with the plot twists. I hope inspiration strikes soon. I’d hate for it to be YET ANOTHER young adult novel with no point.

I was hoping to get some more writing done tonight, but Brett’s dad called last night. He wants us to come up and have dinner with him and the parents of one of Brett’s high school friends. So, to be a good wife and daughter-in-law, I should go.

Writing goes on the back burner yet again. But who’s to say what I can dream up on the ride up to Geneva? Oh, if I only had a laser IN MY SHOE.

Friday, May 11, 2007

My Magnificent, Marvelous Mom!

In 1944, a handsome young man bravely headed off to join the United States Army in fighting for world freedom in World War II. He left behind a growing family with a brand new baby. This precious baby would eventually grow up to become the magnificent woman who is my mother.

One of our family’s (the B, J & A-M Trotter’s) favorite stories comes from Grandma as she tells us that my mom was probably cuddled more, held tighter, and prayed over more as a baby than any of the other children in the Rehfeldt family. With her husband away in the midst of WWII gunfire, my grandmother didn’t know if she would ever see him again. So, she held tight to her baby, my mom, not knowing if this baby would be her last.

Thankfully, my grandfather returned from war safely, and my grandmother went on to have more children – bringing the number up to 12!

My mother grew up in a house without indoor plumbing. She was a tomboy who loved to play sports and was often out late and had to be called back in for dinner. I can almost see her rounding those bases, her brown braids flying out behind her.

A family legend tells the story of how my mom would always leave right after dinner to go play baseball and would constantly miss her turn to do dishes. This legend is NOT true, my mother assures me, “I did plenty of dishes, believe you me,” she often says.

She had a lot of friends who loved the outdoors as much as she did. There was one person she wasn’t as fond of – “Whenever we’d see Carol (my Aunt Carol), I’d tell everyone to hide, so she wouldn’t come play with us!” She tells me, blushing.

Mom came to know the Lord at a young age and was the first convert of a new “young” pastor, Pastor Melvin Swanson, of Berean Baptist Church. She dedicated her life from then on to serving the Lord.

When she was college-age, she headed off to Moody Bible Institute where she met and married my dad, Robert Trotter. She and Dad lived in Chicago for a number of years before moving back to Rockford.

Mom agonized over the fact that she and Dad couldn’t have children. They tried for eleven years with no results. As her friends and her sisters had baby after baby, Mom’s heart was broken for a child of her own. When my dad said “no” to adoption, my mom says she looked out her kitchen window and said, “You know what that means, Lord. You are my only option.”

A little while later, after a visit to the doctor for what mom thought was the flu, she received the good news that she was pregnant with me! Mom and Dad welcomed me with their amazing brand of godly, parental love that I have come to be in awe of, even today.

Five years later, Mom and Dad suffered through a terrible emotional and physical miscarriage. My little brother or sister resides in heaven. Now with our dad.

Mom and Dad provided a wonderful home and haven for their daughter. I grew up amidst Mom’s love of popcorn, Murder She Wrote, cross-stitching, and decorating.

Mom worked various jobs – daycare teacher, retail sales. Her main job was not strangling me to death when I was a mouthy thirteen years old with a sarcastic wit.

She saw me through high school and college. Just as she and Dad were settling down to become “empty nesters,” the Lord took Dad home to Heaven. That is when I learned what my mom was made of.

They were horrible years, emotionally punishing and rip-your-heart-out painful. But, my mom. Oh, my mom. I’d hear her crying at night. We cried together. And still she clung to the Lord. He was her comfort. Her strength. Her refuge. I learned what a Christian is, what a Christian should be, as I watched my mom go through the trial of Dad’s death.

It is a shadow that will never fade. A reminder of what God can do.

After three years, Mom met a godly bachelor, Gary. After a courtship (that was TOO cute to see!), they were married. She and Gary now live ten minutes from us.

Mom is undoubtedly my best friend. I hope that’s the best compliment I can pay her, since I’m starting to cry even as I type this. There aren’t enough beautiful words to describe how I love my mom.

So, a short history of her amazing life thus far, and three words to the woman I love more any other – Happy Birthday, Mom!

Prayer for Protection

Please pray for my Mom and my Aunt Jan as they travel to Kansas City today.

They are driving down to stay with my cousin Michael, his pregnant wife Danielle, and their four children for a couple of days, and then just with Danielle and the kids as Michael goes out of town.

Please pray they will be safe on the roads. And that other drivers will be kept safe from them.

Ha! Ha! Ha!


Danielle's Blog Site - http://www.sturgillfamily.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

But Mine Really Is

Pretty cards, dressed in pink, proudly proclaim, “To the Best Mom in the World!”

But mine really is.

Gold pendants dangle and silver hearts sparkle, emblazoned with “#1 Mom!”

But mine really is.

Fertile mothers scuttle around in comfy sweatshirts announcing “I’m a great mom! Just ask Brittany, Colin, and Jill.”

Birthstone necklaces abound. One gem for Madison, another for Michaela, and don’t forget Jack.

Syrupy sentiments shout “World’s Best Mom!” on everything from refrigerator magnets to coffee cups.

So, go ahead. Choose one for that special mom in your life. Show her how much you care by giving her the gift of “The Best Mom in the World!”

It’s okay. I’ll keep the secret. Because I know mine really is.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Shopping While Shapely

I don’t know what’s wrong with American retailers.

Don’t they see all this information about how America is facing an obesity crisis?

Don’t they know that 1 out of every whatever number of people are overweight in this country?

Don’t they know that HALF of those people are women?

Why is it that retailers/designers/store buyers believe that a woman loses her good taste and fashion sense just because she is overweight? Obesity is not a mental condition that impairs our vision.

Why CAN’T we find the variety and quality of clothes that Little Miss Size Six has access to? Fat people are the MAJORITY! The retailers should be CATERING to us.

We have money in our pockets, too. We shouldn’t have to settle for giant white shirts with little horizontal red lines or plain khaki Capri pants. Where are OUR designers T-shirts, classic jeans, or just plain trendy clothes?

How about making something for us that ISN’T in a primary color?

It’s a well known fact that I love the color black. And while my friends may tease me by saying “There ARE other colors, you know,” I’m proud of wearing mostly black outfits. It’s classy.

I mean, I’m no Audrey Hepburn, but most of my stuff stays in fashion and lasts longer simply because black never goes out of style.

Yesterday, Carleen and I went shopping at Kohl’s. She needed a new outfit for her new foray into the home party business – USBORNE Books. I was there for moral support and to offer my opinion if needed.

Now, Carleen has never been overweight. But after the birth of her two children, she kicked herself into overdrive and has (through exercise and healthy eating) whittled herself down to a pretty small size.

As I wandered through the wonderland that is the Misses section, I was amazed at the choices. The quality and variety of the clothes were almost overwhelming. I found myself picking out dozens of outfits that I would wear if I were ever…

I visited the Women’s section later and saw the same old tired choices of light colored T-shirts sans designs, old lady pants with elastic waistbands, and Sunday dresses straight out of a 1980’s catalog. Yep. Those were MY choices.

Carleen walked out with two beautiful outfits. I left with my purse still zipped and a new sense of appreciation for stores that DO cater to the MAJORITY of American female shoppers - places like Lane Bryant that support shapely women like me.

However, I was more than a little irritated I was made to feel like an unequal just by going shopping. I mean, I KNOW I’m NOT a lesser person, just because I don’t WEIGH less. But standing in the fashion desert that was the Women’s section at Kohl’s, I felt like I mattered less to the store and the designers who don’t design clothes for the rest of us.

I guess I just decided I won’t LET them make me feel inferior. I’m writing a letter to Kohl’s today requesting that they start offering high-quality, trendy clothes for REAL women.

And if they don’t, then I’ll have to go elsewhere.

TAWANDA! Face it, Kohl’s. I’m shapely, and I have more to offer.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Heartbreaking Hurt

Have you ever received news that made you feel like you were being punched in the stomach?

I received this kind of news yesterday. Something I never saw coming. Something tragic happened to a good friend of mine – something that will change her life, for the rest of her life.

My heart broke in two for her. Hurt is so human. It’s understandable we long for “heaven and home” when appalling circumstances cause heart wrenching pain.

How I feel for my dear friend! She is so precious to me, and what is so amazing about her is her reaction to her situation. She is a believer, but bearing up under a strain that many believers would instantly buckle under (including, I’m sure, myself), and I can’t express my love and support for her enough.

Please pray with me that God will be with her through this most difficult and stressful time. That He would fill her with peace and strength. That He would comfort her in her time of need.

We can be confident that God will take care of His children!