It’s early in the morning, and I really should be sleeping, since we are going to see Fiddler on the Roof at Fireside today.
But I can’t.
Two reasons. One, I had entirely too much caffeine, in the form of TWO GIANT Diet Cokes at the movie theater tonight. Second, Angie and I watched two very good, but also suspenseful-bordering-on-scary movies, and all I can see when I close my eyes is people jumping out at me.
So, therefore, I am awake.
We watched Disturbia and The Invisible. Both were good, but Disturbia was really, really good - even though we saw it in a theater packed full of junior high girls who screamed at every jolt. It was THAT good, I barely noticed the screamers.
I’ve been SO busy this past week that I’ve had NO time to blog, but there is SO much to blog about. To get caught up on.
I’ll do my best.
Since last Friday, every time something happened, I found myself full of observations. But as time passes, I find myself forgetting my observations, and I have to talk myself out of taking the easy route of just boiling everything down to one sentence.
For instance, after our church’s Women’s Bible Conference, I might have talked about the speaker, the topics, and the food. Now, I’m just tempted to say that I WENT to our church’s bible conference and leave it at that.
Some of you may say, “Just do that! Your blog entries are LONG enough as it is.”
But WHEN have you known ME to settle for being concise?! Remember? I was the one who had to make my school essays shorter, while the rest of you were struggling for the last 1,000 of that 2,000 word essay.
But, I always leave myself a loophole, so here’s the Cliffnotes version of my week. To be blogged about later, if possible.
Last Friday & Saturday
Attended Morningstar’s Women’s Bible Conference with Mom
Sunday
Left for Tennessee with Candice
Monday
Arrive in Tennessee. Bunk at Charity, Colleen, and BJ’s beautiful home. Attend South Haven’s Mother/Daughter Tea to honor Aunt Laurie and Grandma.
Tuesday
Go shopping at a Tennessee mall with Mom, Aunt Laurie, Aunt Louise, Aunt Jan, Charity, Colleen, and Candice. Spend time in Borders solo while drinking a vanilla bean frappe from SBC and perusing rejected New Yorker cartoons. Go to Big Lots with Candice and BJ.
Wednesday
Pack up and head back home with Candice.
Thursday
Lay around and watch TV. Silence guilt about the things I should be doing with the rationalization that it IS my vacation.
Friday
Go to the movies with Angie. Freak out. Become too jittery and scared to sleep. Blog early into Saturday morning.
Upcoming….
Saturday
See Fiddler on the Roof at Fireside Dinner Theater with Brett, Mom, Gary, Aunt Jan, and Uncle Darryl.
Stay tuned, folks. It’s all non-stop action and excitement from here on out!
I’m sure you’re breathless already!
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Saturday: A Study in Sweets and Sturgills
How sweet it is!
Saturday started out nicely with a trip to First Baptist’s Mother/Daughter Tea with Mom. We didn’t find out that we were supposed to wear hats until we got there. Thankfully, they still let us in, even in our bare-headed state.
The theme for the event was, well, tea. There were some genuinely funny moments. One of which was when the 83 year-old emcee said that they would NOT be giving out “door prizes” this year. Instead, she said with a smile, they would be giving out “mementos.”
“They’re the same thing,” She explained sweetly. “Pastor just doesn’t like door prizes.”
We sat at a table with several older women who were some of the most hilarious people I have ever met.
One woman talked about how she and her 1930’s-era schoolmates “pulled the wool over” on their teacher and convinced her they needed to sit out in the cloakroom of their two-room school in order to study better. As soon as the teacher allowed them to move, the girls climbed out the window, one by one, to go play. Except the lady at our table - who got stuck trying to climb out the window and was subsequently caught by the teacher.
“That put an end to that,” she sighed.
One of the women read a History of Tea which was actually very interesting. As a recent convert to tea from soda, I found myself drawn into the story of how tea was discovered and has gone on to be such an important part of industry, entertainment, and leisure all these years.
For refreshments, there was tea and a mountain of sweets. Mom and I almost went into a diabetic coma afterwards.
After the tea, Mom, Brett, and I went to Watertown for our annual Maranatha play outing. Poor Gare-Bear was sick, so he had to stay home, and Mom was stuck riding with us.
According to Brett, Mom and I talked all the way up there “like 14 year old girls at a slumber party.” We were really excited because we thought that the play was going to be The Pirates of Penzance, and I was really looking forward to “I am the very model of a modern Major General…
But we discovered when we got there that it was actually going to be The HMS Pinafore. Which, besides I am the Master of the Sea…, I knew very little about.
After the debate surrounding Maranatha’s last play – Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, I was rather hoping for another play that could cause controversy in the conservative Christian circles. I find a kind of joy in watching all the fundamentals run around in circles like hyperactive hamsters getting all worked up over things that don’t make the least, little bit of difference out here in the real world.
Anyway, before the play, we enjoyed a delicious dinner ala Aunt Jan’s Famous Chicken Chalupas which we ate on the Sturgill’s going-away tablecloth from Berean (back in ’88). It was very nostalgic to look at all those names back from the “Berean” years. Yep, nostalgic mixed with nasty memories of those years. Thank goodness they’re over now.
The play was SO good! The actors all did a wonderful job, and the singing was amazing. I don’t think there will be anything for the CC’s to kvetch about this year.
It was also nice to spend time with Aunt Jan and Uncle Darryl, even if they do out class us every time with their generosity, hospitality, and thoughtfulness! I know Mom misses Aunt Jan, because they’ve always been close “spiritual” sisters, besides being “real” sisters. It was a treat for Mom, too!
Thanks, Mom – Aunt Jan – Uncle Darryl – and Brett (for driving) for the wonderful weekend!
Saturday started out nicely with a trip to First Baptist’s Mother/Daughter Tea with Mom. We didn’t find out that we were supposed to wear hats until we got there. Thankfully, they still let us in, even in our bare-headed state.
The theme for the event was, well, tea. There were some genuinely funny moments. One of which was when the 83 year-old emcee said that they would NOT be giving out “door prizes” this year. Instead, she said with a smile, they would be giving out “mementos.”
“They’re the same thing,” She explained sweetly. “Pastor just doesn’t like door prizes.”
We sat at a table with several older women who were some of the most hilarious people I have ever met.
One woman talked about how she and her 1930’s-era schoolmates “pulled the wool over” on their teacher and convinced her they needed to sit out in the cloakroom of their two-room school in order to study better. As soon as the teacher allowed them to move, the girls climbed out the window, one by one, to go play. Except the lady at our table - who got stuck trying to climb out the window and was subsequently caught by the teacher.
“That put an end to that,” she sighed.
One of the women read a History of Tea which was actually very interesting. As a recent convert to tea from soda, I found myself drawn into the story of how tea was discovered and has gone on to be such an important part of industry, entertainment, and leisure all these years.
For refreshments, there was tea and a mountain of sweets. Mom and I almost went into a diabetic coma afterwards.
After the tea, Mom, Brett, and I went to Watertown for our annual Maranatha play outing. Poor Gare-Bear was sick, so he had to stay home, and Mom was stuck riding with us.
According to Brett, Mom and I talked all the way up there “like 14 year old girls at a slumber party.” We were really excited because we thought that the play was going to be The Pirates of Penzance, and I was really looking forward to “I am the very model of a modern Major General…
But we discovered when we got there that it was actually going to be The HMS Pinafore. Which, besides I am the Master of the Sea…, I knew very little about.
After the debate surrounding Maranatha’s last play – Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, I was rather hoping for another play that could cause controversy in the conservative Christian circles. I find a kind of joy in watching all the fundamentals run around in circles like hyperactive hamsters getting all worked up over things that don’t make the least, little bit of difference out here in the real world.
Anyway, before the play, we enjoyed a delicious dinner ala Aunt Jan’s Famous Chicken Chalupas which we ate on the Sturgill’s going-away tablecloth from Berean (back in ’88). It was very nostalgic to look at all those names back from the “Berean” years. Yep, nostalgic mixed with nasty memories of those years. Thank goodness they’re over now.
The play was SO good! The actors all did a wonderful job, and the singing was amazing. I don’t think there will be anything for the CC’s to kvetch about this year.
It was also nice to spend time with Aunt Jan and Uncle Darryl, even if they do out class us every time with their generosity, hospitality, and thoughtfulness! I know Mom misses Aunt Jan, because they’ve always been close “spiritual” sisters, besides being “real” sisters. It was a treat for Mom, too!
Thanks, Mom – Aunt Jan – Uncle Darryl – and Brett (for driving) for the wonderful weekend!
Adventures with Angie
Last Friday, Angie and I attended a Spanish movie showing at Rock Valley College.
I was in a better frame of mind when I thought Angie was IN the RVC Spanish class and therefore trying to earn some extra credit. Much to my surprise, she informed me halfway through the movie that she was NOT actually in THIS class, but would be in the summer, and so she thought this was a good way to earn some brownie points with the teacher.
I sat through a Spanish movie with hard-to-read yellow subtitles, so she could earn brownie points?! At least there was cheese popcorn and Jarritos.
The movie, Ay! Carmela, was a little convoluted, but I eventually got into the story. About halfway through, Angie leaned over, said the plot was TOO SLOW, and asked if I wanted to leave.
“What? Now? I’m just getting interested,” I informed her. But she did manage to talk me into sneaking out right after the movie finished, so we didn’t have to listen to the hour or so lecture that followed.
In a fit of unexpected generosity (and upon the sudden realization that Angie’s birthday is on the 17th), I offered to take her out to dinner to celebrate. We dined at Chili’s and celebrated Angie’s birthday and her acceptance to the Great Lakes Baptist Convention’s Women Speaker Bureau – or something like that. It’s a newly formed organization that trains and provides women speakers to churches for special events.
Afterwards, we headed to the “real” movies. We both wanted to see Disturbia. But when I saw the line of hopped-up, hormonal teenagers snaking out of the movie theater, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to see the same movie as the writhing mass of Make-Out Nation.
“Maybe they’re here to see Are We Done Yet?” Angie said, with longing in her voice.
“No, that’s a kid movie,” I told her.
“Maybe they want to see Meet the Robinsons?” She said with a little whine.
“Nope.” I stubbornly replied. “They’re here to see Disturbia. I really don’t want to see that movie with a bunch of teenagers. Remember when we saw X-Men 3 on opening weekend? It was us and 900 teenage boys. We were digging popcorn out of our hair for two days, and everyone called us ma’am.”
“It’s true,” The teenage ticket agent confirmed for us. “We sold out the last two showings of Disturbia. We had to go in and ask some kids to leave in both the showings.” He leaned in, “I think they were going at it.”
“Maybe you two would be happier seeing another movie. Perfect Stranger is supposed to be good,” Corey, our favorite teenage ticket agent, chimed in.
Angie and I struck up a friendship with Corey last year. He works the late shift on the weekday and weekend movies, so he sees us a lot. We probably wouldn’t know his name except that once, halfway through our bucket of popcorn; I poked my finger on something sharp. To my surprise, I pulled out a butter-soaked plastic nametag with “COREY” in big letters. When I returned it (and the uneaten popcorn) to the refreshment stand, he sheepishly washed it off and pinned it to his uniform.
We’ve been on a first name basis ever since.
“We’ll take two to Perfect Stranger,” I told the first ticket agent. “I am paying, you know,” I reminded Angie.
“Yeah,” She muttered under her breath. “But it’s supposed to be MY birthday gift.”
“You’ll get over it,” I assured her as I half-dragged her into the theater.
As luck would have it, our theater was right next to the 10 p.m. packed-out showing of Disturbia.
“Can’t you just smell the Clearasil? Aren’t you glad we are going to a grown-up movie?” I tried to persuade Angie, but she just rolled her eyes.
There were about 30 people in our theater, and I thought the movie was pretty good, although it was hard to hear due to the pulsating noise of the Disturbia audience next door. We thought Angie had figured out the plot, but the twist at the very end threw us off.
I thought the most implausible thing in Perfect Stranger was the supposition that great looking people like Bruce Willis or Halle Berry would ever have any trouble getting a date. Yeah, like that would ever happen.
As we were leaving, Angie looked back at the kids streaming out of Disturbia. “I’ll bet we missed a good one,” she said sadly.
“Look,” I promised her. “We’ll come back on a school night and see it then. There won’t be as many people.”
She rolled her eyes again. “When did you become such a senior citizen?”
I just knew she’d get over it. Well, at least I thought she would, until I saw that Disturbia is the number one movie in the nation and getting rave reviews. Sheesh. So, when DID I become such a senior citizen, huh?
Now, I’m just waiting for Angie to call and gloat. Oh well, happy birthday anyway, girl!
I was in a better frame of mind when I thought Angie was IN the RVC Spanish class and therefore trying to earn some extra credit. Much to my surprise, she informed me halfway through the movie that she was NOT actually in THIS class, but would be in the summer, and so she thought this was a good way to earn some brownie points with the teacher.
I sat through a Spanish movie with hard-to-read yellow subtitles, so she could earn brownie points?! At least there was cheese popcorn and Jarritos.
The movie, Ay! Carmela, was a little convoluted, but I eventually got into the story. About halfway through, Angie leaned over, said the plot was TOO SLOW, and asked if I wanted to leave.
“What? Now? I’m just getting interested,” I informed her. But she did manage to talk me into sneaking out right after the movie finished, so we didn’t have to listen to the hour or so lecture that followed.
In a fit of unexpected generosity (and upon the sudden realization that Angie’s birthday is on the 17th), I offered to take her out to dinner to celebrate. We dined at Chili’s and celebrated Angie’s birthday and her acceptance to the Great Lakes Baptist Convention’s Women Speaker Bureau – or something like that. It’s a newly formed organization that trains and provides women speakers to churches for special events.
Afterwards, we headed to the “real” movies. We both wanted to see Disturbia. But when I saw the line of hopped-up, hormonal teenagers snaking out of the movie theater, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to see the same movie as the writhing mass of Make-Out Nation.
“Maybe they’re here to see Are We Done Yet?” Angie said, with longing in her voice.
“No, that’s a kid movie,” I told her.
“Maybe they want to see Meet the Robinsons?” She said with a little whine.
“Nope.” I stubbornly replied. “They’re here to see Disturbia. I really don’t want to see that movie with a bunch of teenagers. Remember when we saw X-Men 3 on opening weekend? It was us and 900 teenage boys. We were digging popcorn out of our hair for two days, and everyone called us ma’am.”
“It’s true,” The teenage ticket agent confirmed for us. “We sold out the last two showings of Disturbia. We had to go in and ask some kids to leave in both the showings.” He leaned in, “I think they were going at it.”
“Maybe you two would be happier seeing another movie. Perfect Stranger is supposed to be good,” Corey, our favorite teenage ticket agent, chimed in.
Angie and I struck up a friendship with Corey last year. He works the late shift on the weekday and weekend movies, so he sees us a lot. We probably wouldn’t know his name except that once, halfway through our bucket of popcorn; I poked my finger on something sharp. To my surprise, I pulled out a butter-soaked plastic nametag with “COREY” in big letters. When I returned it (and the uneaten popcorn) to the refreshment stand, he sheepishly washed it off and pinned it to his uniform.
We’ve been on a first name basis ever since.
“We’ll take two to Perfect Stranger,” I told the first ticket agent. “I am paying, you know,” I reminded Angie.
“Yeah,” She muttered under her breath. “But it’s supposed to be MY birthday gift.”
“You’ll get over it,” I assured her as I half-dragged her into the theater.
As luck would have it, our theater was right next to the 10 p.m. packed-out showing of Disturbia.
“Can’t you just smell the Clearasil? Aren’t you glad we are going to a grown-up movie?” I tried to persuade Angie, but she just rolled her eyes.
There were about 30 people in our theater, and I thought the movie was pretty good, although it was hard to hear due to the pulsating noise of the Disturbia audience next door. We thought Angie had figured out the plot, but the twist at the very end threw us off.
I thought the most implausible thing in Perfect Stranger was the supposition that great looking people like Bruce Willis or Halle Berry would ever have any trouble getting a date. Yeah, like that would ever happen.
As we were leaving, Angie looked back at the kids streaming out of Disturbia. “I’ll bet we missed a good one,” she said sadly.
“Look,” I promised her. “We’ll come back on a school night and see it then. There won’t be as many people.”
She rolled her eyes again. “When did you become such a senior citizen?”
I just knew she’d get over it. Well, at least I thought she would, until I saw that Disturbia is the number one movie in the nation and getting rave reviews. Sheesh. So, when DID I become such a senior citizen, huh?
Now, I’m just waiting for Angie to call and gloat. Oh well, happy birthday anyway, girl!
Words of Hope
There is so much I wanted to blog about after this busy, busy weekend. But time seemed to slip away from me, and then the tragedy at Virginia Tech seemed to put everything else in pale perspective, so I waited.
My friend Joy, who currently lives in France, is one of the smartest, sensitive, and most talented writers I have ever met. She has an understanding of spirituality I can only hope to glimpse one day. Her words on the heartbreak are better than any of mine and spoke to the truth and grasping that is all we humans can do in the wake of the unexplainable.
I hope you enjoy her message of realization and hope as much as I did.
Read it at http://karagraphy.com/2007/04/17/dont-pretend-that-youll-be-forever-haunted/.
My friend Joy, who currently lives in France, is one of the smartest, sensitive, and most talented writers I have ever met. She has an understanding of spirituality I can only hope to glimpse one day. Her words on the heartbreak are better than any of mine and spoke to the truth and grasping that is all we humans can do in the wake of the unexplainable.
I hope you enjoy her message of realization and hope as much as I did.
Read it at http://karagraphy.com/2007/04/17/dont-pretend-that-youll-be-forever-haunted/.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Snow, Slush, and Swerving
I drove to work today in the slush mush of this mid-April snowstorm and almost had THREE car accidents. All of them would have been my fault, as my car was the one not slowing down fast enough.
I really wish I had four wheel drive, instead of just rear wheel drive. Not to mention, my anti-lock brakes drive me a little nuts. I have to force myself to remember to apply steady pressure with my foot, as opposed to pumping my brakes (which is the method I was taught in driver’s ed). It was very scary. It’s nice to be safe and sound at work.
Of course, I suppose I have to go home eventually. Great. Just great. I’m thinking of calling Brett and having him meet me here after work, so we can drive home in sight of each other.
Of course, knowing my luck, I’ll probably have to stop behind him, my brakes will fail, and I’ll crash into his bumper. My almost “fourth” accident will turn into a reality!
Maybe I’ll just spend the night here!
I really wish I had four wheel drive, instead of just rear wheel drive. Not to mention, my anti-lock brakes drive me a little nuts. I have to force myself to remember to apply steady pressure with my foot, as opposed to pumping my brakes (which is the method I was taught in driver’s ed). It was very scary. It’s nice to be safe and sound at work.
Of course, I suppose I have to go home eventually. Great. Just great. I’m thinking of calling Brett and having him meet me here after work, so we can drive home in sight of each other.
Of course, knowing my luck, I’ll probably have to stop behind him, my brakes will fail, and I’ll crash into his bumper. My almost “fourth” accident will turn into a reality!
Maybe I’ll just spend the night here!
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Hooray for…Hector?
You know how after people have a boy and a girl, they tell you they are having a third child?
And you say, “Why? You already HAVE one of each.”
And they say, “We just feel like something is missing, and our family is not complete yet.”
And then they have the little one who usually turns out to be terror times two, and you think, “Yeah. That’ll complete you. Real fast.”
Well, Brett and I are there. Admittedly not with children, but with our bunnies. They have bonded and are, for the most part, healthy and happy. But we still feel like something is missing.
I think Hannah could use another male to dote on her, and Peyton could benefit from an adventurous playmate. Tripling is an ambitious endeavor, but our tried-and-true HRS foster moms assure us that the work is worth it. Most affirming of all is their faith in us to make it work.
I called Michelle who fostered (and almost adopted) our lovely Hannah and inquired about the work required and benefits of tripling. It seems the main benefit is comfort for the rabbits in the case of one rabbit (shall we say) going to that big warren in the sky.
Tripling involves more time and effort than pairing, since two rabbits have to accept a new rabbit, but we are confident enough about it to give it a try.
Michelle has suggested “Hector,” a mini-Rex. Rexes are known for the velvet feel of their fur. We are also more likely to be successful by adding a second male, as male rabbits are more accepting of males than females are of females. (I read that sentence three times to see if it made sense at any point.)
Here is some of Michelle’s advice:
For the 3 vs. 4 question…(not that I'm an expert in this area.. but my two cents I guess) - You can do it, but the thing is usually 2 females rarely get along, again unless they're related. Usually the female is the dominant one, the leader. In tripling, you usually go with two guys so the female doesn't get as defensive. She may still choose to be more bonded with one of them, but will accept the 2nd male more easily. Two males also tend to bond pretty easily. Even in the fostering I do, it's amazing how quickly the boys will become buddies - even through a pen.
So...when it comes to four, you have a choice of whether you want two distinct/separate pairs vs. trying to get all four together. I have a male Dutch foster that I'm likely going to keep and I've been debating the same thing. I think in my case, I may go the route of 2 distinct pairs - assuming the little guy will accept another bunny - he's rather particular. We can talk more on this tonight, but I wouldn't worry too much about having to introduce a 4th at this point. There are many triples out there that do really well.
I've attached a picture of the little guy I'm thinking of that may work well for you. He's a 4 1/2 - 5 lb mini rex. It's hard to explain all of this in e-mail so we can talk more, but he's very playful, non-aggressive and has learned to keep himself quite entertained (and did I mention very sweet?). I think he'd be a good match because I don't see him as being aggressive or shoving himself between your current two.
And, if the bonding takes a bit, he can handle being on his own quite well as long as he has some toys, a towel to dig at and some attention. I'll give you his background and what not-- he's got his own recovery story and has become quite a charming little guy. I believe he's about 2 1/2 to 3 years right now, but since he only recently figured out he was a bunny - he's got the energy of a younger rabbit. Additionally, rexes also have some different personality traits than lops that we can talk about as well.
Anyway - let me know what you think. His pictures never to me show off his cuteness the way I see him, but these two are pretty decent.
Re: Hector's toys - he's pretty easy to entertain. He has his boxes which he loves to move. His biggest toys are a slinky, one of those big yellow rattle ball toys, and a rope/wood toy thing I made that looks like a smaller version of a bird toy. His biggest entertainment is "digging" which is playing with a blanket/towel with his paws and relocating it everywhere. In his pen I keep a handle towel but he likes playing with blankets when I have him out too. And he loves to run. He's very neat. He may tear at the newspaper a bit but he doesn't disintegrate it like some.
So, we’ve decided to add to our brood. Michelle will bring Hector to our house in April/May, and we’ll see how the introduction to Hannah and Peyton goes. I’ll keep you updated!
And you say, “Why? You already HAVE one of each.”
And they say, “We just feel like something is missing, and our family is not complete yet.”
And then they have the little one who usually turns out to be terror times two, and you think, “Yeah. That’ll complete you. Real fast.”
Well, Brett and I are there. Admittedly not with children, but with our bunnies. They have bonded and are, for the most part, healthy and happy. But we still feel like something is missing.
I think Hannah could use another male to dote on her, and Peyton could benefit from an adventurous playmate. Tripling is an ambitious endeavor, but our tried-and-true HRS foster moms assure us that the work is worth it. Most affirming of all is their faith in us to make it work.
I called Michelle who fostered (and almost adopted) our lovely Hannah and inquired about the work required and benefits of tripling. It seems the main benefit is comfort for the rabbits in the case of one rabbit (shall we say) going to that big warren in the sky.
Tripling involves more time and effort than pairing, since two rabbits have to accept a new rabbit, but we are confident enough about it to give it a try.
Michelle has suggested “Hector,” a mini-Rex. Rexes are known for the velvet feel of their fur. We are also more likely to be successful by adding a second male, as male rabbits are more accepting of males than females are of females. (I read that sentence three times to see if it made sense at any point.)
Here is some of Michelle’s advice:
For the 3 vs. 4 question…(not that I'm an expert in this area.. but my two cents I guess) - You can do it, but the thing is usually 2 females rarely get along, again unless they're related. Usually the female is the dominant one, the leader. In tripling, you usually go with two guys so the female doesn't get as defensive. She may still choose to be more bonded with one of them, but will accept the 2nd male more easily. Two males also tend to bond pretty easily. Even in the fostering I do, it's amazing how quickly the boys will become buddies - even through a pen.
So...when it comes to four, you have a choice of whether you want two distinct/separate pairs vs. trying to get all four together. I have a male Dutch foster that I'm likely going to keep and I've been debating the same thing. I think in my case, I may go the route of 2 distinct pairs - assuming the little guy will accept another bunny - he's rather particular. We can talk more on this tonight, but I wouldn't worry too much about having to introduce a 4th at this point. There are many triples out there that do really well.
I've attached a picture of the little guy I'm thinking of that may work well for you. He's a 4 1/2 - 5 lb mini rex. It's hard to explain all of this in e-mail so we can talk more, but he's very playful, non-aggressive and has learned to keep himself quite entertained (and did I mention very sweet?). I think he'd be a good match because I don't see him as being aggressive or shoving himself between your current two.
And, if the bonding takes a bit, he can handle being on his own quite well as long as he has some toys, a towel to dig at and some attention. I'll give you his background and what not-- he's got his own recovery story and has become quite a charming little guy. I believe he's about 2 1/2 to 3 years right now, but since he only recently figured out he was a bunny - he's got the energy of a younger rabbit. Additionally, rexes also have some different personality traits than lops that we can talk about as well.
Anyway - let me know what you think. His pictures never to me show off his cuteness the way I see him, but these two are pretty decent.
Re: Hector's toys - he's pretty easy to entertain. He has his boxes which he loves to move. His biggest toys are a slinky, one of those big yellow rattle ball toys, and a rope/wood toy thing I made that looks like a smaller version of a bird toy. His biggest entertainment is "digging" which is playing with a blanket/towel with his paws and relocating it everywhere. In his pen I keep a handle towel but he likes playing with blankets when I have him out too. And he loves to run. He's very neat. He may tear at the newspaper a bit but he doesn't disintegrate it like some.
So, we’ve decided to add to our brood. Michelle will bring Hector to our house in April/May, and we’ll see how the introduction to Hannah and Peyton goes. I’ll keep you updated!
Gambling with Greetings
At church on Sunday, I wished someone a “Happy Easter.”
She replied “People have been saying Happy Resurrection to me, so I guess that’s what we’re saying now instead of Happy Easter.”
She looked a little ashamed as though she had been left out of the loop on the new lingo and that her “Happy Easter” sentiment had actually caused someone pain. I smiled and wished her “both” a Happy Easter AND Happy Resurrection and left church a little bit steamed.
Happy Resurrection? I mean, come on.
People have been saying “Happy Easter” forever, and now all of a sudden it’s not good enough for us? We have to go invent new greetings?
One of the reasons I like Easter (beside the obvious) is that I can wish my co-workers a Happy Easter and know that if they are Christians/Catholics…religious…they will take it in stride. And if they aren’t, they’ll assume I mean the “Easter bunny,” and everyone is okay.
Now, if I said “Happy Resurrection,” I have no doubt I’d be labeled the office sadist.
Why on EARTH would someone change a basic holiday salutation? Huh?
I have the reverence, awe, and dumbfounded wonder of any believer who knows the reality of what Easter represents. God’s amazing love, Christ’s extreme sacrifice, and my undeserving rescue from eternal damnation.
I respect the resurrection.
And that’s exactly why I don’t want it reduced to a snappy Christian catchphrase. Much like What Would Jesus Do became a joke parodied about by those who didn’t give one rip what Jesus would do.
Is this a new thing? Are we going to say “Happy Greeting to Mary’s Placenta” instead of “Merry Christmas” and “Blessed Bloody Wooden Structure Day” instead of “Good Friday” – is this the new trend?
If so, I’m not participating.
I’m SO tired of seeing gullible Christians swayed into thinking that they HAVE to participate in every whacked out, quasi-Christian-themed THING some crackpot thinks he saw in a vision.
Sheesh.
All that to say, a Happy Belated Easter to all of you!
She replied “People have been saying Happy Resurrection to me, so I guess that’s what we’re saying now instead of Happy Easter.”
She looked a little ashamed as though she had been left out of the loop on the new lingo and that her “Happy Easter” sentiment had actually caused someone pain. I smiled and wished her “both” a Happy Easter AND Happy Resurrection and left church a little bit steamed.
Happy Resurrection? I mean, come on.
People have been saying “Happy Easter” forever, and now all of a sudden it’s not good enough for us? We have to go invent new greetings?
One of the reasons I like Easter (beside the obvious) is that I can wish my co-workers a Happy Easter and know that if they are Christians/Catholics…religious…they will take it in stride. And if they aren’t, they’ll assume I mean the “Easter bunny,” and everyone is okay.
Now, if I said “Happy Resurrection,” I have no doubt I’d be labeled the office sadist.
Why on EARTH would someone change a basic holiday salutation? Huh?
I have the reverence, awe, and dumbfounded wonder of any believer who knows the reality of what Easter represents. God’s amazing love, Christ’s extreme sacrifice, and my undeserving rescue from eternal damnation.
I respect the resurrection.
And that’s exactly why I don’t want it reduced to a snappy Christian catchphrase. Much like What Would Jesus Do became a joke parodied about by those who didn’t give one rip what Jesus would do.
Is this a new thing? Are we going to say “Happy Greeting to Mary’s Placenta” instead of “Merry Christmas” and “Blessed Bloody Wooden Structure Day” instead of “Good Friday” – is this the new trend?
If so, I’m not participating.
I’m SO tired of seeing gullible Christians swayed into thinking that they HAVE to participate in every whacked out, quasi-Christian-themed THING some crackpot thinks he saw in a vision.
Sheesh.
All that to say, a Happy Belated Easter to all of you!
Monday, April 09, 2007
Streptastic
Whew! It’s amazing how therapeutic blogging is. I know some people aren’t comfortable letting their feelings show, but I’ve been an open book for as long as I can remember.
After my rage-filled blog (and amazing advice from Tob, as a result), I found myself able to see normal colors again (as opposed to only red). I spent the rest of the morning praying and asking God for help on how to approach the situation. It took a lot of holding “my real feelings” in as I talked to Brett. I tried to say everything very gently, with tact, and have my motivation be out of love.
Brett’s response to this was SO positive! He admitted where he had done things wrong, and even seemed surprised at some of the things I had been frustrated over. He didn’t realize they’d even had an impact on me.
It was such a relief to “make up,” and be on good terms again. When we’re happy together…we’re really happy.
This made my Saturday evening be SO much better than my Saturday morning. We spent the rest of the day…none of YOUR business…and then we spent the evening watching the last six episodes of Prison Break. Now, we just have to wait for Season 2 to be released. I already have it in my Netflix Queue!
On Sunday, we went to Easter morning service at our new church building! The building committee and decorating committee have done a wonderful job. It is really beautiful. It’s still quite a way from our house (“Why didn’t they move north?” – I lament often), but our church is still our church. They’d probably have to move to Chicago before it would be a hardship…we’d probably still go.
Meanwhile, Brett kept clearing his throat (nothing unusual about that – it’s his normal habit – years of breathing in plastic dust on the job and growing up with an asthmatic father who coughs as much as Brett does, so Brett thinks it’s normal for one person to cough that much – and it’s not – I’m always so annoyed. Anyway. Back on topic).
After a while, he decided to go to the immediate care clinic and was promptly diagnosed with strep throat. Since it is highly contagious, we had to call my sister-in-law and let her know that we wouldn’t be coming to Geneva for Easter dinner after all!
We were all disappointed, but it actually turned out all right. I was able to use the unexpected time to clean the bunny cages while Brett rested on the couch. Mom and Gary decided to go anyway and were even nice enough to bring back food for us!
It was kind of an up and down weekend. Firs there was our disagreement, anger management therapy (via blog), making up, and step throat. It was a little messed up, but we are back on good terms again. So that’s what matters most.
Also, Brett is famous again! The Rockford Register Star visited our church’s Sunday morning Easter Service and took a photo of Brett to accompany the story! I’ve already had congratulatory e-mails and phone calls from people. He was also on TV for the Lowe’s Grand Opening.
I wonder how much of his 15 minutes of fame he has left!
After my rage-filled blog (and amazing advice from Tob, as a result), I found myself able to see normal colors again (as opposed to only red). I spent the rest of the morning praying and asking God for help on how to approach the situation. It took a lot of holding “my real feelings” in as I talked to Brett. I tried to say everything very gently, with tact, and have my motivation be out of love.
Brett’s response to this was SO positive! He admitted where he had done things wrong, and even seemed surprised at some of the things I had been frustrated over. He didn’t realize they’d even had an impact on me.
It was such a relief to “make up,” and be on good terms again. When we’re happy together…we’re really happy.
This made my Saturday evening be SO much better than my Saturday morning. We spent the rest of the day…none of YOUR business…and then we spent the evening watching the last six episodes of Prison Break. Now, we just have to wait for Season 2 to be released. I already have it in my Netflix Queue!
On Sunday, we went to Easter morning service at our new church building! The building committee and decorating committee have done a wonderful job. It is really beautiful. It’s still quite a way from our house (“Why didn’t they move north?” – I lament often), but our church is still our church. They’d probably have to move to Chicago before it would be a hardship…we’d probably still go.
Meanwhile, Brett kept clearing his throat (nothing unusual about that – it’s his normal habit – years of breathing in plastic dust on the job and growing up with an asthmatic father who coughs as much as Brett does, so Brett thinks it’s normal for one person to cough that much – and it’s not – I’m always so annoyed. Anyway. Back on topic).
After a while, he decided to go to the immediate care clinic and was promptly diagnosed with strep throat. Since it is highly contagious, we had to call my sister-in-law and let her know that we wouldn’t be coming to Geneva for Easter dinner after all!
We were all disappointed, but it actually turned out all right. I was able to use the unexpected time to clean the bunny cages while Brett rested on the couch. Mom and Gary decided to go anyway and were even nice enough to bring back food for us!
It was kind of an up and down weekend. Firs there was our disagreement, anger management therapy (via blog), making up, and step throat. It was a little messed up, but we are back on good terms again. So that’s what matters most.
Also, Brett is famous again! The Rockford Register Star visited our church’s Sunday morning Easter Service and took a photo of Brett to accompany the story! I’ve already had congratulatory e-mails and phone calls from people. He was also on TV for the Lowe’s Grand Opening.
I wonder how much of his 15 minutes of fame he has left!
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Analyzing Anger
Lately, I’ve been dealing with a lot of latent anger.
Swear words course (I could say “curse,” ha!) through my head; I engage in a lot of silent yelling tantrums; and frankly, people are just irritating the heck out of me.
My cousin Beth remarked recently on her blog that she’d like to make a list of everything that is wrong with the world. Well, Beth, I’d easily share that task with you.
I think part of it is the anger, frustration, and disappointment I bottled up during the past few months while Brett and I went through our troubles. Now that things are looking up and seem to be on the way to getting resolved, I find myself seeking a release for those aggravated feelings.
I know that anger (when not righteous or in zealousness for God) is a sin, and I’ve asked God to relieve me of the burden or at least help me deal with it. But I feel so powerless against the huge tidal wave that seems to sweep me from the sandy shore and pin me to the bottom of the ocean.
I want to scream and yell and rally my first against the sky. I want to let loose with all the feelings I suppressed. I want to tell my husband what he put me through emotionally and mentally in these past few months. I want to shriek at him until he actually changes. I want him to know, to take basic responsibility, and not toss all that HE did wrong back in my face as my fault.
I can’t believe I didn’t realize it. But how could I not question WHY my blood pressure was 163/100? Why did I never wonder WHY my blood sugar jumped all over the map and my migraines increased to being unbearable? Because there was NO why – there was only WHO!
I’ve never been this angry before. And I’m afraid that what this does to my blood pressure could kill me.
My moods fluctuate, of course. And sometimes, I can try to forget and let things be good. Renewed joy, like I wrote about in a recent post. But all it takes is one slip back into that old behavior, and it all comes bubbling back to the surface.
I’m in a heart exploding fury. The world is only red before me, and all I can think is how I just can’t live and do everything all on my own. It defies explanation. I was never angry, not like this, ever before.
It makes me want to do things I never contemplated before. I want to move far away and never see anybody I know ever again (except, of course, I would take Mom with me!). I want to disappear into thin air and not have to think, obsess, and be enraged all the time.
I’m tired of being nice. I’m tired of being accommodating. I’m tired of being the one who always gives in. I’m especially tired of always carrying the full load and being the only one who takes any kind of responsibility. I’m only one person, you know.
I’m tired of always worrying about other people and their feelings and saying the right thing not to ever hurt anyone’s feelings. I want to be honest again.
I want to freedom to be Ann-Marie again. The me I lost so long ago. I’d like to be her again, and not the person who lives this pathetic and sorry life.
I know how depressing this all sounds and I wish I could offer some sort of “I’ll be okay” mentality to soften the blow, but the truth is that I don’t know anymore. I just don’t.
I’m all alone. The wave is pinning me down, and all I want is a breath of air. But each time I try to take it, water fills my lungs.
Maybe it’s just better that way. Easier to just give in.
Swear words course (I could say “curse,” ha!) through my head; I engage in a lot of silent yelling tantrums; and frankly, people are just irritating the heck out of me.
My cousin Beth remarked recently on her blog that she’d like to make a list of everything that is wrong with the world. Well, Beth, I’d easily share that task with you.
I think part of it is the anger, frustration, and disappointment I bottled up during the past few months while Brett and I went through our troubles. Now that things are looking up and seem to be on the way to getting resolved, I find myself seeking a release for those aggravated feelings.
I know that anger (when not righteous or in zealousness for God) is a sin, and I’ve asked God to relieve me of the burden or at least help me deal with it. But I feel so powerless against the huge tidal wave that seems to sweep me from the sandy shore and pin me to the bottom of the ocean.
I want to scream and yell and rally my first against the sky. I want to let loose with all the feelings I suppressed. I want to tell my husband what he put me through emotionally and mentally in these past few months. I want to shriek at him until he actually changes. I want him to know, to take basic responsibility, and not toss all that HE did wrong back in my face as my fault.
I can’t believe I didn’t realize it. But how could I not question WHY my blood pressure was 163/100? Why did I never wonder WHY my blood sugar jumped all over the map and my migraines increased to being unbearable? Because there was NO why – there was only WHO!
I’ve never been this angry before. And I’m afraid that what this does to my blood pressure could kill me.
My moods fluctuate, of course. And sometimes, I can try to forget and let things be good. Renewed joy, like I wrote about in a recent post. But all it takes is one slip back into that old behavior, and it all comes bubbling back to the surface.
I’m in a heart exploding fury. The world is only red before me, and all I can think is how I just can’t live and do everything all on my own. It defies explanation. I was never angry, not like this, ever before.
It makes me want to do things I never contemplated before. I want to move far away and never see anybody I know ever again (except, of course, I would take Mom with me!). I want to disappear into thin air and not have to think, obsess, and be enraged all the time.
I’m tired of being nice. I’m tired of being accommodating. I’m tired of being the one who always gives in. I’m especially tired of always carrying the full load and being the only one who takes any kind of responsibility. I’m only one person, you know.
I’m tired of always worrying about other people and their feelings and saying the right thing not to ever hurt anyone’s feelings. I want to be honest again.
I want to freedom to be Ann-Marie again. The me I lost so long ago. I’d like to be her again, and not the person who lives this pathetic and sorry life.
I know how depressing this all sounds and I wish I could offer some sort of “I’ll be okay” mentality to soften the blow, but the truth is that I don’t know anymore. I just don’t.
I’m all alone. The wave is pinning me down, and all I want is a breath of air. But each time I try to take it, water fills my lungs.
Maybe it’s just better that way. Easier to just give in.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Robbing the Cradle
An amazing thought just occurred to me.
I’m 28 (not so amazing), but when Brett was my age, he was dating a 19 year old! I can’t even imagine dating a 19 year old at my age. My nephew Kevin is 19. And I certainly can’t imagine dating my nephew Bryan who just turned 21.
It must be different for guys.
* Attribute the fact that this post is so short to my cousin Tammy who claims my blog entries are longer than some books. And if she wanted to read a book, she’d read a book.
I’m 28 (not so amazing), but when Brett was my age, he was dating a 19 year old! I can’t even imagine dating a 19 year old at my age. My nephew Kevin is 19. And I certainly can’t imagine dating my nephew Bryan who just turned 21.
It must be different for guys.
* Attribute the fact that this post is so short to my cousin Tammy who claims my blog entries are longer than some books. And if she wanted to read a book, she’d read a book.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Force Flex Farce
I would like to register a product complaint.
We are currently auditioning brand name kitchen garbage bags. That’s right. We’re movin’ on up…from the generic brands.
For the previous six years, we’ve been hit hard in the pocketbook. We looked for ways to save, and one of the ways was by buying sub-par garbage bags. Dollar store garbage bags. Bags that would rip if we talked about throwing away a lettuce leaf.
It only took a few times of cleaning the kitchen floor for us to remember that we had to carry our garbage bags by the bottom from the kitchen to the curb while running at a fast cantor to avoid spillage (and spoilage) on the way.
Have you ever tried to carry a bulging, flimsy garbage bag from the bottom while running in flip-flops?
I don’t recommend it.
Every time we would see an ad for brand name kitchen garbage bags, we’d sigh in envy. “I wish we could buy brand name,” I’d utter, cleaning the floor (from yet another spill), while up to my ankles in garbage.
One bag in particular caught my fancy. Glad’s Force Flex bags. The commercial clearly demonstrated not even a rhino could get through the Force Flex shield.
“We could finally throw away our Pop-Tart boxes,” I told Brett, looking at the tiny Sears tower that was evolving from our box collection.
Brett and I are lazy, convenience and frozen food eaters, and we hate to disassemble boxes before throwing them away.
I envisioned throwing away boxes, hangers, and light bulbs any time I wanted. A dream, I knew, has to start somewhere.
After Brett began his new job, we had a few extra dollars to spend. As we perused the garbage bag aisle, I was captivated by Glad’s Odor Shield bags. These bags came with a “special odor neutralizing” agent.
In my head I saw our kitchen spotless (a state it has never entered) with the smell of sweet honeysuckle over pouring from our trash can (also spotless in the daydream).
I successfully made my case for the bags. Although Brett pointed out as we left with a 40 count box of bags, “You know our house is still going to smell like rabbits, right? No agent can neutralize that smell.”
He was right, of course. But I liked the fresh smell when I shook out the bags and was very happy when they appeared to be strong as well. There was no more bottom-carrying or 50 yard dashes to the curb.
About halfway through the box of bags, Brett approached me with a sad glint in his eye and a tissue held up to his nose.
“We’re going to have to switch to something else. That fresh smell is making me nauseous”
“How can this make you nauseous?” I asked while sticking my head in the garbage can and taking a full whiff of honeysuckle cleanness, along with some garbage I had forgotten was there before my sniffing demonstration.
The very act sickened him, but he made a feeble attempt and sniffed in the direction of the bag before sneezing violently and backed way quickly as his eyes watered and turned an angry reddish color.
“Oh, fine. You big baby,” I countered, angry to have my spotless and aromatic kitchen dream destroyed.
On our second attempt to buy brand name garbage bags, we were drawn back to the Glad Force Flex. We stood in front of it in awe and considered it destiny when we both uttered “Pop Tarts” at the same time.
That first week, I was excited as I threw away several boxes, including the massive Jimmy Dean Microwavable Egg and Sausage Biscuit box that had previously housed Brett’s favorite ( and daily) breakfast sandwich.
I pulled the bag out of the can, expecting rounded bulges from the boxes, and completely convinced not even a rhino could penetrate our brand name bags.
The sad reality became evident to me as I saw sharp box edges very clearly sticking out of the plastic. Corners from our Pop Tarts, frozen dinners, and pizza boxes were sadly exposed. The bag, held at the right angle, could easily have been used as a deadly weapon.
“Stay away from her! She’s hold the Protruding Sharp Right Angle Trash Bag of Death!”
I showed the bag, now vaguely resembling a lumpy white porcupine to Brett.
“At least it doesn’t stink,” he shrugged.
“Of course it stinks. There’s a week’s worth of garbage in here, and it’s being well ventilated.”
“I meant, it doesn’t make me nauseous. Hey, are those my flip-flops? You know you can’t run to the curb in those without tripping.”
I hoped it was a one time thing, but I soon discovered (this point was not covered in the commercial) that the Force Flex Shield is apparently made out of dollar store garbage bags.
Now, we have to go back to auditioning garbage bags.
I just haven’t had the heart to tell Brett yet. So, I’ve just been telling him that his violent sneezing, runny nose, and watery, itchy eyes is because he’s allergic to dust. And I just haven’t had time to clean.
Although, I’m thinking he may have figured it out today when he asked, “Do you smell honeysuckle in here, or is it just me?”
We are currently auditioning brand name kitchen garbage bags. That’s right. We’re movin’ on up…from the generic brands.
For the previous six years, we’ve been hit hard in the pocketbook. We looked for ways to save, and one of the ways was by buying sub-par garbage bags. Dollar store garbage bags. Bags that would rip if we talked about throwing away a lettuce leaf.
It only took a few times of cleaning the kitchen floor for us to remember that we had to carry our garbage bags by the bottom from the kitchen to the curb while running at a fast cantor to avoid spillage (and spoilage) on the way.
Have you ever tried to carry a bulging, flimsy garbage bag from the bottom while running in flip-flops?
I don’t recommend it.
Every time we would see an ad for brand name kitchen garbage bags, we’d sigh in envy. “I wish we could buy brand name,” I’d utter, cleaning the floor (from yet another spill), while up to my ankles in garbage.
One bag in particular caught my fancy. Glad’s Force Flex bags. The commercial clearly demonstrated not even a rhino could get through the Force Flex shield.
“We could finally throw away our Pop-Tart boxes,” I told Brett, looking at the tiny Sears tower that was evolving from our box collection.
Brett and I are lazy, convenience and frozen food eaters, and we hate to disassemble boxes before throwing them away.
I envisioned throwing away boxes, hangers, and light bulbs any time I wanted. A dream, I knew, has to start somewhere.
After Brett began his new job, we had a few extra dollars to spend. As we perused the garbage bag aisle, I was captivated by Glad’s Odor Shield bags. These bags came with a “special odor neutralizing” agent.
In my head I saw our kitchen spotless (a state it has never entered) with the smell of sweet honeysuckle over pouring from our trash can (also spotless in the daydream).
I successfully made my case for the bags. Although Brett pointed out as we left with a 40 count box of bags, “You know our house is still going to smell like rabbits, right? No agent can neutralize that smell.”
He was right, of course. But I liked the fresh smell when I shook out the bags and was very happy when they appeared to be strong as well. There was no more bottom-carrying or 50 yard dashes to the curb.
About halfway through the box of bags, Brett approached me with a sad glint in his eye and a tissue held up to his nose.
“We’re going to have to switch to something else. That fresh smell is making me nauseous”
“How can this make you nauseous?” I asked while sticking my head in the garbage can and taking a full whiff of honeysuckle cleanness, along with some garbage I had forgotten was there before my sniffing demonstration.
The very act sickened him, but he made a feeble attempt and sniffed in the direction of the bag before sneezing violently and backed way quickly as his eyes watered and turned an angry reddish color.
“Oh, fine. You big baby,” I countered, angry to have my spotless and aromatic kitchen dream destroyed.
On our second attempt to buy brand name garbage bags, we were drawn back to the Glad Force Flex. We stood in front of it in awe and considered it destiny when we both uttered “Pop Tarts” at the same time.
That first week, I was excited as I threw away several boxes, including the massive Jimmy Dean Microwavable Egg and Sausage Biscuit box that had previously housed Brett’s favorite ( and daily) breakfast sandwich.
I pulled the bag out of the can, expecting rounded bulges from the boxes, and completely convinced not even a rhino could penetrate our brand name bags.
The sad reality became evident to me as I saw sharp box edges very clearly sticking out of the plastic. Corners from our Pop Tarts, frozen dinners, and pizza boxes were sadly exposed. The bag, held at the right angle, could easily have been used as a deadly weapon.
“Stay away from her! She’s hold the Protruding Sharp Right Angle Trash Bag of Death!”
I showed the bag, now vaguely resembling a lumpy white porcupine to Brett.
“At least it doesn’t stink,” he shrugged.
“Of course it stinks. There’s a week’s worth of garbage in here, and it’s being well ventilated.”
“I meant, it doesn’t make me nauseous. Hey, are those my flip-flops? You know you can’t run to the curb in those without tripping.”
I hoped it was a one time thing, but I soon discovered (this point was not covered in the commercial) that the Force Flex Shield is apparently made out of dollar store garbage bags.
Now, we have to go back to auditioning garbage bags.
I just haven’t had the heart to tell Brett yet. So, I’ve just been telling him that his violent sneezing, runny nose, and watery, itchy eyes is because he’s allergic to dust. And I just haven’t had time to clean.
Although, I’m thinking he may have figured it out today when he asked, “Do you smell honeysuckle in here, or is it just me?”
Migraine, Motorists, and Miscreants
Well, I did go home.
My migraine came on full force (as predicted), and I had the distinct displeasure of throwing up in our office bathroom. Lovely.
Since I was almost blinded by my head pain, and my gut was telling me I’d be spending some more quality time with the bathroom floor, I elected to exercise my executive staff “flexible hours” privilege and hightail it home.
My manager got about a minute’s notice as I hurriedly explained “Got to go. Migraine. Going to throw up. Not here again, please. Bye.”
I believe her exact words, or at least what I heard in my rush to get out were, “What? Oh, oooookay,” said in a strangely surprised manner.
I took the dangerous Route 2 home, just dreaming of all the ways in which death-by-car-accident could be more pleasant than the migraine torture currently coursing through my beleaguered brain.
Of course, I got stuck behind hey-I’ve-got-a-new-car-and-therefore-must-go-the-actual-speed-limit on the incredibly long Route 2 – normally known as the rural Autobahn of Rockford-Loves-Machesney-Roscoe-Rockton area.
Heck, the reason I TOOK the perilous way home was because I could get home faster. Or maybe hit a deer and die in bliss compared to the massive brain-tumor-like migraine.
Instead, I got stuck behind some new-car-owner going 45 mph. FORTY-FIVE!!! On Route 2. It’s like driving a Big Wheel on a NASCAR track.
Sheesh.
I had some choice words for the driver, although most of them were lost under the dull roar of the pain ocean rip tiding its way through my head. My efforts to hold my breakfast (or what was left of it) in my stomach were also being sorely tested.
By the time, I got home (and after I gave a full ten second glare to Ms. New Car Owner at the ONLY stop light on Roscoe Road) I rushed towards my Excedrin Migraine medication, downed two pills immediately, and took up residence on the bathroom floor for the better part of the early morning.
The meds kicked in and the pounding settled to a much more bearable ache. I had a Diet Coke from my secret stash and some of the chocolate Brett thought he had hid from me. Ha. I can find chocolate anywhere. Silly man.
The mix of meds, chocolate, and caffeine staved off the migraine, and the two hour nap helped tremendously. After the pain had subsided, I felt like a complete and total weenie for leaving work early.
At the time, the pain was so intense I felt like I had no choice. This is the fastest a migraine has ever gripped me. Usually I have a little more warning. A little more time. But today, I think I had a five minute warning before I was rubbing my temples and racing towards the bathroom.
Some people get migraines every day or at least once a week. I can’t even imagine the pain. If it were me, I don’t know how I could continue living. It’s pure torture. I count myself fortunate to only be visited with a migraine every six months or so.
Migraine pain is exquisite, sensitive, and sorely separate anguish. I’ve talked to other sufferers, people who have more frequent migraines, and everyone has a different theory as to what causes them, how to treat them, and whether or not there will ever be a cure.
I’m sure mine are hereditary. I remember Dad’s suffering. Many weekends, he’d spend sequestered in my parents’ room, in the dark, curtains drawn, and Mom and I would tiptoe and whisper our way around the house.
As it is with every time I’m sick, I torture myself afterwards debating whether I should have left work.
My job allows a very flexible schedule and a wide berth of sick days, vacation days, personal days, floating holidays, etc. One of the best perks of working for a non-profit.
But I still persecute myself with questions concerning whether I could have “toughed it out” or not. The truth of the matter is that, while I don’t think of myself as a hypochondriac, I will admit that my stamina in the face of any kind of pain is similar to that of a six-week-old kitten.
I’m the first to admit that I’m not particularly impervious to pain. Okay, I’m a wuss. Unlike my mom, who has a threshold for pain that would rival a trained Navy SEAL.
Plus, I know I’ll face the derision of several co-workers who will, undoubtedly, ask me, “Did ewe hafta go home, cause your wittle, itty, bitty head hurted ewe? Awww, poor baby,” said in a mocking sing-song that will undoubtedly endure until the next time I face an ailment when the theme will change to eye-rolling and recollections of the last time I “wimped” out.
I hate facing those particular co-workers. Not only are they sarcastic and unsympathetic, they also have incredible immune systems that ensure they’ll never miss a day of work.
I’d be lying if I said I’d never happily daydreamed of them calling in sick with a mysterious illness that defied explanation from the CDC.
Well, I can’t change the past, and I suppose there is no sense in continuing to interrogate myself. I did leave, and I will have to face those people. Even though my office personnel policy provides for actual emergencies like these. Nothing I can do about that.
But I can go find the rest of the chocolate Brett has hidden around the house. That may cheer me up. Heck, what am I saying? Of course, that will cheer me up.
Wish me happy hunting!
My migraine came on full force (as predicted), and I had the distinct displeasure of throwing up in our office bathroom. Lovely.
Since I was almost blinded by my head pain, and my gut was telling me I’d be spending some more quality time with the bathroom floor, I elected to exercise my executive staff “flexible hours” privilege and hightail it home.
My manager got about a minute’s notice as I hurriedly explained “Got to go. Migraine. Going to throw up. Not here again, please. Bye.”
I believe her exact words, or at least what I heard in my rush to get out were, “What? Oh, oooookay,” said in a strangely surprised manner.
I took the dangerous Route 2 home, just dreaming of all the ways in which death-by-car-accident could be more pleasant than the migraine torture currently coursing through my beleaguered brain.
Of course, I got stuck behind hey-I’ve-got-a-new-car-and-therefore-must-go-the-actual-speed-limit on the incredibly long Route 2 – normally known as the rural Autobahn of Rockford-Loves-Machesney-Roscoe-Rockton area.
Heck, the reason I TOOK the perilous way home was because I could get home faster. Or maybe hit a deer and die in bliss compared to the massive brain-tumor-like migraine.
Instead, I got stuck behind some new-car-owner going 45 mph. FORTY-FIVE!!! On Route 2. It’s like driving a Big Wheel on a NASCAR track.
Sheesh.
I had some choice words for the driver, although most of them were lost under the dull roar of the pain ocean rip tiding its way through my head. My efforts to hold my breakfast (or what was left of it) in my stomach were also being sorely tested.
By the time, I got home (and after I gave a full ten second glare to Ms. New Car Owner at the ONLY stop light on Roscoe Road) I rushed towards my Excedrin Migraine medication, downed two pills immediately, and took up residence on the bathroom floor for the better part of the early morning.
The meds kicked in and the pounding settled to a much more bearable ache. I had a Diet Coke from my secret stash and some of the chocolate Brett thought he had hid from me. Ha. I can find chocolate anywhere. Silly man.
The mix of meds, chocolate, and caffeine staved off the migraine, and the two hour nap helped tremendously. After the pain had subsided, I felt like a complete and total weenie for leaving work early.
At the time, the pain was so intense I felt like I had no choice. This is the fastest a migraine has ever gripped me. Usually I have a little more warning. A little more time. But today, I think I had a five minute warning before I was rubbing my temples and racing towards the bathroom.
Some people get migraines every day or at least once a week. I can’t even imagine the pain. If it were me, I don’t know how I could continue living. It’s pure torture. I count myself fortunate to only be visited with a migraine every six months or so.
Migraine pain is exquisite, sensitive, and sorely separate anguish. I’ve talked to other sufferers, people who have more frequent migraines, and everyone has a different theory as to what causes them, how to treat them, and whether or not there will ever be a cure.
I’m sure mine are hereditary. I remember Dad’s suffering. Many weekends, he’d spend sequestered in my parents’ room, in the dark, curtains drawn, and Mom and I would tiptoe and whisper our way around the house.
As it is with every time I’m sick, I torture myself afterwards debating whether I should have left work.
My job allows a very flexible schedule and a wide berth of sick days, vacation days, personal days, floating holidays, etc. One of the best perks of working for a non-profit.
But I still persecute myself with questions concerning whether I could have “toughed it out” or not. The truth of the matter is that, while I don’t think of myself as a hypochondriac, I will admit that my stamina in the face of any kind of pain is similar to that of a six-week-old kitten.
I’m the first to admit that I’m not particularly impervious to pain. Okay, I’m a wuss. Unlike my mom, who has a threshold for pain that would rival a trained Navy SEAL.
Plus, I know I’ll face the derision of several co-workers who will, undoubtedly, ask me, “Did ewe hafta go home, cause your wittle, itty, bitty head hurted ewe? Awww, poor baby,” said in a mocking sing-song that will undoubtedly endure until the next time I face an ailment when the theme will change to eye-rolling and recollections of the last time I “wimped” out.
I hate facing those particular co-workers. Not only are they sarcastic and unsympathetic, they also have incredible immune systems that ensure they’ll never miss a day of work.
I’d be lying if I said I’d never happily daydreamed of them calling in sick with a mysterious illness that defied explanation from the CDC.
Well, I can’t change the past, and I suppose there is no sense in continuing to interrogate myself. I did leave, and I will have to face those people. Even though my office personnel policy provides for actual emergencies like these. Nothing I can do about that.
But I can go find the rest of the chocolate Brett has hidden around the house. That may cheer me up. Heck, what am I saying? Of course, that will cheer me up.
Wish me happy hunting!
Y’all Ready for This?
Today is a headache day. I really can’t afford for it to be a headache day. But, no matter, my head is still pounding relentlessly. I can’t go home (much as I’d like to) since I’ve entirely too much work to do here!
Oh well, I’ve taken three Advil, drank slightly caffeinated green tea, and am thinking heavily about breaking my Diet Coke ban in order to free the headache demon currently sandblasting in my head.
Darn migraines! This is starting to feel suspiciously like one, and I know I can’t concentrate once it starts in earnest, in which case, I would have to go home (or have someone drive me home) since I would be incoherent. Hopefully, the drugs and caffeine will ward it off. Hopefully.
Anyway, I won’t spend my short time to complain about my headache (well, apparently, I will, but I mean not anymore…)
After my mixed-emotion post the other day, I thought I should post about something I am VERY excited about!!! I’m going to Tennessee to visit my cousins! Yea! (NOT spelled “yay” ever) My boss approved my vacation request, so I will be able to take the entire week of April 22 OFF!
Candice and I plan to leave on Sunday night. We’ll drive down together and talk (I’m assuming – we’re rarely mute). Grandma is also planning to go (we’re waiting to make sure her doctor signs off on the trip), along with Mom, Aunt Jan, and Aunt Louise. They will leave earlier and come back earlier than we will. They’ll probably bunk with Aunt Laurie, while we are planning to stay at Charity, Colleen, and BJ’s – suddenly the conservatives will be outweighed by the progressives – hang on BJ, we’re coming! Ha! Ha!
My poor cousin Colleen! I always tease her about being so conservative, but the truth is that I’ve always admired her for sticking to her convictions without imposing them or judgment on others. Goodness knows, I don’t do that! Well, I try, but when you’re so often right…
I am SO excited about the trip. I miss my sister-cousins and BJ, too. Without a doubt, BJ is one of the funniest, most talented, and under-appreciated guys I know. So what if we’re obviously related? (Smile) Seriously, I’ll bet if BJ wanted to…he could make anybody laugh. Although, I wouldn’t start with a parody of a Jeff Foxworthy skit, as that is, apparently, “lame.”
And I can’t wait to see Charity. The bane of my junior high existence is now one of my best friends, and I couldn't BE more happy to see her!
So, there’s a happy (albeit headache-y) post for today!
I hope they are going to be just as happy for US to invade their houses.
Watch out, y’all! The Rehfeldts are coming to Tennessee!
Oh well, I’ve taken three Advil, drank slightly caffeinated green tea, and am thinking heavily about breaking my Diet Coke ban in order to free the headache demon currently sandblasting in my head.
Darn migraines! This is starting to feel suspiciously like one, and I know I can’t concentrate once it starts in earnest, in which case, I would have to go home (or have someone drive me home) since I would be incoherent. Hopefully, the drugs and caffeine will ward it off. Hopefully.
Anyway, I won’t spend my short time to complain about my headache (well, apparently, I will, but I mean not anymore…)
After my mixed-emotion post the other day, I thought I should post about something I am VERY excited about!!! I’m going to Tennessee to visit my cousins! Yea! (NOT spelled “yay” ever) My boss approved my vacation request, so I will be able to take the entire week of April 22 OFF!
Candice and I plan to leave on Sunday night. We’ll drive down together and talk (I’m assuming – we’re rarely mute). Grandma is also planning to go (we’re waiting to make sure her doctor signs off on the trip), along with Mom, Aunt Jan, and Aunt Louise. They will leave earlier and come back earlier than we will. They’ll probably bunk with Aunt Laurie, while we are planning to stay at Charity, Colleen, and BJ’s – suddenly the conservatives will be outweighed by the progressives – hang on BJ, we’re coming! Ha! Ha!
My poor cousin Colleen! I always tease her about being so conservative, but the truth is that I’ve always admired her for sticking to her convictions without imposing them or judgment on others. Goodness knows, I don’t do that! Well, I try, but when you’re so often right…
I am SO excited about the trip. I miss my sister-cousins and BJ, too. Without a doubt, BJ is one of the funniest, most talented, and under-appreciated guys I know. So what if we’re obviously related? (Smile) Seriously, I’ll bet if BJ wanted to…he could make anybody laugh. Although, I wouldn’t start with a parody of a Jeff Foxworthy skit, as that is, apparently, “lame.”
And I can’t wait to see Charity. The bane of my junior high existence is now one of my best friends, and I couldn't BE more happy to see her!
So, there’s a happy (albeit headache-y) post for today!
I hope they are going to be just as happy for US to invade their houses.
Watch out, y’all! The Rehfeldts are coming to Tennessee!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Renewed: Romance & Rebellion
Brett and I are experiencing a time of renewed joy in our marriage. After our spectacularly lousy December, we were both feeling every kind of angry emotion. BUT since we both have the (stupid) inability to STAY upset at one another, we were also just longing for the emotional intimacy we’ve had ever since we met.
Well, somehow – by God’s grace – we seem to have found our way back on the path. The past couple months, and especially the past few weeks have been amazing! It’s like we are totally back in sync again.
We were talking about it last night (since we couldn’t sleep - thanks to the T-storms), and it was so great to just be able to share what was on our hearts and in our thoughts. We’ve actually been laughing at each other (in a wonderfully self-deprecating way) and loving being back on the same wavelength.
I told Brett how I am currently experiencing a rebellion in my heart. I know it is my “inner man” (the old nature) and probably outside forces, too – but I’ve really been struggling lately.
I mean, it’s like God has provided this great job for Brett which has basically changed his entire personality back to the man I originally fell in love with and married. And our marriage is rebounding from a rough patch. And things ARE going really well…so why I am so rebellious in my nature? I should be down on my knees praising God and thanking Him for His amazing provision. I know He has done these things.
So, why I am being rebellious? Why is it taking SO much extra effort for me to have devotions in the morning? Why does the very thought of going to church fill me with anticipated dread? Why do I do things I shouldn’t sometimes? Things I know full well that I shouldn’t.
I don’t know. But it WAS nice to finally talk to Brett about it.
I talked about missing my friends. I miss October’s gentle way of listening to me and reserving judgment. Seeing her again reminded me of why I love being her friend. We rarely agreed (on anything) yet we shared a relationship that was as rich and varied as our personalities.
This is a little shocking, but I think I miss Windsor. I miss going to church and knowing everyone there. I miss the history inside those walls – I grew up there. I miss seeing Dad leading the congregational singing. I miss people wanting to talk to me.
I miss the Windsor women - women my age – heck, of every age - who had active lives outside of the church building. Women who had careers, liked fashion, kept up on current events, read People magazine, understood pop culture, and had actually funny senses of humor. I could communicate with them. It made them entirely human with relatable problems and struggles as Christian women living in the unsaved world.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe God wants us to be at Morningstar. It’s something we both sincerely believe. It’s just that I haven’t yet developed the strong circle of friends I had at Windsor.
I don’t know who would be okay going to a movie, so I don’t ask anyone. Then, if I did, I would be afraid that I’d pick a bad movie, you know?
Also, I’m a “conversation drifter.” I don’t sit down and want to get all into theology and…usually I start talking about something completely different and then end up talking about…not theology. Ha! But, you know, spiritual things, nonetheless.
I don’t know. I just feel adrift spiritually. Like I’m searching for something. It’s like I feel like I’m wasting my life, but I don’t know what to do about it. I work. I volunteer. I go to church. I enjoy family and friends. I have hobbies.
What kind of superstar life am I thinking I’m going to have, you know?
Sure, I haven’t written the great American novel yet, but my life is good, so why do I feel so rebellious? I just don’t know.
Perhaps with time, I will. Still, it’s nice to have Brett back to talk through these things with me.
Well, somehow – by God’s grace – we seem to have found our way back on the path. The past couple months, and especially the past few weeks have been amazing! It’s like we are totally back in sync again.
We were talking about it last night (since we couldn’t sleep - thanks to the T-storms), and it was so great to just be able to share what was on our hearts and in our thoughts. We’ve actually been laughing at each other (in a wonderfully self-deprecating way) and loving being back on the same wavelength.
I told Brett how I am currently experiencing a rebellion in my heart. I know it is my “inner man” (the old nature) and probably outside forces, too – but I’ve really been struggling lately.
I mean, it’s like God has provided this great job for Brett which has basically changed his entire personality back to the man I originally fell in love with and married. And our marriage is rebounding from a rough patch. And things ARE going really well…so why I am so rebellious in my nature? I should be down on my knees praising God and thanking Him for His amazing provision. I know He has done these things.
So, why I am being rebellious? Why is it taking SO much extra effort for me to have devotions in the morning? Why does the very thought of going to church fill me with anticipated dread? Why do I do things I shouldn’t sometimes? Things I know full well that I shouldn’t.
I don’t know. But it WAS nice to finally talk to Brett about it.
I talked about missing my friends. I miss October’s gentle way of listening to me and reserving judgment. Seeing her again reminded me of why I love being her friend. We rarely agreed (on anything) yet we shared a relationship that was as rich and varied as our personalities.
This is a little shocking, but I think I miss Windsor. I miss going to church and knowing everyone there. I miss the history inside those walls – I grew up there. I miss seeing Dad leading the congregational singing. I miss people wanting to talk to me.
I miss the Windsor women - women my age – heck, of every age - who had active lives outside of the church building. Women who had careers, liked fashion, kept up on current events, read People magazine, understood pop culture, and had actually funny senses of humor. I could communicate with them. It made them entirely human with relatable problems and struggles as Christian women living in the unsaved world.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe God wants us to be at Morningstar. It’s something we both sincerely believe. It’s just that I haven’t yet developed the strong circle of friends I had at Windsor.
I don’t know who would be okay going to a movie, so I don’t ask anyone. Then, if I did, I would be afraid that I’d pick a bad movie, you know?
Also, I’m a “conversation drifter.” I don’t sit down and want to get all into theology and…usually I start talking about something completely different and then end up talking about…not theology. Ha! But, you know, spiritual things, nonetheless.
I don’t know. I just feel adrift spiritually. Like I’m searching for something. It’s like I feel like I’m wasting my life, but I don’t know what to do about it. I work. I volunteer. I go to church. I enjoy family and friends. I have hobbies.
What kind of superstar life am I thinking I’m going to have, you know?
Sure, I haven’t written the great American novel yet, but my life is good, so why do I feel so rebellious? I just don’t know.
Perhaps with time, I will. Still, it’s nice to have Brett back to talk through these things with me.
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