June Cleaver Nirvana

In honor of 2007 slinking away into warm fuzzy nostalgia, I am providing random favorite foods for your grazing pleasure: freshly popped popcorn, peanut M&Ms, coffee with Vanilla Caramel coffee-mate, large bowls of Jelly Bellys so you don't have to eat the gross ones, Target's Blood Orange soda, a variety of cakes--beautiful, tasty, yummy cakes, a plethora of salads containing nuts, cheese and some sort of fruit, and an oatmeal bar including, fresh strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, pineapple, brown sugar, cinnamon, raisins, dried cranberries and candied pecans, both Silk soy milk and regular milk are available.

At the fabulous Anniversary celebration (have I mentioned that?) dinner, we went to Fearings. The dinner was grand and Dean Fearings came and talked to us several times (insert giddy schoolgirl laughter here), but the most amazing thing was the restrooms (the tour linked here doesn't do it justice--just a peek). The doors are glass--see through to the toilet glass--that when you lock the door turns opaque. It is so freaking cool!

The New Year's Party situation here is very potluckish. Our neighborhood celebration is going to be hosted by our next door neighbors and in an effort to not pay a babysitter New Year's Eve wages since the children will be in bed and we will just be next door Bianca is hosting a party here at our house. So, if next door doesn't work out we will be back to party at our house. I will post a promised picture of the lighted sphere when we hang it this afternoon which I am sure will cause you to cancel all your evening plans to sit by the computer and wait.

I am still at the point that each time I open the door to my minivan I feel like I am risking my life. I am hoping that fades with time.

I just bought the funnest (that is just the best word to use here, even if it is not a word and you totally let me get away with the word "potluckish" two paragraphs ago so don't start complaining now) shoes for tonight--sparkly black pumps with a peek toe.

I am about to list my oldest child on eBay.

The blog world has made me appear a little crazy in the real world. In the blog world it is acceptable, even encouraged to make a comment on anything and everything. I keep finding myself in the real world chiming in my two cents worth to stares of "that was unsolicited". Oops!

Today is blog-Stedman and my 16th wedding anniversary. I met blog-Stedman on registration day of my sophomore year in college in the girl's dorm lobby as I was moving into a new college. He called and left a message on my answering machine a few nights later to ask me out. Before returning his call, I walked out into the girls' dorm hall and asked the 15 random girls that were congregated there if anyone knew blog-Stedman. Every single girl knew blog-Stedman (small college) and not a single negative comment was made. Because this was my 4th year living in a girl's dormitory I completely understood the gravity my poll results. 15 randomly selected girls with nothing negative to say on any topic would be a miracle, but this was a boy...I had hit the lottery. I called him back. We went for our first date to a church meeting followed by Taco Bell. I took him home to meet mom and dad a few months later and when my mom found out that he liked to shop she said, "Holly, you are going to marry him". Yep, 2 1/2 years later we had a simple ceremony in a historic house in downtown Austin. My grandfather married us. My aunt played the piano. My 18 month old niece was the flower girl (and she actually made it down the aisle). We were surrounded by family and dear friends. Since that time we have moved 8 times to 5 different cities. Different places with ways of life, but one thing has remained constant, blog-Stedman. I can get a little gushy here because he doesn't read my blog, he "lives it". Blog-Stedman who puts up with my craziness and even encourages it. Blog-Stedman who is a wildly creative, super opinionated and relatively reserved. Blog-Stedman who is an amazing father, loyal hard worker and cozy husband. Blog-Stedman who spoils me rotten and endures my complaints, my faults, my cluelessness. Blog-Stedman who I know if I went out into any hall filled with people who knew him would get a rousing recommendation. So, dear reader, I am planning at least another 116 years with my lottery husband. But before we are sitting on our front porch in rocking chairs playing with our 34 grandchildren, we are going out tonight and party like its 1991.

Today was planned to be blissful. My mother came over and I dumped provided her with three handsome grandsons to watch. I took a shower, did my hair, put on some cute clothes including my favorite sweater (MAJOR forshadowing here) and skipped out of the house, hopped in the minivan, drove down the driveway toward a day of leisurely errands, shopping for an outfit to wear tomorrow to a hip restaurant for my grand 16th anniversary celebration, and picking up a coffee and lunch. I needed to stop at the mailbox to mail the LAST returned Christmas card and when I re-opened the door to the minivan to climb in it hit my head. I paused for a moment in pain and feeling stupid until I realized that blood was gushing from my head. Gushing! Did I mention that I am in my favorite sweater on my way to Mommy's day out? Crap...I backed the van back toward the house, ran into the house and grabbed some paper towels. You could easily trace my steps by the blood trail (just like on L&O). Once inside and applying pressure I checked myself in the mirror and realized that this was something that required professional help. I called my mom down, we loaded up the minivan with 3 kids and started on the way to the hospital where blog-Stedman works. I called him to alert him to the emergency. 20 minutes later he and one of his partners assess my case in the parking lot behind the hospital and decide that I need to see a plastic surgeon and there is not one at this hospital. We start calling hospitals all over the metroplex and no one seems to have one on-call (it is a holiday weekend, etc.). Finally, we find a hospital that indicates they know of a plastic surgeon and off goes the minivan with grandma driving, me bleeding and the 3 boys along for the ride. 30 minutes later I get dropped off at the ER at the new hospital (so grandma doesn't have to entertain 3 boys in the ER waiting room for a yet to be determined time). The ER is nice and I am there 2 1/2 hours until they send me to a plastic surgeon's office 15 minutes away. Off goes the minivan again and 1 1/2 hours later I am stitched up by a very accomodating plastic surgeon and home bound. We get home at 4:30 exhausted, I am $540 poorer (that would have bought couture!) and I look like I was in a horror movie sans the axe in my head. The scar/stitches are shaped in a lovely 1/2 circle resembling the mouth of a smiley face. I think I better not post pictures quite yet. I have to go wash the red highlights out of my hair...Did I mention that I was wearing my favorite sweater?

All three of my boys are early risers. This genetic material was not passed through my DNA. I am now an early riser by default, against my will, kicking and screaming, and moaning and complaining. Last night Reid fell asleep in the car at 5:30 on the way home and after attempting to wake him for dinner, bath and play I ended up popping him into bed. Ryan then asked, "If I go to bed early, can I get up earlier?" Great, the early riser gene runs tandem to the insanity gene. Ryan followed it up by the nostalgic statement, "Mom, remember when I was much younger, like 5, and I slept in soooo late to 7?" "Yes pumpkin, that was an amazing day..." I do remember, it was amazing although I was half-crazed with worry about him from 5:45 until 7, but at least I was in bed. Blog-Stedman is all for early rising and replies, "at least they won't be lazy, laying in bed all day" (that is NOT a direct quote if I did not use the proper tense/usage of the word lay vs. lie--blog-Stedman would use it properly, but I am too lazy to wikipedia it). I am all in favor of raising perky, productive citizens, but until my kids are using those early hours to day trade on the Tokyo Stock Exchange, can't I stay cozy in bed until...say...Oh, this is a crazy dream...Oh, the heaven of it...6:30 am?

If you need something more then joining me in coffee to wake up, please read the amazing adventures of Holiday Dog which still has me giddy. Later, lets all get together and get the Holiday Dog tattoo!

Thanks Beyonka!

You know those hamster balls (you take the hamster out of the cage and place them in a self-contained sphere to run around your house and pee through the airholes)? I need 3--only bigger--to fit 2, 4 and 6 year old boys. Thanks.

This my newest conspiracy theory: What if the toy manufacturers were just a cover for where the real money is made--BATTERIES?

Just in case you were wondering...we have been through 4 AA batteries this morning in the new erector set with which NOTHING has been built (except various versions of metal bladed fans), but the 983 pieces look lovely scattered like rose petals across the living room floor. I can't wait to vacuum...

Yeah, I am really sorry about the earlier post, but you have to look down there to catch up...just kidding..I think you will catch on pretty quickly that I was losing my mind. To further prove that theory, please note the above picture. Ryan wanted to put Rhett's new Thomas train set under the tree "like a real train set" so I pulled the tree away from the wall and we built the track. It looks like it fits until you get the train on there and then it just pulls branches away and ornaments off. Not a successful scientific experiment, but a successful mess.

I want to thank a mommy friend for coming over and rescuing me from myself this afternoon. The baby who needed a 3 hour nap took a 35 minute one and the other boys were running wild. It was all solved by kid playtime, adult conversation, delivery pizza, the return of blog-Stedman and two baths (one for the boys and one for me). Whew...it is exhausting living happily ever after.

In an effort to maintain my sanity, I am going to try the "Aunt Dorothy" effect. I attribute my ability to appear relatively sane in public to a two-fold approach of yoga and blogging. My yoga teacher is out of town for another week so its up to you blog. So what about Aunt Dorothy? My great Aunt Dorothy was known throughout the family as a running commentary. For instance, if you were driving with her, a story about her cat could be interupted with "look at that fence with the hubcaps on it" or a clever poem would be paused for "I bought 3 candles at that store once, they are made out of beeswax". Ahh, really bored regular reader the genetic truth leads to better understanding. So, throughout the day I am going to blog unfiltered and I want to remind you that you are under no contractural obligation to continue reading (in fact, if this is the first time you have visited, let me just apologize and state that I usually pretend to be better than this).

Hey Mother Nature: Cold rain is NOT a suitable substitute for snow or a warm sunny day.

This is very funny and makes me laugh every time I think of it. Mom, you can skip it.

Why am I feeding my children snacks at 10:55 when they will want lunch at 11:30?

I will soon be accepting patients in my new practice as a Toy Surgeon. With careful, surgical precision, you can open up a noisy toy and render it silent without decreasing its mobility or light action. Be careful novices, you have to snip the right wire or elmo may never dance again.

I just noticed that my second cup of coffee is still sitting underneath the Senseo machine...maybe that is why I am so dreary...I'll heat it up and see if I can get to full Holly perky potential.

MMMMmmm. Much better.

When I am rich and famous I am going to hire a personal chef. It is no secret that getting anything edible a healthy dinner on the table is a struggle for me. I even freely take-out, order in (only ONE place delivers to my rural suburban home) and make-to-take-and-bake and I still can't get it together. So, riches and fame will come in handy in this area and I am going straight to the personal chef store when my ship comes in.

Food. crap, what am I going to eat for lunch?

I really should be taking down Christmas decorations and sorting them neatly into boxes. Prior to this holiday, they were taking up the square-footage of our first house in the attic and it has been a goal to decrease that amount to things I actually want to see next year and I am sure Goodwill really wants my home-made, glue-gunned, dust-infested grapevine theme wreaths from 12 years ago. I smell a huge charitable TAX deduction in my future...blog-Stedman will be giddy.

The boys got the "Lets go Fishin'" game. I am still without fish. Ryan can clear the pond in 1.5 minutes, Reid catches all the blue ones and even the baby can catch an occasional fish. I am so bad at it that I have to say no when asked to play it.

My Uncle sent us the coolest, most random present. It is a "lighted sphere" from Pottery Barn. It looks like the ball that is dropped in New York. And the most fantastic coincidence is that there will be a New Year's Eve Party at my house this year...I am so going to drop the lighted sphere off the 2nd story balcony into the entry way at midnight. Blod-Stedman thinks I am crazy (sooooo unusual) but seriously if I went to a party and someone did that I would think...wow, that is so over the top, I must get to know this person better. Put your judgement on hold until AFTER the event...I promise to post pictures of the before and after and let people who are STILL reading this, wow, you must be really boredthe public decide.

OK, chicken nuggets to table time...I may be back later...

Dear Toy Manufacturer that is a 3 letter word that starts with "C" and is not "DOG",

Reid has been your biggest fan since birth. I have been on board until this Christmas. Until recently, your toys have been relatively tough with a decent price. This year Reid spotted your remote control excavator at Target with a price tag in the $60 range. I spotted that it looked like a piece of total plastic crap (the remote wasn't even wireless...which would have made it a very expensive pull toy in my house). Blog-Stedman researched it because it was all Reid could talk about and found that yes, it is a piece of total plastic crap according to parents all over the country. I felt so blessed by Costco when I walked in to their store in November and found the exact same excavator sans the wired remote for $30. I figure if you are going to buy total plastic crap, price matters. I went home victorious with the knowledge that this toy would be out of commission by New Years, but that the money saved would be put into another toy that might make it into 2008.

On faux-Christmas morning (3 days prior to the real thing if you aren't keeping up with my riveting blog), Reid opened the excavator with great joy proclaiming, "I knew Santa was going to bring this!" and I set about the process of removing it from the box. I know parents across the country would gladly join me in a protest march against PWPTTRACSTRT (People Who Package Toys That Require A ChainsSaw To Remove Them), but this was a new one for me: I had to unscrew 8 phillips headed screws to get into the box and when I turned the toy over to remove 4 additional phillips headed screws to release it from a cardboard platform something on the excavator arm broke. Great. It didn't even make it out of the box, let alone until REAL Christmas. On the hellishly annoying bright side, all the very loud sounds and non-melodic music still work perfectly.

It is my plea that next year you produce something that is sturdier then the cardboard box that contains it. Just a suggestion, but maybe you could get your crack PWPTTRACSTRT team on that.

Fervently,
Holly

In honor of the holiday, I will take-out my favorite meal and share it with you. We will be feasting on vegetable samosas, paneer pakora with carrot chutney, kachumber salad, palak paneer over steamed rice with extra naan, chai tea and gulab jumun.

Yesterday, we went to my in-laws house for Christmas celebration #3. Dinner was yummy and the Christmas tree was set up in the dining room which created a distraction for the boys who collectively ate 5 bites. They had used the big (most fantastic thing ever created) "trash" bag-style wrapping which was a bit translucent. We were teasing Ryan about the present on the end which could be clearly made out to be a battery-powered 4 wheeler exactly his size but didn't have a name tag on it. He made compelling arguments why it should be for him (it was) due to size, power, etc. I suggested that maybe it was a trick and that it was a box shaped like a 4 wheeler and inside was something else. He responded, "Mom, it SMELLS like a 4 wheeler".

Blog-Stedman's sister and our niece are in town staying with the in-laws so they suggested another huge Christmas present to us...they kept the boys overnight and aren't bringing them back until this afternoon. So last night we lallygagged, lounged and vegetated. What bliss. This morning blog-Stedman is already off to work. I slept in to....7:15! I took a shower (unaccompanied and no one was banging on the door the whole time). I am quietly at the computer with my coffee writing...truly a Christmas miracle. I am planning on getting productive this morning, but right now I am reveling in my solitude.

I finished reading "The Great Gatsby" this weekend. I was reading it for the first time (which is wrong on so many levels, but I will save that tirade for another day) and I absolutely loved it. It is such an amazing tale compounded by incredible writing. It is hard to even comment on such a masterpiece. What I loved about the book is the way I cared what happened in the story, but didn't like ANY of the characters. How is this possible?

In a 180 degree shift, I also watched "The Nanny Diaries" last night. I had read the book several years ago and really enjoyed it. What happened to the book bears so little resemblance to the movie I have no idea why they even bothered slapping the same name on it. The movie was sad and contrived. As is often the case, read the book and skip the movie.

I will leave you with some words from "The Great Gatsby":
"Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope."

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther...And one fine morning----
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

The experiment: How many pictures would a 4 and 6 year old take if a 4 and 6 year old could take pictures without limitation?

The lab: Our house then grandma/grandpa's house

Expected time frame: 8 hours

The equipment: Each boy was issued (via Santa Claus) a Fisher Price digital camera loaded with batteries and a 128 mb card

The results: The boys were very willing participants. Reid(4) logged in a laudable 221 pictures while Ryan(6) produced a whopping 362 photographs. I don't want to be critical, I will let you judge for yourself, the above "self portrait" was by far the best shot taken yesterday out of 583 shots that are now sitting on my hard-drive.

We do the Santa thing at our house. I am under no illusion that the kids completely buy-in to the story (especially Ryan at age 6). I think they go along with it because it is fun. We made the announcement this morning that we had contacted Santa for a special request. We requested an early visit tonight since blog-Stedman has to work Christmas eve and Christmas. It is not unusual for blog-Stedman to work during the holidays (the first 12 years of our marriage he worked on Christmas), but this is the first time we couldn't switch without explanation. Why does Ryan's education have to be so comprehensive? First the reading thing so adult spelling out loud is out and now this reading the calendar skill--what's next? I explained how Santa was glad to oblige and we would need to put Reindeer food out tonight so that he got the right house. Ryan's first question was "how did you contact Santa?" and I responded that when you have a baby, you get the Santa hotline number. Reid asked, "Why does Santa only eat a bite out of the cookies" we leave out for him? I explained that since Santa visits millions of houses on Christmas eve he would get too full if he ate all the cookies at every house, but tonight he has a very light schedule so he might just eat all our cookies. Reid exclaimed, "Oh I hope I can see Rudolph!" So we are going to leave the boys' shades up tonight just in case they are awake when Rudolph leads the sleigh to the rooftop.

Yesterday Ryan and Lucy (5) were having a serious discussion about Rudolph. She was skeptical and Ryan was insistent. Ryan ended the conversation when he stated, "I have a book with Rudolph in it and it is a NON-FICTION book."

This is Christmas eve at our house and the stockings are hung at the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas will soon be here...

My mother-in-law gave me this Christmas quilt at my baby shower when I was pregnant with Ryan. I love it. Every year I have dragged the boys to Sears for portraits in front of it. This is last year's picture. We haven't taken the historic picture yet this year because I avoid the studio and its complete choas during this time of year--early January is so peaceful! I have them framed in identical 5x7 frames that I set out during the holidays. They are my absolute favorite things to unpack when decorating for Christmas. None of the pictures are perfect portraits, but when placed together they tell a story about a family expanding, embracing and trying to sit still.

I just noticed this is my 100th post. Thank you for reading!

Reality is a mixed up thing. I am a little tentative to write this only to find men in white coats on my front porch tomorrow, but really, reality needs a check...

Reality seems to be on a HEPA filter when talking about memories. I think we are hardwired to leave out, skip over and blatantly deny reality when looking back. This is where nostalgia comes in. Nostalgia and reality are enemies. Nostalgia remarks on the beauty of the snow--Christmas 1977. Reality laughs in nostalgia's face stating how the power went out over a tri-state area for 3 days. Why is reality so mean? Why is nostalgia so nice? Were the good old days really good, or is that just nostalgia pontificating? Don't get me wrong, I am nostalgia's biggest fan. Nostalgia is one of my BFFs. I love pushing the erase button on any detail slightly embarrassing, stupid or ugly. I love editing the past for the sheer pleasure of the present. I love getting the edge over reality. A word of caution for those fighting reality with nostalgia. This is not a team event. This is a solo sport. If you re-write reality to align yourself with nostalgia, just be warned that others who participated in your past may still be on reality's side. Some people actually cling to reality no matter what crap it dishes out. Don't worry, nostalgia has fans all over the world to cheer you on.

"Being present in the moment" is a buzz phrase these days like "thinking outside of the box" was to the 80s. Can I just make a side point that if you are still using the "out of the box" phrase, you are really deep into the box. And "being present in the moment" is approaching ridiculous overuse syndrome (ROS) too, but before you cart me off to cliche's anonymous, let me make my point. Sitting in a moment without the baggage of past reality or the exaggerated beauty of nostalgia is the only time when reality and I can bond. This is the time when my quiet mind can befriend reality and hold a civil conversation. The biggest obstacle to this unlikely friendship is life. Life has a way of running in circles, screaming at the top of its lungs and jumping up and down yelling "hey look at me". Life can be very distracting to well, life. Calm down life! Let me enjoy you! I also believe, but won't be able to prove it for years to come, that a friendly relationship with present reality can end the war between nostalgia and past reality. Wave the white flag, reality. Can't we all just get along?

Future reality is my favorite because quite honestly, reality has no power. It is the future, no reality exists...yet. Now reality past and present are sneaky and try to visit like Scrooge's ghosts, but they got nothing. They can be ignored without consequence. So when I completely believe that someday I will be a guest on the Oprah show (for the full hour, not just a segment...give me some credit here) what can reality say....NOTHING! Take that reality! What if I run around my state fully prepared to be a future governor of Texas...how does reality respond? Shhh...sure is quiet on the reality front. When I imagine the bright and shiny future of a lottery winner, what does reality think? Reality thinks I better buy a ticket. Oh reality! The thing about reality is that it always seems to get in the last word.

This post is under construction in my head...circling, spiraling, spinning out of control. Everywhere I look, everyone I talk to and everthing I see seems to add something new to the funnel cloud. Then Reality starts yelling at me, "You have no business sitting down and writing a blog right now". "Shut up Reality! Why do I need to be productive?" Reality responds sarcastically, "You have a to-do list the size of Texas. Did you notice that Christmas is in a few days?" I usually can at least acknowledge Reality, but with that attitude... So the storm will keep brewing and at some point (hopefully before I have to try to sleep through the thunder and lightening) I will type it out of my head. The title will stay the same because right now reality is on my no-chance list.

A conversation in the mini-van yesterday:

Reid(4): Mommy, is God coming with Santa Claus at Christmas time?

Me: No honey, I think those events happen independently.

Reid: How do you know? You can't see God.

Me: Good point, maybe He does come along.

I am sure I will be quoted in churches all over the country for that incredible insight. Why can't I just say something like I don't know and I will look into it?

This post would normally be in email form to my friend on a Saturday morning over coffee. But a chain of events has caused me to want to make a statement to the world. So, if you are looking for poorly written haiku poetry, pictures of my adorable children or banter about the angst of my charmed suburban housewife life, please skip this post and look below. If you are still with me, I suspect there may be something in this to which you relate.

The chain began a few weeks ago when I read about Amy's FLOPs experience and had two reactions. The first was the obvious outrage at the insensitivity of other women. The second was a series of memories. Snapshots of uncomfortable situations in which those around me were too self-absorbed to look further than their upturned nose. A dinner out in Fort Worth, a church in Memphis, the Junior League in Abilene and local mommy and me classes all came instantly to mind. All situations that retrospectively I can look at objectively. All situations that at the time changed who I am. I don't know why it is this way. I don't know why I can't objectively assess the motivations of others in real time. Thankfully, I believe this is a skill that does get honed with the passage of time and is strengthened by the bonds of true friendship. What a gift it would be to be able to truly (without later regret or obsession) mentally freeze the situation, assess it, make a plan of action and then implement the plan in real time. What if I could say the right thing at the right time? What if I could have told a co-worker "Yes, I am lonely and need a night out, but it isn't very nice to make a big deal about it"? What if I could have walked up to the pastor of that church and just said, "You are being mean and would be better served to do a little research before you speak"?. What if I had stood up in that membership meeting and said, "Stop talking with only the people you know because you might benefit from getting to know me"? What if instead of averting glances like everyone else in the class I approached someone and said, "here is my number, let's get the kids together to play"....Oh, I did that and now have a life-long friend whose response to that was "you are the first person who has talked to me and I have been coming for 6 months". I still wish I had said the other things. I didn't enjoy high-school politics. I don't want to pattern my adult life like I am still there.

The second link in this chain was an enlightened neighbor's comments related to her last year's New Year resolution to only spend time with people she likes. She said something profound to the effect that the more time she spends getting to know people, the fewer friends she has. I don't know if I personally go far enough in this area. I am not confrontational by nature. I settle into a pattern of quietly, mentally, listing people into categories of "friendly acquaintance, no chance of more" and "friends and potential warm, fuzzy people" and leave it at that. I have done much better spending my time with the warm fuzzy people and neglecting the no-chancers, but I still feel that nagging "what if I mislabeled?" guilt. Guilt that I should float from my body due to link three. I didn't enjoy high-school politics. I don't want to pattern my adult life like I am still there.

Link three begins over a year ago with casual acquaintances that were met on several occasions. At each occasion, there was a brief instance of intuition that these were not warm fuzzy folk. At each occasion, I pushed those feelings aside with rationalizations. As further proof of how dense I was being, I was also reading the book "Blink" (scientific explanation of intuition) yet the justifications continued circling in my head. Last night these people were sitting at a party with a dear friend cracking jokes about how she was raising her child TO HER FACE. How self absorbed do you have to be to find mocking the choices of others to be good party talk? I didn't enjoy high-school politics. I don't want to pattern my adult life like I am still there.

If you are still living your social life like you are still in high-school, I am officially putting you on notice. I am no longer participating in your circle. I want out. If you are hanging out with people that still act like they are running for prom queen, don't invite me over. I want no part of that campaign. If you can't act like an adult in a nice and friendly manner, I am sending you to time-out until you can behave civilly. It is hard enough to raise my kids without worrying about raising you. I didn't enjoy high-school politics. I don't want to pattern my adult life like I am still there.

I took this picture last night of this most amazing sight. This tree is in a large, dark field just a few miles from my house. It is breath-taking in its contrast and solitude. It is a secret treasure tucked off the beaten track. It is a lesson in Christmas decoration editing. It is perfect.

In the interest of being right fair, I am posting my mother's emailed defense of her peanutbutter roast (Sidebar: I was raised vegetarian and to clarify in veggie land, roast=casserole and there is no meat in this recipe) from my now controversial remarks in yesterday's potluck. I will let the public decide whether peanutbutter roast is table worthy:

"Hi hi ...
In defense of peanutbutter roast: NO it does NOT have carrots in it ... only tomatoes, rice, and onions ... and peanutbutter! Your father still likes it! I thought it was a family favorite!!!??? I would like to ask Freddie (my brother who I will get an opinion from in the future) ... did he like peanutbutter roast???
Love ya!"

Summary: The peanutbutter roast contains peanutbutter, tomatoes, rice and onions.

The polls are now open....Decision 2007...you decide!

Lijit Search

Today I am contributing my mother's peanutbutter roast along with chickpea salad. If I remember correctly I sat at a table for 3 1/2 hours in front of that meal when I was 9 "cleaning my plate". My mother reads my blog so all I can allude to is that while a few bites were swallowed, we did have a very hungry dog named Cindy whose palate was not as refined as mine. So pull up a chair, you may be here awhile.

Thanks for rescuing my non-tech brain with the information on the strike through text as appears in my title today. I promise not to abuse my new power.

Rhett's party went well last night. It was family, pizza, cake and more presents then most children see in a year. He had a ball. I forgot to include in yesterday's dribble that eating is like breathing to him and the menu was inhaled enthusiastically.

My mother conceded after reading the last potluck that dad recently ran out of gas with her in the car. They were all dressed up and returning from church in his new 2008 red corvette when the car ran out of gas within 1/8 of a mile from the gas station. My dad excitedly jumped out of the car congratulating himself for choosing such a good location to run out of gas and walked to the station. My mom slid out and plodded in the opposite direction hoping strangers passing by wouldn't put the two together. There was further confirmation of the "running on empty" gene when my brother admitted to rarely filling up to the right of "E" to the delight of his lovely bride.

I am now 61 days behind on my fly lady duties. The stress! What exactly is her intention in sending me 6 emails a day telling me to declutter my life?

I love that my new friend Rachel didn't know that I grew up with her husband/family. What fun! Her husband's parents and my parents are really good friends and we grew up spending Saturday evenings at one another's house while the adults played games. We quickly (that is my recollection) learned that as long as the kids stayed playing quietly in the basement we didn't have to go home to bed. This lead to heated, WHISPERED negotiation as to how to keep everyone quiet--almost like a 70's Kid's Nation. As a parent, I marvel at the genius of having a house full of quiet kids while playing cards. I suspect Rachel might have a few delightful vegetarian recipes for future potlucks...

I went to get Rhett up this morning out of his crib and announced to him, "Today is your birthday, you are two!" and he replied, "Happy!"

Happy Birthday Rhett. In honor of this most important event I am throwing out all attempts to blog in an unbiased, interesting and clever way and just get gushy.

You, my vanishing baby, are my third, my last, my easiest, my hardest and my most exuberant. You are my crazy, blue-eyed and redheaded buddy. How I love you, let me count some of the ways:
1. I love that you have red hair. Who knew genetic material could be so....recessive.
2. I love that when I say "my baby is crazy" it is not an exaggeration. I love that even though you were given the cliche'd role of third boy, you have made it your own.
3. I love (and am occasionally frightened) that I have found you standing on the kitchen deck, on the washing machine, on the dining room table, on your brothers' top bunk, top of our swingset and on the top shelf of your brothers' closet. I love that there is no slide too tall or climbing tower too difficult for you. I love that your adventurous spirit can't be squashed by the small detail of safety.
4. I love that you believe you are 5.
5. I love that you are a particpater. I love that you throw yourself into life with a contagious enthusiasm that oozes out of your hands, feet, dancing body, sparkling eyes and smile.
6. I love that you have a huge vocabulary, but choose to only pronounce 10% of it so we actually can understand it. I love that you randomly assign nicknames to words and then everyone in the family is following your lead. I love that you call all animals "cow" say "moo" and then laugh hysterically.
7. I love that you scream "I am not a baby" any time your brothers refer to you in that way. I love that you refer to yourself as baby around any adult. I love that you have shunned anything baby like sippy cups, booster seats, and baby toys. I love that you dearly cling to your binky, your evening bottle and afternoon nap.
8. I love your indignant independence. I love your uncontrolled dependence.
9. I love how you light up whenever the cat walks through the room. I love how you scream, "Abby" anytime a dog is within a 3 mile radius.
10. I love that you now lead me through my morning routine. I love that you run to the shower yelling, "showe, showe". I love that you pick out my clothes and thrust them confidently toward me. I love that you play hide and seek with yourself in the tub while I do my hair.
11. I love that in your world there is no stranger danger. I love how you play shy for the first 15 seconds of meeting someone and then extend your circle to include them instantly. I love how you flirt. I love how you identify anyone under 4 as "baby".
12. I love how you never walk, but always skip or run. I love how every trip to another room was an important one. I love how the same path is traveled, but new things are discovered.
13. I loved your name before you were born and love how now I can't imagine anyone else when I hear it.

Happy birthday Rhett...I suspect I will be calling you baby into your college years...so please cut me some slack.

My self-diagnosed (and quite insightful) seasonal affective disorder has now turned into a full blown cold. I am sure medical scientists all over the country will be studying the etiological link implied there. What this means is that over the last few days I have been constantly complaining and now I actually have something to complain about. Lucky blog-Stedman. Lucky 3 kids. Lucky friends who call/stop by without reading my blog first. And as if that was not too much for one suburban mommy to withstand...I am out of my shampoo and had to use blog-Stedman's "Pert Plus, 2-in-1" from the Costco mega size. My hair smells like a dryer sheet with a hint of peppermint. Oh, the suburban angst...

Last night blog-Stedman and I went to one of our favorite restaurants fleeing the chaos that was at our house. We love Taco Diner. The food is good and a bit different from the norm. The ambiance is a casually fantastic diner style with a few nice pieces of art (they also have one of the coolest public restrooms if you are interested). But we go for the entertainment. Taco Diner is situated directly across from Trulucks (snooty, high-priced restaurant with marginal food) and their valet parking spaces. The Truluck's valet parking staff have an elaborate system of parking all the crappy cars behind the restaurant and juggling the nice cars in the 3 spaces in front. Then there is the rare use of the 4th spot...that is a special deal only reserved for the unfortunate dilemma when there are already 3 REALLY nice cars and a Lamborghini drives up...what to do? Whew, the 4th spot. So here is a Truluck's dilemma...the 3 front spaces are filled with a yellow Hummer, a black, shiny Lexus and a silver Maserati. Then a Bentley drives up...what car will be shunned to the back lot or will the 4th space be used? This is so easy...The Lexus will be bumped without doubt. Last night was a really, really bad night at Trulucks which made it even more entertaining. When we arrived they actually had a Ford parked out front which was really bringing the whole establishment down...they were thanking their lucky stars when a generic Mercedes drove in. Poor Trulucks. But I guarantee you that if you had walked in to request a table in their empty restaurant you would have been seated in the bar for 30 minutes just because they are Trulucks and just because they think they can...

I am calling for a ban of the Christmas carol (and I use that term loosely), "The Little Drummer Boy". My argument consists of this: it is awful.

Ryan: I want that real jeep in the catalog for Christmas ($9,000+ Neiman Marcus, I think)

Me (honestly): Honey, I wouldn't count on that, it is really expensive

Ryan: Well, no one would have to pay for it...Santa could bring it

Me (cleverly): Santa' sleigh is probably not large enough because that was really big

Ryan: Mom, its like 250 feet long that is plenty big

Me (exasperatedly): We will add it to your Christmas list

Ryan: Where is our list?

Me (Oh, craply): I guess we will have to make it

Ryan: I will go get a BIG piece of paper

Here is an approved pictures from the carriage ride party . Thanks to Little Faces Photography, my eyes are not fully closed in this one. I even have one of the carriage and horses that looks like a carriage and horses that I would totally post if I could figure out how to post more than one picture at a time without having crazy spatial problems. By the way, blog-Stedman had to work that night and was not just being paparazzi-shy.

So, Jodi volunteered cottage cheese loaf for the potluck and I am bringing my grandma's famous garbanzo taffy. I just have a little advice that you might want to skip the food and head right for the beverages.

I have decided to stop living on the edge. As a declaration to the world to that effect, I filled up my gas tank on Monday when the gauge wasn't even within 3/16 of the "E" position. It occurred to me that it wouldn't be much fun, very safe or even super responsible of me to run out of gas with a minivan full of kids. It is not that I chose to be this way. I was born and reared this way. I feel fully confident throwing my dad under the bus for this one, especially since he was the hero of my last story. My dad, and I am not exaggerating in this area, has never filled up a gas tank that is not already running on fumes. I remember car trips across the country (these stories will be saved for other blogs when I have ALOT more time) in which my mom lead us in fervent prayer that a gas station could miraculously appear in the middle of West Texas, West Nebraska, Southern Oregon, anywhere in Utah or seriously northern California. The only time in my whole life that I have run out of gas was when I borrowed my dad's car and COULDN'T EVEN MAKE IT THE 2 MILES TO THE GAS STATION! I don't even need a big bill and a couch to figure this one out...it is not my fault! Fast forward to blog-Stedman's side of the story. Blog-Stedman fills up the car any time that it is around the 1/2 full mark (which prior to kids I just felt was the hugest waste of time). So whenever he drives my car he ends up filling it up because of course it is 1/2 full or lower, much lower. This drives him literally insane and while that is entertaining (and I save myself a trip to the pump) it isn't nice or responsible. I have figured out with this simple step toward adulthood I get a bonus of improving my marriage. Here's to spending less then $50 every time I fill up!

I have been working on my Christmas cards for 132 days now (that may be a slight exaggeration in physical time, but not mental time which totally counts!)...it is NEVER going to end. The problem is that I am trying to coordinate/consolidate/collate/perpetuate/ridiculate my list to one concise and comprehensive list. When this is completed angels will sing, nutcrackers will dance and hell will have frozen over. I know enough about creating printed label lists to be doing my cards by hand from 4 different lists and the envelopes of cards I receive. Hint, hint: get your card to me early and receive your card in time for Christmas! In my dreams, after the holiday season I will have entered everyone's complete information, including email address and phone number into my phone which can be sync'd for label prep. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm hanging onto the dream...

I am a weather wimp. After a snow-filled childhood in hearty states like Nebraska, Michigan, Washington and Pennsylvania, I now sit in my Texas home whining that it was chilly yesterday and it might be today. I say might because the weather prediction jury is still out. In their defense it is difficult to forecast the dramatic swings in temperature we sometimes experience. I remember one New Year's eve we were rollerblading (Christmas presents) in 90 degree weather at noon and could have used ice skates in the ice storm that rolled in before midnight. But most the time we live in the warm to hot range of the weather spectrum. It is toasty around here and sometimes burnt toasty. My body has adjusted well to the heat and my blood runs thin. Which brings me to the cold. Insert shivers here. I am not a fan unless I am on skis and there are no mountains within 10 driving hours of here so what is the point? After careful research, I have deduced that my children require 2.4 hours of outdoor play to maintain MY sanity. When it is cool, chilly and cold that doesn't happen. So yes, I have managed to create a plot where the weather is against me. Why would mother nature do this to me? Have some sympathy on a fellow mother.

Today's proposed morning schedule:
5:15-5:30--hop out of bed, get yoga clothes on, turn on oven, place strata in oven, get in car drive to yoga
5:30-6:50--yoga and drive home
6:50-8:00--coffee, shower, get dressed in festive holiday attire, review homework/memory verse with Ryan, breakfast with boys, pack car for ride to school and mom's club Christmas party
8:00-9:00--drop Ryan at school, pick up a Christmas present I ordered from a neighbor from their front porch, arrive at mom's club and set up table decorations for one table, deliver freshly baked strata for party
9:00-noon--visit with friends at holiday party, win lots of raffle prizes and exchange gift certicates

Today's actual schedule:
1:14-1:32--Reid arrives at bedside because he still can't poop and needs "help" so I get up to supervise an unsuccessful mission
3:26-3:35--Reid arrives at bedside because he still can't poop and needs "help" so I get up to supervise an unsuccessful mission
5:10-5:11--yoga teacher calls to cancel yoga due to her illness followed by huge sigh of relief from me
5:25-6:37--Reid crawls in bed with me because he still can't poop and I talk him out of trying again so we can sleep
6:38-8:35--Mad dash to get boys ready, fed, homework/memory verse reviewed, 3 trips with Reid to "help" him poop with unsuccessful results, throw strata into the oven because it is becoming increasingly, alarmingly apparent that I am not going anywhere this morning and will need food to eat, call dear friend to pick up Ryan to take to school since Reid can't leave the toilet, throw on same clothes I wore yesterday so I won't be naked when friend comes to pick up Ryan, run brush through hair for added effect, send Ryan off to school with all homework (I think) and memory verse partially memorized
8:36-8:50--call another dear friend to pick up my table decorations and gift for the party, pack these items in her car and keep the strata for myself
9:00-9:15--Reid poops!
9:05-present--make coffee, write this blog, consider running to my closet, finding something festive to wear and going to the party late....I haven't eaten all of the freshly baked strata.

I remember the very first time I went to a Christmas party that hosted a numbered gift exchange. I must have been around the age of 8 and it was at my mom's work. The party was in a very large conference room and we were all sitting around the perimeter of the room. It was so exciting to see new gifts opened, old ones stolen and make my mental "I wish I had that" list. Then time stopped as one gift was revealed. It was amazing. Christmas carols played in my head. It was the most perfect gift, ever...no exceptions. I was so excited. I was so excited. I was so excited. Panic slowly set in as it came closer to my number. Would I overcome the paralysis of elation that had invaded my body? When it was my turn, as if in a dream, I floated across the room grabbed my prize and ran back to my seat in utter victory. It was mine! My mind quickly played reels of future memories of me, smiling, skipping, singing and interacting with my new possession. I sat so absorbed in my own world of gaeity that I was oblivious to the continuation of the game. A few minutes later the sugar plums dancing in my head were stopped. The "Hallelujah" Chorus silenced. The dream died. Someone stole my gift (being 8 this hadn't even occurred to me) and stole my heart. I could hear a crowd of voices encouraging me to continue to game. They seemed distant. I was dejected. I don't even remember what happened next. I must have gotten another gift, but really, in a world this cruel what was the point...I sunk further and further into my thoughts and watched disconnected as the evening progressed. The party concluded and I headed to the car with my mom and brother. The next thing I remember is angels singing from the sky when my dad showed up with MY gift. I don't know what kind of serious gift negotiation he pulled off, but whatever he did changed the course of my life because I was sitting in the backseat of the car dreaming of a better life with a bag full of water and one goldfish on my lap.

Today I feel right with the blog world. After much tinkering and research, I have accomplished the centering of my header...Yeah! Please take a deep breath and enjoy the symmetry.

Yes, I am addicted to the "...". You may have noticed. You may even be planning an intervention. Look back through my blogs, emails, correspondence and even my thoughts and...I am obsessed with the "dot, dot, dot". They are so cute, round and multiple. They are a perfect circle design element repeated three times. They are so dramatic in their effect. They are thought inducing, subtracting and multiplying. They are compact and can be taken almost anywhere. Oh, how I love the .... (the fourth one there is the actual period at the end of that sentence which I probably should have replaced with an exclamation point...((see how great that pause is there?))) Which brings me to admit that this isn't the first time I have been in love with punctuation...(stop me, now)...My first crush was with the exclamation point! I am perky by nature so the exclamation point and I really hit it off. Oh, how I could just bring any sentence more umph, visibility, and sass by just adding one of those! It was easy! It was effortless! It was a trap...(give me a break here, it'll all make sense in a minute)...because too much of a good thing depletes its value. I was over-exclaiming. Suddenly all those really important points were lost with all the other really important points. I just had to start saying "no" to the exclamation point. I couldn't go cold turkey. I still can't avoid my first love completely. I have had to go on puctuation limitation. I have self-imposed a one point rule. Only one per event. Only one saved for the most important point thoughtfully and lovingly placed. Oh, I have flirted with the ALL CAPS and the bold. I have even been known to use the --, or in extreme cases the italics. But for now, it will be the dot, dot, dot until...I get help.

I have a theory related to mini-van evolution: The over-squirted juice from boxes, near-empty lollipop sticks, goldfish paste, cheerio puree, graham cracker goop, water bottle condensation and starbucks residue serve the purpose to decrease the interior sliding of grocery bags, toys and other essential gear.

Things were going so well...all was right with the world until a cold, grumpy, defiant wind blew into my house late yesterday afternoon. There was tantrums. There was ugly words. There was crying. There was meaness. There was a complete lack of reasoning. There was hitting. There was yelling. There was a mommy thinking...who raised you? Why would you act this way? What are you thinking? Are you crazy? Are you insane? On what planet is this behavior acceptable? You are so in trouble...just wait until your mother comes home (OH CRAP...that is me). It was so ugly. Boys were seperated and sent to rooms. As things calmed down, it became apparent that fatigue had set in. Reid fell asleep on the couch at 5:30 and blog-Stedman carried him straight to bed. Rhett was put to bed at 6:00 and Ryan followed at 7:15. It was as quiet as a house without children all night and this morning...a much more tolerable, maybe even pleasant breeze is circulating.

Today was a first or two. A first or two in bravery for motherhood. I purchased tickets last month to take all 3 of the boys to the Casa Manana theatrical production of "Frosty the Snowman". As the time approached I began to be afraid, very afraid. There are so many things that could go wrong with this senario, I can't even begin to list them. But this morning I got up, got the boys ready all in a hope that if I pretended like this is a good plan things will go smoothly. We got in the car and Ryan was acting super-crazed so I stopped the car, took him out, had a "come to Jesus meeting" threatening to find a drop-off hourly day car between here and there if he didn't shape up ASAP. Thankfully, things got a bit better and we made it on time, got seated and the show began. I was unaware that in Frosty the Snowman, and evil scientist creates a Frosty nemisis, but OK I guess that is artistic license. It was a bit scary at times which was odd. Overall, very fun, very successful and the boys were behaved--wow.

So well behaved that I agreed to stop at Ol' South Pancake House for lunch (which DOESN'T include a playarea--so this the second first) and by the end of lunch all were happy and sticky. Further proof that our bloodline includes elf is demonstrated by the above picture of Ryan eating the powder sugar straight that came on the "side" of his french toast.

This is my world...I call the shots and today is devoted to my friend Michelle (who hasn't joined the blogworld, yet...). I met Michelle at the gym several years ago a few weeks after she moved to Texas. If you believe her side of the story, I walked up to her and stated that since she didn't have any friends she was stuck with me. My recollection of the event is much more refined, sophisticated and friendly. I love Michelle because she has no verbal filtering system. If she thinks it, she says it. It is very refreshing and down-right funny. We were known to subject area restaurants to between 3 and 5 kids between us after a work-out. She dragged me to cardio (kicking, screaming) and I dragged her to yoga (grumbling, complaining). Then Michelle moved. I have been so upset I am boycotting cardio until she returns (well, that isn't exactly a sacrifice, but a grand gesture anyway). Here is a declaration to the entire state of Pennsylvania--please make my friend feel welcome. Please stop her in the gym and tell her that she is now your friend...

P.S. Michelle emailed me yesterday and demanded that she be put in my blog, but that doesn't change that all the above is true.
P.P.S. Please note that the haiku is also for Michelle so that she sees I covered all my bases.

2 1/2 hours after I wrote the post below I received a fortune cookie that states, "you will step on the soil of many countries".

Hmmmmmm...

As previously mentioned, I am reading "Eat, Pray, Love" (yes, I saw her on Oprah, yes, I went and bought the book, remind yourself I am the classic Oprah demographic so what do you expect? They do their research there! I can't help it! Oh, back to enlightenment...) and I am now in Bali with Liz. I like Bali alot better--probably even better than Italy--definitely better than India. Earlier in the book she mentions a friend who says in effect that she just doesn't have the desire to fervently search for inner peace. I, with asterisk, have to agree. Asterisk: I think that we are built with different spectrums of peacefulness and the desire to change that level varies as we mature through life. I personally would never choose Italy, India and Bali but would love to sail around--I don't even need a destination--just sail. Obviously, that is not something I can do physically any time soon due to my current "situation". I love that Liz did it. I love that she wrote about it. I love that I can live vicariously through her experience. I love that I DON'T have the desire to do it.

So, can everything can change internally without anything changing physically...

Did I mention I have BOYS? So it is a bit shocking hearing this quote out of a 6 y/o's mouth. It all goes back to the confusion about "getting dressed" and "dress". There are several areas that I purposely haven't corrected their speech because it makes me laugh (give me a break here). This is one of those areas until today when it occurred to me that I also have to assure his survival at school where it might not be so funny. But I am NOT changing that we regularly eat at "old McDonalds" anytime soon....cluck, cluck.

If you were walking and saw an "X" etched in the dirt, would your first impulse be that there was buried treasure underneath? Ryan made an "X" in the dirt with a stick when no one was looking this afternoon and when the other kids saw it they NATURALLY assumed that there was treasure below and grabbed the shovel. The funny thing is that Ryan got so caught up in the treasure thing that he did most of the digging. This was accompanied by a long and heated discussion about where pirates live today. The general consensus when the debate was over was they lived only in the Caribbean.

The picture above is of the very hard-working and dedicated horses that visited our neighborhood last night and pulled a carriage for hours. I have 4 lovely pictures of the boys and I enjoying the ride, but in all of them my eyes are shut so until I have a good meeting with photoshop they are off limits (which is so unfortunate because we were looking so cute). Sorry this one isn't the greatest either, but think of it as art.

I have been trying to take at least one good picture a day. Starting in January I plan on doing a digital scrapbook that has a page for each day. I realize how completely obsessive that sounds and it isn't going to be easy hence the practicing now. It really has been fun and yesterday when someone mentioned they had forgotten their camera, I pulled mine out of my pocket. Before you start thinking how crazy this new project of mine is...I want to remind you (and you know who you are) that I surround myself with people who are just/if not more crazy than I.

My boys are cookie monsters. Last night at the carriage party they each politely (I know, I was shocked too!) asked for a cookie and then another...and then another...and then another. What was really funny was that Rhett would have one cookie in his hand and with the other hand he would reach up making the signal for "one"and say, "just one more?" It is up there with when he told me the other day after I asked him to do something, "one minute" and held up a finger. Yeah, he isn't even 2 yet...

This morning the three boys were conducting seperate science experiments:

1. Ryan--as pictured above he taped one whistle to the other so that when you blow into one, both get air
2. Reid--cutting a "dead" helium balloon and its string into a million pieces
3. Rhett--testing gravity by throwing each thing on my kitchen counter to the floor

I later tried an experiment of my own to see how much of the mess would the vacuum welcome.

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I want to thank the talent behind my new header. I started searching the web for ones I liked. I ran across two that I thought were pretty great and found that they were designed by the same person. She graciously agreed to take on my project--which you know me--turned into a PROJECT! So, thank you very much Wee Little Designs! Please check out her website for the coolest photocards. Thanks again!

Before I was born into the big blogworld, while the rest of the world was unaware, many to most Saturday mornings I spent with my dear friend via email solving the world's problems--big and minute. And YOU thought the world just chugged along without our intervention? She is someone that I have not laid eyes on in over a decade and a half, but since we discovered that we shared similiar souls packaged differently in college the bond was set. If only the rest of the world could have been aware of how cool we were/are? Who wouldn't be thrilled to be included in our all night Christian Slater movie festivals (don't judge us! You know you would!)?

So, why today to rejoice the Ode to Jodi? Because at 1:22 am last night I read the following in "Eat, Pray, Love" (just because a billion people are reading it right now shouldn't decrease it's value). This is on page 175, chapter 57 for the billion that are following along at home:

"The devout of this world perform their rituals without guarantee that anything good will ever come of it....Devotion is diligence without assurance. Faith is a way of saying, "Yes, I pre-accept the terms of the universe and I embrace in advance what I am presently incapable of understanding." There's a reason we refer to "leaps of faith"--because the decision to consent to any notion of divinity is a mighty leap from the rational over to the unknowable, and I don't care how diligently scholars of every religion will try to sit you down with their stacks of books and prove to you through scripture that their fatith is indeed rational; it isn't. If faith were rational, it wouldn't be--by definition--faith. Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Fath is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be...a prudent insurance policy. I am not interested in the insurance industry. I'm tired of being a skeptic, I'm irritated by spiritual prudence and I feel bored and parched by empirical debate. I don't want to hear it anymore. I couldn't care less about evidence and proof and assurances. I just want God. I want God inside me. I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on water."

I know for a fact and studied effort that I couldn't say it better myself!

PS--A special thank you to my personal IT department for bringing me up to date on my links.