News Travels Fast Around Here!

We recently acquired a new neighbor.  Well, sort of a neighbor.  She moved into our landlord's other rent house down the road.  Her name is Joetta, she's in her 50's, and she's very energetic, outgoing, busy and feisty.  In fact, she still barrel races in rodeos.  She keeps her barrel horse in the field in front of our house, so we see her zipping down the driveway often, and we agreed to let her bring her horse into our yard to use our water to hose the mare off after a hard ride.

Last weekend was the Smithville Rodeo and we had made plans to attend on Saturday night.  It was WAY too hot to go both nights.  So Saturday morning Ben decided to trim all the trees in the front yard with his chainsaw.  I do not understand why he decided this was necessary.  We've lived here for nearly four years and he's never expressed any interest in tree-trimming before.  I think he just wanted to use his chainsaw.  On a ladder.  Let's just stop and think about how dangerous that is.  Do you know what would happen if he fell off a ladder with a running chainsaw?  I couldn't handle the possible scenarios in my mind, so I stayed in the house, refused to watch him out the window, and tried to drown out the ominous sound of the chainsaw with music.  I do not want to be a widow with two small children. 

Around noon Patience was having some kind of wierd meltdown so I decided to try to put her down for an early nap.  I was lying down with her and she had just gone to sleep when my phone rang.  I looked and saw that it was Ben.  Wierd.  He was outside.  Why didn't he just come in and get me? 

I sneaked out of Patience's room and stepped out onto the front porch to a strange and confusing sight.  Tree limbs everywhere, Ben walking across the yard leading Joetta's mare, and Joetta sitting under a tree, dirt all over her shirt, looking dazed and confused.

I rushed (well, waddled) over to Joetta as fast as I could.  Ben followed with the mare.

"What happened?"  I asked.

Ben shook his head.  "I don't know.  I came down off the ladder and saw her horse running accross the yard.  I didn't even see Joetta till a second ago."

I bent down to try to get Joetta up.  Her arm was hanging loose and her shoulder looked kind of funny. 

"Joetta, do you know what happened?" 

She looked at me and shook her head, mumbling something about not knowing how she got knocked down.

"Joetta, I think your horse spooked and knocked you down."  I tried to explain as I got her up and walked her into the house while Ben took the horse back to the barn. She looked at me in confusion as I helped her up the porch steps and said, "What happened?  I don't even know what happened."  I told her I thought her horse ran her over. 

We got inside and I settled her on the couch then went for the phone to call  Debbie at the fire department so they could send someone to look at that shoulder.  Joetta was clearly a little confused and in some pain.  She asked me again what happened, and I explained again that I thought she had an accident with her mare.

Within a few minutes Steve and  Donald were at the house with an ambulance, Debbie close behind.  There were quite a few people packed into our living room at that point.  They were trying to get Joetta's arm in a sling and find out if she wanted to go to the hospital by ambulance or have someone drive her.  I was trying to get Rebecca, Joetta's daughter-in-law on the phone (of course we go to church with Joetta's son and daughter-in-law) and couldn't get through on her cell phone.  I had to call about seven people to track her down, but I finally found her and she said she was on her way.

About that time Patience woke up from all the commotion and was very confused about what was going on in our house.  I sat her in a chair and told her to be still and stay out of the way.  She kept pointing at Joetta saying, "Shirt, dirty."  She was deeply concerned about the dirt on Joetta's shirt.

A few minutes later my friend Zondra burst through the front door.  "What happened?  Is Sarah having the baby?  Are Ben and Patience okay?"

The joys of living on the highway.  We have no secrets. 

Zondra had been on her way home from Mena, passed our house, saw the ambulance, and was obviously concerned for our well-being.  We have wonderful friends and neighbors, and I really mean that.

Zondra joined the fray as we all tried to take care of Joetta while we waited for Rebecca to arrive.  Joetta was getting more and more disoriented, and every few minutes she would say, "What happened?  I don't even know what happened.  Can somebody tell me what happened?"  We told her repeatedly what we thought had happened, but she couldn't seem to remember anything.

Rebecca arrived, they got Joetta loaded into the car, they headed to the emergency room in Mena and people slowly emptied from my house.  It had been an interesting couple of hours.  Ben and I sat on the couch discussing the morning's events while Patience kept repeating, "Dirty.  Shirt.  Shirt.  Dirty."  She is such a clean freak.  Ben headed back out to the yard to play with his chainsaw.....I'm sorry, I meant trim trees, and I went back to doing whatever it was I do around here.  Walk around being pregnant.  Drop things accidentally and stare at them, trying to decide if its worth it to try and bend over and pick it up.  Usually I just kick it out of the way.

Later that afternoon Ben headed to the rodeo grounds to help the other volunteer fire department guys park cars.  Patience and I dolled up in our cowgirl boots a couple of hours later and followed.  On my way I called our pastor's wife to put Joetta on the prayer list at church.

"Oh, yes, I heard about that," Patrice said.  "But I thought it happened at the rodeo last night."

I laughed and straightened out the details, wondering how in the world Patrice already knew about it.  They live way up on the mountain.  Guess someone called them.

I pulled up to the fire truck parked outside the rodeo grounds parking lot and rolled down my window.

"Hey, Dwayne.  Ben told me he saved me a spot by the gate.  Can I go on up there?"

"Yep! Yep!"  Dwayne nodded his head vigorously.  "You go right on up there!  You don't need to be walkin' that far and haulin' that little'un in your condition!"

There are perks to living in a very small community and being married to one of the volunteer fire fighters. 

I pulled right up to the gate and parked in my special parking place reserved for very large pregnant women.  Remember, I am now roughly the size of a planet and any day I expect to see my own moon orbiting around me.  Oh wait, I already have one.  Her name is Patience.  And she orbits around me continuously, though somewhat sporadically.

I got out of the car and was greeted by my handsome husband, looking official in his red shirt with his radio clipped to his belt.  We chatted for a minute, then Patience and I went to find seats while he finished up his duties.

A few minutes into the rodeo he came and sat next to me.  He glanced sideways at me and grinned.

"Hot, isn't it?"

I snorted.  "You think you're hot.  Try being me."  I wiped sweat from my forehead and wondered why I had bothered to wear make-up.  It was already long gone.

He glanced at my planet-sized belly and grinned again.

"What?"  I scowled at him.

He chuckled.  "Well, right after you came in here Donald came and told me that some random person went up to him and asked if the pregnant woman talking to the fire fighter needed an ambulance or something because she was going to have her baby."

I sighed.  Of course.  Kind of them to be concerned.

Ben rubbed my back.  "Why don't you go to the concession stand and get some burgers and drinks?  I'll watch Patience."

I nodded and heaved my pregnant self off the bench.  While I was standing in line at the concession stand I had a nice conversation with a stranger.  I'm due June 26th.  No, it isn't twins.  Yes, we did an ultrasound. Yes, I've been very hot.  Have a nice evening.  Blah, blah blah.

I stepped up to the window and the lady working it (I can't remember her name - she's on the fire department) looked at me in amazement.

"You mean you ain't had that kid yet?  I thought you done had it.  I seen balloons on your mailbox last week!"

Balloons on my mailbox?  What?  Oh, yes, that was my birthday party.  I straightenend out the confusion and ordered our hamburgers.  She looked at my belly and wagged her head back and forth.

"You better hurry up and have that kid.  You look like you're about to pop!"

Sure.  I'll get right on that.  Just a moment while I go give birth because everyone seems to think thats what I should be doing. 

As I was walking back to our seat with a couple of burgers and drinks sort of balanced on my belly (it is sort of handy), I overheard someone we go to church with giving a wrong account of what had happened to Joetta that afternoon.  I stopped and butted my way into the conversation to straighted things out.  She listened intently, nodding her head as I told the story.

"I'm so glad you stopped!  Now I have the real story!"  She hustled away, probably to spread the new version of the story.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful.  No one else thought I was about to go into labor, and no one was injured, as far as I know.  Patience had a grand time:

We can't get over how cute she is in boots:

She had fun climbing the fence:

And she got to go into the arena with Daddy for some kid thing they did:

If you're wondering why there are no pictures of me its because I was perspiring heavily and I felt gross.  Okay, forget about perspiring.  I was sweating.  I used to perspire because that's what ladies do, but now I may as well call it what it is.  I flat-out sweat like a man.  There.  I said it.



Then we went to church the next morning, where I heard from numerous people that they had been praying for me all afternoon the previous day because they drove by our house and saw the ambulance and thought I was having the baby.  Or they thought I dislocated my shoulder because they heard something about an accident at our house involving a dislocated shoulder and they thought it was me.

Joetta, by the way, ended up with a broken and dislocated shoulder and a concussion.  She had surgery today and she's doing very well.  I actually went and picked up her mail and took it to her this afternoon.  Yes, in Smithville, America, if you go into the post office and ask for someone else's mail they will actually give it to you.  Probably because they know you, they know the person you are taking the mail to just had surgery because of an accident that happened in your yard, etc., etc.

What I learned from the incident:

1) News travels fast.  Doesn't matter if its correct or not.  It travels.

2) We have no secrets living on the highway.  But I actually already knew that.

3) Causing your neighbor to be run over by a horse in your yard is actually a very good way to make friends.

4) I am so large that total strangers are concerned for my well-being.  I actually already knew that, too.

And that's all, folks.

Of Mice And Men...And Guns?

The war on mice continues to wage at the Netherton residence.

A couple of weeks ago Ben and I were laid up on the couch watching a movie on the laptop.  We don't have a TV.  We're weird like that.  But the laptop works great for movies.  The only problem is that it isn't very loud, so when we watch movies in the living room we have to turn off the window unit so we can hear, and sometimes it gets a little warm for those of us who are pregnant.  Yes, we have window units.  No central heat and air in this joint.  Honestly I don't mind the big ugly units hanging from our windows.  I like the noise.  I like the cold air.  Its the ugliness I resent.  And the fact that I have to pin up my curtains so they don't hang over them.  It looks stupid.  I resent stupidity even more than I resent ugliness.  But you know, in the grand scheme of things I know it really doesn't matter.  In light of eternity, does it make one bit of difference that I have ugly window units and pinned-up curtains at my house?  No.  It does not matter.

Moving on.  Ben and I had our feet propped up on the coffee table, watching a movie and snuggling because we're in love like that, and Patience was already in bed so we had this blissful alone time.  So we were watching and snuggling, and I suddenly saw a mouse running along the baseboard in the living room and disappear behind the big white overstuffed chair in the corner.  The chair is where we used to sit together to watch movies before my belly got so big that we can't fit anymore. Then the mouse came out from behind the chair and ran along the other wall and disappeared behind the bookshelf.

I was very angry and couldn't even concentrate on the movie anymore.  The nerve of these stupid little rodents.  They're ruining my life.  I hate them with a passion.  We finished the movie, set mouse traps all over the living room, and I went to bed still fuming.  I fumed even more the next morning when we got up to find that we had not caught the mouse, even though we set four traps in the living room.

That reminds me of another mouse incident.  This happened awhile back.  Remember, we've been battling these beasts for years.  We had set a couple of traps in the kitchen before we went to bed because the mice had been leaving their evidence all over my kitchen.  Gross.  Me.  Out.  I'm mad right now just thinking about it.  Anyway, we went to bed and I was sleeping peacefully sometime during the middle of the night when Ben suddenly sat up in bed. 

I sat up too.  "What is it?"

"Shh."  He was listening.  "I think I heard something.  Stay here."

He reached for the shotgun he keeps by the bed and bolted from the room.

I laid back down and thought about how I wished I was pretty when I slept like people in movies.  Their hair always looks good and they never drool.  My hair is scary and big and I might drool a little sometimes.  Not fair.  Why was I thinking about that?  I got bored with my ridiculous thought process and went to find Ben.  Clearly I wasn't really concerned about whatever he thought he heard.

I wandered into the kitchen with my big, dishevelled hair.  Not sexy dishevelled, mind you.  Scary dishevelled.  I leaned in the doorway and watched my husband sneak around the dining room table in his underwear, pointing his shotgun hither and yon.  It was a very entertaining sight.  He reached the laundry room and slowly pushed the sliding door open with the barrel of the shotgun.

"Babe, what are you doing?"

He jumped when I spoke and whipped his head around.

"What are you doing in here?"  He barked.  "I told you to stay in bed!"

He was very tense.  I guess he really thought someone was in our house.  But my goodness, sometimes he acts like he has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Only he didn't go to Vietnam,  Because he wasn't born yet.  Oh, and he's never been in the military.  He just acts like it sometimes.  Lets not think about what he would be like if he had been in the military and really did have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Oh, Lord.

I yawned.  "I know.  I just wondered where you were."

In all fairness, if there really was an intruder in our home and Ben was trying to neutralize the situation, I doubt if I would be an asset.  By the way, I didn't come up with the phrase "neutralize the situation" by
myself.  I've heard Ben say it.  I thought it sounded cool in this context.  But no, I would not be an asset.  I would probably collapse in hysterics under my big hair and be no help at all.  Well, that or I would attack the intruder with my iron skillet.  Either way would make things hard on Ben, who would be calmly neutralizing the situation with his gun.  No wonder he wanted me to stay in bed.

Ben was still poking around in the laundry room. 

"Babe,"  I yawned again and rubbed my eyes.  "I bet that's the noise you heard."  I pointed to a mostly dead mouse still flopping around in the trap on the kitchen floor.

Ben hurried into the kitchen. 

"Oh."  He lowered his weapon.  "I didn't even see that."

"Probably because you don't have your glasses on," I pointed out.  "If it was a real intruder how would see to shoot them without your glasses?"

"Instinct, Babe."  He handed me the shotgun and knelt to pick up the mouse.  In his underwear.

Instinct.  Of course. 

I carried the shotgun back to the bedroom, he followed and we went back to bed.  Situation neutralized.

So last week we were again watching a movie in the living room on the laptop.  The window unit was turned off and I was feeling a little sweaty, partly because Patience was still up and wallering all over me, but I was still enjoying eating a popsicle and watching Tom Hanks in Appollo 13. 

I was enjoying it, that is, until I saw a mouse scurry along the baseboard and disappear behind the white chair.  Ben saw it too and paused the movie.  We watched the mouse come out from behind the white chair and just hang out kind of behind the rocking chair, but within plain view.  He was just THERE, sniffing his disgusting little whiskered nose all over my floor.

"Great!"  I said.  "Now they want to come out and watch movies with us!  That's wonderful, just wonderful!"  I was so angry.  I think my blood pressure was up a little.

When I spoke the mouse jumped and dove behind the bookshelf.  Ben sat and pondered for a moment, then glanced at me sideways.  There was a strange gleam in his green eyes. 

"Babe, what if I load the .22 with ratshot and we scare it out and shoot it?"

Now we're shooting guns in the house.  Interesting.

I shrugged.  "Sure, if you want to try."  I guess I thought he wouldn't really get a shot at the mouse.  I should have known better.

He got up.  "Stay here and watch the bookshelf.  Tell me if it comes out."

He went down the hall and heard him rummaging around in the safe and the gun cabinet.  Patience tried to get down off the couch and I distracted her by giving her Ben's empty popsicle wrapper.  She started wrapping it around her feet.  What, is she Chinese and wants to start binding her feel?  With plastic popsicle wrappers?  She's a weird kid.  But hey, she was having fun, the mouse was apparently still behind the bookshelf, and Ben was ready with his .22.

"Okay, Babe.  Come slowly pull the drawers out.  I think he's back there."

Our bookshelf has two little drawers on the very bottom.  I keep my table linens in them.  Don't ask why I keep my table linens in the living room.  It just works. 

I pulled a drawer out and immediately saw that those blankety blank little idiots had chewed through one of my table cloths.  My blood pressure went up a little more.

Everything happened really fast after that. 

I pulled the other drawer out, Ben yelled at me to get back, I jumped back, there was a gunshot, and a mouse lay twitching and quivering on the floor. 

Patience stood up on the couch and screamed with delight.  "Daddy!  Shoot!  Floor!"  She pointed and laughed hysterically and jumped on the couch clutching her plastic popsicle wrappers.  I vaguely remember thinking that she isn't supposed to jump on the furniture.  I'm sorry to say I took no disciplinary action that night.  I was still looking at my chewed up table cloth and the dead mouse on the floor.

And the nice little damaged place on our pretty antique wood floors.

Ben knelt down and felt the floor.  "I guess that ratshot chewed the floor up pretty good.  I didn't think it was supposed to do that."

I shook myself out of my stupor, picked up my ruined table cloth and shoved the drawers back in the bookshelf.  "Oh, well, don't worry about it.  Its under the bookshelf.  No one will ever know."

Except that now I've posted it on the Internet for all the world to see.

Ben disposed of the dead mouse and put away his gun while I gave Patience another popsicle wrapper to wrap her feet in.  Then we settled back down to watch Tom Hanks get his crew back to planet Earth. 

Somehow I had trouble focusing.

Ben's Little Temper Tantrum

Ben, Patience and I made a haul to Lowe's in Ft. Smith last week.  And it really was a haul.  Remember, Ben is a contractor, so that basically means we never go to Lowe's without the Dodge dually one-ton, the 25-foot flatbed trailer, his Lowe's business credit card (if he uses it he gets a 5% discount - woohoo, thanks, Lowe's), at least 4 hours to spare, and snacks and drinks. 

Yes, we actually take granola bars and bottled water into Lowe's with us.  There are many reasons for this:

1) We are sort of like nerdy home-school-type people, and that's what they do, although I don't go so far as to actually pack sandwiches.  But I've thought about it.  I just can't bring myself to do it.  Its what my mom used to do when I was growing up as a nerdy homeschooling/missionary kid.  We're a little cooler than that.  We just go to Chick-Fil-A. 

2) I'm not going to buy bottled water at Lowe's because I think they want me to.  They keep the thermostat set at like 85 degrees, and when I'm there for 4 hours hauling my pregnant self around on their concrete floors and my feet are swelling and I'm sweating a lot, yeah, I want a bottle of water.  But I'm not going to buy it from them.  They should have complimentary drinks because it isn't my fault they won't turn on the air conditioner.  And we never spend less than $1500 there.  If they won't give me water, I'll bring my own.  But to be fair, it isn't Lowe's fault that my feet swelled.  They didn't make me wear flip-flops.  That was my own bad decision.  I should've worn tennis shoes.  But they should still offer complimentary beverages.

Okay, that's only two reasons.  I thought there were more.

Anyway, we went into Lowe's and got started on Ben's three-page list.  Tile, grout, electrical stuff, kitchen cabinets, doors,lumber.  There was more, but I can't remember.  It was a lot.  Always is.

That reminds me.  Why do people go to Lowe's for like, one little item?  One time I was in Ft. Smith and Ben called, wanting me to go to Lowe's for a bunch of stuff I could actually fit in my car, like welding wire, light fixtures, and a bunch of other random stuff.  I ended up in line behind a cute little old lady who was buying...get this...one can of paint thinner.  Really?  Why?  Just get your paint thinner at Wal-Mart and clear the lines at Lowe's for people like me who have forty-nine carts piled with stuff we can't get at Wal-Mart.  I know I sound hateful, but it took her a really long time to write her check and I was very hot and thirsty and I had forgotten to bring in my bottled water.  I was looking at the water in the coolers at the register, waiting for the nice little lady to pay for her paint thinner, sweating, and refusing to buy water.  And I hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but I'm a good wife and I always help my husband.  It was just a bad combination of things that put me in a bad mood.  Now I feel bad.  The lady can buy her paint thinner at Lowe's if she wants.

But back to last week's trip.  It was Ben's last chance to get everything he needed before serious crunch time to finish the remodel he was working on, so we had to be sure to get EVERYTHING.  Remember, we live an hour and a half from anywhere.  It had to get done.  And it was already nearly five o'clock when we got there.  Also, the poor guy had logged 80 hours in 6 days the week before.  He was tired.  He cannot be blamed for his behavior.

It was a good thing I went with him.  First I recommended we go to the cabinet section and have them start pulling the kitchen cabinets we wanted and taking them to the front.  That didn't go over well with Ben, because cabinets were on page three of his list and we were still on page one.

Let me explain.  Well, how does one explain Ben?  He is...meticulous.  Controlled.  Gentlemanly.  He rarely gets angry or raises his voice.  And he follows his lists carefully.  He doesn't often think outside the box unless he's building a car or a boat or a four-wheeler or a cabin, and then he thinks in wildly creative boxes that I didn't even know existed.  He's sort of a paradox.  But that night at Lowe's he was in a box called Go-Down-The-List-One-Item-At-A-Time.  He was having trouble deviating from that.  My reasoning for wanting to skip to page three (gasp!) was a very good one. 

Another explanation is in order.  When you purchase a large item at Lowe's, one that they have to use the fork lift to take to the front, it takes at least two hours.  I don't understand this.  We've been through it many times, purchasing appliances, cabinets, vanities, etc. The Lowe's employees get very excited and there's usually a lot of running around in their little vests waving their little orange flags in front of the beeping fork lift driven by someone who is also very excited and harnessed up to a lot of safety gear even though he's only two feet from the ground.  There's a lot of chaining off of aisles, more waving of flags, and somehow this process takes two hours.  I always want to tell them to just let Ben do it.  He's get it done in five minutes flat.  There could be death and injuries involved, but by golly it would get done fast and with a lot less drama.   I want to know why they get so excited and why it takes so long.  Its Lowe's, for crying out loud.  Isn't that what Lowe's is all about?  Maybe there really are a lot of people who buy single solitary cans of paint thinner.  No fork lift or flags required.  How boring.

So I explained to Ben, "Babe, let's get them pulling the cabinets now, that way they'll be done by the time we get done.  Right?"

He looked at me, a mild case of stress in his green eyes.

"Babe, cabinets are on page three.  I'm still on page one.  My brain can't go to cabinets yet."

I thought carefully, and decided that this was a time that I had to boss my husband,  mainly because I had just noticed that Patience had taken off her dress and was running around naked.

"Well," I said cheerfully, "Your mind is going to have to go to page three and think about cabinets, otherwise we'll never get out of here.  We'll do the cabinets, then your boxy little brain can go right back to page one where its comfortable." 

I smiled prettily as I said this, gave him a big hug, collected my naked daughter, found her dress on the floor and headed towards the cabinet section, praying that he wouldn't get mad.

He didn't.  He came with me, we told the nice Lowe's people what cabinets we wanted pulled, and watched them commence their evening of excitement with flags and fork lift. 

Then we moved on to the tile section (because tile was back on page one, obviously), where a random stranger rubbed my belly and told me I wasn't going to make it to my due date. During that conversation I noticed that Patience had pulled all the wet wipes out of the case in my bag and was very busily using them to clean the concrete floors. It was disgusting. By this time she looked like a homeless child, she'd burned through all the granola bars, and I had no way to clean her up because she'd used all the wet wipes to clean the floors.  And she drank all my water, leaving me in a bind because we all know I cannot purchase water from Lowe's.  I'd have to drink from the water fountain, which is located all the way at the back of the store by the bathrooms.  Whose idea was that, anyway?  I didn't want to waddle back there, because at this point we were up front in the electrical section counting switch covers.  A lot of them.

We were very close to being done.  On page three, actually, past the kitchen cabinets.  We were standing there, Patience was rolling on the filthy floor, and Ben was marking things off his list.

That's when it happened. 

His mechanical pencil stopped working. 

He clicked and clicked, looked at it, tried another check mark, no luck. 

I decided to be helpful.

"Babe, can't you just, you know, mark it off in your mind and let's move on?"

He glared at me.  "Just a minute, I'll fix it."

Okay.  More angry clicking.  He took it apart, put it back together.  I looked at my phone.  It was 8:30 p.m.  We still had to pay, load, and drive an hour and a half home.  And we'd had nothing but granola bars and bottled water for supper. 

I unwisely decided to speak again.

"Want me to go to the front and get you a pen?"

"Just a minute!"  He barked.  "Its the principal of the thing!  I'll get it working!"

I shut my mouth and watched him fiddle furiously with the pencil.  Then he suddenly snapped the pencil in half, threw it on the floor and strode towards the front of the store.

Patience said, "Uh, oh, Dad!"

I called after him, "Babe, did you just throw a fit?"

"No," he tossed back over his shoulder, "I was just done.  I'm going to get a pen."

I laughed until I cried and I was still laughing when he came back with a pen and marked things off his list.  He took a deep breath and looked at me.

"What's so funny?"

"You!  That was the most controlled temper fit I've ever seen!  Do you feel better now, especially since you got a pen and marked stuff off your list?"

A little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he said, "Maybe."

I gave him a hug and a kiss, we finished up, paid, loaded, tied down, and took our filthy homeless-looking child to Chile's for a very late supper where I drank at least three glasses of strawberry lemonade and a lot of water.

Four hours, three thousand dollars, two bottles of water, two packages of granola bars, a dirty dress, a pair of swollen feet, and a broken pencil.

We drove our load home, diesel engine rumbling in the moonlight, tired, but with a sense of accomplishment.

Beauty Everywhere

A couple of days ago a group of friends/family and I were fortunate enough to experience dinner at Ree Drummond's lodge, a.k.a. The Pioneer Woman.  I've been a big fan of hers for a while, mainly because she's good at all the things I want to be good at:  cooking, photography, homeschooling, gardening and writing.  I've cooked dozens of recipes from her cookbooks, tried to understand her photography workshops, laughed hysterically at her blog, and gazed longingly at pictures of her garden.

It was lovely to meet her, see her beautiful Lodge and taste her delicious cooking.  Really a wonderful experience.  But the next day as I thought about the evening, I felt something ugly rearing it's head.

Jealousy.

I wish I was talented enough to have an award-winning website.

I wish I could take really good pictures.

I'm a decent cook, but I wish I was better.

I'm such a pathetic "country housewife" that I don't even have a garden planted yet.

I wish I was disciplined enough to write more.

I wish I was doing something cool with my life, like publishing cookbooks.

I wish I lived in a house where all the appliances are covered with beautiful wood and have barn-door handles so you don't even know they're there.  I don't even have a dishwasher.

People like the Pioneer Woman always seem to have it all.  And maybe they do.  Maybe they really do have all the material things they want.  Maybe their life really is easier.  I don't know.  I've never had that kind of life.  I know I have a tendency to be discontent with my life, my circumstances and my surroundings.

I wish the linoleum wasn't peeling up in our kitchen floor.

I wish we had a garage so Ben wouldn't have to store so many tools in my laundry room, rendering it nearly useless.

I wish our house had gutters on it so I could actually build flower beds.

I wish I didn't have to sweep up mouse droppings. Every. Single. Day.

I wish our bathroom floor wasn't rotting out.

I wish our refrigerator didn't leak, forcing me to keep a dish towel on the floor at all times.

I wish our house had siding on it so it didn't look so junky.

But my goodness, does any of that really matter?  No, it doesn't.  I like luxury and convenience as much as the next person, but this evening as I played outside with Patience I started noticing so much beauty around me.

Like my blooming lavender:

And my lush, green mint:

And parsley is just so pretty.  Even if you don't cook with it you should grow some:

And my sweet peas are climbing the trellis and blooming beautifully.  By the way, I didn't lie when I said I don't have a garden in.  I really don't.  These came back from last year:

I love the towering trees in our front yard.  They're like sentinals guarding our home:

This is why I like to hang clothes on the line.  I love the view from my clothesline:

I love the look of jeans hanging on the line.  These are Ben's Levis.  He loves his Levis.  I love the way he looks in his Levis!

My peonies are blooming!  I didn't plant these.  They were here when we moved in, but God bless the person who planted them.  I will never again live without peonies.

And our yard is awfully pleasant in the evenings:

Ah, red begonias.  How I love red begonias and asparagus fern on my front porch!

Ah, white begonias.  How I love white begonias planted in a very old mop bucket!

And our front porch is a great place for little 2-year-old girls to play farm animals:

Her feet are so cute:

Clearly it makes no difference to her whether or not our house has siding on it.

Note the skinned up knees:

And the view from our front porch is quite nice.

So how do I finish saying what I want to say?  So my house is old with peeling linoleum, mouse droppings, and a leaky fridge.  Big deal.  Why should I waste my time wanting more when I already have so much?  Jealousy does nothing but make me look past the beauty I already have in my life.  Time to get my focus back where it belongs.  And if I'm unhappy with things like my cooking and photography skills, then I need to dig up the motivation and discipline to do something about it and learn more.

Anyway, there's  lot of beauty in my life.  Just wanted to share it with you.

"...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumtances..."  Philippians 4:11

Yes, I AM Going To Make It!

I know I've mentioned this before, but people seem fascinated with the large-ness of my belly right now.  I'm a little over 6 months pregnant right now, and the comments are getting more and more frequent. 

"Are you due just any day now?"

"Oh, honey, when are you due?"

"Oh, look at you!  You're all baby!"

"Oh, my word!  Are you having twins?"

Why do they always have to preface a comment with "Oh"?  I don't get it.

And I like this one:

"Oh, you look like you're about to pop any time now!"

Pop?  There is no popping involved when giving birth.  You pop a balloon and it happens very quickly and the balloon immediately deflates.  Labor and childbirth does not happen quickly.  It lasts forever.  And afterwards, you still look pregnant.  The deflations happens over a period of time.  No one bothered to tell me this when I had Patience.  When I left the hospital I still looked 7 months pregnant.  I might have cried.  Actually I know I did.  For some reason I had envisioned myself slipping right back into my old jeans.  That didn't happen.  Two years later I still haven't slipped back into them.

But my personal favorite comment is this:

"Oh, you're not gonna make it!"

Please clarify what this means.  Am I going to die before my due date?  Explode?  Is that the same as popping?  I really don't understand.

The other day Ben, Patience and I were at Lowe's and a sweet little old lady came up to me and said, "Oh, honey, you must be due any day now!"

I said, "Actually, no, I have 10 weeks to go!"

She reached out and began rubbing my belly.  Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me when total strangers rub my belly.  Happens all the time.

The nice little old lady rubbed and said, "Oh, honey, they must have your due date wrong.  There's no way you're going to make it!"

What I wanted to say was, "Actually, the due date is correct because we know the exact week we conceived this baby.  Want me to tell you all about it?"

What I actually said was something nice, polite and acceptable like, "Well, we'll have to see how it goes!"

Now tell me, am I really that huge?  You don't have to answer that.

Wow, that really is a pretty good sized belly.  I wonder if I'm going to make it?

The Boat: To Sell or Not to Sell?

I know I just wrote an entire post about my husband, but I'm going to write about him again.  I've been missing him this week because he's been working crazy hours trying to finish a remodel job on a rental cabin. Bless his heart, he's been working from 7:30 in the morning till 9:00 at night.  Its been a stressful job, so Patience and I have been taking supper to him and his crew in the evenings.  He says it helps for him to see our smiling faces.  He's so sweet.  Anyway, if I seem obsessed with my husband its because I am.  I miss him. 

So we had a funny conversation the other day.  You see, a couple of weeks ago he got the boat out and running on the lake.  The plan was to sell it.  But once he got it out zipping along the water again sparks flew and he renewed his love affair with it.  I wish I could get him to react to me the way he reacts to that boat.  Anyway, a few days after we had the boat out on the lake someone called in response the post Ben had on Craigslist.  Uh-oh, potential buyer.  Ben is torn.  We sit down at the kitchen table to discuss this problem.

He sighs and rubs his head.  "What do you think, Babe?  Should we sell it?"

I hate and love when he asks me questions like that.  Hate it because I want to give a good answer and don't always know how, love it because he cares about my opinion.  And in this instance I don't think there would be a right answer.  I think it would be equivalent of me asking him, "Does this dress make me look fat?"  In which case, right now, he would have to say yes.  I do not look good in dresses when I'm pregnant.  I look like a barn.  A really, really, big barn. 

Anyway, he asks me about the boat and I sit and ponder while Patience runs circles around the kitchen table. 

"Well," I finally say, "There are pros and cons.  You did build it to sell and you do need a new truck, so we could use the money for that.  On the other hand, its really fun to have and we used it alot last summer. But it also costs a lot every time we go to the lake.  I guess it just depends on whether or not we can afford to keep it right now  Patience, don't take your clothes off.  Leave your shirt on, I mean it."  Patience is really into removing her clothing and running around naked right now.

So we waffle back and forth about the pros and cons of keeping the boat.  Then Ben's eyes light up and he says, "Hey, remember that financial book we read about being a pipeline, not a tank?"

I remembered.  The concept was to be generous and keep your money flowing for the good of others.  Don't be a holding tank, be a pipeline.

"Yeah, I remember.  Oh, Patience, gross don't eat that.  Here, let me wipe your nose.  Yeah, I remember. Why?"  Patience is about to eat a huge green booger she's pulling out of her nose.  I jump for a tissue while Ben shares his thoughts.

"Well, we really did take a lot of people to the lake with us last summer.  I think everyone had a really good time.  I think we should keep it and use it to bless our friends this summer.  You know, use it as a pipeline!"

Interesting.  How convenient that our pipeline somehow pipes right back into our tank.

So as of now, it appears that we are keeping the boat.  And I'm okay with that.  I won't be able to heave myself into it for at least two more months, and even after the baby is born I don't know if I'll feel up to riding in it or tubing behind it, but I can sit with my feet in the water, watch Patience play, and nurse the baby.  And watch my husband have the time of his life, which I really do enjoy.  I mean really, how can we break up this dynamic duo, Ben and the Boat?:

Just look how much fun he's having.  And more than likely we will have a crowd of people with us because thats the way we roll.  Ben will pull screaming teenagers - and adults - on the tube.  We'll grill hot dogs and wash them down with ice-cold Dr. Pepper.  We'll lounge in lawn chairs visiting and chasing kids.  I'll destroy my self-esteem by attempting to wear a swimsuit just after giving birth.  There's always a negative.  And I always have to think of it.

But it really does sound like a good way to spend the summer.  How could we have ever thought of selling the boat?

He Is Risen, Indeed!

Easter is a holiday that doesn't get nearly enough credit.  It ought to be as big a deal as Christmas, considering the fact that we are celebrating the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the single most important event in the history of the world, the event that changed everything for humankind.

But I'm not good at sermons, so I won't write one.  I just want to reflect on my Easter experience this year.  Nothing dramatic.  Just thinking about it all. 

First came the Lord's supper service at church on Palm Sunday.  I had not thought about it at all and only remembered we were doing it when I looked at bulletin once we arrived at church.  It was a very simple service, no emotional music, no program, nothing special.  We just sang some lovely old hymns and took the Lord's supper.  So I was surprised when the tears came and they kept coming throughout most of the service.  My chest felt tight when I thought of what happened to Jesus as he hung on the cross for me.  At first I was frustrated with myself for crying, but then I felt glad. 

As someone who grew up on the mission field in a home where I was practically saturated with the word of God and teachings about Christianity, I sometimes find myself sporting a know-it-all attitude.  Heard that story, know that verse, blah blah blah.  I still believe all of it.  I've never, ever wanted to walk away from my Lord and Savior.  But sometimes I just forget.  So when I actually felt emotion and tears rolled down my face as I ate the bread and drank the juice, I was glad.  Glad that I haven't completely forgotten.  Glad that I understand, as much as my human brain can, what really happened on that day two thousand years ago.  When Patience saw me crying she patted my face and said, "Tears, Mom?"  I nodded my head as we stood to sing "The Old Rugged Cross" and held her tight, praying that someday she would understand, too.  If I accomplish nothing else in my life, if I never do anything that people will notice or acquire anything of material value, if I can just help my kids know and understand Jesus, that will be enough.  More than enough. 

Then my tears turned to laughter when Ben went to the front to help serve the grape juice and Patience was hanging off the end of the pew hollering, "Daddy!  Daddeeee!"  Sometimes the laughter mingled with tears is the sweetest.  And on that day it was.

Monday came and I sort of drifted back into routine, as most people do on Mondays.  Then my little sister texted me and asked if I was going to decorate the cross for the church for Easter Sunday.  I had totally forgotten about it.  Two years ago I decided that if Christmas gets a tree, Easter should get a cross.  Our church has a big heavy 8 foot cross that Ben built a few years ago for a prop for Day Camp.  My thought was to decorate the cross the way you decorate a Christmas tree.  Only not Christmasy, obviously.  So during the week before Easter, I put the cross up on the stage, wrapped it with white lights, draped the arms with shimmery purple fabric, and added some trailing green vines and blooming white lilies.  The top was adorned with a crown of white lilies and I clustered more of the same around the foot.  It turned out so very pretty.  A twinkling, shimmering springtime reminder of the joy of Easter morning.

I did the cross last year too, but somehow I nearly forgot this year.  Hannah reminded me that I should do it, so Patience and I went down to the church one evening and worked on it.  As I worked I wondered why I was doing it.  Probably no one even notices it, or they wonder why I bother.  Actually most people don't even know I'm the one who does it.  But as I wrapped lights and tucked lilies here and there I decided that even if no one notices, its good for me to do it.  It makes me reflect on Easter.  I offer so little as it is, and during the Easter season the least I can do is spend an hour creating something beautiful to reflect the beauty of what Jesus did.  Its good to be reminded, and sometimes, in my case, it takes doing something.

Thursday evening we went to my mom's house to celebrate Passover.  We almost didn't do it  because my mom and dad have been really busy lately.  So they settled for an abbreviated version, because Mom pointed out that something is very wrong indeed if a family is too busy to stop and think about the cross.  And thats what Passover is, a time of looking back, remembering, and celebrating.  So even though Isaac and Hannah (my younger brother and sister) had soccer practice, Mom had guests coming to the B&B the next day, Joseph (another brother) and his family were stretched pretty thin due to his recent leg injury, and Ben had a horrific day at work, including falling through the floor of the cabin and busting a water line, we all made the effort to stop.  Mom had the table looking beautiful with white linens and glowing candles, and we all sat down together to listen to Dad read some scriptures.  We didn't do the whole traditional seder plate, but we had the matza bread and a few other Jewish dishes.  I missed doing the full Passover, but I'm sure we'll pick up again next year.  If anything, not doing it made me realize how meaningful it really is and how much it does force me to stop and think.  Mom gathered all the grandkids in her lap and told them the Easter story, then she let them all hunt for a prize she had gotten them, CDs of toddler songs.  Patience and her cousins were very excited and Patience slept with her CD in bed with her that night.  She's still carrying it around saying, "Mimi, prize!"  I'm not sure she knows what a prize is.

On Saturday Ben was off work and we took Patience to the community Easter egg hunt.  The first plastic egg she picked up came open and she saw the candy inside.  She immediately became very focused.  She gets that from her daddy!  She picked up 20 eggs and won a cheesy basket full of Easter junk for getting second place.  We were so proud! 

That afternoon we took naps, then Ben, Patience and I loaded up in the truck and went fishing.  The weather was perfect.  I sat with Patience on the riverbank and watched her bury her little toes deep into the coolness of the sand.  I looked at the vivid reflection of the green trees and blue sky in the water and found myself wanting to jump in and see why the reflection somehow looks brighter and more real than the real thing.  The thought drifted through my mind that maybe thats what heaven is like.  Somehow more real than the reality we experince here.  Oh, the thinks one thinks while fishing!  Ben caught three nice little perch, and we headed home, Patiene stripped down to her diaper because she got so filthy. 

As we drove home in the cool of the evening I watched the sun set accross a green field dotted with cows.  I hung my arm out the window and felt the breeze slide through my fingers.  I noticed the clean freshness of everything, dust settling behind us, the vines creeping along the fences, the many shades of springtime green.  I breathed deep and thanked God for the millionth time that we live in such a beautiful place.

Sunday morning I was up early putting out Patience's Easter basket.  She had extra goodies, thanks to a care package from Nana in Tucson.  I looked up Keith Green's Easter Song online and had it playing on the laptop when Patience and Ben came to look at all the Easter suprises.  Peeps, chocolate eggs, fluffy stuffed animals, and a new CD for Ben.  We sipped coffee and munched biscotti while Patience played with her new toys and ate way too much candy.

Then a flurry of getting ready for church.  Patience was adorable in her yellow fluffy dress and while shoes.  Ben said she looked like a yellow marshmallow Peep.  Once he pointed that out, I saw that he was quite right.  But Peeps are cute, right?  Once we got to church we realized how much candy Patience actually ate.  She was WILD.  During the greeting time she was hanging on Ben's leg pounding her face on him.  Then she collapsed on the floor and started rolling down the aisle in a whirl of yellow and while petticoats.  We corralled her back in our pew in time for the service to start, but she seemed to have no control over her body.  She wasn't being bad at all, but she was laughing hysterically at everything and twice she flung herself around so hard she slammed her head against the back of the pew and cried.  Ben finally had to take her out.  He said it wasn't fair to let her have so much candy and then expect her to sit still.  Very true.  I hear of people putting healthy snacks in their kid's Easter eggs.  That's very...healthy.  And boring.  I mean, come on.  She gets candy like three times a year.  Let her have it on holidays.  But maybe not quite so much next time.

It was a good Easter season for us.  I wish we had practiced Lent, I wish I had done a pretty Easter cross for our house, and I wish we had done a real Passover.  But there's time to establish traditions.  Our family is still very young.  I want to establish traditions to help make the meaning of Easter very real for our kids.  But even without them, I thought about the cross a lot this week, and I'm glad.

That's about the extent of my Easter ramblings.  I realize that this wasn't well-written or even very interesting.  I just always feel that Easter deserves so much more recognition.  This is my small way of trying to make it more what it ought to be.  I wish there was something I could say to convey the meaning of the death and resurrection of Jesus, but sometimes words simply aren't enough.

But He is risen.  He is risen, indeed.  And for that I am more than thankful.