When will they learn? June 28, 2009

The Husband and I attended a wedding this weekend, where I wore the cutest dress I have ever worn in my entire life thanks to a sweet friend, and he wore a suit.  He came to pick me up from my mom’s, because she was incredibly wonderful (as she usually is) and watched the girls for us overnight, and I got butterflies when I saw him get out of the car with his shirt and tie on.  Yay for dress up occasions!

Now, let me just say that The Husband wearing a suit did not happen easily.  Until he drove up, I was expecting to see him in a polo and khakis.  Not that he doesn’t look incredibly handsome in whatever he decides to wear (and I only hate him a little for that), but The Husband in a suit… Ohhhh, him in a suit…

Anyway.

So he wore a suit.  And then we went to the wedding.  And there was a teensy bit of fussing from The Husband regarding wearing a suit, sitting through a wedding, and then I made the mistake of mentioning that there could be dancing at the reception.  Oops.  (He doesn’t drink and he doesn’t like dancing — and he says he’s not a Baptist!)

I want to ask a question — are most guys like this?  The complaining about dressing up ONCE IN A WHILE?  Attending a wedding ONCE IN A WHILE?  I mean, the ceremony itself only lasts maybe 45 minutes at the longest.  Is that really so awful?  Guys will sit and watch other guys on TV trying to put a little white ball in a little hole for HOURS, but asking them to sit through a wedding service is too much?  I officially psh that.  Heck, I thppttt that! 

I wonder if guys realize the benefits they could receive from just putting on that suit without complaining and sitting through the service.  Going to a reception without asking, “Are you ready to go?” a couple hundred times.  I mean, for me, a wedding is romantic — and I can’t be the only one who feels that way.  (C’mon.  Tell me!!)  It’s romantic, and it makes me think about my own wedding.  I remember coming down the aisle and locking eyes on The Husband and not being able to look away.  All the tears and sniffling… Not because I was crying, because I had a pretty bad cold, but I digress…

Do husbands not realize that all those silly girly froo-froo emotions can sometimes be parlayed into some fun times in the bedroom later?  Did they not get that memo?  Are we keeping that a secret from them?  I think we should tell them, because maybe we wouldn’t have to drag them along, they would just come willingly.  I’d kind of like that.  Am I violating a code if I let that secret out?

PSSSSST, hey husbands!  Attend a wedding with your wife, preferably without complaining, and you might get lucky that night!  Get dressed up without being begged, and you might get… Well, I don’t know what your favorite thing is, but your wife does, and she might remember that night!

Oh, and dancing.  SLOW DANCE WITH YOUR WIFE.  Seriously, it really isn’t even dancing, it’s holding each other and swaying.   There’s a reason it isn’t allowed in some churches!  It can be SEXY!  And if you’re married, you are totally allowed to be sexy with each other!  It’s not inappropriate!  In fact, it’s very, very appropriate!  I mean, keep it kind of PG-13, there are children around, but otherwise, go for it!

I hope I didn’t just let out some top secret information.  Oh, but if I’m going to spill the beans, I might as well let the guys know that chick flicks can sometimes have the same effect.  Especially if they don’t point out how utterly pointless the plot is and complain that the body count isn’t high enough.  Or say loudly at the end of the movie, “Are you crying?!“  Just a tip.

On the flip side… Sometimes we ladies talk about how clueless the guys are, right?  So why are we so surprised when they don’t figure things like this out on their own?  Duh.  Who’s clueless now?  (And, for the record, that light bulb just went off over my head as I was writing this, so I’m just as guilty.)

In short, for the husbands: Dress up + Dance + Don’t Whine About It = Happy, Quite Possibly Hot-For-You Wife.

Everybody was monkey fighting… June 26, 2009

A while ago, Kearsie wrote a motivating post. 

I’m waiting while you skim over it…

I had never seen a movie on cable where they didn’t just keep the offending words silent, or replace them with the more obvious choices of shoot, dangit, or even freaking.  (I think my mom still cringes when I use that word.)  Not until Kearsie’s post did I realize that they could fill it in with something far more creative.  I got a kick out of that.

Then today during the blissful period called naptime, The Husband decided he was going to watch Snakes On A Plane.  He’d recorded it a few weeks ago and I had hoped he would watch it sometime when I wasn’t home.  No such luck.  So I sat and watched it too, and The Husband laughed a lot.  Not at the movie, though.  At me, as I jumped and squealed and covered my eyes.  Me no likey snakes.

I was waiting for the scene that I knew was coming.  Samuel L. Jackson was about to get tired.  Real tired.  He was going to tell the world.  And then the moment arrived…

I have had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this Monday to Friday plane!

Hope you have a monkey fighting awesome weekend!

Mushy Gushy Lovey Dovey… *vomit* June 25, 2009

There’s a lot of love in the air.  Two friends have written about their love stories, here and here, recently because of their anniversaries.  If you’re looking for some tales of love (or lurve, if that’s your thing), head on over and give them a read. 

I thought I’d written out my little love story before, but maybe that was in a MySpace blog, and I can’t cheat on Facebook by going to MySpace to refresh my memory.  I tried to write a little bit about it in my last post, but I got feedback that someone looking for a sweet story was “sorely disappointed.”  Ouch.  I thought it was sweet, and I know that’s all that matters, but still… Ouch.  Of course, I’m also married and know the reality of what happens after the honeymoon is over.  Don’t get me wrong, life is still good because it’s the life that God wants me to have — but that don’t mean it’s gonna be easy.  Anyone who tells you otherwise, anyone who tells you that marriage isn’t work, well… Sorry, their pants are on fire because they’re LYING.

Anyway, let’s move on to some sappiness.  The Husband and I are going to a wedding this weekend, and I am very excited about it.  I love weddings, I love dates with my husband, and I love this couple and can’t wait to see them tie the knot!  Weddings, of course, make me think back to my own, and the months preceding it…

As I said a few days ago, The Husband and I met on June 22nd of 2002.  We met, stared, talked.  He left that night, and I wondered if I’d see him again.  The next morning at church, I did a little peeking around the worship center, but didn’t see him.  BUMMER.

The next week, however, our pastor did something that he hadn’t done in YEARS.  He asked if there were any visitors.  My sister would tell you that my SGR (Single Guy Radar) went off at that point, because I looked around to see who was raising their hands, and my eyes were immediately drawn to HIM.  (And The Husband would tell you that he had his hand barely lifted over his head, so for me to notice was surprising.)  After service was over, I told the friend I was sitting with that we should go say hi, you know to make him feel welcome.  But he was gone.  BUMMER!

He showed up in Sunday school, though.  I greeted him warmly, as I greeted everyone warmly.  Okay, so maybe I didn’t make googly eyes at everyone, and maybe I didn’t move a stack of books to sit closer to everyone, but I was a friendly person!  He was only getting semi-special treatment.  Really.  He stayed after church for lunch, we invited him to come to  back the next night for an activity.

That activity was our 20-somethings group meeting with the senior adults at our church for a game night.  I was shocked and slightly dismayed when he walked in the door.  Shocked, because I didn’t expect him to come.  Dismayed, because I was wearing pretty sloppy clothes and my hair was icky.  I remember running to the bathroom maybe two dozen times to check my hair.  Should I keep it in a ponytail?  What if it gets a bump?  Does it look too flat?  Does it look too poofy?  I was 26-years-old and acting like I was 16. 

I guess I didn’t look too bad, because after he had finished at one of his tables, he joined the Yahtzee table I was at.  I was a MESS.  I think I giggled a lot.  I couldn’t look at him.  Those eyes!  That smile!  Later, still trying to be congenial and welcoming, I asked him for his e-mail address so I could let him know about other activities our group had going on.  I still have the business card he wrote it on.

I went home and e-mailed him.  I told him we were so glad he could join us, and we had a lot of other things going on that week.  We would be so happy if he could come again.  We hoped to see him again soon.  If he had any questions, he could call ME at …  He told me later he took the e-mail to work and asked some of the ladies if he should read into that.  They told him if he didn’t call me, they would!

Tuesday night I had praise team rehearsal, and when I got done there was a message on my cell phone.  HIM!  I think I called one of my girlfriends to squeal about that (yep, at 26) before I returned his call so I could get it out of my system.  So I called him, and it took him my entire drive home to get to the point of asking me out on a date for that Friday. 

Wednesday, he came bowling with us.  Thursday he joined us to watch fireworks for the 4th of July, and met my parents (he didn’t know they were coming, but it was all good).  Friday was our first date.  We went to see The Bourne Identity and then he drove me home.  We’d gone to an afternoon movie, and we spent hours, HOURS, just talking.  We talked in his truck in the parking lot, then we talked upstairs in my apartment.  He sat on my couch, I sat at my table.  I think we talked until there was nothing left for us to find out about each other.  I talked so much that I let it slip I knew he’d gotten a speeding ticket before (public records search = great way to weed out bad dates). 

The day after our first date, one of us called the other one to say we had a great time, and we ended up talking for another couple of hours.  I think I coordinated some kind of group activity so we could see each other again.  We had our second date, and it was on that date that I just knew it was all over.  He. Was. It.  I was done, there wasn’t going to be anyone else but this man for the rest of my life. 

For years I would wonder, “How do you know that he’s the right one?” and I’d get the infuriating reply, “You just know.”  That night, I completely understood that response.

Our first date was July 5th.  He proposed July 29th.  Yeah, of the same year.  (I can write more on that when the date approaches.  I can’t give it all away now, I need some material!)  We were married November 29th.  Yeah, of the same year. 

It was a whirlwind romance.  Nothing stood in our way — as a matter of fact, it seemed like waters parted for he and I as we became The Husband and I.  It was as close to perfect as I could imagine.

I’m sorry, though, I’m not going to disillusion anyone and say it’s all been sunshine and rainbows after we got married.  It hasn’t been.  But it is amazing and awesome and incredible and wonderful to be able to get through the clouds and storms to see another day together, knowing that you have something worth fighting for.  (And besides, if you never fight, you never get to make up — and making up can be a lot of fun!)

I don’t think dating should be a whole lot of work.  If you know, you know.  If the person isn’t right, move on.  (If there’s a doubt, don’t.)  Marriage is a whole different story, though.  It takes work, and it’s worth working on. 

So let’s put on our hard hats and get to work.

Four score and seven years ago… June 22, 2009

But really, take out the “four score” part, because it was only seven years ago.

I said once before that 2002 was a busy year.  And it all started on this day seven years ago, at an indoor rock climbing gym.   To this day, I remember seeing him for the first time and I remember realizing that I was blatantly staring at him.  I remember talking to him for the first time, and wondering if it was a problem that I was two years older than him.  I remember getting to hold his watch while he scaled a wall.  I don’t know why I remember that last part, but I do.  (And that’s not us in the picture, it’s a Kim Anderson photo.  I’ve always liked them.  At least, I did until I found out that Kim Anderson is a guy.  Then it kind of creeped me out that a dude was taking pictures of little kids acting romantic with each other.  But perhaps that’s a post for another day.)

I remember how I liked that he was kind of a smart aleck, kind of sarcastic.  No pushovers for me, please, I liked a little bit of a challenge.  Although, seven years later, I find myself reminding him that sarcasm is “anger’s ugly cousin” and asking for a little more sensitivity.  Oops.

But anyway, life lessons I’m learning aside, he is one amazing man, and I love him.  Sure, there are days when I wonder if we will ever get past certain issues (usually that whole failure to communicate effectively thing), but most of the time I look at him and can’t believe I get to keep him.  He is everything I always wanted in a husband, and many things I didn’t know I wanted… And some things I probably didn’t want at all, but ended up needing.  God’s smart like that.

And to think I almost didn’t go that night!  I can’t even imagine!  I don’t WANT to imagine!  I just want to imagine the next seven years, and the seven after that, and four score and seven years from now…  You get the idea.

The Letter I Won’t Send June 16, 2009

Have you ever been upset with someone or a situation and someone told you to write a letter, get it all out, express every single one of your feelings?  Yeah?  And then what did they tell you to do with it? 

Throw it away.

Take all your feelings, all your thoughts, every single piece of angst and turmoil that you would like to dump on them, and chuck it.

So I’m going to do that.  Except, it’s not really a letter.  It’s a list of things I wish I could say, but I really can’t.  It wouldn’t be nice.  And maybe, maybe, if I do this post and toss it out into the internet, I’ll feel better.  Right?  Right.  So, here we go:

Oh, I love your skirt!  Where’s the rest of it?

Sweetie, you’ve got to put the pants over your panties… Oh, those are your shorts?  Okay then.

I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.

Build a bridge and GET OVER IT!

Could I interest you in a mint?  No?  Then could I interest you in standing a little further away from me?

No, no, really.  It’s not me, it’s you.

If you think I just wrote about you, think again. 

If you still think I wrote about you, maybe I did.

Okay.  I feel much better now.  Thanks.

Pajamas, Parking Lots and Popped Balloons June 12, 2009

After I typed my title, I realized just how Southern Baptist I am.  Those of you that went to seminary, tell me — was there a course on that?  Or was it a test question somewhere?  “True or False: All sermon points must begin with the same letter.”

Back to my three Ps…

Earlier this evening, I ran through my parking lot chasing a rogue balloon.  As I jogged after the escaped pink balloon that just kept bouncing along even though there wasn’t much of a breeze, I was also grasping the handles of four kitchen trash bags that were full of roughly 32 more balloons.

I was doing this while in my pajamas.  A very cutesy set with pink hearts all over the pants, but pajamas nonetheless.

Why was I doing this?  VBS.  Vacation Bible School.  For two of the groups tomorrow, I slipped little notes with “You are special!” and “God loves you!” along with the memory verse into about 40 balloons.  The balloons’ only purpose in their short life is to get popped at the very end of the lesson.  (Note to self: remember to bring Extra Strength Tylenol…)  It took me a very long time to get that done, especially because I am horrible at tying up balloons.  The Husband had to help me when he came home.

All week long, I’ve been coming home and planning for the next day or two, because preparing all 15 lessons in advance was a little overwhelming.  I’ve been cutting, taping, figuring out how to get gift bags to stay attached to waist aprons or how to reenact a storm inside a classroom (box fan and squirt bottles, FYI)  – all for sessions no longer than 25 minutes.  The kids come in, I present what I’ve slaved over and tried to be creative with, they go along with it and sometimes like it, then they leave.

Will they remember that 20-25  minutes?  Maybe.  Will it be included in their “What I Did On My Summer Vacation”?  Probably not.

Do I mind?  Not so much.

I rush around between groups changing the room around for the different lessons. I am completely exhausted after just four measly hours each day.  I come home and I plan and work, and sometimes shop.  I write out these little lessons on notebook paper and sort all the printouts and posters and what I’ll need in the different leader books.  I go a little crazy, and I notice my hands are kind of shaky when I do it all.

Do I mind?  Not so much.

I am loving every single shaky-handed minute of it! 

Not so long ago in a Bible study, we talked about when we do things that God wants us to, what He’s purposed us for, we feel His joy.  A reference to the line in Chariots of Fire was made — “…when I run I feel His pleasure…”

I wonder if that’s what this is.  The joy I have getting up earlier than usual.  The fervent prayers that He can use this scatter-brained uncool mom-type to reach out to these kids.  The rush of excitement as the first students walk through the door in the morning, and the ”It’s over already?!” as the last group shuffles out. 

Am I being shown something I need to do more of?  Is it a coincidence that this feeling in my heart comes right after reading Pathways to Purpose for Women and completing Beth Moore’s study where she told us we would find our destiny?

Ah, that it would only take me a mere 33 years…

And now a word from our sponsors… June 10, 2009

This Prius commercial gives me a creeps, because the little waving hands make me think of munchkins, which make me think of these, which make me think of Oompa Loompas.  The Husband thinks this is hilarious.  Every time the commercial comes on, he says, “Hey, it’s your favorite commercial!”  And every time, I look.

I couldn’t believe my eyes the first time I saw this.  I believe my exact words were, “Oh no they di-n’t!!”  Interestingly enough, I had just switched back to using a Gillette razor.  That made me happy.  Because that commercial makes me uncomfortable.

This makes me laugh every time.  Except I don’t think the catch phrase at the end is very good — “… it’s breakfast, not brokefast.”  I wonder if they were up late working on that one.  Or maybe they came up with that one first and someone said, “Well, if we can’t come up with anything else…”  And then they couldn’t come up with anything else.

I love this.  And this.  This one too.

I dare you to watch this.

And now, back to the show!

Don’t Hate On My State June 4, 2009

Somehow in my little neck of the woods, I have come to know a handful (actually, more like two fistfuls) of folks from the state of Alabama.  Many of these people graduated from Auburn.  Because of them, I have gained a little knowledge about the state… and Auburn grads.

For instance, did you know that a male Auburn grad may glare at you for a solid minute if you call him a “‘Bama Boy”?

Did you know that you should not question the whole mascot thing (tiger? war eagle?) unless you have time for a little bit of a history lesson?

And did you know that these graduates will arrange all of their fall social engagements around the Auburn football schedule?

I’m sure there are other fans that hold this kind of devotion to their alma mater, but I’ve known quite a few fanatics in my day and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the kind of dedication to a team (or a school) that Auburn alum seem to have.  It’s only mildly scary — mostly it’s endearing.

I have a similar kind of love.  I’m a Florida girl.  I’m third generation Floridian — third generation to my hometown, as a matter of fact.  It’s kind of a rarity.  I love Florida and, honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if I had to leave.  Well, I do know — I’d survive.  But I’d miss my state.

Florida is home to lots of people from somewhere else.  LOTS.  I have noticed that sometimes, sometimes, these transplants need a little schooling.  I wanted to address some of the most pressing issues.

– Yes, it is hot.  YOU’RE IN FLORIDA.  Just to let you know, in the 1700s, Gov. Henry Ellis walked around Savannah, Georgia checking a thermometer constantly, and he went insane.  It could happen to you.

– Flip flops ain’t just for the beach, baby.  And if you’re going to go flipping and flopping, might I suggest a quick pedicure?

 – Gentlemen — socks and sandals are a NO. 

 – Ladies — pantyhose and sandals are a NO.

 – Stop complaining about Florida drivers.  When last I checked, the census said that only 30% of those living in Florida were native Floridians.  So 70% of those bad drivers have come here from somewhere else.  Maybe where you’re from. 

– Go outside.  Do you see the ocean?  No?  Then you don’t live ON the beach.  You can say you live “minutes from the beach” or even “near the beach”.  But unless you can walk to it, you don’t live ON it.

– The further south you go in Florida, the more northern things become. 

– The further north you go in Florida, the more southern things become.

– From about October through May, you might want to start finding some new ways around your town — back roads and what not.  The main roads tend to get busier during that time due to snowbirds.  (Don’t hate — that’s someone’s grandma you’re thinking about giving the one-finger salute to.)

– And finally… No, mosquitoes are not our state bird.

Class is now dismissed.

Things I Learned on My Weekend Vacation June 1, 2009

• I miss The Husband when I’m away from him.

 

• It’s hard for me to get to sleep when The Husband is not next to me.

 

• It’s good to have someone to talk to until 2:30 in the morning, though, because then I didn’t sit and think about not having The Husband next to me.

 

• I miss The Girls when I’m away from them.

 

• Chili’s Molten Lava Chocolate Cake contains a day’s worth of calories.  It is worth every single sinful bite.  (Especially when shared.)

 

• It is easier to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody” while watching Wayne’s World than it is to sing it for karaoke.

 

• Everyone can sing “My Heart Will Go On.”  Everyone.

 

• Big, mean, nasty ants follow me.

 

• I need to carry this around with me. 

 

• An ant biting me close to my elbow will two days later make it appear as if I have two elbows.

 

• If you are out and about and have so many shopping bags that you can’t fit in a regular stall in the ladies’ room, it’s okay to take the handicapped stall.

 

• It is NOT okay to sit in the first stall on the right with your bags in front of you and the door WIDE OPEN while you do your business.

 

• I have incredible friends.

 

• While I’m away, the laundry does not take a vacation.  In fact, it seems to work overtime.

 

• The extra work involved upon my return is worth it after having spent the weekend with some amazing moms, relaxing and talking and having fun.