Sunday Scrappin'

I scrapped 6 pages this week, a little less than usual, but I still had fun.

I'm sure I am not alone in only having bits and pieces of time throughout the day. I often like to make my own kits, so if I have 5-10 minutes, I might start with going through all my 12x12 paper and cardstock, choosing patterns and colors that are pleasing. I lay those out on my desk. Later I might have a few more minutes. I'll go through my embellishment box and add to my "kit". I'll work my way through my ribbon box, my scrap box, my stickers, etc, collecting things as I have time. It may take me 2-5 days to put a kit together, depending on what little bits and pieces of time I have. After I've gone through my supplies, I might end up with something like this:

I put everything in a 12x12 plastic bag (large Ziplog freezer bags will hold 12x12 paper) and I'm all set for when I sit down to actually do a layout.


My pages usually go together really quickly with this method, although some colors and layouts are harder than others. This layout went together perfectly due to the strong, contrasting colors and the picture sizes:

Here's another that didn't go as perfectly:




These colors weren't as strong. I tend to rely heavily on my paper, patterns and colors to "do most of the hard work". When the contrast isn't as strong or the color is softer, it is harder to make the pages "pop".

I wanted to scrap my cousin's wedding and I thought I had enough pictures for a four page layout. Often when I have 2-4 page event, I create my own custom paper that coordinate but are different from each other for my base. Here's the four pages I came up with for this event, using red (the color of her flowers) and blue (the color I wore to the wedding).

I only ended up using 3 of the four pages. I wasted more time on this layout because the colors and pictures didn't go together easily and I'm not truly happy about how they turned out, but oh well. They are just three pages out of hundreds, right?

When I make a kit like this, I usually only use a fourth or less of the items I put into it, but it is relaxing for me to play with colors and designs that work together...it's actually more freeing for me because nothing is permanent yet and I'm still experimenting.

Bonus question: What inspires you to craft and why?
Answer: I scrap whenever I have a few minutes here and there. I am inspired to do it because it satisfies my creative need right now when I rarely have blocks of time to devote to my other interests. Scrapping is something I can do that is fun, relaxing, and doesn't require any taxing mental energy.

True confessions of a house-keeping wanna-be

Melissa from Such Simple Pleasures and Coleen from Manners and Moxie started this cool new meme called Scrolling Saturdays where you post old posts from when your blog had one or two readers (like your mom) in the hopes they may get more love this time around. It's fun and I always have something to post on Saturday! Here's one from this past summer...Here's an oldie but a goodie from July...

Growing up, I was a slob. Ask my mom. When I went to college, I overheard my roommate in the bathroom one day. She was telling another girl how she had found a paper sack full of oranges my mother had sent to school with me months before. When my roommate found it, the oranges were shrivled, moldy balls. That moment was a defining point in my development. (It's funny how your parents can tell you to pick up thousands of times, but it often takes embarrassment like this to promote true change!) So I started picking up after myself from that moment on.

My husband, not-so-much. His mother never made him put his laundry away or even make his bed. So when we got married and moved into an older apartment with brown carpet, old brown kitchen cabinets and counters, and brown tiles in the bathroom, our motivation to clean wasn't high. Actually, since you couldn't see dirt in said brown apartment, we didn't think it needed cleaned more than every few months. (give or take a few months.) Of course, we had no children, were both working and new at this house-keeping thing.

Then our son was born and we got our first house. I had a new pride in my lodgings since we were now paying a mortgage and I cleaned once a month. Although since the kitchen was hidden from the living room, hard-to-clean pans tended to hang out, dirty, next to the sink for weeks. I think hubby was hoping I'd clean them and I was doing the same for him. We learned many things in that house...one being that this approach doesn't work very well.

Then we bought this house in 1999. It is twice as big as our first house and has STAIRS.
Now, our hand-held vacuum broke a few years ago so to vacuum the stairs requires holding our big, heavy vacuum perched on each step with one hand, while the other feverishly tries to suck up the dirt with the attachment. (You'd think we'd buy a new hand-held, but you'd be wrong.) So take a guess how often the stairs get swept. Oh, and it's a pain to carry said vacuum UP the stairs to vacuum up there, so guess how often THAT gets done. Oh, and mopping? Hubby mopped last week. We admired our clean floor for exactly one day. The second day, the magical dirt-fairy must have visited, because there are spill spots and sticky patches all over. It's either take a wet paper towel and crawl around wiping the spots, actually getting the mop out and re-mopping, or just living with the dirt. Guess which one I choose.

A trip to Venice

"I haven't always looked like this, you know. " The woman gestured self-depreciatingly toward her wrinkled face. She smiled and Amy glimpsed the beauty she must have been. "I was just out of college, back in the city and working at the deli down the street from the apartment where I grew up. In fact, I still lived with my parents and as I trudged home every night, I knew Mama would have a wonderful home-cooked Italian meal waiting for me. But that night..." She looked into the distance. "...that night, we had a guest for dinner. Someone I'd never seen before."

Amy nodded, encouraging her to go on. It was a long flight to Italy and talking to the passengers always helped pass the time.

The woman swallowed, struggling to find the right words. "He was Italian, a friend of my sister's who was at the university in Milan, and had come to New York for business. He was only a few years older than me and so handsome, I could have drowned in his huge dark eyes. I fell in love with him over Mama's spaghetti."

Amy sighed happily. "What a lovely story."

"But there's more," the woman said, clasping her hands between her knees and staring at the floor. She began to rock slightly in her seat. "At the end of the meal, he told us that he and my sister were more than friends; they were married."

Amy sat, stunned.

"I can see you're surprised." She nodded, gray curls bobbing. "I was too. Apparently, my sister married Peter without telling us."

"Why would she spring this on you like that?" Amy couldn't stop the question from tumbling from her lips.

"It really wasn't Maria's fault. She could have handled it better, but when she found out she was pregnant, she and Peter got married right away. There wasn't time for anything formal. And really, they'd only been married a week and she would have come too if the doctor hadn't advised her not to travel."

"But--" Amy started to protest indignantly.

"It's really all right, dear," she said, placing a worn hand on Amy's arm. "It was a long time ago. And although it stung to find out that Peter was married to my sister, my feelings hadn't had time to go too deep."

Amy glanced at the forward galley. The curtain was drawn, but she knew the second beverage service would be starting soon. Her head swung back to the woman, hoping she'd tell her the rest of the story before she had to go back to work.

"So what happened? I thought..." She trailed off, indicating the empty seat next to her where an older gentleman had been seated earlier, but was now in the mid-galley chatting with some of the other flight attendants.

"That's Dan." The woman gray gaze grew misty. "He is a wonderful man. Peter may have been my first real crush, but Dan was my first love. He married me and moved me to Texas to live on a ranch. Oh, I loved the wide open spaces; I got a great job as a landscape designer, decorated our cozy house and made lots of good friends. We were so happy."

Amy nodded again. So this was the happy ending, the reason for the sparkle and joy she'd seen on the woman's face when she'd boarded the plane.

"By that time, Maria and Peter had moved back to New York. They had just had their eighth child when Maria got sick. Peter's job required lots of travel, but it paid well and he needed to keep it if possible--raising eight kids takes a lot of money. My father was dead and my mother was in a nursing home. I talked it over with Dan, quit my job, and moved in with Maria and Dan to nurse my sister and help take care of the kids."

"You lived in the same house as Peter? Without Dan?" Amy couldn't help asking.

The woman looked abashed. "Dan knew about my short-lived crush, but he trusted me. He was willing to make the sacrifice."

"It was a bigger sacrifice for you," Amy murmured. "Giving up your home, your job, to help take care of eight children that weren't yours."

"Jesus taught us to be servants dear, and I couldn't be one back in Texas living for myself," she said. "Besides, Maria would have done it for me. And I loved those kids like my own. Dan and I were never able to have kids, you see." She sighed. "It was worth it. Even when my sister became bed-ridden, unable to move or talk and required round-the-clock care, it was worth it. I promised she and the kids I'd be there for them for as long as I could. By that time, Dan had found a job in New York. He and I bought the house next door to them and have lived there for the last twenty years."

Amy felt overwhelmed. She wondered if she would have been as selfless.

The woman smiled suddenly. "And this year, as a thank you, they sent Dan and I on this trip."

Wow, Amy thought. A trip to Italy. A trip around the world. Not nearly enough to make up for an entire life-time of sacrifice. She stood and smoothed her apron, then bent toward the woman, wanting to say so many things, but in the end she said nothing because nothing seemed adequate.

The woman leaned forward to squeeze Amy's hand. "Thanks so much for listening to an old woman, dear. You go on and take care of what you need to do."

Amy looked at her for a moment, then strode forward to the galley. But throughout the beverage service, she couldn't get the woman's story out of her mind. And when they landed in Venice, she asked if the woman would pose for a picture. She never wanted to forget her story...

The giggles

Last night I took the girls for a three hour sewing class at Joanne's. They made a flannel pillowslip with contrasting fabric for the band. They learned how to use a rotary cutter and all the parts of a sewing machine and words like selvage and seam allowance and...well, you get the idea. I sew a little, and although I've helped the girls make a couple of things, like a book bag and small pillows for their dolls, I've never let them cut or use the machine without CLOSE supervision. So in this class, they got to try it all. And boy, were they excited!!! They were out of control hyper and silly and giddy all evening. My middle child has extreme moods and when she is happy, she dances and sings and laughs and giggles and makes happy noises non-stop. I was grinning at her, admiring her pillowslip for the umpteenth time, and she said, "It's amazing that I was actually able to contain myself at Joannes!" Oh, they just make me smile.

Sunday Scrappin'

I hope everyone is having a wonderful, blessed Easter. Jesus is risen! We had a beautiful Easter service this morning followed by an Easter Egg hunt for the kids. It was cold but sunny, but now it is snowing. That's Indiana for you.

Anyway, I scrapped 11 pages this week. Lest people think I have WAY too much time on my hands, I scrap fast and do a few minutes here and there...it is relaxing for me. Here's a few from this week:


This layout was just a hodge-podge of misc. pictures from 2007 that didn't go into any specific event.




Oh yeah, I almost forgot. This week's bonus question is what holiday do you do the most crafts for? I always make as many Christmas gifts as possible to save money, so definately Christmas.

Housekeeping with kids 101, a Scrolling Saturday Post

Melissa from Such Simple Pleasures and Coleen from Manners and Moxie started this cool new meme called Scrolling Saturdays where you post old posts from when your blog had one or two readers (like your mom) in the hopes they may get more love this time around. It's fun and I always have something to post on Saturday! Here's one from this past summer...

You know what really stumps me? It's how long something that doesn't belong on the floor can lay there and be stepped over for days with no one but myself noticing. Like an empty Gatorade bottle in the middle of the living room floor, a nice shirt crumpled on the stairs, a wet bathing suit, a school paper, etc. Or how long the milk carton can be left out on the kitchen table, or the chips they begged for at the store left open for days so that they go stale. Sometimes I deliberately don't pick things up or put them away just to see if anyone notices. They never do and just step over them or walk past them, completely unaware.
Another thing that mystifies me is why my children act as if they are only reponsible for something if they were the last one to touch it. If they are walking to the pantry to put one box of crackers away and I ask them to just grab the other box and put it back too, they will insist that they weren't the last person to touch THAT box, so therefore, they cannot, in good conscience, put that one away. Nevermind that they are walking to the pantry anyway.
Or games. Let's say all three of them are playing a board game. When it is time to put it away, it is only the person who actually got the game box out of the closet whom they consider responsible for putting the entire thing away. "I'm not the one who got it out," is a common phrase around here. To which I reply, "I do the laundry, the shopping and the cooking, and Dad and I pay for this house, the car, your clothes and toys, as well as do most of the work to keep this house running. What do you think would happen if we said we would only do something if we got it out or made the mess?" Now see, that seems perfectly logical to me. But from the confusion on their faces, I may as well be speaking a foreign language for as much sense as it makes to them.

Those darn milkshake accidents!

First of all, I live with a Photoshop genius. Go check out my husband's blog post for today this instant. I mean it. Go now. I guarantee you'll laugh.

Today, I was part of a horrifying milkshake incident. It occurred earlier, in my car as I was driving towards home. I had just dropped my son off at a friend's and decided to swing by Chick-Fil-A so my daughter could use her gift card from the neighbor. She wanted to treat me to a chicken sandwich and she and her sister to milkshakes. But once she had it, she "accidentally" stuck her thumb through the bottom of her cup with 90% of the milkshake still in it. (All my kids have a fascination with sticking their fingers into things. Some kids put things up their nose. Mine get their fingers stuck in plastic pre-school letters and playground tubes and usually require the assistance of emergency personnel to get them out.) Anyhoo, there was quite a commotion going on in the back of the old mini-van. And as we all know, there's nothing like driving down the highway while the that type of emergency is going on behind you. I'm amazed I didn't wreck. Oh wait. My husband reads this. The truth is that I calmly continued to drive, all of my senses alert and focused on the road.

In a panic, my daughter put her thumb back in the hole to plug it, so instead of a sticky, pink, strawberry river of milkshake pouring all over her seat and her clothes and the impeccably clean floor of our van (people with children always keep their car-interiors spotless), it slowed to a steady trickle of sticky, pink goo that snaked down her thumb, around her hand, and into the sleeve of her shirt.

She started to cry. I hurriedly shoved napkins at her. She took them, but the sounds she was making were getting worse. My other daughter tried to help. She gave her an empty cup to pour the sticky, pink mess into. My daughter shook her head, tears streaming down her face, the cup held high, thumb and all, as a pink trickle continued to pulse down her arm. In the review mirror, I saw her deer-in-the-headlights expression, as if she were shocked, slightly afraid, and traumatized by what was happening. Her face get redder and redder as her shirt got wetter and wetter and she cried louder and louder. The sounds she was making were weird; grief-stricken wails, as if she was in some sort of milkshake-accident trance.

"I have to leave my thumb in until we get home," she wailed helplessly, her cup-imprisoned hand held high, her face scarlet and wet with tears. "Mom, I still want it! It's in my shirt! It's in my shirt!"

Now, each of my kids is overly sensitive and emotional in their own special way. This odd crying and paralysis were part of how that sensitivity came out today. And my other daughter's came out in freakish laughter. She apologized through her guffaws, and I could tell she was mortified that she would laugh at her sister that way. She kept saying, "Sorry! Sorry! But this is such a weird situation!"

She put it into words perfectly. I had to hide a smile myself.

Awards

#9

HolleeAnn at Vasquez3 gave me this award.

I'm being lazy and am not going to add links to all the recipient's blogs. But this one goes out to all the bloggers I know personally:

K at My train of Thought Has Derailed
Jan at Midsummer Meanderings
Toni at In the Midst of This season
Monica at Shine again
Wani at Wani's World
Mr. Shumway at Big Doofus (I know he won't put this up, but I'm giving it to him anyway)
Michelle at Morning by Morning

Rebekah at Diagonally Parked in a Parallel Universe gave me this award. The "You make my day award" and here's what it's about:
"The rules for the “You Make My Day” award are to re-present it to 10 people whose blogs bring you happiness and inspiration and make you feel happy about blog land.

Nicole at Humor Me
Debbie at This is the Life
Melissa at Life with Mikey
Sissy at Painting Love in the Perfect Light
Sarah at Carrot Tops are Green, Genius!
Kristen at Mighty Morphin Mama
Shay at Speilmom's Ramblings
Jeanine at Roots
Nicole at Mayhem and Miracles
Karen at The Rocking Pony
Rose at Starrs in Denver

I love you all!

A rainy day in March

It had been raining for a day and a half and it was cold. There was no where to park. But on this day, of all days, Sniz knew she couldn't be late.

She drove around and around the parking garage, finally finding a spot on the top level. Gathering the signs and making sure her kids had what they needed, she popped the umbrella and made her way to the little building that housed the elevator. Her youngest daughter hovered near her, trying to gain some of the umbrella's protection, but the other two children walked boldly , heedless of the rain or the wind that made their unzipped coats billow behind them.

His plane was delayed, but only by a few minutes. She helped her mother and sister line up all the children with their signs so that they spelled the words:


By this time, people were stopping. Many asked what was going on. When they heard about David coming home from Iraq, an odd bond began to form among them. Sniz heard the facts about David's deployment being discussed all around her. And she felt proud...proud to be an American, proud to live in a country where goodwill can still be found.

David's plane landed. Everyone nervously stood, holding signs or balloons or cameras, shifting babies from person to person while they waited.

He came around the corner at last! The kind strangers who had been drawn into the drama started to clap spontaneously. David dropped his knapsack. He opened his arms. His wife walked into them.

Sniz felt her eyes and throat begin to burn. Her mother jokingly whispered that when she first saw her son, she wondered if she would have a coronary. What would it be like to have a son go to war for so long? Sniz wondered. She hoped she never had to find out.

David turned to his little boys whom weren't even walking when he last saw them.



There were many hugs. There were many tears. There were many handshakes and well-wishes by strangers. On this rainy day in March, the boy from Indiana is home, at least for a little while.

R&R

My brother, David, gets home from Iraq tomorrow for 18 days of R&R. He's been there since July, so he hasn't seen his twin boys since they were 9 months old. They are 18 months old now. We are all going to the airport to meet his plane. I have been praying so much that he would be able to enjoy EVERY DAY because if it were me, I'd enjoy the first five, then spend the rest dreading the end...he has to go back to Iraq until the end of October. If you pray, please pray for his family. This separation has been harder than what I can say.

Sunday Scrappin'

Due to technical difficulties, I wasn't able to blog yesterday and I had such a fun Scrolling Saturday post, too! I guess you'll have to tune in next Saturday to read my well-written, witty, hilarious post! But for now, here's my Sunday Scrappin' offering.

I did 9 pages this week, the last five at my sis-in-law, Snizzle-Sis's, house last night, bringing my total to 59 for the year. Here's a few of them:

I used five different papers and two kinds of ribbon to make my own custom paper for these before I even began to scrap my pictures.


I don't know if you can tell, but this one is really dimensional. Those flowers and that pink frame have little bits of Styrofoam under them so they stand out. I've had those embellishments for years in my box and never thought of how to use them. But then I read how this one lady puts her own "kits" together with matching paper, ribbons, scraps, embellishments, etc, into a 12x12 bag and then brings them to scraps. Looking though my embellishment box, I thought they kinda matched the stuff I already had in the kit I was making, so I threw them in there. I'm glad I did.


I put buttons this one, but they don't really show up. I though it was a waste, but Snizzle-Sis told me that they add to the dimension of the pages, so it's all good!



This one was going to be a two-page layout, but I was able to get them all onto one, which is good since I printed a blog entry about that day to put on the other page and those are big! This page is crowded, but I still like it. Like my Snizzle-Sis says, the goal is to get as many pictures on a page as possible, and I got 6 pictures and a title on this one. When each year is approximately 100 pages, I can't spend much time or money on a page!

Bonus question: How long could you keep crafting without buying new supplies?
Answer: Without adhesive, I couldn't go much longer than a week...I go through that stuff like no one's business. But as for the rest, I could go a long time, although my pages wouldn't look nearly as good...I rely heavily on pattered paper and ribbon to do much of the work, and once I used up my current purchases and just had old stuff, my pages would look really plain.

Hope you all are having a great weekend!!!

picture advice?

Real quick question for my readers. I order photo prints a lot...usually 2-3 times a month. I've tried Shutterfly and Snapfish and wondered if there were any other good companies out there. When I googled about ordering photos, there were a couple of other companies that came up that I've never heard of. My husband suggested putting this question to all of you who might order pictures on-line (Most of the time I use the one hour photo printing at Costco and just pick them up by hand. The quality is good, but sometimes I don't like the way they crop, and I don't want to take the time to hand-crop several pictures on their software. Unfortunately, it's like that most of the places I've tried, something to do with a true 4X6 vs. the real size they are from my camera which is slightly larger than that. The exception is Meijer who crops differently, but they charge so much more per print that I just can't do it.) Thanks for any and all advice! :-)

Ignorance can be bliss

"We might need to go down to one car to save money now that gas is so expensive."

"No, Mommy. I would give up anything if we didn't have to do that. I would give up ballet."

"I'm not saying we're doing it for sure, just that Daddy and I are talking about ways to save money."

"You can't sell money, can you?"

"No, honey, we can't sell money."

"I'd sell my Heelies if they were in good shape, but they aren't."

"Thanks anyway, honey."

"I used to have five dollars, but now I only have one." Giggle, giggle.

Ah, the sweet ignor...I mean innocence of children--a time when the price of gas, or food, or houses or cars means nothing and responsibility is brushing your teeth and making your bed in the morning.

I need a fix

I know I need to write something and I know I've been tagged for 3-4 memes recently that I haven't done. I apologize to all the taggers. I'm usually such a play-along girl. I was also given a couple of awards, something I greatly appreciate and I'll pick those up soon! (Thanks to all my generous friends!) But right now I'm doing my darnedest to keep hopeful that spring is coming and I don't have much motivation for anything else. In fact, my pastime lately has become sighing and wishing for the sun. And every time I sigh, my 10 year old freaks out and asks me what's wrong, like the world is ending.

Oh wait, I know I did something yesterday. What was it? Oh yeah, I taught school to three kids who are dying for school to be over. In our read-aloud time, I started crying as I read about one of the characters, a slave girl in 1744, who dies and, as happens more than I'd like, I could barely read for crying. Then my 14 year old sun rolled his eyes and said, "You're crying again? They're just made-up people!"
I, of course, couldn't answer. I was too busy blinking back tears and clearing my throat.
And then he said, "Mom has a crying problem. She cries all the time."
And my ten year old said, "Leave her alone!"
There's nothing like the sound of children fighting over their mother's "crying problem". And you'd think the ensuing argument between them would distract me from my tears, but you'd be wrong.

But there's a ray of hope, folks. Two cardinals and several other birds came and ate at our birdfeeder today.

It's not S&W, but I'll take whatever I can get these days.

Sunday Scrappin'

I found a new meme called Sunday Scrappin' that looks like fun for the weekends when I don't have as much time to blog.

I like to scrapbook because it's something I can do that takes little or no mental energy, something I don't have much extra of right now. So by default, I'm a clean and simple scrapbooker. (Most of the time!) My goal is to make the pictures and journaling the focus, spend very little time or money per page, and basically get 'er done!

Anyway, my original goal was to do 200 pages this year, and I scrapped ten this week (I'm getting faster--I did them in only 3 and 1/2 hours), bringing my total to 50 pages. I want to stay current, so I'll do 2008 this year as well as complete 2003. I started scrapping last summer and I completed most of 2007 and all of 2002 last year. Each year consists of an average of 90-100 pages.

So I thought I'd post a few of the pages I did this week.

Bonus question (for the Sunday Scrappin meme): What on my craft supply wishlist and why?

I want paper, paper and more paper. Patterned 12X12 coordinating cardstock, to be exact. I buy lots of it when there's a good sale (I just bought 8 dollars worth at JoAnn's for 16 cents a piece), but I can never seem to have enough. I love to look at fabric, but there's no reason to buy it...so buying pretty paper gives me my fix. But my wish list is to have unlimited access, anytime, to any paper I want.

Is this the best South Carolina could do?

Melissa from Such Simple Pleasures and Coleen from Manners and Moxie started this cool new meme called Scrolling Saturdays where you post old posts from when your blog had one or two readers (like your mom) in the hopes they may get more love this time around. It's fun and I always have something to post on Saturday! Here's one from September 18, 2007

This is Caitlin Upton’s, Miss Teen South Carolina, interview for the 2007 National Miss Teen pageant.

I think this interview could be the best worst mistake of this young woman’s life.

1. Miss Upton was instantly skyrocketed to international fame in a matter of seconds and this will probably open numerous doors to her that wouldn’t be open to her before. The world now knows what she looks like, knows her name, knows her aspirations, even her college GPA (3.5). She has been on the Today show and featured in numerous magazines. And in this world where fame is so sought-after and difficult to achieve, that is quite a coup.
2. Part of being in the public eye is that (at least in this country) anyone can criticize you for anything. Look at when our president stumbles over a word.
3. Others may say it wasn’t a fair question, or how bad it would be if THEIR worst moments were taped. To that I say most of us don’t put on high heels and evening gowns or walk around on a stage wearing a bathing suit in front of a camera. No one made this girl enter this contest. I assume Miss Upton has spent many hours and a lot of money for training and wardrobe alone, to get where she is. She knew what she was doing---she knew there was an interview question. The pageant was in its rights to ask any question it wanted. Miss Upton was free not to answer it if she didn’t like it (or to not enter the pageant in the first place.) I’m sure many, many people in this world who are made fun of for something that is not their fault, would trade places with that beautiful young girl in a heartbeat.
4. Why don’t we feel as bad for all the public figures who are wrongly accused or misquoted or hated? Could it be because they don’t look like Miss Upton? Beauty trumps a lot of things and opens a lot of doors in this world.
   
   

Sometimes goofy, corny, stupid, embarrassing things accidentally come out of my mouth. It happens to some more than others, but we all have moments like that. They make life fun and interesting…unscripted. Some people are cruel---that’s not right. But sometimes what I say or what others say accidentally IS funny. That’s just a fact of life. When I do, my husband just laughs fondly and ruffles my hair. While that’s nice, I wish my “oops” moments landed me on the Today show.

Metamorphosis

The night he had chosen for his party turned out to be clear and warm. They sat side by side on the diving board, their bare toes just touching the cool pool water. Only the beat of the music could be heard out here. The lyrics were just a hazy part of the velvety night air.

“Go on your trip tomorrow and have a good time,” he said.

“I don’t know…you’re going to the doctor tomorrow.”

He smiled and absently rubbed his upper arm. “It’s nothing. Probably an infected mosquito bite. I’m sure the doctor will give me something for the itch.”

She bit her lip. He was the med student, after all. She supposed he would know.

But something in his voice…

“I think I should stay. Or at least wait a few days.”

“No. Your parents already paid for the airplane tickets. Changing them last minute would cost too much. You know that.”

“But I’ll be gone two weeks…” She trailed off.

“Once you’re there, you won’t even think of me.” He squeezed her shoulders playfully. “You’ll be meeting new people…and who knows? You might meet a new boyfriend.”

She knew he wanted her to laugh and protest that she’d never date anyone but him, but she couldn’t. She’d barely been out of high school a year; she was young and free and the world and all its possibilities were open before her. Besides, she and Mike had only been dating a few months; he might be older and ready to settle down, but for her, spending two weeks at Summit Ministries in Colorado with other college students from all around the country would be an exciting change.

She tossed her head and kicked some water into the air where the drops briefly shone in the dull light. “Okay,” she said and turned her thoughts to something else. They continued to talk about nothing in particular until it was quite late and most of Mike’s friends had gone home.

He walked her to her car and hugged her. She smiled at him, got in, and turned the key. Her headlights illuminated his figure as he stood staring after her, rubbing his arm.


Four Days Later

It wasn’t a mosquito bite. His voice on the phone yesterday had told her how serious it was.

“What’s wrong?”

“I guess I’m really sick.” His voice was stoic. “They say it’s Leukemia. The doctor didn’t even let me go home, just called an ambulance and sent me to the hospital. My mom had to bring my stuff.”

His words sent a pang of fear through her. Her life so far had been light-hearted. But this couldn’t be shrugged off.

And now she was on her way back home. She stared out the airplane window at the ground far below, hazy and beautiful, and tried not to be nervous. Mike was in isolation and visiting him would be complicated…she had no idea what to expect.

What could she say? How should she act?

But a few hours later she was walking down the wide, sterile hall of Methodist Hospital’s seventh floor. Mike’s sister saw her and called a nurse who led her into a small antechamber connected to Mike’s room. She had to carefully wash her hands and cover her clothes and body with a sterile robe, a cap, gloves, and a yellow surgical mask. She didn’t even have time to get nervous and soon she was pushing open the heavy door to his room.

Mike’s mom, a yellow blob with only her beautiful eyes showing above her mask, stood from the side of the bed. When she recognized Amy, she hugged her, then left the room, leaving Amy standing self-consciously by the door, unsure what to do.

She wasn’t clear about what she'd expected, but it wasn’t a healthy-looking Mike, big and awkward and uncomfortable in a hospital bed. With all her bulky lemon-colored trappings, she was sure she appeared much more bizarre.

He held out his hand. She let out her pent-up breath, and strode forward to take it, all insecurity gone.


Seven months later

The line wound through the building and spilled onto the sidewalk. It would take hours to get through. Mike had been popular and he had died so young. She glanced at Mike’s parents. His dad’s face was etched with sorrow, but it was Mike’s petite mother she was really worried about. The tiny woman was so tired and so wracked with anguish, Amy wondered if the fragile woman would ever recover.

But it had to be endured. She watched his mother hug another person in the line. The person mouthed condolences before moving on to speak to Mike's father and siblings, and Amy wondered if it were selfish to be glad she didn’t have to stand and greet all these people. She could just sit at the back of the room and smile weakly whenever someone nodded her direction.

From his seat next to her, Jimmy, Mike's best friend, handed her a sealed envelope. “Mike gave this to me a while ago and said to give it to you.” He smiled wanly. “I almost forgot.”

Amy’s hands trembled a little as she opened the card.

Dearest Amy,

I love the way your heart smiles

I love to see your face

I love how God’s light shines

From you upon my face

I love how you hold my hand

And tell me, “It’s all right.”

I love how I have no worries

And I can sleep all through the night.

Thanks Amy. Thanks for being there for me. You know just how to make me smile. I love how God lives in you, how God has used you to lift me. Now it’s my turn to tell you, “It will be all right.”

Love, Michael

She looked up. Her heart felt heavy. She felt older. But through the darkness, she saw a thread of light. A thread of hope.

One year later

Robert led Amy out into the sunshine and towards his car. This was only their first date, but looking at him now, listening to his voice as he shared his passions and his dreams, she thought again of those words, "It will be all right."

And it was.

The one in which they make a new craft

In Chick-Fil-A this morning, my friend Monica and I were talking, desperately trying to get adult words in between the littles who were constantly wanting our attention. Monica asked them to go to another table before proceeding to talk to me like mad as we tried to have some interaction that did not involve comforting a child who is crying for no reason or helping one count nine pennies and two dimes (sweaty from being clutched in a hot little hand), teaching phonetics, playing hand games, or helping someone eat their food. Interspersed in our mommy-time were sentences like these:

"Mom, we're talking and sissy's listening to us. Make her go away."

"How much cents is this?" (holding up a quarter)

"I'm starving." This was uttered AFTER breakfast was eaten.

Child: "Can we afford a refill?" Mom: "Yes, it's water. It's free."

"I ate all my cinnamon roll. Can I have a fudge bar when we get home?"

"I just got syrup all over my pants and the seat, but I'll clean it up." Yeah, right.

And my favorite of all was this one, uttered in great excitement. Monica had sent them back to their own table. We should have known something was going on when they were so quiet.

"We just made a fun craft!" Oh how I wish I had my camera with me. Water dripped of the sides of the table. The table was littered with straws, cups and trash, soggy food and wadded up, water-logged balls of grayish-white napkins. One child was on the table, one was standing on his chair, and one was on her knees. All faces were glowing with the joy of accomplishment. One of them proudly held up a wad of napkin that resembled paper mache before it dries. That or the world's largest spitball. She was so pleased and happy. "It was really fun, Mommy."

I bet it was.

I'm so pretty

It went down like this:

Daughter: "There's something wrong with your hair."

Me: "What?"

Daughter, rolling her eyes: "I'll fix it, Mom."

She tried, then sighed dubiously as if my hair was beyond help. "It looks sorta better now."

Then she patted me on the head like I was a kitty or someone in a nursing home. Um, yeah. It's like that.

I want a new drug, one that won't make me sick, one that won't make me crash my car or make me feel three feet thick

When I was in high school, I was so naive, I didn't even know there was a drug-culture and I couldn't have purchased or taken drugs even if I wanted to because I wouldn't have known the first thing about how to actually get them. Add to that the fact I was young and felt good most of time no matter how little sleep I got, what the weather was like, or what I ate. My body never let me down.

Well now, my body lets me down on a regular basis and so I listened when my friend told me about this "upper". It's cheap, although it's sometimes hard to come by, and even someone like me can get their hands on it.

And so the inevitable happened. I started using. It was subtle at first. I told myself I could stop any time I wanted to. But then if I didn't have it, I started experiencing "symptoms" of withdrawal---crying uncontrollably, irritability, snapping at my kids for no good reason, hatred of people like Myley Cirus and innocuous videos like "Madeline" and "Dora". I'm sure you've heard stories like mine before. Yes, it's sad, but I had somehow, without my knowledge, become an addict. This drug's street name is "S&W" (sunshine and warmth).

No wonder it's so addicting; S&W gives you energy and motivation...one shot of it, and you are doing things that you hadn't thought you could do for months. Garages get cleaned and organized. Sheds are gone-through, cars are hand-washed, meat is grilled, exercise is had as people ride bikes and hike and even jog madly through the sunshine-laden air.

Then there are some, like me, who just sit in it and soak it up like a sponge. Yesterday, I got a good long dose of this drug which I hope will stay in my system for a long time.

Those of you who live in places where this drug is more plentiful, don't tell me because I prefer to live in the fantasy that everyone else is suffering through this long, cold, dark S&W "dry-spell" along with me. Because I know there are many "silent" addicts like me. They are my neighbors; my friends. All those who came outside yesterday "en masse" to get a shot of it. It seems like it was the whole world. (Or at least my part of it.)

But I know that soon I will be "needing" again. I hope spring comes soon.

History

I read a statistic somewhere that most people don't know their great grandparents' names, let alone anything about their ancestor's lives.

But no generation has had access to technology quite like ours---digital cameras and high-quality video cameras are especially important in this area. Most of us have hundreds of pictures and videos of our family, something our great-grandparents didn't have.

Oooops. I interrupt our regularly scheduled program to tell you that I just agreed to let my 9 year old stay up until 2:24 AM. You know how when you're doing something (like blogging), you can tune things out and just start saying "Uh-huh. Sure. M-hmm" without knowing what's really being said? Um, yeah. That just happened to me. Excuse me while I backpedal tell the daughter I was just kidding....

OK, I'm back. Anyway, one reason I scrapbook is because it's very important for my children, but it is my hope that my books are passed down through my descendants....can you imagine having a scrapbook your great-great mother made? I try to journal lots of names and dates as well as memories. I save brochures, programs and ticket stubs. I even include blog entries if I'm doing a page about an event I wrote about. By looking at and reading our scrapbooks, people will really "know" our family.

I know I talk about my yearly scrapbooking goal so much that I am really annoying. I'm trying to be better about it. Oooops! I guess I just talked about it, didn't I? But at least if I bore you here, you can go look at something else. If I corner someone in real life, it's difficult to escape!

Anyway, my SIL Snizzle-Sis hosts a church "craft night" at her home every other Friday. This week MTOTHD and Wani were there too. I scrapped 5 pages that night. Add those to the page I'd already done at home, and I scrapped 6 pages this week:

Inner thigh blues--a scrolling Saturday post

Melissa from Such Simple Pleasures and Coleen from Manners and Moxie started this cool new meme called Scrolling Saturdays where you post old posts from when your blog had one or two readers (like your mom) in the hopes they may get more love this time around. It's fun and I always have something to post on Saturday! Here's one from this past summer...


Certain people are generally accident-prone. I am one such person. (Some might say I am clumsy, or as my husband says with diplomacy, "I lack grace".) Have you ever seen that Seinfeld episode where Elaine dances at her company party? That's me. It's all part of my plan to spread laughter and amusement where ever I go. So far, it's working.

My 13-yr-old son mows a lawn in a town about 15 minutes south of us. The last time I drove him to this job, we almost wrecked because a yellow and black bug flew in the open window of my van while I was driving. Being the level-headed gal that I am, I calmly flicked it away and continued on my way. Okay, okay, that's not exactly what happened. I kinda lost all sense of rationality and still marvel I was able to stay on the road without causing an accident. Especially with my son shouting, "It's on your foot! It's on your foot!" while making no attempt to leave the safety of his own seat. (He was a big help.)

Well, today I took him to mow again and this time I had my daughters with me. I dropped my son off and took the girls to the neighborhood playground. The girls had seen the teeter-totters as we passed and had never tried one. So when we got there, they immediately ran for them. I sat on a bench in the shade, of course. But after watching them struggle, I got the brilliant idea of getting on one side while the girls were together on the other. So I walked across the mulch, carefully putting my purse next to the railroad-tie edging, while my excited girls ran to one side of the teeter-totter and got on. The other side waited for me, high in the air. I approached it, confident of my youthful, teeter-tooter memories. "It's no big deal," I told myself. "Just press down on it until it's low enough to get on." After all, hadn't I just given experienced instructions to my girls on teeter-totter usage from my place on the bench?

Well, let me tell you, folks, this wasn't the teeter-totter from my memory. No, this was some new, sleek, metal monster that seemed to enjoy making it as difficult as possible to use it. So as I reached up to pull down my side of the teeter-totter to get it low enough to climb on, I found it slightly harder to do so than I thought. In fact, I struggled and grunted and stretched and after much effort, finally flopped awkwardly on the slick, rocket-shaped metal seat. Instantaneously, the thing flipped me up in the air and I slid forward with the speed and force of a boulder rolling down a hill. Instinctively, I clenched the stainless steel monster-rail with my thighs and tried desperately to grab onto something, anything, to keep from falling 8 feet to the ground, being catapulted over the girls' heads, or sliding down the metal bar to the center and damaging certain body parts. Unfortunately, there was scant time to put much thought into all of these options as I swung upside down, thighs still clenched to the evil thing, hanging awkwardly, amazed that this was happening to me, trying to ignore giggles coming from the girls. My arms and legs that were hugging the hard, unforgiving, unsympathetic metal slab, began to lose their grip and I fell to the ground in an ungainly heap. By this time, the giggles had turned into outright guffaws. (My children are so lucky. They have a mommy who's funny without even trying!) I stood up awkwardly, panting, and said sternly in my best mommy-voice, "Stay away from that thing! It's dangerous!" Then I stuck my chin in the air and said regally, "I think I'll just let you girls play while I watch." I walked back to the bench with as much dignity as I could muster, my inner thighs throbbing from hanging on to the stupid teeter-totter. "That's gonna leave a mark," I said to myself. Sure enough, my thighs are spotted with bruises like a dalmatian. But at least no one can say I don't go the extra mile to put a smile on my children's faces.