Since I don't blog on weekends, I have several posts stored up for you. They include:

What Happened on Friday ... Bedside Manners
What Happened on Saturday ... Night-Night, Liberty!
What Happened on Sunday ... No More Highchairs
What Happened on Monday ... Partido De la Sorpresa!
What Happened on Tuesday ... Lost and Found

So obviously, I need to have a really boring Wednesday, Thursday and Friday so that I can catch you up on my weekend.

We will commence with "Bedside Manners."

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I have just begun my seventh month of being pregnant, and I visited my doctor once again for the routine monthly checkup. Now, I am not intending to doctor-bash, so I will just tell you that I have never felt the warm fuzzies with this doctor. The only reason that I began seeing her was the fact that our regular family doctor no longer covers OB, so I needed to find someone. I called the hospital, and they told me that since Dr. X was new in town, she was looking for patients. I didn't know her, but I also didn't know any of the other doctors, so why not.

I now know why not.

After our first visit, Jeremy told me that he did not like her. He wanted me to return to the doctor that I had used with Liberty, but that doctor's office was 50 miles from my work, and after we moved when I was eight months pregnant with Liberty, it was incredibly inconvenient to drive all that way for a weekly appointment. (Not to mention the fact that the distance to the hospital made me hyperventilate when I thought of it.)

I am very thankful that the small hospital in our new town is only two minutes from my work and fifteen minutes from my house, so for that reason alone, I chose to stick with Dr. X. And I really liked her nurse.

Every month, I met with Dr. X, and it felt like we had never met before. Some people just have colder, stiffer personalities, and I assumed that was just her style. Plus, she had just graduated from medical school. I decided that she must be concentrating very hard on her job and establishing herself, so she did not have much effort left to pay attention to her patients as people. (Now that I typed that sentence out, I sound really stupid, but that really is what I thought.) I figured that she would gradually loosen up as she got more comfortable in her position, so I kept cutting her slack on her "bedside manner."

Jeremy lost it when she told us that she had never done a C-section before, that mine would be her first. We had an intense discussion at home. My argument was that every doctor has to have a FIRST at some point in their life, and if I refused to be her first, how would she ever get to second? Jeremy's argument was nobody is doing a first anything on HIS wife. (Which made me feel loved and special, but did not make me look for another doctor...although I was nervous. I'm not eager to be a guinea pig, after all.)

This month, at the beginning of the appointment, I asked her for Jeremy's FMLA paperwork that I had given her the month before to fill out. Last month, she had told me that she was too busy to fill it out at that time, and that she would have to give it to me at my next appointment. When I asked her this Friday for that paperwork, she looked at me blankly. I explained what I was talking about, and she told me "Oh, I must have lost it. Have your husband pick up another one from work, and I'll fill it out for you." She didn't even apologize or seem bothered. I sighed, but did not see any point in arguing with her.

We were halfway through our appointment, when I asked her conversationally, "When do we get to schedule the C-section? Is that something that can be done now, or do we need to wait until closer to the time?"

She mumbled something that I did not catch, so I repeated my question.

"When are you due?" she asked me.

Now, I don't know about you, but that is information that I expect my doctor to know. I mean, seriously, she was the one who gave me my due date in the first place. She was the one holding my file in her hand. I can understand if she forgot it, because she probably has lots of patients and why should she have their charts individually memorized, but when she is in my room, checking out my progress, I expect her to have brushed up on my chart.

Rebellion raised it's head, and I said, "In July." I didn't want to just TELL her the date. I wanted her to work for it...what am I paying her for?

"Oh. What day?" she responded.

"It's probably in my chart," I answered in a calm tone of voice as I nodded my head towards the folder in her hand.

"Hmm," she read the chart, "July 31st."

"Um, actually, last month you changed it to July 29th," I informed her, my confidence in her knowledge plummeting.

"Oh, 31st, 29th, I'm not worried about a few days. You're not very far along, anyway," she commented breezily.

Oh really?

"And I'm going to be on vacation at that time," she continued.

I waited for her to let me know who would be filling in for her while she was on vacation. She did not continue.

"So, will I get to meet the person who does my C-section beforehand?" I asked nervously.

She shrugged. "He'll probably call you." Her nose remained buried in my chart this entire time.

"Okay," I hesitated. "So should I set up my C-section through you, or through him?"

She closed my chart decisively, "Let just listen to the baby's heartbeat right now. We can talk about that later." She pulled the microphone from the nearby counter and approached my belly with a tube of jelly in her other hand. We listened together in silence to the heartbeat. "Sounds good," she said brightly as she wiped off my belly. I pulled my shirt down and watched her gather her things and walk towards the door. "I'll send Jenny in with your paperwork, and I'll see you next time."

"Wait, are we going to talk about the C-section?" I wondered.

She sighed and walked back into the room. I got the distinct impression that she had hoped I would have forgotten. "If now is a bad time to schedule it..." I began.

"No, no," she interrupted, and she sat down on the swiveling desk chair in the corner of the room. She pushed off with her foot, and the chair rotated until her back was facing me. She picked up the phone on the desk, dialed a number, and covered her mouth with her other hand. In a low pitched voice, she spoke into the phone, "Hi, this is Dr. X, and I have a patient here who insists on scheduling her C-section right now."

I listened in disbelief. Two thoughts popped into my mind (I just typed two thoughts pooped into my mind, which is what it seems my thoughts have been doing to me recently, but I corrected my spelling just for you. You should feel special.) 1. I did NOT insist! 2. Does she think I cannot HEAR her?!

She paused while the person on the other end spoke. "I know," she answered sympathetically, "But she just has to know. She's not even due until July 31st." Her tone of voice was distinctly snide.

I thought about leaving the room completely, disgusted and amazed at her rudeness, but instead I got up off of the examining table and walked over to where she was sitting. I sat in a chair so close to her that our knees were almost touching. She swiveled her chair so that her back was to me once again, and she spoke into the phone, "I know. I know." Her voice indicated that if she had to bear with my ridiculous request, then the other person would have to also. I do not know what the other person was saying, but judging from Dr. X's tone of voice, they seemed to be comrades in this burden of having to patronize me, since I was the PAYING CUSTOMER!

HELLO!

At that moment, I decided to switch doctors.

"Well, I'll make sure she understands that this is tentative." She emphasized the last word and glanced over her shoulder at me, then she hung up the phone.

A bright smile appeared on her face, and she warmly told me, "Your C-section is scheduled for July 25th." Her quick change in personality and tone of voice surprised me, and I wondered again, Did she think I couldn't hear her on the phone?

I thanked her and watched as she quickly left the room. I sat back in the chair, completely amazed at the rudeness I had just witnessed, and at a loss to explain how someone whom I had expected to show complete professionalism had turned into a high-school snot before my eyes.

The nurse, Jenny, walked into the room and sat down at the desk. She smiled at me and made conversation while she looked at the papers left for her by Dr. X. "Oh," she said in a puzzled voice, "It looks like you are scheduled for another glucose test. Did something happen?" (I just passed a glucose test last month.)

We discussed the fact that I had no clue what she was talking about, and she decided not to pursue the fact that she did not understand those orders either.

After leaving the hospital, I called the receptionist and asked her how I could go about switching doctors. My next appointment is in two weeks with Dr. Y. I've heard good things about him, so I am hopeful.

Honestly though, Dr. Y won't have to work hard to be an improvement!

And yes, Jeremy, you were right. This is the sentence that he has been waiting for, you know. :-)

I've mentioned before how I'm meandering my way through the Bible, and I have FINALLY broken through to Hezekiah.

I am so glad!

Every night, I read about one king after another who either ignored God in their lives or blatantly thumbed their noses at Him even to the point of sacrificing their children in the fire to an idol. How disgusting and horrible! Night after night, the kings parade past my eyes, "and in the fourth year of what's-his-name, so-and-so became king, and he followed in the ways of his father and did not follow in the ways of David before him...and he killed fifty thousand people who may or may not have been aspiring to the throne...and he did evil in the sight of the Lord...and he led the children of Israel away from God...and he died...and everything else that he accomplished in his lifetime is written somewhere else."

But Hezekiah! Oh, Hezekiah! He loved God. He had a real relationship with God, not just an I'll-do-right kind of thing going on. And how happy I felt as I read his life. I loved how he brought the bad guy's letter to God and spread it out before Him. He didn't just say, "Hey God, I've got a bad guy on my back, and he said this." No, he took the letter to God and said, "Here, You read it. What do You think about this?" They were friends.

I loved it!

I know I've got books and books ahead of me involving horrible captivity and abused prophets. But for now, Hezekiah made me happy!

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

My mom just called me. A movie called The Informant starring Matt Damon is being shot in my home-town, Decatur, Illinois RIGHT NOW! My dad is doing some construction work at the mall where some of the scenes are being shot, and someone asked him to donate his truck for a scene because it was made in the 1980's, the time-frame that they are shooting in.

My brothers and sisters were at the mall this weekend, and they reported that it is all dressed up for Christmas, including a real Santa Claus village for the movie.

My youngest brother, Pete, asked my mom yesterday if there would be any shooting and car chases, and she said, "That's probably not how it really happened, but it's a movie, so they could put some in if they thought it was too boring." Today, my sixteen year old brother, Zach, reported that they are in fact shooting a car chase scene today and have several streets blocked off.

My oldest brother, Nate, bears a startling resemblance to Matt Damon. The resemblance is so strong that Jeremy and I had trouble concentrating on the Bourne movies because we kept exclaiming over Nate/Matt's facial expressions that are so familiar. Nate's wife Suzy also struggles with the similarities between her husband and Matt Damon. Mom and I laughed over the fact that thankfully, Nate and Suzy live in Ohio, so there is no danger that Nate will be mobbed for his autograph while walking down the streets of Decatur, Illinois!

The movie is all about intrigue and deception that occurred years ago at the biggest employer in town, ADM, where I worked for two summers. So I am excited to see if I can find my office, or recognize family members or former co-workers as extras!

Seriously, how cool is that?

Instead of Tulip Timing, I spent the weekend nursing Liberty back to health. When I picked her up from Chris's house around noon on Friday, I discovered gunk oozing from both of her eyes. Yes, I thought you'd like to read that.

I took her to our doctor, but his office was closed for Tulip Time. I took her to the clinic that operates out of the local hospital, where I was informed that all of the doctors had taken off for Tulip Time. A float nurse was on call, and Liberty and I waited patiently in the seating area for her to arrive.

Well, I waited patiently; Liberty climbed onto every available chair, then began joyfully stepping from chair to chair. Thankfully, all of the other patients had also taken the day off for Tulip Time, and we were the only ones in the entire hospital it seemed.

By the time Jenny arrived to see Liberty, my supposedly sick daughter was turning somersaults in the middle of the floor and laughing hysterically every time she landed. She appeared on the verge of death, really.

Jenny gave me a questioning look, "Are you sure she's sick?" She asked.

"No, but I thought with the fungus growing out of her eyes that she might be starting pink eye, and I wanted to catch it quickly."

Jenny nodded in agreement and proceeded to check Liberty's eyes, ears, nose and throat. "Wow!" she commented after peering into one of Liberty's ears. "This one is severely infected."

"Hmm, so is this one," she stated after looking into the other ear. She frowned thoughtfully as Liberty attempted to monkey walk up my body. Perched on my shoulders, Liberty grinned happily at Jenny. "You'd never guess that she was sick just by watching her!" Jenny observed in amazement.

That's my girl.

A double ear infection and double conjunctivitis diagnosis later, we stopped at the Pharmacy to pick up our prescriptions. Liberty entertained the ladies behind the counter as we waited, and they told me when I picked up the prescription that she was their favorite customer.

In the checkout line, three different cashiers called out "Hi, Liberty! It's good to see you again!"

My 18 month old waved back and cheerily greeted them with a wave and a happy "Hi!"

It seemed a shame to miss out on the Friday and Saturday festivities for a child who looked like she would love it all, but I'm glad that we were able to do a lot of activities on Thursday and that she got to watch the lighted parade Thursday night.

Now, if I could only get another chance at the homemade root beer. Oh well, I'll just have to wait for next year...and this time, I will know to visit the Market first and often!

All these years (four) of Tulip Timing, and I have never been to the Market! Most of the Tulip Time activities are centered around the Town Square, and although many people have recommended that I visit the Market three blocks west of the square, I have never done so.

Yesterday, while Jeremy, Liberty and I ate supper (Kimmie was off gallivanting with some friends), our pastor walked by with a bottle of "Grandpa's Homemade Elixir." I asked him what it was, and he informed me that it was HOMEMADE ROOT BEER!!!!!!

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I cannot pass up homemade root beer! "Where did you get that?" I eagerly inquired.

"At the Market."

I looked SIGNIFICANTLY at Jeremy, who immediately understood my non-verbal communication. MUST GO NOW!

I left my cheese-fries and beef burger behind and jumped straight up off the picnic table bench.

Just kidding. I would never leave cheese-fries behind.

Once we finished eating (and hosed off Liberty) we walked waddled to the Market. When we arrived three hours later (What? You don't eat fifty different fried foods when there's a party in town?) we were astonished at all of the booths, activities and FOOD that we had never found before.

Jackpot! Jeremy hissed to me as we passed a CHEESE CURDS booth. There aren't ANY cheese curd booths on the Square (and they call this Iowa)! We had been puzzling over this missing booth for FOUR YEARS, and now we find out that it has been in the Market all this time. We did more wandering, finding more and more wonderful booths, until without warning, many of the tents started tying down their flaps.

"What's going on?" I asked one owner. "Closing time," he responded.

"Closing time?" I turned to Jeremy, "But it's only 8:00! The night is young!"

"So is our daughter," he pointed to Liberty who had been running non-stop all day long. She was leaning back in her stroller, content to view the world through half-closed eyelids.

"Impressive. Now, if we only had Tulip Time every day..." I wished. "But I haven't found the homemade root beer, yet."

I stopped to ask a nearby booth-manager if he knew where the root beer was. "Oh, somewhere off that way," he gestured vaguely. "At the complete opposite corner of the Market."

"Oh well," Jeremy gave up quickly. "We'll never get there in time."

"Oh yes we will!"

I waddled faster.

We arrived at the booth just in time to find a cleaned off table and tent flaps going down on all sides.

"Wait!" I cried out, and reached imploring hands towards the proprietor. "I heard you had homemade root beer."

"That's right," he said proudly. "And we even have a homemade song to go with the root beer."

"What size would you like?" his wife chimed in.

Jeremy and I looked at each other. "Give me the biggest size you've got!" I stated boldly.

"Oh no!" I heard Jeremy groan under his breath. The lady laughed. "We have a two gallon jug for $32.25. Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Oh. Uh, no." We ended up buying two large glass bottles with really cool stoppers for $5.00 each. And while the lady and her brother filled the bottles from a keg, the husband serenaded us with an opera-like rendition of his homemade song and its several verses. His voice had great projection, and many passers-by stopped to stare. I loved it!

We are definitely going back today for a re-fill on our bottles and to explore the rest of the Market that we've missed out on all these years.

Tulip time has finally arrived! So many food items call out to me, so I have developed a plan of attack:

Vetbollen - 9:00 AM mid-morning snack with Craig
Brought lunch from home to save money.
Off work at noon.
Poffertjes - 2:30 PM mid-afternoon snack with Liberty
Supper - 5:30 PM with Jeremy, Kimmie and Liberty (I haven't decided what I'm going to eat yet. Too many choices, and the baby hasn't made up her mind.)

Tomorrow
More Vetbollen - 9:00 AM mid-morning snack with Craig.
Something on a stick - Lunch
Off work at noon.
Frozen cookie dough - 2:30 PM mid-afternoon snack with Liberty
Poffertjes to go - on my way home

Saturday
Garage sales! (The city-wide garage sale is also this weekend in a nearby town...what were they thinking???)

That is what my baby has been up to for the past few hours, and I'm having fun watching her belly hop.

I lean back in my desk chair and watch the outline of my tummy. It randomly jumps and wiggles like an animated Jell-o Jiggler.

It's lots of fun to watch and even more fun to feel from the inside.

Now, if I could just figure out how to get my belly to stop jiggling once she is born...a way that doesn't involve diets or exercising.

Hey, a girl can dream!

My friend Evelyn's husband had pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital last week, so my other friend Mary K and I decided to pay them a visit yesterday afternoon. We agreed to meet in the hospital lobby at 4:30 PM and walk to Rex's room together. However, hospital construction workers had other plans for us.

I left work around 3:45 to pick up Liberty and Kimmie and drive over to the hospital. There have been several town announcements regarding the temporary parking situation and alternative entrances to the hospital due to construction over the last month or so, but I have had no plans to visit the hospital for any reason. Therefore, I have not paid much attention to that information.

As I drove past the town square, I recognized Mary K walking towards a row of shops. I waved, but she did not notice me. I continued on my way to pick up Liberty, and I thought about where Mary K could possibly be headed. That row of shops includes a shoe store, meat market, bakery, Christian bookstore, sewing store, gift shop, home decorating shop, along with a cafe and other miscellaneous businesses. Keeping in mind that we were about to visit a friend in the hospital, I concluded that she must be stopping off at the Christian bookstore to pick up a card or a small gift. I enjoy puzzles, so I looked forward to meeting up with her at the hospital and finding out if my deduction was correct.

Liberty began dancing when I showed up at Chris's house to take her with me. She and I danced in circles together, and Chris told me how Liberty had tried to repeat every word that one of Chris's daughters had used that day. We laughed and talked for several minutes. Kimmie called to ask if she could go to her friend's house to work on a science project instead of going to the hospital with us. I agreed, and Liberty and I drove over to the hospital alone, singing at the top of our lungs all the way there.

Signs posted at the regular front entrance to the hospital guided me around the building to a back parking lot where Liberty and I parked. We entered through the back door and found a pleasant, smiling lady seated at a temporary desk. I told her who we had come to visit, and she immediately told me his room number. This surprised me. I had expected her to have to check her computer or call someone to find that information.

Small town. Stop being surprised, Missy. I told myself with a grin. Then I decided to further test her brain. "My friend Mary K is supposed to meet me here. Do you know if she's already come?" Without any hesitation, the receptionist responded, "She hasn't been here yet. Are you going to wait for her, or just go on up to see Rex and Evelyn yourself?"

"I'll wait." I decided. Liberty and I walked over to the waiting area. An older lady with curly white hair smiled at Liberty, and Liberty piped up with a bright, "Hi!" and a huge smile before running to the three wheelchairs parked against the wall. She happily climbed up and down in the chairs, stopping to greet cheerfully any person who entered the waiting area. She also made sure that she told them "Bye!" and waved if they appeared to be leaving. Of course, she was a big hit with everyone there.

Around 4:50, I decided that Mary K must have found another way in, and Liberty and I trekked up to Rex's room. Liberty LOVED traveling in the elevator. Her eyes grew wide with wonder when the floor felt like it was dropping out from beneath us, and the reassuring clunks and vibrations of machinery caused her to look at me for an explanation. I so enjoy hanging out with her!

Liberty stopped at every doorway and called, "Hi!" to each room's inhabitant. Some did not notice her, but the ones who did smiled and weakly waved back. At first, I worried that she would bother the patients, but I quickly realized that she was doing a great job of bringing joy. At Rex's room, we paused in the doorway and looked around. Evelyn was not there, and Rex appeared to be sleeping in his chair with the TV on.

"Hi!" Liberty called, but Rex did not stir. "Hello," I said cheerfully and knocked on the metal door jam. Rex did not stir. We took a few tentative steps into his room. I cleared my throat. "Hi, Rex." I tried again. No response. I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. Would it be better to wake him up or let him sleep?

That's a no-brainer. In my house, I would ALWAYS want someone to LET ME SLEEP!

Together, Liberty and I tip-toed out of the room. The nurse at the end of the hall waved gaily at us as we passed her again. "That was an awfully quick visit." She commented, "Who did you see?"

"Rex," I answered, "But he is asleep, and Evelyn wasn't there."

"Evelyn's not there? That's unusual, she's probably just gone for a short walk. She'll be right back, and I know she'll be sorry that she missed you. As for Rex sleeping, he doesn't need to sleep when visitors are here. He's got all night long to sleep. You just march right in there and wake him up." She commanded us.

I hesitated.

"I'll wake him for you," she stated as she stood up from her desk chair. She quickly led the way back to Rex's room, and Liberty and I scurried to catch up.

"Re-ex!" she sang out loudly as she passed the threshold to his room. "You have visitors!" She knocked loudly on the door, then the wall, then the foot board of the bed.

Rex's head started up from his chest, and he shakily raised himself in his chair. "Hi," his gravelly voice sounded from behind his lips. He cleared his throat.

Liberty stared at him and immediately her thumb popped into her mouth. "Say 'hi', Liberty," I instructed, fully expecting a cheerful sound to emanate from her tongue.

Silence.

"Liberty, are you going to say hi to Mr. Rex?" I asked.

She stared in silence.

She remained silent and immobile the entire time we chatted in his room...until she found his pink, plastic water pitcher resting on the rolling table. She began climbing onto the bed in order to reach the pitcher full of water, and I had to drag her repeatedly back down to the floor. Then she stood quietly in the middle of the room until I had been lulled into a false sense of security. Without warning, she dashed out of the door and was halfway down the long hallway before I could catch up with her.

I scooped her up and brought her back, telling her that she needed to stay inside the room. As soon as her feet touched the floor she had flown out of the door again and down the hall. I retrieved her. This time telling her firmly, "No. You stay here with Mommy and Mr. Rex." She complied.

For 28.3 seconds.

Which, if you are counting, is enough time for me and my pregnant belly to plop ourselves back down into the comfy chair and become unwary because Liberty is usually pretty obedient. But who's counting?

Eventually, Evelyn breezed into the room, and she and Liberty got along famously. This gave my now sweaty body a chance to dry off and resume a normal breathing pace.

When we got up to leave, Evelyn pointed to a plastic bag sitting on the bed and said, "Don't forget your bag."

"Oh, I thought it was your bag," I responded. "It was here when Liberty and I arrived."

Curiously, Evelyn and I peered into the bag. It contained goodies from the bakery on the town square, and suddenly, TRUTH hit me!

"Mary K has been here!" I gasped. "She must have come up before we did, and she left this package of goodies for you and Rex. He must have been sleeping when she showed up, and you were gone." I told Evelyn all about our plans to meet in the (front) lobby, and how they were thwarted by the posted signs that ordered us to go to the back. "She must have found a way to sneak into the front." I surmised. I could not wait to get home and call Mary K to verify my theory.

Over the phone later that night, Mary K and I giggled as we realized we had missed each other by just a few minutes on our ways in and out of Rex's room, and we decided next time not only to synchronize our watches, but also to pick a better rendezvous point.

So sorry to my VAST supply of readers who have been left hanging...or drowning as DeAnn wittily pointed out.

A few questions to answer before I blog:

1. Our baby is a girl.
2. I did not venture out into the rain. My wimpy toes refused to leave the warm office.
3. I have considered putting a poll up on the blog just for fun to show what baby names we are considering, but I don't know how to do that. (If any of you know, please tell me.)

And now on to my blog...

I am really enjoying today. I wore sandals again because I have die-hard summer-itis. The weather man told me in the car this morning that it's supposed to be around 29 degrees this afternoon. So yeah, great choice made once again by the amazing Missy. Please call me when you are dressing in the morning, and I can help you choose "what not to wear."

However, from inside, it looks nice and warm. The sky is a beautiful, bright blue dotted with cotton balls, the sun shines merrily through the lace curtains on my office windows, creating dancing patterns of joy on the desk and floor.

Liberty presented me with a surprise the other day. I changed her diaper and found a metal barrette that had swum its way through her intestines. The paint had detached from the barrette and formed a secondary barrette shape reminiscent of a snake and its newly shed skin. I stared at the foreign object in disbelief and at first wondered if she might have stuffed it into her diaper manually. Then I realized that she was wearing a diaper, a onsie, pants and a shirt, and that she had not been out of my sight long enough to lodge a barrette underneath all of those layers without my noticing. I concluded that she must have swallowed the barrette, but how long ago, I am uncertain! I've been keeping a close watch on all of our hair accessories since then, and I have found that she has a preference for the taste of those metal barrettes on her tongue. We've started joking that she must have a copper or iron deficiency! (I wonder what type of metal those things are made out of.)

This week leads up to Tulip Time in our town, and I am so excited! Already the strains of the high school band practicing outside have floated to my ears through the window. I dream of poffertjes, vetbollen, frozen cookie dough and hot fries loaded with cheesy sauce. I remember colorful costumes and clomping wooden shoes as they dance in the middle of the street and buckets of water splashed onto the pavement just before the lighted parade marches through town at twilight. I anticipate new adventures and silly snippets of conversations overheard and Liberty's wonder at a new experience. She was only nine months old during last year's Tulip Time. I can't wait to see her face as she witnesses the party and the people this year!

Imagining lush, velvety, green grass in my front yard makes me sigh happily and smile at the rain drops falling, falling, falling from the sky.

I want to explore the world outside of the office for lunch even though I brought a lunch from home, but Jeremy's truck wouldn't start (due to the rain) so he has my van today...and I wore sandals because this morning, I couldn't stand the thought of imprisoning my feet in enclosed shoes. Now, I think of the warmth and comfort of said enclosed shoes, and I recant my earlier position.

So...

Do I or don't I venture out into the cold, wet world in search of lunch?

My growling tummy will determine the answer.

Ah, a slightly drizzly day here in Iowa, the land of a thousand weathers. Slept last night with the heat off and a window open. So lovely! And Jeremy even rubbed my back in the middle of the night when he came home. Aahhhhhh!

I am extremely hungry. I believe I will stop to eat my lunch right now.

Well, I'm back. On Tuesday, I cooked a turkey in the crock pot for supper. That turned out to be the easiest turkey ever. I plopped it in, still frozen even, in the morning, and when we returned that night, supper was finished. Moist, delicious turkey that fell apart when touched. Mmmmm! (one of Liberty's favorite new words).

Yesterday, I had a turkey sandwich for lunch, and today, I shredded the turkey, added some mayo, a touch of mustard and scooped it onto a warm, leftover biscuit. The only thing missing was a lettuce leaf and a tomato, but it was still wonderfully good. I'm munching on sliced apples sprinkled with cinnamon right now.

Statements are completely finished: free at last, free at last! I peered at my calendar this morning with a curious sensation, wondering what in the world I would do with my statement-free day, and I found many items stacked up to be worked on. I prioritized them, and now I am ignoring them.

Just kidding.

I have been slowly checking them off my list, and it just feels good to meander through the problems one at a time.

I gave Liberty her first dose of allergy medicine last night, and I expected to hear her breathing deeply and un-obstructively over the baby monitor last night, but instead I heard her wake several times to cough. This morning, her nose was coated in a lovely layer of crusted...well, you know. I was sad to see this, and I wonder if the allergy medicine has to build up in her system before it starts working?

She cried this morning when I dropped her off at the babysitters. I wanted to cry too. Instead, I gave her a big hug and told her fervently, "Liberty, I love you very much." She quickly calmed down after that, and smiled her famous Liberty smile. Then she waved at me from the safety of her sitter's arms, "Bye-bye!" she said happily.

Wow, that was abrupt.

So I smiled and waved back at her.

Kimmie will be graduating next year. This reality hit me suddenly the other day when the school sent a paper home requesting that I sign off on her classes for her senior year of high school.

Her senior year of high school! This is not right.

I told her so, and she wanted to know why. "Well, because it means my baby is leaving me." She laughed and answered, "I've only been here two years."

"I know," I sniffed, "but it feels like you've always been here."

She soberly replied, "I know. It is hard to believe, isn't it?"

Oh sigh. I wanted to end on a happy note....although, in reality, Kimmie's graduation is a happy note.

Hmm, what else?

Jeremy and I are struggling to pick the right middle name for our new baby. We have a first name just about solidified, but of course it depends on finding a middle name that flows along with it. My biggest problem is I don't choose names based only on whether I like them or not. I want my children's names to have meaning so that one day I can sit down with them and say, "I named you this because these are the types of things I want to be important in your life." I currently have two middle names that I really like, but Jeremy isn't quite sold on them. He is looking for light, fairy-sounding names, but he hasn't yet suggested one that he really likes. So we continue to ponder...

I can finally see the light, and I'm heading straight towards it.

At the end of each quarter, we (or rather I) create all of the quarterly statements by hand. Right now, I have only nine statements left to create and mail, and I can feel that uplifting sensation of almost-doneness. (Hee! Now, don't you like that word?) Instead of plugging away and postponing my blogging until the statements are finished, I decided to take a quick break and just WRITE!

I'll finish the rest of the statements this afternoon...I hope.

Today is such a gorgeous day! I dressed Liberty in cute jeans and a long-sleeved play shirt so that she could dig in the sandbox at Chris' house, and while I dressed her, I imagined spending my day in the sandbox too. How fun it was to be a kid! No work. No kids. No responsibilities.

Of course, now I enjoy my life more than I did then, so I'm not wishing to go back. I would like to have just one day, though, to spend in the sandbox.

But it's okay. I'll settle for the joyfulness of seeing the light at last!

My boss Craig is so VERY Dutch: a term which has become synonymous in my mind with extreme thriftiness.

Exhibit A:

This town has an endearing tradition of handing out funeral cards to all of the businesses in town whenever someone has passed away. Almost every day, the little bell above our front office door jingles and the visitor sings out "Funeral Card" in a cheerful way. Sometimes, Craig and I will poke our heads out of our offices to greet the card deliverer and sometimes we just holler "Thank you!" from our desks. Eventually, one or the other of us will wander up to the front desk to read out loud the newest card deposited there. Since Jeremy and I have only lived near this town for two years, most of the time Craig has to fill me in on who the person is and who their various family members are. Although, recently, I have been happy to be able to identify some last names myself and connect them to other last names that I recognize. (Morbid, I know.) As clients arrive, they invariably stop to read the card and to comment on the deceased person or the family members of the deceased person.

"Oh, I see Eva finally died. She's been in the hospice house for several years now. I wonder what her son is going to do with his time? You know he spent most of it by her bedside. We're going to need to stop by and check on him in the next couple days. He's a gardener, isn't he? I think if we brought him a few cuttings from our garden, it might help him fill in some time while he gets used to life without Eva around now."

I love listening to the stories townsfolk can tell about each other at this time, and I especially love listening to the care in their voices for their neighbors and friends.

Most funeral cards show a picture of the recently deceased along with basic stats like age, surviving family members' names, sometimes a tidbit of information about their life, date and time of memorial service and burial, where you can send money/flowers/memorial donations.

The first few times when Craig handed me miscellaneous notes about a client scribbled on the back of a funeral card I was taken aback. How should I react? Shouldn't that card be reverenced somehow? Now that I am used to opening files and finding funeral cards with scribblings on the back, it doesn't affect me so abruptly. I have to smile, amused at the infernal thriftiness of these Dutch, but it also seems respectful in it's own way to re-use these cards as scrap paper. I suppose I have to explain that thought process.

First, the very fact that the cards are handed out brings you face to face on a daily basis with the meshing of life and death. Death becomes not so remote, instead it is treated as an on-going part of life. You grieve. You comfort your neighbors. You face the details. You get through the rough spots together. You move on slowly and naturally.

Second, they are DUTCH, and the very best way to celebrate their life is to recycle their funeral card so that they are still productive and useful even after they have passed on. Maybe that is way over thinking (which is what I'm best at), but it makes sense to me.

It is right, it is respectful, and you have to admit -- it is funny!

I have so many things to tell you, but my life's activity level has suddenly increased. I will be back soon; I promise!

I have just witnessed the all-time most anticipated, small town show-down in history! And it completely lived up to it's potential.

There are two people who live in this town, I will call them Fred and Ginger. I had no idea that they knew each other until they both came into our office today. (Although, I am learning not to be surprised; most of the folks in town know each other fairly intimately.) Ginger was on her way out when Fred walked in.

You will need some background:

Fred, rambling, meandering, a little over six feet tall, is the ultimate small-town busy-body. He gathers personal information from townsfolk at shops and on sidewalks all over town and regurgitates that information wherever he happens to land next, along with a fair dose of his own insight on the matter. He never seems to have anything better to do, or any other place where he needs to be. I look forward to his visits because impossible things pop out of his mouth. He is capable of insulting every single person in town, but he does not do this out of malice. He just says what he thinks. He has a very strong opinion on every action and every personality, and he is not afraid to share his opinion loudly with whomever he happens to be near. He does not expect agreement; he doesn't seem to need approval. He's just talking. He frequently stops breathing so that he can tell his stories without self-interruption, and it is virtually impossible for anyone else to interrupt. From time to time, a word or question or phrase can be interjected quickly into his conversation if timed precisely, and he will steamroll over that opinion, or address it in an aside and move right back to his subject. Leaving during his conversation cannot be done; he follows. Politely telling him that you have other work to do means nothing; he will brush your work aside and tell you that you are working too hard anyway. He is unstoppable, unpredictable, uncouth, and completely lovable in a twisted sort of way.

I must be twisted.

Ginger, petite, feisty, no-nonsense, gets her business done quickly and efficiently. And heaven help the person who does not handle their end of her affairs just as efficiently. Ginger also has strong opinions and does not hesitate to share them if it pertains to a particular subject, but she rarely takes time to dawdle. Her opinions are limited to the subject at hand. She is blunt and precise and will quickly put you in your place if she feels that you are not in your proper place, but I have also learned that she is nice. Her exterior protects an interior that is mushier than expected. I have grown to like her, and I suspect that many others in town have also.

Fred walked into our financial office as Ginger was walking out. They greeted each other warmly. Fred started his conversation as he always does, personally: "Are you here getting your taxes done?"

Ginger did not hesitate at all or seem taken aback, "I don't think that's any of your business, Fred," she stated frankly.

"Well, I'm just asking," he sighed but did not seem offended. "So are you getting your taxes done?"

"No, I am not."

"Well, have you gotten them done yet? You know April 15th is coming up very shortly. It creeps up, you know. First thing you know, it's January and the snow is falling and you think, 'Oh, I've got plenty of time,' and then you wake up one day and it's the middle of April. Snow is still falling because we've just had such an awful winter this year, but even with the snow, it is the middle of April, and what are you going to do? You'd better hope you have all of your receipts and such with you and in order." He paused, "You do have all of your tax papers in order, don't you, Ginger?"

She just looked at him with her lips pressed closely together. I tried to analyze her expression, was she upset, angry, bored? I don't think so. She seemed to be waiting him out.

He only waited three seconds for her to answer. When she did not offer any information, he tried a different tact. "So, how is your wonderful son these days?"

I watched her facial features soften, and her voice was proud as she answered, "You've got it right, he's a wonderful son." She adeptly did not volunteer any more information.

"I saw him this past December at the barbershop. He must have been in town for the Christmas holidays. It must have been wonderful to have him home again. Where is he living now?" Fred waited two seconds, and after receiving no answer pressed on. "The last I heard he was living in ________ City. Is that right? That's what he told me anyway."

Ginger responded shortly, "He ought to know where he lives. He's the one living there." She edged toward the front door and put her hand on the doorknob. "I'm on my lunch break, so I need to get back."

"Wait, I want to know more about what's going on with you," Fred spoke up quickly. "Will your son be coming home for Tulip Time in May? I wonder if he will bring a girl home with him someday. Why are you trying to leave? I just want some information."

"You are nosey, Fred."

"Well, is that any way to talk to a fellow citizen? I'm just small-town gossip in action," he defended himself in a surprised tone of voice. "You can't tell me that you don't gather information where you work. You know that everyone goes up there, and they just have to chat and share. I've got it a lot harder than you do, because I have to go to the information instead of having the information come to me." He truly sounded sorry for himself.

Ginger and I laughed loudly at his confession, and Ginger offered a small tidbit. Maybe she felt sorry for Fred. "My son said that he was bringing a girl home." She opened the front door slightly and a sliver of sunlight sliced its way up her body starting at her shoe. Fully poised to walk out, she was halted with Fred's next onslaught.

"I hope you know what you are going to cook when they arrive. Boys now-a-days have it so easy. They just depend on others to do their cooking for them. It's too bad you never taught your boy how to cook for himself, Ginger. Whatever poor girl he ends up with is going to have to slave over a hot stove for him night and day, and she won't thank you for that, I warrant. If you..."

Ginger loudly interrupted, "And who cooked for you all these years, Fred?"

"Well, you've got me there, okay," Fred agreed good-naturedly. "For the earliest part of my life, my mother did all my cooking, but the tables turned rather rapidly, and I've cooked six years for my nieces, 10 years for my father, 10 years for my mother, that's 26 years, right there. You know, life doesn't always turn out the way you think it will, and you just have to roll with the punches. You have to hunker down and live it out in the trenches. You just have to play with the cards life deals you, and you can't complain, okay."

Ginger nodded, emphatically agreeing with Fred's assessment of life.

"I just think it's too bad that you cooked for the boy all those years. You've spoiled him, you know. How is he ever going to survive on his own if you keep on cooking for him."

I personally am not sure how this argument applied to Ginger's son, because he has been living on his own in a completely different town for many years now, but that did not stop Fred from criticizing Ginger's child-rearing skills and her son's survival skills.

Ginger took it all in stride, which is what most people do with Fred's rambling criticism. She kept leaning towards the doorway, about to take a step out when Fred would bring up another subject with renewed vigor. Finally, she looked him in the eye and shouted over his soliloquy.

"Fred, I'm leaving now. Good-bye!"

She walked out of the office while he finished his sentence.

Then he turned to me...

Okay, I am obviously a little slow, because it has taken me from Judges to I Kings to finally catch on to something that God has been repeatedly trying to show me, but I've finally got it!

Right now, my devotions are in I Kings, particularly about Jereboam, the revolutionist who stole the kingdom from Solomon's son, Rehoboam, and I read something that I had never noticed before. I knew that God had "raised an adversary" in Jereboam, and I knew that it was completely God's plan for Jereboam to take over most of the kingdom, but the fact that God made a promise to Jereboam to give him and his descendants the kingdom perpetually just like He had promised David earlier, surprised me.

God did not just promise David that privilege immediately. David had been king for a while before God said, "Hey, I like you. You've done a good job, and you've maintained a relationship with Me. I'm going to make this promise to you." But with Jereboam, God did things differently.

Who was Jereboam? He was one of King Solomon's officials. He was a young man who supported his widowed mother by working for Solomon. He apparently was a wise man and a hard worker, because Solomon was impressed with him and promoted him to being over the entire labor force. One day, while Jereboam was traveling to another job site, a man came up to him and told him that God wanted to give most of the kingdom to him. That is when God made the dynasty promise. "If you do whatever I command you and walk in obedience to me and do what is right in my eyes by obeying my decrees and commands, as David my servant did, I will be with you. I will build you a dynasty as enduring as the one I built for David and will give Israel to you." I Kings 11:38.

This surprised me. I stopped and thought about it. This means that Jerry had a relationship with God prior to being chosen as the next king, and that relationship was arguably a strong one.

So if he had such a strong relationship with God before he became king, and he had such a great promise for the future if he maintained that relationship, why would he decide to set up golden calves for Israel to worship instead of God?

Easy. Once he became king, he began relying on himself to protect his kingdom. He decided that God wasn't strong enough to do it. Logically, those calves were a great strategy on his part because it kept the Israelites from traveling to his rival's kingdom to worship God. But, also logically, God gave Jerry the kingdom, and God promised Jerry a dynasty. Doesn't that imply loss prevention on God's part?

I think God is prodding me to depend more on Him in my daily decisions and actions. There isn't one looming thing that I have not handed over to Him, but my constant little actions, my constant little words, my constant little decisions need to be given to Him. He is trust-worthy. He is capable. He is the only One Who knows the future and is able to manipulate it.

I say that I am slow to pick up on this lesson because all the way through Judges and Ruth and first and second Samuel, I've been noticing how God did incredibly miraculous things through people who thought, "This is crazy. The odds are completely against me." Gideon, Ruth, Jonathan and his armor bearer, David, David's Mighty Men (read II Samuel 23:8-23).

God is still the same God. He has not changed. Here are some promises that He has made to me.

Matthew 19:26 - Jesus looked at them and said, "With human beings this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

Romans 8:31 - If God is for us, who can be against us?

This subject was touched on in my Sunday School class last week when we discussed the idea that Christians in general are not actively involved in politics and governmental decisions. Abortion, homosexuality, promiscuity and other sins are being accepted and legalized, and most of us sit back and sigh over it. Why aren't we doing something? Why aren't we contacting our local government officials and letting them know that we do not support these decisions?

When we discussed it in class, we reached the conclusion that most of us thought it wouldn't make a difference anyway, so what would be the use? Well, if Jonathan and his armor bearer thought that and decided not to attack the Philistine fort with just the two of them, they would have never seen such a decisive victory. Instead, their logic centered around "Is this what God wants us to do? Will God be with us? If He will, then the odds mean nothing! LET'S GO!"

That's how I want to live, and that is how I'm going to live. You know why? Because "I can do all things through Christ Who gives me strength!"

She sat in the sunlit, warm office, staring into space, wishing she could be with her family. Good Friday. A holiday for many others including her husband and oldest daughter. She thought about the importance of Good Friday, and the dramatic gift that Jesus had given on the very first Good Friday. She wished that she felt more into the spirit of the day. She thought of Liberty, remembering her baby’s struggle to cling to her shoulder this morning at the babysitter’s house and smiling with bittersweet feelings at the cat-like actions in her memory. Thankfulness flooded her heart when her mind rested on the knowledge that the babysitter was a Godly lady who loved Liberty and would only do what was best for her, along with a pang of sadness that accompanied her wish to be with her baby.

She unbuttoned her too-tight jeans and sighed with relief as her pregnant belly escaped its denim prison.

She thought of the lunch that she had chosen not to pack at home and wondered where she should go for lunch. The idea of McDonald’s repulsed her overly sensitive taste buds, as did Taco Johns, Subway, Smokey Row. Arby’s sparked a slight interest, but a mental review of the menu gave pause. What would she even want?

Tomorrow is Kimmie’s two-year anniversary with us! She remembered for the twelfth time that week, once again pondering what special things could be done to honor the day. She already knew what Kimmie would say if asked. “Pizza and a movie.” But those items seemed too low-key to mark such an incredible occasion. She thought of a cake and ice cream, but those, too, did not seem important enough. We need to do something SPECIAL.

But what?

Having encountered the same dead-end thoughts several times that week, she chose to focus on something else. What am I going to have for lunch? Her stomach began to make its hunger known, and she mentally reviewed Arby’s menu again, then Smokey Row’s, avoiding--even mentally--the BLT at Smokey Row. She pulled up the Smokey Row menu online and was surprised to discover several new items had been added.

As she perused the newly added food descriptions, a bell jingled above the front office entrance. She quickly jumped from her chair and buttoned her jeans, calling cheerfully, “Hello!” to whomever had just arrived. She stepped from her office and joyfully recognized the faces of her husband and oldest daughter!

“Have you had lunch yet?” her husband inquired after scooping her into a giant bear-hug. Her growling stomach answered for her. “Surprise!” he pulled a wrinkled paper bag from behind his back.

She knew without a question that it held a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit from Hardee’s, and smiled to herself at all of the memories she and her husband associated with that. “Aaahh! Thank you!” she squealed and hugged him again, thankful inwardly too, to realize that the thought of Hardee’s did not turn her stomach.

She bit into the room-temperature biscuit and told God, “Thank You for such a wonderful family!” Amazing what a difference in outlook had just transpired. She felt ready to dwell on thankful Good Friday thoughts now.

I read a post over at Big Mama's today that reminded me of this little adventure in my past:

My first hostess event in my new apartment.

I had invited five people over, and I served chili, cheese and crackers. It was very informal. A week or so later, I began smelling something whenever I walked into my apartment. Of course, I searched for the source, but never could find it. Over time, the smell became so bad that I couldn't stand the thought of going home.

About a month later, after many unsuccessful searches for the source of the odor, I called the apartment manager and told them that I thought an animal must have died in the walls of my home. They told me they would send a maintenance man to my apartment. In preparation for his arrival, I decided to move all of my furniture away from the walls, because I figured he would need to (what? knock on them? I'm not sure why I thought he would need to have access to my walls.)

When I moved my couch, I found a bowl of unidentifiable, rotting mess.

It reeked.

I came very close to adding some of my own unidentifiable ingredients to the bowl before I closed the back of my throat with my tongue.

I rushed the bowl over to my garbage disposal. (Bad idea.) With a spoon, I scraped the conglomeration from the bowl into the garbage disposal and in the process recognized a few not-yet-decomposed chili beans.

Chili beans? I thought to myself. I haven't had chili since... I searched my memory in vain as I ran water into the sink and flipped the disposal switch. The chili disappeared down my drain, and that is when I realized I had made a very bad decision.

The smell did not disappear down my drain.

At that moment, the maintenance man knocked on my door. I had forgotten that he was coming over. As I neared the door and thought of what I had to tell him, I imagined being evicted for creating a roach-friendly environment that I am sure none of the other residents would have appreciated. When I opened the door, he actually staggered backwards, away from the waves of odor emanating from my residence.

"Whew!" He said, "You really do have a dead animal in here!"

I thought of the ground beef that had been in the chili and silently agreed, Yeah, a cow! Then I sweetly told him that I had found the source of the smell, and that I didn't need him to check my walls anymore.

His face was still twisted into an interesting format while he tried not to gag. Or smell. Or breathe. He looked worried. "What was it?"

I had hoped that he wouldn't ask.

The smell lingered in my sink drain for days until a friend suggested that I cram a few oranges into my disposal and let it chop them up. Thankfully, that solved my problem.

That happened in December of 2003, and chili has not been made in my house again until November of 2006 when my mom made it the week after Liberty was born.

So far, we have not found any bowls under our couch.

I am now 15 pounds lighter than I was yesterday at this time due to the multiple exercises performed while on my sugar high, and we know the sex of our baby!

Here she is:

Don't let her innocent resting pose fool you, she did not sit still for long!

She quickly chose to perform some gymnastics for us, and the ultrasound technician took this shot of her somersaulting. She's using her feet to push off the bottom (left), and her back and head are above (right). Her head is very hard to see at this angle.


See her little fist? We've already got a rebel on our hands!


She kindly pointed towards my bladder, giving me about a 5 second advanced warning that she was about to head-butt it.



She waved at us.



Waving again.

The one picture that I wish we had been able to get happened while the technician was focusing on the heart and kidneys. The screen showed only a close up of the baby's heart, and I suddenly felt a very strange feeling that I'm not sure I can describe to you. It is a feeling that I have felt several times in the last two weeks, and I've always wondered what that child could possibly be doing to create that sensation. It felt like the inside of me had suddenly gone hard everywhere, and I needed to grunt. "Wait!" I said quickly to Nancy, our technician. "Zoom out! I want to see what she is doing right now."

Nancy didn't even question, but immediately changed the camera angle so that we could see the baby's body. She was curled innocently into the fetal position, and the feeling had passed, but as we watched, she suddenly stretched both of her arms and both of her legs out to their longest capacity. Her arms lifted straight over her head, her legs pointed straight out as though she were standing, and that not-painful-but-definitely-not-pleasant feeling returned.

"What in the world?" I questioned. She looked like an Olympic high-diver poised to leap from the diving board.

Yet another reason why Missy should not drink sugar!

I just finished drinking that nasty sugar drink for my pregnancy glucose test, and I'm very hyper. My fingers are typing 5,280 words per minute (which also happens to be the number of feet in a mile, in case you were wondering why that number sounded familiar). Although, if that number did sound familiar to you, that would mean that you were extremely geeky during grade school. Either that, or you had a photographic memory and couldn't stop yourself from learning. Whew, and the above paragraph, boys and girls, is why Missy should never drink sugar.

Our first ultrasound is this afternoon at 1:45. We find out if the baby is a boy or girl, and I'm very excited. Jeremy is supposed to meet me in fifteen minutes and we'll drive a few blocks away to the doctor together, but I just called him at home, and it's raining. Sometimes his truck won't start when it rains. I really, really hope his truck starts today. I want him to be there for this!

Excuse me while I do some jumping jacks and run laps around the office.

Today, my mom is my best friend; however, I am ashamed to admit that when I was 14 or 15, I hated her very existence.

You know why?

She was MEAN. She made me do dishes ALL THE TIME. She made me babysit and help out around the house. She NEVER let me have ANY FUN.

So I made a solomn vow to myself that when I became a mom, I would NEVER be so hard on my teenagers. I would be their friend. Yes, they would have chores, but I would help them out from time to time; I would let them play first if the situation warranted. I would not make them do ALL THE WORK.

I have kept that promise very well, because I still remember my intense resentment over all things chore related. And this week, I discovered something:

My mom was not mean. She did not make me do dishes all the time. I did babysit and help out around the house, but that was only a half of a percent compared to all of the babysitting and helping out around the house that Mom did. She did let me have fun. She was not against my having a life!

On Tuesday, Kimmie hurled accusations and "I hate you"s in much the same way that I remember hurling words at my mom, and I went to bed that night, devastated. I even called my mom for some encouragement, but she sighed and said, "You've got several more years of it left, and just wait until Liberty and the baby are that age." The gift of exhortation belongs to my mother, yes it does.

I tossed and turned, evaluating all of my actions over the past two years, wondering if I had indeed turned into my mother with all of her bothersome chores and unsympathetic heart. When Jeremy arrived home at 2:30 in the morning, we discussed the entire situation, and he told me very plainly that I had done the right things all this time. Then he pulled the door trick, which made me smile and helped me sleep.

Over the past few days, I have been pondering still, turning over Kimmie's words versus my actions.

> Kimmie had said, "You make me do dishes ALL THE TIME!" The dishes are her one assigned chore in the house. (She is also required to keep her room and bathroom clean, but that is not considered a family chore; that is just part of life.) Ironically, I had done the dishes for her on three different days that week because I knew that she had other things going on.

>Kimmie had said, "You make me babysit Liberty." Well, yes, she does babysit Liberty from time to time. She babysat three weeks ago when Jeremy and I had some major errands to run in Des Moines that we knew would take several hours. We gave Kimmie the option of going with us, which meant that Liberty would also go with us, and Kimmie made a face to inform us that she would be bored beyond tears if we dragged her along. She chose to stay home with Liberty, and she was excited about it at the time. She also babysat this past Saturday when the van was being worked on, and I had to sit at the dealership for two and a half hours reading a newspaper and watching customers. Boy, she missed out on some fun, there, let me tell you! I had a yawningly good time!

>Kimmie had said, "You never let me have any fun." That point was illustrated again last night. Kimmie had spent the evening out. She returned home around 8:00 PM. At 9:00, she asked if she could call Stephanie, and I said yes. Then she started telling me about her day and about all of the homework that she had and about the two quizzes tomorrow that she had not yet studied for. As I listened, it dawned on me that she planned to spend her evening on the phone instead of studying for the quizzes. When I questioned her, she informed me that the quizzes didn't really matter. It was much more important for her to have her phone conversation. When asked if the conversation had a certain purpose to it, the answer was, "No, but if I don't call Stephanie tonight, then I won't be able to talk with her for an entire week!" I pointed out that she would have plenty of time to talk all day Sunday (especially since we have free weekend minutes), but that unsympathetic answer earned me the silent treatment for the rest of the night.

I closed my bedroom door last night, smiling to myself. I finally realized what my mom had probably been pointing out to me throughout most of my teenaged years. She loved me. She only wanted what was best for me. She enjoyed giving me good things, fun things, but she also knew that I needed to learn to be responsible and hard-working. She did not try to kill my fun, just like I do not try to kill Kimmie's fun. She did not make me constantly work, just like I do not make Kimmie constantly work.

I also realized something else. No matter what I do, Kimmie is probably not going to change her opinion of me (at least not until she has a smart-alecky daughter of her own). But her heart is not dependent on my actions; my actions do not determine her attitude. I have been beating myself up, trying to figure out what I am doing wrong to create such a horrid response in my daughter, and I finally know that I am not creating that response. I do answer to God for my own attitudes and actions, but I do not have to blame myself for Kimmie's attitudes and actions!

Maybe you are not feeling it, but this knowledge is freedom to me. Writing this post has helped me to sort out all of the feelings and thoughts that have been floating around my head for the past few days, and now I'm ready to take a deep breath and face the world again.

I love my daughter. I have not done wrong. Bring it on!

PS> Mom, if you're reading this, I'm sorry for years 12 - 18. I love you! :-)

This morning, I drove happily into town enjoying the pleasant morning sunshine and be-bopping to the songs on the radio. Liberty pulled her right tennis shoe off once again and proceeded to alternately suck on her toes and grin at me in the rear view mirror. Kimmie stared sulkily out the window, thinking brooding teenage thoughts.

The weather report came on, and I nodded in joyful agreement as the 55 degree prediction sounded for today.

Then the sky darkened, and the earth began to quake. WHAT WAS THAT I HEARD???? SNOW PREDICTED FOR THE WEEKEND?!

I don't believe it.

I won't believe it.

It's SPRING!

Right?

And you KNOW how much I love sunshine! It's supposed to get up to 56 degrees today!!! Yay for us!!!!

When Jeremy arrived home at 2:30 last night, I was still awake in our bed, and we were able to discuss several issues that I had encountered yesterday that were keeping me awake. I explained to him that I was second-guessing my actions and the stand that I had taken that day, and he listened to the whole story. After a bit of discussion between us and some encouragement from Jeremy, he went to the kitchen to fix himself a small snack, and I settled into my pillow to get some long awaited sleep.

After a few minutes, I heard our bedroom door creak open just slightly. I opened one eye and saw Jeremy's nose and lips protruding through the small crack.

I waited, wondering what would come next.

Melissa, this is God. Jeremy's voice rumbled from the other side of the door. You are doing the right thing. Keep it up. Keep going.

The door slowly opened further, and Jeremy's entire head appeared around the edge. I grinned at him in the darkness and thanked God for giving me such a wonderful man to encourage me.

Sometimes, even when things seem hopeless, I just have to keep on keeping on. God is in control. My actions can be used by Him, but my actions do not have power on their own to change others. Only the Holy Spirit changes hearts. Mine included.

All posting has been postponed due to the intense drug-induced fog befuddling my brain which is preventing normal thoughts and accurate spelling.

On a happier note, drugs have a fun affect on the dreaming portion of my brain.

My husband reported that over the weekend I talked quite a bit in my sleep. I have been teasing him for quite some time about the fact that one night he yelled out, "Washo! Save me!" after watching a marathon of Walker Texas Ranger. (Washo is Walker's Indian nickname.)

Jeremy is now paying me back by teasing me about the petty cash that I am apparently guarding to keep my brother from using it for drug money. (I read a book just before succumbing to this cold.)

As I walked across the street today in the biting wind and blowing snow flurries to pick up my lunch at Smokey Row (a BLT on wheat, cottage cheese and a cockle-warming Spiced Chai Tea), I made two discoveries: 1) I am officially style-less. 2) I love Smokey Row.

Let's address Discovery 1 first, shall we?

I coughed all night long. At some point in the middle of the night, I decided to get up and take a steamy shower, hoping the steam would aid my breathing efforts. Instead of aiding my breathing efforts, the shower only succeeded in causing me to have bag-lady hair when I got out of bed this morning. One side of my bangs have adhered themselves flatly to my head and refuse to detach. The other side has chosen to defy gravity and stand at military attention, doing their best to point others towards Heaven. It is quite lovely.

My brand new maternity jeans must have shrunk in the wash, because I swear they finished BELOW my ankles and not three inches above my ankles when I tried them on in the store this weekend. Either that, or Target has some incredible lengthening mirrors in their dressing rooms.

All of my black, blue and otherwise non-attention grabbing socks were in the laundry this morning, so in a fit of desperation I pulled on some bright, white, HELLO-THERE socks which gleefully pull attention to my three-inch-too-short-jeans.

None of these factors would normally affect me, because usually after I dress I have to leave my bedroom and walk past the approving or disapproving eyes of my teenage daughter who never hesitates to ask incredulously, "Are you seriously wearing that today?" Usually, I mentally recap what I am wearing, and after deciding there is NOTHING WRONG with my outfit, I state very plainly, "Yes," and continue with my day. However, I PRAY that if she had said that to me this morning, I would have stopped what I was doing and changed my clothes.

Today, however, none of that occurred. Today, Kimmie had no school. Today, my wonderful husband who works night shift and came home at 3:00 in the morning, who saw me downstairs hacking up a lung at 4:45 this morning, who realized I did not fall asleep until 6:00 this morning, very thoughtfully assumed that I would not be going to work today, and he TURNED OFF MY ALARM CLOCK which was set for 7:00 AM.

At 8:15, Liberty's baby monitor woke me up.

We normally leave the house at 8:00.

After calling Chris and Craig to let them know that Liberty and I would be late, I grabbed the nearest outfit, frowned at my hair, skipped the makeup, and ran out the door with Liberty bouncing along. No teen-aged voice of reason (did I really say that?) halted my mad rush out the door in short jeans, white socks, and gravity-defying hair. The only part of my ensemble of which I am not ashamed is my beautiful green shirt.

And you are not going to believe this...or maybe you will, but while I one-handedly typed that last sentence, a juicy tomato fell out of my BLT, leaving a triple-bounced trail of stains down the middle of the fabric covering my pregnant belly. There goes my lovely green shirt. Should I be reading up on "Pride goeth before a fall?"

What can I say: I'm style-less.

My second discovery was much more pleasant. I discovered another reason to love Smokey Row. When I entered their casually eclectic establishment to pick up my shirt staining BLT, I noticed signs posted that read, "Smokey Row is hosting a WINTER PROTEST," and the workers were all sporting brightly colored shirts and Hawaiian leis.

Now that's my kind of protest!

And seriously, all I really need is a lei to cover my stains and draw attention away from my hair and socks.

As I mentioned in the Town Plague post, Fifth Disease is going around, and it could have serious, even fatal side-effects for an unborn baby. You'd think the below zero temps would freeze those germs out, but no, they are alive and well. Instead, we are the only ones being frozen to death.

Craig and Kathy's daughter, Sammi, has Fifths; Liberty has had something resembling a bad cold for a week and a half and can't seem to shake it, and now I have the scratchy throat, congestion, achy body and sore joints that could indicate the beginning of Fifth Disease.

I've been wondering if I should call my doctor to see if there is some kind of preventative measure that I could take for my baby, so I googled, "What is the difference between a cold and Fifth Disease?"

It gave me this link which made me laugh and nod vigorously in agreement.

And I feel better about it all, now! :-)

(Besides, Kathy just brought me some Spiced Chai Tea from Smokey Row, and it has warmed the "cockles of my heart;" a phrase which Kathy and I just googled and giggled about.)

From Mike Huckabee's concession speech:

I've said many times here in Texas that I was inspired by the incredible story of that small group of less than 200 volunteers at the Alamo in San Antonio who took refuge in that church mission. And they saw the incredible armies of Santa Ana start massing against them.

On February the 23rd of 1836, 172 years ago this past week, those armies began a 24-hour onslaught and bombardment. On the 24th day of February, Colonel William Barret Travis wrote the letter from the Alamo that should reign and live in all of our hearts and memories, not just for Texas, but for all the world, all who love liberty.

As he said on the incredible occasion, he said, "The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion. Otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken." He said, "I've answered the demand with a cannon shot and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat."

"I call upon you in the name of liberty, of patriotism, and everything dear to the American character to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving enforcements daily and will no doubt increase to 3,000 or 4,000 in four or five days."

"If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor and that of his country: victory or death."
These were people who understood that their battle was not about them. It was about the principles of liberty that they deemed even more important than their own lives.

Tonight, I hope that our battle was never about us. It was about our country and its liberty. And now we join with Senator McCain and the rest in our party to continue that battle, to continue that fight, not for who gets elected, but for what we do in maintaining liberty and freedom when we get elected and when our country's flag still waves proudly on the wall.

Yesterday, MR. SUN came out. Yes, MR. SUN gets capitals because I operate under the theory that if I make him feel very special, he will come visit more often. Neighbors on our cul-de-saq exploded from their snowbound homes, drinking in the SUNSHINE. Children splashed in melting snow. Liberty ate mud and rocks while running up and down the street and periodically dropping her doll in the dirt.

My across the street neighbor and my next door neighbor are both having babies in July with me. Kelly is due July 11th, Angie is due July 21st, and I am due July 30th. The three pregnant women and our husbands met at Kelly's mailbox to compare tummies and discuss nursery decor. Jeremy and I are waiting for the citywide SPRING (yes, also capitals) garage sale to find another crib, dresser and clothes.

Kelly and Angie are both having boys. Jeremy is jealous...although, we are making progress; last night he told me that he really doesn't mind if the baby turns out to be a girl. Can you believe that?

Me either. That's why I have recorded his words for posterity just now.

Angie & Brandon's youngest daughter Maddie brought out a toy highchair and a small baby to sit in it. Liberty eyed the highchair, tactically planning her ascent. First she attempted to remove the baby. When that plan was foiled by Jeremy and I, she pretended indifference. Then she quickly tried to rip the baby from the chair by approaching from underneath. She couldn't stand the thought that something to climb stood right before her eyes, and she wasn't allowed to climb it. If that plastic baby thought it was going to keep her from her mountain, that baby had another thought coming. Six adults watched in careful amusement as she planned her next attack. The hunger for height shone plainly in her sky blue eyes. Thankfully, Maddie decided the baby and highchair needed to go back inside, and Liberty trotted off in search of another mountain.

Kimmie had been predicting snow all day, but with the temps nearing 60 we all wallowed in denial. Denny and Kelly decided to take their boat to the lake, and Jeremy and I decided to take our daughter to the bathtub.

Jeremy carried Liberty carefully at arm's length towards the house. At the front door, Kimmie and I removed her mudcaked shoes while Jeremy lamented the state of her footwear. Once inside, I peeled her wet pants off and discovered that her skin had miraculously changed color. She no longer represented a caucasian child. Her coffee skin tones were more reminiscent of an Indian nation.

We took her straight to the bathtub where her bathwater had to be changed twice before it remained clear enough to bathe in.

The rain arrived late in the afternoon, and it quickly changed to ice, then snow as evening drew on. This morning "Travel Not Advised" warnings bellowed from radio and tv stations. All roads in our area were snow and ice covered. Schools proclaimed a two-hour delay. My normally 12 minute commute took 43 minutes. It is 19 degrees.

And it was worth it all...to stand in the SUN yesterday.

Here's how it works:

1. Go to http://www.photobucket.com/ (don't sign in)
2. Type in your answer to the questions below in the "search" box
3. Use only the first page of photos
4. Click on THE PICTURE you like best
5. Copy the html and paste for the answer
***********************************************

1. What is your first name?

(I cheated on this one. First I typed in Missy and got pictures of girls and dogs. Then I typed in Melissa and got the same. I then went back to Missy and tried the second page where I found this picture!)


2. What is your favorite thing to do?



3. What is your relationship status?

(Married. Notice the warm sunshine in this picture?)


4. What is your favorite color?

(Yellow and pink)


5. Who is your favorite celebrity?

(I don't really have a favorite celebrity, but I really like Bill Pulman's acting.)


6. What are you listening to right now?


(Florescent light humming and traffic outside my window.)


7. What is your favorite movie?
(I don't know! I never can pick ONE that is my favorite. I choose by mood as poor Jeremy can attest to. Umm, how about...)

(While You Were Sleeping) Ha! Did you guess that one?


8. What is your favorite beverage?
(That also depends on my mood, but usually...)



9. What is your dream vacation?

(Camping)


10. What is your favorite dessert?
(Oh boy, I'm not really a dessert person. I like chips and popcorn better. OH! I KNOW!)

(Chocolate Eclair Cake, for which I am still recipe searching. I wish I knew the lady in the picture!)


11. What do you want to do when you grow up?




12. What do you love most in life?

(Maybe I'm a little sun-deprived right now, and that makes it tough to be objective.)


13. One word to describe yourself?

HAPPY!

I will be out of the office today. Craig, Kathy and I will be hosting a booth at a nearby company. Maybe I'll be back tomorrow with stories of interesting people that I met...or maybe not.

You'll have to wait and see!

Dear Diary:

Aug. 12 - Moved into our new home in Iowa. It is so beautiful here. The hills and river valleys are so picturesque. I have a beautiful old oak tree in my front yard. Can hardly wait to see the change in the seasons. This is truly God's Country!

Oct. 14 - Iowa is such a gorgeous place to live, one of the really special places on Earth. The leaves are turning a multitude of different colors. I love all of the shades of reds, oranges and yellows; they are so bright! I want to walk through all of the beautiful hills and spot some white tail deer. They are so graceful, certainly they must be the most peaceful creatures on Earth. This must be paradise!

Nov. 11 - Deer season opens this week. I can't imagine why anyone would want to shoot these elegant animals. They are the very symbol of peace and tranquility here in Iowa. I hope it snows soon. I love it here!

Dec. 2 - It snowed last night. I woke to the usual wonderful sight: everything covered in a beautiful blanket of white. The oak tree is magnificent. It looks like a postcard. We went out and swept the snow from the steps and driveway. The air is so crisp, clean and refreshing. We had a snowball fight; I won! The snowplow came down the street. He must have gotten too close to the driveway because we had to go out and shovel the end of the driveway again. What a beautiful place. Nature in harmony.

Dec. 12 - More snow last night. I love it! The plow did his cute little trick again. What a rascal. A winter wonderland. I love it here!

Dec. 19 - More snow. Couldn't get out of the driveway to get to work in time. I'm exhausted from all of the shoveling. And that snowplow!

Dec. 21 - More of that white stuff coming down. I've got blisters on my hands and a kink in my back. I think that the snowplow driver waits around the corner until I'm done shoveling the driveway.

Dec. 25 - White Christmas? More stinking snow. If I ever get my hands on the turkey who drives that snowplow, I swear I'll castrate him. And why don't they use more salt on these roads to melt this stuff ??

Dec. 28 - It hasn't stopped snowing since Christmas. I have been inside since then, except of course when that meany "Snowplow Harry" comes by. Can't go anywhere, cars are buried up to the windows. Weather man says to expect another 10 inches. Do you have any idea how many shovelfuls 10 inches is??

Jan. 1 - Happy New Year? The way it's coming down it won't melt until the 4th of July! The snowplow got stuck down the road and the crazy head actually had the gumption to come and ask to borrow a shovel! I told him I'd broken 6 already this season.

Jan. 4 - Finally got out of the house. We went to the store to get some food when a deer ran out in front of my car and I hit the beast. It did $3,000 in damage to the car. Those beasts ought to be killed. The hunters should have a longer season if you ask me.

Jan. 27 - Warmed up a little and rained today. The rain turned the snow into ice and the weight of it broke the main limb of the oak tree in the front yard and it went through the roof. I should have cut that old piece of bark into fireplace wood when I had the chance.

May 23 - Took my car to the local garage. Would you believe the whole underside of the car is rusted away from all of that salt they dump on the road? Car looks like a bashed up, heap of
rusted cow pie.

May 10 - Sold the car, the house, and moved to Georgia. I can't imagine why anyone in their crazy mind would ever want to live in the forsaken State of Iowa!


Someone sent the above Diary to my email inbox, and I just HAD to post it...because I think we're all going a little snow crazy, and I can completely identify with the sentiments expressed. While I am not yet ready to move to Georgia, or anywhere else for that matter, I am craving sunshine, warmth, green grass. All I want is a weekend away.

I'm just waiting for Spring. Up until last week, I enjoyed each little snowflake as it swirled to the ground, but I'm all snowed out now. Last week's three snowdays did me in, and the storm last night and this morning was just icing on the cake. I have actually started visualizing what the road would look like if it weren't icy white and what the grass might look like if 12 foot drifts weren't piled on top. As my imagination takes hold, I can feel the tension melting and my shoulders and lungs relaxing.

Oh Spring, wherefore art thou?