1. Do you like blue cheese salad dressing? Oh yes! Especially mixed with French dressing.

2. Have you ever smoked heroin? I thought the question said, "Have you ever HAD smoked herring?" I thought long and hard about whether I had or not. Then I read the question again and realized it was a drug. Um, no.

3. Do you own a gun? Several. They are mainly bright green or bright pink and filled with water. I use them in the summer time, or if I'm feeling especially mean, in the winter time. "Heh-heh-heh! Come here, little kiddies. Just a bit closer..."

4. What's your favorite drink at Starbucks? Something without coffee and with lots of chocolate or caramel.

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? No, I actually enjoy doctor appointments. That's odd, I suppose.

6. What do you think of hot dogs? Not much.

7. Favorite Christmas song? Oh Holy Night. Ooh, I hope that just got stuck in your head!

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Milk

9. Can you do push ups? Define push-ups. Just kidding!

10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? My dangly spirally earrings with the pink ball hanging from them.

11. Favorite hobby? Writing Stories

12. Do you have A.D.D.? Nope

13. What's one trait that you hate about yourself? Allergies

14. Middle name? Jane (yay for me!)

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment. Lunch. Food. Sandwich. I'm starving!

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink? Milk, Water, Fruit Juice (whatever kind we bought for the week)

17. Current worry right now? Where's the nearest bathroom!!!!! Why is it so far away??!!!

18.Current hate right now? Um, hate? That's a mighty strong word there, partner. I hate...oh! I know! MOSQUITOES!!!!

19. Favorite place to be? Outside, preferably in a tree, but it's been a long time...

20. How did you bring in the New Year? I didn't. God did! Ha!

21. Like to go? To sleep!

22. Do you own slippers? Yep. My awesome sister Charity bought me fuzzy yellow slippers several years ago for Christmas (or my birthday), and I love them...Except, I leave them in the basement because my feet get cold when I'm watching a movie down there, and now I'm afraid to put my toesies into them because I'm afraid a spider might have built a web inside. So...I kind of don't have slippers after all. Sadness.

23. What color shirt are you wearing? Navy Blue

24. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? No, they're too hot. They make me sweat in the night. Nasty!

25. Can you whistle? That's none of your business!

26. Favorite color? Pink and Yellow

27. Would you be a pirate? If I got a cool outfit.

28. What songs do you sing in the shower? Beautiful ones, of course, that show off my incredible singing talent!

29. Favorite girl's name? Huh, that's a hard one. I love Grace, but so many other names are beautiful, too, like Sassafrass, and Kumkwat, and Juicifruiss and Ka-zam!

30. What's in your pocket right now? Two silver barrettes in case my hair starts falling out of my pony-tail holder.

31. Last thing that made you laugh? My brother Zach's email

32. Best bed sheets as a child? A white sheet with beautiful pink roses all over it. I always picked that one out of the closet.

33. How many TVs do you have in your house? One giant one in the basement and one tiny one in a box somewhere, probably in the basement, too.

34. Who is your loudest friend? Jeremy

35. How many pets do you have? Three: Jeremy, Kimmie and Liberty. Oh yeah, and the fleas that come with them. I'm very fond of the fleas.

36. Does someone have a crush on you? Jeremy had better!

37. What is your favorite book? Oh, that's much harder than the girl's name question! Most of them!

38. What is your favorite candy? I am not allowed to think about candy so I refuse to answer.

39. Favorite Sports Team? Cubs and Bears!

40. What were you doing at 12 am last night? Snoring very loudly.

41. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! It can't be morning already!

I have nothing to say. Nothing.

You should mark this day on your calendars.

So, since I have nothing to say, I am going to completely ignore Biblical advice like Keep your mouth shut, lest you look like a fool. And I will happily display my foolishness for all to read.

My friend DeAnn (kind of) tagged me to post 8 random things, so here they are. I hope I can come up with some good ones.

1. Saturday is my BIRTHDAY!!!!! I am so excited for it to come. I have noticed however, since moving out of my parent's house, that birthdays just aren't as exciting as they used to be. My mom always did an awesome job of making a big deal out of our birthdays. We did not have any chores to do. We got to eat our favorite foods. The birthday supper was always of our choosing.

I have tried to explain these things to Liberty, "On my birthday, I don't have to get out of bed until I want to. I don't have to change any dirty diapers, and I don't have to make breakfast, lunch or supper for anyone."

She hasn't quite gotten the point.

2. Last night, I walked out of church and saw twelve thousand three hundred twenty-seven fat June Bugs buzzing around the spotlight outside the door. A huge toad hunched on the cement against the building, just waiting for one to zip close enough to his tongue. I enjoyed that picture, even though I worried about a buzzing beetle landing in my hair or on my clothing as I hurried past.

3. My mom sent a package to our house yesterday that contained several outfits for Liberty Grace and an 8x10 professional picture of me when I was Liberty's age. Kimmie opened the box, and said, "Oh look, your mom sent us a picture of Liberty." I looked at it too, and was surprised to see how alike the two of us look at that age. Huh. I was pretty cute! :-)

4. Yesterday was Kimmie's last day of school, and she immediately stopped at the library to rent five videos. She watched the first one last night, and I believe she plans to watch the rest of them today because they are due back on Friday. She has a job, but the hours are random and usually only in the evening. She has applied for a second job. We live far enough out of town that her friends cannot easily come and go, and she does not have a car to easily come and go herself. I have been silently brainstorming ways to keep her occupied and out of boredom for the summer, but I've got a feeling this is a losing battle. Does anybody have any ideas?

5. I'm starving.

6. My devotions are in Second Chronicles right now, and last night I read chapter 8, verse 11 which says, "Solomon brought Pharaoh's daughter up from the City of David to the palace he had built for her, for he said, 'My wife must not live in the palace of David king of Israel, because the places the ark of the LORD has entered are holy.'"

That surprised me. I always assumed that Solomon never really thought about the fact that he was sinning by marrying people that God had told him not to. But obviously, he thought about it and still continued to do it. I do that, too. It's like slapping Jesus again after He's already been through so much for me.

7. Only two months left til the baby comes!!!!!!

8. I've got to get the girls' bedroom organized.

We had an awesome storm this morning. So loud, it woke me up early, and that takes some doing! I lay in bed listening to the thunder crashing and watching the flashes of lightning through the curtains. The pouring rain BEAT down hard on our roof and windows. Then I heard small hail stones pinging against our house. I kept listening on the baby monitor for Liberty to stir, but she slept soundly through it all. I'm amazed by that, since the thunder cracked so loudly directly overhead.

When we opened the garage door, a nearby screen slammed into my van. Kimmie propped the screen up behind my bicycle so that it wouldn't blow again, and then I heard a strange sound. I looked around to identify what had caused it, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Kimmie pointed to our attic door. The little door is a square cut into the ceiling of our garage. The wind must have swept in so strongly that the door blew upwards into the attic, screeching in protest as it traveled.

I wonder how Jeremy's going to fix that.

I struggled to keep my van in the correct lane on the way to town, but I enjoyed the large circles created on my windshield as the heavy drops plopped down. The sound of rain makes me so happy, and thunder and lightning strike awe into my heart. As I drove, I remembered a storm that occurred while I was in college. I was sitting in church on a Sunday night when suddenly the incredible sound of POURING rain began beating on the roof of the church. The sound was so loud, the pastor could not be heard. I remember listening to the fury of the storm raging outside and marveling at the feeling of security and happiness inside, and I thought to myself, This is the reality of trusting God to care for everything. When I truly let God be in control of my life, I do not have to fear any circumstances that arise. Good or bad, I know that those circumstances are under God's almighty hands.

I heard that same beating sound this morning on the roof of my car and immediately felt the same peace and happiness inside my heart as I remembered God's sovereignty.

I'm so glad! :-)

Okay, I have had a weekend to absorb and adjust, and I'm great now.

Well, almost great. I have been diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The doctor wants to first try treating it with a diet change alone. If that does not work, then I'll begin insulin shots. As you can imagine, I am eager to utilize the diet instead of the insulin.

So I'm on my best behavior.

I read the diet and was surprised at how easy it looked. All it said was stay away from simple sugars like cake, candy, ice cream, soda pop, ect.; when hungry between meals, snack on fresh fruits and veggies; exercise lightly every day.

Not a problem! Normally, I don't like cakes, candies, ice cream, soda pop, ect. I do enjoy fresh fruits and veggies, and having Liberty around ensures that I run non-stop until bedtime, so I'm sitting pretty! I thought.

However, with this pregnancy, I have regularly craved chocolate. Chocolate cake, chocolate ice cream, chocolate syrup. Anything chocolate, which is highly unusual for me. And apparently, I have made a habit of having a dessert after every supper, which is also highly unusual for me.

So I started off with jubiliant expectations. This diet will be a "piece of cake." (Ha!)

Until Saturday came along.

At breakfast, I fixed eggs and pancakes for the family. I buttered Liberty's pancakes, poured syrup over them, and cut them into tiny pieces. Then I turned to my own plate. I buttered a pancake and lifted the syrup container. With it poised over my food, I suddenly remembered that syrup was made out of sugar. Oh yeah! I can't have that! Instead, I cut up a banana and smugly spread the pieces out over my pancake.

At lunchtime, Jeremy and I were at the mall. A bowl of mints sat on the store counter, and I was hungry. I absently unwrapped the mint and popped it into my mouth. Halfway through my swallow, I realized I was eating candy. "Oh no!" I told Jeremy. "I'm not supposed to be eating this!"

At suppertime, I ate my taco and searched the top shelf of the refrigerator for a drink. I pushed past the milk and the sweet tea, the apple juice and the Pepsi. I found some berry juice (100% juice, I noted with appreciation) in the back of the fridge and decided to mix it with Sprite. Then I remembered...and had to pour the mixture down the drain. (No one else likes my mixtures.)

On Sunday, I had planned peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch along with diced peaches and something else that I don't remember at the moment. I created Liberty's sandwich and cut it into "windows" for her. Then I pulled out two pieces of bread for myself. It suddenly dawned on me that the jelly had to be at least 50% sugar. I sighed and read the label. The idea of a plain peanut butter sandwich did not appeal to me. I thought of the honey in the cabinet, but I wasn't sure how that fit into the diet. Is honey considered sugar? I think so. Instead, I spread peanut butter onto Townhouse crackers and topped them with a slice of cheddar cheese. It was very good, but I started feeling discouraged as I thought of all the little sugars that I had not paid attention to in the past. This is a drastic life change, I realized.

At suppertime, we went to a friend's house. They served chicken quesadillas (contributed by my awesome cheffy husband), a fruit salad, chips and pop. I drank water, and did not feel badly about missing out on the pop or the chips (which I chose not to eat based on the carbs.) But after supper, I badly craved chocolate cake. So badly, in fact, that I began to wonder if I were suffering from withdrawal symptoms. At that point, I would have given ANYTHING for ANY KIND OF SUGAR!!!! I NEED SUGAR!!! The monster inside my tummy raged. SUGAR!!! The battle inside was so intense that I wondered if my friends could see it on my face. I tried to look normal. An hour or so after supper, the hostess told me, "I made some cheesecake. Would you like a piece?"

I stared at her face for an eternal thirty seconds. Cheesecake or insulin? Cheesecake or insulin? The chant raged through my brain.

"No!" I almost shouted at her. "Uh, thank you, though." I added meekly.

VICTORY!

I had to go to the hospital yesterday for some blood tests, and my new doctor called last night with less than desirable results.

So, I'm adjusting.

The news is not tragic. Hopefully, with some little changes here and there, life will be able to resume a new normal pace. But I feel like I'm dangling a little bit. Like a playground swing whose chains were twisted and now needs to unravel itself before soaring once again.

Just thought I'd write. It helps.

Flap, flap, flap.

I stopped walking down the street, and the sound stopped with me. I started walking.

Flap, flap.

I must have paper attached to my shoe. I carefully lifted each foot and examined the soles of my shoes. Nothing. My purse strap fell from my left shoulder, and I tucked my day planner firmly under my armpit freeing my right hand to lift the strap back into place. Morning sunlight filtered gently through trees overhead, and a bird sang joyfully nearby. I juggled my lunch bag, purse and day planner back into order and began walking towards work once again.

Flap, flap, flap.

I stopped and turned around to find the source of the noise. My cell phone holder flapped along on the ground behind me, still attached to my purse by a rapidly unraveling thread. "Oh no!" I bent over, squishing the baby and my bladder, to pick up my now filthy holder. I brushed off the road dirt as best as I could and pondered over the emptiness of the small pouch. Then I remembered I had left my cell phone in the van, now a block away. I considered walking back to the van to retrieve my phone, but the pressure on my bladder convinced me to continue on to work...and a restroom. A day without a cell phone would not be a huge problem.

I continued forward.

Three hours later the phone on my desk rang. "Good morning, this is Melissa, how can I help you?" I spoke pleasantly into the receiver.

"Where's your cell phone?" the groggy voice of my husband rasped out at me. He works from 4 in the afternoon until 3 in the morning, so this hour of the day was the middle of the night to him.

"In the van," I responded, puzzled that he was even awake at this hour, let alone trying to call me.

"No, it's not. It's outside," he mumbled with great effort.

"What?" I questioned.

"Go outside. Someone has it."

I quickly deduced that my husband was trying to surprise me, and I joyfully jumped from my office chair, hanging up the phone in the process. I ran outside, fully expecting to see Jeremy's truck parked in front of my office. A quiet street presented itself to my view, no little gray trucks parked anywhere nearby.

Then I realized what must have happened. Earlier, I must have put my cell phone into the pouch after all and not remembered doing it, so when the pouch fell to the ground, the phone must have fallen out. When I continued walking, not realizing that the flapping sound belonged to me, I distanced myself from wherever my cell phone had landed. By the time I finally realized the holder was dragging on the ground, the cell phone was not nearby so I decided that I must have left it in the van when I really had not.

Someone must have picked up my phone and called my husband. With this new idea in mind, I looked around for a promising contact trying to return my phone to me. A few doors down, a woman walked towards me. I smiled at her meaningfully, wondering if I could make up a code word to identify myself to her that she would understand without having agreed upon it previously.

The duck flies at midnight? No, too cryptic.

Phone? No. Simple enough, but too rude sounding if she didn't realize it was a code word...and anyway, what kind of code word would phone be, if the object of our discussion was the phone? Way too obvious.

I finally decided to ask her, "Are you looking for a mystery cell phone owner?" As she approached me, I continued to make intense eye contact and smile broadly. At first, she met my eyes and smiled in a friendly way, but I soon realized that her body language did not spell purposefulness to return a cell phone or hesitancy to wonder if I was a cell phone owner. Instead, she walked as though she knew nothing about a missing cell phone. I stood planted in my chosen spot on the sidewalk near my office door and waited for her to draw near enough to speak. Two doors away from me, she turned and entered a shop.

Oh.

I guess she wasn't my mystery phone rescuer after all. I stood on the quiet street, waiting for another person to stroll past. No one did. I walked to the corner and looked down the cross street. No one stood looking for a missing owner.

I hesitated, wondering what to do. Then brilliance struck!

I walked back into my office and dialed my cell number. It rang several times before a pleasant sounding voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, this is my phone," I said happily.

"Excuse me?"

"You're holding my phone," I clarified.

"Oh! Where are you?"

"I'm at work; where are you?"

"At the police station."

Well, that made sense! "Okay, I'll be right over." I skipped across the street to the police station where the same young, blond receptionist, Chris, from my previous visit welcomed me warmly. "Hi! I'm here to pick up my phone."

"Oh! That's your phone?" she turned to the desk and picked it up. "I spoke with your mom," she told me. "She seems really nice! She said she would contact your husband."

"She got in touch with him," I assured her with a smile, "and he called me. So here I am."

The receptionist slipped the phone into the slot under the Plexiglas and said, "You must be relieved."

But the echoes in the old building translated that phrase into "This must be released," for my ears. I stood on the other side of the Plexiglas, looking at my phone.

"Oh." I nodded and waited expectantly for her to ask me a question that would identify me as the real owner of the phone, or for her to slide out a form that I needed to sign in order to release my property from her care.

She stared at me with a half-smile on her face, obviously expecting an enthusiastic response to her inquiry.

My brow wrinkled as I looked back at her. She did not move to find a form. "What was that?" I asked her after a short silence.

"I said, You must be relieved," she paused. "To get your phone back?" Her blond eyebrows elevated slightly.

"Oh! Yes! Yes, I am." I smiled at her, hoping that I looked relieved as I picked up the phone from the counter where it had been lying. I probably would be relieved if I had known that my phone was missing, I thought to myself. Instead, I was just enjoying the adventure.

I turned and walked towards the door, "Thank you!" I called to her from the entrance. Her puzzled face greeted my eyes when I looked back at her. As I pushed open the heavy front doors, I imagined her rounding up policemen to surround me once I left the building. She probably thinks I'm an impostor since I couldn't muster up the relief that an owner ought to feel. I guiltily left the station, waiting all the while for a shout to call me back.

I did feel relieved when I had crossed the street unhindered and entered my own place of business once again.

For Kimmie's birthday this year, I decided to throw a surprise party for her at a local restaurant where she works. A reasonably simple task, I thought. But I did not plan on all the things that could go berserk.

It all started with Kimmie's friend Ashley.

I contacted Ashley through Facebook and told her about the surprise party. I asked her to call me when she got out of school. That night, I did not receive a phone call. The next morning, I found a response on Facebook from Ashley, "Surprise parties are so cool! I can't wait to see her face!"

I sent her another message telling her that I needed her help with planning. I gave her my phone number and asked her again to call me. That night, I did not receive a phone call.

The next morning, I found this reply from Ashley, "I love surprise parties! What can I do to help out?"

I decided that Ashley did not want to call me, so I sent her a message asking for a list of friends that Kimmie hung out with the most at school.

The next morning, she had responded, "This is so awesome!"

But she didn't send me any names.

I tried again. "Ashley, who does Kimmie hang out with the most at school? Also, what is your email address. I need to send the invitation to you, but I cannot attach it to a Facebook message."

By this time, I had already invited seven people who did not attend her school, and three friends from school that I knew she was especially close with.

The next morning Ashley sent me a list of ten friends, but she did not include her email address.

I tried again, "Ashley, what is your email address?" I figured if I didn't clutter up the message with any unnecessary words, then I would have a better chance at communicating my need.

Ashley messaged me back with her email address. I attached the invitation and sent it off to Ashley's email, requesting that she print it off and distribute it to the list of friends that she had mentioned to me.

It bounced back to me with an error message.

I messaged Ashley again. "My email came back to me. Can you tell me your email address again?"

Ashley did not respond.

Two days later, with Kimmie's birthday fast approaching, I looked up Ashley's phone number and called her. I got her voicemail. "Ashley, this is Missy. Please call me back about Kimmie's party. It is urgent. I tried to email the invitation to you, but it bounced back to me. What is your email address?"

Ashley did not return my phone call.

Another day passed. I reserved a table at the restaurant under the name George Brown so that Kimmie who is a hostess there would not recognize the name.

In the meantime, Kimmie decided that I had nothing extraordinary in the works for her birthday so she took matters into her own hands. At school, she cooked up some plans with a few of her friends. She did not tell me about these plans until a few days later. "My friends and I are going shopping on my birthday," she informed me as we drove home from school one afternoon less than a week before her birthday.


My mind raced. I didn't want to say no, because I had no reason prepared for them NOT to shop. "Uh, who's car are you going to use?"


"Yours!" she blithely announced.


"Oh, well, I don't know if I'll have enough gas money to run you guys around to different stores," I offered weakly.


"Don't worry about that; I'll give you gas money from my paycheck," she quickly responded.


"Hmm, who did you invite?"


She listed five girls, and I mentally scribbled their names on my brain so that I could call them later and inform them of the real plans. Every name she mentioned was already on the list that Ashley had given me. When I arrived at work the next morning, I checked my Facebook messages and my emails. No response from Ashley.


I decided to email her again. Maybe this time the invitation would go through. Then I sent her a Facebook message letting her know that I had emailed the invitation again and to please check her emails and let me know if she received it.


That afternoon she wrote back. "Cool."


Cool? Does that mean that she got the invitation, or just that she got my Facebook message about the invitation? Is she going to print it and pass it around to the girls at school? I groaned out loud, and Craig came in to see what was wrong. He laughed heartily as I lamented my communication barrier with the teenagers in my life.


Every afternoon when I picked Kimmie up from school, she announced to me a new birthday plan that she had cooked up with the girls from school. I listened in silence, wondering if any of the girls had gotten the invitations from Ashley. Then one day Kimmie informed me, "I think Ashley is planning something for my birthday. Either that or something is wrong. Because she was passing a note in class today to all of my friends, but she wouldn't pass it to me. And then I saw my name at the top of the note, and my friends all looked at me and laughed. When I asked them after class what was going on, they wouldn't let me see the note and they wouldn't tell me anything."


"Hmm," I sympathized. "You didn't have anything stuck in your teeth or in your hair, did you?"


"No, well, I don't think so."


Together we checked her teeth and hair to find a possible wayward item. I suppressed my laughter. At last I knew for sure that Ashley had gotten my invitation, and she was passing them out...during class! Not exactly what my instructions had been, but oh well!


I received a message from Ashley. "Kimmie says we are all going to the park for her birthday party. Is this true?"


I immediately emailed her back, "NO! Do not listen to ANYTHING that Kimmie says. She is planning her own party, and it has nothing to do with what is really going to happen. Spread the word!"


Kimmie's Monday birthday approached. On Saturday, Kimmie changed all of her previous plans and wanted to call all of her friends to let them know of the changes. Jeremy and I exchanged worried glances and wordlessly worked together to keep her occupied the entire day. A very sad Kimmie went to bed that night without having found any time in her day to call her friends and notify them of the change in plans.


"Oh well," she told me as she walked to her room, "I'll just have to call them all tomorrow. I've decided to invite everyone that I can think of to the park, and we'll have pizza and cake and stuff."


I panicked. Everyone she can think of???? This has got to stop!


That night, Jeremy placed his cell phone in his truck and I placed mine under our bed. We purposefully did not charge them so that we could tell Kimmie our phones were dead the next day. Several times on Sunday, Kimmie mentioned calling her friends, but she did not follow through with it.


Finally, that evening, she began searching for the phones. "My phone is not where I usually put it," I complained to her. She assumed that I did not know where it was. She had no luck finding Jeremy's phone either. I gave her free reign to search for my phone, and wouldn't you know it, the little stinker FOUND IT! She handed it to me, "Here it is! It was under your bed!"


Sigh.


I checked the bars. It was still charged! Another plan foiled.


I casually rested my thumb on the power button as I spoke with Kimmie, then I pretended to be startled as it shut itself down. "OH NO!" I cried out. "MY SCREEN JUST WENT BLANK!"


"Let me see," she offered.


"No, I'll see if I can fix it myself." I fiddled with the buttons while carefully keeping the keys out of her direct line of sight. I was sure she had seen me turn it off myself. "Oh well, I guess it needs to be charged."


"I'll get the charger," she offered and raced off to my bedroom to get it.


"Wait! I'll just plug it in there."


"But I wanted to use it while it was plugged in," she told me.


"Oh...well...I really want it to rest a while," I mumbled in desperation.


"What?" she questioned, but then seemed to accept that explanation. I hoped that would solve the problem. She only had a couple hours left until bedtime. When the subject came up again, Jeremy rescued me by putting his foot down. "No, it is too late to call people. You can just talk with them at school tomorrow."


Oh great! I hadn't thought about who she would be able to invite while she was at school tomorrow! I began imagining thirty high-schoolers gathered at the park waiting for Kimmie to show up, while the real party took place at the restaurant. I had to come up with a way to prevent her from inviting more people!


The next morning (her birthday!) on the way to school, she excitedly chattered about who she would invite and what presents they would probably give her and how much fun they would all have.


What do I do? What do I do?


Then brilliance struck!


"Kimmie," I said very hesitantly, "I'm kind of sad."


"What? Why?" she questioned.


"Well, because you're doing all of this planning yourself, and I really wanted to be involved in your birthday party. So I feel a little left out."


"But you are involved," she pointed out logically. "You're buying all of the food."


Oh yeah, she saved the best part for me.


"I know, but I really wanted to be part of the planning and the inviting and all that. I'm just a little sad, that's all."


"Oh." Kimmie sat back in the passenger seat and quietly watched the empty corn fields sweep behind us.


I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She looked so sad. Then I felt bad. I didn't want her to feel sad on her birthday!


"Well, don't feel sad, Kimmie. It's okay. But can I just ask for a favor? Since I am paying for all of this, I really can't afford to feed lots of people. Can you just invite these people?" I listed five names that I knew for sure were already coming to the restaurant party.


"Oh. Only those five?" she asked. She looked like she was about to start arguing.


"Yes, I mean, at least I will get to have a small part in the party planning by helping you choose who to invite, right?" I pretended to be a little sad still.


"Yeah, I guess so," she lapsed back into silence. "I'm sorry you didn't get to plan anything. I didn't know you wanted to."


"I know, Kimmie."


She looked so sad! I felt bad for her.


I cheered my voice up, "But I never said anything to you about it, so there's no way you could have known. Don't worry about it! Be happy! It's your birthday!!!!" Then I began singing happy birthday to her in a very off-key and crazy sort of way.


She laughed and cheered up so much that I was worried she would ignore my advice on who to invite. When I dropped her off at the school, I repeated, "Please only invite the people that we talked about, okay?"


She agreed and closed the car door. I waited until she was about five steps away from the van, then I rolled all the windows down and began singing at the top of my lungs HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIMMIE! I honked the horn repeatedly and did not stop until she had disappeared into the building. She glanced embarrassedly at the noisy van, then ducked her head and scurried away, but not before I saw a smile tugging at her lips. Several people nearby hurried up to her and hugged her, saying "Happy Birthday!"


I grinned, the day was off to a great start!


At work, I checked my emails and found several from Kimmie's friends wondering which party was the real party. I quickly called Ashley's cell phone and left a voice mail telling her to spread the word one more time about when and where to meet. I told her to repeat to everyone to ignore ANYTHING that Kimmie said about a party. Then I prayed like crazy that we would not have any people who did not get the word!


That afternoon, I got off of work early, Jeremy took off of work, and we picked up Liberty from the babysitters. We arrived at the restaurant with decorations in hand and quickly decked out the table with kazoos and banners. One by one, her friends arrived. When Kimmie and Ashley finally pulled up, Kimmie's friend Lexi who was the hostess on duty, ran out to hug Kimmie and tell her happy birthday. Ashley ran inside while Kimmie was distracted and joined us at the table.


Kimmie and Lexi walked in the front door together, and Kimmie looked around for Ashley. When she spotted our table full of seventeen people, we all held up the HAPPY BIRTHDAY signs and began singing. She stood rooted to her spot. Finally she whispered to herself, "But, I don't understand."


Lexi hugged her and said, "It's your surprise birthday party, silly! Happy Birthday!"


Kimmie slowly began walking towards us, and she said to herself, "But, I didn't even know..."


I laughed out loud! The dumbfounded look on Kimmie's face was beyond what I had imagined, and then to watch her slowly snap out of it and begin enjoying the attention was wonderful! She did a perfect job of being the birthday girl. She told me afterwards that she had worked very hard to be sure to include everyone in the conversations and introductions. She did a great job, and I am very proud of her.


Afterwards, several of the friends headed off to the park to climb on the equipment and to take pictures. The rest of the party headed home. Jeremy, Liberty and I stayed at the restaurant to clean up, and then we drove over to the park to play for a while too. Finally, Jeremy had to return to work; he had taken only a few hours off for the party. The rest of our group broke up and went our separate ways.


All the way home, Kimmie chattered happily, and I reveled in the beautiful smile on her face. It was so much fun to surprise her!


Next time, though, I'll let her plan her own surprise party...it's much easier that way!

Our family now has a new rule when entering a restaurant. No more highchairs!

On Mother's Day, we called Texas Roadhouse immediately after morning church to be put in line for a table. They told us it would be an 80 minute wait. No problem. We live 45 minutes away, so we stopped off at home to change our clothes and to pack up a snack for Liberty. 70 minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot at TR, willing to wait another ten minutes to be seated. We checked in, and the hostess told us the wait would be approximately 15 minutes. Not a problem.

Liberty perched on a nearby saddle and bounced up and down for three minutes. Then she ran over to the jukebox and pointed emphatically at the wonderful, amazing, incredible, brilliant flashing lights...for two minutes. Then she tripped over to the hostess station and began making friends with the girls on duty. This lasted a very long time because they paid attention to her.

She then decided to make friends with the diners. She ran off amongst the tables, happily scattering her smiling "Hi"s to all who glanced at her. I stayed pretty busy, running after her and trying to keep her distracted. So I did not realize how long we had been waiting.

"Two hours," Jeremy informed me when he heard my tummy grumble over the background noises.

I approached the hostess station with a smile and explained to them how long we had been waiting. "Oh, I know," the hostess replied, "but we haven't had a table come available that had enough room for a highchair to be placed with it."

"Pshaw!" I replied. "We can eat without a highchair. Do you have a booster seat?"

It turns out they did, and we were shown immediately to a table. "If you had requested a booster seat from the beginning," the hostess explained, "we would have been able to seat you right away."

Too bad they didn't tell us that in the beginning!

Jeremy and I looked at each other in disbelief, and a new family rule was born.

A big girl bed. This should be a milestone of some sort, but so far, it has only been a source of sleeplessness for momma. How many times can one child fall out of bed in the night? How many cries of panic can one child let loose in her sleep causing mom to leap from her own bed in panic?

On Saturday, May 10th, Daddy got out his drill and his wrench. He dragged pieces of a metal bed frame from my van, and we commenced work. Liberty was thrilled with the new jungle gym in her room. She climbed from metal bar to metal bar in delight. She willingly "helped" Daddy by handing him his wrench when he asked for it, and she gruntingly attempted several times to hand him his drill. But alas, it proved too heavy. Mommy helped her carry it to Daddy. She finally found a special perch in the corner of the bed frame and clapped her hands gleefully as she watched the jungle gym take shape.

When it was time, Kimmie and Jeremy lugged the mattress and box spring into the room and carefully placed them on the frame. Then Daddy ran joyfully from the room calling, "Just a minute! I'll be right back." He returned, a blue Star Wars sheet flapping along behind him. He had been saving this sheet for years. He triumphantly wrestled it onto the mattress and then lifted his daughter into her new bed. She squealed and began jumping up and down. Then she discovered the characters on the sheet. She dropped to her tummy and loudly pointed out C3PO, her favorite Star Wars personality.

Daddy was proud. He and Liberty beamed at each other in complete satisfaction.

The satisfaction lasted until it was naptime. Then the torture began. Liberty looked at us in disbelief. You mean, you expect me to stay on this trampoline? There are no bars. I need my freedom!

Two weeks later, she has become proficient at staying in her bed...and quite frankly, I'm surprised (and thrilled). But several times in the middle of the night, I will rush into her room after hearing panicked crying to find her stuck under her bed. In her sleepy state, she cannot figure out how she got there or how to find the way out. Kimmie came up with a great solution the other day. She stuffed cushions all along the outline of the bed, so that Liberty cannot accidentally roll underneath in her sleep.

This morning, I found one cushion pulled away from the bed, and Liberty's feet sticking out of the hole. She was asleep under the bed once again.

Liberty has pink eye again so I've been home with her for a few days. Today is my first day back in the office, and I've got a lot of catching up to do. I may or may not post anything today. We'll see.

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."

**************************************************

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.