Now where was I? Oh yes, the white paint was drying, and I was returning the green paint for red or black paint.

http://www.examiner.com/family-recreation-in-fort-wayne/germanfest-s-family-fest-a-day-the-whole-family-will-enjoy

You don't even have to read it. Just click it.

"Pay the Missy!"

Can we start a chant?

This morning, my two year old, Mercy Jane, farted unexpectedly, and it was a long chain of loud farts. She gasped; her eyes got really big around, and she quickly grabbed her little bottom. Then in a tone of wonder she said, "Mommy! I have a motorcycle in my pants!"

My second article is up!

http://www.examiner.com/family-recreation-in-fort-wayne/taste-your-summer-at-auburn-s-strawberries-the-park-festival

You guys! I AM AN AUTHOR! OFFICIALLY!

Now, it's not the children's book that I'm still hoping to find a publisher for; it's something else. My friend Brenda sent me a link a few weeks ago about getting paid to write articles on the internet. I did a lot of research on the subject, and I finally found a website that I felt comfortable with. There are a lot out there, but not all of them "felt" either reputable to me or that I might be a good fit for. I was also leery of sites that accepted just any article from any person.

Anyway, I finally applied for a job with one website, but I was extremely nervous because they gave me five different mini writing assignments during the application part. Many people, well, many of you all have complimented my writing style, but it is something completely different to send my work to a professional editor hoping that it is good enough to get me a job. My tummy was a mess!

I screamed so loudly when I read my acceptance letter late at night last week, that I woke Jeremy up, and he popped up from his pillow punching, ready to defend me from anything. (My Hero!)

For the last several days, I've been attending some online classes to become oriented with the website, it's goals, the article guidelines and what-not. Then I accepted my first writing assignment and began researching the information for the article I would be writing. It's a lot more work than I expected, but I'm really enjoying the feeling of having my brain in gear again.

I finally had all of my research finished and organized, and I was ready to write my first article. I've been having trouble with my computer lately (I think it's been ever since I upgraded to Internet Explorer 9), and I just knew my computer would freeze again while I typed. It's been freezing every few hours, and I lose whatever I'm working on -- horribleness! I determined to save after every paragraph, this time. (I usually forget to save, and my only redemption are the autosave features on many websites.)

Imagine with me my horror when I found that there was no save button AND no autosave feature at my new site. !!!!! So, I needed to work as quickly as possible. The synapses in my gray matter were firing quickly and creatively. It felt so good to WRITE!

And then it happened. My mouse quit moving, my computer quit responding. I was over halfway through, and all those hyperlinks I had put in...I went into mourning even before the computer had finished its reboot. I knew it would all be lost. There was just one chance! If only the site had somehow, miraculously kept the information somewhere.

I logged back on, hoping. Hoping. HOPING.

No. It was gone.

And now my computer is too.

(Just kidding.)

I finally submitted my first article around 1:15 am last night, and I waited and waited for the verdict from my editor. I wasn't sure how he would respond, either by calling me, or emailing me, or if he thought my article was good enough, would he just post it on the website? I've been checking email and the website ALL. DAY.

And just now, The Email came. I saw his name in the Sender line, and my heart stopped beating. It really did. (I am actually typing this post while I am dead.)

(You should probably print it and keep it somewhere safe since it is a medical miracle and will be very valuable someday.)

He said, and I quote (because I am not above bragging), "Congratulations on posting your first article as the Ft. Wayne Family Recreation Examiner! I had a chance to review it, and I thought it was excellent - a solid read with a nice mix of information and insight."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you believe it?! He liked it!!!! In fact, he published it! Hooray!!!!

I am SO EXCITED! (Did you notice?)

So now, I am off to the website to see if I can find my article. I'll probably attach a link here so you can read it too, if you want. It's geared towards people who live near me, and it's informative rather than interesting, so all of you far away people won't get much out of it, but I think the number of clicks or reads I get affects my paycheck, so feel free to click away.

In fact, I'll go get that link now, and put it up here. (I like bigger paychecks!) :-)

This is my website http://www.examiner.com/family-recreation-in-fort-wayne/missy-sherron

This is my first ever article(!) Memorial Day Weekend 2011: Ft. Wayne's guide to budget-friendly family fun

And I apparently am not.

Today, the girls and I were cleaning up the toy room. We're preparing for a big garage sale on June 16-18 (if you're in my town, come out and buy something from us, please!)

In order to encourage the girls to quit goofing off, and in an effort to possibly instill a great work ethic into my children while they are still young, I decided that instead of firmly reminding them to keep working, I would use some sort of psychology on them. (See, the fact that I have no idea what sort of psychology I was using should have been a clue to me that I'm not licensed in this stuff.)

I looked at my playing daughters and with a joyful expression and gratefulness in my voice, I said, "Girls, you know what I am so happy about? I am so glad that I have girls who like to work hard and do a great job cleaning. That just makes me so glad!"

Without looking up from her play, Liberty offered a logical option, "We could also just tell you a joke to make you glad, Mommy."

So, I mentioned that I've been keeping a log of my daily activities, and I thought you'd enjoy this glimpse into one of my days and my attempts to get things done around the house.

7:40 - Get up
7:50 - Girls up: morning fun time together
8:00 - Spend time with God
8:15 - Stretch for the day (part of my healthy life-style)
8:30 - Feed the girls breakfast
8:40 - Get dressed
8:47 - Realize I did not get car seats out of the van (Jeremy has been driving my van to work because he sprained his ankle and can no longer operate the clutch pedal on his manual truck.)
8:49 - Call Meagan to brainstorm zoo options (we were planning to go the zoo together)
8:53 - Call Jeremy to see if trading vehicles is an option
9:01 - Call Meagan to back out of zoo trip
9:03 - Help Mercy get dressed
9:21 - Discuss with Liberty the idea of getting dressed, decide to let her play in her pajamas for a while longer

The girls are now riding their bikes around in circles inside the garage.

9:24 - Sit down to update daily log
9:33 - Eat breakfast: one whole wheat toast with butter, one granola bar (flax almond honey), two cups of water
9:44 - Hear garage door going up; tell Liberty that if she wants to play outside, she HAS to wear clothing.
9:46 - Supervise Liberty dressing herself. Help with shoes. Supervise Mercy putting her own socks on. Help with shoes.

10:03 - Both girls outside, time to clean living room

• Instruct girls outside not to swim in the giant mud puddle. Back to cleaning living room.


• Neighbor Meagan stops by to talk. Back to cleaning living room.


• Go outside to help Mercy with her stuck tricycle and decide to also bring trash can back from the street. Back to cleaning living room.


• Go outside to record girls riding bikes together (they were too cute not to record them). Back to cleaning living room.


• Go outside to give girls picnic snack: raisins, bananas, water. Back to cleaning living room.

10:52 - Living room finally finished, start cleaning dining room

• Hear Mercy crying, go outside to see what's wrong. Provide new cup of water to replace her spilled water. Mercy comes inside. Back to cleaning dining room.


• Stop Mercy from coloring on my important paperwork; set her up in the toy room with crayons. Back to cleaning dining room.


• Liberty comes inside to throw away her banana peel. She decides she wants to color, too.


• Mercy stops coloring to help me clean. Back to cleaning dining room.

11:19 - Dining room finally finished (except for chairs that I left in a train formation in the living room for Mercy to play with)

11:20 - Go see the picture Liberty has colored. Testify loudly of its wonderfulness.

11:23 - Snack time for Mommy: organic Greek yogurt, strawberries, one cup water

• Neighbor Dick comes over to chat

12:00 - Lunch time: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cantaloupe, pretzels

12:18 - Begin cleaning kitchen island

12:21 - Hear girls talking to our mailman Mark; go outside to join the conversation
12:25 - Deliver misdirected mail to our neighbor Melissa
12:30 - Open and read letter from friend Amy
12:36 - Start to call Amy, realize I haven't looked up our movie time yet, log onto computer to look up movie times
12:47 - Call Amy

12:56 - Change Mercy's diaper

1:02 - Receive phone call from Ginny just to chat

1:10 - Get shoes and socks back on the girls so we can walk around the pond.
1:14 - Remember to gather egg hunt receipts so that I can turn them in to the neighborhood association treasurer on our way home from the walk
1:15 - Go for walk
1:40 - Stop off at treasurer's house and end up talking for a while
2:03 - Start walking again

2:48 - Find a baby turtle!
2:52 - Take her home and put her in Hugs' and Kisses' old fish bowl
2:55 - Fill the bowl with mud, rocks, plants and water
3:02 - Convince the girls to leave the turtle and go to Rest Time in their room

3:03 - My snack time: walnuts, almonds, cranberries, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds

3:06 - Finish cleaning kitchen island
3:10 - Straighten garage and front yard
3:17 - Clean rest of kitchen, do dishes, empty, refill and start dishwasher (that starting part, I'm particularly proud of because I usually forget it), plan for supper, set table, take out garbage
4:03 - Sort coupons, sort mail, catch up on emails
4:45 - Put chicken into oven
4:51 - Work on ladies' newsletter Sisterhood Sentinel

5:07 - Girls wake up
5:09 - Check on the turtle
5:12 - Small snack: one stick of string cheese
5:27 - Girls go outside; TURTLE LOST! Short search and rescue party begins

5:35 - We give up. Mercy goes to the park in our backyard; Liberty wails on the front porch over her lost turtle; I go inside to finish cooking supper

5:55 - Receive phone call from Jeremy to tell me to eat supper without him, he's running late getting home because a train is stopped on the tracks, and he loves me :-)

6:03 - Call girls in to wash up for supper
6:12 - Eat supper
6:23 - DADDY'S HOME!!!!!! HOORAY!!!!!
6:45 - Supper over; search for Lollipop Rainbow (the turtle) begins again

6:57 - Daddy is our hero! He finds Lollipop Rainbow! (She had buried herself in the mud at the bottom of the bowl.)

• We all play outside.


• LeRoy and Tricia and kids come over to chat, and they have to be introduced to our newest family member.


• Sharon and Deb stop by to chat on their way around the pond, and they have to be introduced to our newest family member.


• Liberty is beside herself with joy over Lollipop.

8:30 - Bath time for the girls
8:50 - Keys for Kids (our bedtime devotional book)
9:00 - Bedtime (otherwise known as Mommy and Daddy time!!)

9:20 - Jeremy calls his Dad, and I clean up the kitchen and dining room
9:34 - Research "How to Care for Painted Turtles" online
10:30 - Work on Sisterhood Sentinel, and then prepare for next week's Sunday School Lesson

1:06 - Go to bed (As you can see, I did not keep to my healthy bedtime schedule.)

And there you have it. I hope it amused you rather than boring you!

I've been making some changes to the way I order my days, and as a result, the blog has fallen by the wayside. That's not what I intended at all; it's just the way it happened.

It took me a while after moving from Iowa to begin putting down new roots here in Indiana. Additionally, while living in the apartment and waiting to find a home, I felt like I was dangling in a limbo zone where I could not get involved in a whole lot. In fact, Jeremy asked me not to get involved in much because he felt that he could not handle much more juggling or family responsibilities until he felt more settled.

But now: now we've moved, and not only have we moved into a wonderful house, we've also moved into a wonderful neighborhood. I feel like I am finally able to settle into life and get involved! A while ago, I began teaching the four and five year old Sunday School class at my church, then I started working on the ladies' newsletter, then my friend and I started planning an Easter Egg Hunt for our neighborhood, now we're starting a neighborhood mom's group together, and I've got plans in the works to begin a neighborhood events committee. Add onto that, the fact that I'm involved in a Wednesday night Ladies' Bible Study, a Thursday night mentoring relationship, a once-a-week soccer practice for Liberty, and a Saturday soccer game for Liberty. But you know the most wonderful part? I'm slowly making friends! Friends who want to get together, neighbors who come over just to chat with me during the day, people from church and the community who have gotten to know me and who ask me to participate in various activities, all while I'm trying to write and publish books, train my children to become Godly citizens, keep a clean house, be an awesomely sexy wife, and the list goes on.

Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that this new healthy life-style I'm trying to maintain requires that I get enough sleep at night. Can you imagine? No more getting extra work done after the kids go to bed. No more reading and writing blog posts until the wee hours of the morning. Now THAT is sad! (By the way, I've lost fourteen pounds in three months, so there's definitely an upside. But I'm still very sad about not blogging, and I'm missing out on the lives of my online friends. Do you know that I regularly compose blog posts in my mind during the day for you guys [but really for me, because I just can't help it], but I have no time at night to get those thoughts onto the computer before my bedtime? 'Tis a sad, sad thing!)

Suddenly, my plate is very full, and my life is overflowing with life! My days are filled to the fullest with activity of many kinds, so full in fact, that I began feeling very down about my ability to accomplish simple tasks and to meet deadlines as they come up. I told my mentor, "I'm a failure as a person. I'm not getting anything done! What is wrong with me?"

She suggested that I keep a running log of my daily activities so that I might be able to identify a pattern and make some appropriate changes. I took her advise this week, and that is when I realized: I am not a failure! The difference between these past few months and last year is the fact that I'm finally living! The reason I am exhausted at the end of the day and unable to summon the energy to remember my post (let alone type a post) is because I am no longer sitting on my rear end all day long wishing I could get involved.

I'm so grateful for this daily logging exercise that Sherry has suggested to me, because it helped me discover the surprising fullness in my life. Of course, I can find room for improvement in how I spend my time. Writing down what I'm doing from minute to minute has helped me cut my tendency to hop from task to task without actually finishing anything - that has been a huge improvement! Now, when I get interrupted from doing the dishes by my children or my neighbors or the telephone, instead of returning to the room and starting an entirely different task, I now look at my notebook where I wrote down what time I began washing dishes, and my brain says, "Oh yeah, I was washing dishes. I need to finish that."

Can you say, "BREAK-THROUGH!"

Or maybe you should say, "There's nothing shiny over here."

Hey, Everybody! I've missed you a lot. I've been crazy busy the last few weeks working on deadline after deadline after deadline. But things are finally settling down and I now have time to blog! Hooray!

Last weekend I went away with the ladies from my church for a weekend "Garden Party Getaway." And I WON a prize for the craziest flower-themed outfit! Yay for me! I also spent a few hours shopping and finally got hit with inspiration for my master bathroom decor. I'm extremely excited about this.

I know this post is lacking the story-telling style that I usually employ. If I'd had time yesterday to blog what was in my head, you would have laughed and laughed and fallen in love with my husband just a little bit more like I did, but I didn't have time to blog yesterday, and that story has gone clean out of my head.

My apologies. Keep your fingers crossed for a better post from me tomorrow!

PS> Can mediocrity actually have a "finest?"

Today, I met with my illustrator about the first story in my children's book series. (I've finished three stories so far.)

!!!!

Today, the sun shone gorgeously, and the temps got up to almost sixty.

!!!!

Today, my four-year-old, Liberty Grace decided it would be smart to cut a patch out of the back of my hair with a pair of scissors.

!!!!

Today, I earned my mother-of-the-year award -- both of my daughters are still living.

(Barely.)

It was late Sunday evening when I heard the crash, followed by shrieking wails from the girls' room. I jumped up from my facebook session so quickly that I knocked my chair over in the process. When I arrived at the girls' bedroom door, I found two little sisters standing there. Liberty had her arm wrapped protectively around her sister, and Mercy's large tear drops had created two rivers down her cheeks. Mercy looked up at me, sniffed in one last sob, and quavered bravely, "I'm okay, Mommy. I just hurt my back a little bit."


I didn't respond. My brain was too busy fitting puzzle pieces together. How did Mercy arrive at the door? I looked over at the crib and verified that the crib rails were all up and intact. Did she climb out? I looked again. She must have climbed out. In mild disbelief, I looked her over for injuries, kissed away her tears, tucked her back into her bed and very firmly informed her that she was NOT allowed to get out of bed without Mommy or Daddy's help; if she chose to get out by herself, there would be consequences.

Sitting at the computer once again, my mind had a chance to catch up, and I realized it was way past time for Mercy to begin climbing out. She is two and a half years old! Liberty climbed out very shortly after her first birthday. I continued working at the dining room table, until a slight noise caused me to turn to my left. Two big blue eyes stared solemnly at me from a few feet away in the kitchen. She was trying out her innocent look on me.

It didn't work.

She received her consequence, wailed to let me know that she didn't approve, got kissed and tucked back into bed, and the same stern warning administered. "Night-night, Sissy-girl. I love you."

"I love you, too, Mommy. I'll stay in my bed until you help me out in the morning, okay?"

"Okay, Honey. Great decision!"

I think I had been back at the computer about ten minutes when I heard the bedroom door creak as it opened, and the whisper of two little girls who haven't quite gotten the concept of whispering reached my ears.

Liberty: "It's okay, Mommy's gone. Let's go out into the hallway."
Mercy: "Okay, she's gone. You go first."
Liberty: "See? I'm out here. It's okay. Come here, Mercy."
Mercy: "Let's go to the kitchen, Grace!"
Liberty: "Okay, but be very quiet! You don't want Mommy to hear us."

I waited with a grin on my face (ready to be tucked away when necessary) as the girls crept very slowly down the hall and around the corner. I waited until they were far enough from their bedroom door that the sudden sight of me could not realistically send them scampering to their beds. Then I stood up.

Mercy froze and her little hands popped up horizontally on either side of her body as they always do when she is unsure of her next move. Liberty recovered quickly and jumped up shouting, "I have to go potty, Mommy!" She took off for the bathroom, knowing that that is the only reason she is allowed out of bed after tuck-in. Mercy watched her sister's flashing legs with an abrupt turn of her head, and then quickly turned back to examine my face. Not even a full second of time had passed. Around her bedtime pacifier she shouted, "I have to go potty, Mommy! Have to go potty!" and she took off like a rocket.

I almost laughed out loud. Mercy is not potty trained. We've been trying, oh yes, but she has informed me on a regular basis that she does not like to potty in the toilet or the potty chair. She does not want to be a big girl. She does not want candy or stickers or hugs. She would much rather potty in her diaper like she has always done. She has actually told me this; I am not joking with you.

I let her run, figuring I'd catch up with her in the bathroom where she would refuse to pull her diaper down or sit on the toilet. But when I could finally see into the little room, I witnessed an unusual sight. Liberty sat on the big toilet, and Mercy sat on the potty chair facing her with her diaper down around her ankles, the two of them happily singing away. I pondered for a few moments and then decided not to ruin the first good experience Mercy has had with the potty chair.

I sat back down at the computer and waited for my songsters to give up their charade. It took a long time. Finally, Liberty requested her bottom wiped (my favorite part of motherhood), and Mercy told me, "I goed potty, Mommy! Wipe my bottom, please!" I walked back into the bathroom fully expecting to find Mercy dancing around, but lo and behold, she was right! She DID go potty!

I gasped, "Mercy? Did you do this all by yourself?" I pointed at the puddle in the potty chair. She nodded proudly. "Wow! You went potty?! This is great, Mercy Jane!" I gave her a giant hug, picked her up into the air and swung her around for fun. I thought about giving her a piece of candy for finally going potty, but it was after bedtime. AND she had not really gotten out to go potty, that was just a lucky break for her. I decided a big hug and not getting a consequence for deliberately sneaking out of her room would be enough of a reward for pottying this time.

The next morning, we dismantled her crib and turned it into a big girl bed. I have some really cute pictures and a video, but I can't figure out how to get them off my phone.

Liberty has been discussing the growth of her toenails with me randomly for the past several days. Today, at lunch, she stated in her BIG IDEA voice, "Mommy! I know! I can ask God to make my toenails stop growing and stay the same for always! Right, Mommy?!"

"Well, that's right, you can ask God for that, but He wants your toenails to keep growing."

"Why?"

"Because He made you that way, and He knows it is best for your toenails to keep growing and for us to keep clipping them."

"But how does God know that is best? I don't think that is really best."

"Because He is way super smart. He is so much smarter than we are, and He knows that it is good for us to have toenails that keep growing."

Liberty pondered this while she munched on her sandwich. After two seconds of silence, she asked, "Mommy? What was your name when you were a little tiny baby?"

"My name was Melissa Jane." I thought about my verb tense as I said it but decided to roll with it.

"Ohhh," Liberty nodded knowingly. "How little were you when you were Mehwisha Jane?"

"Well, I was so little, that Grandpa, my daddy, could hold me in only one arm, like this." I demonstrated.

Mercy looked up from her plate, "Mommy? Your daddy could hold you like this?" She pantomimed holding a newborn in her arms. When I nodded, she said, "That's very little."

"Yes."

"But Mommy," Liberty wanted to know, "how come I never saw you when you were that little?"

"Because you weren't born yet."

"Why wasn't I born yet?"

While I paused to figure out the answer to that question, Mercy piped up with wonder in her voice, "Mommy! When I take my turkey out of my bread, I still have mayonnaise on my sandwich!" By the tone of her voice, this obviously was a Great Discovery.

"Wow!" I responded, matching her excitement.

"Mommy? Where you this little when Grandpa could hold you with one arm?" Liberty indicated the size of a pea with her index finger and thumb. I thought about telling her I was that little when I was inside Grandma's tummy, but held back, not wanting to answer all of the questions that would undoubtedly ensue from that bit of info.

Instead, I laughed, "Noooo!"

"How about this big?" her fingers indicated a golf ball now.

"Nooo! Babies are usually this big when they are first born, not any smaller than that." I used my hands to outline a preemie.

Mercy disagreed, "Team Umizoomi is this big, Mommy," she pointed out.

"You're right, Sissy, but Team Umizoomi is pretend. Real people are usually this big when they are babies."

"Mommy!" Liberty shouted with sudden inspiration, "I want to watch Diego when I'm done with my lunch!"

I thought about it. Since every Wednesday we have English Class (letter recognition and writing), Cooking Class (we made smoothies and smoothie pops today) and Cleaning/Health Class (they took a bath - systematically cleaning themselves, and then cleaned their bathroom - systematically following a list of items to be cleaned and learning why cleaning themselves and the things around them is important)... Anyway, since every Wednesday we have English Class, I told them they could watch an episode of Super Why which teaches them to recognize the alphabet.

"I want to watch Dora!" Mercy exclaimed.

"Sorry, Sissy, not today."

"That's because Dora is pretend," Liberty explained to her little sister.

"Yeah, and Diego is pretend, too," Mercy shot back.

"Super Why is pretend, too," I inserted, and they both looked at me in amazement.

Then Liberty's face lit up, "That's why they're this little, Mommy!" She showed me with her fingers how tall they were, and I couldn't hold it in. I laughed, and we all started laughing together.

"Mommy," Liberty told me in a thoughtful voice, "I'm glad you're not Bewhissa Jane anymore. I'm really glad your name is Mommy."

While reading a post of the same title by my friend PJ, I was reminded of an incident that happened to me a few years ago while traveling to a business meeting.

*******

In order to arrive at the morning meeting in a timely fashion, I picked up my rental car after work and began driving to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Around ten-thirty pm, I pulled into a gas station to refuel, stretch my legs, and use the restroom. The station looked run down, a little sketchy, and distant from other businesses, and I considered picking a more well-lit place with a happier vibe, but my bladder urged me to stop here. Besides, I knew that the stretch of highway ahead of me held no exits for another several miles.

I kept my guard up while locking my car doors and sauntering into the building, and I memorized the layout of the store while walking towards the bathroom. I also took a hard look at the only person present, the cashier standing behind a counter and protected by what I could only assume was bullet-proof Plexiglas. Not reassuring.

When I opened the bathroom door, I realized two things: first that a motion sensor over the doorway had picked up the movement of the door and turned the lights on for me, and second that the bathroom was unusually long and narrow. The sink and toilet sat at the far end of the room, and I felt claustrophobic as I sat down.

I'll spare you the details (mainly because I don't remember them), but apparently, I sat on the throne long enough for the timer on the lights to go off. My first thought was one of those horror film scenes where the lights get cut off right before the gorgeous and brilliant heroine gets brutally murdered. My second thought was that the electricity to the building must have gone down. Then I finally realized the motion sensor had not had any motion to sense, so I waved my hand to turn the lights back on.

Nothing happened.

I waved again.

Again nothing.

I began wildly wiggling my arms and legs while still perched on my throne.

No result.

My heart raced along with my brain as I stopped to think about the scenario in which I had found myself trapped. Then I cleverly removed my right shoe and heaved it towards where I remembered the door to be. Then my left shoe.

Still Darkness.

I sat, wanting to cry and feeling a panic rising in my throat. I'm not normally afraid of the dark, but this darkness felt so thick and complete. I thought of the phrase "So dark you can't see your hand in front of your face," and I tried it out. Nope, no hand.

I began imagining my future. I wouldn't be missed until morning when my co-workers would wonder why I had not arrived at the meeting, and even then, how would they think to send the police to this particular restroom at this particular gas station? I thought of my cell phone locked in the car outside. I wondered if the cashier with the bushy, unkempt beard would remember seeing me walk to the restroom and wonder what was taking me so long. Then I embarrassed myself, imagining the scene if he unlocked the door with his master key and found me still sitting there, shoeless.

I finally gathered up the courage to stretch my nice clean fingers out towards where the toilet paper should be bolted to the hopefully equally clean wall. The coldness of the concrete blocks greeted my fingertips, and I had to force myself not to recoil, to continue searching. A few minutes later, I had to force myself to put my sock feet down on the dirty linoleum and step, step, step to the door.

*Shudder*

When I got to the door, I waved my hands over my head, but still nothing happened. I had to feel my way around the door until I reached the handle. When I opened the door a crack, the lights blazed on, and I quickly re-locked the door, slipped my shoes back on and ran to the sink to speed wash and disinfect my hands before the lights had time to shut themselves off again.


See, I told you all the best stories contained TMI!

Alright, you guys, I need help.

I've been back and forth on my eating habits. I think it was Saturday(?) when I finally decided, Enough of this! I am going to do right! Amazingly, I even did great while at a KFC buffet Sunday afternoon with my family. Can you believe it? (Yes, I'm patting myself on the back.)

But Wednesday evening Bible Study buffets seem to be my downfall. You see, every Wednesday night, I go to a Bible Study at church, and the ladies all bring the most deliciously tempting assortment of food. Last night, I told myself, I will be very good. So I took only a small spoonful of salad, and a small spoonful of the to-die-for chili (I'm going to have to get that recipe!) and a small amount of tortilla chips (as in seven, count 'em, seven chips). But the end of the line contained my weakness: chocolate chip cookies...and other desserts. So I stood there, thinking.

I've done a great job the past few days. In fact, I've actually eaten less calories than I'm supposed to be eating - totally by accident, I assure you - I can have some dessert. Which is true! I'm not cutting out desserts; I'm just being reasonable.

I scooped a square of banana bread with cream cheese frosting onto my plate and thought about walking away, but the next dessert was one of those beautiful concoctions covered with all sorts of colorful, chopped fruits. You know, it's very important to eat fruit. I said to myself, so I picked one of the larger pre-cut squares. (I wouldn't want to skimp on nutrition.) Again, I thought about walking away, but you know what plate was next in line? The chocolate chip cookie plate. And I truly have never seen any chocolate chip cookies in my life that looked better than those did. They were the perfect size, texture, smell, everything! I really did think about walking away. I should get points for that, right?

I took two.

Only two little circles of heaven.

That's good, right?

Of course, after the main learning and before the discussion, I went back for two or three more.

And then after the Bible Study group dismissed, I snagged another one or two.

This is getting embarrassing.

Here's how you can help: On Wednesdays BEFORE the meeting, please message, comment or email me with helpful humor like - DON'T DO IT! or IT'S NOT WORTH IT!

And if you happen to be at the Bible Study with me, I give you permission to examine my plate for excessive cookie consumption.

Galatians 6:2 says, "Carry each other's burdens," right? So, give a sister a hand! (And if you happen to be holding a few cookies in the hand you extend to me, I'll be your best friend forever.)

Whew, I am worn. flat. out.

Liberty and Mercy had a couple friends over today from about 1:00 pm to 8:30 pm, and the running and shrieking and jumping and hugging and sobbing and laughing and chocolating (it starts early) and just all around silliness was a sight to behold! The muscles on my face even now, an hour later, feel strange if they aren't smiling widely. Those four girls together were hysterical!

The non-stop action, hilarity, craziness and just plain fun reminded me of my childhood, and I'm missing my brothers and sisters badly right now. Memories of our own unique brand of nonsense games are flooding my heart and causing chuckles. What a wonderful life I've had! :-)

You remember that overgrown spider who disappeared in my bathroom a week or so ago, right?

He's back.

And taunting me from his perch 20 feet higher than my head.

I've been on high alert ever since the day he disappeared. Two days later, I moved some papers on the desk in my bedroom, and his petite cousin scurried into my desk drawer to hide. The drawer! I ask you, what was I to do?

First I shrieked. Then I prayed.

Beside himself with glee at my predicament, my husband laughed from the other side of the room while I timidly yanked the drawer open, jumped back, waited, slammed the drawer shut, jumped back, waited, yanked it open again, jumped back, waited, found a nearby ruler to stir things up a bit, then shrieked and jumped back again when the little acrobat bungee jumped from the desk to the carpet below.

"Wilfred's getting away again!" Jeremy The Vigilant informed me, thrilled that I was being bested by the same arachnid.

"That's not Wilfred!" I responded, trying desperately not to lose the creature in the fibers of the rug, "She's too small. This is his cousin, Trina. Throw me a shoe! I need a shoe!"

He tossed me a flimsy slipper and called out, "You're really going to kill a helpless little spider named Trina?"

The slipper disappointed me. I had been hoping for a sturdy, steel-toed boot to do the deed. The flexibility of the slipper meant I'd have to put my hand farther down on the shoe and thus closer to the object of my murderous intent. "I sure hope so." I muttered, not at all sure of my ability to do so. Not after Wilfred's mysterious get-away earlier that week.

I smooshed the slipper into the thick carpeting, and Trina, whether by her own powers or forced upwards by the springy fibers, jumped about a foot sideways and closer to me. I screamed again and lost all control of my arm. It slammed and slammed and slammed and slammed, until Jeremy shouted, "Stop! She's got to be dead by now!"

My heart thudded loudly in the silence. I slowly removed the slipper from the small black body and watched for a flicker of movement. Finally, convinced she wasn't faking, I stood up to get a burial shroud from the bathroom. I planned to bury her at sea in a solemn ceremony, but when I returned to the scene of her death, I couldn't find her. Not even a chalk outline helped me remember exactly where she had been.

Another few days passed. As has now become my habit, I checked the bathroom doorway and ceiling for Wilfred the Terrible upon entry, and this time, I didn't even flinch when I found his adjutant, Darius, sitting over the garden tub. I considered mustering my artillery battalion, but two resounding defeats in a row had my men discouraged. I took in their state of despair and the enemy positioned on the higher ground and decided it would be a more strategic move to let this battle pass. My troops needed more time to recover and rebuild before our next engagement; besides, lulling Darius into a false sense of security could prove to be the smartest move yet in my war against Wilfred the Terrible.

It has now been almost two weeks since my first and last sighting of Wilfred. Until yesterday. I sat in my favorite ugly upholstered rocking chair, drinking in the silence of naptime. My shoulder muscles slowly relaxed, my head finally dropped back against the headrest, and I saw him. Lounging about ten inches from the highest point of the living room's cathedral ceiling, Wilfred sits and watches.

He knows I cannot reach him. He has seen the burned out bulbs in our living room light and has correctly surmised that not even our ten foot ladder can come to our aid. Great strategist that he is, he also waited until I decorated the fireplace mantel for Valentine's Day with a length of red tulle, white lights and glass framed pictures of my love and I. He knows, he knows I will not risk firing at him only to have his heavy body drop onto the breakable items below.

For two days, we have stood at an impasse -- I, surreptitiously glancing at him from time to time, pretending that he matters naught to me, and he, laughing to himself as he reclines on my living room wall, his legs crossed, his chin resting on his knees, observing my habits, learning my movements.

I will tell only you this: I am feeling at a distinct disadvantage. Thankfully, spiders cannot read -- I would eat my blog before allowing him to know how I am feeling at this moment.

The other day, Liberty, Mercy and I were at the chiropractor's office. Dr. C has become a friend, and the girls just love to visit with him. He took note of Mercy's purple, polka-dotted baby doll top, sparkly jeans and crisp white hair bow, and he told her, "Mercy, you look so pretty today."

Now, I've taught my girls to say "Thank you," when someone says something nice about them, but Mercy just looked earnestly into his face and said matter of factly, "Yep." Then she nodded to reaffirm his assessment of her looks.

Dr. C and I both laughed, "Nothing like an extra dose of self-esteem, huh?" he said jokingly.

A little bit later, Dr. C told Liberty, "Oh, Liberty, that huge diamond on your shirt is so sparkly!" Liberty nodded and pointed to her hair bow, "And look at this, Dr. C!" she encouraged him. "It is so pretty, too!"

"Yeah, you missed a compliment, there, Dr. C," I muttered facetiously for only him to hear. We laughed again and started talking about how hard it is for some people accept compliments. He pointed out that most adults, when complimented, instead of graciously accepting it with a thank you, try to put themselves down. Apparently, that is one of his pet peeves because he continued talking about it while he worked on my spine.

A few minutes later, we were discussing another subject when Liberty asked Dr. C a technical question about one of the machines nearby. He answered her and then said to me, "She's going to be an engineer like her daddy when she grows up."

"No, I don't think so. That's Mercy."

"Why do you say that?" he wanted to know.

"Because Mercy's brain works like her daddy's, and Liberty's definitely works like mine."

"Ah, then Liberty's going to be an incredible mommy when she grows up," he complimented me.

But I didn't recognize the compliment - my mind was still focused on what Liberty might grow up to be. I could see her being a good mommy, so I nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

He cracked up laughing and when he could breathe again, said, "Now I see how your girls learned to accept compliments!"

On my drive into town today, Liberty's concerned voice piped up from the back seat. "Mommy, do you have your money with you?" She asked this because a few weeks ago, we tried to eat at Subway using a check to pay. We now know that our Subway does not accept checks, even the checks of nice, innocent-looking people like us. I wonder if our crossed fingers gave us away?

"Yes, I do, honey."

"Oh, good, Mommy. How much do you have?"

"Enough."

"Is 'enough' a lot of money?" she wanted to know.

"Well," I thought about it, "'enough' means God has given us all the money that He thinks we need."

She squealed, "Oh, good! Now we can buy everything! This is GREAT, Mommy!"

I laughed. "Actually, it would not be a good decision to buy everything with our money." I saw a teaching moment on the horizon and reached for it. "We should talk to God and ask Him what He wants us to do with the money He gives us. Then, we can spend the money on only the best things."

She was impressed, "Oh! You're right, Mommy! I know what the best things are! We need to buy a horse, so I can ride on him." (This is her latest obsession.) "And after that, we can buy the best puppet." (Puppy.) "And then a kitty cat for our house, because it is the best. And then..."

While her best list grew, I had to laugh silently, because my best list looks like this: living room furniture, dining room table and chairs, back deck... And I'm quite certain my list was a direct revelation from God! ;-)

*Note to self: get that kid a horse! We can keep it in the basement.*

So I was sitting on the toilet...

(Sorry for the TMI, but let's be honest, don't all the really great stories start that way?)

...when I noticed a gigantic black spider creeping it's way across the bathroom ceiling towards my position. I stared and stared, sure that if I looked away for a tiny moment, I'd miss the part where he rushed me. (I'm not fond of surprise attacks by insects.) It was an intense five minutes, let me tell you. Afraid I'd be caught with my pants down, so to speak, I had a hard time with the toilet paper, while that colossal arachnid crept closer and closer.

Finally, I jumped up, ready to do battle. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a single weapon that would be useful while he held the upper ground. I did consider getting the broom from the pantry, but that would require leaving my reconnaissance post, and that would have been completely unacceptable. After all, who would be left to guard my bedroom doorway if I went AWOL? We all know that a renegade spider loose in the bedroom may be the only thing worse than one loose in the bathroom. I quickly took my eyes from the enemy just long enough to perform a sweeping search of the available weaponry, and I found a small pile of ponytail holders in reach. AHA!

I positioned a band on my right index finger and pulled back with my left hand, aiming for the ceiling. Twang! The cloth-covered rubber shot from my finger tips and thwacked against the ceiling. The spider flinched and then froze in place. I quickly grabbed another hair band and repeated my actions. Thwack, thwack. The band hit the ceiling near the spider and ricocheted against the wall before falling to the counter top. I shot again. And again. And again.

I really impressed myself with my aim. In our family rubber band fights, I can't hit a human target for the life of me, but several of these shots hit so close to the spider that only the fact that he hadn't fallen or lost a limb told me I'd missed. After several rounds of ammunition had been spent, I decided to call in the big guns. I grabbed a nearby hand towel and launched it at the ceiling. It hit, my aim way off, and landed on the light fixture over the bathroom mirror. I reached up and snatched it down before the spider could regroup or drop on me, and I launched it again.

This time, my aim was spot on, and the spider and towel fell almost gently together. On its way down, the towel hung itself on the air freshener plugged into the wall and draped its lower half into Jeremy's sink. I waited breathlessly for the spider to come running out of its protecting folds, but he was too smart for me. He remained hidden.

I had to stop for a re-strategizing meeting. Once I'd gotten my new very risky orders, I took several steps back so my body was as far from the counter as possible. Then with my fingertips, I quickly (so as not to get crawled on) and gently (to prevent excessive towel swinging) picked up the towel and dropped it to the floor a few feet away from where I stood.

I tried to watch two points at once, the counter top where the towel had been and the floor where the towel was now. Neither revealed a crawly creature. I even quickly eyeballed the air freshener to see if it was giving refuge to the enemy. Nothing there either, so I knew that he must still be lurking in the folds of the towel.

Again, I waited. Again, the spider outsmarted me.

I became brave enough to bend, allowing my face within eyesight range, and I searched every centimeter of the top of that towel before declaring it clear of enemy presence. Then with my fingertips again, just as quickly and just as gently, I flipped the towel and examined the other side.

No spider there either.

In puzzlement, I pondered the situation -- never taking my eyes from that towel in case my nemesis might use that moment of weakness to make good his escape. I reviewed all moves and counter-moves, on the lookout for times or means of escape that the spider may have seized during the course of our battle. I found none. At least none plausible enough to really investigate.

Finally, certain that his only hiding place could be that towel, I bravely trampled it. Back and forth, missing nary a fiber, I trampled it. Then I trampled it again. The entire time, I remained on the lookout for a fleeing invader. Afterwards, I gingerly flipped the towel over again, searching for a crushed corpse, or a stray leg, or a wet smudge on the tile floor, anything to indicate the terminated presence of my foe.

I found nothing. He has vanished.

And I want to know, who is going to stand guard so I can try to sleep tonight?

Click here to read Part Two.

I've spent the past four days gaining back those seven pounds. Apparently, I had already forgotten what agony it was to lose them.

It started out with a Progress celebration that got a little out of hand. Those extra calories (which weren't even that much extra) discouraged me. The next day, Jeremy talked me into going with him to our favorite restaurant where I somewhat successfully divided my portions with the family, but I was left guessing the numbers on what I'd actually eaten. I let that discourage me, too. Then my entire busy weekend kept me from logging onto SparkPeople - my main catalyst for continuing.

On Monday, Jeremy encouraged me, "Just forget about trying to record what you did this weekend, and start today." But I couldn't let it go. My own perfectionist tendencies kicked in and wouldn't let me move on until I had recorded perfectly what I couldn't perfectly recall or even guess. I stayed stuck.

This morning, before I even got out of bed, I asked God to help me out of this hole I'd planted myself in. I'd been using my own faulty logic and my own sporadic strength. It wasn't working. I was ready to move on.

While I put away the breakfast dishes, this verse popped into my mind. "Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

Starting today, I have amnesia. The good kind.

And you know what else? This morning, I realized that my new lower-sized jeans still fit, albeit barely. So maybe I haven't gained it all back!

Yesterday marked two weeks since I started this tumultuous journey on Sparkpeople.com, and my friend Que asked me (ever so fearfully politely) if I had lost any weight. Oh how that question shot tremors through my soul. You see, I've purposely avoided any scales so far.

That may sound strange for someone who's trying to lose weight, but I've tried and tried and tried and tried before with little to no results, and I wanted this journey to be different. My goal is not really to lose weight (although that is a very desired by-product). My goal is not really to become healthy (although, that is closer to my goal). My real goal is to glorify my Lord with the body He has given me. I want to be able to say to Him, "I love you SO MUCH, God, that here is how I have respected what You have created."

I started this journey by praying, no, by BEGGING God to help me do something that I had never been able to accomplish before, and already in these past two weeks, I have seen Him bring circumstances about that proved to me: this goal that He's put on my heart is important to Him. He is actively walking this road with me.

Because of the transformation I've seen internally, I didn't want to discourage myself by seeing no progress or very little progress on the scale. That was easy to manage, though. I simply stayed away from the scale. Then Que's question touched a question of my own, have I made any physical progress? I don't know.

You wouldn't believe how I stewed over my decision: to weigh or not to weigh. THAT is the question.

This morning, I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth and pondering how my body felt to me. It definitely does NOT feel lighter, I determined. I should wait until I feel lighter to weigh myself. Then I started talking to God, "What do You think, God? Should I skip it? I should skip it, right? I don't want to feel defeated."

And God said to my spirit, I thought your goal wasn't about losing weight, that you'd be happy whether or not you lost anything as long as you were closely following Me.

"Oh yeah, that." I muttered.

So I bolstered my courage, and told myself, "Even if you've only lost a pound, or worse, gained a pound, it doesn't matter. You're in this to glorify God through self-control and training yourself to be a good steward of your body. So, you might be discouraged by the results, but you're going to keep going no matter what. Right, Missy? Right!" Then I stepped up.

"No. Way!"

I stared at the numbers.

"No. Freaking. WAY!"

I took inventory of my body again. I felt heavier. Really and truly, I felt heavier.

So how could the scale tell me I was seven pounds lighter?

SEVEN POUNDS! In two weeks!

Those two weeks had been filled with victories, yes, but also with multitudes of failure. Sparkpeople tells me that I should be eating between 1300-1500 calories each day and excersizing three times a week, but there was a day that I ate more than 3400 calories and a few days when I topped 1800 calories, and I certainly haven't been exercizing three times a week, although I have been more purposeful in trying to move vigorously more often. So how in the world...

Then I got suspicious. I jokingly said, "God, did You mess with my numbers just so I wouldn't be discouraged? Okay, just step back for a second. I want to weigh by myself."

I stepped off and then back on the scale, totally kidding with God.

Same result: SEVEN POUNDS!

Can you believe it?

I jumped up and down, twirling around the bathroom tiles, and shouting my praises to God. Then I counted that as one of my days of exercize for the week. (Just kidding.)

It snowed today. A Lot.

Jeremy hauled out his big manly snow-blower and started with our driveway, then our sidewalks, then the street in front of our house, then the street from our house almost to the crossroad, then he sent me next door with a request, "Can my husband, please, please, pretty please clear off your driveway for you? It will make him so happy!"

They said yes.

That kept him busy for another while, until he came into the house to ask me to do some ice-chopping on sections of their driveway - major upper body workout, let me tell you! Then I was forced to go across the street and ask if he could clear that neighbor's driveway. He was too chicken to ask by himself.

We breaked for lunch and some fun times, and during the girls' nap time, I got onto facebook where I saw a status from my neighbor down the street mentioning that her husband had been outside shoveling their driveway the past two hours, and he still wasn't finished. I read that status to my heroman Jeremy who jumped up and grabbed his coat. "Tell her I'm on my way!" he said happily.

We scored a bucket of homemade chocolate chip cookies from them!

When I found out about it, I had mixed feelings. I've been doing pretty well with my eating habits, but I've also wisely kept most temptations out of the house during this start-up period. I looked up the nutrition information for homemade cookies and found out they are usually about 60 calories. I then looked at what I intended to eat for snacks and supper and decided if I cut out my snack, I could eat two cookies! Hooray! Oh how excited I was!

Of course, I did all this without the cookies in my eyesight. I dream big, don't I?

Once that bucket of homemade chocolate chip cookies was clutched in my grubby little hands, and the sweet aroma entangled itself in my nostrils, I lost all control. I ate three cookies immediately. (Not too bad, I rationalized to myself.) Then I put the lid on and put it out of sight.

When the girls got up from their naps, they were ready for their snack, and I told them, "Guess what? I have a surprise for you!" I opened that enticing bundle of sugar and chocolate and carbohydrates and fat and inhaled deeply. I doled out Liberty and Mercy's snacks and ate another cookie. I put the lid on the container, but when I finished my extra cookie, I grabbed another one. And then another one. While I ate that sixth cookie, Gandalf's words reverberated in my brain, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" And I remembered my cocoon post, celebrating my new-found self-control.

I felt defeated.

I put the lid back on the bucket, and put the bucket on top of the refrigerator. I walked to my room, sat at my computer and entered my newest calories into SparkPeople. I found that I had only 125 calories left for the day. I stared sadly at my screen, not looking at the numbers, but thinking of my failure. My emotions begged me to fully accept my defeat and go finish the rest of the cookies in the container. At least that way, the temptation will be gone! I thought to myself.

The picture of Gandalf the Gray from Lord of the Rings in that dark cave facing his biggest fear entered my mind again, and I played it out in my imagination. The STAB of his staff into the bedrock; the finality in his voice when he roared at the balrog, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" And the battle to the death that followed so that he could stick with his convictions and not run. Then I thought of those cookies on top of the refrigerator.

"No! I will NOT be completely defeated!" I said to myself. I stood up and imitated Gandalf's stab into the earth, my legs braced for battle, my head high, my face set. I said to those cookies -- no, I said to my own desires -- "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

Then I sat back down and felt a little silly, but definitely settled. I looked back at the screen and tried to decide how to finish out my eating for the day. I could no longer meet my nutrition goals, but I could still meet my caloric goals. I searched the communication from my tummy. Nope, not hungry at all...in fact, slightly queasy from the unusual amount of sugar now present. I decided on a 120 calorie container of Greek yogurt with strawberries. Then I happily smelled (from the other room) while my family chowed down on Jeremy's impulsive order of cheese pizza from Papa Murphy's.

(It's really not so bad if you don't watch them eat it.)

Jeremy kindly set aside a piece for me to eat tomorrow when I get to start over with a clean plate...err, I mean slate, and I'll balance out those carbs and fat with nutrition the rest of the day.

I'm proud of myself. There are still cookies on top of the fridge that I am defeating! Well, I'm as proud as I can be with the memory of those six eaten cookies in my past, but I'm trying to use those to motivate me. My long-term goal is NOT to reach my caloric goal and skimp on nutrition; it is to be healthy.

I'm getting there.



PS> I'm not an insanely addicted LOTR's fan, although my past few posts may indicate otherwise. It's just that the scene with Gandalf seems to be on my mind lately.

The other night, Jeremy and I sat at our dining room table bent over individual Bible Study books. The large, old-world looking clock on the wall ticked loudly in the after-bedtime silence while we flipped pages in our Bibles and filled in answers on our worksheets. Finally, Jeremy announced, "Let's stop here for the night and discuss what we each put in our blanks."

I leaned back in my chair and stretched the muscles in my back that had been leaning forward too long. "Okay, what did you put for question one?"

He frowned, "Question one was complicated."

"Complicated?" I looked back at the question printed in my workbook. On a scale of one to ten with ten being high, rate yourself on the way you love others. "How is that complicated? You get to pick the answer, and since it's based on your opinion, you can't get it wrong!"

"They didn't give you enough information to make a good judgement," he explained. "For example, are they asking how well do I love others right now? How well I loved others in the past? How well I'm going to love others? How well do I wish I loved others?"

I glanced at the text again in puzzlement. "The verb tense implies your current love for others."

"Okay. Let's say that's what they want," he agreed, "Then they didn't describe by what standard I am measuring my love for others."

I nodded, understanding his lack of measure. "I just used my own measure. How well I think I love others by my own standard of love," I said.

"Yes, then there's the complication of what your standard of love has been influenced by," he pointed out. "If your father beat you every day, and you say 'Since I haven't beaten anyone today I must be ultra-loving,' then your standard would be different than if you got a sucker every day from your dad, and you said, 'Since I haven't given anyone a sucker today, I must be filled with hate.'"

I had to absorb his illustrations before answering, "Ah, but you see, I HAVE beaten someone today! I beat you at Sudoku! HA!" I paused trying to remember what his exact wording had been. "Wait, does that mean that I'm ultra-loving or filled with hate?"

"It means you were LUCKY!" he replied, "and I was going really slowly when I was playing anyway."

"Mmm-hmm," I winked at him, "your usual pace."

"I'm like Dash - I move so quickly that others perceive me as going slowly," he grinned at me and went back to our original discussion. "Just like the question in the book doesn't specify whether I should rate myself on how others perceive what I perceive to be loving actions."

"Huh?"

"I might tell you not to do something because I love you, and I know that what you're choosing to do will most likely have a bad outcome, but you might perceive my instructions as un-loving because I don't want you to enjoy life."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Jeremy! You are making this way too complicated! The sentence says RATE YOURSELF. That would be YOUR PERCEPTION."

He re-read the sentence in his workbook. "Okay..."

I waited for his next complication, but one didn't come. "So? Do you have a number picked?"

"I'm calculating."

"Calculating?"

"Yes, averaging my loving level over my lifetime."

"Oh my goodness! You're not serious."

He looked up at me like I was strange. "Yes. How did you come up with your number?"

"Uh, I read the question, and the first number that seemed logical to me, I put down on the paper. And THEN (you won't believe this)," I teased him, "I moved on!"

He shook his head, resigned to my haphazard way of doing things, and continued calculating.

We did finally make it to a few of the other questions with very similar discussions on each one. In fact, on question three which gave a Scripture passage to refer to and asked How did Jesus say we are to love? the convoluted discussion pathways we meandered upon lead us to the end times among other things. By this time, we had moved to the living room to be more comfortable, and as I rocked gently back in my ugly upholstered rocking chair listening to the man I love wax eloquent, I had to smile to myself. His discussion included examples from science about how the atomic structure is formed; it included life examples about people in our past; it included illustrations about building a house, and as I mentioned before, the discussion had now been brought into the "end times" arena.

He paused, "What are you smiling about? Did I say something funny?"

"No," I answered simply. "I'm just amazed at the way your brain works."

He looked suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I hesitated, searching for a good illustration, and then it hit me. "My brain is like a toy choo-choo-train. The engine hooks to the next car in line, and the next car in line, and the next car in line. My thoughts all follow the same path. I'm very simple-minded.



If I walk to the fridge and see that we are out of eggs, my engine starts puffing, and pretty soon all the cars are clacking along until the caboose gets to the grocery list where it writes EGGS. Finished."

He was staring at me with wrinkled eyebrows and a slightly open mouth.

"Your brain, on the other hand, is like a tinker toy," I continued.



"You start out with this central wheel we're out of eggs and suddenly little sticks start branching off of that wheel in all directions. One stick thinks eggs are full of protein; one stick thinks eggs cost $2.89; one stick thinks we bought this carton on March 22nd; one stick thinks eggs come from chickens; one stick thinks I wonder what the difference is between white and brown eggs? Then each of those sticks gets a wheel of its own added to it, and your brain branches off onto five different platforms of thought all at once.

The first stick eggs are full of protein reaches a wheel protein is good for my family, and sticks begin to branch off of that. 1. I have two girls growing who need protein. 2. I'm cutting back, so I could do without extra protein. 3. I wonder how protein affects Liberty's hearing? 4. Pro-teen. Protein must be extra good for teenagers. Hardy-har!

The second of the original sticks eggs cost $2.89 reaches a wheel what could I buy instead of eggs for the same price? 1. A gallon of gas 2. A kilowatt of electricity 3. A bag of ice melt (and so on).

The third original stick we bought this carton on March 22nd reaches a wheel..."

He was looking at me really strangely now.

"Anyway, you get the idea. After all those thoughts are done branching and platforming and branching and platforming and branching inside, you pool all of the information you have gathered and use that to make a decision: to purchase another carton of eggs or not. If you choose to purchase, you then walk over to the list and write Eggs. I'm just impressed with all the extra stuff your brain does as compared to mine, that's all." I shrugged.

"That's all," he muttered sarcastically.

I made a face at him.

"Okay, what did you write for question three?" he wanted to know.

"Love like Jesus does," I read to him from my workbook.

He did a double-take. "WHAT? That's it?"

I laughed aloud. "Yes. That's it."

"But... Well, how did you come up with that?" and he began to list all the ways that God wants us to love.

I interrupted, "That exact phrase was in the Scripture reference we read. I just copied it right out of the Bible.

"Yeah, I saw it in the verse, but that's so simple."

Yep. Just like my brain, apparently!

It seems this month is the month for internal battling in our family. Mercy has started fighting her own temptations, but my favorite part is that she does it verbally. For example...

This morning, I had to get my grocery list off the computer before we could go shopping. Mercy Jane impatiently stood next to me, commanding me to "Hurry up, Mommy!" She leaned closer and closer to my left arm, first patting it, and then more aggressively hitting. Finally she got very quiet, and in a firm voice said, "No! I do NOT want to bite your arm, Mommy."

I stopped what I was doing to look at her. "What?"

Her face registered determination and peace with the decision she had made. "I do NOT want to bite your arm anymore, Mommy."

"Well...I'm glad for that! Good decision, Mercy Jane!" I encouraged her.

She smiled up at me, but I still moved my arm a safe distance from her teeth.

Later at the grocery store, she told me in that same determined voice, "I do NOT want to open the raisins, Mommy."

I glanced down at her and noticed that she was staring at the box intently. "That's a great decision, Mercy!" I praised her. "Let's move that box so you can do right easier, okay?"

"Okay, thanks, Mommy!" she said happily.

I had to laugh to myself.

Then just now, I got her up from her nap. She stared at the button on my shirt that she had been playing with all day (and had been being told NOT to play with all day), and she said, "Mommy, I do NOT want to unbutton your shirt anymore."

I had forgotten her previous temptation fighting statements, so I questioned in puzzlement, "You don't?"

"No. I do NOT want to unbutton your shirt!" she said with vehemence. "Not. At. All."

I cracked up inside, but decided that was just the encouragement I needed to make my own right choices. I don't have a clue what's going on with her to cause all these serious decisions, but I'm all for it! And I'm so glad I get to hear it!

Normally, days and days of gray winter make me feel cooped up, restless, cabin-feverish, as I've blogged about before. But Thursday, I looked at the driving snowstorm outside my window, and I felt happily secretive. It seemed very appropriate to be cooped up inside while God and I accomplish a transformation - like a caterpillar hard at work inside a cocoon. Nobody else knows what's going on inside my house, but I do!

I grinned to myself, and I felt my eyes crinkle up. Thursday marked a week since I logged in to SparkPeople and began being purposeful about what I eat, drink and how I exercise. (Truthfully, the exercising isn't happening as often as it should, but regulating my appetite on a consistent basis is such a big step forward for me, that I'm not even concerned about the exercise. That will come in time.) One whole week of discipline. One whole week of not being ruled by the desire for food.

Do you know that even the thought of a random food popping into my mind used to force me to go eat? I'm being serious about the word force because even when I told myself, "No, you're not really hungry. You don't need it," I wouldn't listen to me. But now, I have a chart that I can look at to know if I need to eat or not. I know when my snacks are. I know what my calorie limits are. I know what nutrients my body needs. I even know which foods provide those nutrients and which foods do not. So when my body says, "I'm hungry! Feed me!" I can verify with an outside source that my body is communicating truthfully to me.

This may sound ridiculous to just about all of you, but to me, who has never disciplined myself to eat correctly, to me who has never really taken a stand against my appetite and said, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS." To me, this is freedom.

And this battle going on inside my cocoon? It's not a bad thing. It's a necessary thing. It's a life-giving thing. It's a death-to-self thing. It's even a joyful thing!

So Thursday, when I looked out the window at the world outside, I thought, "When the snow melts, when I join creation again in the sunshine, I'll have won!"

But first, I attend to business inside my cocoon.

You're not going to believe this. Well, maybe you will; I'm the one still in shock over my newest accomplishment.

I signed up for SparkPeople, a nutrition and fitness and any-other-goal-you-might-have tracking website. Yeah, yeah, that's not the amazing part. Are you ready for this?

I worked out tonight, because I wanted to! The website made it easy.

I've been on a different website, Live Strong, for a few years, but all it did was record whatever I put in. I'm not a goal-oriented person. I'm a fun-oriented person. So when my friend Alicia told me she had joined SparkPeople for free, I thought it might be worth a try if I have a friend. (Plus, Live Strong had locked me out because I couldn't remember my password. The nerve!)

Now that I'm on SparkPeople, I'm seeing how easy they've made everything. They created a workout program for me with video demos. They created an eating program for me, not that I'm going to follow it, but you know, it's nice to have options. And they've actually made the whole atmosphere over there really fun!

So now, I would like to say two things:

1. I apologize for the excessive italicizing on this post. I'm just so excited.
2. No one has asked me to post about this or offered me any wonderful things for advertising for them. I'm just so excited.

Well, maybe three things:
3. I actually feel like I may accomplish something (as long as Alicia pushes me from time to time). Did you hear that, Alicia? You're a very important part of this!

I'm so excited!

At the dentist today, Liberty needed to get a cavity filled on her upper back molar. She's my uber-compliant child, so I didn't worry too much about how she would behave in The Chair. I did worry, however, when the dentist informed me that I could not stay in the little room with her. In their experience, children sit better when their parents are not in sight. Plus, I had squirmy Mercy, my NON-compliant child, with me.

It's a small office, and I was amused and relieved to realize that Loquacious Liberty's voice could be heard all the way in the front waiting room. Unfortunately, Sesame Street on the television prevented me from hearing her exact words, but the receptionist, whom I could see through the little glass doors, did not have that problem. She sat typing at her computer, and from time to time she would giggle to herself at something she heard Liberty say in the back room. Her amusement amused me, as did the torrent of words pouring from Liberty's mouth with no break for breath.

After about fifteen minutes, the voice stopped, and I thought about worrying, then I realized the dentist must have had her hand in Liberty's mouth. An appropriate amount of time passed for a cavity to be filled. Then the waiting room door opened, and the dental assistant gently led my daughter to me. I searched Liberty's face to see what she had thought of her dental visit. She looked pleasantly spacey, and she sounded unusually quiet.

The assistant explained, "She's still a little woozy. We had to give her a bit of gas."

"Gas?" I questioned.

The assistant laughed slightly. "Your daughter is amazing. What a little trooper! She was braver than most adults we see, and so happy to be at the dentist. But we couldn't get her to stop talking long enough to work on her teeth..."

Later tonight, when I repeated the story to my dad, he laughed, too. "Sounds just like another little girl I used to know."

I grinned. I clearly remember my dentist asking me why I was "so darn happy" when I was about seven, and my dad leaning into my line of sight with an amused look on his face to kindly request that I stop talking for just a little bit so the dentist could do his job.

The gray winter months trouble me. I find myself wishing for life change, longing for weather change, and if I'm not careful, I can easily get discontent, grouchy, discouraged. It has happened often enough that I've recognized the winter-time pattern, and I know I have to sternly tell myself, "Missy, that's enough of that. Sure, it's wise to take introspective inventory to see if your heart is lining up with God's heart, but don't get sucked into your own emotions. Don't buy into the idea that what you feel is reality." So here I am again, preaching to myself.

Don't get me wrong: I love snow. I love the change in seasons. I'm just of the opinion that it should snow on Thanksgiving Day and melt on January 2nd. Nice, easy, simple, organized. Ta-da! And now on to Summer!

Last night, I was discussing all this with God (because if He didn't have me to keep Him updated on the weather patterns, I don't know what He'd do. He needs me, I tell ya!) Anyway, I was telling God how insignificant I feel right now. I know my children need me. I know my husband needs me. I know the meals I cook keep them from starvation (See? I'm making a BIG difference!), but when I spend ten minutes cleaning the living room, and I get to the far side and turn around and see twelve toys lying there where I just cleaned, I don't feel that I'm accomplishing much, you know? Where's the purpose?! I didn't plan to waste my life on things like cleaning the living room. I had goals, dreams, aspirations. I was going to make a difference in people's lives, and I don't mean by keeping their diapers clean.

(Ironically, if I worked in a nursing home or a hospital, and my duty was to feed and clean people, I think I would feel more significant. What's up with that?)

(Now, do you see why my emotions do not equal reality?)

Anyway, while God and I were talking, He reminded me of a sermon my college pastor preached, called "Brush Your Teeth." I won't go into details, but the illustration was about his son who did not like to brush his teeth (hence the sermon title). Pastor Schettler pointed out that if we are not doing the little daily things that we know we should do, then God is not going to give us anything bigger to do. God also reminded me of Philip in Acts 8:26-31 who while doing the little things God gave him, "stumbled onto" the big thing God had in store.

So I woke this morning with PURPOSE -- I was going to Brush My Teeth! I chose to pick up those extra twelve things with a GOOD ATTITUDE. (Can you imagine?) I chose to focus on things that will last, like sitting at the dining room table gluing random objects onto construction papers WITH my children. I choose to get off this computer and make meatballs and rice for supper tonight with delight, knowing that I am carrying out God's perfect will for my life at this exact moment.

Hooray!

Judging from the depth of the footprints I see outside my window, we got about six inches of snow yesterday and last night. I could be very wrong, but that's the story I'm sticking with. (Get it? "Sticking?" I crack me up.)

So it's glitteringly, gorgeously, powderly snowy outside, and I've just put this recipe into the crock pot (leaving out Jeremy's nemesis, the evil green celery, of course).

(I'm all about maintaining my healthy eating resolutions; can you tell?)

Chicken Corn Chowder
from SouthernFood.About.Com

Ingredients:
•2 tablespoons butter
•1 1/2 lbs chicken tenders, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
•1/2 cup chopped onion
•2 ribs celery, sliced
•2 small carrots, sliced
•2 cups frozen corn kernels
•2 cans cream of potato soup
•1 1/2 cups chicken broth
•1 teaspoon dried dill weed
•1/2 cup half and half or evaporated milk
Preparation:
In a large skillet, melt the butter or margarine; brown chicken. Transfer chicken to slow cooker. Add onions and celery to skillet and sauté for about 3 to 4 minutes, until just tender. Add the onions and celery to crockpot, along with carrots, corn kernels, soup, chicken broth and dill to slow cooker. Cover and cook on low 5 to 6 hours or until chicken is done and vegetables are tender. During the last 10 minutes, stir in the half and half or evaporated milk.

Serves 8.


MMMM, I can't wait for supper tonight!

I heard this song by Kerrie Roberts on the radio the other day, and it has snagged itself upon my soul.



I’m running back to Your promises one more time.
Lord, that’s all I can hold on to.
I gotta say this has taken me by surprise, but nothing surprises You!
Before a heartache can ever touch my life it has to go through Your hands,
and even though I keep asking why, I keep asking why...

...no matter what, I’m gonna love You!
No matter what I’m gonna need You!
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain, but if not...
If not, I’ll trust You no matter what, no matter what!

When I’m stuck in this nothingness by myself I’m just sitting in silence.
There’s no way I can make it without Your help; I won’t even try it.
I know You have Your reasons for everything, so I will keep believing.
Whatever I might be feeling, God, You are my hope,
and You will be my strength.

Anything I don’t have, You can give it to me -- but it’s OK if You don’t.
I’m not here for those things; the touch of Your love is enough on its own.

No matter what, I still love You, and I’m gonna need You.
No matter what, I’m gonna love You.
No matter what, I’m gonna need You.
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain, but if not...
If not, I’ll trust You.

I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain, but if not...
But if not, I’ll trust You no matter what.

No matter no matter what
No matter no matter what
No matter no matter what

Songwriter: Chuck Butler, Kerrie Roberts, Tony Wood

I'm finally ready to fill you in on the last chapter of the marriage certificate/driver's license story.

Read Part One and then Part Two first or this story won't make any sense.

Ready?

Okay.

So I called my Mama, like any girl in trouble would do. She listened, laughed in the appropriate spots, and finally said, "Hmm. I'll have to look into this."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm going to go visit that clerk and see what they have to tell me," she responded matter of factly.
And she did.

The following morning, my phone rang. "I have your certificate," my mom announced.

"What!? How did you get it?"

"I asked for it."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Now, why aren't things ever that easy for me?" I wondered.

My mom smirked. I could hear it over the phone. "You just have to be Mom," she said breezily.

"But I AM a mom!" I wailed in my most convincing "poor me" imitation. We both laughed.

When the certificate arrived in the mail, I was shocked at how different from the photocopy it looked: on blue and gray cardstock, a full sheet of paper, and wonder of wonders - the coveted SEAL rested happily on the back!

Jeremy and I had a grand old time celebrating our marriage, and then he asked me, "So, do you think the BMV Nazis will approve of this one? Does it have the appropriate recording marks?"

That worried me, so the next morning, I checked carefully for any recording notations. I found none.

Then I crossed my fingers and took it to the BMV. The woman behind the counter examined all of my documents closely but paused while handling my marriage certificate. She frowned and examined it more closely. "Is something wrong?" I asked her in my most casual voice. I was prepared to deny it all, if necessary.

"No-o," she said hesitantly.

"No?" I repeated.

"Well, it's just that I've never seen a marriage certificate like this one before."

I sat silently. What does that mean?

She stared at the document a while longer, turning it at various angles, I have no idea why. Then she called her supervisor over.

You've got to be kidding me! I thought.

I watched in silence as the two women held the fate of my driving in their hands. Finally, I said, "What's the matter?" The supervisor answered, "We've never seen a marriage certificate like this one before."

What, do people married in Illinois NEVER move to Indiana? What's the problem!

Finally, the supervisor shrugged at her employee and walked off. The woman turned to me and said, "We're going to go ahead with this. What is your address?"

"Well, I'm moving on Monday, so would you like my new address or my current address?"

"Oh dear, that's a problem. We cannot use your old address because driver's licenses do not get forwarded in the mail, and we cannot use your new address without proof that you are living there."

I just sat looking at her; my mind remained completely blank. It could have been due to the state of disbelief I was experiencing. God was probably trying to tell me something, like, "Move to Hawaii. Life will be easier there."

The lady then suggested that I come back after moving into the new house, and then I could try again.

After a week of nothing but junk mail, my friend kindly offered to mail me a card, just so I would have proof that I'd moved. Unfortunately, the BMV Nazis did not think that was good enough. I ended up going to the bank and having them print out forms showing our new addresses, then they stamped and notarized them, and I took those forms to the BMV.

I now have a driver's license! I'm legal!

But I still think I should have moved to Hawaii.