My Poor Husband

A Piano and a Keyboard are NOT the Same!

2012-01-06T00:00:00.000-08:00

Ok, for the record, this had nothing to do with me!

I mean, it's about me, but this is not one of those crazy Rachael things that I somehow manage to do. This one happened TO me. There IS a difference!

I've been playing piano since I was 7. My mother drove me to piano lessons every week and I drove my brothers to insanity nearly every day practicing. I'm sure that to this day they bolt up in bed at night in a cold sweat, shuttering at the sound of "Fur Elise" playing in their head.

As the years went by, I began to get fairly good. In Junior High I played piano for our school choir (sang some, played some) and the same happened my Freshman year of high school. It worked well for the teachers because I was the best accompanist around, meaning I was available every day and I was was free of charge.

As the end of the school year drew near, it was decided that the choir would sing for the graduation ceremonies. If I remember right, the choir would be made up of only the Seniors in our choir. Me, being a Freshman, would not be a part of it.

Or so I thought. My teacher asked me to play for one song.

Ok, please put yourself back in time a bit. Remember your freshman year of high school? Remember how cool those seniors were? So grown up...so mature...so above you in wisdom and coolness. And by the end of the school year, they might as well be college kids, which makes them ever-so-beyond your lowly status of Freshman.

And graduation... That's an entire football stadium of an audience! I was 14. Do you think I was a bit nervous?!?

But I have never been one to turn down an opportunity and so I nodded in agreement.

Practice, practice, practice. I took my entire family down the road to insanity as I practiced the same song over and over for weeks. This song had to be perfect. Zero mistakes. The right tempo, the right notes, the right amount of pressure on the keys to effect the depth of emotion and dynamics that the song called for.

Right. It was a sappy pop song and I was 14. Depth of emotion was at the level of a 16 year old, at best, but, once again, put yourself back in high school for a few moments.

When the day of graduation arrived, my choir teacher let me know that I would be playing on a keyboard.

HOLD UP! Wha-wha-what? A keyboard?!? (Why I expected them to wheel out an old upright piano to a stage at the 50th yard line, I have no idea.)

I can assure you that a piano and a keyboard are NOT the same. They both have 88 black and white keys...ok, not always. They both stand at exactly the same height...ok, not really. They both have a damper pedal...uh, you would think.

Trust me, the two are not the same, especially to a 14 year old freshman in high school who had never had a pop gig at an outdoor venue before. I think this particular keyboard I was to play on did have 88 keys, but was missing the pedal and...well, felt like a keyboard!

Here's some good information for anyone looking to buy an electric keyboard or digital piano:

Most digital pianos have keys that are weighted, meaning they "feel" more like a good 'ol acoustic piano. If you press softly, you get a soft sound. As you press more and more firmly, the volume gets louder and louder. You get a nice range of dynamics this way.

An electric piano or electric keyboard does not have weighted keys, thus making it so that no matter how hard to press, you will only have one volume (unless you alter the volume by turning the entire keyboard up or down like a radio, of course). If you get to a soft part of a song, you still get the same blaring noise. If you want to gradually increase the volume, thus creating anticipation in the song, you get the same boring sound. No dynamic range of emotion. Blah...

And then there's that...that... that horrible sound! I don't know exactly how to describe it, but have you ever gone to a website that has music played automatically and it sounds like a robot playing? The notes sound... completely synthetic, sort of like a "boing, boing, boing," instead of a "la, la la." If you don't know what I'm talking about, you'll have to trust me on this one. It's as high tech as an 8-track. Uh, huh. I think you're catching on.

And that's what I was presented with to play on for graduation ceremonies. Oh, dear.

The stage was assembled, the choir risers in place, the sound system all set up, and the evening came. The missing pedal was found (hooray!) and hooked up. Everyone found their places and it was time for the ceremonies to commence.

I sat down in my folding chair in front of the keyboard - which slanted slightly to one side when I sat down as one chair leg sank through the grass - laid out my sheet music, placed my nervous, restless fingers in my lap, and waited for the signal.

The choir director got the attention of his choir, put his hands in the air, and nodded to me. I began to play.

Oh, my...that boingy sound. Must ignore. Must keep going. Must pretend that I don't look like a 5 year old with my chair so much lower than the keyboard.

Whoa! The boingy sound is accumulating into one big mass of sound. Follow me here. The volume level is not changing, but the number of sounds in accumulating, note by note. The C, D, the E, F and G ...they are all sounding at the same time!

Wait, no, it's not.

Yes, it is!

No, it's not.

Yes, it is!

This is beginning to sound like a 2nd grade playground argument.

I lift my hands from the keyboard and my foot from the pedal, expecting the sound to stop (makes sense, right?) but it doesn't. A muddy, foreboding, thick "boing" is still sounding! Oh, my gosh, it's haunted!

Three measures into the song and already this is turning into a disaster.

Insert another music lesson. The pedal I have been referring to is called a damper pedal. When you press a key on the piano, the note will stop sounding once you lift your finger. If you press the pedal with your foot and play a note, then lift your finger, the note will continue to sound until you lift your foot from the pedal. Without that pedal, you have a boing festival of notes and no hope of a connected sound. The song does not flow. It simply bounces.

Ok, so what is going on? I just lifted my hands and my foot, but the music is still sounding. Is the pedal sticking? Is it not springing back up as I lift my foot? I continue playing while sticking my toes between the base of the pedal and the pedal itself, lifting it to it's appropriate position.

Didn't work. Gigantic, high tech boing still arguing with itself. As I continue playing, I pump the pedal a few times. The sound stops and then starts again. Stops, starts, stops, starts. Yes it is! No it's not. Yes it is! No, it's not.

What in the world?!?

And then I realized the problem. It was working backward! It should have been sustaining the notes when my foot was depressing the pedal, then letting them go when I lifted my foot. I should have heard the notes being played together in harmony while my foot was resting on the pedal, but the exact opposite was happening! As long as my foot was down, the notes were not sounding for longer than a second. As soon as my foot was up, the notes sang and accumulated without stopping to take a breath.

A backwards pedal? I'd never, ever heard of such a thing! How in the world am I supposed to do what comes naturally...backwards?!?

I'm trying as best I can, making it work in some spots, failing miserably in others, when out of nowhere came a beautiful summer breeze to cool my beaded brow, toss my hair over my shoulder and...

...take my sheet music right with it. As if things weren't bad enough already.

I reached out to grab it from out of the sky, but there were too many pages and there they fell, gracefully onto the soft grass, out of order, upside down, inright, outright, upright, downright, happy all the time. (Song reference there. I hear you.)

I, not so gracefully, tried to play the song from memory, but at 14 I was not equipped to handle this sort of catastrophe. I had to simply get up from the piano, collect my music, and return to my chair, head down, trying my best not to cry.

I held it in until I was alone in my bedroom and then the tears flowed. I had made a complete fool of myself in front of hundreds of spectators and a large group of now-high school graduates. My only consolation was that I would never see those graduates again and would never have to see the look of, "You ruined my graduation," in their eyes.

I'd like to say that there was a happy ending to this story, but perhaps all I can offer you is the knowledge that at age 17 I was performing a song...from memory this time...and when I got to the final 6 measures of the song, my mind went completely blank. As I lingered on the dramatic pause of the music a little longer, I could not conjure up what note was next. So I made it up and received numerous compliments on my performance that night. The only person I hadn't fooled was my mother, who laughed with me when the night was over.

To all the budding musicians out there, you will crash and burn at some point, whether it be by a failed memory or a freak of nature like a cool summer breeze. It is at that point that you will enter the world of a true musician. Handled well, you will enter this world as a classy and professional musician and I will be standing at the door, waiting to give you the high five of a job well done and the shoulder of experience to cry on.

Ridiculous Blog Post

2011-11-19T21:37:00.001-08:00

This blog is getting ridiculously serious. It started out as a way to make people laugh and do a little self-therapy in the process, but I'm finding that my urges to write are taking on a more serious nature these days. Maybe it proves that I don't do stupid stuff all the time. :)

I read a book several months ago called, "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan. Very challenging book. It left me with a lot of hard questions and really no answers. There is a part in the book that has haunted me. This isn't a direct quote, but the idea is that we ask God why there are starving children in the world. But perhaps God is asking us the same question.

Hmmm... as I type on my Macbook, listening to one of my 8,000 songs I have purchased throughout the years, my belly full after eating out and trying to ignore the Klondike bars in the freezer while my children lay peacefully in their beds, warm and safe in a house that has plenty of room for every person in our house to have their own space.

I don't know where that leaves me. I don't know what my responsibility is to others in this world whose children are sleeping in a trash heap tonight after eating whatever they could find and drinking water that is full of things that could possibly kill them. What am I to do about children in India who are being picked up by evil people who will cut off an arm and a leg of a defenseless child, then send him out to the streets to beg money for his master? What is my responsibility to the 10 year old girl who is putting on a sexy outfit and makeup, waiting in fear for the next man to come into her room?

I want to jump off my couch, get on a plane and go rescue that little child. All the children. Yes, I want to rescue all of them.

There is a possibility of our family going to India in the future to work in an orphanage. There are two details that remain to be worked out and that is which orphanage to go to and the other is how-in-the-world-are-we-going-to-get-there? That's a pretty big detail and while there are things that make me hopeful, I'm not counting my chickens (or plane tickets) just yet.In the meantime, I am doing a lot of reading about India and I am realizing something - I am very naive! And that scares me because that means I really don't know what I'm getting myself into.

But the more I find out, the more I feel the need to help. When I read that they are having re-naming ceremonies for girls who were named "Nakoshi" at birth (Nakoshi means "unwanted") I realize that I have no idea what it is like outside of my own comfortable world. When I read that India is considered to be the second largest "child flesh" industry hub in the world, I feel sick. So sick that after my initial physical response, my secondary response is to emotionally turn my head the other way, to go back to my happy place where MY children are safe and MY children are loved, nourished, and wanted. Yes, just stay here and make sure I do my part by keeping my children out of harm's way. Good enough.

That lasts for about 5 seconds and then my heart breaks and I feel scared and I feel like I MUST do something. I must make a difference.

But how? It's too big for just me or even a large group of me's. Look at all the organizations out there who work and give and give some more and it seems that the problem of poverty and abuse in the world is just as strong as it ever was. What more could I possibly add? After knowing what I know, what is my responsibility?

Should I throw a few dollars in the offering plate? Fill a few more shoeboxes for the Operation Christmas Child distribution? Sponsor a child overseas? Bring a child into our home and spend the thousands of dollars to adopt them? Move to India and spend the rest of my life giving a few children an opportunity to get out of the life they currently know? Start a movement to end it all? Give my life to affect change in the world?

Do you see where I am going with this? I could do any one of these things, but what is it that a fellow human being should do? I'm not asking what's the minimum, I'm asking where does my responsibility to the children of the world start and the responsibility to my own children end? Should my children have to have a lower level of education so that a child in India can have one? Should my children go without toys at Christmas so that someone else's children can have dinner on Christmas? Can someone complete this thought for me because I am having a hard time even forming the question.

God doesn't say that it's wrong to have, but He certainly has a lot to say about having a hard heart toward those who have little.

At this point in my life, I am seriously at a loss. I do not have an answer other than I know I must take care of my own children (how that's defined, I don't know) and that what is expected of each of us is different. Maybe my realm of influence lies right here in my own country. Maybe that's exactly where God wants me and I got lucky because I don't have to go out into a scary world to make a difference. Maybe I am exactly where I can make the most difference. Then again, what if He is asking me to do more than I am willing to do?

I am hoping that a trip to see with my own eyes what life is like outside of the wealthy U.S. of A. will help me process these questions and that my eyes would be open enough to understand the answers. I hope that one day I will sit down to write another ridiculously serious blog post and be able to tell you that I know exactly what it is that God wants from me and that I will wholeheartedly abandon myself to it, whether it be a stronger commitment to where I am now, a less comfortable way of living, or a life with new horizons and greater sacrifice.

Hey, That's My Son You're Talking About!

2011-09-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

Men are so stupid.

Need proof? Out of the thousands of sitcoms that have been made, name 10 men who had a brain. Name 10 who didn't act like a child or who didn't need a woman to look after him.

Need more proof? Eavesdrop on a group of women and you'll hear just how stupid and childish men are.

Need more proof? Ask a 12 year old girl who watches TV and hangs out with mom.

What? You take offense? You disagree with thousands of sitcom directors, millions of women, and the majority of 12 year old girls? Seriously?

Good! Because I do, too! After all, that's my son you're talking about!

When I see a sitcom portray men as unable to change a diaper and a woman...or a kid!...has to do it for him, I think, "Hey, that's my husband you're talking about!"

When I see them portray a teenaged boy like he's five while the teenaged girls are rolling their eyes and treating him like a child I think, "Hey! That's my son you're talking about!"

When I hear women talking about how men can't do anything I think, "Hey! That's my husband you're talking about!"

When I hear women say how their husband is just like their son...as if it's a bad thing... I think, "HEY!!! That's my husband AND my son you're talking about!"

I'm simply tired of it. I'm so tired of my husband being told that he is unable to think for himself, take care of children, or show emotion. I'm so tired of women putting MY man down by griping about their husbands/ex-husbands/boyfriends by saying that their men aren't good enough because, well...because they're men.

Oh, and did you realize that your son is sitting there listening to all this and hears just how stupid you think he is? Do you realize that you are telling him what it means to be a man...to you? Oh, yes you did just call him stupid, lazy, and incompetent.

And as for TV, how DARE they spend 30 minutes insulting MY SON?!? And how dare they feed that garbage to my daughters?!?

Listen. Look. It's everywhere you go. Talk about a double standard! Women, we simply wouldn't take it if we were portrayed as stupid and incompetent.

I'm sick of it, sick of doing it myself, because after all, that's my son I'm talking about!

Osama Bin Laden is Dead-This brings up an important point

2011-05-01T21:54:00.000-07:00

The death of Osama Bin Laden brings up an important point:

We live in a very broken world.

You see, I remember. I remember waking up to a report of a plane crash, hitting snooze, then hearing of a second crash the next time my alarm went off. I remember my husband's voice when he ran out of our room to tell us, or I should say, tried to tell us, that the Pentagon had been hit. I remember putting my hand on my 8-month pregnant belly and wondering what this might mean for my children's future.

I remember watching the news reports. I remember the speechless tears of my father-in-law as we watched people jump from the WTC towers. I remember seeing the thousands of posters with faces of men and women who were missing all over the walls of NYC, representing the last and very faint hope that someone's loved one might still be alive.

Many of you may remember the picture of the African-American woman in her career clothing, completely covered in ashes, with a look of utter shock on her face. And I don't mean surprise. I mean she looked like she had gone into a medical state of shock and it very well could have been.

I remember when our soldiers went to war. I remember how in 12 days we took Afghanistan. And I know this War on Terror has been long, though to be honest, I don't think it hit me just how long it's been until today.

I feel the need to insert some disclaimers before I continue. I don't watch the news. I don't listen to the news. I find it a source of incredible negativity that I cannot afford to immerse myself in. I am not an expert in politics. I barely engage in them. Not for a lack of interest mind you, but it just consumes me if I let it. I am an emotional, live-on-my-gut-feeling kind of person and if you put me in the room to debate an intelligent, logical, and well-informed individual, I will lose, even if I am right.

And so, because of all that, I will not judge those who are cheering in the streets of D.C. I will not judge my friends on facebook who are quoting Bible verses on how we shouldn't celebrate the death of the wicked. I won't judge those who are flying facebook flags and posting patriotic videos and I certainly won't judge my military friends who have served in the Middle East who, interestingly enough, aren't saying anything.

I just think that Bin Laden's death serves as a slap-in-the-face reminder that we live in a horribly dark and broken world and I am mourning that tonight.

As a mother, I'd like to spit on the body of Osama Bin Laden. And yet, and I believe this with all my heart, we are but a few steps away from a heart as evil as his. I am not so great a person that I am above evil. None of us are. I am as human as Bin Laden. As I listen to people saying that justice has finally been done, I sit here and remember that justice is not being done to me. It is mercy that is extended to me everyday.

Why God allowed me to be born in America and not under the threat of men like Osama Bin Laden, I don't know, but I am thankful. Why God allows me to sit here and write this while a mother mourns the loss of her child in a foreign land, I don't know. And why He allows anyone into heaven, I don't understand that either. We can walk around thinking we deserve it all we want, but count up all the wrongs you have done in your life and tell me that you deserve it. Tell me, if you can, if buying a gift for an impoverished kid cancels out the time you yelled at your own. Tell me, if you can, if standing up for that elderly woman cancels out the time you bullied someone in high school. Tell me, if you honestly can, that all the good things you are doing for someone today somehow makes every hurt you've caused someone else go away. It doesn't.

We are at the mercy of the God of Justice and guess what? He offers forgiveness.

It's forgiveness that cancels it all out. It's God saying, "Yeah, I know what you did and I'm not going to tell you for a second that it's o.k. I'm not giving you any excuses and I don't want to hear yours."

It's as if I can see God looking at me with a look that says, "Let's get real, Rachael. Let's just tell it like it is."

And then it's as if I can see God look over his right shoulder and point to something in the distance. There is a smile, the kind of smile you see at a funeral when a funny story is told, and He says, "Look. Look over there."

I see. I see it now. I see very clearly that justice has been done, but it wasn't done to me. The abuse I deserved for abuses I have done has been laid squarely on the back of someone else-namely, Jesus.

"I forgive you," He says. "For the sake of my Son, I forgive you. Quit trying to prove that you are void of evil, because you're not. You're forgiven and I can't put it any plainer that that."

Think about this: who owes you? Who kicked you when you were down? Who took everything they could get from you and laughed at your gullibility? Who cut you to pieces mentally, physically, emotionally, sexually? Don't they owe you one?

Do you feel the need to cash that in? Will that heal you? Look, don't say it's o.k. Don't give them excuses and don't think you have to listen to theirs. Keep it real. See it for what it is and call a spade a spade. But remember that you've been forgiven for everything you ever did. Don't expect people to make up for every wrong thing they have done to you. Shoot, don't think for an instant that they can ever make it up to you. They can't, so let it go. Forgive. Write off the wrong that was done to you like a bad debt and move on emotionally. You are broken, they are broken, and our world is broken.

What does that have to do with Osama Bin Laden? Not much, I suppose, except for that fact that tonight, as I ponder the news that the man who was the mastermind behind 9/11 is dead, I mourn for our world. I mourn for all the evil that is happening at this moment. I mourn for the wrongs done to others and I mourn the wrongs I have done to others.

When my grandkids ask, "Grandma, how did you feel when you heard that Bin Laden died?" I will answer, "Sad. Sad that the world can be such an evil place, that men can do such evil things, and that it took death to make him stop."

Not Again...Phew! That Was Close!

2011-03-09T16:17:00.000-08:00

A word to the wise: shiny plates don't belong in the microwave!

Who knew? Those shiny disposable plates are metallic. You know, METALlic! It never occurred to me.

I had popped it in the microwave with some yummy-VERY yummy- coffee cake on it...at school.

(Uh, oh. Bring back any memories? Like, when I set off the fire alarm at school?)

Again, I had popped it in the microwave and walked out to do something while my coffee cake was warming. When I returned, my boss and the 5th/6th grade teacher were standing around the fire alarm, looking at it with concern.

I asked, "What's that smell?"

"We're trying to figure that out," they said.

I opened the microwave and POOF! Out came a puff of smoke. (Deja vu moment.)

If you remember, I work at a school and there are smoke detectors everywhere. Having learned my lesson, I slammed the microwave shut and the three of us went into action opening windows.

"Are we due for a fire alarm?" I asked. "Well, at least it's not nap time like last time," my boss said. (I cringed as I thought about that again.)

"So, when should we open the microwave?" I asked.

The highly intelligent 5th/6th grade teacher said, "Here, take it outside." (Wow! Great idea!)

She carried it out and opened it. We were all wondering what in the world made the microwave smoke. I opened it up and pulled out my plate. It was totally deformed and had cracks all over it. Ironically, it was the shape of an egg. (That makes me giggle!)

The 5th/6th grade teacher says, "Ah! It's a metallic plate!"

I am happy...oh so happy!... to report that the fire alarm did not go off. Phew! That was close!

Why You Should Not Go to the Bathroom at a Roller Rink

2011-02-09T14:30:00.000-08:00

I nearly had one of THE most embarrassing moments of my life. As if the rest of these stories aren't embarrassing enough, but this one could have been completely disastrous!

Have you ever gone roller skating as an adult? Talk about awkward! Here are all these 5 year olds flying by you, going backwards, doing flips and landing perfect pirouettes. It's quite humiliating, actually. You simply have to resign yourself to skating against the wall avoiding 2 year olds.

You get used to it, of course, and soon you are playing tag and violating other posted rules. Hey, those aren't for adults anyway, right?

But that first moment you stand up in those roller skates completely rocks your world, as it did mine. So, before venturing out to the floor, I wisely decided that I better use the restroom.

So, imagine the scene. I'm on skates, thinking about actually letting the skates roll, but instead choosing to walk in them. I hit the bathroom floor and WHOOSH! Better hold on to the wall! (Ick!) I make it to the stall and shut the door.

Uhhh, shut the door.

No, SHUT THE DOOR!

UGH! The door won't close!!! How am I going to navigate this on roller skates?

Well, ever quick on my feet-err, wheels-and having born three children, thus having to use a public restroom while holding an infant several times, I used my left hand to hold the top of the door. My nimble fingers take care of the button and...well, I don't think I need to give too many details.

Ok, so now I'm ready to "assume the position". I bend my knees and...

Uh, oh. My arm isn't long enough to reach the top of the door from the sitting position and the door is so tall that I can't do the filthy-gas-station-restroom position. (Ladies, you know what I'm talking about!)

Again, quick on my wheels and fast as lightning I grabbed the bottom of the door and sat down.

I finished, even managing to grab some toilet paper one-handed, and began to stand up and...boy, how do I put this politely? Do what guys don't have to do when they go #1. Of course, I'm struggling to do this with my hand holding the bottom of the door, so I do what is necessary and reach for the top.

And here's where I thought I would die of embarrassment. I'm leaning slightly forward, the floor is slanted slightly downward and as I grab the top of the door, my wheels begin to move forward.

I'm standing there, pants down, toilet paper in one hand, top of the door in the other, and I'm rolling forward, heading out of the stall where I can hear some 12-year-olds talking and fixing their silly bandz.

My heart is pounding a million miles an hour. This CANNOT be happening!!! These 12-year-old girls are about to be surprised by an "old" lady in roller skates rolling out of a bathroom stall, pants down, holding a wad of used toilet paper.

Hallelujah, I regained control of my feet and I left the door to its closed-but-not-latched self as I hurriedly pulled my pants up and regained my composure. Like I said, this could have been one of THE most embarrassing moments of my life and I am SO thankful it wasn't!!!

Heros, Courage, The Wisdom of a Child, and other cliche titles that in no way convey my feelings.

2010-10-07T16:52:00.000-07:00

There are people in this world that make you stop in your tracks, evaluate, educate yourself.

There are people in this world who possess something you don't have and you stand back and wonder if you could ever have it. An inner courage. A deeper level of wisdom. Something you admire because you're not sure you could attain to that.

For me, that person is a 9 year old boy named Brady.

Brady has Juvenile (Type I) Diabetes. To steal the words of his parents, Brady has to do things that no child should. 10-12 needle pricks a day, a painful infusion site that attaches him to his insulin pump every 3 days, and when his insulin pump isn't working, shots of insulin. He must always be aware of carbs, his activity level, his body. He has to deal with frightening lows and life-threatening highs. He has to live with the knowledge that this disease can rob one of fingers, toes, eyesight, or cause kidney failure, to name just a few harsh realities.

And yet, Brady possesses something that makes me stand back and wonder. He has an inner courage, a deeper level of wisdom. Something I admire because I'm not sure that I could ever attain to that.

Though Type I diabetes is not caused by eating too many sweets and is completely unpreventable, Brady understands what Type II is and knows that it IS preventable. I love sweets. I have a horrible sweet tooth. I know I shouldn't eat so many of them, but it was Brady that made me stop and think one day.

I had my near-daily cup of hot chocolate sitting on my desk, chocolate candy, and I think I was talking about ice cream or some other yummy pile of sugar. Brady said to me, "You shouldn't eat too much sweets. You can get diabetes."

I don't know if the power of that statement comes through in black and white, but it stunned me for a moment. Here is a kid who did nothing to cause his own diabetes (which is entirely more complicated than Type II) watching an adult eat her way into Type II Diabetes, completely by her own choice. Here's a kid who has to count every carb and get insulin for every gram, watching an adult...me... eat junk food with no care in the world. No testing, no counting, no insulin.

And here I tell him to be responsible and stop what he's doing, even if it is recess, and test. He knows that if his numbers are too low he'll miss recess completely (like today). I tell him to think about his future while he does what no child should ever have to do-grow up fast. I give him lectures, reinforcing the standards that no other child in the entire school has to follow. I stress the importance of taking care of his body and keeping himself healthy. What a hypocrite I am, sitting there with my hot chocolate, candy, and dreams of ice cream.

Brady, where do you find your courage? How is it you possess the strength to keep poking and testing while you would rather be out having fun? I stand back and wonder if I could ever have that. But should I ever need it, I will think of you and be inspired. Your strength will increase mine. And I will stop eating too many sweets. :)

Below is a video about Brady and Juvenile (Type I) Diabetes. Please watch it and then click the link below if you are able to donate anything...even $1...to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) for Brady's team, "Brady's Bunch." Pray for a cure.

Click here to donate. Thank you!

I Am Not a Ticket Master

2010-04-11T16:24:00.000-07:00

I knew it was only a matter of time.

Things were just going so...perfectly!

But it's been awhile, so it was simply inevitable. We all knew that.

This last weekend I took Travis to San Francisco to celebrate his 40th birthday. Other than the fact that he knew I was getting a sitter and taking him away for an overnight birthday celebration, it was all a surprise. Where we were going, where we having dinner, where we were staying, and the fact that we were going to see "Wicked."

I spent hours planning this weekend and was so careful to make sure everything was in place and organized. I read so many reviews for hotels and restaurants, pouring over every detail.

Ticketmaster has this really cool feature. You can pick a section of the theatre and it shows you a picture of what your view will be. A wonderful little detail that I did not miss! Since it was Travis' 40th, I wasn't going to just get any 'ol tickets. Nope! This was going to be a memorable and very special weekend!

So, after waiting a couple of days to make sure that buying tickets to "Wicked" was what I really should do for him, I got back on Ticketmaster and bought the tickets. To my disappointment, the seats I wanted were no longer available. So, I took the next best, though I was wishing I wouldn't have been quite so careful and been a little more impulsive, as I generally am. Naturally.

A day before we were to leave, I decided to check the tickets again and *WHOA* the tickets I wanted were available! Did someone cancel? Or did I make a mistake when I ordered the tickets before? Naw...that couldn't be...well, maybe. Shoot!

I called Ticketmaster. No returns, no refunds, period. Not a single thing I can do, other than buy 2 more tickets. That would be utterly foolish, so I would just have to settle for what I had.

Craigslist! Yes! I could sell them on Craigslist for a little less than I paid, then buy the tickets I really wanted. It would be worth a litte more money to make this weekend most special.

The tickets sold in 1/2 hour! Whew! I ran off to Starbucks, traded tickets for cash, headed home, bought the tickets I wanted, and sat at home looking like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Off we went the next morning. Our hotel room was perfect. Dinner was AMAZING!!! (No, amazing does not even begin to describe this restaurant! If you ever get a chance to go to Grand Cafe, DO IT!!! I don't know that I'll ever enjoy going out to eat again after that.)

Then, off to the show!

As we walked in, I saw the couple that I sold the tickets to in the will call line. I tapped the gentleman on the shoulder to say hello. The couple looked at me for a moment and didn't recognize me. I explained that I was the one that sold them the tickets, then they looked at me...

and said what I did NOT expect....

"They said these tickets were for TUESDAY!"

That would be 3 days before.

"WHAT?!?" I took the tickets, looked at the date, and sure enough, they said, "Tuesday, April 6."

No! No! No!!! I was shaking. Seriously shaking. I would NEVER, EVER try to cheat and steal like that. What am I going to do? They must hate me! Do they believe me when I say that I didn't know? Why should they?

They went to the window and asked if they could trade the tickets for this night since the tickets they were holding had not been used. Manager came.

I went to the window to explain. My voice and hands were trembling. I...I...I can't believe this is happening!!! Oh, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me get out of this and PLEASE let them agree to trade the tickets.

The manager finally said, "We can do that, but you'll have to pay $30. These tickets are more expensive than the ones you bought."

Naturally.

I didn't care. $30 to save my reputation is a very small price to pay! I paid it, then pulled a $20 out of my purse and gave it to the couple for their trouble.

To my utter surprise, Travis laughed and said, "Oh, my Rachael. I love you."

Maybe I should take him out every weekend!

I'd do the Math for you, but I'm too embarrassed to say the total amount of what I paid for 2 tickets to "Wicked." Let's just say that had that amount been the face value of the tickets, I should have been able to go backstage and take home an autographed copy of a CD...and a T-shirt...and a mug...and been entered 10 times into the raffle they had going. (Winner gets to go onstage with them in their next production. omGOSH that would be SO amazingly awesome!!!)

Well, despite my efforts to be detail-oriented and level-headed, in the end I could be none other than myself.

Perhaps that's exactly how it should be.

And maybe I should go into show business and leave the ticket ordering to Travis!

The First Proposal

2010-02-09T22:20:00.000-08:00

If you haven't read the first 4 posts, please do so now. :)

1. He Should Have Known
2. Thunderlips
3. Chaperones in White Jackets
4. Isn't He Romantic

All caught up? Well, then get grap some Valentine's chocolate and get comfortable.

As you've read, the first date was a rather eventful one. On Sunday the church was all abuzz and had us married in their minds already. Even Travis' co-worker told him on Monday, "Travis, you HAVE to marry her! That's a great story to tell your grandkids!"

Fast forward 3 months and we are beginning to agree. I know, I know. 3 months is not a very long time to get to know someone and be thinking about marriage. But in all fairness, we'd known each other for over two years already. It was beginning to look as if this might get serious, but neither of us had vocalized that yet. We weren't anywhere near talking about marriage, but we both knew deep down that that's exactly where this relationship was headed.

I think I'd known that since I was 15.

My birthday was near. It had become a tradition in my family to go to Apple Hill for my birthday. I loved it there, especially sampling the just-made apple juice! It was also where I caught my first fish and I wanted to share this with Travis. So, the Saturday nearest my birthday we made plans to drive to Apple Hill together, just the two of us, and have a picnic lunch.

I was the navigator.

I'm as good with navigation as I am with gas pumps! I told him, "Just get on 80 and keep going until you see the signs." So, he did.

We wound up in Tahoe... 2 hours away from our destination!

"Oh," I said. "I guess it's 50."

We decided to make the best of it and see Tahoe before heading to Apple Hill.

Now, I must let you in on what Travis was up to. A few days before, Travis kept asking me if I wanted my birthday present early. I wanted it on our special date, so I declined the offer. He asked several times, each time I said no. The day of our date, he started it with, "Are you SURE you don't want to open your present early?" Why was he so excited about this present?

He was asking nervous all day. In Tahoe, we took a walk at a beautiful place and I mentioned that it would be a pretty place for a wedding. Travis paused for a moment and said,

"Would you want to have a wedding here?"
"Would you want a big wedding or a small one?"
"Outside or in a church?"

He was merely talking hypothetically, but one would have to wonder if perhaps he's putting out feelers. Hmmm...is he having the same gut feeling? Does he see spending the rest of his life with me?

Not going to entertain that thought. Not now, anyway.

We went back to the car and drove back the way we came until we could turn toward 50. By the time we arrived at Apple Hill, it was dark and everything was closed down. We'd planned on having a picnic lunch, but we decided to save it for dinner. And now it was dinner time.

We searched and searched in the dark for a place to have our picnic, but to no avail. We finally decided to eat in the middle of an apple orchard.

It sounded romantic.

Until a bird rustled in the trees and tricked me into thinking there was a mad man with a chainsaw about to attack us!

As we finished, Travis asked, "Are you ready for your present now?"

Yes, I was. So he went to his car to get it, acting nervous. What was the big deal with this present?

He came back, handed me the gift bag, and I proceeded to reach into the bag for the gift.

It was small.

It was a box.

It was velvety.

Travis took it from me and got down on one knee.

Oh, my gosh. Can it be...?

"Rachael, I know we haven't been dating very long, but I do know that I am sure of my feelings for you. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah..."

All I caught was the first line. I was now outside my body, looking into his eyes, asking myself if this was real. He was NOT going to propose!!! He can't! I'm not ready. Three months... I'm pretty sure I want to marry this guy, but I'm not ready to say it and I'm certainly not ready to promise it! I can't say yes, but if I say no will I lose him? Will I totally crush him? What am I going to say? Oh, man. I can't believe this is happening. I...I...I...

"Rachael, will you...."

He opened the box.

"...accept these diamond earrings?"

diamond..diamond...wait. Diamond EARRINGS??

I looked down and, sure enough, there was small pair of diamond earrings.

I cannot express in words the relief I felt! At this point, I should have called him a name and asked him what the heck he was thinking, but I'm not that quick on my feet. Plus, like I told you before, he was a practical joker. Everyone came to expect the unexpected with Travis.

I slowly travelled back inside my body and put the earrings on. I don't have a clue what happened the rest of the night. But on Monday when I showed the guys in Chemistry class what Travis had given me for my birthday, they all agreed that he was planning on marrying me.

And they were right.

Travis' Defense...

Isn't He Romantic?

2010-02-07T21:26:00.000-08:00

I'd tell you the story of the rose, but since I was in the emergency room, I'll let Travis tell you...

So, I Gave a Guy a Rose!

Chaperones in White Jackets

2010-02-06T23:06:00.000-08:00

WAIT!
Did you read this yet?

What about this?

NO? Then go there NOW! And in that order!

There I am, like a damsel in distress in an old black-and-white melodrama. I began to gain a sort of semi-consciousness as he lifted me into the car. It was so strange. I literally felt like I was floating. I could not feel him at all.

He shot around to the driver's side and took off like a...well, a guy who thought his date might be dying. I don't remember much of the start of the drive, but by the time we reached the emergency room, I was fully recovered.

We checked in, though it really felt quite silly to walk in looking perfectly normal and saying I needed to see a doctor.

Now, these were the days where not everyone had a cell phone. To own one was something, at least in my mind at the time, only the rich or the business man/woman owned. I certainly didn't own one and if Travis did, it was his work phone and he was absolutely forbidden to use it for personal calls. After I checked in at the window, Travis went to find a pay phone.

Travis called my mother.

"Linda, this is Travis. I'm here with Rachael in the emergency room. She passed out."

"Travis," my mother said, "You're just kidding me."

Travis did have a thing for practical jokes. He was widely known for them. Some of them were pretty...I wouldn't call them good, but they make great stories (one of which you will get to hear later...).

"Linda, I'm not joking. I wouldn't joke about something like this."

It took a bit more persuasion on Travis' part, but he finally did convince my mother of the truth. I was indeed in the emergency room and I had actually passed out.

Well, the time between my mom arriving at the hospital with my brother and the next morning are not all that exciting, other than Travis taking my brother out in the dark and giving him a rose, but Travis wants you in suspense on that one.

Why did I pass out? After waiting for HOURS, drawing blood, running tests, and going through a CAT scan, the final diagnosis...?

Stress.

It was a very busy time for me. I was the All Student Body President that year, so I was privileged to be able to do a speech at graduation. I totally loved it, I was totally honored to do it, but it was pretty nerve-wracking, as you can well imagine. I was also part of the committee that was planning the Senior Trip to Disneyland. Again, I totally loved it, I was totally honored to do it, but it was also pretty nerve-wracking.

Mind you, I am about to step off into a whole new arena in life. Perhaps not so much as others since I was going to live at home, but one without my childhood friends and one in which I would be expected to foot a little more of the bill. (Thank you, Mom!)

And to top it off, I decided to start that new adventure in life a little early. I barely pulled a C in Precalculus and, at the time, I thought I wanted to go to Medical School. If that were the case, I would likely have to take Calculus in college and I knew I wasn't prepared for that.

I decided to take Precalculus again at the local junior college during the summer, but their summer started before my last day of high school. I was going to high school in the morning and college in the afternoon. Finals and fast-paced, college-sized homework at the same time. And I wasn't doing much better at Precalculus in college than I was in high school. No, I was actually doing worse. I was getting D's and F's and that was not something I was used to. It crushed me.

And when I had to make the decision to drop that class, I felt like a failure. Here I was, my first step into the new arena of life, and I was already falling flat on my face. WHY couldn't I get it?? This should be review! My answer was that I just wasn't smart enough. Not good enough. Born defective. I was letting everyone down. My teachers, my parents, my friends...they would all finally see me for who I was. (As if that were a bad thing!)

Yeah, wasn't a very confident person at age 17.

I dropped the class that week and was going out with Travis...THE Travis...on that weekend. It was really more than I could handle. I suppose the kiss was the final straw and once we got to his car, my mind and body needed to check out.

The emergency room is certainly not where I planned to end our first date and my mother certainly didn't plan on having to pick me up there. I suppose the doctors in white jackets were great chaperones, though. They prevented, at least for a night, another electrifying encounter with...

Thunderlips.

Looking Through Travis' Eyes...

Thunderlips

2010-02-04T21:59:00.000-08:00

That's the engraving on the garter I wore on my wedding day.

Scratch that - the garter my husband kept that looked just like the garter I wore on my wedding day.

I'm not the one who gave Travis that name. A friend of ours did and it had something to do with another girl, but after our first date I claimed it for my own.

This same friend told Travis the Monday after our first date, "Travis, you have to marry her! This will be a great story to tell your grandkids!"

I was 17 and had just graduated from high school. There was this boy- scratch that - GUY at church. He was 23 so in my mind, that didn't qualify him as a "boy", me being 17 and all. I'd had my eye on him since I was 15...sort of. I mean, when I was 15 he was 21 and it wasn't like I thought I would ever really go out with him. He was like...a grown-up! And I can't say that I sat dreamy-eyed in my room, scribbling his name on all my binders, but every time he talked to me I blushed. Every time he invited me to join the church youth group on an outing and offered to drive me, I got all flittery inside. And whenever he let me ride in the front seat, I couldn't do anything except stare out the window and hope that I didn't look or say anything stupid. And when he tried to strike up a conversation with me, everything I said came out silly or snobby as I tried to look like I was cool, calm, and had composure. What was it about this guy?

He was also the standard I measured every other guy by. Is he friendly like him? Is he considerate like him? Is he as faithful to God and to church as Travis is? I totally liked that in a guy.

And those questions were safe to ask. I was 15. He was 21. And as if that weren't enough to settle the question of whether or not he'd ever be interested in me or vice versa, he was engaged.

Totally safe.

So again, here I am 17 and fresh out of high school and here is this guy, now aged 23, now no longer engaged...and talking to me...wow! Wait-actually flirting with me...well, I think. I mean, he is a friendly guy.

And when he said to me one summer evening, leaning over talking to me through the window of my car, "Would you like to do something sometime, like dinner or something?" I figured he was just wanting to hang out...as friends. Like, maybe now that I graduated high school I was cool enough to hang out with this guy and not just with all the other teenagers around.

My mother was wiser.

"But Mom, he hangs out with Davia and Tiffany all the time! That's just how he is!"

Nonetheless, Mom thought I should be prepared and go ahead and dress nice....but go ahead and take some money to pay for my dinner, just in case he really was just being friendly.

The night came. July 24. (I TOLD you I was fresh out of high school!) He picked me up at my mother's house, which is where I was still living, being 17 and all, and let my mother know that we were going to Chevy's on the river. I'd never been to the place, but anything on the river is kind of romantic.

The car ride was...quiet. I was so shy and so nervous. He did his very best to make conversation and I tried my best, too, but I know it had to be hard for him. I warmed up a bit over dinner, but still I was so incredibly shy and incredibly worried that I would wind up with my dinner sticking out of my face or some of it spilling onto my white shirt, or that I would gleek on him or something. I do not miss my shy days!

Dinner went well and we headed off to play a game of miniature golf. On our way, we passed by the street that my elementary school was on. I hadn't been there in such a long time and rarely did I ever drive past it because it was not near my home.

I mentioned to Travis that my elementary school was down that road and he said, "You wanna go see it?" To which I replied, "Sure!"

Travis got out of the straight lane and into the turn lane. We turned left and quickly found ourselves in the school parking lot. I showed him where my 1st grade class was and where the Special Ed. building was that I helped in when I was there. We talked about the playground and I mentioned how there was this tree we planted and I wondered how big it must be by now.

"You wanna go see it?" To which I replied, "Sure!"

So we parked, got out of the car, and walked to the tree. There it was. It was much bigger than when my class and I planted it. So big in fact that Travis and I could stand under it.

I must back up at this point and tell you about the conversation we had on our way to the school.

Travis asked if I thought a couple should kiss on a first date. Me, being absolutely as naive as they come, began to debate with him without getting a clue of where he was going with this. I told him no, that I didn't think a couple should kiss on their first date. That it was a special, intimate thing and one should get to know the other a bit more before heading in that direction. Shoot! What if you didn't even care for the guy or girl but they were expecting a kiss at the end of the night?

Travis, being the logical thinker he is and, well...being a guy, naturally took the position that it was just fine for a couple to kiss on the first date. After all, it was just a kiss. He said some other things that I couldn't argue against. It's pretty much always been that way. He states logical conclusions and I am defenseless to defend my position. The systematic thinker meets the intuitive one. How opposites do attract!

In the end, I conceded that it was ok for a couple to do a "peck", but no open-mouthed kissing, although I still didn't think it was the best thing.

So here we are under the tree. It's dark by now. This time I have more to say than he does, talking about my childhood teachers and friends and reminiscing. I'm guessing he had no idea what I was saying because once I was finally quiet, he looked into my eyes, put his arms around me, and kissed me.

A peck.

Ok. Now I'm back to nervous!

We walked back to his car and my heart must have been going a million beats per second, or something close to that at least. We stopped by the car door and just stood there talking. Eventually he slipped his hands around my waist and my freak-out factor hit the roof!

He was talking about something when suddenly his voice started sounding further and further away. Then there was this tingling sound in my ears and everything was going fuzzy. And then...

I passed out. Right there in his arms. Out cold.

More later...

Looking Through Travis' Eyes

He Should Have Known...

2010-02-03T22:55:00.000-08:00

He really should have. When our first date ended in a trip to the emergency room, he should have seen the red flags flying!

We have been waiting months to share our story with you. From the start, our life has had some funny episodes and in honor of Valentine's Day, we would like to tell you all about it.

But one must start at the beginning...
www.LifeWithRachael.blogspot.com

iPad-What Kind of Apps Can We Expect?

2010-01-27T19:32:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Paula, for the idea!

What kind of apps would you expect to see on this product?

see more Epic Fails

iPad...With or Without Wings?

2010-01-27T16:16:00.000-08:00

Forgive me, but the name just gives me the giggles! I know my mind is warped, but when I saw this, I just HAD to post it! It was the first thing I thought of, too. LOL!!! (got the giggles again)

see more Epic Fails

What a Great Quote!

2010-01-26T20:07:00.000-08:00

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. ~Albert Camus

Got that from my Aunt Mary's Facebook status. I think it's my new theme!

Thoughts on the Simple Life

2010-01-20T20:16:00.000-08:00

Ah, the simple life.

I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days about the simple life. What is it? Is it desirable? Is it attainable?

I posed the question here and on Facebook. Some seem to think that it means having less. Others, feeling more. For some, it seems that living in moderation is the key to living the simple life. Seems everyone has their own definition. So, I had to ask myself, "Rachael, ,what do YOU define as the simple life?"

"Good question, " I said.

When I think of the simple life, I think of one with fewer bills, because there are fewer things that I "need." I think of homemade rugs and jam for wedding gifts. Not because one is poor, but because one knows her well enough to know that those items are her favorite and your heart takes joy in making her happy.

I think of driving slow because, a) you left with plenty of time and b) there is no other way to go. No such thing as the fast lane or drivers cutting you off because they're in so much of a hurry.

I think of a life where I can let my children roam the neighborhood without fear of the perverts that might be lurking. I think of myself being able to walk down the street or through the woods or on the beach without fear of being prey to someone's violent impulses.

I think of a place where you know your neighbors and you share with your neighbors. A place where "everybody knows your name".

I think of a life with far less stress and far less noise I can be alone in my home and not hear the hum of the refrigerator, the buzz of the lights, or the quiet fan of the desktop computer. The phone doesn't ring and there are no telemarketers, for crying out loud!

I think of the quiet hours spent making things for my home and "homely" is fashionable. There's no expectation of having my home look like it came from the department store or like something out of a Bed Bath and Beyond mailer.

I don't want to feel guilty when I come home from work because the house is messy and doesn't have the homey touch of a mom who has been home all day.

At the end of the day, I can read a book or write or play music in the evenings. I can relax without feeling guilty about it, which isn't very relaxing.

Relax. Hmmm....

So, as I daydream about all the wonderful things the simple life has to offer, truth is, I will likely never be one who leaves in plenty of time to get somewhere because I will likely always want "just one more minute" of sleep. I don't want to take up sewing or quilting. Not right now, anyway.

While I enjoy my one day per week I have off when the kids are at school and can spend time feeling like the housewife I intended to be, if I'm honest with myself I know that I love being with people and if I did not have an outside job, I would find something else to do outside of the home. I'd be volunteering at school, at church, you name it.

Truth be told, I don't want to give up my fridge, computer, or electricity for the sake of quiet. I just want quiet.

So, do I want to live the simple life? Yes. Uhhh..no. I mean yes. But wait…

When it comes down to it, I just want to relax. But I don't want to work hard at it and that's exactly what simple living is about. It's not a dream world where life falls into place the way you want it and it isn't a place where you control what other people do. Simple living is about making the tough decisions that require cutting back and doing less and working hard to uphold them and, at the end of the day, taking time to relax.

How do I fare? I have to laugh at myself.

You?

And then, there's Little League and piano lessons...

The Simple Life: Need Your Input, Please

2010-01-18T17:36:00.000-08:00

My brother and sister-in-law came over for the weekend and brought their wonderfully sweet and adorable son. My sister-in-law also brought over a box of books for my daughters that she had read as a girl and when I spied the last 3 books in the Anne of Green Gables series, I snatched them up immediately. I read the first 3 books as a girl, but never read the last 3.

The next day we went to church and the pastor, who said he could't believe he was going to do this because he disliked it when other pastors did this, talked about the way things used to be. Days when moms stayed home, families got together for Sunday Dinner, kids respected adults, children took care of their aging parents, and other things that some attribute to the "simple life". Food for thought, if you care to keep an open mind. (Open mind does not mean you agree nor does it always mean that what you are considering must be something new or anti-status quo, but that's another post.)

I came home and started reading Anne of Windy Poplars and I was whisked away to a land of a young lady who didn't know anything of Little League, American Idol, or working inside AND outside the home. While I disagree with the notion that anything from the past must be better, I can't help but think, as I often do, about what the simple life is and if it's something I want to have.

This is where you come in. What comes to your mind when you hear someone talk about simple living? What images are flashing in your head? Is it attainable? Is it desirable? Is it just a notion we find appealing, but is not in fact reality? (Why is my mouse not working right now?) (There!)

Your thoughts...

The Missing Costume

2010-01-14T00:27:00.000-08:00

Besides damaging fuel pumps, crushing my car in drive-through car washes, and being the luckiest person on the planet, I, as I have mentioned afore, teach Music at a K-8 school, Pacific Coast Christian Academy. I absolutely LOVE my job!!! Working with children is one of the most fulfilling things in my life. To know that I have made, am making, and will make a difference is something that cannot be measured in dollars and cents, nor can it be explained by letters on a computer screen. Suffice it to say that this job has made me realize that love has no limits, even though my heart feels sometimes like it's going to bust open because it's just doesn't seem possible for it to contain it all.

Or maybe I just have the most special students in all the world, which is possible. Just ask their parents!

One part of my job is to direct the school's two musicals. It's a big production on a small budget. There are roughly 80 kids on stage at once, close to 100 when preschool is on the stage with us. The whole school sings in the choir and there are drama and solo parts. In less than 3 months, somehow we manage to learn 6 or 7 songs and memorize parts for a 45 minute show. Three months may seem like a long time, but we only have Music class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My kids are amazing!!!

I can go on and on about my job and about my students, but I may have already lost you, so let me go on to the story.

Like I said, it's a big production on a small budget, so when it comes to costumes, we beg, borrow, and... uh, can't steal because it's a Christian school. ;-) But we do a lot of begging and borrowing. For Christmas last year, there were 3 kids that played the role of janitors. We borrowed 3 coveralls from...well, that's confidential information. I didn't give them to the kids until the day before the show because I didn't want them to get lost. You know how it is, child puts costume in backpack, backpack goes home, backpack gets unloaded along with the newest glitter creation of the day, and somehow it ends up under the bed with stinky socks and all the healthy food that mom or dad packed for their lunch and told them they had to eat.

So, the day before the BIG NIGHT I handed out the coveralls. The next day one of the kids brought the coveralls back so he could practice with them. (He was very eager! He was also GREAT at his part! I could start bragging, but I'll spare you...for now.)

You probably can't imagine this, but I am a total stress case the day of the program. Stage 10, I call it. When the coveralls showed up at our last rehearsal and then got left behind, I knew that in my heightened state of freak-out I should be sure this costume gets put somewhere that it would not get lost.

So, I put it in a very...safe...place.

The BIG NIGHT approaches ever so suddenly and before I know it, I am pacing the floor of the church where we are performing our program. Well, I don't know that walking the entire length of the building back and forth is pacing...perhaps more like hiking...in nylons and heels. But I arrive an hour early to set up and well...pretty much hike the length of the building.

At 6:30pm the drama kids start arriving. I make my rounds, making sure they get mics, props, and to check over their costume to make sure everything is there. I get through all the kids, but at 6:40 I'm missing a kid. Where is he???

As I hike toward the foyer of the building, I see him. Whoo! Thank goodness! I think to myself, "He better get his costume on soon!"

"Mrs. Mickel, Joe (not his real name) lost his costume."

Lost his costume?

"I remember you brought it to school..."

"Yeah!" Joe says. "And I left it in the chapel."

Ok. At this point, in the height of Stage 10, I cannot remember anything past seeing the costume in the chapel. I don't remember if I picked it up and ran it to Joe's classroom or that I put it in a "safe place." I don't remember anything at all. What I DO know is that if this is my fault, I am going to feel really..really...really bad!!! This is Joe's first program with a speaking part. Not just that, but he also does a little dance number. Joe is a born entertainer and I have been looking forward to seeing him shine on that stage since he was in Kindergarten. I MUST FIND THAT COSTUME!

And so, not knowing who's fault it is, I look at the clock and see that we have 20 minutes until show time. Let's see...5 minutes home, 2 minutes of looking, 5 minutes back. Yeah, sure! I can do this!

And so off I fly like a bat out of a Scooby-Doo episode. I get home, tear out of my car, and begin searching the house, the garage, the trunk of my car, the inside of the infamous Expedition... Everywhere I can think of. When I don't see the costume, I begin to tear into my husband's wardrobe to find SOMETHING Joe can wear! I pull out a flannel or two and head out.

On my way back to the church I think, "Hey! I'll bet Joe took the costume back to class with him since I told him to make sure and not forget it at rehearsal today and then he must have forgotten to put it in his backpack. Yeah! That MUST be what happened!"

I've got 8 minutes until the show starts. Let's see...10 minutes to the school, 30 seconds of looking, 10 minutes back...I won't be TOO late. Ok. Let's do this!

So, off I flew like an early bird who just woke up late and drove to the school. I unlock the classroom door, search wildly, and to my dismay, do not find the costume.

Office! Maybe it's in the office!

I run to the office, unlock the door, tear inside, unlock my office door, and begin searching. Nope. Nope. Nope. Under this thing? Nope.

I give up. I'm late for the show, I have no costume, the search is over.

On my way back to the church I'm thinking, "Oh, please don't let this put Joe in a tailspin! Please don't let it be so unnerving for him that it ruins his whole night. Oh, please, please, please!"

I get back, throw the flannel over Joe's back, and try to explain to him that his costume is lost, he has to wear this. While rolling up his sleeves, I try to assure him that he is going to do an amazing job, I have total confidence in him, and his new costume looks GREAT!

On with the show! I have the not-so-wonderful privilege of letting the audience know why we are starting 10 minutes late. There was no sense in saying something like, "Due to technical difficulties..." No, all that means is, "Hey! I was running late. The technical difficulty was my blow dryer." I had to tell the truth. A costume is missing and I'm not sure why.

Well, the show went fabulous. No one in the audience knew which costume was missing because the flannel I put Joe in looked perfect, perhaps even better. He did a fantastic job and I was so proud of how he was able to be flexible with the costume and still come out shining on stage. I love that kid!

Two weeks later I am cleaning up my office. I lift up a sweatshirt and...wait! What's that? No. It can't be. I looked under there! I picked up this same sweatshirt and looked under there!

There it was. The costume, finally out of hiding. Oh, thank goodness because it was slightly begged for and definitely borrowed.

However, I had some explaining to do to some parents...

Here's "Joe". He's the one in the flannel and broom.

(Thank you, "Joe's" parents, for letting me post this story. You have a great kid, there!)

The Story That Started It All

2010-01-12T16:48:00.000-08:00

I invited my Facebook friends to add the My Poor Husband Page to their account. Some of them are wondering what in the world this is about, so rather than have my hairy armpit be the first thing they see on my blog, I thought it would be wise to let them know how this all started. If you look on the right-hand sidebar, you will see an archives section where you can browse past stories. Feel free to hang out for awhile and add a few laughs to your day. If you're so inclined, add the My Poor Husband Page to your Facebook account and pretend that the box on the top right doesn't say "fan", but "interested party," or "person who thinks Rachael is nuts", or "I just wanted to see my face in that box." I hate the word "fan."

Here ya go. The story that started it all...

The SECOND Time I Drove Off With the Gas Pump

I was pumping gas and talking on my cell phone to my poor husband, Travis. (Pumping gas while talking on the cell phone. Doesn't that cause brain tumors or something?) I finished pumping, got in the car, and continued my conversation with my poor husband, Travis. Suddenly, there was a loud THUMP and SCRAPING of the pavement. Did my muffler just fall off? Did I run something over? Did I...oh, no. I couldn't possibly have...oh, yes I did!

I forgot to remove the gas pump from my car!!!

I did NOT want Travis to know what I had done, so I couldn't slam on my breaks and go tell Chevron what happened. That would get the kids' attention and they would no doubt tell on me.

I kept driving.

As I was rounding the corner, trying to find a place to park and act natural, the owner of the place started running toward the car yelling, "Stop! Stop!" I'm still talking to Travis mind you, and so I could not yell back, "I'm parking! I'm parking!" I waved at the guy, who started running faster and yelling louder. The guy caught up with me, pulled the hose from my gas tank and yells, "You could at least give me my pump back, " and all the while I'm still talking to Travis on the cell phone, trying to act as if nothing is going on so Travis wouldn't suspect.

Eventually I found a way to get off the phone and then I went inside and assured the guy that I was not planning on driving off with his pump. He took my number and I never heard from him again...

...until today. Is it because he finally got around to calling me? Oh, no. Not in Rachael's world. I did it...(sigh) again!

Bringing In The New Year in Rachael Style

2010-01-01T17:23:00.000-08:00

My son is convinced that his mother is verifiably weird. (Yes, he is a very smart boy, indeed!) My daughter is on the fence about this issue and the other is in denial. What we all agree on is that I don't do things the way everyone else does them and though my life can get expensive, it does not lack for laughs.

Tonight we spent New Year's Eve with friends. I was trying to figure out how to get a movie going (not having cable I can't navigate a TV anymore!) when I said, "How do you push play on this thing?"

My son is very literal. If I tell him to get dressed and then he can do such-in-such, he does exactly that. He puts on every item of clothes he is supposed to wear, but then gets bent out of shape when I tell him that brushing his teeth, brushing his hair, and washing his face are part of getting dressed.

"MOM! You said GET DRESSED. Brushing your teeth isn't getting dressed!"

Ok, technically he is correct, but surely he knows what I mean!

Eventually he'll learn about how he's supposed to be able to read a woman's mind.

So, my son, having a very literal mind, hears me ask how to push play on a DVD player and is now affirmed of his mother's weirdness. He looks up, sees the 2 new friends that joined us this New Year's, leans over to me and says in a hushed voice,

"Mom. Are you sure you want them to know you're weird?"

To which I reply, "Oh, Honey. They've read my blog."

Case closed. That satisfies his question.

As I mentioned, this was New Year's Eve. We spend every New Year's Eve with close friends. This year was fun because we had two new friends to share it with and because we had a costume party. A 70's costume party. I love costume parties! And I gave my costume much thought.

I didn't want to go the hippie route…everyone does that. But I also didn't want to spend a lot of money on a costume, which most of us understand these days.

I went the hippie route, but I had to do SOMETHiNG different! How could I jazz up this costume a bit? How could I make it a little more authentic with a twist of Rachael?

Let me say a big THANK YOU to Kiah. She was my inspiration. Without her I might never have come up with the perfect costume…

Oh, yes I did! I grew out my armpit hair. That big, bushy black thing you see there…that's real! I did not glue that on. I did not color it with a sharpie. Nope! That's the real thing right there!

My son rolled his eyes. My daughter turned her head away. My other daughter said, "MOM! That's GROSS! Shave it off!" and my poor husband...?

He just focused on his own costume.

The 11 Stages of Putting on a Musical

2009-12-13T02:32:00.000-08:00

As I have mentioned before, I teach Music at a PreK-8 school. Best job I've ever had!!! Besides the kids, the Christmas musical and the Spring musical are my two favorite parts of my job.

Well, O.K., I lied. But Tuesday night around 8pm it will be true again! You see, in 2 days we "go live." All 90 or so kids will be on stage, smiling and looking adorable, realizing the fruit of their labor. And while the best part of the whole thing is the final bow, the few days before the program are, well...in a word, stressful.

This is the 11th musical I have directed at Pacific Coast Christian Academy and after experiencing 9 of them, I discovered that there was a certain rhythm to this whole thing. Just as predictable as a lively song to start the program and just as predictable as the preschooler in the front row picking his nose, so are the stages of putting on a musical.

Stage 1: Research
It all starts with the question, "What are we going to do this year?" It follows with browsing the internet, looking for musicals that are cute enough to make the audience smile and "cool" enough for junior high kids to sing. (Not always attainable, but you try.) You choose a few that have good sound bites and look entertaining and then order the preview pack. (A choral book and CD packaged together at a very reduced rate. It's like bait only it doesn't smell bad.)

Stage 2: Discovery
You get the bait in the mail and start popping CD's in. You're simply listening to see if this is the program. It only takes 5 minutes or less per CD to decide. If I'M bored in the first 5 minutes, the audience certainly will be! No use in listening to the whole thing. NEXT!

Stage 3: Deliberation
While deciding whether a certain program makes the cut or not takes 5 minutes or less, deciding which one of those that made the cut will be THE ONE takes a bit more deliberation. Is it TOO predictable? It the title hopelessly cheesy? Can Kindergarten handle the music? Is it too cutesy for Junior High? Will the audience love it because if not, I'll be judged accordingly. How complicated is the drama and can the kids handle the parts that are played by grownups on the CD? What kind of message does it send?

Stage 4: Decision
After weighing all the options, I choose the one that excites me most. Most of the questions I asked myself above are completely unnecessary because in the end, because I'll pretty much just improvise it all, anyway. Whatever obstacle appears, I'll figure it out. But not yet because I must enter stage 5.

Stage 5: Glorious Excitement
I love stage 5! Oh, the thrill of creativity!!! I pop that CD into my car and listen to it over and over again. As I listen to the drama, I am creating the props, visualizing the staging, dreaming up costumes, and coming up with my own interpretations. I'm tearing up at all the sappy parts and singing cheerfully to that first lively song. So many ideas run through my head. It's like a drug. A natural high. A most happy place where life is a hall of mirrors that reflect such beautiful light in all the shades of the spectrum. It surrounds you and lifts you and you just want to skip through a field, only you couldn't skip because you'd be floating. There is nothing else except for newly opened lilies and hummingbirds...

and...well, until someone calls, "MOM!" from the backseat.

Stage 6: Tryouts
This is such a fun stage! Seeing those 3-8th graders get up in front of their peers and saying their lines or singing a solo is incredible and I stand taller because of them. You have to admire the ones who seem to have no fear, but you have to especially admire and respect the ones who are frightened out of their wits, voices quivering, hands shaking, and determined to finish because they are more afraid of not doing what they set out to do than they are of standing there in front of everyone. Right there. That's where I stand taller.

Stage 7: Casting
I don't care to dwell too much on this stage. It's painful. Only a few kids will get the part they really wanted and there are always a few parents who aren't happy with my decisions. Yeah, it's painful.

Stage 8: Rehearsal
We sing, sing, sing and sing some more! Well, actually we've been singing since the start of stage 5, but this is where we begin to rehearse the drama, as well. Oh, my this is fun! This year's musical has been especially fun. The drama is just over-the-top hilarious and one of our kids knows how to work an audience really well. He's a total crack up!

This stage is also a lot of fun because I get to take quiet, reserved children and turn them into little acting machines. It's fun to watch them at the first rehearsal, arms crossed, head down, barely audible...and compare it to the last rehearsal where they are loud (or at least louder), arms are moving about freely, head is up, and they begin to walk taller as they glide down the school halls, proud of what they've accomplished and feeling bonded with the other actors. There is nothing like the bond of fear, hard work, and universal accomplishment.

Stage 9: Freak Out
It's how many more days until THE day? What?!? Are you sure??? Uhhh...am I as far along as I need to be? Should I freak out right now? No? Oh, well, too late.

Stage 10:
This is where I am right now. This is the most horrible stage of putting on a musical. Horrible is a bad word. Horrifying might be a better one. It is only mere days before the program and everything is suddenly overwhelming. All the weak spots are glaringly obvious, all the things that have been procrastinated on have come due, and all the extra space left in my schedule is now completely full and overflowing. You're still freaking out because you can't for the life of you see how everything that needs to get done will get done and doggoneit, those kids better memorize those lines! Fred's sick and can't make rehearsal? Which parent am I calling back today? What else needs to be coordinated?

I was tempted to make this another step, but I think dress rehearsal needs to stay in Stage 10. Oh, dress rehearsal... I get the whole, "You gotta do it so you can see where all the holes are and what needs to be fixed," but we only get one rehearsal on the actual stage we do our program on and it's not your normal dress rehearsal. It's far worse than that. We can't do our programs our own building because we can't fit 300 people plus the kids in our own chapel, so dress rehearsal becomes a field trip to the church we are renting, thus allowing us approximately 2 hours to do it "just like we're going to do it live!"

(forced laugh)

What really makes dress rehearsal difficult is that ALL the teachers are watching, the staff of whatever church building we are renting are watching, and all the parents who drove kids on this field trip are watching. This is their first impression and it is always a mess! The program is what everyone judges my performance on. Whether or not I'm viewed as a good teacher or not depends 90% on how the program goes. Overall, it's a very small glimpse into what I do. Teaching is a complex art. Somehow you're supposed to take a subject that 1/3 of your class is interested in, make 99% of them like it, find a way to engage 20 kids...at the same time!...who are all incredibly different and make sure they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are loved, good grade or not...that's a better measure of my value as a teacher. But, reality is, all most parents see is the show. So when they are watching the dress rehearsal and seeing all the most minute mistakes, it's a little unnerving. I begin to say to myself, "That's it! After this I'm done! I'm so unqualified, I've made so many mistakes, the school will look bad because of me, and why am I doing this to myself, anyway? I'm so tired...so very, very tired."

But Stage 11...

Oh, glorious, most wonderful Stage 11!
The show starts at 7pm sharp. (Well, except for the one time I lost a kid's costume and ran back home and then back to my office to find it, but I'll have to tell that story later!) By 7:10 the welcomes are complete and all the kids are assembled on the stage. The crowd hushes, the children take a deep breath, and then the music plays. Suddenly the kids and I are in a world of our own making. This is what we've visualized in our heads for so long and now we are living that moment. First scene, second scene, fourth song, fifth song...they fly by like the telephone poles on the highway. Before we know it, the musical is done and we are standing there, taking our bow, and basking in the glow of Stage 11.

I can be no prouder than when the audience is clapping, yelling "Bravo!", standing to their feet, and giving their kids what they desire most in life...the look of acceptance and pride on their parents' faces. No, there is no better moment when it comes to putting on a musical.

This is when I answer the question I asked myself earlier.

"Why do I do this to myself?"

Because you love it, Rachael. You love watching these kids. You love seeing them shine. You love seeing them proud of themselves. You love watching a kid who is struggling in school do something he never knew he was good at. You love seeing the kid who was having a hard time being accepted by his peers suddenly the center of their praise. You love watching the teacher's faces as they gain an even deeper appreciation for what his or her student is capable of. You love the hugs. You love hearing, "You're my favorite Music teacher" (even if I am the only one). You would be unfulfilled if you never did this again, knowing that you are missing the opportunity to make a difference.

Bring on the next musical!

(Here's last year's Christmas musical." Feel free to click on parts 2-6 as well!)

It's a Curse, I Tell Ya!

2009-11-25T17:19:00.000-08:00

I love Facebook! It's so much fun to reconnect with people and it's a nice, quick way to keep in touch. Some people make fun of this, but I like knowing that my friend, Rachel just canned 40-something cans of figs and that Patti wants to trade her kids in. I enjoy hearing what one friend is hearing the guy next to him at the airport say about the Illuminate and I just love knowing that Matt loves his wife, Felicia. Most of our friendships in life are nurtured during the mundane times. They may become rock solid during times of crisis, but most of our time spent together is in the mundane. I treasure those mundane posts.

Yesterday I reconnected with a friend that I haven't talked to since I was 15. It was so nice to reminisce and remember all those funny things we did as kids and to see how we have changed. It was nice to hear what he was like as a "grown-up." But mostly it was just nice to be connected again.

We instant messaged each other on Facebook for awhile, but I had to put a bit of time in at work today. Once the kids were all ready and begging to leave, I asked him for his cell number and gave him a call. We talked while I drove on my way to the gas station.

This is when I should have hung up. Gas station...cell phone... You would think I would have remembered. But no. In fact, Robert (my old friend) and I joked about how I was "living on the edge" to use a cell phone while pumping gas. Something about static electricity. I even told him about how I drove off with the gas pump three times. He didn't laugh. He paused for a second and said, "...three times?"

I laughed, ran my card, turned to put the gas pump in my car, then realized I had forgotten to take the gas cap off. Now, I'm holding a cell phone in one hand and the gas pump in the other. I could have said something like, "Hold on," but that would have been too obvious an answer to this dilemma. I'd never figure that out! No, I put the gas pump under my arm and then unscrewed the gas cap.

I secured the pump with that little thingy that holds it in the "pump position" and continued my conversation. I like to wash my windows while I wait for the gas to pump. I cleaned the back window...and yes, I'm still talking on my cell phone. I turn to check and see if my gas was done pumping and was surprised to see that it was done so quickly. How nice!

I put the pump back.

Let me say that again. I PUT THE PUMP BACK!!! You're proud of me, aren't you!

I just have to say it one more time. I put the pump back, screwed the gas cap on, got in my car, and drove off. All the while, talking on my cell phone.

It's about 10 minutes to my work from the gas station and when I was oh, 3 minutes away, I glanced down to see a little orange light. WHAT? I'm out of gas? Impossible!!!

That's when it hit me. I forgot to pump the gas!!! I didn't intend to (ok, who would actually intend to), but apparently I put the gas pump in the "pump position" and didn't make sure it was actually pumping gas! Uh.... oops!

Robert got a bit of a chuckle out of that one!

So, as I told myself I would, I have to ask, "So, Rachael, what are you going to do about it?" That's an easy one...

No more pumping gas while talking on the cell phone!

Worship. That Goes Deeper. (Continuation of, "What You Cannot NOT Talk About")

2009-11-24T19:17:00.000-08:00

Earlier this month I led the music portion of our worship service. The pastor told me what he was preaching on and I went to work.

I like to spend time reading the scriptures he tells me he's going to use. I inevitably wind up travelling all over the Bible, reading things that relate. That and finding myself fascinated on a word or phrase that leads me to so many rabbit trails that I begin to wonder if I should start chewing hay and carrots!

This particular Sunday I was fascinated with the phrase, "fire on the altar," specifically God sending that fire on the Old Testament altars. I had chosen "Not To Us," for the first song, simply because I had just introduced it to the congregation the week before and knew I needed to do it another week in order to solidify it in their heads. As I was singing the song in my head, the second verse suddenly grew an arm from my laptop and slapped me on the head.

"Send Your holy fire
"On this offering."

Whoa! God? Is that You speaking?

Then, I chose the second song blandly based on the fact that it was an upbeat song and I needed an upbeat song. Then, my laptop grew an arm and I got slapped upside the head again.

"Hear the joyful sound
"Of our offering
"As Your saints bow down
"As Your people sing."

Let me show you why I felt slapped on the head.

1 Chronicles 21:21-26

And as David came to Ornan, Ornan looked and saw David, and went out of the threshingfloor, and bowed himself to David with his face to the ground. Then David said to Ornan, Grant me the place of this threshingfloor, that I may build an altar therein unto the LORD: thou shalt grant it me for the full price: that the plague may be stayed from the people.

Ok, in modern English. David needs a nice, flat place to build an altar. He talks to Ornan, who happens to have a nice, flat place to build an altar, and offers to buy it. Ornan says something like, "DUDE! You're like, the KING of Israel. You can have it!" to which David replies, "Look, man. This is for God. I'm not going to 'sacrifice' if it's not much of a sacrifice, you know? I'm not going to even make an offer for less than what it's worth. I'm going to pay you FULL PRICE!"

And Ornan said unto David, Take it to thee, and let my lord the king do that which is good in his eyes: lo, I give thee the oxen also for burnt offerings, and the threshing instruments for wood, and the wheat for the meat offering; I give it all. And king David said to Ornan, Nay; but I will verily buy it for the full price:

So Ornan, who doesn't seem to be too comfortable with this, says, "Ok, fine. Not gonna argue with the King! Duh! But I'll give you the oxen and all that other stuff you need for the sacrifice." David's like, "No, seriously. I'm buying that, too...for full price!"

I love this part:

...for I will not take that which is thine for the LORD, nor offer burnt offerings without cost.

So David gave to Ornan for the place six hundred shekels of gold by weight. And David built there an altar unto the LORD, and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings, and called upon the LORD;

David pays for it, builds the alter, and puts the sacrifice on it. This is where someone usually prays and then fires up the altar. But you have to check this out... oh, man, the chills are coming already!

and he answered him from heaven by fire upon the altar of burnt offering.

GOD, yes GOD, sent fire FROM HEAVEN, I tell you. FROM HEAVEN!!!

"Send Your holy fire
"On this offering
"Let our worship burn
"For the world to see."

I'm thinking that Ornan was no longer bowing before David, but before the King of all Kings. Oh, it makes me want to bow myself right now. Seriously.

That's just one scripture. The next one has me wanting to yell and bow at the same time!

Leviticus 9:22-24 And Aaron lifted up his hand toward the people, and blessed them, and came down from offering of the sin offering, and the burnt offering, and peace offerings.

And Moses and Aaron went into the tabernacle of the congregation, and came out, and blessed the people:

and the glory of the LORD appeared unto all the people. And there came a fire out from before the LORD, and consumed upon the altar the burnt offering and the fat: which when all the people saw, they shouted, and fell on their faces.

Did you catch that? Once again, GOD, yes GOD sent the fire! And what did the people do when they saw it? They went ALL CAPS and fell "Facedown" in worship! I...I...I'm speechless! I'm with them, right there with them, wishing there was no one else in this room right now so that I could lay on this floor I'm sitting on with my face smelling the dirty carpet and wetting it with my tears. And yet, I just feel like jumping and throwing my hands in the air and yelling, "LORD, YOU ARE HOLY!"

So I finish up my song set, type in some lyrics, turn on my iPod, and begin practicing the songs. I'm totally raising my hands while singing, "Send Your holy fire on this offering," and tears are making my voice crack.

I get through that song and then begin the next one. You know, the one I chose simply because it was upbeat. I'm getting into it, clapping my hands when I get to this part...

"Hear the joyful sound
"Of our offering
"As Your saints bow down
"As Your people sing."

Ok, I'm done. Undone is more like it. There's no way I can keep singing this song...

...and I've just had a better worship service than I've had in a very, very long time.

Not everyday is like this and certainly not every time I put a worship service together. I find myself "Going Through the Motions," way too many times because I'm tired, feel like what I do is pointless, get in a hurry, and pretty much just try to give God what I get for free. But when I seek God, He is always to be found and when God allows me the opportunity to worship Him through His Word, combined with Music, I...I...I have no words.

Worship. It goes deep.

What You Cannot NOT Talk About

2009-11-08T01:01:00.000-08:00

What? Where am I? I don't recognize this place. Could it be...? OH! It's my blog! It's been so long I forgot what it looked like!

October is always incredibly busy for our family. I intentionally try not to schedule things in October because I know that every October is busy. The calendar starts out with only a couple birthday plans scribbled in and evolves into something that resembles my daughter's bedroom...stuff everywhere!

It was one incredibly fun month! We hosted lots of people in our home, including one weekend of some of our closest friends. As one of them (James) was getting ready to head out, he said to me,

"Rachael, if I didn't know you and had just met you 5 minutes ago, I would know that you are really into worship."

...which got me to thinking about this quiz I took about what you should be blogging about. "My Poor Husband" is not about worship and since the title, "My Poor Husband," seems like an odd title for a worship blog, I'm not intending for this blog to transform into a worship blog. This post will just be for fun. Besides, there are too many worship blogs out there for me to start a new one!

The quiz asks, "What can you not NOT talk about?"

The funny thing about James' comment is that I continually hold back from talking about it, most notably the music portion of worship. The subject tends to halt a naturally flowing conversation and it doesn't take long before people are looking for something to do instead of looking at me while they pretend to listen. Shoot, sometimes they don't even pretend and start talking to someone else or interrupt and completely change the subject! I guess that qualifies as something I cannot NOT talk about!

Music moves me. So deeply, in fact, that I am very careful about what I listen to. Every part of me is involved in the process of listening to music. My ears...obviously, but also my body as it instictively moves to the beat. (Actually, moving to the rhythm is a lot more fun!) My mind is thinking about the chords and how certain notes make that certain part of that song so...so...gosh, I don't know. That feeling you get so deep down inside your soul that you wish you could grab and hold onto it so tightly, yet you're afraid to let it out because you're not sure what might happen if you could actually look it in the face. It might make you cry without an end in sight. It might make you levitate as you dance across the room. It might make you so angry that you fear the wrath inside of you. Or it may physically knock you to the ground, searching for just a single word that you can offer to God to explain why it is you worship Him.

Yeah. THAT part of the song.

My mind is also pondering the words to the song and wondering what the author's meaning is behind the words.

And my heart is experiencing such a range of emotions. In one song I can feel energized, intrigued, sad, sappy, and dark. There is a happiness in even the darkest songs simply because I am feeling.

That's what music does to me.

Worship. That goes deeper.

...to be continued. That's probably enough to digest for one night.

The Poor Wife...or The Unimpressed Girlfriend

2009-10-14T22:06:00.000-07:00

Yes, Travis has had a few of his own blunders.

We had quite a storm yesterday! Thankfully, it was a warm one, but boy, did the wind blow and boy, was there a lot of rain! So much so in fact that school got cancelled (nice) and my classroom got flooded (not nice). I'll be travelling from class to class to teach Music tomorrow. It will be like old times!

Driving home yesterday was a bit like driving through a car wash, only without the big metal things that crush your car. Very wet, had to drive slow (well, you're not SUPPOSED to actually drive in a drive-through car wash, but we all know that story...), water splashing on the windows from all four sides of the car...you get the picture. As I was driving through the third largest puddle I was reminded of a story...

*Dream sequence*

*That's an overused phrase, btw. Have I written about those yet?*

Travis and I were dating. I was quite young and he was, well, while 5 years older than I, he was still a guy who was living in his age of invincibility. We had a terrible storm that lasted for days. There was so much rain and wind and, unlike the storm we just had, it was cold. Even the main streets had parts that you couldn't drive through because of the flooding.

Unless you're Travis.

After some sort of young adult function (young adults are kids who are out of high school and don't think they are still kids, but aren't ready to grow up and hang out with "real" adults), Travis and one other guy thought it would be fun to go for a drive...

in the rain...

around signs that read, "flooded..."

and straight through puddles...psh! more like PONDS!

And we're not talking about an Expedition or big 'ol monster truck. Oh, no. This was his beloved Honda Accord! The first nice car he ever owned. Apparently he thought that Honda Accords doubled as submarines.

Well, away he and his friend went to check out all the mess the storm had made and make a few big splashes while they were at it. The road dipped down a bit, but had you been driving on this road when it was dry, you likely wouldn't have even noticed it. But had you been driving it this night, you probably wouldn't have noticed it at all because the road was nice and level...

well, only level if you are looking at WATER!

Oh, yes. They drove on down the road ever so slow, watching the joyous fountain of water spray up on their windows. I can only imagine their delight.

They drove on. Despite the fact that they were the ONLY ones driving through this part of the road, they continued their adventure.

Eventually the water became deep enough that the fountains of water stopped spraying. It must have gotten quiet, or so I imagine, as the boys no longer had that bit of amusement. But then...I can only imagine how much noise they made when...

the water began to spill under the doors and into the car! And oh, I have to wonder...did it get quiet when the car stalled? How about when the car wouldn't start? At what point did they start laughing again? When the people driving by began to point or shake their heads? When the tow truck came? Or perhaps Travis laughed when the car did finally start but was not fully operational? I'll bet the sound of the car running all night for 2-3 days with the heat on full blast made him giddy. I'll bet the blow dryers running had him ROFLOL.

Alas, the car did finally dry out and although he was told that it was an impossibility, the car was fully operational within a few days.

I was indeed an unimpressed girlfriend. Unimpressed with his submarine skills, but still totally and completely in love with him...

and that has not changed. I am continually impressed with his dedication to God and his unending love and commitment to his family. I married well. I have one of the rare ones that many women are hoping to find...

unless they are looking for someone who drives a submarine.

p.s. Travis, I love you with all my heart. Thank you for marrying me and loving me through all my own blunders. *insert kiss*

The Blackjack and What I'm Going to Do About It

2009-10-12T22:32:00.000-07:00

Found myself a phone...finally!

I spent lots of time on Craigslist trying to find the perfect deal. Emailed lots of people, checked listings incessantly over the weekend, emailed some more people...and a few people twice by mistake!

And after hours of hard work, I now own a blackjack. AT&T reluctantly told me that if I stick my sim card into a smart phone they would never know and I would NOT be automatically given a data plan and I could use my phone however I wanted. Pay per minute for data usage of course, but I don't have to buy a prepaid phone, thank goodness! I like the qwerty too much.

I'm loving my new phone! The last one I had was a Blackjack II and while I'm "downsizing" to get the forerunner, I think I actually like it better. Not so bulky. Thank you to the Craigslist poster who sold me this phone! :) I enjoyed meeting you and your daughter. :)

So, as I promised myself, I am asking, "So what am I going to do about it?"

I habitually lose phones and here's what I'm going to do about it.

I bought a purse. (How many girls do you know who can get a purse out of losing a cell phone?) It's a tiny little thing, just big enough to fit some cards, my keys, and a cell phone, but just big enough to have a nice long strap that I can hang across my body.

You see, I carry around this huge handbag and I keep filling it with stuff. I don't really know where all the stuff comes from, but I think there's a brownie (Spiderwick Chronicles reference) that follows me around and sticks stuff in there. He better be careful or he might go flying off the top of my car and who knows if he'll be found like the rest of my stuff!

Anyway, big handbag. I hate taking it in stores because I refuse to put my purse in the cart. How am I supposed to keep track of three kids and a purse? So, instead of hauling this mini-suitcase into the car, I take out my wallet, keys, and cell phone. I'm usually wearing a dress or slacks without pockets and so I wind up holding a wallet, keys, and a cell phone in one hand and grab groceries and children with the other. Not entirely convenient, but better than having my purse stolen out of my cart or picking up all my stuff off the floor when I bend over to check prices and everything comes spilling out. Embarrassing. Not that I would know or anything.

I digress. I keep jumping off my train of thought and taking a bus.

So... now I have this little purse thingy that I wear into the store. When I get in the car, the purse thingy DOES NOT COME OFF! No, no. If it did I would probably forget it, especially if I was hauling the moving van-I mean handbag. So, I keep the purse strapped to me, open up the little flap, and plug in the cell phone charger.

Yup! I charge my phone INSIDE my purse WHILE wearing it!

I tell you, I get odder and odder all the time... Even I have to admit that one!

BUT...! If it works then I don't mind the oddness. The phone remains on my body until I get home and then I place it next to the external charger. The phone actually came with an extra battery, so I keep a battery charging at all times.

Ta-da! I've gone from forgetting the phone in the car or carrying it around haphazardly in my hands while shopping WITH a battery that's near dead much of the time...and that's when I can find it!... to having the cell phone strapped to me with a fresh battery everyday. Sort of like underwear.

How does one go from cell phones to underwear? Must be the trauma of childhood underwear horror stories. (Story 1) (Story 2) (Story that's a little over-the-top. That's right. There's no link.)

Well, there you have it! The tale of the cell phone. I'd call it complete, but not until I get an iPhone...

I'll keep you posted. (POSTED! Ha! Pun not intended. Oh, dear. That was a Rachael Joke.)

Not to iPhone

2009-10-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I think my laptop screen being the size of an iPhone screen is a sign, I've decided not to iPhone. (Bugel call)

I've been on craigslist and I think I might be better off to get a phone from a private party and see if Travis will get me a laptop for my birthday. ;-)

No, I just can't justify the cost per Rachael factor and I find it too hard to give up my cheap plan. I know one of these days AT&T will say, "Look. lady, you live in the dark ages and we no longer wish to support your neanderthal way. Either get yourself a smart phone with a data plan or start paying the going rate for your skin and bones plan. $30/month just isn't gonna cut it anymore."

If any of you reading are from craigslist, have mercy on me and let me have the lowball price and I'll give you a shout out on my blog, which is worth...oh, nothing! LOL

Pretty please with a charger on top?

To iPhone or Not to iPhone

2009-10-08T23:03:00.000-07:00

I stand at the crossroads.

My poor husband is not such a poor husband anymore. He's got a fancy, new iPhone. The man who kept his free phone for 4 years regardless of the fact that he was eligible for a free upgrade now has an iPhone. And he looks so darn cool with it. I look over and I think, "Forget the cars, that phone is a total chick magnet!"

Now, here I stand with no cell phone because...well...I think we know that story. I feel stuck because I have this really old wireless plan at $30/month and now when I get those mailers that try to entice me with a "free" upgrade, it says that I have to upgrade my plan, as well. Same plan, new price. That' $10 more per month. Even I can do the Math and see that the little free phone they offer me will actually cost me $120 a year. That's $240 over the life of the 2-year contract I have to sign.

And now if I want a smart phone, I MUST also get the $30/month data plan. And I can't get the data plan without upgrading my plan to the new price. So, that leaves me with a stupid phone (wouldn't that be what you call one that's not smart?) but I have to pay full price for it. Uhhh..no. That's a lot of money! Or I can buy a prepaid phone, but that will be $100 bucks because I want bluetooth.

There's craigslist of course. I looked, but there's the whole it-has-to-be-an AT&T phone and all that jazz.

Oh, and I can't get insurance...which we have figured out is actually worth the monthly price in my case...without (I'll bet you can guess) upgrading my plan.

You know, I say upgrading the plan, but really it's just upgrading the price.

Now, interestingly enough, my laptop is going out. Over half of my monitor is now covered in a pretty plaid design and I have minimized this window to, oddly enought, about the size of an iPhone screen just so I can type this post. The whole scrolling back and forth thing is really getting old.

So I have to wonder...

If I keep this laptop and don't buy another, would it pay to buy an iPhone? I want the iPhone. Travis says that if I can keep a junky (his word, ,not mine) cell phone for 2 years without losing it then he'll feel justified in buying me a fancy phone.

Can I make it work? A few salespeople out there are tying to make it so. What should I buy?

Yes, boring post tonight. I'm a little OCD about this cell phone business right now!

I Have a Confession to Make...about zits!

2009-10-07T22:36:00.000-07:00

Zits don't bother me.

No, in fact, they rather fascinate me. If it wasn't for the way they look, I might just pray for more zits.

I mean, the way they swell up, just like a cat about to pounce. Like a fountain right before it sprays up like an explosion. Or like (for my music friends) a C Major scale that starts at C, moves all the way up the keyboard, but stops at B with a fermata over it. The C is begging, pleading to be played, just like a big, fat zit is sitting there, waiting to emerge like a baby from its mother's womb.

It's almost as painful, anyway.

I like to see them pop. I do. Even when it hurts.

And I don't mind popping other people's zits...if they would only let me. (Family only!!! Don't call me.)

But THIS ONE...

Ok, no. This is just wrong. I watched this video that a friend on Facebook posted and I almost had to run to the bathroom. I can't post it because it was full of bad language and, well, call me what you'd like but I can't post something that uses God's name as a swear word. No, I stand in awe of Him and His name is so powerful that I refuse to use it so carelessly. That and it had the F bomb and potty language. Kid-friendly site here.

Anyway, this video was 4 1/2 minutes of popping a zit. Yes, it took that long!!! And the zit doesn't open up at 2 minutes into the video or anything. No, it's like...at 15 seconds into the video. The blood involved was about as much as a bad bloody nose. The zit had quite a squirt to it. I kid you not, sometimes it looked like brains coming out!!!

I think some alien squirrels that eat brains attacked this guy in his sleep, ate a portion of his brain and saved the rest for later by storing the rest of his brain under the skin of his back. It is THAT bad!!!

A girl in the background said that it was the worst smell ever. SMELL?!? I didn't know that zits smell!

My fascination with zits might actually be over.

On second thought, maybe I'm only getting started...

You Mean, She Wasn't an Ornament?!?

2009-10-06T22:35:00.000-07:00

Travis and I started dating when I was 17. He thought I was 18, but what he didn't realize was that just because I had graduated high school, that didn't mean I was 18. He was 23. I have that whole story written already, but Travis said I have to wait until February to post it. That will be fun. Our first date, his proposal...good stuff! I hope you feel sufficiently teased.

As I was saying, I was very young when we started dating. His friends had already married by now and had a baby and one on the way. We met up with them one night at her parents' house. If I remember right, I had never been there before. What I DO remember correctly is that I was nervous.

I was and am a city girl. Born and raised. Not that I've never dreamed of living in the country, but I don't really know much about it. And I knew far less about being a rancher or a cowboy or any of that kind of cool stuff.

What I also knew was that cowboys and ranchers pretty much think that all city folk are stupid, wrong, and have no common sense. Not that city slickers don't have their own set of stereotypes for country folk. However, there were a few members of this family who really did think that city folk were stupid, wrong, and had no common sense.

Can we say REALLY nervous?!? I was entering the home of people who were probably just waiting for me to say something stupid. I felt it best to keep my mouth shut most of the time. I didn't ask what a cattle guard was. I didn't ask what part of the horse the bridle went on and I surely didn't ask what a bridle was in the first place!

Hey-at least I didn't ask who their cattle guard was!

So, there we are with our friends, sitting beside a comfy wood stove and a beautiful Christmas tree. The sound of crickets chirping in the dark and the view of thousands of more stars than you'll ever see under city lights was mesmerizing. If you're not careful, you'll start to dream of quilting and canning stuff.

I have always loved babies and our friends' baby was one of the most adorable babies I knew. She had this happy head of curls that bounced when she walked and a smile that lit up the entire-and I do mean ENTIRE-room. And boy could she talk and she didn't know a single stranger. She was just so cute that I just had to play with her.

So, I talked to her, tickled her, then decided to pick her up.

I laid on the floor, reached out, picked her up, and began to swing her over my head.

It was all fun and games until I realized that she was beginning to go past my head and there was no way I could stop her. Next thing I knew, she was all the way over, head first into the Christmas tree.

If only she hadn't cried, things might not have been so embarrassing.

If only she weren't the firstborn for our friends, it might have been funnier.

If only I wasn't a city girl, the whole thing might have been forgotten.

But no, she cried, my friend jumped up with all the urgency of a first-time mom, and there I sat, a city girl with nothing to say for myself.

I am happy to report that the baby wasn't hurt...too bad.

She is now a beautiful young lady who babysits our children. She does a great job and it's only at Christmas time that I worry about my kids and whether or not it would be funny for her to exact revenge. Her parents have threatened a few times. I'm pretty sure they were joking.

So far, so good.

What Will They Say About Me at my Funeral?

2009-10-05T22:39:00.000-07:00

There are three things people talk about after a funeral.

1. How memorable the service was. (Nice neutral term there for those of you who don't quite know what to say when you feel the service didn't accurately capture the person you loved.)
2. How sad it is that the only family reunion your family has is at a funeral.
3. What one would like to have at his/her own funeral.

Now that I've entertained the idea that serial killers could be reading my blog (this is where you laugh), I thought this would be a good time to pull this blog post up from the "drafts" section and put it in the "published" one.

So, dearly beloved, let me entertain the thought...what will they say about me at my funeral?

Family:
(crying...at least I hope there's crying.) "Remember those nights at the dinner table? She always served dinner with a generous portion of love. No matter what it was, she had us on her mind the whole time.

"Wait-was that a good thing? Remember the time she forgot the rice? Or the time she served us salad with pancakes? And what of the smoke alarm calling us to dinner? Maybe she LIKED to see us running with hands over our ears and towels under our armpits, running to fan the smoke detectors."

"Yeah. And remember when she was fasting? Maybe she didn't eat because she knew what it was going to taste like!"

"No, that was just Mom."

"Yeah, you're right. Well, remember how much fun it was sometimes? (One of my rule-bound children might say weird, but I think the other two would call it fun.) Like when Dad went out of town we'd have pizza and she'd actually let us have ROOT BEER and then we'd have a burping contest, RIGHT THERE AT THE TABLE!!!??"

Then another child would say, "Yeah, until Grandpa did it with us and then she quit. She said it made her feel sick."

"Remember when she had us SING the prayer instead of SAY it? That was...ummm...that was Mom, alright!"

"Yeah! And remember the time that we played that game where we had to decide which description fit Mom? I still don't know why she didn't think, "grumpy as a bear," was a good one!"

Hopefully now they would be laughing.

Friends:
(crying...again, I hope someone is crying!) "Wow. I can't believe she's gone. I don't know if we can talk about the "Rachael joke" the same ever again. I mean, it seems distasteful to call every bad joke a "Rachael joke," now. Man, she could say the non-funniest things!"

"Yes, but at least she was funny, even if she wasn't trying to be. Remember the time she threw my baby into the Christmas tree?" (Yes, it's true.)

"Oh, yes! That poor child has never looked at a Christmas tree the same. What about the time she set off the fire alarm at school? Remember when she fell off the stage at church...and fell on the drums at the school assembly...and fell, well, she fell a lot!"

"And who could forget when she...oh. Uh, nevermind."

Blog Readers Who Don't Know Me in Real Life:
"Oh, my GOSH! Who WAS this lady, anyway? Reading it was fun, but she must have been dangerous to be around! Scary. By the way, are they going to place a gas pump in her casket? And did they do her makeup with Sharpies?"

Ok. This might have been a bit morbid, but I thought it would be fun to write and maybe a little fun to read. I expect a few people might mention some of these stories one day, but the one thing I want said (take notes) is that I lived by the motto I saw on a page in high school about leadership...

"Brighten your own corner of the world."

I have never forgotten that and it is something I try to live each day. I don't dream of changing the world. I dream of having a greater influence than that by the mark I leave on people in my own little corner of the world. Jesus put it well when He said, "Walk in the light as I am in the light."

And you...what will they say about you? What do you want to be remembered for and what are you doing to live up to that?

Must...Get...New...Post...

2009-10-05T09:36:00.000-07:00

It's Monday. According to Google Mondays and Thursdays have the most traffic.

Like I said, it's Monday. And do I have a post? Does this count?

I'd love to sit here and finish one that I have in the making, but unfortunately I have been sick and have a pile...make that 2 piles...ok, 3 piles of dishes in my sink, on the counter, on my stove, and they are threatening to take over the kitchen table. (Not that that's ever happened before...)

There's also this thing called reality and that is that I have one day off a week where my children are at school and I am not and this is when I need get the majority of my housework done. Today happens to be the day.

So, let's hope I can (sniffle, sniffle) get into overdrive mode (*sound of blowing one's nose*) and (grabs another tissue) get my work done quickly. I have a new post I'm dying to write.

If you subscribe to any feed or sign up as a follower, Google will let you know when it's done. If you join the My Poor Husband Facebook page, I will let you know personally.

Teaser: "What Will They Say About Me at My Funeral?"

Until then...

Videos are Suspended For Now

2009-10-01T22:38:00.000-07:00

I got a notice today that someone subscribed to my Youtube videos. "Cool!" I thought at first. "Someone is interested!" So I clicked on his link to see if it was someone I knew.

If I do know this guy, I wish I didn't.

The videos he had on his favorite list and/or subscribed to were 90% porn of the strangest kind, both gay and straight. Some of the look to be of a violent nature, but I didn't care to watch any of them. Another 5% or so were teens doing nothing but being silly girls, but many of them looked like girls who could use some direction in life. Another 5% or so were concerts and the most recent videos he has added as favorites are all girls marking themselves with sharpies. (I know the math doesn't come out right, but there are only a small handful of sharpie marking videos that it wasn't worth giving it a percent.)

Why in the world he put me on his favorite list and decided to subscribe, I have no idea. There was NOTHING in my video that would give any normal man some sort of jollies and I can't really think of how a pervert would find anything worth watching. I guess this guy has a thing for sharpie markings. He definitely has a thing for extreme tattoos. That's another 15% or so. (I know...the math. I forgot about those.)

Needless to say, the guy (shoot, could be a girl, I suppose) gives me the creeps. I don't like the thought of this guy watching my videos.

The dilemma...

You know that when you put anything on the internet, anyone-anyone at all-can view it. And I knew it when I posted it.

But "everyone does it" and is it being overly cautious or extreme to never post videos and tell stories about your life publicly? We seriously could know people like this in real life and not be aware of what they do on the internet alone, so does it matter that they know us on the internet?

Is this guy just a gazer or could he be one of the very few gazers in this world who are also real-life threats?

Do you just shrug it off and say, "There are sick people in this world, but I'm going to go on with life as normal?"

Do you stop displaying things publicly and only allow people you know to read or watch?

Do you stop communicating with people who kind of make you uncomfortable but you have absolutely no reason to feel that way? What about the people you've met online that you have a good "vibe" about and enjoy their friendship? Should that make a difference?

Or do you decide that the internet truly isn't a safe place to be and you pull out of all social networks and putting on personal, day-to-day happenings in your life?

I've done the last one once before for something less creepy than this...unless those strange phone calls at work weren't a coincidence...but just figured that the odds were so, so, so slim that there would be any real-life threat. I went full-blown and started sharing my personal life online, only to be reminded of what sick things go on in this world and remembering how much it stinks that women are unfortunately the prey most of the time, or so it seems.

Does this happen on blogs that guys write? I hear about the rude, completely inappropriate, horrible, sick comments they get, but do they ever have to deal with stuff like this? Do they get comments about their wives, girlfriends, etc.? Do they worry for their wife and children and what do they do about it?

I would seriously appreciate your input on this one. Not about this blog, but posting on the internet in general. How much is too much? Where is the line between safe and paranoid? How much are you comfortable posting online and why? Do you read blogs/watch videos/visit sites with the author's personal life on display? Do you think they share too much but read it anyway?

Fellow bloggers, have YOU ever had to deal with this?

These are serious question, not "conversation starters" to generate traffic. Seriously.

The Soaked Carpet and What I Did About It

2009-09-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago I wrote a post about how I left the utility sink that my washer drains into plugged up after mopping my floor and then ran the washer. My carpet was sitting under half the amount of water it takes to do a load of laundry and I had the wonderful privilege of having a cold, damp, stinky house while I waited for the fan to do it's work and the carpet to be dry. Yeah. Good times. Notice I didn't use any ! marks. And I always use ! marks!

So, I posed the question, "So what am I going to do about it?" and I got a few answers. The most popular suggestion was to re-plumb the washer. Personally, I think this is a FABULOUS idea! Travis, on the other hand, well...Travis hasn't mentioned a word about it. I don't think he wants to do it.

Me do it?!? Psh! You mean you actually want me to mess with this stuff? Have you been reading this blog very long?!? (I did fix the dishwasher and washing machine once, though! *pats self on back*)

Since re-plumbing isn't going to happen anytime soon, or so it seems, I came up with this plan:

Yes, I printed out a picture of the mess, put it on a legal-sized file folder, and wrote, "Never Fordet"

Fordet?

"Never Foraet"

Foraet?

"Never For...huh?"

G. It's a g.

I guess I "forgot" that the file folder has a piece cut out for the label and my "g" wasn't going to fit. Oh, well. I know what it says and now so do you.

I posted this picture right above the utility sink. I hope it works and that I never forget to unplug the washer again...

...or pull out the drain hose and forget to put it back in. Yup! Done that more times than I care to think about, too!

David Crowder Band Read This Blog!

2009-09-28T21:29:00.000-07:00

I received a message today FROM THE DAVID CROWDER BAND on Twitter today!!! I'm not an autograph chaser...because it seems silly to me...but getting a direct message from a famous person is pretty cool!

Seems he/they/someone from the band read my blog post about how I LOVE David Crowder Band music, but can't stand the poor grammar in one of their songs. The last line of my blog post says,

David, I know it's officially illegal, but do you mind if I take out the word "might" when I sing it at church? Or should I keep that as my little secret? Please don't make me sing it, David. Please.

Well, I have been given permission to omit the word, "might" in that song when I sing it at church!!! That's going to ease this worship leader's conscience! Whew! Here's what he said:

you can omit might if you'd like. sorry for the bad texan grammar.

Cool, huh! Well, for those of you who don't know who the David Crowder Band is, here's a little video for you!

Here's someone's rendition of "Wholly Yours."

Swimming Anyone?

2009-09-27T08:59:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I'm weird or not...

let me try that again.

I don't know if it's just me, but this kind of humor makes me laugh so hard I almost cry...or pee my pants...or both.

I'm trying to figure out how to use this at church, so if you have any ideas let me know!

OK. Empty your bladder, grab a box of tissues, and hit play!

For more addicting blog posts from the swimming guy, go to his site.

5 Things You Should Never Say From the Pulpit

2009-09-25T23:33:00.000-07:00

In one way or another, we all have targets painted on us. Whether it be for criticism or practical jokes, at some point someone is going to grab a handful of darts and start a game.

Pastors have it the worst. They get up every week and tell people how to be like Jesus and are expected to practice what they preach, even if we would never expect that of ourselves. They become the target of our own feelings of insecurities, failures, and judgementalism. After all, it's easier to blame the pastor.

One tool people will use to throw darts at the pastor is criticizing the sermon. And so, to help all you pastors out there, I've compiled a list of 5 things you should never say from the pulpit, all of which I have heard said.

1. If you can't see because the overhead light that illuminates your notes is not on, do NOT say, "Can I get a light?" Someone might bring you a cigarette and a lighter and that could seriously cause some darts to start flying after church!

2. Unintentional potty jokes. DON'T double the word, "do" as in, "We don't do bad things, but we DO do good things." The "do do" part will make all the children make that laugh in the back of their throat. This will make me laugh, too because I just can't resist. This goes hand-in-hand with putting a dramatic pause right after an enunciated, "BUT..." Your dramatic pause will be wasted. Try, "However..." instead.

3. I'm not sure I should mention this one, so I'll try to put it as lightly as I can. Remember that you are NOT the microphone, thus you should be careful how you ask the microphone to be turned on. Read that carefully a few times.

4. Any reference to an rated-R movie you've seen. Yes, half of the congregation has seen it, but you'll be the only one who's the hypocrite!

5. And finally...and this one actually came from one of my junior high students...never, ever from the pulpit mention your wife's age!

My father-in-law has said some pretty funny things from the pulpit. I'd love to compile a bigger list, so bring it on! Let's hear from you!

What REALLY Happened

2009-09-24T16:31:00.000-07:00

I let the kids tell me exactly what happened in the kitchen and put it on video. This was the first time I had heard from them. I made them NOT tell me until then.

They did not use my waffle maker to bake the cookies (thank goodness!) but they certainly used their creativity. (I'm so proud!) So, please nominate me as Mother-of-the-Year...or maybe Crazy Mother-of-the-Year...or maybe an article about why people who drive off with gas pumps shouldn't raise children.

Need...More...Brain Power!

2009-09-22T21:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I've had people tell me that they are going to post something in "The Post With LOTS of Brain Power!" but haven't yet. I'm going to continue this post another night. Meanwhile, I'm going to find out from my kids what REALLY happened in there!
Scroll...

The Post with LOTS of Brain Power!

2009-09-21T20:12:00.000-07:00

Sunday night I let my left brain take a vacation and my right brain filled in.

When my daughter asked if she could make cookies...all by herself...my right brain said, "Sure! Let the sweet child express herself! Let her know that she is an important part of our family unit. She's the middle child, after all."

As promised, I stayed out of the kitchen and cringed in the living room while I listened to the conversations my three kids were having. The middle child became the instant leader and put her brother and sister into action. Probably because she promised to clean up or else fold all the laundry and she knew it would be quicker to have 6 hands than her 2.

I sat in the living room and took notes on the things I was hearing in the kitchen. It was fun frightening to hear, and boy did it spur my imagination!

I imagine it will do the same for you, so today, you get to write the blog post! Read the following quotes that I overheard and tell me what my kids were up to. The first clue to get you started is, "chocolate-chip cookies," and the 2nd is, "3 kids." Put on your detective cap and tell me what happened.

premature p.s. (What else would you call a p.s. that's not at the end but needs to be inserted in the middle?) I have invited my blogger friends to use their creative juices and come up with some funny ones of their own. If you like it, check out their blog, since I told them they could shamelessly post their link. If you don't, make yours better!

And now...the quotes:

1. "Oooo! I got glop on the book!"

2. "Cookie cupcakes!"

3. "Rebecca! Hurry, they're burnt!!!"

4. "(GASP!) Rebecca! They're dripping onto the bottom of the oven!"

5. "Run it under cold water!"

6. "It looks a lot worse than it is."

7. "Wanna cookie? We overcooked them a little."

8. "OOOoo! Muffins!"

9. (Timer rings and rings and rings...)

10. (Timer has been ringing for 5 minutes. Does no one hear it except me?)

11. "Let's check on our ice cream!" (We don't have any ice cream.)

12 "I'm so glad Mom isn't in here right now."

13. "It's done. You can't even eat it now. It's just like ice cream."

14. (sound of something breaking) "Oh...it broke. Mom's waffle thing."

What the heck was going on in there? Do tell!

So...About That Carpet

2009-09-20T21:10:00.000-07:00

Like I said in my last post, my carpet is sitting under half the amount of water it takes to wash a load of laundry.

This is the 3rd time.

The first time this happened, I was surprised. I walked down the hallway in my socks and my first step went, "squish" and then I felt the cold, icky feeling of wet socks. I hate that.

Where the heck did all that water come from? Well, it didn't take me long to figure it out because at that moment I heard the unmistakeable sound of water spilling onto the floor and I knew exactly what happened.

How did I know exactly? Because I've heard that sound more times than I care to remember...which I don't. You see, there is a nice, big utility sink in my laundry room. The hose from the washer dumps into that nice, big utility sink. Unfortunately, when you leave the sink plugged after mopping your floors and run the washing machine, it overflows.

Leaving the mop in the sink has the same effect.

Up until this point, it had only overflowed onto the laundry room floor. And since I have laundry piled in the hampers AND on the floor, the dirty clothes serve as sponges and sop most of the water up.

However, when the overflowing water is not caught in time, it overflows past the pile of laundry into the kitchen, then into the carpeted hallway. The carpet serves as a gigantic sponge and sops up the rest of the water. Unfortunately, I can't roll up the carpet and throw it in the washing machine.

In case you don't know, whenever you pull up wet carpet that's 10 years old or so, it smells really musty. In fact, your entire house smells musty. In fact, your entire house smells musty for days!

The first time was a learning experience.

The second time a pain.

The third time...well, the final straw that leads me to my life theme question...

What am I going to do about it? I have an idea, but first I want to know what YOU would suggest.

(Check out Travis' side of the story!)

So What Am I Going to Do About It?

2009-09-19T08:29:00.000-07:00

I've been reading some articles from "the guy with the nametag", Scott Ginsberg. This guy decided at 20 years old that he was going to wear a nametag...forever. Yes, everyday he slaps on a nametag. There's one on his suit jacket. One on his shirt. He even has a tattoo on his chest that says, "Hello, my name is Scott."

When Travis told me about this guy, I wasn't so much interested in all his profit maximizing strategies, but the name tag thing made me want to stand and shout, "Bravo! Bravo!"

I'm jealous. Jealous that I haven't done all those crazy, off-the-wall things that I think of.

Anyway, we're best friends now. He's my friend on Facebook, we email each other regularly, and he follows me on Twitter.

Ok, really I just joined his fan page on Facebook and his email was something of a funny sales pitch, but he really is following me on Twitter. Me and 7,000 other people.

I am reading an article on blogging and doing a lot of soul searching in the process. The biggest question I've been asking myself is,

"So what am I going to do about it?"

This blog is not (yet) read by thousands of people everyday, but there are complete strangers reading it, not just my friends. People from 23 different countries and 291 cities have visited it, and I've made $66 dollars just from AdSense. Personally, I'm amazed. I just started this July 27th. I expected 20 people and all them friends.

"So, what am I going to do about it?"

That is the question I must answer and it is going to be my theme for the next year or so.

Or until the newness wears off, but I figure that even if that happens, I'll be a few steps closer to the person I want to be.

Rachael-you have this blog that seems to interest people who aren't just your friends. So, what are you going to do about it?

Rachael-you have a problem with losing your cell phone. So, what are you going to do about it?

Rachael-you've driven off with the gas pump 3 times!!! So, what are you going to do about it?

Rachael-your house is a disaster. So, what are you going to do about it?

Does that mean my goal is to not have a life that doesn't have any funny, crazy, how-in-the-heck-did-you-do-that moments in it?

If you think I could accomplish that you don't know me well enough yet and need to read a few more posts!

No, the goal is to learn from each of those moments and perhaps start saving money from not taking gas pumps for a drive (at least not more than once), buying new cell phones because the old one is lost, car repairs... You get it.

So, my carpet is drying out right now because half of the water used to wash a load of laundry is sitting on it. My fault. So, what am I going to do about it? Guess it's time I go figure that out! Wanna go with me?

Story on the carpet tomorrow!

errrr...make that Monday. I'm closed on Sundays.

Baby Phobia

2009-09-17T22:30:00.000-07:00

So I was sitting here tonight writing a serious blog post and Travis started doing the same. I guess he was doing a little "research" because he started watching videos on YouTube.

Suddenly, I heard this baby mobile song chiming. Then a mother singing sweetly to her baby. And then some ominous minor chords stalking behind the sweet major chords of the baby music and my heart began to race.

It's doing it right now, in fact, just from writing about it.

My blood got cold...I mean hot...shoot, I don't know!

I knew what it was. It was one of those killer baby movies. The ones where the baby or the kid or the doll is a freak of nature, demon-possessed, horrifying monster that goes around killing everyone. Omgosh, the images are killing me!!! I am SO glad I'm not in the house alone because I would never be able to get up off this couch and go to the bathroom!

Chucky is the worst. He totally freaks me out!!! I have never seen any of the Chucky movies because the previews were too much for me to handle. Even THINKING about that (deep breath) (shutter) (ok, gonna have to say this fast) stupid doll with a knife pointed at me and demon eyes (deep breath) makes me shutter deep inside.

Oh, man I need to finish this post. This is totally freaking me out.

It all started when I was a kid. At some slumber party I watched Friday the 13th. Some time later a show came out called Friday the 13th about a man that owned an antique store and some of his antiques were haunted or possessed or magical. It intrigued me. The show wasn't really all that scary, which disappointed me, but there was this one...

(Another deep breath. I may have to get the paper sack out soon. Ok, that was my first exaggeration.)

The antique shop owner (sole owner and only employee, by the way) bought this doll...a very special doll. A beautiful one with a lacy white dress and sweet blond curls. She was very beautiful...

...until night fell. And then she would come alive, scramble down the bookshelf (Omgosh, that gives me the chills!!!), and spend a night on the town killing people. I don't know how she was able to keep blood off her pretty, white dress and somehow she got the blood stains off her face before the shop owner came back.

(This post is killing me. Oh...not the word to use right now.)

That is when all the dolls in my room became evil. I had to put all their faces to the floor, get them off my bed, and pretend they weren't there.

Now, I buy dolls for my girls, but I must tell you that I deserve an award for buying Amazing Amanda. First of all, I don't know why anyone would want to spend more than $30 on a play doll, but Travis has a hard time resisting his girls (me included). When Rebecca opened it on Christmas morning, I braced myself.

When we put the batteries in, I braced myself.

When we turned her on and she said, "Hello, Mommy!" I was done! I was NOT going to program this doll. She's a freak, I tell you!

And sometimes she talks in the middle of the night. That's just not right.

Then there was this movie about a mutated baby. The mom is in the delivery room, having a hard labor. The doctors and nurses get this awful look on their faces and the mother starts gushing over her baby. Suddenly, the gushing turns to screams as her baby tears her to pieces with his teeth.

Ok, what sick mind came up with that? That is just WRONG! I couldn't watch it.

Babies and dolls are not supposed to kill people. Period.

So, there is Travis with his laptop and freaky music with baby jingles playing and the next thing I hear is a

SCREEEEEEEEEEAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!

And so I let out a

SCREEEEEEAMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!

And Travis caught it all on video. You know, I'm not feeling any pity for him right now. Poor husband, indeed. Hmph!

Pet Peeve #2-Love and Above

2009-09-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

I started a post on overused cliches that I meant to post tonight, but I just can't seem to finish it because there is THIS post hanging over my head like a dark cloud (oh, there's one for my next post!).

I just can't clear my head until I get this out of my system.

I'll be listening to a new song, totally loving it and finding myself with eyes closed or hands raised or dancing around the room when suddenly I hear at the end of the phrase the word, "love."

I get nervous because I just know what the next line will end with.

"Above."

Oh, it is SO SO SO SO SO and I mean SOOOO overused!!! Love and above, love and above. You know, stuff like-

(read with lines dripping with gag-me sweetness)
For you I feel so much love
It must have been sent from God above.

I made that one up, but you get the gist. It's just so...overused! (Have I mentioned that yet?)

Here are some songs you may know that are coated with the sticky-sweet lyrics.

1. Mariah Carey's "Sent from Up Above" (You're scared already, I can see it.)
"sent from up above
"so much love"

2. Bonnie Raitt, "Thing Called Love"
"Are you ready for the thing called love?
"Don't come from me and you it comes from up above."
(I'm dyyyyyyyying!!!)

Christian artists are particularly susceptible to the "love and above" hangup.
3. Charitie L. Bancroft, "Before the Throne of God Above"
"Before the throne of God ABOVE
I have a strong, a perfect plea
A great High Priest whose name is LOVE
Whoever lives and pleads for me

I think the most common place I find it is in children's music. I guess they figure sappy works for them, But I, being a K-8 Music teacher, not only has to listen to these songs for 6 months out of the year, but I have to sing those words over and over and over again while teaching my students. (Who happen to be the best students in all the world, in case you were wondering.)

Look, I know it's hard to find a word that rhymes with love. But please...don't end the line with "love!" Step out of the box. Live a little. Put the word love in the middle of the line. I know, it's so unconventional. But seriously, Do NOT put love and above together as a pair. They don't get along.

I have to give some credit to Chris Tomlin. He has figured out how to rhyme "love" and "enough" and totally make it work.

"You satisfy me
"With Your LOVE
"And all I have in You
"Is more than ENOUGH"

He actually uses those words together quite a bit...which I hope will not eventually get on my nerves because I really like Tomlin's music!

How many songs do you know have "love" and "above" together? You don't know? You've never noticed it? Don't worry. You'll be hearing it everywhere today!

Feel free to post those annoying little lines under comments.

Ok, this is getting ridiculous!

2009-09-15T22:41:00.000-07:00

I lost my cell phone...

again.

I know I'm not the only one this happens to, but I'm so frustrated! I just bought myself a new phone in July because I lost my previous cell phone who knows where and I got that cell phone because the phone I had then was totally messed up...perhaps because I dropped it a lot, and I got that phone because I lost the previous one at the beach.

When I signed up for a wireless service, no one told me that cell phones actually walk!

They must!

When I lost my previous phone I posted a series of Facebook status that went something like this...

June 29 5:27pm

My cell phone is missing, my iPod's not working, and I have no Frappuccino for my tears. That's my 21st century country song...and it's all true!!! (scream)

June 30 4:26pm

ODD PLACES YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR CELL PHONE: The iPod is now working (phew!), but still no Frappucinno and no cell phone. I need your help! I can't find my cell phone ANYWHERE so can you please tell me some odd places you have found your cell phone? May

I don't know what "May" means, either.

June 30 6:34pm

GOOD NEWS! I found a gift certificate for a pound of See's chocolates and enough change at the bottom of 4 purses to buy a Frappuccinno! No cell phone, though. Any other ideas?

July 1 4:25pm

Let's recap: Cell phone is missing, iPod is now working, and yes, I did get that frappuccino! Loved it! In fact, I loved it so much that a few hours later I discovered that I was wearing it on the front of my shirt!

July 1 11:24pm

I have hit an all time low. I searched through the dog food bag. As Survivor would say, "The search is over..."

And that's when I decided it was time to buy a new phone. Starting July 5th my status' were things like, "Anyone have an iPhone they want to see?" or "Is the (name of phone) any good?" Those aren't direct quotes, but you get the gist.

July 9 10:37pm

is now the owner of a Blackjack II that I got on craigslist for a great price!!! I am also wondering who came to my house and messed everything up. We weren't home all day and it looks like I haven't done anything for a week! WTHeck?

Ok, the "We weren't home..." part was irrelevant to this blog post. You get that for free.

("You get that for free"...did I just use another TOTALLY overused phrase? That is SO going to be my next pet peeve post!)

Wow. Better get back to this post before I start getting all riled up about my next one!

I LOVE my blackjack! It's got a QWERTY keyboard, larger screen, way more memory, and best of all...it's RED! Ohhh, I love red! But now it is gone.

Seriously, I'm not laughing at this one. I am so frustrated so...

I NEED YOUR HELP!!!

How do YOU keep track of your cell phone? This is a totally serious question. I need to know what it is that I need to change because I cannot afford to buy another phone and now I'm too spoiled to want a tiny, little thing like my last one. Although it WAS red, I couldn't get all my text messages because the memory was too small.

Please...I know most of you don't post comments a lot, but this time I could really use your help. You can post it on Facebook, I don't care. Just give me some suggestions!!!

Pet Peeve #1

2009-09-14T22:40:00.000-07:00

Travis says I have the longest list of pet peeves of anyone he knows. I'm not much of a pet person, really, but I guess peeves are ok. I don't have to feed them or anything, which is a really good thing. I'd tell you that story, but I think the animal rights activists in the crowd would totally freak out. Although, maybe that would get my blog some publicity and it would REALLY become something!

Naw, I'd probably just make lots of enemies and wind up with only 5 friends on Facebook or something.

Anyway, I do have several pet peeves and I guess they are a bit strange. Here is Pet Peeve #1...

David Crowder.

I absolutely love the David Crowder Band, big facial hair and all. David Crowder's music absolutely moves me. The man lives out of the box, which I admire and respect. I've been told that he uses car keys, styrofoam balls, just about anything to get a different sound into this recordings. Big time Brownie Points in my book!

And although I am really surprised that this isn't my pet peeve, I love how he does the same 5 songs or so on every album but in a different way. Gosh, I LOVE IT!

But there is this one song...

My favorite David Crowder Band song of all, actually. "Wholly Yours."

Oh, every part of me sings that song when I sit down at my piano and play. It's like I'm in this inner world where I feel, not just know, the smallness of me and the "otherness", to steal a word from Louie Giglio, of God.

The song starts with this:

I am full of earth
You are heaven's worth
I am stained with dirt
Prone to depravity

You are everything
That is bright and clean

Now, here is one of my favorite parts of the whole song...

The antonym of me...

WHEW! Antonym!!! Did he just use a totally cool word from English class that most of us probably don't remember?!? I mean, he just took rock/pop/praise and worship/oh, whatever word you want to use music and made it...well...sound smart! Literary! Mature. Nerdy! I LOVE the nerdy part! I applaud you, David Crowder!

The song goes on:

...You are divinity.

But a certain sign of grace is this
That from broken earth
Flowers come up
Pushin' through the dirt

I'll move on to the bridge.

But the harder I try
The more clearly can I
See the depth of our fall
And the weight of it all
(Oh, man. Yes, David. Exactly! Lord, save us!)

And so this might could be
The most impossible thing
Your grandness in me
Making me clean
(Oh, it's like I'm levitating)

(sound of record being scratched as I drop to the floor and get the wind knocked out of me) Hold on a minute there, David.

Did you just say, "This MIGHT COULD be?"

Did you really just use the words "might" and "could" in the same sentence and right next to each other??

No, say it isn't so. Tell me that this book has a typo in it!

I checked it out and no, it isn't a typo.

David, you mean to tell me that you're actually following up "antonym" with BAD GRAMMAR???

David! You can't do this to me!!! Please, PLEASE get it out of my head! It's just so...so...WRONG! David, don't ruin my song! So what if you wrote it. I'm claiming it and I'm begging you to please correct that bad grammar!

David, I know it's officially illegal, but do you mind if I take out the word "might" when I sing it at church? Or should I keep that as my little secret? Please don't make me sing it, David. Please.

I Remember

2009-09-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

There are probably hundreds of thousands of bloggers posting today about 9/11 and those who are writing those blogs most likely experienced it themselves.

I'm not offering a riveting story about my day on September 11th 8 years ago, because I don't.
I do not write because I have an incredible perspective, because I don't.
I do not write because I think that I have anything of worth to say about 9/11, because I don't.

I am only writing because I remember.

Forgive me if some of the events are out of order. It's been awhile.

The alarm went off to the radio. They were saying something about an airplane crash. I snoozed it.

Travis' alarm went off also to the radio and they said something about 2 planes crashing. I didn't nudge him to snooze it. Two planes in just a few minutes? Something is wrong here.

I leaned over to Travis and said, "Honey, I think the radio said something about two planes crashing." He turned on the TV.

And there was the story unfolding minute-by-minute on live TV. Not only had two planes crashed, but they crashed into the towers. Terrorists were not confirmed just yet, but there just couldn't be any other explanation.

Oh my gosh. Terrorists. Here.

My father-in-law was staying with us. He is an early riser. WAY early. I went downstairs to tell him what was going on. We rushed up the stairs together.

There we sat, my husband, my father-in-law, and I, utterly speechless. We just kept watching the images of the planes crashing again and again and again. ...and again.

I grew tired of watching this and headed downstairs again to start making my husband's lunch. My father-in-law came down and we just talked in disbelief, not really having much to say, but being people who process through words, we couldn't just keep silent either.

My husband came running out of our room and hollered down the stairway,

"They got the White House!"

Now, my husband was in such disbelief of what was going on that he misspoke. Who can blame him? Once my father-in-law and I ran up the stairs, jaws dropping, we heard that it was the Pentagon.

I didn't feel any better. The military headquarters. They attacked it, too???!?

This is when the nervousness really set in. How many more planes were there? Are they heading for the West Coast? (We live on the West Coast.) What's next? How will we know when they are finished attacking? Really, how many more planes are there?

And then another plane went down.

It went down in a field. We all know the story of the heroic passengers of Flight 93 and the last words anyone else besides those on the plane heard, "Let's roll." Of course, at this point all we know is that another plane crashed in a field. The rest of the story would unfold in the hours and days to come.

And then the images of "Ground Zero" began to stream in. Images that never should have been aired, too gruesome to write about. It's utterly shameful the things that were aired that day. I suppose equally as shameful is the fact that I watched it. What is it about us that makes us scope out every highway accident...or watch people die on live TV?

The most vivid memory I have is the live video of when they told George Bush what had been going on in our country while he was reading to elementary school children. I will never forget the look on his face. I can't really say why it had such an impact on me, but it pierced me deep inside. Perhaps it was a mixture of compassion for what he must have been feeling and what he had ahead of him, sadness for what was going on at "Ground Zero" and fear for what would lie ahead. Perhaps a feeling of confidence that there was a Texan in charge and you know what they say..."Don't mess with Texas!" I know that's stupid, but whatever. What I knew is that Texas had the death penalty and I was ready to deliver.

For my "peace-lovin'" friends, if that offends, so what. I'm patriotic and what they did was evil. I know it's not "Christian", but I won't apologize (at least until Judgement Day) for the fact that I wish torture and/or death on those who purposely planned that attacked on our country that day and left so many children without their mom or dad that was supposed to be home that night, telling them to do their homework, to get ready to for bed, and inform them that they're grounded for 30 years.

Phew! I'm getting worked up! It's interesting how emotions can lie dormant for some time, only to resurface later.

The rest of the day was pretty much spent listening to the news while trying to do the normal routine of the day...as if it was a normal day, which it wasn't.

And there it is. Again, I don't really have anything to say that is of any significance except...I remember.

And thank you to those who defend our freedoms today. May the Lord bless you and keep you.

It Was Indeed a Rachael Day

2009-09-10T22:07:00.000-07:00

Stupid buzzer! I hate waking up!!!

Unless it's 9am or so, but 5:30am is simply too early. So I snoozed until 6:15am. My best laid plans for doing a load of laundry before getting the kids up, making a 3-course breakfast, and NOT doing my make up in the car were sacrificed on the alter of "I Stayed Up Too Late Last Night."

Why do I kid myself?

Anyway, that's pretty much the start of every day. Snooze, snooze, snooze, rush, rush, rush, drive, drive, drive, kiss the kids, get to work.

Now, as I have mentioned before, in the morning I work part-time in the school office. In the afternoon I teach Music. This year is my first year in my OWN classroom! I am SO loving my classroom. I could go on and on about all the reasons why and then start bragging on all my students, but I won't. I'll just tell you that my classroom is in a basement.

No, they have not locked me up yet.

It's a big basement. There are two classrooms, a library, a computer lab, and a teachers' resource room. The basement can be quite cold in the winter, but pretty nice in the summer...until you get 15 or so kids in the room, and then it can get warm! There is a newly installed air conditioning/heating unit. I usually forget all about it until the last hour of my Music work day, but today I actually remembered before any kids arrived! I was so proud of myself. Seeing as how the basement is cooler than other places, I simply turn on the "clean air" button to keep the air circulating and prevent overall stuffiness and the smell of B.O.

The first class comes in. Room is feeling great. The kids sing, then me and the kids dance, and away the kids go. I'm warm, but not too bad.

The second class comes in. The kids sing, me and the kids dance, and away the kids go. I'm hot, but then I've just been waving my arms like a mad woman directing and dancing. Go figure.

The third class arrives. I assemble them on the risers and begin to teach them the song. One kid on the middle riser starts fanning himself.

"I know! I'm hot, too! But the air is on, so it should get better," I say.

The kids sing, me and the kids dance, and now that same kid is sweating and looking miserable. I'm doing the same.

"Hey, Joe (fake name). You only THOUGHT you were hot before, huh? I'm dying!"

Kids leave.

The fourth class arrives and it is getting just plain miserable. I shut off the lights hoping that will help. After all, the ceiling is only 8ft. high which makes the lights fairly close to our heads.

The kids sing, me and the kids dance, the kids leave, and now I am downright ready for a cool breeze!

I figure I might as well turn on the air conditioner. Forget this clean air function!

I grab the remote that I don't really know how to operate very well and look at it. GEEZ! It's 88 degrees in here!

I start pushing buttons. When I pushed one of them, the little word, "heat" changed to "cool." Oh, dear... I did NOT!

Yup! I had the heat turned on the whole time blowing out air at 88 degrees, the max setting for the heater!

When my last class came, I asked the teacher how to work it, she showed me, and 20 minutes later the room felt great.

Of course, there was only 10 minutes of my day left, but hey.

Oh, but my day isn't over yet!

Music is over, pick up the kids, go to the store, head home, do the "Do your homework...NOW!" routine with the kids, and start dinner. Since Travis had his episode with his heart, I've been trying to fix healthier dinners. Lentils. Truly, you KNOW you've crossed the line into the ultra-healthy zone when you cook lentils!

I have this book called, "More With Less," and it has all these cool recipes from missionaries around the world who made great dinners with few resources. Awesome book in this economy! Anyway, I chose sweet-n-sour lentils. I followed the recipe to the...well, almost to a T as I was out of onions. I boiled them in homemade turkey broth I made a few weeks ago and froze (pats self on back), added the bay leaf, cloves...blah, blah, blah. Did all the right stuff and then got to the very last line of the recipe...

"Serve over rice."

Oops. I didn't make rice. Oh, well. I'm sure it will taste fine on it's own.

And it did.

I pulled the salmon out of the oven, arranged it on a plate, and then decided that the cook really should get a taste before she serves it to her family! I mean, who would let their family eat something they hadn't tried themselves, especially things like cookie dough and such.

I grabbed a chunk of salmon, fresh out of the oven mind you, and placed it in my mouth.

***********SCREAM******************

It was HOT! But worse, it was trapped in my bra!!!

Yes, it fell down my shirt, past the undershirt I was wearing, and straight into my bosom.

And did I mention that it was HOT?

Travis ran in.

"Can you take my iPod please? And glasses? Hurry!"

I then proceed to undress from the waist up until the offending piece of salmon falls to the floor.

And did I mention it was HOT?

And that is such tender skin! I had to keep blowing on it and it still burns slightly.

Travis, my knight in shining armor and iPod preserver, got some pictures. Once he saw that I wasn't dying, he grabbed his camera and took some shots. Some I allowed, others I did not and threatened him with his life or his dinner or something if he posted them.

The Luckiest Person on the Planet

2009-09-09T15:17:00.000-07:00

(Re-post. Like a RT-repeat tweet-only longer)

I'm starting to believe that I am the luckiest person on the planet. I mean, there's Travis. My most patient Travis who is, in my not-so-humble opinion, one of the truly great men in this world. It's not until you really get to know a person that you can determine if they are great or just famous, smart or powerful. Travis may not be famous and people outside of his sphere of influence will likely never know his greatness, but mark my words-he is a great man.

And there are my kids who are undoubtably THE most brilliant and talented kids in the ENTIRE world!

But I also have a knack for forgetting my purse in various places and not having a single thing stolen.

I have been known to leave my purse just about everywhere, even in places like Burger King in a bad part of South Sacramento. And I don't mean just getting to the door and realizing I left it on the seat. No, I mean driving down the road for 10 minutes or so and realizing that I left it out in plain view in a fast-food restaurant in a bad part of town...and having to tell Travis we have to turn around...and then come back and seeing the purse just sitting there, exactly the way I left it.

Or leaving my wallet in Borders Bookstore, again in plain view, in the back of the store where every chair is taken with people reading books they don't intend to buy (or am I the only one who does that?) and then having the store manager call me the next morning, letting me know that someone turned in my wallet.

In both of these cases, not a single thing was stolen. In fact, in every instance where I have forgotton my purse, I have never had so much as a dollar or empty gum wrapper stolen. No, not even a piece of lint. Shocking, I know. Lint is in such high demand.

But the instance that makes me feel TRULY lucky is the time when I left it on top of my car.

Oh, yes, I did! Some may leave coffee, others babies, but I left my purse up there. I thought for sure that all the people honking and waving at me were mad about the way I was driving, though I couldn't figure out why. And of course, there's no way I'm going to actually look at one of these people because I don't care to actually SEE the bird and I don't really like reading lips, especially when I know that the words I'll be reading won't be family-friendly!

No, I just kept my eyes straight ahead and drove on.

We lived out near the country then. Oh, how I miss it! A mere 5 minutes down the road took us to rice fields and back roads that bumped worse than turbulence on a small aircraft in a lightning storm. Actually, driving down those roads was a lot like playing a video game. You had to drive fast (that's an unspoken rule about back roads), avoid pot holes the size of the Grand Canyon, and dodge the suicidal pheasants. You earned points by either missing the stupid birds or hitting them, depending on which version of the game you played.

I added another component to the game and that was balancing a purse on top of your car while driving fast, avoiding pot holes, and dodging suicidal pheasants. And MAN I did good because the purse stayed on top of my car the entire time!

At some point I came home and as the night wore on, I began to look for my purse.

*GASP* "Honey, where's my purse??!!!???"

"(sigh) I don't know, Rachael. Did you have money in it?"

"No."

"Jewelry?"

"No."

"Credit cards?"

"Yes! But Honey, MY LIPSTICK WAS IN THERE!!!"

Travis didn't care so much about the lipstick, but he was rather concerned about the credit cards. Ok, the lipstick wasn't the most important thing to me, either, but I do admit that I was beginning to wonder what I was going to do in the morning without my favorite shade of Mary Kay lip color!

So, at this point, do we call the credit card companies or do we figure that my purse will show up just like it has every other time? Has my luck worn out or will I discover that it was on the kitchen table the whole time and we missed it all 570 searches around the house?

I don't remember if we canceled the credit cards or not. That's a lot of work when you're as lucky as me and the purse always shows up. But I do remember that Travis wasn't all that happy when we went to bed that night and I wasn't sleeping well, as I was simply so worried about my lipstick.

The phone rang.

It's 2am and the phone is ringing.

You know what that means...

and you wonder-

"Oh, no. Who died?"

Travis answered.

"Hey, I'm sorry to call so late, but is there a Rachael there?"

(Spoken like a protective husband) "Who's this?"

"John (pick your own name, I don't remember it). Does a Rachael live there?"

"What do you want?"

"Well, my friend Shawn (again, pick your own name) and I were...ummm...just-like, well, hanging out and stuff and we were driving down the highway and we found this purse."

The look of utter amazement and relief and bewilderment on Travis' face was priceless.

I, on the other hand, am still wondering who died.

"Yeah," John continued, "it's kind of messed up and all the stuff fell out of it..."

What he said next convinced me that I was indeed THE luckiest person on the planet

"...but we stopped and picked it all up.

"It was all over the side of the road for like 200 feet, but we tried to get everything we could, then we went to my buddie's house and called you."

"Okkkkkkkk?" Was Travis' reply.

"So, uh, do you want it?"

Psh! Of course! Travis made the arrangements. What they were, I don't remember at all. But what I do remember is that when I got the purse and looked inside IT WAS ALLLLLLLL THERE! Every credit card, every business card, every bit of make up-yes, even the lipstick- was all there. Well, minus a few pieces of lint. But there WERE some weeds, so that was a bonus. (weedS. plural, not the stuff you smoke!)

Can you believe it? A couple of kids not only saw a purse on the side of a small town highway in the middle of the night, but stopped, and what's more, spent a good part of their night collecting the items of this purse with nothing but a flashlight! Not to mention the fact that they were honest enough to return it!

I am THE luckiest person on the planet!

You must read Travis' post now...

Where There's Smoke...There's Rachael!

2009-09-04T23:38:00.000-07:00

This is probably THE most embarrassing moment of my adult life.

I love my job. I really, really do! I have the privilege of not just being able to know every kid in school because I teach Music, but I also work in the main office part time and get to bandage up their wounds, give them hugs on a rough day, and clean up their vomit. Ok, that's not the best part, but after having three kids, I can handle it.

I also have some great co-workers and one day someone decided it would be fun to have a potluck. Whoohoo! I signed up for dessert and I thought it would be AWESOME to bring my chocolate fountain. Oh, yeah. This would be the talk of the day.

...Little did I know...

I went to the store the night before and got bananas, strawberries, maraschino cherries, marshmallows, Nutter Butters and Oreos. (Ohhhh I LOVE Oreos!!!) The next morning I got the chocolate, oil, fruit, and marshmallows, but as I was driving to school I realized that I had left behind the Nutter Butters and Oreos. Fortunately, I had a bit of time on my lunch break to run home and get them.

Not a whole lot of time, though, so when I returned to the school, I had to move FAST to get the fountain set up! Being a person of efficiency (hush, Travis!) I thought it would be best to melt the chocolate first. I had a Tupperware container full of it so I added some oil and stuck it in the microwave. I set it for 5 minutes and then rushed to set the fountain up.

I know 5 minutes seems like a long time, but the microwave at school was reeeeeaaaallllly slow!!! I didn't have time to go check it every minute when there was LOTS of chocolate to melt. I dashed off to the front of the office and began frantically setting up my fountain. With a little help from the P.E. teacher, it was ready for the chocolate.

I ran to the back to check on the chocolate.

Let me describe the layout of the office. When you walk into the door, my office is to your left and a conference room on the right. The conference room is where all the food was set up. If you look straight ahead, there is a long hallway that goes straight for about 30 feet, then it turns right 90 degrees. The Principal's office is on the right and just a little further down is a small room on your left. The room is about the size of a nice-sized walk in closet. Inside that room is another little room about the size of a small walk-in closet. That's where the microwave was stored. (Yeah, I'd be lost right now, too.)

So, I ran back to check on the chocolate, threw open the microwave and....OMGOSH!!! There was smoke billowing out and oh, the smell! Have you ever smelled burnt chocolate? It's worse than burnt popcorn. Absolutely disgusting.

I cannot have the entire office smelling like chocolate or everyone will be asking all day what that smell is! And remember the Principal's office is about 5 feet down the hallway and she would have to smell this the rest of the day. Not good-she's my boss! (She's a great one, though!!!) I think fast and start opening all the windows in the office. Naturally, all the teachers who are left (several had to go back to their classes) are wondering what is going on, so I frantically explain that I burnt the chocolate and I'm worried about it smelling up the office. No luck. You could smell it and IT WAS STRONG!

Someone suggested that I get the chocolate out of the microwave and put it outside. Great idea! I run back there and open the microwave again. The smoke billows out again and fills the room with the horrible odor of burnt chocolate. The teacher who followed me back there took the chocolate and headed for the front door. Being the quick thinker that I am, I see that there is a door to this little room and I think, "I better shut this door so the smoke doesn't set off the fire alarm!"

I head back to the front of the office and explain to everyone that dessert will be served without chocolate. Bummer. :( But everyone made the best of it, laughing about the incident when all of the sudden I hear something.

"What is that sound?" I say.

Everyone looks up with a quizzical look on their face. The room goes silent. My eyes grow as big as the marshmallows and I ask...

"Is that the fire alarm?"

Everyone who is seated shoots up and that's when it hit me...there's a smoke detector in the microwave room, too!!! It's a school- there are smoke detectors everywhere!

There everyone goes. What teachers were left in the room had students who were on the playground. They run out to the yard to help the yard supervisor assemble the kids. I run to the back room and open the door, then head out myself to the back of the parking lot. As I'm walking out, there is a steady stream of children in silent, straight lines and teachers trying to keep a straight face. Some were trying not to laugh, but others looked a bit frightened.

You see, it was nap time for preschool. Not that we would never do a fire alarm during nap time, but it's not like it's the most favored time to do one. The teachers do not know when a fire drill will be, but they know it's nap time and can't help but wonder if this is the real thing. As my daughter told me later, "Mom, (name of teacher) was a lot faster on the fire drill today!"

I'm dying of embarrassment and feeling really bad that I woke up a bunch of preschoolers who would likely not go back to sleep after this. To make matters worse, a parent pulls into the parking lot and sees everyone filing out. I'm really hoping this parent thinks it's just a fire drill!

Once the children are all assembled, it's customary for the principal to tell the kids how quickly they made it out, gives them an 'atta boy/girl for coming out so quietly, then turns off the alarm and everyone heads back to class. Not this time. Everyone had to wait until the fire alarm shut off on its own before returning to class and this didn't happen in the first 5 minutes, either.

All the kids had to sit down on the pavement and the frightened looking teachers look at the smiling teachers and are naturally wondering what in the world is going on. Oh, boy did I have some explaining to do, especially to the preschool teachers!

The alarm finally shut off and everyone returned to class, but there was no putting it behind me just yet. I went back to the office where someone suggested that I throw the Tupperware bowl away and take the microwave outside.

Somehow the Junior High kids found out what happened and news began to spread. Parents began arriving to pick up their children and some of the little ones began yelling, "MOM! MOM! We had a real fire today!" Oh, man. Now I've got to tell the parents what REALLY happened! I am SO VERY embarrassed!!!

Eventually the microwave found its way to the dumpster because the smell never did dissipate and the next time the teachers wanted a chocolate fountain, they asked me to bring it, but didn't let me melt the chocolate.

I still haven't lived it down. I think I'm going to be a legend.

Scarier Than The Fact That This is Real...

2009-09-03T23:24:00.000-07:00

It's scary to think that I drive a car. Scary that I leave my purse everywhere. Scary that I drank bleach as a kid and scary to think that I'm still walking on this planet!

But scarier still is the fact that I am raising children.

...and my Rachaelness is rubbing off on them.

The video is his explanation.

Got the Flat Fixed Today!

2009-09-02T22:26:00.000-07:00

If you remember, I got a flat tire on Tuesday, my boss put the spare on for me, and I found the spare keys to my Honda after only 4 years of owning the vehicle.

What? Like you've never done that before! Psh!

After dropping off my kids at school this morning, I rushed right over (as fast as a spare tire will let you rush!) to Rossi's Tire & Auto Service to have my flat fixed.

Free Advertising Time!
I am not being paid to type this, I promise! I have never been to a better tire store than Rossi's. The people there are incredibly friendly and never look at me like I'm a stupid chick who knows nothing about cars and will believe them if they tell me I need 8 tires instead of 4! I can come for an oil change any time during business hours and they always get me out of there in less than an hour. Today they fixed my tire in 15 minutes. Nice! If you are anywhere near this business, seriously, go there! It's worth it.
And now, back to our story...

I made hard-boiled eggs for my children's lunches today. We rushed out the door, so I finished shelling the eggs and putting them in a ziplock while driving.

Not so smart.

Shelled eggs smell. In fact, my kids used to get upset when I shelled their eggs for them because they felt so big being able to do it on their own. But they're over that now since the kids sitting next to them at the lunch tables don't like the smell of freshly shelled eggs.

There are two eggs left in my plastic dish that I planned on saving and as I'm driving to Rossi's Tire, I'm trying to decide what I'm going to do to get rid of the smell.

Should I put them in the glove compartment?

I seriously did think about it. But no, that would not get rid of the smell and I'd probably forget about them, which would be a bad thing in our unusually warm weather we're having right now.

Should I take them in with me?

Oh, sure. Get the smell out of the car but smell up the entire shop! I'm sure all the other customers are hoping that someone will come in and bless them with the fragrance of hard-boiled eggs!

Should I take them in with me, but leave them in my purse?

No, the smell would still be there and now everyone would just think I have gas.

Shoot! What can I do?

And then it hit me...I can eat them!

Yes! I hadn't had breakfast and this was a pretty healthy way to go. And so, I began to shell them. Mind you, I am only a mile away from Rossi's so there is not much time. I shell, pull into the parking lot, scarf down the eggs, and begin to reach for the door.

But there are still egg shells in my front passenger's seat! I scan the lot, looking for a trash can. There's always a trash can out front so people don't litter on the lot. But was there a trash can? Oh, of course not! This is Rachael's World here!

Doggonit! What am I going to do??? Freshly shelled eggshells smell, too!

"I'll start getting everything out of the trunk, that's what I'll do!" So, I began piling everything that's in the trunk to the back seat. That's when I find a roll of paper towels. Sweet!

I wrapped up the eggshells in a paper towel, then in another paper towel, and stuck it in my purse. Once inside, I placed it in the trash.

Perhaps not the best solution, but it was the best I could come up with. Did the shop smell? I don't know. You'll have to go to Rossi's and find out. But at least there were no other customers in the place and if the Rossi's tire employees thought I had gas, perhaps they changed their minds around noon or so when they could still smell it.

...or maybe that's worse.

Elmer at Rossi's let me have the nail I ran over. I could have SWORN it was a bolt!!! Then, when I showed the kids, I was POSITIVE that it was actually a screw, as I distinctly remember the phillips head. Elmer brought me out a nail. It had a big head on it, but it was a nail.

Personally, I think Travis called him and told him to mess with my mind.

Contest

2009-09-02T13:55:00.000-07:00

Bump-Originally posted 8/22

As I type this post, my hit counter is at 2970. So, the contest is...

What day and what time will my hit counter reach 4420? I chose that number because $442 is what I owe Chevron, but I had to add the zero, so I'll pretend that I was being clever and say that it stands for zero cents. Although, that isn't completely consistent because I owe some cents to Chevron, as well.

Ok, ok. So I started out trying to be clever and when it didn't fit 100%, I made the rest up.

Anyway, post your calculated guess and whoever gets the closest will get a $5 Starbucks gift card!

You must enter your best guess by September 5 to qualify. (Thank you Melissa for giving me another slap-in-the-forehead moment!)

Good luck!

p.s. Since I forgot to post the deadline before today, those of you who guessed it would be before September 5 can guess again. I'd like to think I'll have that many hits before then, but I don't think that will happen. If it does, I'll double that gift card to the closest guess that was guessed at sometime before September 5, provided you really did post it before today, September 2.

Getting Cooler By the Day!

2009-09-02T11:51:00.000-07:00

OH, yeah! I'm SO in the "cool crowd!"

I now have a Facebook (oops, FB) group. It's open to all.

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=148319110347&ref=mf

Follow Me on Twitter

2009-09-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

Do you tweet?

You can follow this blog on Twitter if you want to be tweeted. I haven't figured out exactly why Twitter is so cool, but if all the cool kids are doing it I guess I will, too.

www.twitter.com/MyPoorHusband

Travis has a fun, interactive post tonight. Click here if you want to join the fun. I did!

Got a Flat Tire Today

2009-08-31T21:42:00.000-07:00

Look, it wasn't my fault! I know you don't believe me, but it really wasn't! I was simply driving down the road, stopped at a stoplight, began thinking deeply about...hmmmm, I don't remember, then felt someone staring at me. I looked over to my right and there was a guy in a pickup mouthing the words, "You have a flat tire!"

My eyes widened and I mouthed back, "Thank you!"

I don't know what he thought I said, but he told me again and started pointing. I nodded my head and said, "Thank you!" again and smiled. He then drove off in a hurry.

Pulled off fast. So fast that I wonder if he thought, "Yup! I see the sharpie eyeliner. That's her, alright! I'm outta here!"

There was a gas station just down the road and even though there are bars on all the windows and doors and I see cops there all the time, I decided to pull into the lot and air up.

As soon as I opened my door I could hear a fast hissing sound. Oh, this can't be good.

I walked to the tire and-

Hey! Wait a minute! It's not flat!

Oh, oops. Wrong tire. I swear that guy pointed at the right tire.

It was my left tire and the air was slithering out like a rattlesnake with a grudge. I'd ran over a stupid bolt! I quickly went to grab the hose when I noticed that the hoses were cut. DUH! Bars on the windows! What else could I expect?!?

Or maybe they saw me coming, I don't know.

My place of work was less than a mile away and by the time I got there, the tire was pretty much flat. I have a great boss and he volunteered to put the spare on for me. He said I wasn't dressed to change a tire and right there I decided that I will never wear jeans to work again!

I shoveled everything out of my trunk and Ken (my boss) dug the spare out. I grabbed the owner's manual from the glove box, opened it, and

Hey! THAT'S where the spare keys are!

Travis and I have been having this debate for 4 years now about whether the dealer gave us the spare keys or not. I was pretty positive they hadn't and Travis swore they did. There have even been a few...discussions...about when was I going to get new spare keys since I couldn't seem to find the ones we were given (or not given!).

And there were the keys! Ok, Travis was right. Well, I take that back. I think he went to the dealer himself and planted them there. That's my story, anyway. ;-) I'm just glad some stranger at a repair shop didn't find them and think to themselves, "Who in the world would carry spare keys IN THEIR CAR???!!??" I'm so glad I don't have to answer that question because either way, the fact that I drove around for 4 years without a spare key or their supposition that I thought the glove box was a good place to store them, makes me look like an idiot and I'd hate for anyone to think that of me!

Well, I'll be off to the tire shop on Wednesday and I won't have to worry about anyone finding my spare keys. Where did I put those keys, anyway?

Travis is doing the happy dance on his blog tonight!

Don't Park Under the Apple Tree

2009-08-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

My kids are now back in school and everything, homework included, is in full swing. There is even talk about the first field trip the K-2nd graders will be taking.

It's a tradition. Every year this age group goes to Gitzich Ranch where they learn about apples, apple trees, apple juice, and the adults in the group learn about buying apple pie. This field trip is often well chaperoned simply because of the apple pie.

When my daughter Hannah was in Kindergarten and Rebecca in 1st, I was crazy enough-I mean priveledged!- to chaperone this field trip. (And yes, I bought an apple pie!) I piled six kids into my infamous Expedition and had a lot of fun watching their little faces stand in awe of the...

...play house hay bales!!!

Of course it wasn't the apples!

And you never see kids so eager to eat an apple anywhere other than at an apple farm! My daughters enjoyed it so much that I decided to take my son there. He was still in preschool, so I figured I would enjoy a little time alone with my son and took him to Gizditch Ranch on my day off from work.

I had Fall Fever, big time! Apple farms will do that to you! I could smell the crisp Autumn air, I could smell the apple pie, and all that red and white gingham was stirring the Martha Stewart in me! I also had a brand new Honda Accord and driving around in something that clean was stirring up the Martha Stewart in me so bad that my hair was beginning to cover half of my face...and it didn't bother me...and I liked it! Well, I don't know if I'd go THAT far.

So, off we go, my 3-year-old and I, to Gizditch Ranch. He was so excited! His sisters had told him all about the hay bales and he was ready to experience every minute of it.

We drove the country roads, pulled into the ranch, and I began to search for a parking spot. There must have been another 500 school groups there because I was having a hard time finding a parking spot. And I'm not too great at parking, so I don't try to squeeze into those tiny parking spots that is only there because some huge monster truck took up two spots somewhere in the lineup.

But then (sound of angels singing) a minivan backed up. YES! Even if she was moving because she judged the space was too small, it should be no problem for my Honda Accord! SaaaaaaaaaWEET!

The minivan drove down the row a bit and with a smile on my face, I began to pull into the vacant spot. The minivan stopped in front of another minivan, apparantely a friend, and I caught a brief moment of eye contact with both of them. They had the strangest looks on their faces. I was smiling at my fortune, but they were looking at me like...well, like I was nuts or rude or...I don't know what!

I'm thinking, "Am I taking her spot? Was she planning on coming back and thinking that no one was going to park there while she did a little socializing? Am I being rude in some way and don't even know it?

"WHAT IS THAT SOUND???

"Ahhhhh...yes. I'm parking under an apple tree. Those are just branches. I hope they don't scratch my brand new car, though.

"Wow! Those are some seriously loud branches! I think that's going to leave a scratch."

I got out of my car, unbuckled my son from his car seat, and together we headed off toward the hay bales. Unfortunately, the hay bales were gone and it took some time, but I was finally able to convince my son that the tour through the apple trees truly was going to be fun.

And it was. And I bought another pie. And it was time to go.

We went to the car, buckled, and I began to back out.

"HOLY COW!!! Those branches are INCREDIBLY LOUD!!!"

I decided that maybe I should get out and have a look.

Oh...my...goodness!!!

Those weren't branches. Rather, it was a single branch. Only a BIG one. To be more exact, it USED to be a branch. It was a branch that had been cut off and it's stump was as large around as a Christmas tree stump. It hung out a bit and I...well, I just didn't see it.

I'd like to think that perhaps I'm still as smart as the minivan driver, as it would have been in her windshield, I'm sure, so she had no choice but to see it, but I don't think Travis would have bought it. He barely bought the fact that I didn't see it!

It left a very long and deep scratch on my hood and sunroof. It wasn't pretty.

I took it to the same shop that repaird my Expedition after taking it through the car wash. Unfortunately, they recognized me and I'm not sure if the look I saw was a look of, "Oh, brother. I can't believe she's back," or "We better suck up to this one because she could bring in a lot of profit!"

The cost was suspiciously the same amount as my copay, again $1000, and since I didn't have $1000, I decided the repair wasn't totally necessary.

As you can imagine, Travis wasn't too happy that our car of 2-weeks old was already damaged and I don't know what it is about guys and cars, but he still gets a little riled when he thinks about it.

Well, here is a picture of the scratch and proof of why you should never park under the apple tree!

I Have My Own Monument!

2009-08-29T19:27:00.000-07:00

Well, maybe not a MONUMENT, but there was a sign posted in my honor.

At Chevron! At THE Chevron!

Yes! It's missing my name, but we all know who it's for.

Check it out at Travis' blog! He's the one who found it and took a picture.

I'm tempted to take my sharpie and write, "For the whole story, go to MyPoorHusband.blogspot.com!" Does that count as graffiti?

Nails on the Chalkboard

2009-08-27T20:35:00.001-07:00

Alright. At this point I have shown myself to be...hmmm, what might one say? Easily distracted, perhaps? I don't know. A 9 year old thinks I'm an ex-druggie, so maybe there is a better word to describe it.

But, alas, as every true genius does, I have an odd side to me.

You know how most people curl up like overcooked shrimp when they hear the sound of nails scratching the chalkboard? Ok, I guess I'm speaking to those over the age of 30 because I'm not so sure those younger than 30 would even know what a chalkboard is! Whiteboards have conquered the educational world and scratching your fingernails on one isn't such a big deal. Well, unless you damage the finish and your teacher gives you "the sigh" every time he/she writes on it. But the sound of nails on a whiteboard is usually bearable.

Nails on the chalkboard, however is another story...for most people, that is.

The sound never bothered me. In fact, I used to love scraping my nails on the chalkboard when the teacher wasn't looking just to see everyone curl up into the fetal position and groan. Good times!

Napkins, on the other hand, are another matter!

This is THE hardest post I've written so far because as I'm trying to convey to you what happens to me when I am confronted with a napkin, it is giving me chills like crazy and it's getting hard to type in the fetal position.

Cloth napkins are fine. You can't spit your gum into them at a restaurant, but they give me no trouble. It's those stupid paper ones that send me to the ceiling!

When the napkin sits there, I have no qualms. When I use the napkin, I have no ill feelings. But pick that napkin up and lick it and I will become like a cat on the curtains, only in the fetal position. I know, strange image.

Oh, I just can't stand it! Even worse, take that napkin and wipe your 2 year old's face that is sticky with syrup and I will become like a cat on the curtains in the fetal position, shaking its head wildly.

I'm dying here thinking about the sticky fingers!!! My teeth hurt and I keep shaking with the chills. Seriously. The back of my head is tingling, too.

And yes, scratching a napkin with your fingernails makes me lose my sanity, too. (Don't say it.)

My family has so much fun with this. I often zone out and I'll be awakened to, "MOM!"

I'll look up and there is a little face with horns on her head and fire coming from her eyes and the sound of a napkin being licked. UGGGGhhhhhhhhhoooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. (That's an "Ugh!" and a groan at the same time.)

Or one of my children will have a sticky face and my husband will tell him to wipe his face while everyone else sits back and has quite a laugh at my expense. Of course, the one wiping his face has to conclude his cleaning routine with a slow lick of the napkin.

And you may tell me not to look, but even just thinking about it makes me, well, curl up like an overcooked shrimp!

It's really unfair. I think I might start serving our dinner on mini-chalkboards and be sure to scrape my plate every time I take a bite!

For Travis' side of the story, see his blog at LifeWithRachael.blogspot.com.

Dear Mr. Best Western Guy

2009-08-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

Phew! I am SO done with Fremont!

Travis was admitted to the hospital on Father's Day weekend with arrhythmia. Apparently his heart not only skips a beat when he looks at me, but it quivers and shakes like an earthquake.

Or it's stress...

Travis had an angiogram scheduled this week for 6am Monday morning and we figured the only sane thing to do was to get a hotel Sunday night since we live 1 1/2 hours from Fremont. As we approached the door of the main lobby, Travis said,

"I wonder if they'll remember you."

This is the hotel I stayed at when Travis was in the hospital. While I'd like to think that he was talking about my incredible charisma and general likability, there is...as you are expecting...more to the story.

Last June on an early Saturday morning, Travis was up getting ready to take his sister to her son's high school graduation. She'd come all the way from Montana. This was a really BIG deal. An incredibly special moment of her life that we were able to be a part of. When Travis laid back down on the bed, I knew something was wrong. He said he was lightheaded and his heart was pounding and not beating right.

To make a long story short, Travis decided he was still going to drive to Fremont, then go to urgent care. He wound up in the emergency room and after 28 hours of his heart beating erratically, it finally reverted back to a normal rhythm. If you want more of this story, see Travis' blog. Let it suffice to say that I was under a significant amount of stress!

A friend...a very true friend that is rare to find...found this hotel for me and told me they were coming. Coming from 2 1/2 hours away! She booked a room right next door and volunteered to take my kids. She did, I was told I could stay the night with Travis, new charge nurse came on duty and kicked me out, and at 10:30ish PM I left for the hotel.

I got settled, put my kids to bed, enjoyed a little quiet time alone once they fell asleep (which wasn't quickly!), then went to bed myself somewhere around midnight.

When I got up the next morning, I was tired and on edge. It's weird. You feel the stress, but you don't recognize how much it is affecting you. Much like when I was in labor with my son and thought it was a good time to clean out the car!

My daughter Rebecca got into the bathtub, as instructed. She is like her mother in some ways in that she is easily distracted. When she gets into the bathtub, she forgets that the water is still running and if I didn't tell her to shut it off, I'm not sure it would be turned off at all! And so when I notice that the water has been running for a good 10-15 minutes in a tiny, hotel bathroom, I figured I needed to tell her to turn it off. I go to the bathroom door, turn the handle, and...

...it's locked! All my children have been instructed NOT to EVER lock the door because if they get hurt or if there's an emergency, I need to get in.

*Knock, knock* "Rebecca..."

*Knock, knock* "Rebecca..."

*Knock, knock* "Rebecca!"

*Bang, bang* "REBECCA!"

*Bang, bang* "REBECCA! Open this door NOW!"

Rebecca is a compliant child. The fact that she locked the door surprised me a bit. Turns out, she was worried that my friend next door would walk in on her. But it's not like her to ignore me when I call her.

*BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG* "REBECCA!!! REBECCA!!! REEEEEEEEEEBBBBEEEEEEEECCCCCCCCCCCCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

And this time I got a faint *knock, knock* back.

"Rebecca! Open this door NOW!"

And again all I got was a faint *knock, knock* back.

Ok. So what are my options here? She likely has her head under water and can't hear me, especially since the water is still running. But now she has knocked back, which tells me she can hear something. Do I keep banging on the door? I'm not sure if this is a good idea since I'm sure I have woken up several of my neighbors and I'm guessing they weren't planning on waking up early in their hotel room on Sunday. Do I wait until she's done and spend the time coming up with creative ways to "discipline" her? But what if she's drowning? Ok, ok. She's 9. If her head was under the water, she could just sit up. But then why was she knocking back and not acknowledging me? Maybe she was tied up in the shower curtain. Maybe it was wrapped all around her neck and she was stuck under the water and drowning. Maybe her little knocks back were faint because she didn't have enough strength to do anything else and it was her only way to call for me and she was waiting for me to save her.

Hey, you hear stories...

And so I decided there was only one thing I could do.

I began to kick the door down.

I know it's loud. I know it might be crazy. I know that I likely have nothing to worry about, but what if...

And the what if was taking hold of my mind and I kept kicking and kicking the door. Somewhere in there, my friend ran over from next door and after looking at me like I was from Mars, she said she would call security. Whether she was calling to get the door unlocked or to get me locked up, it's hard to say.

I kept kicking. By now the door had a nice hole around the door handle and at this point, I figure I have nothing to lose anymore, so I start REALLY kicking the door. I am in full freak-out mode!

Just as my friend turns to get security, Rebecca rises from the waters of doom and, in her sweet little 9 year old voice, says, "What Mom?"

I'm shaking. I'm relieved, but there is so much adrenaline running through my veins that I am neither calm nor relaxed.

"Open this door NOW!"

She does. "What do you want, Mom?"

"Why did you lock this door???"

"I didn't want Maria to walk in on me."

"Rebecca, I was knocking and knocking. Didn't you hear me??"

"Oh....I thought it was Hannah (her sister) playing a game with me. So I knocked back, but did it quietly."

"Rebecca! I thought you were drowning or something!"

She's looking at me, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. She has no clue why I'm in freak-out mode. I mean, she's NEVER, EVER, EVER seen me anything but completely calm and rational.

Ok, no.

I can't stop shaking and I want to give her a good scolding, but for what? The amount of scolding I felt like giving didn't measure up to the offense. At the same time, I just want to hold her and feel her arms around me. All this adrenaline was pumping through my veins and I just paced. A small pace, as it was in the hotel bathroom, but a pace, nonetheless.

Maria looked at me and said, "You're under a lot of stress."

Once Rebecca got out of the bathtub, I showed her the door. She broke into tears. She felt so bad that she locked the bathroom door and that it caused me that much grief. (She is such a sweet child.) Although I assured her that she did not need to feel THIS bad, it took a few days before she got over it completely.

Actually, it wasn't until I told her I'd pay her a dollar if she let me post it on my blog. She's totally good with it now!

I told the people at the desk what happened when I checked out and offered to pay for it. 2 months and $150 later, Travis and I arrive at the hotel and he is wondering if they'll remember me.

I really didn't think they would, but I did remember the guy at the counter. He went through his usual routine.

"Smoking or non?"

"Non."

"How many nights?"

"Just one."

"Have you ever stayed with us before?"

Travis and I broke out laughing. "Yeah," Travis says. "You might remember..."

And when Travis reminded them of the broken door, everything changed. Mr. Best Western Guy's eyes peered down at his computer and became expressionless. His answers to our questions became very short. No smiling. Stiff shoulders. No eye contact.

Oh, yes...he remembered me!

And so, I'd like to submit a little letter here on my blog in hopes that he might possibly understand the circumstances and hopefully get his sense of humor back.

And for those of you who think his reaction was perfectly normal, I'll just say it...you're the weird one! We all know I am the standard by which to judge normal by!

*clearing my throat*

Dear Mr. Best Western Guy,

I could not help but notice that when I stayed at your hotel last Sunday that you obviously remembered me, however it seemed to me that you weren't too happy about it. Have you ever heard the phrase, "His countenance was fallen?" You know, like when you tell someone that their dog died and their whole face seems to turn downward? Well Sir, your countenance did not fall, but instead it turned to stone.

I hope that you have read the above story and can understand just a bit of how someone as normal as I might be moved to kick a hole in your door.

Ok. I'm sure the door caused you some inconvenience, but I DID turn myself in and I DID pay the $150 without a single argument. Don't I get some credit for that? (A $150 credit on my bill would be nice. Kidding.)

Please know that I don't usually go around destroying hotel rooms. Gas pumps, well...ok. You've got me there. But I've never destroyed a hotel room before.

Mr. Best Western Guy, while I may not be your most favorite customer you've ever had, just know I was under a lot of stress and maybe...just maybe...you'll find some humor in this.

Respectfully,
Rachael

The Important Things

2009-08-25T22:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I started a new post, but then God led me in another direction. Sorry, no post AGAIN, but sometimes there are more important things.

Now What?

2009-08-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

School started today. Travis asked me yesterday, "So, do you think you're going to keep writing every night when school starts?"

And it got me to thinking...well, thinking about it more intensely, as I was already thinking about it.

Now what?

I need some feedback. Do you guys read daily? Would you be able to digest it better weekly? Do you only want funny stories or should I mix a bit of more...ummm...normal life? Do I have a good thing going here and should keep going with it? Maybe there is "Funny Friday", "Serious Saturday," "Two-for-One Tuesday"...just thinking out loud here. Or maybe I just do whatever the heck I want to do and stop over-thinking it!

I would really appreciate your thoughts on this!!!

And I would like to tell you that I have a contest coming tomorrow! Starbucks, anyone? Let's fuel the economy!

It Starts...

2009-08-19T22:44:00.000-07:00

We used to have this video game that we bought for our niece when she was 5 or so years old. It was Lion King and right after it loaded it would say, in this real low, foreboding, liony voice, "It starts..."

That's what I hear in my head every time I think the word, "start," "started," or "starting."

Just like I always hear the mechanical voice in my head from the corner gas station where I grew up. In order to pay for your gas, you had to get a prepaid card from the cashier and swipe it at the gas pump. I think that's how it worked, anyway. The problem was that the card reader didn't work very well and so the stupid gas pump would repeat over and over again, "Try aGAIN." (swipe) "Try aGAIN." (swipe) "Try aGAIN." (insult) "Try aGAIN." (kick) "Try aGAIN." That's how we got down in Dutch Haven!

To this day, I cannot hear the words, "Try again," without hearing that mechanical gas pump voice in my head saying, "Try aGAIN," nor can I even say the words, "Try again," without saying it like, "Try aGAIN!"

Me and gas pumps...we've had this feud for long time now.

Anyway, school starts in the morning (Thursday) and I have nearly convinced myself that I'm actually excited about it. I'm excited for the teaching part, there's no doubt. But the... do your homework/do your chores/take a bath/eat dinner/stop teasing your sister/get ready for bed/stop arguing with me/go to bed... routine is going to take a little more self-deception before I can believe I'm excited about it. No worries. By morning I will have resolved to be more organized, get up early everyday, do dishes immediately after dinner and have the week's meals planned out. And I'll do a little more self-deception and convince myself that it's actually possible.

Wish me luck!

And please don't wish me to do something stupid! You'll get your wish whether you make it or not!

Another Underwear Story

2009-08-18T23:06:00.000-07:00

So, I mentioned before that I have issues with underwear and I told the story of my very first embarrassing moment that I can remember involving underwear.

And now we move forward to Junior High.

Junior High...torture. Pure torture. I hated it. I didn't know it when I was actually IN Junior High, but looking back at it, it was one of the hardest times of my childhood. It wasn't just the pimples, peers, and pressure of trying to figure out what is and isn't fashionable. It's all these new emotions that you have no idea how to deal with or even what to call them, one of those new emotions being "love."

...or that's what we thought it was, anyway.

Ugh! The embarrassment I feel now for all the stupid things I did in the name of "love." I was one of those silly girls who wrote about boyfriends and breaking up for every poetry assignment. I was one of those girls who had, "I LOVE (What's-his-face)" on every binder and folder. There would be a name, then that one would get crossed out and a new name put underneath of it. Then, a few weeks later, that name would get crossed out and a new one would be placed underneath that one and by the end of the year, I had a full history of my 7th or 8th Grade love life. Oh, and I had a history of all my friends' love life too!

I was completely boy crazy. I HAD to have a fixation on SOME boy at all times or else I seriously didn't know what to do with myself. Perhaps if I had a father at home, I could have been spared much of this embarrassment, but I AM prone to drama, so who knows!?!

Buddy Kelly. He was one of my short-term boyfriends. By short-term, I mean 3-6 weeks. Long-term was anything over 6 weeks. You know, the ones you REALLY "love!" Buddy was short-term, but he will forever be in my mind...because of this story.

I took Choir in Junior High. Absolutely loved it! The funny thing was, every time I took Choir, both in Junior High and High School, I wound up playing piano instead. I don't know if that says more about my singing ability or my piano playing ability. Hmmm...

As is often customary, the Choir gave a Christmas performance. It was at an amazing venue, one that would surely gain us prestige and honor.

Dudley Elementary School.

The big day arrived and let me tell you, it was BIG to us Junior High kids because we got to GET OUT OF SCHOOL for a couple of hours! Whoo-HOO! We are talkin' big time here! AND, we even got to get out of our morning classes in order to get into uniform!

Now, whoever thought that white pants would be a great uniform for a bunch of Junior High kids must have been "smokin' in the boys' room" the day they handed out common sense. I mean, seriously! How long did they expect them to stay white when you have girls who are just learning how to apply make up and are clumsy as all get out!?

And how did they expect girls to think about what underwear they might be wearing that day?

What exactly WERE they smoking in the boys' room, anyway?!?

I got up extra early that morning, all excited. I had my hair to worry about, my clear mascara and barely pink lipstick to apply, AND I was playing piano like a grown-up! Who could expect me to think about what underwear I should be wearing?

We arrived at school, checked into homeroom, and headed over to the choir classroom. The choir director got out the uniforms and we started changing. (Where did we change, anyway? Was there a bathroom in the choir room or did we go to the locker room? I don't remember.)

So, my friends and I are all giddy and giggling and talking about this boy and that boy, and changing our clothes. I got undressed from the waist down and grabbed my white choir pants. That's when I noticed what underwear I was wearing...

They were white (good start) with little green Christmas trees and red hearts everywhere. (Groan) Oh, dear...

But what was even worse, was that on the back of these cute little undies were the words, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Oh...My...GOSH! How could I have done this? Why in the world did I not think to wear SOLID white underwear???!!!??? I'm still asking myself that question! And if there were going to be designs, why did I not pick out something with light...very light...pink puppies or kitties or something? WHY bright red and green? And WHY OH WHY, when I had two other pairs of underwear in the same set that said, "Joy" and "Love" did I have to pick the pair that said, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

I put on my pants, looked behind me, and said, "Hey, can you see my underwear through these pants?"

My friends busted out laughing. Full on laughing. I was dying.

Now, I had true friends. Friends that are always there for whatever Junior High crisis you're having at that hour (because there's a crisis almost every 60 minutes in Junior High!). We started brainstorming solutions.

Maybe I could go without. Heavens no! They were thin pants. That would be worse!

Maybe by some incredible miracle I had an extra pair of white underwear in my locker. Nope. There weren't any.

Maybe I could wear someone else's. No, I'm kidding.

The best we came up with was that I had to wear a jacket around my waist.

Ok, so this is Junior High. Being the only one on stage with a jacket tied around my waist was not cool! Plus, everyone would ask why and I wasn't smart enough to think of something like, "Oh, I sat on my lunch," or "I fell in the mud while walking back from the locker room on the cement ground and you can't see it now, but there was a huge pile of mud there. No, really."

But I couldn't tell the MALE teacher why it was that I HAD to wear a jacket around my waist during the entire performance! Absolutely NOT! I was just going to have to bear it.

To make matters worse, Buddy Kelly was in the band...and the band was travelling with us because they were also going to perform. No. This can't possibly be happening to me! I was beginning to feel sick, but even if I used that excuse to go home and not perform today, it wouldn't work well because I was the one playing piano. There wasn't anyone else. No, I really did have to do this.

And so I put the blue and white striped shirt with suspenders on (again, what were they smokin'?!?) and tied my jacket around my waist. I hid from Buddy Kelly as much as I could. Not that it was that hard because I was too shy to talk to him much anyway. Band boarded the bus. Choir boarded the bus. I was SO hoping that Buddy Kelly was not going to see my underwear and I did NOT want him, or any other boy for that matter, to know about my underwear because I knew that they would look at my rear end, read what my underwear said, and call me a name I really didn't want to hear!

So, in true Junior High fashion, my friends circled around me and made it glaringly obvious that something was going on. We weren't too subtle then. No one admitted to telling anyone else what was going on, but this is Junior High. Do you really think it was going to remain a secret?

We made it to Dudley Elementary and I kept that jacket tightly around my waist. It took forever for the band to set up and tune up and it took forever before the elementary kids began to assemble, but I didn't care if it took 100 forevers!

Alas, the band was ready, the kids assembled and it was time to start. My friends looked at me. I looked at them. And then we realized that band was first, so I had at least another 7 forevers left.

The band finished. My friends looked at me. I looked at them. We all looked at the teacher. He motioned for us to enter. It was time. Forever was gone. I untied the jacket.

This is when I realized that not only would I have to go up in front of all these people, Buddy Kelly included, but I had to go up after the rest of the choir assembled and sit at the piano. Do you think anyone would notice that I was the only girl in white pants, striped shirt, and white suspenders at the piano? I had my doubts. And did I think that the teacher might forget to introduce me to the audience and say nice things about my piano playing and ability and tell the kids that if they worked hard they might be able to do it some day? I had my doubts about that, too.

And did I think that when I sat down at the piano that it would magically turn around so that my BUTT wasn't facing the audience?? I was hoping so, but I had some serious doubts.

Alas, I was the only girl to sit at the piano, the teacher made me stand up so he could inspire all the little kids to practice their piano, and my rear end did indeed face the audience.

I don't know whether anyone noticed or not, but it didn't matter because everyone from school that was in the band or choir knew and they were the ones that mattered, anyway.

Well, having the teacher know would be worse, but fortunately he was really good at pretending that nothing in the world was going on.

And Buddy Kelly? Well, he tried to pretend. At least he didn't press me for any details.

Parents, I advised you last time to buy your kids new underwear and now I advise you to think about which ones you're buying, check out any uniforms they may have to wear, and get involved in the uniform decision process! Oh, and watch out for ones that smell like smoke.

Headache

2009-08-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

I am not feeling clever tonight. I am not feeling like thinking. I am not feeling funny, either. My head is throbbing, I'm nauseous, and all I want to do is go to bed. Travis wants to watch a movie and that sounds wonderful...because it's a good excuse to fall asleep early!

So, for the sake of my head, I forfeit my potential earnings for the night and hope that you and 5000 new visitors show up tomorrow when I feel more like myself...which is scary, I know.

Take this chance to catch up on a few stories you haven't read yet!

Good night.

No, you'll likely be reading this tomorrow, so have a great day!

I told you I didn't feel like thinking.

If Only There Was Background Music...

2009-08-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

First, I must give credit where credit is due. I DID NOT come up with this on my own. I got this idea from a guy named John Acuff and he has THE funniest blog I have EVER read!!! You can read it at www.stufffchrisitianslike.blogspot.com. Some Christians get very offended at his humor, but if you like sarcasm, this is the place for you! The guy is a Christian and he makes fun of the funny things Christians do. LOVE IT!

Anyway, he references the music played during prayer and "serious times" and then came up with this idea that we should be able to have some sort of hand-held device that plays background music for things that go on during our day. I thought to myself, "Hey! Since my life is like a sitcom, what a great idea!"

So, what kind of music would there be for me?

Let's see...

First, I must warn you that I listen to mostly Christian music and I don't watch TV. Don't even have cable. Thus, I am very pop culture deficient. If I linked songs that have questionable lyrics, please know that all I know of the song is what I heard in the 30 second clip from iTunes. And if I chose a song that is done by an artist who is known for his/her questionable lyrics, I most likely have no idea who they are. I did stay away from DJ Nasty, however. Something just told me not to go there.

So without further ado, let's start with the drive-through car wash. There would be this beat...something you'd hear in low rider. Then as I enter the car wash, the music breaks into,

(click on lyrics to hear song.)
At the car wash!
Talkin' 'bout the car wash, yeah.
Car wash! Car wash, yeah!"

Since there were kids in the car with me, I chose the Shark Tale version.

I'm hearing, "Don't Worry, Be Happy" as I'm driving home with my fully repaired Expedition...until I hit the garbage cans and that's when I hear...

"Wipe Out!"

How about the fire alarm? Oh, I think this one would be perfect! Can't you just hear the dark cloud of doom hovering over the campus as everyone rushes out to the parking lot? Can't you just feel the intense stress and embarrassment when you listen to this song?

And what about when my son was born in the ambulance? I'm picturing Josh driving me down the road at 80mph hour, quiet as a mouse, when all of the sudden I say, "Call 911!" and then all you can hear is "Gunlinger" while Josh makes contact with the dispatcher.

Once She-Paramedic enters the room and tells me, "Oh, Honey. You're not having this baby now," the ghost of Aretha Franklin would come from nowhere, look She-dispatcher right in the eye and sing...

R-E-S-P-E-C-T, I got what it means to me!

Then, while She-Paramedic and Wet-Paramedic wheel me out, Aretha fades back into the wall and Peter & Gordan stand side-by-side at the door of the ambulance and sing...

"Lady Godiva"... since that's kind of how one might feel being exposed from the waist down! (Was that over the top?)

Now for the bleach story, I think that perhaps this might be in order:

"Get My Drink On"

Or how about when my purse went flying into the air after falling off the top of my car? "Fly"

Finally, I think that whenever I get behind the wheel, "Livin' on a Prayer" should be playing!

These are just some ideas I have. Feel free to leave a comment and post your own! I have yet to come up with one for the fuel pump.

Bonus Post

2009-08-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

If you haven't read about the drive-through car wash, do so now!

Can I Just Play ONE Song?

2009-08-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

Here's something I wrote about a year ago.

(sigh) There is nothing like sitting down at my piano when the sun goes down, opening up my endless supply of sheet music and lead sheets and spending some private time in worship of God. It's my way of talking to Him and letting His Word talk to me. It's one way I connect with God. It's how I make sense of what I've read and experienced. It's how I sing out my sorrows, package my pain, live in the moment, proclaim His praise, and stand silent...musically...before the Lord. I tell you, there is nothing like it.

Tonight I took some time to do just that. I opened up a binder, found a song, started to play and began to sing.

"I've been here before/now here I am again/standing at the door/praying You'll let me back in (music builds now as it moves into the prechorus) to label me a prodigal would be/only scratching the surface/of what I've been known to be (music really builds and is ready to break loose for the chorus)

.....................................(sound of record being scratched) "Mom! Can you help me? I can't find the game."

I could play on and on and totally lose track of time, so unless I am practicicng for something specific, I allow my children to interrupt. So, I get up, leave behind the music, and go help my son.

(sigh) I start over. "I've been here before/now here I am again....(I get to the chorus) Turn me around/pick me up..."

"MOM!" And I turn around to see what my son needs now. Take care of it. Get back to my piano.

"I've been here before/now here I am again..." Suddenly this song is taking on a whole new meaning!

"Mom, ......" and I reply, "Can I just play ONE song?"

(Said with a charming smile) "Mom, I know you are playing a song, but do you want to watch me?"

I can't help but smile back because I know that while I have been at my piano before and that I will be at it again, my son is 5 now and never will be again. I guess piano time is best saved until after bedtime!

My Second Payment and Other Misc. Stuff

2009-08-14T18:24:00.000-07:00

I made my second payment to Chevron today. So far I have paid them a total of $50, thanks to all of you reading my blog! Cool! Didn't get to see the owner, but I don't think he likes me anyway. He wasn't impressed by this whole blog thing.

I got the funniest note in my FB inbox today!

"So as (my son) watched your blog with me he said, 'mom, do you think she used to do drugs and they affected her brain?' Of course I assured him that was not the case, but I am not sure that he is convinced."

I suspect it was the sharpies.

I have now had visitors from 11 different countries to my blog. They are the USA, Canada, South Africa, Thailand, Greece, Mexico, Uraguay, Japan, Argentina (did anyone else break into song when they read that?), Egypt and Sweden. 32 of the 50 states of America have been represented, but oddly enough, Montana hasn't and I have relatives there! Hmmm... I have had a total of 289 people visit this blog. I think my friend Monica may be responsible for 250 of them. ;-) Of all the visitors I've had, 63% have come back.

I love Google Analytics.

There was something else I was going to say, but I didn't write it down, so here I am telling you that I was going to tell you something, but not able to tell you what it was. Oh, well.

OH! Yes! Hello to those who are new to this blog. Well, seeing as how this blog is not even 3 weeks old yet, I guess everyone is new. But I mean those who are new new...as in less-than-a- week-old new. I hope you enjoy it and please feel free to leave comments. I like talking to people.

Well, I'm off to finish my Friday. I spent all afternoon and into much of the night thinking it was Friday yesterday, until Monica reminded me that it was only Thursday. Got to enjoy Friday twice!

Good night and I am off to post my next story...

Sharpies Are a GREAT Substitute for Makeup!

2009-08-13T23:17:00.000-07:00