I've gained 6 pounds in the past few weeks.  Usually, when I gain weight, I'm perfectly willing to accept the blame.  This time, however, I'm convinced that it's definitely NOT my fault.

 

We bought a tv.  It's three times the size of our last one (purchased over 11 years ago).   It's been great fun on which to watch movies, concerts, etc.  I even enjoyed watching a basketball game over the weekend.  There was a guy playing for Chicago that had the HUGEST hair I've ever seen on a basketball player.  With the bigger screen, I was mesmerized and entertained myself for over an hour just pondering whether or not that guy is suffering aerodynamically because of his giant hair.  Surely he's lost a couple of inches off of his vertical jump because of that hair. Those types of world-changing thoughts never  passed through my mind with the smaller tv. 

 

Here's the downside:  How am I supposed to resist a giant piece of fried chicken?  Or, keep from running to the phone after seeing a 39 inch wide slice of cheese-dripping pizza?  It was hard enough to just say no when I needed binoculars to see the chicken.  Now that the Olive Garden breadsticks are looming larger than a baton....I'm doomed.

 

I'd like to see if the statistics for weight gain and larger television purchases correspond at all.  I think I might have a very lucrative theory going here.  If I can figure out how to invent a diet to combat the pressure of pillow sized Pillsbury croissants, I could make a few dollars.  What would I call it though?  The How-To-Fight-the-Flat-Screen-Flab diet.  Or, Just-Say-No-To-Giant-Jellyrolls.  Or maybe:  Get-Off-Your-Lazy-Hiney-And-Quit-Watching-The-Eye-Popping-Popeyes-Ads diet.

 

Until then, I'm going to have to pull out the elastic pants.  Curse technology, even if Kip still loves it.

Switchfoot sings this song.  I like it.

 

THE ECONOMY OF MERCY

 

There's just two ways to lose yourself in this life

And neither one is safe

In my dreams, I see visions of the future

But today we have today

And where will I find you?

Where will I find you?

 

 

These carbon shells

These fragile dusty frames

Are His canvases of souls

We are bruised and broken masterpieces

But we did not paint ourselves

Where will I find you?

Where will I find you?

 

Chorus

 

Bridge

Where was I when the world was made?

Where was I when the world was made?

Where was I when the world was made?

Where was I.....I'm lost without you here

I'm lost without you near me

I'm lost without you here

You knew my name when the world was made

My friend Judy (hi Jud!) introduced me to one of her favorite singers, Eva Cassidy.  I've become an instant fan. 

 

Fields of Gold is one of my favorite songs.  Her rendition is stunning.  Have a listen:

 

 

Judy recommended Eva's rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow.  It's equally as beautiful:

 

 

It's a gray and rainy day here.  I've got her cd in, and am getting ready to write.  Life is good.

 

Thanks Judy!

My brother sent this to me, in honor of my new profession:

 

 

 

Just got back from lunch duty...pretzels today.

 

I'm shocked to be saying this...but I'm starting to like the lunch nazi.

John Mayer was in Omaha last night.  It was a great show.    His players were phenomenal, and he, well, he's just phenomenATIONal. 

 

It's just a blast watching great musicians play.  His drummer had an amazing touch.  He anchored, but didn't dominate.  He felt the beat, and sat on it until the perfect moments.  Nothing was rushed.  Nothing dragged.  They were all totally feeling the groove, and looked like they were having a great time.  He had 2 guitar players besides his fabulous self, a bass player, sax, trumpet, drums, and a keyboard player. 

 

Vocally, he's less breathy, more in control than his earlier work.  He'd put in 3-4 minute guitar solos, and vocally took some rabbit trails too, which was really fun to hear. In a couple of songs, he'd add in some new lyrical bridges and tags.  He said little, but what he did say was witty and comfortable. 

 

Why Georgia was the song that sold me on his talent.  Years ago when his big break came, (the run through the halls of my highschool song) and everyone was talking about him, I bought the album.  The big single is a great song, but when Why Georgia came on (track 2 after the big single) and I heard that first set of lyrics, I was hooked.  "I am driving...eighty five in....the kind of morning...that lasts all afternoon...I'm just stuck inside the gloom...."  Wow.  Then, in My Stupid Mouth, when he rhymed "tiny balls of napkin paper" with playing chess with the "salt and pepper shaker" I thought....yeah, I can learn a few things from this guy.

 

There were a few bittersweet moments for me last night.  His music took me back to the first years I was writing.  I was so eager, and taken with every facet of songwriting.  Over the years, the mindblowing thrill has been tempered into a wonderful, fulfilling, yet steady and constant pursuit.  I've been blessed and moved by the writing in ways I couldn't have planned.   But, watching an artist share his stuff made my now-struggling heart ache a little.  Usually, I leave a concert wanting to write, write,  write, but last night....not so much.  It only served as a reminder of what hasn't been, and brought that new, but increasingly familiar nag of fear back to my mind.  Lately, when I've "showed up at the page"  I've felt afraid.  That is a completely new feeling for me.  I've had friends tell me about that fear in their writing, but I couldn't understand it.  What started off as block a few months ago has turned to sadness, which has turned to fear.  I can't tell if the fear is coming from wondering if I'll write consistently again, or if it's just from being out of practice.  I think it's both, plus a whole bunch of other stuff. 

 

So, today, I'm taking it all in, in my brain...the great performance, the feelings that were stirred in me,  and wondering what to do with all of it.  I'm going to try to write, even if it is hard.  I keep showing up, hoping that something breaks.  Maybe today is the day.  If not, I'll just go clean out another closet, or try to fill the well. 

 

We meet with Jenna and Sarah's teachers today to get their progress reports. 

 

Mrs. O. is wonderful.  She's gotten awards.  Sarah loves her.  At the last conference, we walked in, and she welcomed us in her teacher voice, which feels like you're being hugged and then fed cookies and hot chocolate.  We sat down at the tiny little tables, knees up to our chins, while she used her teacher voice to tell us all about Sarah's progress.  At the end of the conference, we started talking about ways I could get involved at the school and she said:  " I hear we have quite a talent."  I looked behind me, thinking my daughter had come into the room, but no, she was talking to me.  The teacher voice is so soothing.  "Me?" I said from my tiny chair.  "Yes, you!  Sarah tells me you're a songwriter.  We'd love to have you come and talk to us about songwriting!"  I felt aglow.  Mrs. O wanted me to come and talk to her class.  I was special.  Maybe I would get extra privileges like staying after to erase boards, or hanging the date card on the frog calendar.   For a moment I forgot I was a disillusioned 38 year old with gray hair coming in too fast and thick to pluck anymore.  For a moment, I was a hopeful first grader who had just gotten a star sticker on her story about her pet feather, Corday.  I wondered if maybe she could just follow me around for a week and talk to me in her teacher voice. 

 

Mrs. M. is Jenna's teacher.  She's hip and cool.  The kids love her and want to be like her someday.  Jenna responds to her in ways I only dream about.  For that reason, I secretely despise Mrs. M.  No, I'm kidding.  Actually, I'm SO grateful that she is teaching 5th grade.  She has her finger on the pulse of kids that age, which, I'm finding lately, is really rare. (I include myself in the group of ignoramuses--picture pretty much all of the teachers in all of the movies from the 80's...breakfast club, ferris buellers day off... who have no clue how to deal with pubescent children except to get really mad and then get themselves into some kind of ridiculous snaffoo resulting in stitches and loss of dignity)

 

This morning, the girls and I went out for brunch.  (actually breakfast with dessert afterwards..hee hee! school is out woot woot!)  With the most serious face I could muster, I explained to them that there was a conference today for me as well.  Dad and I had a conference with the lunch lady to talk about my progress.  She was going to make me demonstrate for Dad how I scoop condiments.  I told them I was kind of nervous and that I thought she was going to give me a bad grade.

 

They both just rolled their eyes and went back to devouring their strawberry pancakes and chocolate cake.  I cracked up at myself, and then spent a little too much time wondering what kind of grade I would actually get if I were graded for lunch duty.  I don't think I'd even get a sticker.

Yesterday, a dozen roses came.  I was sicker than a dog, so it was such a cool blessing.

 

Today, I got up and there was a card on the stairway.  As I moved to the kitchen, there was a card on the counter.  Then, when I got in the van, there was a card in the van.  Then, and this just cracks me up, when I walked into my favorite coffee shop, Ginger the owner was waiting for me, with a card from Bart.  (she was mock dry-heaving as she gave it to me) She said "Here's a card from your sappy mushy husband." 

 

It's nice to feel loved.

 

Ok....p.s.

I just checked the mail and he mailed me a card TOO!!

 

P.s.s.

More flowers just came

Steel Magnolias is a wonderful movie.  If you haven't seen it, you need to see it.  It explained so much to me about quiet strength and the reasons behind why people do the things they do.  There's a wonderful moment in the movie, where the women are standing in the cemetery and it's very tense and sad.  Sally Field is screaming and crying about the situation they are in (don't want to give the plot away), and in the middle of it all, Olympia Dukakis makes a hilarious and perfectly timed joke.  They all burst into laughter, and Dolly Parton says:  "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

 

There are only a handful of you who read my blog who don't know Joel Lindsey, my publisher.  If you haven't ever clicked over to his blog, please do so, and take the time to pray for him and his family.  His dad died, and I'm sure they could all use our prayers.   He's been describing some of those laughter through tears moments.  I hope he and his family have many of those over the next few days. 

 

I used to babysit for an autistic boy named Jay.  He was the cutest thing you've ever seen.  He had this tiny little body, with a big head covered in thick blonde hair.  He had cowlicks all over, so his hair stuck up all of the time like he just got out of bed.  I still remember how his hair smelled as we would sit and read.  His cowlicks would tickle my nose. He wore those glasses that made your eyes look big and googly.  He was sort of a cross between Simon Birch and the little kid in Jerry McGuire.  He was four when I started babysitting for him.  Every time I came over, we followed the same routine:  Eat Swanson's tv dinner with the mini drumsticks, read every single Dr. Seuss Book he had (he had them all and I couldn't skip a single word or page), go outside and swing, then stand in the bathroom and flush the toilet repeatedly.  He would stand at the toilet, with his hands resting on his chest, fingers moving rhythmically, legs rocking him gently back and forth.  Then he'd reach out and flush it, return his hands to their position, and lean down into the bowl as the water disappeared.  This happened repeatedly for at least 15-20 minutes.  He'd mutter things to me as I sat in the doorway reading a magazine or whatever, and I'd nod and say "yes, that's right" or "oh really?"  He was mesmerized.  The first time I babysat, I tried to get him out of the bathroom after the first couple of flushes.  That wasn't about to happen, so I called his mom, because he really threw a fit when I tried to lift him into my arms.  His mom said to just let him do it. So I did.

 

We got a new washer and dryer today. My old set was the bottom-of-the-line-newlywed-first-house-we-don't-care-if-it's-cheap-because-we're-so-in-love-nothing-else-matters washer and dryer.  The guy at the Furniture Mart promised us 10 years.  15 years later, the washer is still chugging away, but the dryer takes 2 hours to get damp clothes.  This new one has all the bells and whistles. (does that indicate anything about the state of our marriage?  ROFL!!!!!)  It's one of those sets that share a computer brain.  When you set the settings on the washer, it sends the information to the dryer, so that you just have to hit start on the dryer.  The washer doesn't have an agitator, and it's a low water model.  It's incredibly quiet, but sort of unpredictable in it's sounds. 

 

I've been standing in the bathroom for most of the day.  The washer and dryer lids are clear, and I can't seem to stop watching the goings on.  I've been trying to lift the lid gently when it fogs up from the steam, but it stops and beeps at me.  The tossing towels in the dryer are almost putting me in a trance.  I keep opening it to feel the heat, since the heat has been missing (in the old dryer that is!!!!)  At one point, I caught myself rocking back and forth. 

 

If you need your clothes washed, I'll wash them for you.  Just bring me some Dr. Seuss books to read while I sit in the bathroom.

Bart's been out of town since Monday.   He gets home tonight.  To say that I'm looking forward to him being home is the Big Bob Marley Understatement of the Century.  I don't know how single moms do it.  Jenna had a science project due today.  I'm not joking about this.  We have spent every night since Sunday night working on this project.  It's not anything fancy, it just takes time.  Just finding the project took at least 2 hours...internet surfing, going through my homeschool science books, calling friends to ask if they had suggestions.  Add in to the mix the trip to Wal-Mart. (kill me now I hate that store but they're the only ones who sell rubber balls, balloons and bubbles in this town) Next comes the testing of the 4 experiments we picked to find the ONE that actually works.  Then you do that experiment a gillion times because your 11 year old is nervous it won't work when she gets to class.  Then, you have to write out the information sheet, and by the end of that...it's 9:30 on Tuesday night.

 

I've been up late those three nights trying to listen to the 7 Easter musicals I've ordered.  Sarah had an open house last night for her school, piano lessons, worship team meetings (again for Easter), and now, the day Bart comes back, I have the dishes which haven't been done since Sunday, and general cleaning up of play forts, laundry piles, and the mess that results from insomnia. (candy wrappers, books, magazines, pedicure materials)

 

Oh, and add lunch duty. I'm on the schedule every Tuesday now.  I got put back on condiments.  Salsa was my gig.  To say I didn't wonder if salsa slopping was a demotion from main course duty is a lie.  But, I handled it as best as I could...asking the kids where they wanted their salsa...on their peas? on top of their Cherry Fluff dessert? ooooh...on the taco salad...right..ok...one scoop or six?....

 

Sarah came up to me after school yesterday and said:  "Guess what the kids in my class are saying now?  They're saying that I'm a lot like YOU!"  I asked her if that was a bad thing, and she said:  "Well, probably not, but do you have to be so funny in the lunch line?"  The lunch nazi may not like me, but at least the kids think I'm funny.

 

I bet the lunch nazi has a Mac.

It's been one of those days. 

 

I've heard one blogger friend of mine say:  Breathe in Jesus, breathe out love. 

 

I prefer to say:  Breathe in cream filled long johns....breathe out heartburn

 

Another friend of mine says:  Breathe in martinis...breathe out slander

 

I like two of those options right now. 

 

One bright spot of the day:  It's my dad's birthday.  63 years ago, the world became a better place.  Happy birthday Dad!

 

 

One of my teeth was cracked and so I went to be crowned this morning.  Some way to treat royalty. 

 

Every muscle in my body is sore.  I have a killer headache that I'm trying to soothe with massive amounts of espresso and advil.  I was so tense at one point, my entire body was shaking. 

 

The drilling, the smoke coming out of my mouth (YEAH...I'M SO HOT I'M SMOKIN!), the water spraying everywhere....this is one party I hope I never get invited to again. 

 

If it weren't for Joel's HUGELY cool e-mail to me, calming me down about the TRAGEDY of Jessica Simpson and John Mayer hooking up, and, for SueC calling me and dishing about how ridiculous some of the American Idol contestants are, this day would be a complete loss.