If You Give a Lizard a Magazine...

1. Pray
2. Coffee
3. Make the bed
4. Oatmeal & juice
5. Get dressed
6. Start laundry
7. BSF Moses lesson
8. Gut the pantry and start over
9. Put every single photo in an album or frame
10. Organize absolutely all of the clutter in my life



It has already been a good day and it is only 9 a.m.

This morning I woke up with a mental list of things to do. The longer the list grew, the more convinced I was that I needed to pray out loud before I did anything else. I think Beth Moore wants to shout, "Glory!" (LOVE her.)

The heat and humidity are decreasing to a level that makes it comfortable to have coffee outside. On the way to the kitchen to grab a cup, I noticed a lizard under Drew's ottoman. This time last year I climbed up on the counter until Drew could come home to catch it. Six months ago, I tried to catch one by stepping on it, only to watch it wiggle away while its tail wiggled under my big toe. Today I calmly turned around to the stack of magazines by the love seat and tore off the back cover. I gently moved the ottoman, scooped up the lizard and carried it out the back door, through the lanai and tossed it in the bushes, while praying out loud, "please don't jump on me, please don't jump on me..." (#1, check!)

Hearing the back door open brought Pavlov's ducks in from the pond. In May we had a sweet little mallard family of six that we fed for fun. They invited the neighbors and the number doubled. A few weeks later it doubled again. This morning I stopped counting at 60, and that didn't include the black ducks with red heads or the little white birds with long peckers.

As I walked back inside for bread, I realized how large the magazine stack had grown. After I chucked magazines and catalogs and lizards (#10, check!) I saw a Women of Faith devotional book that Joan had given me last year for my birthday. I carried my coffee, (#2, check!) book and yesterday's cinnamon roll (sorta #4, check!) out to my chair. The ducks wanted seconds. My conscience was clear.

I sat. I prayed. (#1, check!) I read. I counted squirrels and other critters in my view. I decided to come upstairs and blog it all down so I would remember this sweet morning.

Something happened to the SAVE NOW button and the draft was NOT auto saved. I spent the next hour trying to recover it. (#1, check!)

nada

So, I got dressed, (#5, check!) took Drew to the airport, came home and finished my lesson for Wednesday. (#7, check!)

Now I am trying to recreate what I wrote this morning. I keep thinking it was more profound than this.

I hear Monday Night Football starting downstairs and the Cowboys are playing... (#1, check!)

Color Committment

I think my life would be simpler if I had a signature color.

If you ask me what my favorite color is, I'd probably say...it depends. Am I wearing it or decorating with it? Is it a purse or a Sharpie? These things matter to me.

I still go back to my childhood of shopping for school clothes and supplies. None of this 'if the shoes fits, buy it in every color' business. We got one pair, and it had to go with everything.

My friend Debbie has a signature color. Pink. She goes for it every time. Looks darling wearing pink. Tastefully splashes pink around her Florida home. Her business/website is www.pinkfloridathreads.com. Think Debbie...Think pink.

We had a surprise party for Karen when she turned 30. The theme was, "The Lady in Red". We all wore red boas and toasted her with red champagne. Her master bedroom is elegant and bold and red. Come to think of it, Karen is elegant and bold, too! Love that lady in red.

And then there's everyone's favorite man in black, Randy. Simplified his life and laundry by going with black. Black socks, black pants, black shirts, black shoes. You get the idea. I doubt if he held color swatches up to his complexion to see if he was a winter or summer, but he chose to go with black and I celebrate his monochromatic theme.

I have the Brian Regan dilemma of having too many favorites. Grape or cherry? They're both favorites. That's not all bad, but it's frustrating when I get down to having to make a choice. Maybe I just don't want to hurt the other colors' feelings.

Orange is not my favorite color. Neither is purple. Or yellow. Don't hate 'em, just wouldn't choose something that color if I had the choice of red or pink or blue. I would have said 'not green' until they brightened it up and paired it with black and I love that green.

Last week I sent stickers to some of my little friends back in Texas. Emery (3) asked her mother what my favorite color was. Karen wasn't sure, so Emery chose the red one to wear in my honor.

Just like that, she picked red. I would still be there trying to decide between red, or pink or blue. Then you've got your gold and silver...

I can't handle the pressure!

Sunday's Other Big Show!

This is cute. Enjoy!

I can't get it to copy. Go to

http://www.bluefishtv.com/Store/Downloadable_Video_Illustrations/1571/Sports_Sunday_The_Big_Show/xcid=1005&t=popular

Stop the Paparazzi

Somebody stop the madness.

I love a good photo-op as much as the next photographer. I have some candid shots of Matt & Scott that I treasure and plan to use as entertainment for the grandchildren someday.

But a few weeks ago, I saw something that was totally over the line. It was the cover of a tabloid with the caption "Celebrity Cellulite". There were photos of celebs from the neck down and they were not pretty. I guess they identified them in the article, but it just made me mad. And it wasn't even my cellulite.

So, I have a solution. I may need to have lunch with George Clooney to hammer out all the details, but basically it goes like this; Get the well paid high profile celebs to generously fund a group of photographers (me and some of my camera happy friends) and pay us to photograph the paparazzi's mothers in unflattering situations.

I've seen the celebrities take a camera and take photos of the paparazzi. Doesn't phase them. But let me get a photo of their mamas in bikinis on the beach, and I'm telling you this outrageous behavior will come to a complete halt. Just call us ...The Stop-a-razzi! (we'll have t-shirts!)

I'm free for lunch next Friday, George. Have your people call my people.

Signage

Dear airport sign makers,

ARRIVALS and DEPARTURES ... is that your best stuff?

So far, every time I drive to the airport, I am arriving.
I may be arriving to pick up someone or arriving to drop off someone but, hello...
I'm always arriving.

Maybe they should require experience in elementary carpool signage before one gets promoted to airports.

Try DROP OFF and PICK UP, and then maybe I wouldn't have to go around and around so many times before I get it right.

On behalf of the millions of us who could avoid a panic attack if we didn't have to make that last minute decision, I thank you.

Many Not So Happy Returns

I have a love/hate relationship with Target.

Love to shop there. Hate to return anything there.

On September 1st, 2005 we spent Labor Day cleaning out our garage.I know that because it was the day I walked out of the Allen store vowing never to shop at Target again.

I had tried to return an unopened, $100 Target brand, shelf unit without the receipt. I had bought it on sale, and it was still in stock and on sale. I wasn't expecting to get cash back. I knew the merchandise credit would be spent within the week so I didn't mind lugging the thing back to the store in the 100 degree heat.

Turns out, they had a new return policy and I could only return it for something in the same department. I knew it wasn't the employee's fault so I asked to speak to a manager. Then I asked to speak to her manager. I wanted someone to explain to me why they would not issue a store credit. I had them walk me around and show me the boundaries of the shelf department. There was nothing I needed on those 2 aisles and the whole thing made me mad, so I showed them and lugged my big heavy shelf home. In the 105 degree heat.

A month later I found the receipt and took it back; still heavy and in stock and on sale only to be told that my receipt had expired.

While I was waiting for the manager (!) I called my sister so I could complain out loud to someone and still be in earshot of Target Customer Service employees and guests. It would have been more effective if she had actually answered her phone, but fortunately my improv skills kicked in and I faked a very dramatic conversation with her.

"I'm at Target and I am so upset."

"Because I need to return a box of Target brand shelves and my receipt expired about 2 weeks ago."

"I've never heard of that either. No, they weren't used. I never even opened them."

"I asked them for that and they said I could only exchange it for something in the shelf department."

"I know! It is ridiculous."

"No, I paid cash."

"That's a good idea. There should be one of those forms around here somewhere. If not, I'll just write a letter to headquarters and copy it to my e-mail address list. Maybe if enough of us boycott Target, they will get realistic about their return policy."

"The Allen paper? I guess I could write them, too."

You get the idea.

Between the letter, the fake phone call and hormone replacement therapy I began to walk in forgiveness toward Target. It also helped for Joan to bring me back to my senses by reminding me that we did most of our 12 Days of Christmas shopping there every January when they marked things down 75-90% off.

So my boycott only applies to the Allen Target. I'm sure I was the topic of conversation at their shareholders meeting the following quarter. They miss me. I know they do.

Both of our kids registered for some of their wedding (and now baby) gifts at Target. They are stuck with many duplicate or wrong size items because the gift receipt was not enclosed.

Really, Target? That's how you treat your valued customers? Engaged couples and expectant parents who bring customers into your stores through your gift registry are then assumed to be shoplifters? Don't you have every bit of personal information on them in case you need to track them down? They get one return a year without a receipt and that sounds reasonable to you?

As frustrated as I am with Target, I want to give a shout out to Michael's and Bed, Bath & Beyond for issuing store credit without a retina scan and for taking competitor's coupons, expired or not. They know the majority of their coupon customers need readers to see the fine print, and welcome our business anyway.

I'm generating a list of the best and worse places to shop, return, exchange and use coupons. Make a note next time you have a good experience. But call me if you get messed around.

I'll give you my sister's fake phone number.

ESPN (not another peein' story!)

This is Drew getting an autograph from a very famous person.

Apparently.

Drew had a bout with the flu which came with fever which turned into cabin fever, so we went out for breakfast yesterday. Matt told us that he had heard about a place on ESPN called The Broken Egg, and it sounded like it wasn't too far from our house.

The waitress asked us how we found them, and Drew said we heard about it on ESPN. Which is true, in a roundabout way. She said, "Oh yes, Mr. Vitale! He's right over there having breakfast and he would be happy to sign autographs and have his picture made with you!"

Which was great except that, well, we had no idea who Mr. Vitale was or what he looked like. She could see our blank stares and then she said, "He's the older gentleman over there...gray hair on the sides/bald on the top."

We leaned across the table to get a look. Here's the problem with that description. Every other man in Florida is an older gentleman with gray hair on the sides/bald on top. The other ones have bad toupees.

I know this because my sister detests toupees. She can spot 'em a mile away. In fact, she began to make a little "I Spy" game out of it with the boys from a very early age. "Rug alert 2:00!"

It was whispered with as little pointing and snickering as possible.

I chalked it up to aunt/nephew bonding time, and became impressed with the boys' ability to comment on hairy situations accurately. And in an age of digital clocks, I thought it helped them learn to tell time as well.

Matt didn't seem to get into it as much as Scott did. Scott had the gift. I'm not saying I'm proud of that...I'm just sayin'. He never got the whispering part down very well, so we learned new games to play in public.

Anyway, after making phone calls to the boys and being reassured that they would indeed like an autograph from Mr. Basketball, we bought a couple of his books and he signed mini basketballs for them.

He also threw in a couple of posters of himself with girls from Hooters and asked who I wanted him to personalize them for. When I said I couldn't think of anyone right off hand, he said, "Well take them and you can give them to whoever you want!"

So! John S.(preacher) and David B.(ACU Bible major), I have a couple of posters for you. Not to worry, I drew turtle neck sweaters on the girls so you can hang it in your church office or dorm room.

I heard the man is being inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame. Who new?

Awesome, Baby!

European or You're a Peein'?

Baby Mark and I were at Sam's last week.

He needed to be changed so I rolled the basket toward the restroom area. I saw the changing table right away, but didn't want to haul the infant seat, diaper bag, and my purse all the way in there, so I just grabbed the baby, diaper, wipes and changing pad, and covered the rest with my denim jacket. I could see the shopping basket over my shoulder.

We were halfway through the change when I heard a deep voice say, "Well, a woman's in there now...!" I turned and looked at the row of urinals behind me and then looked at the older gentleman standing by my basket.

"Am I in the Men's room?! I am so sorry... I'm a new grandmother and ..."

"I don't mind if you don't!" he declared, and in he walked.

"I, uh, technically we qualify to be in here since he's a boy..."

He walked to the back of the restroom and began to take care of business.

...tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...tinkle tinkle "How old is the little fella?" tinkle...

"Four months," I said. tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...tinkle, tinkle, tinkle

"Got some of those myself," tinkle, tinkle "They sure get sweet about six (tinkle, *big sigh* tinkle) months." tinkle, tinkle

Drip, drip,




Drip.

Meanwhile I've gone into warp speed wiping Mark's little bottom and trying to get out of there before I make eye contact with the man.

In his defense, I have to say, that at this point in my life, if I have to go and there is a bathroom in sight...I'm standing right there beside Mr. Tinkles, so to speak.

Sometimes it isn't easy to tell which door is which. Or they are trying to be clever with the names, so before you know it, you've confused senor with senora, and there you go.

I think there must be hidden cameras by those doors, just to catch our reactions and expressions as we realize we've made a mistake.

This time, I just wasn't paying attention.

Has this ever happened to you?

"I hav ur keys..."

I just arrived in home from a trip to Texas. Spent 10 days loving on little Mark and his parents, then flew to Lubbock to be at a luncheon honoring my mother. In the meantime, Drew flew to D.C. and Mexico City.

This time, Drew left my car at the Tampa airport with specific instructions telling me where it was parked. I was getting back Friday afternoon, and he was coming in late Saturday night. I would have the car to go home and could go back to pick him up. We had done this before and it worked out well.

My SWA flight from Lubbock stopped in Dallas and Houston. I decided to check my messages, and there in the texting spot was a message from my sister in Lubbock.

"I hav ur keys..."

I replied, "r u kiding me?"


She found them in the back of her car. Neither of us could figure out how they got back there...although it really didn't matter at that point. She immediately sent them priority mail, but that meant they would arrive in Florida Monday at the earliest. My flight was due to arrive Friday at 3:00.

A couple of my friends from church work in Tampa and live in St. Petersburg, so I tried calling them before they left for the day, but missed them. Asking anyone to come across Tampa Bay and back on a Friday afternoon was crazy, so I just took a cab home.

We had hidden a house key just in case, and I was able to get in. Since Drew's car was here, I found his extra key (in his dresser, just in case) and had transportation. He just drove himself home from the airport in my car.

There's nothing funny or creative about this story. (Well, except it reminds me that I had friends from college who thought they were having a girl, but decided they needed a boy's name, just in case. The more they thought about it, the more they liked the name Justin Case. They named him Justin, but I'm pretty sure they chose a different middle name.)

Anyway, I always had a key hidden under the bumper of the Suburban, just in case, but my new car has funky bumpers, and I never got around to hiding one. You might want to put that on your list of things to do today.

I have this vision of God holding the keys to the Kingdom, and being a bit reluctant to trust me with them. Drew was sweet about it, but I am still so frustrated with myself.

So, Lord, if you don't mind, would you make me copies and hide a set for me just outside the gate?

Just in case.

A Visitor's Guide to Acapella Music in the churches of Christ

or,

It's a church of Christ Thing...You Wouldn't Understand


We had rushed out the door five minutes later than the dad at out house thought we should have. I was putting the finishing touches on my mascara as we listened to Neil Sperry's Garden Show on KRLD, while hauling it down Central Expressway. Your basic Sunday morning routine.

I had agreed to put up a bulletin board at our church, and realized that the pictures I needed were in my picture file across the street from our church building. Since we were five minutes early (!) I had plenty of time to run across the street to the Christian church where I taught preschool and get what I needed. My 14 year old son Matt offered to go with me.

I rushed through their foyer to my classroom, got my stuff and came back to find Matt drifting into the sanctuary. The music minister was playing a song on his guitar for their communion meditation. I tapped Matt on the shoulder and signaled for him to come with me.

"Oh, Mom, did you hear that song Bruce was playing? That was so awesome! Our music is really boring sometimes." I agreed that the music was beautiful. Then he hit me with THE question. "Now, how come we don't have guitars and stuff at our church?" All of the sudden I was back in the 8th grade at a little church of Christ in Texas, asking the very same question.

Before I could respond, he added, "Why don't we just go to that church? There's nothing wrong with it, is there?" Oh, great. The OTHER question.

"No, there's nothing wrong with that church. They believe that Jesus is the son of God and worship Him as their savior just as we do. And we absolutely could walk across the street and join in their worship celebration if we wanted to. But we would be leaving the Easons, the Brumleys, the Herrings, the Englishes...people that we love like family. The people at Central Christian church would be the first ones to tell you that their congregation isn't perfect." Suddenly, I became profoundly profound. "Besides, every church has something weird about it. At least I know what the church of Christ weird stuff is. If we went to a different kind of church, I'd have to learn all new weird stuff, and I'm nearly forty, you know."

He rolled his eyes and managed to smile as I said, "I can tell you what I was told when I asked the very same questions. And you'll probably have the same reactions that I did. But, please, don't ever stop asking why we do or don't do something. I hope someday when you and Scott are elders that Christians will have a better understanding of the difference between traditions and matters of salvation."

If you're timing this conversation, then you realize that we're both late for Bible class. "We'll talk later," I said as I hurried him through the door.

Before you read any farther, I want you to know that I love our tradition of acapella music. I have been singing in Christian choruses for more than 20 years. Ken Young and Keith Lancaster are two of my heroes. What I DON'T love is our tradition of making people feel guilty about praising the Lord any other way. I wrote this in 1994 for my sons, and I suppose for myself, to put into words the feelings I had been having for years. I hope it makes you laugh, but most of all I hope it makes you think.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It has come to my attention that there may be some confusion among visitors (and some members) of the churches of Christ, regarding our official policy of acapella music. Perhaps this interview will enlighten you.

Seeker: "Is it true that you don't believe in instrumental music?"

Saint: "We believe that instrumental exists, but that it does not belong in the worship assembly."

Seeker: "But isn't your voice an instrument?"

Saint: "Yes, but it isn't a man-made instrument."

Seeker: "Didn't David the psalmist praise God with his harp?"

Saint: "That is correct. However, as far as we know only angels praised God with instruments in the New Testament. And I think it's pretty obvious where playing a harp led to with that David & Bathsheba incident."

Seeker: "Aren't pitch pipes and microphones considered instruments?"

Saint: "Don't get cute."

Seeker: "What about instrumental music at weddings and funerals?"

Saint: "If God is not being worshipped at those occasions, then it is acceptable to have accompaniment as long as the event is not being held in a building that says 'church of Christ' on the sign."

Seeker: "Huh?"

Saint: "It's really very simple. Absolutely no pianos, keyboards, guitars, drums, or trumpets are allowed in the auditorium. However, you are allowed to make your voice sound like any of these instruments with an approved sound system. In some congregations, it is permissible to tape the music on someone else's property, and then bring it into our building, as long as it is not..."

Seeker: "...in the auditorium."

Saint: "Before you start to think that we are a little hung on this issue, you will be relieved to know that in some of our more progressive fellowships, it is legal to play taped instrumental music as background noise for a slide show IN THE AUDITORIUM, as long as it occurs before the opening prayer or after the closing prayer."

Seeker: "Exactly where do you get your biblical authority for this tradition?"

Saint: "If Noah had used Ponderosa pine instead of gopher wood to build the ark, do you think God would have been pleased?"

Seeker: "I, uh, guess not."

Saint: "Well, that settles it."

Seeker: "Do you have a piano at home?"

Saint: "I took lessons for 10 years."

Seeker: "And have you ever played church hymns on the piano?"

Saint: "I know every Stamps Baxter song by heart."

Seeker: "Aren't you worshipping God in your living room?"

Saint: "Oh, on the contrary. I have trained myself very carefully to perform those songs without thinking about the words."

Seeker: "So does your church have a choir?"

Saint: "Well, we don't exactly use the 'c' word. Makes people think of robes and performances. Church is certainly no place to be entertained. 'Praise Team' is a less threatening term."

Seeker: "What about Christian radio stations?"

Saint: "Those are the only stations my kids are allowed to listen to."

Seeker: "Let me get this straight. You listed to contemporary Christian music on the radio and you sing hymns with instruments in your home."

Saint: "Right."

Seeker: "And you can sometimes use taped music of instrumental music for weddings and funerals, as long as you're not worshipping and not in a church of Christ building."

Saint: "That's right."

Seeker: And you think people who do use instruments are..."

Saint: "A preacher once told me, 'If part of the snake is bad, then all of the snake is bad'."

Seeker: "So, people who are feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, ministering to broken families all in the name of Jesus..."

Saint: "I know, it's a shame, isn't it. All that effort here on earth and it isn't going to count because they just didn't get it right."

Seeker: "But don't you think God is more concerned about out hearts than He is with our methods? Didn't He accept the Passover celebration of King Josiah even though it wasn't followed to the letter, because their desire was to honor Him?"

Saint: "Well now, if you're going to reach back into the Old Testament and pull verses out of context, then I think you're missing the point."



author's note: Does anybody else think we're missing the point?

Take THIS!

I love a good road trip. Don’t even mind driving by myself every now and then. I take that opportunity to sing to my heart’s content. I sound just like the artist of the CD I’m playing!

In January, I was driving the road between Lubbock and Dallas. There were no CD’s in the car and radio reception was poor. I did happen to catch part of a Carrie Underwood song as I left Abilene, but it quickly faded.

Not to worry. I knew a couple of her songs. I decided to sing the one about her with the little baby in the car seat. She’s driving. I’m driving. Perfect choice. I couldn’t remember exactly how it started so I jumped to the chorus, “Jesus, take the wheee-eeeel. Take it from my hand. ‘Cause I can’t do this on my own. Nah nah nah nahnah....”...okay, so maybe I don’t know that one.

But! She does the one about messing up that guy’s car. Still with the auto theme. Another perfect choice. “Right now, he’s probably doing something...something something something and Shania karaoke. Right now...(ugh!) So I dug my keys into his car. (not car), I dug my keys into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive...” (drive and side don’t rhyme, maybe it was four wheel ride) “Carved my name into his leather seeeeeats. I took a baseball bat and beat the lights...” (that can't be right) “Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats.”

That concert went nowhere fast.

Eastland was a few miles ahead, with a new WalMart, which meant clean restrooms and CD’s. So I stopped for a potty break and found the electronics department. There on the end cap was a display of new releases, and wouldn’t you know it, they had two Carrie Underwood CD’s. One was “Carrie Underwood Salutes the Grammys”. I looked on the back and “Jesus Take the Wheel” and “Right Now” were not listed. I picked up the other one. It said “A Carrie Underwood Tribute”. I checked the back and both of our greatest hits were listed, so I bought it and hit the road.

While I was at the Starbuck’s drive thru, I opened the package (grrrrrr) and popped it in. The music was a little slower than I remembered, and the intro was much longer...in fact, the entire song was instrumental. Had I bought a karaoke CD? Even better! Maybe the next trac would be of her singing the words, and then I could have my turn without her messing me up. I punched through all 18 songs...NOT ONE WORD. I pulled over and turned on the light to find the title, “A Carrie Underwood Tribute...by the Banjo Brothers. Or something like that. I bought a stinkin’ banjo CD!

I don’t hate banjos especially, but the point was to learn the words, not have “Deliverance” flashbacks. Now instead of singing “Jesus, Take the Wheel” and “Right Now!”, I’m singing, “...Take This Back to WalMart”.

RIGHT NOW!

Ode to My Neti Pot

Dinner time was all for naught.
I couldn't taste the food I bought.

My throat was sore, my head was hot,
It must have been the flu I caught.

"It's only getting worse," I thought.
So Dr. Oz's help I sought.

On Oprah's show there was a spot,
With some girl rinsing out her snot.

At closer glance, I looked at what
Was in her hand...a neti pot?!

And at the store that's what I got.
Not a penicillin shot.

Now I can breathe, since I have taught
Myself to use a neti pot.

Thank you, Neti! Thanks a lot!

Miss You, Miss the Baby, Miss Texas!

Miss You, Miss the Baby, Miss Texas!

A year ago Karla Hale asked me to speak at the RE Women’s retreat about broken dreams. She had no way of knowing that the broken dream closest to my heart at the time was that we were leaving our friends and family in Texas and moving to Florida.

That seems a little petty now, as many of you are dealing with real life and death issues. But I couldn’t imagine that not being near our kids and future grandkids was anything in God’s plan for us. I had been at the hospital when all three of the Stevens’ babies were born. What would happen if I missed being there when Matt and Scott became dads?

Matt & Kyla were expecting their first baby January 2nd. We made airline reservations for Christmas afternoon, and planned to stay with one of you(!)until baby Mark was born. When Matt called to say the doctor wanted to induce on the 31st, we were relieved that we wouldn’t have to worry about missing the birth.
On Saturday morning, December 22nd around 5:00 Texas time, Matt called to say that they had been at the hospital since 4:00 and the doctor said they were staying. In my bravest voice, I said, “Matt, that’s great!”

“It’s okay, Mom. We’ll be okay.”

Knowing our flight was still 3 days away and the drive was 24 hours at best, we sent our love and told them we’d see them Christmas afternoon. There were surely no flights available the Saturday before Christmas. I knew it was tearing Drew up, too, so I wasn’t about to ask him to try to get another flight. However, the story of the crazy astronaut diaper lady flashed across my mind, and I had no problem running to the store for a box of Depends on our way out of town.

Drew sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Let’s pray.” We prayed for them and gave Him our travel plans. Then Drew said, “I’m calling American Airlines.” Within a few minutes I heard him say, “1:00 today?!” He had told the AA rep that our daughter-in-law had gone into labor early, and she informed him that he had said the magic words which qualified us for medical emergency tickets.

Excitement mixed with panic ensued as we began to throw things into suitcases. As far as I was concerned, all I needed was my camera and a photo ID. I was calculating centimeters and averages of first baby labor hours as I was shoving my third suitcase in the trunk, when Drew ran out to the driveway with his cell phone and said, “6 lbs, 2 oz? Congratulations, son! Here’s Mom!”

It happened. The moment I thought I wouldn’t survive was playing out before me and all I could think of was, “Is he okay?”

“He’s more than okay, Mom...he’s perfect! And he can’t wait to meet his Grams and Papa this afternoon.”

I paused to see if the world was still turning, and it was. In a way, it was a little easier getting on the plane and not worrying if we would make it to the hospital in time. The baby was here. They were okay. We had tickets. We were okay.

The 2 ½ hour flight also gave me time to get a grip and realize that this was not all about me. When I start to whine about having to be a long distance grandmother, Carla Holland comes to mind. She wins. Every time. She’s my hero.

God has been so sweet to give me friends at this church who ask to see baby pictures. Again. Little friends at church who call me Miss. Texas. (Long story...Pageant officials across the state are horrified!) Girlfriends who pray with me and encourage me to take care of myself spiritually and physically. And He’s given me one especially special friend who sits on the 2nd row at church with a camera in her purse and loves on someone else’s kids. I celebrate that!

I am so thankful. Right now that’s about all my heart can feel. I know the days will come when it will feel like that baby is as far away as Africa, but for now, it’s all good. I think he’ll call me Grams.

Or, Miss Texas!

To Tattoo or Not To

I cannot believe the tattoos around here. Males and females of every age and stage of life sport some kind of permanent ink on their skin.

THESE ARE MY PEOPLE!

We credit our friends who blazed the parenting trails years ahead of us for helping us navigate the teenage waters. The mistakes we didn't make were due in part to their words of wisdom as they honestly shared their mistakes and victories in raising good kids.

One family was blindsided when their son came home from a rock concert with his ear pierced and a tattoo. They had warned him not to take candy/drugs/rides from strangers. But when they asked him why he got his ear pierced from some guy on a Harley, the reply was, "You didn't tell me not to."

So at every parting, we lovingly told our two sons to be safe, have fun and be in by curfew. AND DON'T GET ANYTHING PIERCED OR TATTOO'D.

A few years ago, my cousin Janet began to confess that she was 'having a little work done'. I had heard of permanent eyeliner, but didn't like the idea of having my eyelids stuck with needles. I'm funny that way. Not only had she done her eyeliner, she had permanent lipstick, cheek color and eyebrows. Eyebrows! That got my attention.

I began tweezing in the 70's and stopped when I saw a close-up of Brooke Shields. By then, it was too late. I had overdone it, and there was no going back. And none growing back. There were barely enough hairs there to trace with an eyebrow pencil, and if I happened to rub the wrong spot, I frightened small children with my one brow.

"If you ever have a coupon for 'buy one brow, get the other one free', call me." I half joked. The next time we were together, she surprised me with a gift certificate and an appointment for later that day. She assured me the procedure was professional and painless.

It was a comfort to see the technicians in white lab coats. And the fact that they did not also sell bail bonds was a plus. I was a little confused as to why they said I had to alert the blood bank before donating in the future, and I might not want to have an MRI anytime soon. I looked back and forth between the waiver and Janet's eyebrows. Those two, beautiful permanent eyebrows. I was in!

After the before photo, I was assisted in selecting a shape and color that complimented my face. The lines were drawn. Literally. As I reclined in the chair with a warm blanket, the humming of the tattoo tool was about to put me to sleep when suddenly I yelled for her to stop.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes. But this is too funny. I have to call my boys!"
Matt and Scott were both untattoo'd students at Abilene Christian University. They were not going to believe what I was about to do. I left messages on both of their cell phones. "Hi, this is Mom. I just wanted you to know that I am in San Antonio for the weekend getting a tattoo. Love you!"

"Okay. You may continue." Minutes later one of the boys called back. His voice was tentative as he said, "Mom?"

"Hi, sweetheart. I can't talk right now. I'm getting a tattoo."

"I'm not kidding, Mom. What are you doing?"

"I'm not kidding either. Well, actually I am getting two tattoos. But she's not finished yet, so I need to go."

"Mom. Seriously. Are you getting a tattoo?"

"Yes, I am. Seriously."

Then he turned to the crowd and yelled, "My mom is totally getting tattoo'd!" Cheers rang out from the dorm as their friends yelled, "Way to go, Mrs. McBryde! You rock!"

Finally. I rocked.

Those two weeks of itchy, vaselined eyebrows were a little uncomfortable. And I don't even use my eyebrows that often. But lips? Eyelids? OUCH! I cannot imagine how painful and expensive it must be to have an entire arm or leg done. Not to mention the places I'm not going to mention.

I'm still glad I did it. The results were worth it. And except for that unfortunate experience of having to get out of line at the church blood drive, it was all positive. I probably didn't have to yell to the crowd on the way out, "It's not because I had sex with a strangers in Africa!" But they were my friends and I thought I owed them an explanation.

Those are my people, too.

Man (not so far) From Atlantis

(This blog entry is dedicated to Karen H, whose apartment was destroyed by flaming pieces of the shuttle that dropped down her chimney. No one will actually admit it. I think it was covered up by the FBI.)

Today was a good day in Florida.

I got to watch Drew watch the space shuttle Atlantis take off! This has been a dream of his since the program began. And if he had his way, he would be on it. Or in it.

Probably the most devastating day of his childhood was when he found out he had to have glasses and his hopes of becoming an astronaut were dashed.

The only time I've seen him tear up in a movie, was the lift-off scene from Apollo 13.

We don't have passes to Disney World, but he has one to the Kennedy Space Center.

There was only a 30% chance of take off due to a thunderstorm headed that way. Since he had already cleared his calendar, we decided to go for it, and made the 2 1/2 hour drive. We watched from Titusville on the Atlantic shore. He's in front of the TV now, watching the NASA channel and reruns of the launch that he tivo'd.

Friends who have seen both say the daytime lift off is great, but it's nothing compared to seeing one at night. Tickets go on sale Monday for the Endeavour launch at 2:45 Tuesday morning.

One of the packages offers dinner with a real astronaut! (as opposed to...)

p.s. If Drew does manage to get a ride aboard the shuttle, will he be on it ot in it?

(Does That Make Me Crazy?)

I like to run over dead squirrells in the road.
There. I've said it.
(Does that make me crazy?)

When I see a dead one in the road (not live ones, mind you) and I don't have to move into oncoming traffic, I just run over it.

I wouldn't run over big animals. Dogs or cats or beavers or skunks. Well, unless Sarah S was in the car with me, and then I would hit a dead skunk because she likes the smell.
(Does that make her crazy?)

And snakes. Oh, I LOVE to run over snakes, dead or alive. I feel like I am doing the world a favor. I live by the motto, "The only good snake, is a dead snake!" (apologies to Ryan N)

When we lived outside the city limits of Austin, I was driving my little VW bug home from work one night and saw a huge rattler stretched out in the road in front of our house. I took dead aim. When I looked in my rear view mirror, it had coiled up. So I backed up and hit it again. He kept moving, so I kept trying to squash it. Then my dog, Gus came running out (pre leash law era) and I was afraid he would get too close, so I pulled in the driveway and took Gus inside.

I called a neighbor to please get his gun and shoot the snake. When he got to the middle of the road, there was a greasy spot but the snake was gone. I just had to assume that I had harmed it enough to not do too much damage.

Maybe in some way, I'm not running over cute little dead squirrells, I'm just still trying to kill that beast of a rattlesnake.

I've been thinking about what I will do when I see an alligator in the road. What if he bites my tires and there I am stuck on top of an alligator with a flat? It's illegal to shoot 'em. I already checked.

No, for now just dead squirrells and snakes, and sticks that look like snakes.

But me?

Drive over an alligator?

Are you crazy?

Baby Mark

Just wanted to put up a little photo of our grandson, Mark. He's already a month old. Matt & Kyla are so great with him.

Yesterday was Drew's 50th birthday. He is totally silly about this baby! On his 25th birthday, he was holding his 2nd son, Scott. I love that their birthdays are the same day. Yesterday, Scott called me to wish me a "Happy Giving Birth Day!"
Makes me want a piece of cake...

Attendance Folder vs Visitor's Card

This is a video our son (Matt on the right) and the worship leader (Stephen on the left) produced for their church.

Happy Brrrrrrrrrthday!

Drew and I went to Epcot today. The weather was absolutely beautiful. There were no lines, because the Christmas crowd won't arrive until the weekend. We got to hear Kirk Cameron narrate The Nativity Story. His testimony was touching.

We had dinner in Italy. A lovely restaurant with delicious food and a nice bottle of wine...the end of a perfect day, when a few tables down from us, the waiters came out to sing 'Happy Birthday' to a customer. "It's Italy!", I thought. "This will be great!" They started out a couple of octaves too high, and it went down hill from there.

Hey, Italy! If you people can't start out on the right note, then don't even bother! I know...it's a universal problem. But, Italy? Opera? Didn't DaVinci invent the pitch pipe or something?

Better yet, let's just change the official birthday song. I already have. I prefer singing it to the tune of "We wish you a Merry Christmas". "We wish you a happy birthday, etc. and a happy new year!" See? It makes sense and it doesn't sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

While we're at it, let's change the tune of The Star Spangled Banner. I am nervous for every soloist and help us all if it's acapella. Especially if it's started by an Italian.

Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin on the right note for crying out loud!

Lonely Hearts Club

I'm on an oatmeal kick. A couple of weeks ago, I ran out the door for an appointment only to find that I was 2 hours early. I hadn't had breakfast, and saw an IHOP nearby, so I HOPped on in and ordered a bowl of oatmeal. It was INSTANT. That's false advertising.

While I was pouting, I saw a tall, handsome, elderly gentleman come in with his adult granddaughter on his arm. You could tell he was so proud of her and she was especially tender with him. It's not uncommon to see older people here, but it made me think of what my dad would be like if here were still alive, so I was pleased when the waitress sat them at the booth across from me.

I don't mind eating in restaurants by myself, because if I don't have anyone to talk to, I just listen to the nearest conversation. Well, I do! Anyway, the fact that he was hard of hearing gave their exchange extra volume. Both ways.

"I'm 96 years old, and not bad looking!" he boasted.

How cute of him, I thought.

"Did you have trouble finding my place?" he yelled.

She looked around to see if he was as loud as it seemed.
He was.
"No, I got directions off of the internet."

It must be her first time here. No wonder he is so excited to see her.

"I miss having someone to talk to...just like we are doing now. This is nice. I like to travel, but since I had my pacemaker put in, I don't go by myself."

Oh,...he's lonely. Why haven't you been to see him?

"This menu looks great", she says. "I'm hungry."

"Got any kids?" he asks.

"Two girls. Eight and Ten. They live with their dad, but I get to see them once a month."

hmmmmm...this is awkward...

"I have two daughters. They only call me when they need money. Last time one called and started making small talk. I said, 'how much do you need?', and she said, "$10,000". I sent her $13,000. I've made arrangements in my will to take care of them after I'm gone. But that could change if things go well... Are you married?"

What?

"No. I wanted to, but it just didn't work out."

"It's not about the sex for me. I just want a companion. Someone to watch TV with, and go to dinner. Do you like steak? We have a pool. I don't swim much, but you could lay out in the sun if you want to..."

OH
MY
GOSH!

This isn't his granddaughter...she's...he's...ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

I asked for a refill and got out a pen & notepad. I took eavesdropping to a new level.

"I'll pay your bills and all your expenses, but I won't give you a salary. If you're looking to make $200 a week, I'm not your guy. But you'll always have a hundred dollars in your pocketbook."

"I don't have any bills," she says.

"I'm not your average Joe," he continues. "I went to college and was going to make a doctor when I joined the Navy. I was an officer for eighteen years, so I have a good military retirement. And made some good investments, so you'll have the best of everything. Do you like filet mignon?"

Talk about a paradigm shift.

"And I'm easy to get along with. The wife and I were married 65 years..."

The waitress comes by..."Honey, the toast is cold. My butter won't even melt. Take it back to the kitchen. Didn't I order grits with this? It's too late now."

I hope she takes note of Mr. Easy-going.

"...then she died and I ran into an old girlfriend who was a widow, and we decided to move in together. But she fell and broke her hip and she's laid up in rehab, so I'm alone again. Do you like Canada?"

"I know a nice place there. Do you like to dance? I'll get you some nice clothes. Where did you see my ad?"

UNbelievable.

"I have a physical therapist and a home health care nurse. I'm not looking for someone to take care of my health, I'm just lonesome."

Six cups of coffee later, the three of us get up to leave.

I always thought of Anna Nicole as a gold digger. And maybe she was. But I looked at this young woman...with no income, no education, she's been in some kind of trouble if she doesn't have custody of her own kids...and here's this man offering to take care of her...

I thought Anna's old geezer was an old...geezer. As pathetic as it sounds, this man is really just lonesome.

But the person I want to help most, is the old girlfriend who got dumped when she broke her hip. She probably fell while they were dancing in Canada. Bless her heart.

Bless all their lonely hearts.