Sometimes I Feel Like This...

"So much of me believes strongly in letting everybody live their own lives, and when I share my faith, I feel like a network marketing guy trying to build my downline." -- Donald Miller in Blue Like Jazz

It's sad, but true. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to sell Christ to people, as if He were a set of Ginsu knives. It's not that I don't believe in God, or in salvation, or in the Bible. Because I do, wholeheartedly. But sometimes you encounter somebody who obviously doesn't know God, and when you start talking about Him they get that glazed-over look in their eyes, as if they're thinking, "How long do I have to listen to this pitch before I can hang up?" I'm not ashamed of the Gospel, but I don't want to be a nudgy vendor woman, either.

5 Things

I was tagged by my buddy Megan to do this...

5 Things in My Freezer:
a stack of gallon-sized bags of spaghetti sauce (I just cooked in bulk);
some raspberry chocolate chips that I don't know what do to with;
three mini loaves of zucchini bread;
three pounds of butter, mostly unsalted;
way too much ice cream

5 Things in My Closet:
a huge stack of ill-fitting or outdated clothes that I need to donate or sell on Ebay;
the girls' old crib bedding;
a set of construction Legos for David's Christmas present;
my graduation caps and gowns;
several clumps of cat fur

5 Things in My Car:
a pile of trail mix nuts that the kids didn't eat (they devoured the raisins and M&Ms, though);
a pile of well-worn Chick-fil-A books;
some Windex Wipes so I can clean the grubby fingerprints off the windows during carpool;
a thin layer of Kevin's whiskers, since he shaves on the way to church;
a yoga mat

5 Things in My Purse/Wallet:
my new driver's license with a photo that does NOT have huge bangs;
a lipstick that's been melted a few too many times in the Texas sun;
three singles and a dime;
a coupon holder dedicated to grocery store items;
a coupon holder mostly dedicated to Chick-fil-A, but also to bowling alleys, dry cleaning, and other local eateries

5 Things Most People Don't Know About Me:
I wish I could sing well enough to try out for American Idol;
I want to be a drummer in heaven's alternative Christian rock band;
I do impersonations of people I know (Kevin really likes this fact about me. He's pretty much the only person who sees me in action);
every aptitude test I ever took said I was supposed to be an engineer -- my math SATs were 200 points above my verbal SATs -- yet I became a writer anyway;
I danced in the halftime show at Super Bowl XXI

5 Books I've Recommended in the Last Few Years:
Blue Genes by Paul Meier (it's helped me understand my struggles with depression);
The Ishbane Conspiracy by Randy Alcorn;
Heaven by Randy Alcorn;
Looking for God in Harry Potter by John Granger;
Created to Be His Help Meet by Debi Pearl

5 Books I've Bought But Haven't Read Yet:
The Cross Examination of Jesus Christ by Randy Singer
The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life by Hannah Whitall Smith
Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller
The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel
Candle in the Darkness by Lynn Austin

5 Things I Should Be Doing Instead of Blogging Right Now:
finishing up the laundry;
packing for our trip;
boxing up the stuff I just sold on eBay;
writing a reading passage for my job;
dealing with the disaster zone upstairs

5 People I Tag to Do This:
the Kwans
Stephanie
Paul
Amy
anyone else? Let me know so I can read 'em.

The Good and the Bad

This has been an utterly crazy week!

The Good:
I finally got to ride the Great White rollercoaster at Sea World. Kevin's parents were in town, so we all went for the day. We were able to leave the kids with Grandma and Grandpa for half an hour so we could get our adrenaline rush. Totally fun ride until...
The Bad:
The brake system was a little faulty at the end. Instead of coasting to a stop, we slammed short and Kevin's neck hurt for a while. Not a good memory for Kevin since he's already a bit squeamish about rollercoasters.

The Good:
We bought David's "big boy bed." He slept in it for the first time last night and did really well, although he was sleeping sideways when I checked on him this morning.
The Bad:
Buying a mattress is pretty much the same experience as buying a car. The salesman actually took a $100 bill out of his wallet, laid in on the table, placed a sample of "protectant" on the bill, and then poured colored liquid onto the bill. All this was just to prove his point that we needed to spend another $75 for a protective sealer, which I could do myself with a $4 can of Scotch Guard.

The Good:
Now that David's in his big boy bed, we can finally switch the kids' bedrooms around upstairs. The girls needed to move across the way so they could have the dual bathroom.
The Bad:
Kevin decided to start moving the kids' furniture at 7:30 last night. Which means the kids didn't get to sleep until after 9:30. Which means I'm anticipating a meltdown later today. Thankfully, we have a copy of "Chicken Little" from the library and they can zone out when they start to get cranky.

The Good:
I have been gainfully employed the last two weeks. I've gotten several decent mystery shops and got to take Kevin on a date to Outback. I also had to do a shop at Rolling Oaks Mall for a kids' event, and Kendra won a Cabbage Patch baby. Actually, she won a personal video disc player (not the same as a DVD player), but we traded with a 9-year-old boy who won the Cabbage Patch. Both kids were pretty darn happy with that trade. Americans should barter more -- it's fun.
The Bad:
Working is good, but not when it all comes at once. In addition to all the mystery shops, I'm also scrambling trying to finish the six reading passages that I need to write for my other job. It's been a little stressful and I'm not getting enough sleep.

We're leaving on vacation to California on Wednesday. Pray for peaceful flights and flexible children!

Kid Quote Contest

This is for Alex, the Amys, Megan, Stephanie, my sisters, and all my other mom friends whose kids say the funniest things. Write down what they say, and submit the funniest and/or most poignant ones to this contest. The winning quotes are made into adorable greeting cards. Your child gets a little cash and a lot of recognition!

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.

When my Granddad died, my father sold his box seats at Dodger Stadium. My father had four daughters, and he probably thought his girls wouldn't be able to appreciate the joys of baseball. He was wrong.

Sometime in the early-80s, my dad and I started going to Dodger games together. Our family life was unstable, but my dad and I found that we could have some semblance of a relationship by sharing baseball. On warm summer nights he'd come home from work, pick me up, and we'd make the short drive to Dodger Stadium. I loved driving the last stretch up the hill, where a sheer cliff flanked the right side of the road. Maybe my excitement was partially fear of a rockslide, but I did love the drive.

When we got to the Stadium, we'd get a couple of Dodger Dogs before finding our seats. (Dodger Dogs are the only hot dogs worth eating, by the way.) I'd get a Diet Coke, my dad would get a beer, and we'd take our seats, which were usually along the first baseline. The sun was always blinding, at first, but eventually the sun would dip behind the scoreboard and the round, orange Union 76 gasoline sign that stood on top. From that vantage we would watch the game and catch glimpses of the celebrities who were in attendance that day.

My dad taught me how to read the box scores. I learned all the terminology. I listened to the legendary Vin Scully announce the games. I ate Cracker Jack and ice cream and joyfully sang during the seventh inning stretch. I became a huge fan of Steve Sax, Orel Herschiser, and even Fernando Valenzuela. Mostly, though, I learned how to sit still during the very long stretches where nothing seemed to happen. I learned to appreciate the steady, slow rhythms of baseball. And occasionally, my dad and I would have a good conversation about something other than the game itself.

One of my clearest father/daughter childhood memories was in 1988. My parents were on the verge of divorce, and my mom and I had already moved into an apartment. I was a senior in high school and acted like my dad barely existed. He reached out, though, and invited me to Game 1 of the World Series against the Oakland A's. We had incredible seats between homeplate and first base. We were four rows behind Kareem Abdul Jabbar. The governor was there. The whole stadium was buzzing with excitement, yet my father and I barely spoke during the game. There was an enormous, unspoken tension between us that baseball could not heal. By the ninth inning I couldn't wait to go home.

But then an ailing Kirk Gibson emerged from the dugout, took the plate, and made an amazing, miraculous three-run homer that brought the Dodgers from behind and gave us the win. I remember watching the crowd go nuts and seeing my dad's face. He was happy for the win, but his face showed the strain of our broken family and fractured relationship. It remained one of the many unspoken moments between us, but I think I understood a bit more about my dad that night. He had screwed up our family, but he was aware of his mistakes. He didn't know how to express it, but I think he was sorry about his inability to fix things. I probably didn't express enough appreciation at the time, but I was honored that my dad chose to invite me to the game as opposed to any of his friends.

My dad lives alone now, and I only see him once a year. When I visited him last summer, he enormous television was showing a Dodger game. The screen looked off-color, though, and after a few minutes I realized that Steve Garvey was playing. My dad was watching a replay of an old Dodgers game on ESPN Classic. I don't understand why he'd want to watch a game from 30 years ago, but maybe he was trying to come to terms with his own life, too. Baseball just happens to be his medium.

And now, for sheer love of the game, here's a link to my favorite speech from one of my favorite movies, Field of Dreams. James Earl Jones could never have given this speech about any other sport.

Caelyn's Latest Word Picture

Five-year-old Caelyn had a stomach ache this morning. "It's like there's a scorpion inside my tummy that's pinching me." She's a little wordsmith, she is. I'll bet she becomes a writer.

Stuff on My Cat

The kids and I have discovered a hilarious website: www.stuffonmycat.com
The basic premise is that cats are even better when you stack stuff on them. Every morning we check out the new photos and giggle.
We're so entertained by the pictures that we've started dressing up our own cat. Poor Zelda has been extremely tolerant, and here's our favorite shot so far.

Favorite Kid Quotes of Late

My kids are always cracking me up with their clever language usages, but I think Caelyn is the most creative. Here are some of her latest quotes:

"Sometimes I'm just melting with happiness!"

"When I get sick, it's like there's a volcano in my tummy that comes out my mouth." (Now there's a vivid picture.)

Then again, Kendra asks the most profound questions, such as:

"Can presidents come back to life?" and

"Why didn't God make all our fingers the same size?" and

"Can a shark's head come up through the toilet and bite me?"

Recent Escapades, Part Three -- SAPD Not Involved

In yet another blip on my screen of bad luck, our mailbox was demolished by a runaway truck last week. A neighbor is building a pool, and the excavators forgot to set the brake. The truck rolled down the street and smashed into our front yard, taking out both our and our neighbor's mailboxes. Thankfully, the kids weren't outside playing. Also thankfully, the excavators have already written a check to fully pay for the replacement mailboxes, which cost over $500 a piece. Until then, I have to drive to the local post office to pick up our mail.

Recent Escapades with the SAPD -- Part Two

Remember the huge garage project I did to surprise Kevin? (He really, really liked it, by the way.) While the paint was drying, I had to park my minivan in the driveway. And here's what happened:

On the Saturday after VBS, I went out for some much-needed alone time. I went shopping, and while I was in Rack Room Shoes (the scene of David's escape; see previous post), I found a super-cheap and fairly cute black purse. I bought it and immediately switched my wallet and cell phone into the new black purse since I was wearing black pants and shoes.

When I came home that night, I brought my old brown purse into the house out of habit. I didn't really think about bringing in the new black purse. Big mistake.

The next morning I went outside with the kids to load up for church. Right away, I noticed that the passenger's window was shattered. I went inside, told Kevin, and asked what would have caused the window to break. Sometimes I'm just so stinking naive, but Kevin once broke a window just from the vibration of his lawnmower, and he did mow the lawn on Saturday, so my thoughts were on that path.

Suddenly it dawned on me that this was an act of vandalism, and that I didn't know where that black purse was. I did a quick search of the house and confirmed that, yes, we'd been robbed.

It only took 90 minutes to call the police and file a report, and then call all the credit card companies to cancel the cards. Several informed me that they had already red-flagged my card since they had noticed unusual activity on the cards. I haven't seen all the statements yet, but it looks like the thieves had a good ole time buying beer at gas stations and getting some electronic equipment at Walmart.

Later that week, the SAPD called me to say they had "recovered" my wallet at the Valero down the street from my house. I went to the police station to pick it up, and some of my cards were still in there. My driver's license is MIA, so some hoodlum is probably using it to get into bars. There were also some credit cards that didn't belong to me in my wallent. Some poor bloke named Steven B. Harwood also got burglarized, I guess, by the same guys. But, at least I got my Costco card back and a few other things. All the cash was gone, but the thieves didn't take my coins. I suppose they aren't interested in small change when they were busy racking up hundreds of dollars of fraudulent purchases.

And here's a tip: The DPS office in New Braunfels is not any faster than the location on Perrin Beitel. I waited an hour with three kids to get a replacement license, and the New Braunfels office didn't have any chairs to sit on. Can't wait to see that new license photo, considering I was rather frazzled and David was pulling on my shorts.

Recent Escapades with the SAPD - Part One

When you become a mother, you automatically join this private club of women. It's an unspoken club, but it exists, nonetheless, of every woman who has a child. There are subsets in this club: Adoptive moms, moms over 40, moms who gave birth without an epidural (I'm in that one, twice over).

I'm the newest member of this subset: Mommies who have lost their child in a public place. I'm also a member of this secondary subset: Mommies who had to call the Police Department when their child got lost.

Yup, that's me. Mother of the Year.'

The Situation: The kids and I were at Rack Room Shoes looking for summer sandals for me. Kendra was supposedly helping me by looking for shoeboxes with my shoe size. (Hey, when you wear a size 11 you get pretty excited when there's actually a shoe in your size.) Caelyn was supposedly in charge of David. Not the best plan, but that's what was happening.

After 30 minutes and several directives to the girls to "please go get your brother and bring him to me," I was checking out at the register. David came up to me with a random box of shoes that he had pulled off a shelf, somewhere. I told him "no touch" and said we were going to leave in a minute. He pouted when I took the shoes away from him and walked off toward the girls.

One minute later, I tell the girls that we are leaving. "Where's David?" I ask. The girls say they don't know, so we make rounds around the store looking for him. After circling the store 3 times, I ask an employee to help me find my son. She checks the storeroom and then says, "Do you want me to call the police?" I can't even tell you how stressed I was beginning to feel. I don't even think I answered her. I just told the girls to stay there with this nice worker and I darted out the front door and started running up and down the strip mall.

When I came back into the store, everything converged within seconds. The employee was on the phone with SAPD trying to describe David's clothes (the girls were helping her and actually remembered what David was wearing). Just as the employee was asking me how to spell my last name, the other worker calls out, "Hey, I think he's in your van."

I ran to the window and yes, David's head is now peeking out of the the sliding door on the minivan. He was rather sweaty, since he'd apparently been sitting there for several minutes watching me run up and down the sidewalk.

The employee told the police that we'd found David just before she gave him our name. I was saved from public humiliation at the police department, at least. I quickly thanked the workers, gathered up the girls, and practically ran out of the store. I don't think I started crying until we'd gotten on the highway.

A truly horrible experience, but I'm grateful for several things. I'm grateful that the car was parked immediately in front of the store, not across the parking lot. I'm grateful, strangely enough, that the car was somehow unlocked so David could get in and be in a relatively safe place.

This Is How Tired I Am

I just poured myself a glass of milk, got out a clean bowl, and then poured cereal into the glass of milk. I wanted cereal, but I'd rather eat it out of a bowl.

Why am I so tired? In the last four days I have:
1. Removed everything (and I mean everything) from the garage. This included all the tools, toys, shelves, and Kevin's makeshift workbench that was resting on cinderblocks. I hauled most of it into the house except for the lawn equipment and kids' toys, which are in the backyard. When you walk into my foyer, you are greeted by our second refrigerator. Our dining room is filled with boxes and boxes of garage junk.
2. Degreased, cleaned, etched, cleaned, powerwashed, squeegeed, powerwashed again, squeegeed again, powerwashed a third time, vacuumed the remaining etching dust from, primed, and painted our garage floor. It looks great, but I may have to apply a second coat tomorrow afternoon.
3. Purchased, loaded, unloaded, and assembled the biggest, heaviest garage shelving units I've ever seen. The assembly was kind of fun, actually.
4. Taken care of all the needs and a few of the wants of my children single-handedly, as Kevin is in San Diego enjoying dinner cruises in the bay. Not fair.
5. Gotten up at 6:30 every morning to get us all to church by 8:15 for VBS, where I've spent 4 hours every day running the Preschool Games & Activities for 50-plus squirrelly kids, ages 3-5. Lesson learned for next year: Three-year-olds do not want to play organized games. Also, not all three-year-olds know their names.
6. Dealt with an insanely unwanted ant infestation in my pantry. This required the removal and sanitation of all my plastic storage containers. Why do I have 100 Rubbermaid and Ziploc food containers? The ants are dead, the pantry's clean, and I now have an accurate inventory of the insulin-inducing amount of carbs in there.
7. Gotten by on less than 6 hours of sleep a night.

This entire garage redo is Kevin's belated Father's Day present. He doesn't know I'm doing it, and I'm really hoping he is happy about it all. He was strangely fond of his workbench that he found on the sidewalk, but it was time for something useful and space efficient. Hopefully when he gets home after midnight tonight he will not be upset by the amount of sheer clutter in the house as he tries to navigate his way from the front door to the living room. The garage floor won't be fully dry until Saturday, at which time I will haul everything back and place it all in labeled boxes on the shiny new shelves. Maybe Kevin will have mercy on me and help a little.

For now, I'm going to enjoy my glass of cereal (current favorite? Basic 4) and hit the sack. I've got to be at church in 10 hours.

My Latest Curriculum Passage/Short Story

I vividly remember the first time I realized we were different. Not a different race or religion or anything like that. No, we were different because of our mismatched furniture.

I was in the second grade, 8 years old, and I was having my first sleepover. My mom dropped me off at my friend Gracie’s house on Friday evening. We were supposed to have pizza with her family and then watch a movie. I had just taken a bite of my second slice of pepperoni when it suddenly hit me.

“All your chairs are the same!” I blurted out, my mouth full of melted cheese.

Four pairs of eyes stared at me like I had just sprouted green hair. Mrs. Morgan was the first to break the silence by asking, “What did you say, dear?”

“All your chairs are the same,” I repeated. “The chairs we’re sitting in. They all match.”

Again, the Martin family stared at me with confused expressions. “Of course they match,” Mrs. Morgan said. “The table and chairs are a set. They’re supposed to match.”

“Oh,” I said meekly. I decided to change the topic by asking what movie we were going to watch later. Then, hoping to deflect the attention off me, I took another bite of pizza and pretended to be extremely interested in the pattern of the tablecloth. Nobody brought up the chairs again, and I survived my first sleepover without further embarrassment.

When my mom picked me up the next morning, I waited until we got home before I mentioned the chairs. But as soon as I walked into the kitchen, I saw that yes, indeed, we were different. None of our chairs matched. Instead of a set of six, nicely matching chairs like the Morgans had, we had six chairs of differing heights, styles, and colors. I couldn’t believe that I had never noticed this before. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t realized that this was, you know – weird.

My mom saw me quizzically staring at the kitchen table and asked what I was thinking about. “The chairs,” I answered. “How come they don’t match?”

“Match what?” she asked.

“Each other!” I said in a tone of voice that usually wasn’t tolerated at my house. “Aren’t chairs supposed to match each other?”

My mom told to me to sit down. I automatically chose my favorite chair -- the ladder-back one with the woven seat. My mom sat in the dark mahogany chair with the wrought iron legs. She folded her hands, sighed, and then asked what I thought of the Morgan’s chairs. I shrugged my shoulders and said they were nice.

My mom pressed on. “Okay, nice,” she said. “But what made them nice? What did they look like?” I didn’t know. I said they were brown, and they matched the table.

My mom said that yes, most people buy chairs and tables in a set and that yes, they usually match each other. She said there was nothing wrong with buying furniture that way. But then she posed this question: "Which one of these chairs is your favorite, Becca?"

That's easy, I thought. I told my mom that I was sitting in my favorite chair.

"Right,” she said. “That’s always been your favorite chair. That was a chair from your grandfather’s store.” My mom reminded me how I used to love going into Grandpa’s store and help him stock the shelves with merchandise. I’d forgotten that, since my Grandpa had retired several years ago and had sold the store. I didn’t realize that I loved this old chair because it reminded me of my grandfather.

“What about the other chairs?” I asked. “Where did they come from?”

One by one, my mother told me the story behind each chair at our table. The green chair was from the restaurant where my dad had proposed to my mom. Just before they got married, my dad went to the restaurant and asked if he could buy one of the chairs. He gave the chair to my mom as a wedding present. Smiling, my mom said the chair always reminds her of how much my daddy loves her.

Then my mom told me about the formal-looking armchair that had an embroidered seat cushion. My great-grandmother had made it. The design had red roses and green foliage and tiny, intricate swirls of gold in the background. She had needle pointed eight seat cushions, exactly the same, and they had been around her dining room table when my dad was growing up. When she died, all the surviving family members took a chair to remember her by. This was my dad’s favorite chair, and now I understood why.

When my mom had finished telling me the history behind all the other chairs, I realized that we weren’t different because our furniture didn’t match. In fact, I wouldn’t want a set of perfectly manufactured chairs like the Morgans had. Their furniture was pretty, but ours had character. Each of these chairs represented a piece of our family history, and that’s something you can’t buy in a store.

More Recent Reads

I'm officially done with Karen Kingsbury books. I just read her latest, Even Now. Yet another ridiculous plot! If your daughter runs away from home, and you spend 18 years searching for her, wouldn't you think to go through the box of journals in her room? Maybe, just to find a pertinent clue? No, not in Karen Kingsbury land, where parents conveniently wait until the dad is dying of cancer so we can have a Hollywood reunion scene.

Karen Kingsbury always has something like this in her books. In the Baxter family series, one daughter takes an AIDS test which comes out positive. Instead of getting a second test, even though everyone in her family and doctor's office tells her to do so, she stops living her life, cuts off all her relationships, blah blah blah. Of course she finds out later that the AIDS test was a false positive and all this heartache could have been prevented. But realistically, if you were told you were HIV positive, wouldn't you get a confirmation and then start guzzling AZT drugs? Again, not in Karen Kingsbury land.

On the other hand, I really liked Randy Singer's Self Incrimination. Great courtroom novel about an abusive father who's shot in his home, and the step-daughter confesses. Can't say too much more, but it was highly entertaining even though I figured out the whodunnit pretty early on.

Recent Reads

I'm a bibliophile, so much so that I can't even keep track of what I've read and what I haven't. Just to help my memory a bit, I've started keeping a loose log of the books I've read. In no particular order, here's the short list of what I've read in the last six months or so:

Daughter of the Loom by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller. A historical fiction about the Massachusetts textile mills in the 19th century. I love historical fiction, and this one was pretty good.

So Far From Home: The Story of Mary Driscoll, an Irish Mill Girl by Barry Denenberg. Another historical fiction book about the Lowell, Mass., textile industry.

Cape Refuge, Southern Storm, River's Edge, and Breaker's Reef all by Terri Blackstock
These were four novels in a series about an East Coast island town. Christian suspense, I guess you'd call it. Decent fiction, although a character's name is changed from book one to book two. I emailed the author and she said it was a huge mistake on the editorial side.

Redemption, Remember, Return, Rejoice, and Reunion, all by Karen Kingsbury. The whole Baxter family series. Slightly predictable, but I really liked this series. Always a sucker for happy endings.

Fame and Forgiven, both by Karen Kingsbury. A second series about the Baxters, but this time focusing on their long-lost son turned Hollywood actor. The series is getting pretty cheesy, but I'm still going to finish it when the next few come out.

Dying Declaration, Irreparable Harm, and Directed Verdict, all by Randy Singer. Singer is kind of a Christian John Grisham. These are fun courtroom novels. One of them has a ridiculous character who is a Cambodian refugee who speaks flawless English and uses phrases like "Technicolor." What ESOL Cambodian refugee would know that word? The courtroom scenes are mighty fun, though.

Blink by Ted Dekker. An outlandish plot about a Berkeley genius who can see multiple futures, each one slightly different based on certain actions or inactions. His mission is to save a Saudi Arabian princess who's run away to the States to avoid an arranged marriage to a tyrant. Within a week, both she and the agnostic protagonist find each other and Christ. What lifetime Muslim would so quickly dump her heritage and jump to Christianity? Implausible, for sure.

Hoot by Carl Hiaasen. OK, this is in the juvenile fiction section of the library. Disney just came out with the film version, which I haven't seen. The novel was quirky and fun and definitely has Disneyesque scenes.

I know I've read more, but I'm blanking right now. I'll add more when I can remember what the books were.

Lessons I've Learned This Week

This has been a very frustrating couple of weeks, and now that I'm past it I need to reflect.

A quick summary: Sweet Caelyn's birthday was on May 15. She was turning 5 and really wanted a party. I planned on May 13, but her friend Casey had already planned her party for the same day. So we switched to May 20, but her friend Olivia had already planned her's for that morning. So, we settled on the afternoon of May 20. Not the best timing, since this was going to be an outdoor party and it would likely be 90+ degrees, but Caelyn's other friends had trumped our plans.

I handed out the invitations, and didn't hear from most people. Two people called to say they were coming (thanks, Mrs. James and Mrs. Mayo). Some gave me a verbal thumbs-up. Most just didn't respond. It's very difficult to plan party activities and favors if you don't know who's coming.

The day before the party, we heard from two people who now couldn't come even though they previously said they could. We heard from one person who said they'd be arriving late. On the day of the party, one person called to back out.

I tried not to be upset, but I was really frustrated with the whole situation. Individually, most of these people had valid excuses for not being able to come after all. Cumulatively, though, it felt like Caelyn was getting shafted. Only 5 of her friends came, four of which she'll never see again because they were pre-school friends and they'll all be at different schools next year. Only one of her church friends came.

So, here's what I've learned.

1. Always call to RSVP to a party. If you can make it, say so. If you can't, call early enough so the hostess can actually make plans.
2. If you say you're going to be there, don't back out at the last minute unless it's a true emergency. (I'm not speaking to you, Amy. And I appreciate your phone call.)
3. Caelyn has the ability to have a great time no matter what the circumstances. She missed her friends who couldn't come, but she was a great little hostess to her friends who did.

Maybe this was payback for me being a poor RSVPer in the past. In college I was invited to leadership dinner at the Vice President for Student Affair's house. I never got around to RSVPing, and at the last minute my friends convinced me that I should go and it would be OK for me just to show up. I did, and Dr. Grissom made a public joke about me being a party crasher since I hadn't RSVPed. I was wholly embarrassed, but I learned my lesson.

These Are A Few of My Least Favorite Things

In an homage to The Sound of Music...

Waiting in long lines at Target or Walmart
Squeaky loose wheels on my HEB cart
Discovering my car door is covered in dings
These are a few of my least favorite things

Wasting two hours in the doctor's office
Only to find out that it's just a virus
Searching through trash cans to find my lost ring
These are a few of my least favorite things

E-mail spam and annoying chain letters
Getting a snag on my brand new silk sweater
Roasting in carpool when it's ninety degrees
Things are a few of my least favorite things

Toenail fungus, toddler tantrums,
TV shows that are crass and impure
When I'm depressed by my least favorite things,
I ask God to bring the rapture.

A Random Reading Passage

I have nothing interesting to write about, so I thought I'd share one of my latest reading passages. This one is for the State of Pennsylvania's 3rd grade achievement test, so keep in mind the intended audience is 9 years old.

The Street Vendor

Saturdays are the best. I get to sleep in, and I always wake up to the smell of pancakes. When I finally get up, Daddy’s sitting at the kitchen table. “’Mornin’, sleepyhead,” my Daddy always says. On Saturdays I get to put as much syrup as I want on my flapjacks. Daddy pretends not to notice how my pancakes are drowning. He just winks and sips his coffee.

Later in the day, I have to go to my piano lesson. Daddy holds my hand as we walk through the city. Mrs. Kutz’s studio is seven blocks from our apartment. I have my lesson while my dad read his newspaper. After an hour, Mrs. Kutz always says, “Bravo, Amelia! You are playing nicely!” My dad smiles, folds up his newspaper, and holds out his hand. Arm in arm, we walk home.

My favorite part of Saturday is walking through the city. Sometimes I close my eyes and let Daddy’s hand guide me. When my eyes are closed, I can hear things I don’t usually notice. I can always hear the cars honking and the people shouting. But when my eyes are closed, I notice how the pigeons talk to each other while they sit on the benches. I notice how the bell on Wilson’s Grocery door sounds different than the bell at the hardware store.

Sometimes when I listen real close, I can hear the squeaky wheels on the Hot Dog Man’s cart. The Hot Dog Man is a street vendor. He has a cart on wheels with a big, striped umbrella for shade. He stands next to his cart on the corner and shouts, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!”

Every Saturday on the way home from piano lessons, we stop at the Hot Dog Man’s cart. When the street vendor sees us coming, he stops shouting. He smiles at me and says, “’What’ll it be, little lady?” This seems like a silly question to me. I ask for a hot dog and Daddy gets one too. I like mine plain, but Daddy puts mustard on his. We sit down on a bench and eat our lunch.

One day after eating our hot dogs, I had a thought.

“What’s the Hot Dog Man’s name?” I asked my dad.

“I don’t know, sweetie. Why?”

“Because we talk to him every Saturday, but we don’t know his name,” I said. This bothered me because I know everyone’s name. The boy who delivers the newspaper is Harold. The mail carrier is Anna. I even know the name of the lady who cuts my hair, and I don’t like getting haircuts.

I thought and thought, and finally I decided to find out. I marched right up to the Hot Dog Man. He was yelling, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!” But when he saw me, he leaned over and said, “You still hungry, little lady?”

I took a deep breath and asked, “What’s your name?” The Hot Dog Man looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows, and then he burst out laughing. Finally, he shook my hand and said, “The name’s Gary, little lady.” I smiled and ran back to Daddy.

We still see the Hot Dog Man every Saturday. We always buy two hot dogs, and we always sit on the bench to eat them. The street vendor still calls me “little lady.” But now, I can say, “Thank you, Gary,” when he hands me my hot dog. Then Gary always winks at me, like we have a secret.

An April Fool's Anniversary

Today is the 13th anniversary of Kevin's and my first date. We were working at the Trinitonian, our college newspaper, and I was pasting down an ad for AMC Theatres. (On a side note, I really miss that old wax machine that we used to paste down the galleys. The melted wax smelled so good! But, I digress...) I was bemoaning to my coworker Lisa that I hadn't been to a movie in ages, and Kevin pipes up, "Yeah, we should go to a movie sometime." I didn't really think he was asking me out, so I didn't exactly respond. I just finished up my work and went back to my dorm room.

A couple hours later, Kevin called and officially asked if I would see a movie with him that night. I was a little surprised, and I said I already had plans with my suitemate. Kevin sounded rather crushed and I felt sorry for him, so I said I could cancel my other plans. He said he'd come pick me up after his Catholic Student Group meeting, around 8 p.m. he thought.

Kevin called after 8 to say his meeting was running extremely long. He said he'd get there as soon as he could. I think he finally showed up sometime after 10, maybe closer to 11. I was annoyed, but again, I felt sorry for him. We ended up watching "Sneakers" in my room sitting on the floor. It was hardly what I call a date, and I certainly wasn't overwhelmed with affection and admiration for Kevin at the time! Still, that's the story of our beginnings. The fact that it was on April Fool's Day is just an ironic symbol of our entire relationship since, I think!

Fallout from the Doctor's Visit

It seems Caelyn and David picked up a virus from their visit to the doctor last Friday. Both of them were up last night urping. It was a loooong night! Looks like it's gonna be a laundry day.

When she wasn't shrieking, Caelyn actually had a great attitude during her sickness. Favorite quote after one urpy episode: "At least it didn't get in my nose that time!"