If you prayed for the conference I attended last weekend, let me tell you God answered every single request and THEN SOME! What an amazing day it was! The women were warm and welcoming and very receptive. We shared a beautiful day together amid God's healing spirit. I find committed, like-minded, beautiful women everywhere I go. Something about that gives me great hope.
And if that weren't enough, I spent Saturday evening with two amazing women, hashing over the troubles of life together, offering love and support and hope. It was like everything we'd talked about during the day was perfectly illustrated in the deep sharing that night. It left me floating for a few days at the beautiful plan God has designed in friendship, in giving us people to help us on this journey, to point us in the right direction, His direction.
God is smart.
And speaking of dear companions for the journey, I spent a few days away with some wonderful friends this week too. (Don't worry about my husband. He's a big boy. All this time away will make him appreciate me more, right? Besides, this time I left him some food. You should be more worried about Elmo. No one attends to that poor animal when I'm gone.)
I'd give you the highlights, but we have a sworn oath: What happens at the lake, stays at the lake.
Just don't let your imagination go wild.
I'm having an eyelash problem.
Yes, it is that serious. I have tried probably 6-10 different eyelash curlers and STILL my eyelashes don't stay curled. They're up and gorgeous for all of ten seconds and then they fall flat. Apparently my eyelash hairs did not inherit the same natural curl of my head hairs. I think they did get the coarseness though. Could it be they are so coarse that when I add mascara they are just too heavy to stay up? And don't even suggest I use less mascara. I already have one gray eyelash. I simply cannot take the chance of it being seen.
This is a problem because when my eyelashes don't stay up, my eyes look droopy, like I'm not quite ready for the day. There is no bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in this chicka. (Wait, what does bushy-tailed look like? I might have that.)
Oh, the issues of my life. Don't you feel sorry for me?
Don't ask me why, but Princess Dawdle has always been a big fan of birthday cake flavored stuff, you know, the birthday cake ice cream (ew!) or birthday cake M & Ms (isn't that sacrilegious?! blehk!)
While I was gone over the weekend, she had a friend over and they tried a Pinterest recipe for birthday cake cookie dough. Apparently it was fantastic (I would not try it in order to corroborate!) and when she came home from school on Monday she wanted to make some more.
Me: Well, you could, but you'll have to wash the bowl you used. You didn't really clean up after yourself before and I just stuck it in the dishwasher.
Princess Dawdle paused for a long time, peering into the pantry, salivating at the birthday cake mix calling her name, but thinking long and hard.
Princess Dawdle: I'm not sure I want it THAT bad!
Oh brother. She ended up shutting the pantry door and starting on her homework instead. Later in the evening, AFTER the dishwasher had run, I heard the mixer going. Mmmm hmmm. Grrrrrr.....
I sat across the booth from Kevin watching him eat a Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich. The fried chicken breast, the cheese oozing out on every side, the white fluffy bun--all things I don't let myself eat. And I was a little jealous.
Me: That looks like a really good sandwich.
And he laughed at me. I wanted to smack him because he can eat stuff like that and not worry about it settling on his hips, but then he explained himself.
Kevin: That's an old person thing to say. They're always talking about their food and their medications.
Then I accidentally plopped a glob of mustard on my pants and as we were walking out I had to agree with him.
Me: I talk about food and dribble on myself. I guess I am old. Sigh.
And he laughed again. I don't know why he finds me so entertaining, but I'm glad he does. He's kinda stuck with me.
My dryer has completely stopped making noises! No squealing, no chirping, just the pleasant hum I know and love. I can't explain it. Perhaps it ate a sock that roamed around the inside and got trapped around a belt or something. But where is it now? Did it just get disintegrate with the rubbing of the belt? And if that's the case, why haven't I heard that squealing before? I've had PLENTY of socks eaten by the dryer. Do you feel my pain? Ladies Man's socks are particularly prone to this malady. Drummer Boy's were now too, come to think of it. Then again, I never did any field research to see if all their socks actually made it to the hamper. I wasn't too crazy about picking up those sick nasty things with my bare hands you know. Plus the rule at my house is: I'm happy to do your laundry, but it has to make it to the laundry room. I won't go looking for work!
I fear one day, when I finally gear up the oomph to deep clean my house and clear out all the stuff my kids left behind, I'm going to find hundreds of lone socks. They will snicker at me feeling they've won the Great Laundry Battle. Sorrow will overcome me thinking of the money spent replacing socks that were here all along. Through tears I'll fill garbage bag after garbage bag of socks with no match, chiding myself for not having the patience over the years to wait for the other half to show up. The socks will mock me whispering, "ha ha ha, we got you" and I'll rack my brain for days to find ways to recycle these stray strips of fabric.
Maybe my dryer is letting off some kind of fumes as it disintegrates socks . . .
Guess who has a birthday this weekend?
Yes, this guy. MY guy. The guy I can't live without. And do you know what this means?! This means I finally get to see all my kids tonight! I'm looking WAYYYY forward to it! Hey honey, thanks for being born so I can stay in contact with our offspring.
Seriously, though, I am grateful you were born. I can't imagine who I would be if you hadn't been so much of my life. I thank God every day for you. Every. Single. Day. See how I celebrate you?! I love you dearly and love being your wife. Happy, happy birthday.
And that does it for this edition of Quick Takes. If you have a hankering for more, visit Conversion Diary.