If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all...

Have you ever walked into a room, and noticed a sudden, uncomfortable hush come over people when they notice you are there? It is SO obvious that they were talking about you. They frantically start talking about random topics that don't even GO together, like:

"What? These shoes? Oh, I got them at Target."

"Well, I am so excited about that."

"Yeah, I can't wait. And tomorrow he is cooking hamburgers."

Whatever. That is so transparent. It is embarrassing to be the person who walks in, though. What were they saying?

This happened to me tonight. I was hungry, and I opened the refrigerator for about the tenth time to see if something had materialized in there. Nothing. But I did notice something strange...

Way at the back on the top shelf stood a bottle of Boone's Farm Blue Hawaiian (you know, the staple drink of poor college kids everywhere!) About 1/3 of the drink was gone. I think that bottle has been in our fridge since November, but Daniel insists that one of us will drink it sometime. Yeah.

Clustered around the Boone's were four bottles of beer. Daniel and I don't drink beer, so that must have been mistakenly left by the beer fairy, and had gone unnoticed by us until tonight.

The beer bottles all had their backs to me, and were facing Mrs. Boone's. They were obviously speaking in earnest with her. Apparently she is the ring leader (probably because she is so tall.) As soon as I opened the door, they got quiet. Two of the beers tried to nonchalantly turn around so that it wouldn't be so blatant that they were conferencing, but it was too late.

I know they were talking about us. We just keep them locked up in there, day after day. It is cold, but I am sure all of those beverages are WAY EXPIRED. They probably want to retire someplace warm, and were planning their escape.

Perhaps I will leave the fridge door cracked for them tonight. I want to give them a chance to have freedom. I want them to be happy. I want them to stop talking about me.

Mostly, I just don't want them planting crazy ideas of revolt and retaliation with the other food and drinks. Could you imagine the chaos?

It's my party and I'll laugh if I want to!

Check out Jenn's post for the details of Isabella's First Birthday Party. Check out my pictures too, cause she is so cute and you can't resist!

Here I am, getting ready to greet my guests. Does this dress make me look too thin?





HA! Someone got me clothes! Well, I am my mother's daughter...





I would like to take this moment to thank my family, friends, and pets...





This is my greatest new toy. All my friends are jealous!





Okay, the party girl is getting a *little* messy here...





Thank you, and good night. All of this hostess business is hard work!

On the road, AGAIN???

I drive an Explorer Sport-Track. It has a covered bed with a tailgate. This is information that is vital to the comprehension of the following narrative.

Background story:

Last August, when we still had money and I had a small uterus, Daniel and I went to England to stay with his brother. On the drive home from the Houston airport, I got a call on my cell phone.

Me: Hello?

Other guy: Hey, is this Amanda Johnson?

Me: (warily) Yes.

Other guy: Oh, good. We found your luggage on Highway 69 outside of Beaumont, and we were hoping you were still in the area so we could return it to you.

Me: REALLY? ohmigosh...Daniel, this guy has our luggage...

Anyway, we retrieved our luggage from the helpful man. Turns out that Daniel had not shut the tailgate on my truck, so our luggage was strewn up and down the highway like trash on a windy day. This really taught us a lesson. We always check the tailgate now.

Wait, did I say "WE????" Because, apparently, "WE" didn't learn a lesson. "WE" did the same thing leaving Fort Worth yesterday.

Daniel looked at me about fifteen minutes into our drive and said "Whoa! That guy just looked at me funny. Pull over on the shoulder!"

Thinking that he is having some mild aggression issues, I refuse to do so. Also, we are on I-20, and this is not the best place to "pull over on the shoulder."

He again tells me to pull over, and is acting quite panicky. I put my hazards on and pull onto the side of the road. He jumps out of the truck and I hear the tailgate shut, reopen, then shut again. Hmmmm....

He climbs sheepishly back into the passenger seat and says, "Uh... I left the tailgate down. But all our stuff is still back there."

WHAT? This is not a lesson that someone should have to be taught twice!

I told him that I had to blog about it, but I wouldn't say anything to him about this mistake for seven days. He has SEVEN DAYS to rig something on my truck that will tell me the tailgate is down. An alarm, or a mirror system, or a kaleidoscope. (Okay, periscope. I don't need to see 48 tailgates. Just one.) I don't care. It just has to be SOMETHING. If he hasn't done it by 12:17 on Sunday, July the 3rd, the yelling you hear will be from somewhere in East Texas where the wife's wrath will be fully released on the tail-gate-leaver-downer.

Consider yourself warned, baby. I know you read this blog!

To those on my blog roll

Please take a moment to write a short catchy description of your blog. I will put it underneath the link on my sidebar. I have written descriptions as I see fit, but some of you want more, more, more!

Your descriptions may be edited at my discretion for length and meaning. For instance "This is the greatest blog in the world. It has a lot of humor. You may laugh so hard that you wet your pants. Come visit!" may become:

"This blog has hard pants."

Thank you,

Minister of Upheaval

Wash board

I am obsessed with a lot of things, and one in particular seems to be laundry.

In my highly-advanced, multi-tasking female mind, I am constantly assessing how much laundry I have to do before the laundry room is empty. I look at the clothes I am wearing before I wash a load, because if I am wearing a black tee-shirt, I don't want to WASH the black tee-shirts because then at the end of the day, I will have one dirty black tee-shirt in the laundry room.

Does this make sense?

I follow Daniel around, taking items of his clothing away so that I can wash them. Seriously. If it is close to the end of the day, and I need to wash jeans, I will make him take his pants off and wear boxers for the rest of the evening.

The most frequently asked question in our house is "Are these clothes dirty?"

Usually, he says "no" because he is pretty good about putting dirty clothes in the hamper. If he has only worn his shorts for an hour or two around the house, he will put them in a pile on a chair in our room so that he can wear them again another time.

BUT NO! He doesn't even get the chance to do this. They are washed and put away in his dresser before he even knows what hit him. We spend an enormous amount of money on detergent. Our washing machine will never make it past the warranty date. But we smell good! And we are clean!

Now, if I could only have the same enthusiasm about ironing!

Only the lonely

Alright. I have had about enough of this. I am ready for my husband to come home and stay home for more than a few consecutive hours!

He is at a SWAT school this week. It is in our town, so he gets to come home every night after class is over, but that isn't till about 10 pm. He gets up every morning at 5 to get ready to go. Sheesh! I have seen him in passing, but that is about it. I miss him. I miss watching tv with him. I miss talking to him from a distant room so that he will say "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" I miss my nightly backrubs. Oh, wait. I don't get those!

But I do miss him.

Not only that but his honey-do list is growing by the minute!

Guest blogger

Mom has been speaking ill of me to the whole internet! She thinks I do not read this "blog," but what else should I do while she is napping the day away??

Let me set a few things straight.

I did eat some rocks! They tasted good and cold, like ice. I started out just holding them in my mouth, but they are smooth river stones, and they slid right down. One after another. Time and time again. I admit, it was kind of an addiction. But I am OVER it. Also, Mom took all the rocks away and I can't even find the ficus tree anymore.

Secondly, I did sit in the bathtub! Try having a coat of black hair in the hot, sunny apartment in the summertime. I bet you would give anything to have the cool porcelain against your belly while you napped. That is why I did what I did. No one would ever have known if I hadn't gotten so careless. I used to do it when they were out, but once, I forgot and needed some relief from the heat while they were home. Embarrassing? Yes. Am I ashamed? Absolutely not. My parents do weirder things than that.

Finally, I don't like to be crowded! I don't like things to touch me when I walk. I don't go through doors that aren't opened all the way. I have been known to get stuck behind the recliner because Mom rearranged the furniture and put it back too close to the fireplace. I believe the humans get medication for this disorder, but I am one tough dog. I don't rely on drugs to modify my behavior. I just live with it.

Mom probably forgot to tell you how smart I am. I can shake (two ways), fetch, sit, lay down, roll over, dance, and speak. Of course, all dogs can do these things. I just do them on command, so Humans think I am smart.

Also, for the record, I know that I am supposed to stay off the couch, but I can't go around obeying them all the time!!! What, do they think they own me???

Canine neuroses

It is so hot outside. This is NOT a complaint. It is a statement. It is a preface for my post today. NOT a complaint. There is no purpose in complaining about the heat, it just makes one seem whiney and weak.

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

That being said, it is so hot outside.

My pampered pet, Tux, goes outside to play with his boisterous brother Bo about four times a day. Each time, they romp and pee and play and tackle for about a minute and a half. Bo could play for hours, but Tux gets tired. AND HOT.

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

So after a couple of minutes of running from window to window, looking for his mama and whining, Tux gives up and stands at the back door.

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

There, he patiently, and repeatedly opens and slams the screen door.

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

With increasing intensity and frequency.

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

Until you can't even type a full...

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

...sentence without having to...

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

...interrupt your own thoughts with...

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

creeeeaaaaakkk......SLAM!

Maybe I should learn to type faster.

Oh, yeah!

Guess who came to see me this weekend? Only the most prissy almost-one-year-old niece that I have - Miss Isabella, herself.

She exhausted herself running (yes, running!) around the living room, distributing her toys and other random findings to all of the adults in the room. She continuously chattered about each thing, using her very sweet baby-voice to occassionally exclaim softly, "Oh, yeah!" when she found something she really liked. She spent a lot of time giving kisses to pictures in their frames, particularly pictures of herself! And blessed is the adult who received a mush-mouthed, wet, smeary "kiss" of his own! This child is a shameless flirt.

Nature and common sense dictate that her mother loves this child more than I could ever love her, and in light of that, it is a wonder that Jenn's heart doesn't burst every day from overuse.

Water aerobics update

I went to water aerobics this morning. Yes, I was the youngest person there. Yes, we discussed our coumadin dosage and meatloaf recipes. Yes, some of the women paid $35 to cling to a noodle and gossip while not paying the slightest attention to our out-of-shape instructor.

But I will persevere!

Customer service, my foot

Yesterday, I went to Hobby Lobby. I like to LOOK at the items in this store, but I rarely buy. Unless it is clearance, then "Katie, bar the door!" (Whatever THAT means!)

This store irritates me on many levels. The first being that their registers are from 1981. Is this a local problem, or is it nationwide? There is no scanner. The clerk reads the price on the tag and types it into this giant piece of machinery. After you pay, you get a skinny, short slip of paper that provides no information about what you bought, other than the price.

Secondly, we have an irritating sales clerk who has been there entirely too long. And entirely too much, because she is there every single time I go in. This person has no facial expression and a strange name. She has a bad attitude and that makes me not want to buy things from her.

My new irritation hinges off of the last one. Yesterday, in an effort to avoid this particular clerk's line, I got in line at the next register. Which of course was STILL the wrong line because it was a warp zone and time was moving very slowly in this line. This woman made me want to apply for the checker job because, surely, I could apply, be interviewed and hired before she was ever going to get to me.

After waiting about ten minutes, I finally could see the cashier up ahead. Ten minutes later, when I could finally place my purchases on the counter, my bladder was about to rupture. Still later, tears of frustration were flowing as she finally told me my total.

I got out my Debit bank card which I use for all purchases. This makes life so much easier for my husband, who is the money-man in my home. However, I need to keep this Debit card on a lanyard around my neck because I have a bad habit of leaving it various places. Daniel told me to always hold my wallet in my hand until I put the card back. Then I will be sure I have it. Good advice, and that is what I do now.

This lady wasn't cooperating.

She scanned my card, then placed it to the side of the ancient computing machine. Through my tears, I could see my little card, far away, and I started to panic.

"May I please have my card?"

"Um, no. I don't ever give it back until you have signed for the purchases."

What? The purchases which you are holding hostage on your side of the counter? The eighteen dollars worth of yellow-tagged clearance merchandise that is 80% off?

It is a face-off. I stand there with my wallet in hand, opened to the place where the card goes, with my hand out. I stare at her with a look that says "Please give me my card or .... or...." and she felt very threatened.

I got the card, signed for my purchases, and took my bags and left. Needless to say, I won't be going back there.

At least until I need something framed for half price.

Has anyone really thought this through?

I am really excited! I get to start water aerobics tomorrow!

This is a huge deal. I have been working out consistently, even through my pregnancy, but the machines at my gym are becoming very uncomfortable to use. Bending and squatting are my least favorite activities. Moving my head into a position below my heart is dangerous, to say the least.

But now I have the opportunity to don my giant maternity tankini (get a good picture of THAT in your mind) and submerge myself in water while being led through exercises that will make me feel better about my growing body. When I called the facility where the water aerobics classes are held, I was told that there were many pregnant women who took the classes, and I wouldn't need a note from my doctor.

I am picturing an Olympic-sized pool, cold and clear.

I am picturing scores of big-bellied women standing around, self-consciously wrapped in giant towels, waiting for class to start.

I am picturing some tiny instructor who will outpace us all with her foam noodle and underwater hopping.

But mostly, I am picturing the embarrassing level of water displacement when we all descend on this pool, eager for relief from our heavy, awkward bodies.

One thousand words

I have heard that a picture is worth one thousand words. Let me see how I do with that limitation.

I have a friend. She is very much like me in some ways - sarcastic, full of dry humor, and neurotically clean. She loves bleach and she loves to disinfect. I have taught both of her oldest sons, and they were always dressed impeccably. They always have their hair combed. They have wonderful manners. My friend is a very capable surgery nurse and her husband builds and remodels homes. They are great people, a nice family. We have been friends for a few years and they have always welcomed me to their home. They feed me and host late night visits by Daniel and me. We have history that dare not be repeated on this vast internet, just know that it is funny.

That being said, I would like to take you on a little trip with me. (Don't worry, I'll drive.) Let's go to their house. They know we are coming, because I called ahead. They should be expecting us.

They live a few miles down a one-lane county road, down a long dirt driveway. You have to go slow and hang on to the handle by the car door cause there are lots of holes in this driveway. There is the house up ahead. It is such a cute little green house. The boys' toys are in the yard, but it doesn't look junky - it just looks like someone's home.

We pull around the rear of the house to park, as usual. But, wait...

What is that? There is the entire family sitting in the back of Daddy's pickup truck in the backyard. Mama is on the toolbox with the baby, Daddy is on the bedrail. The boys are hopping around. Well, that is a sight!

What are they doing?

OH. They are eating pizza out of a box. Pizza from the convenience store down the road. My friend is wearing a tye-died Arbor Mist tee-shirt that I am sure she got for free somewhere. She is also wearing one flip-flop. Her oldest boy is wearing a Dale Earnhart, Jr. tee shirt. Her baby boy is naked except for his diaper. His tan diaper. He is filthy!

(Gosh, I am kind of embarrassed for you to see my friend like this.)

As we park and get out, the middle boy yells "Hey, you wanna drink?" and props open the lid to the giant ice chest that is in the bed of the truck as well. He is barefoot and he steps over an open pizza box, full of fresh sliced pizza. Um, no thanks.

We walk closer to survey the scene. The baby's diaper is dirty - not from bodily functions but from the sandpit he has been playing in. His face is smeared with pizza sauce. He has black speckles on him that are probably just chunks of dirt, but look like bugs. His mama scoops him up and gives him a sip from her Coke can. The middle child burps loudly. Dad takes a swig of his beer.

I inquire about this strange situation, and am told that the house is too dirty to eat in. OH. Yeah, that is what I do, too. I just move OUTSIDE when the house gets too dirty.

Could we epitomize the redneck family any better? Only if her mother came walking down the driveway in her nightgown and slippers.

This is my tribute to them. She said I couldn't post the pictures, but I painted a pretty good one for ya, didn't I?

Fools like us

If you are in advertising, keep it up, because there will always be fools out there. Fools like me. Fools who believe that what-you-see-is-better-than-what-you-already-have.

Ahem. For instance...

I love fruit. A lot. I would rather eat fruit than pizza, or ice cream, or cookies. I would rather have fruit than (*gasp*) a margarita. I would rather have fruit than most things. So, you see, I love it.

When McDonald's started HEAVILY advertising their Fruit and Walnut salad, I thought, "That is a neat idea. Good thing fast food is jumping on the fruit band-wagon." The advertisements continued. In force. Apparently, most other people in the world were enjoying their Fruit and Walnut salads, but, because I don't do fast food very often at all, I was not among them.

Last night was a late one for Daniel and me. We went to a friend's birthday party, and we were rather late getting home. We spun through the McDonald's drive through and got a couple of burgers and, finally, a Fruit and Walnut salad for the rather exorbitant price of $2.99.

Now, in case you have been blind to the advertising craze, a Fruit and Walnut salad consists of red and green apple slices, approximately 9 purple grapes, two tablespoons of low-fat flavorless yogurt dipping sauce, and a packet of candied walnuts.

We got our food home, and I eagerly opened my salad. I had a couple of slices of apple, dutifully dipping it in the sauce, and sticking a couple of walnuts on top for good measure. Hmmm... this was sort of a letdown. Could I not have made this at home? My miserly self took over, and I lost my appetite, cursing the day I spent $2.99 on this salad. I packed it up and stuck it in the refrigerator, thinking, "Maybe I can eat it tomorrow."

So this morning, I got up and, when searching for breakfast, was faced once again with this salad. I pulled it out of the refrigerator and was absolutely appalled to see that the apple slices still looked fresh, without a hint of browning.

Being such a fruit lover, I am familiar with ways to keep apple slices fresh - lemon juice, for one. But these didn't smell or taste like anything other than apples. But the texture was weird. And the grapes were very rubbery. And the walnuts... okay, the walnuts were still good.

So, not only did I pay $2.99 for this salad that probably cost about 57 cents to make, but in the name of healthy choices, I ingested God-Only-Knows what kinds of preservatives in this food! Yech!

If this post saves one person from making this choice, I will feel that my mission is accomplished.

Now, has anyone tried those fruit bowls at Wendy's yet?

Do you see my little foot? Do you see my little toes?

Friday's rant

*I watched an Oprah show last week that had a crystal meth addict on it. She was 17, and her family wanted to put her in treatment. She was very pretty and poised, and you could never tell by looking at her that she had a drug problem.

*Last night, I was at a t-ball game and was visiting with a friend. She was telling me about her brother's addiction to meth. He started using it to stay awake at his job, and then he got hooked. He lost his home, wife, child, and had to go to jail. Now he is "starting over."

*A parent of one of my students is steadily in and out of jail. She is addicted to crack cocaine, and because of it, is in a custody struggle for her children. Not only is she an addict, but also her mother (in her sixties) and aunt are addicted as well. The student lives with her GREAT-grandmother.

I don't know how I have gone through 26 years of my life without even encountering weed socially. It is heartbreaking to see the lives that are affected by these "I will only TRY it once" decisions. Is there hope for these kinds of people? My husband says that most of his coworkers consider this type of drug use a lifetime commitment. That even if these people get clean, they will fight until death to resume their lives without HOURLY thinking about their drug of choice.

I know that drugs are prevalent among high school students.

I know there are party drugs that go along with being a college student.

Ironically, just last year, the drug-abstinence club was disbanded at our high school because of lack of funds. What DO we have funds for? Sports?

Anyway, this is my rant for the day. Please feel free to post a success story here, because they are so few and far between.

Speling Bea

You would think it would be quiet in this big room, but there are so many people making so many small noises that it practically roars. That doesn't help my nerves.

My hands are soaked with sweat. I gave up wiping them on my pants an hour ago. It is cold in here, but I keep feeling waves of heat. The string for this stupid placard is rubbing my neck raw. Some of the other spellers are laughing and talking quietly with each other, but we really aren't supposed to. We are supposed to dwell in our anxious misery, then succumb to our nerves by fainting on national television, I suppose.

There are only eight of us left. I have spelled some really hard words, but I know that they will just get trickier.

It is my turn, so I step up to the mic and take a deep breath through my nose. The room is silent.

"Niece," the pronouncer says.

What? He has GOT to be kidding me.

"Can you give me the language of origin, please?" I ask, barely above a whisper. My throat is dry.

"Middle English," he intones.

"Uhh... are there any alternate pronounciations?"

"No. There are not." Man, this guy has a boring job and a boring voice.

"Okay, can you read me the definition, please?" I ask.

"Niece - a daughter of one's brother, sister, brother-in-law, or sister-in-law."

"Are there any alternate definitions?" I ask, hopefully. This has GOT to be a trick.

"No," he says.

"Okay. Niece.... sorry, what was the part of speech?"

"Noun," he sighs.

I can tell he is exasperated. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I lift my placard and scrawl the word on the back. My scratching finger echos through the mic and fills the room with noise.

"Niece.... N - E - I - C - E. Niece."

The ring of the bell startles me. I can see my parents in the crowd, cradling their heads in their hands. The silence that follows the sharp ring is deafening. I am grabbed from the side by an escort and led off stage.

In the chaos that follows, I can hear a voice, alone above all of the other ones.

It is my sister.

"Yeah! You have been spelling it wrong on your blog all along, too!"

Home from a hard day at work

I worked today! I mean, REALLY WORKED! I haven't had an office job in years, so it is a little different shuffling papers and looking at numbers. I can chase and boss nineteen four-year olds anyday, but this paperwork stuff leaves me exhausted.

My schedule is a grueling 8 to 12 on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, but today I stayed until 3. Not counting my lunch, that is six hours of work!

I think I should lie down. It is time for the United States, or at least Texas, to implement a standard siesta into the workday. That would certainly make me a more productive and happier employee.

Lets start one of those effective internet petitions. Would you sign it and then forward it blindly to everyone you know? When we reach 1000 signatures, lets send it to ... hmm ... (it's gotta be someone who gives a crap) ... The Donald? Martha Stewart? The Rule Guy (Person) for the American Workplace?

The price of beauty

I got my eyebrows waxed today. I don't do that often. Usually I stand at my bathroom sink with my 10X mirror and some tweezers and pluck away. But I paid a woman seven dollars to do it for me, quickly and painfully, today, because:

1) It is hard to see all those darn little hairs and sometimes my eyebrows get too far gone to ever recover on my own.

2) I don't like standing up very much anymore.

3) My belly sticks out enough to put me an extra three inches from the mirror. The harder I lean against the bathroom cabinet, the more this baby protests!

4) I am not feeling very beautiful these days. At least now I am puffy and slovenly with even, shaped eyebrows.

5) I had a few dollars in my pocket. If the money is not already on fire when I get it, I quickly light it up and let it start burning a hole.

Have you done anything to make yourself feel good today?

Two thumbs down

Watching movies is one of my least favorite things to do. I have seen very few "classic" movies, and cannot converse about any movies because I promptly forget about the movie as soon as it is over.

So, as we were folding blankets and putting pillows away from our Movie Date Night last night, I told Daniel, "I have GOT to blog about that movie. It was terrible." During church this morning, I thought "I have GOT to blog about that movie!" and on the drive home I said, again, "I have GOT to blog about that movie!"

So here I am, ready to share with you my impressions of this movie that I suffered through for over two hours last night.

We started the movie and endured a few minutes of "flashback scenes" where this boy remembers creeping around in his grandpa's attic during a storm.

I said, "This is gonna be like Neverending Story."

Daniel said, "Shhhh."

A few minutes later in the film, the main character is driving some manly-looking snow machine in the Arctic Circle and using high-tech equipment to locate something under the ice.

I said, "This is gonna be like Indiana Jones, too!"

Daniel said, "Mmmm-hmmm."

After a few more minutes of this sequence, the main character had a lengthy speaking part.

I said, "Oohh! Daniel, pause it!"

Daniel did.

I said, "I really hate this guy. I don't know why he gets paid to make movies! He has got to be the worst actor."

Daniel said, "Yeah, I know."

Unpause.

There were some tense moments and then a lot of things blew up, but of course all of the main characters survived. Then they decided to try to steal something big and important, because that was the ONLY solution to their problem.

I said, "This is gonna be like Entrapment or Ocean's Eleven."

Daniel sighed, "Yep."

The movie is about halfway over. There are some parts that have tried to be funny, but aren't. I am very disturbed by the haphazard way these archaeologist-type people are treating historical artifacts. I hate the way the main actor talks in monotone. There is a random, and unnecessary, love-connection that happens along the way. This, in no way, enhances the story-line at all.

I interrupt the movie to tell Daniel all of these things.

He agrees, miserably.

There are about thirty minutes left of the movie. I have rolled my eyes so much that they ache. I ask Daniel to pause it so I can fix some ice cream. That makes the movie more enjoyable.

We finish the movie. It is very predictable. The main character does not get in trouble, even though he has violated many federal laws. The FBI sees that he did it for the good of his country. The main character gets the girl. The bad guy goes to prison or dies or something. I don't know because I was busy filing my nails.

I said, "Dang. That really sucked."

And my sweetheart had no choice but to agree. Funny that he doesn't make me watch movies with him very often...

up he'v l - a sudden, violent change or disturbance in affairs.

I named my site this because, for me, this is a year of sudden change. (And anyone who doesn't think childbirth is violent needs to be within five miles of me on, or around, September 9th, 2005. But I digress...)

I left my teaching job last week, excited at the prospect of going to graduate school in the Fall. I will get my Master's in Special Education, focusing primarily on Autism and Emotional Disorders. With graduate school and a new baby, Daniel and I decided we would suck it up and live off of his income for a year. This is going to be tough!

Our goals are:

- to maintain our house payments! hello!
- to find an acceptable and affordable insurance option for myself and the womb-child
- to be good stewards of the money we do have

I thought I would find a part-time job in December or so, when I can bear to leave Junior for a few hours at a time. I wasn't really excited about this, but think it is neccessary so I can contribute financially.

I haven't stressed about money. I still will get a paycheck from school until September. There are lots of corners we can cut to make ends meet. And it helps that Daniel is the money-man. He is the one who has been stressed!

God is so good, though. My dad owns a company here in town, and of course, my parents love their baby girl. My dad offered me some clerical work and data entry at a modest salary. I can work as much as I want this summer and then again after the baby is born. So right now I am working about 12 hours a week. I still get a relaxing summer vacation and I mostly will work while Daniel is sleeping (remember, he works nights). This is exactly perfect for me and we will be able to save some money this summer for extra expenses.

It is amazing to me how God answers the prayers of our heart. He knows what we need and when we need it. He cares so much about His creatures that even the sparrows lack for nothing. And in the end, when I view my world as turned upside-down, He makes it right and shows me that the path has been smooth all along, because He has been with me.

What to watch

Wanna see some brave kids? Check out the annual Scripps Howard Spelling Bee final rounds on ESPN today and tomorrow!

I get very excited about the spelling bee. I studied for the first round in fifth grade, then decided it wasn't very cool. But, now, I think these kiddos are about the coolest around. They have a skill that will serve them well in life, no matter what they choose to do. So, hopefully, kids won't be fainting right and left like they did last year, but there are some comical moments and you can definitely pick a favorite and root him/her on.

Join me. J-O-I-N M-E! Join me!