Ouch...

I almost chopped my thumb in half today!

Ok, not really. But it felt like I did.

I'm not really sure how it happened. One minute I was closing my car door, the next minute I was prying my thumb out of it. Ouch! I won't repeat the word I really used at the time, over and over again. Pretty sure I have some repenting to do, but by golly, it hurt!

If it didn't happen the minute I got to work, I probably would have cried. I wanted to, I'm sure it would have made me feel better, but I didn't. I didn't produce a single tear.

Weird. I didn't know I could control my tears. I didn't know I had the power to NOT cry. Why am I just learning this about myself. It sure would have come in handy on Saturday when at the last second, I was asked to lead the music at the funeral of my neighbor. "Are you kidding me? Do you know me at all? Cuz you wouldn't be asking me if you did." But since I've never turned down an assignment from the member of the bishopric, and since Christmas is just around the corner and i'm trying especially hard to be a good girl, I said ok. Afterall, how emotional will I be. He was old, he was sick, it was really a blessing that he passed, how sad could it really be?

Who am I kidding...I can cry at the funeral of a goldfish. If I lived in the days of old, I could have been a professional mourner. I would have been a millionaire.

15 minutes later I was standing at the stand, trying to hold it in as two young military soldiers carried in the casket of my neighbor, followed by his grieving widow and tear stained family. I shed a tear or two before I looked away and went to my happy place. I recovered in time for the opening song, which surprisingly I got through without making my distorted 'trying to hold it in face'. Of course I was smart enough to look at the back wall, not making eye contact with anyone who was crying. One down, one to go.

An hour and a shriveled up kleenex later, I was back at the stand. My confidence that I could get through another song was pretty strong. Afterall, I survived a musical number and four talks without losing it, what could one more song possibly do? Although I was extremely nervous about the song selection, I figured if I just pretend I'm leading the music in church, i'll be fine...i can do this.

And I was. I got through 3 versus of "I know my Redeemer Lives". Feeling confident, I let my guard down. I let my cocky "I'm doing just fine" attitude get the best of me, and committed the number one no-no. I glanced away from the back wall, for just a brief moment, and let my eyes rest upon a member of the congregation, Sis. Duncan, who was sobbing. Before I knew it, my eyes were filling up with tears, my chin quivering, my face distorting. I was a gonner.

I couldn't sing, so I tried to just mouth the words. My contorting face wouldn't let me form the words, so I just stood there, waving my arm. I couldn't bare the humiliation, so I put my head down and let the tears drop onto the music book before me. Where's my snot rag when I needed it. Dang, left it by my chair. It felt like the song would never end.

I'm not really sure what happened. Oh, I was doing so well too. I don't know why it got the best of me at the last minute. I guess at the end I couldn't suppress my true nature.

So, I guess what I'm asking myself is, how is it that I cry when I don't want to cry, and don't cry when I do? How come I don't cry when I'm in mortal pain, but watching a silly movie about a dying dog throws me in the depths of despair? How come I can give birth to a kidney stone without tears, yet when I see someone else cry, I tear up as if on cue? Is the pain of others greater than my own? Unless someone is in pain because they biffed it on their high heels, or skateboard, or anything else that causes them to fall like a fool; then I can't help but busting up laughing, which is soooo not appropriate. In cases like these, their pain adds to my humor relief; yet when I see someone in extreme joy, I tend to get choked up. Weird, I know.

My sister once told me, we (as in pretty much everyone in our family) have the gift of weeping. We mourn with those that mourn. Gee, so glad I got that gift.

So, for those of you who also share the same gift, feel free to cry for me. After all this typing, my thumb is really throbbing, and I can't seem to shed a tear.

go figure.

Whose your grandma

Vanessa from V & Co. turned 36 years old today! I only know that because she posted it on her blog, not because we're such good friends that I know when her birthday is and have been invited to celebrate the day with her. But one can always wish. Anywho, she was lamenting the fact that she's over the 30-something hump and getting old.

I know how she feels. I'm teetering on the 40-something hump and although most days I don't feel old, my looks don't reflect the way I feel. That's depressing. It's hard coming out of denial. I suppose it's like coming out of a coma. One day you wake up and say..."how did I get here?"

I woke this morning
My back was sore,
I rolled out of bed
It was quite the chore.

Then to the bathroom
To do my thing,
Stripped off my clothes,
Gave them a fling.

Stepped on the scale
To check my weight;
Afraid to look down
The truth I can’t take.

I weigh as much now
As I did back when
I was nine months pregnant
With Chelsea Breann.

The sad thing is,
I look it too;
My belly pokes out
Like I’m 5 months due.

I step in the shower
To wash my hair,
Leave a clump in the drain,
More than should be there.

Then to the mirror
I cautiously peek;
I see the wrinkles
Start to creep.

They start at the corners
Of my baggy eyes
And stretch down my face
That I start to despise.

I see a few hairs
That look out of place;
They’re not on my head,
They’re on my face.

I would be proud
Of the moustache I’ve got,
If I were sixteen
And my name was Scott.

The fuzz on my chin
Turns thick as it grows;
At least it matches
All the hair in my nose.

Oh don’t you worry
I’m not sasquatch yet,
My eyebrows are thinning
The older I get.

And the hair on my head

that I keep there with spray;
what doesn’t fall out
simply turns to gray.

And just when I think
I’m looking too old,
A pimple appears
For all to behold.

I turn to my closet
To get myself dressed,
Nothing fits anymore,
I’m further depressed.

My wardrobe has changed
From short sleeves and skirts
To mid calf capris
And long flowing shirts.

I use them to hide
My flabby body;
And if I fail to wave back,
I’m not being snotty.

Just trying to keep
The arm fat from flapping;
But what do you do
‘bout rubbing thighs chapping?

I sit down for breakfast,
To a big bowl of bran;
Make sure I’m still living,
Give the obit’s a quick scan.

My eyes turn fuzzy
As I start to read.
I wear bifocals now,
Had to finally concede.

Then I go to work
In my yellow sports car.
It’s the cure for my crisis,
But not working so far.

I get a few glances
From curious guys,
Through my tinted windows
I see hopeful eyes.

They must think a hottie
Would drive such a thing,
As they hope to invoke
A flirtatious fling.

I can see their faces
As they slowly inch
To get a close look,
Then suddenly flinch.

I make it to work
My humility intact;
I’m the oldest one there,
It’s a depressing fact.

I’m technology challenged,
Just ask my kids;
“Do what in Excel?”
Oh, heaven forbid.

i-pads and blackberries,
i-phones and kindle;
i-pod and apps,
my confidence dwindles.

I barely just learned
How to send a text;
The message, however,
leaves even me perplexed.

Reality sucks.
I’m not young anymore.
I stopped feeling perky
And now I’m just sore.

My hair’s gray, my eyes bad,
I’ve got middle age spread;
I’m sagging and dragging
My tired self to bed.

But then my grandbaby
Comes over to play;
And I’m young again,
Hip-hip-hooray!

And even after we
Play on the floor,
And I can’t get up
Cuz my body’s sore.

I still wouldn’t go back
To the age of my prime,
Cuz I wouldn’t be a grandma
And that would be a crime.

I'm Back

Did you even know I was gone? Yup, I went AWOL (absent with out leaving).

I don't know why i've been away so long. It couldn't have anything to do with Trey's fall ball and sitting on the hard cold bleachers twice a week in August and September. Or the fact that I've been officially made the un-official family photographer and have recently taken pictures for my nieces bridal/engagements/wedding, my daughter Kayla's Folk Dance Team photographer, and taken family pictures of my sisters Susie's family. Not to mention my own brood at our annual Gardner Village Pumpkin patch. It's been fun, but let's just say I have a whole new appreciation for what my cousin Faun does. Literally, hours go into taking an ordinary picture and trying to turn it into a work of art. She does it much better; i'm just a faunwannabe.

Perhaps my absence could be traced to my sewing room, where a certain Christmas Countdown quilt hangs over the chair, waiting to be bound. Sewing takes up valuable blogging time.

You could be wondering why I haven't been blogging about those things; afterall, most bloggers put their pictures, their quilts, their hobbies online for all to see. Some of those people make tutorials and gain followers and fan clubs. They make lots of money with their creative ideas.
It's a shame, really. I have no one to blame but myself...and my daughter (chelsea), not to point fingers or anything.

You see, a couple of months ago, my daughter was over at the house, using my computer. She said she wanted to show me something I might like. So she pulled up a little website, and to my delight...pictures of all things good and lovely, crafty and yummy, holiday galore and creative decor burst onto my screen! It was like I had died and gone to homemaker heaven.

That was the beginning of the end. It seems everytime I had a few minutes to spare and would sit down to blog something, I would say to myself, "I'll just take a quick peek while I'm thinking of something to blog about". Hours later I would find myself waking from my blissful craft induced coma and realize time has slipped away, my blog didn't write itself, and it's now much too late in the evening to stuff my lazy butt into my spandex and walk a mile on the treadmill.

And it's not just my blog that has suffered, my waistline is showing proof that sitting all day in front of a computer at work, and then sitting all evening behind the sewing machine/computer doesn't help. My future size 6 wanna-be has met her achielles heel. It's not chocolate or Dr. Pepper that keeps those skinny jeans untouched in the back of the closet; nor is it the hours of endless facebooking that I've prided myself on not getting attached too. It's not the comfy couch in front of Survivor, So You Think You Can Dance or NCIS.

It's a one-word website.

My future poet/childrens book author/someday i'll be as famous as cjane blogger has become almost extinct! All creative juices that used to flow to my fingertips, now rest on the mouse as they repeatedly click re-pin, re-pin, over and over again. It's addicting I tell you!


That was 2 months ago. I've been AWOL ever since.

I've been lost in holiday wreaths, mummy cookies and pumpkin decor;

Crock pot dinners, t-shirt scarves and tips for chores.

Beautiful pictures of faraway places, perfect kids and adoring love;

Exercise tips, make-up tricks and quotes from above.

Christmas goodies, neighbor gifts and homemade cards;

Twinkly lights, garlands on mantels and snow covered yards.

Romantic hints, hair-do styles and chic outfits;

Painted walls, painted toes and lots of glitz.

Do you want to know the name of my doom? My achielles heel? My productive downfall? In one word:

Pinterest.

It comes from the Greek word PIN; (meaning to immobolize) TE; (meaning me) REST; (meaning a state of inaction).

Perfect word for what it is.

I don't care, it's a wonderful sight.

But if you go there...beware. It will snare you. It will hook you.

(Disclaimer: The author takes no responsibility for children left unattended, families going hungry or dinners burnt; homework being left undone, husbands rejected, housework neglected. Exercise and scripture study out the window.)

Don't say I didn't warn you.