Who am I?

I'm a wife, mother, daughter, friend and sister.  I am a person who tries to live by my values and morals.  My present faith life is based on this premise:  I want to have a relationship with God so when I need to lean on him I'm not standing so far away that I fall over and smack my face on the ground.

I live my life perched precariously between being on the edge of OCD and being a ridiculous procrastinator.  It's a very strange place to exist.  I am a control freak. I'm one of those people who tries to schedule myself to the nth degree and then gets all flustered when it doesn't work out.  I'm a junkie -- a spreadsheet junkie.  I have spreadsheets for my spreadsheets - and we're not talking for work, folks. My grocery list is on a spreadsheet.  I feel pretty certain it's a type of sickness.  I've heard that for most people, a trip to the grocery does not entail multiple spreadsheets, research, cross-references, and great inner turmoil. What the hell is wrong with me?  I don't know, but I can't stop!  Throw in the procrastination and the weekly trip to the grocery is quite an ordeal.

I LOVE to laugh. My husband is the greatest gift of love and laughter. I enjoy life, but sometimes get hung up in the trivial (see above - great inner turmoil over groceries - uh yea). My husband has a way of extracting my claws from the ceiling and bringing me back down to solid ground.

I worry about what other people think of me, even though I know I shouldn't.  I don't like to hurt people's feelings...probably because my own feelings are easily hurt.  I'm non-confrontational.  I will bury my head in the sand to avoid an uncomfortable confrontation. Even better, I'll write about it!  Writing is therapeutic for me.  Then again, so is cooking...so is eating!

I have projects.  I'm always taking on some type of project based on whatever is important to me at that time.  When I say projects, it doesn't necessarily mean house or craft projects.  There's just some part of my life that I focus on and I pour all my energy into it until I'm done with that project and then I move on the the next one.  For instance, when I need to shed a few pounds and weight loss forces its way into my "project" status, I will hit my goal every time.  Unfortunately, it's never long term.  None of my "projects" are long term.  I guess you can think of it this way.  I'm a sprinter, not a distance runner (and I mean that quite figuratively, because I don't do either unless I'm being chased).

I don't like to go with the status quo.  I am resentful of all things "i" and "Disney". I don't like the way princesses are forced down my daughter's throat. I don't want an iPod, iPhone or iPad. 

I like music and I love to dance.  I love the scene in Monster's University when the mom waits in the car and starts blasting some crazy loud rock music. I can so relate!  Wait, Monster's University - was that a Disney movie?  Dang!  I can't completely banish all things Disney.  I do really enjoy Good Luck Charlie on the Disney channel a little more than any adult probably should.  And I love the classics -- The Jungle Book and Mary Poppins are two of my all-time favorites. I just like to root for the under dog, I guess.  And let's face it, Disney is a giant.
 

That's all I can think of to sum up my humble existence.  Now, you've gotten a glimpse in my life...and in my head.  Kinda crazy and weird, huh?

Charlie

In May 1998, Matt and I were new homeowners, planning a wedding, and just starting our life together.  Matt had a dog--a miniature dachshund named Shelby--when we met.  I really wanted a cat, but Matt had never owned one and wasn't too sure that he was a "cat person".  Finally, he agreed to be a cat owner on one condition.  No matter if the cat was a male or female he wanted to name the cat Charlie.  We brought home a 6-week old calico from a litter from my brother's cat.

When Charlie was about 8-weeks old, Matt and I had a small grease fire and Matt burned his hand trying to put the fire out (PSA:  don't carry a skillet of flaming grease across your kitchen and throw it in the sink).  With the help of our new neighbor, we took Matt to the ER at the small town hospital where we lived.  Matt's hand was checked out and he was advised to take ibuprofen for pain.  As young new homeowners, we didn't have any ibuprofen in stock.  By the time we left the hospital, it was late night and none of the local drug stores were open.  (Did I mention it was a small town?) Lucky for us, our kind new neighbor had some ibuprofen.  She gave us four Advil saying, "You can take two tonight and two in the morning, or if I were you, I'd take all four tonight."  Matt chose to take two ibuprofen and left the other two on the bedside table for the morning.

The next morning, Matt and I got up and started getting ready for work.  Matt called me over to look at Charlie, who was lying on the edge of the bed with her paws tucked under her, as cats do.  What was strange was that the cat's head kept drooping and her nose would brush the bed.  Just as I was telling Matt that I'd never seen a cat do that, the cat rolled over the edge of the bed and landed on her back.  Thought I to myself, "Uh, that's not right!"  I picked up the limp kitten, and soon noticed that the cat had vomited something the color of those undeniable coated Advil.

After a quick stop at the neighbors--she worked at a vet's office and confirmed that the limp kitten lying on her back in the palm of my hand was not healthy--we took Charlie to the vet where she was put on an IV and kept for observation.  The vet wasn't extremely hopeful because the kitten was so tiny.

Matt and I drove into work together and anxiously awaited news about the kitten.  Later  in the day, Matt came to pick me up from work and his first words to me were, "Guess who died today?"  I immediately started crying, thinking that we'd lost the sweet kitten.  Matt quickly corrected me, "No, Phil Hartman died."

Charlie survived the Advil and has been a part of one of our favorite stories from our early years together.

Today, Charlie went to heaven, and we will miss her.

Washable Paint - A Bright Idea

The kids' preschool sends home lots of paintings.  I have a love-hate relationship with the paintings.  I appreciate that the kids get to paint and be creative.  But over the years (including Elliot's preschool years), I've ruined clothes, driven home with paint covered hands, combed paint out of hair, scrubbed paint out from under finger nails and experienced accidental interior painting of my van.  Avery likes to use LOTS of paint on hers.  My wisdom gained from experience has taught me to leave them at school to dry and pick them up the next day. 

Today, Ethan and Avery painted beautiful pictures of a circle sun glued to a paper background.  For some reason, it didn't occur to me to leave them.  I placed the pictures back-to-back, so that I could carry them with one hand to free up the other for the doors.  As one door opens, Avery's sun falls off the background and onto the floor upside down.  Dang!  I get it picked up and carefully placed onto its background, rearrange the pictures so that I was carrying them horizontally (evidently vertical was not the way to go).  Then, I realize that Ethan's sun is missing.  It, too, hit the floor upside down.

The three of us navigate successfully to the van, I hand Avery's painting over to her so I can unlock the door.  The kids climb in their seats and I place the paintings on the floor.  When we arrive home, before I'm out of my seat, Avery has unbuckled herself and jumped out of her seat - right onto her sun!  I get her back in her seat, out of her shoes, empty paintings, toys, kids, groceries, purse out of the van.  After lunch, I commence wiping the paint off of Avery's shoes.  With a wet paper towel, it wipes off without a hitch and I think to myself how happy I am the preschool uses washable paint.

Then, the light bulb goes off!  I've been walking around for two years with blue and red paint on the end of my leather jacket belt.  The belt received one of those accidental paint jobs when I bent over to place paintings in the van and dipped the belt right into a wet painting.  Low and behold, I take a wet paper towel to it and the paint wipes right off.  Are you kidding me?  In two years, I haven't thought to wipe it off??