30 seconds is the required time to view a blog at Blogexplosion before you can surf to the next one and still get credit. 30 seconds can be a lifetime or a blink of an eye, depending on the blog. I can usually look at a blog and know instantly if I'm interested, if I can relate to it- if I might want to come back. Graphics, text, fonts- usually clue me in right away. I try to be open-minded, but I'll admit, sometimes I zone out if it's something I know I won't like, and I impatiently wait for the clock to wind down.

When I first saw the screen for this blog, it didn't perk my interest. No particularly compelling graphics, a rather ordinary profile, not my style. I wasn't being critical, I just wasn't interested. I scrolled down, waiting my obligatory 30 seconds until I could surf on, when I noticed something. Her last entry, dated October 18. It was a goodbye letter.

Why put a blog on blogexplosion if you aren't going to blog anymore? I thought. That doesn't make sense.

Well, it turned out to be a true goodbye. Her last letter to readers and friends and family and this earthly world, because she was dying. Strength had faded, days were numbered, and she sat down to write those last words on October 18, to say the things that needed to be said.

I was so profoundly affected by the words of this woman, this stranger, this "ordinary" person who was, in fact, extraordinary to the people in her life. Her strength was otherworldly, and poured out through words filled with faith, and love, and joy, and encouragement, and acceptance. I was humbled. No, that's so insufficient. I was broken.

I suddenly related. The very "ordinariness" of this woman took on a new meaning. This mother, wife, sister-- could have been someone to me. It could have been my mother. It could have been my sister. It could have been me.

I hope, that when that day comes, as it does for all of us, I find my heart full, as Shar did. I leave you with an exerpt of her words. It's rather long, but I couldn't edit such beautiful thoughts.

Please continue to pray for Shar's family, especially as their first Christmas approaches without her.

You know... 30 seconds wasn't long enough. And sometimes, neither is a lifetime.

As a kid, I usually began composing my Christmas list in September, immediately following my birthday. Four months = a list the size of Texas. It was at least three pages long, complete with comparison prices, sizes and colors, shipping quotes, and a complicated rating system using different colored inkpens and metallic sticky stars.

I was thorough.

But now, when someone asks what I want, I can't for the life of me come up with an answer! I've become one of Those People who is Very Hard To Shop For.***

I'm so sorry.

I really am.
I suck.

BUT, I found something, ONE thing, that I actually want. This t-shirt. Sadly, I believe this hat would complete the outfit.

I actually sort of want the hat, too. Scary.

***The subject/verb agreement in this sentence really bothers me. I mean, really REALLY.***

Hello? Is everybody back yet? No?

*twiddling thumbs*

Well hurry it up. I'm bored.

Okay. I have my preference set to recieve email notification when someone comments, so that I can catch the spammers. BUT, sometimes, they get around it, and I don't recieve an email when the spammers comment, so I can't "despam" in the normal way. I don't know how they do it, those wily dogs. Anyway-- most of it seems to come from bob@somethingoranother.com Is there a way to ban an email address that starts with bob@"whatever"?

Come on geniuses. I need some help. Bob is making me nuts.

What magical quality does the song, "Hammer Time" possess that it can STILL make me act a fool as I'm driving down the road? How embarassing.

Do you ever have those days, where you come in to work, all perfectly innocent and happy, and then you look down at yourself--- and you're too horrified to say anything but "What the heck?"

At what point today did I let my 4 year old pick out my clothes and fix my hair? I know she thinks pinstripe pants and tennis shoes totally rock together, but when did I - I mean- how the- HUH? And the big purple scrunchy- what is going on with that?

I had NOTHING to do with this wardrobe atrocity, I swear it.

Could I BE any more tired? Seriously? At what point will I simply pass out from fatigue?

As a side note, I love the "image" search feature of Google. I was looking for a pic and typed in "sleepy" and "sleeping". There are a LOT of sleepy folks in the world right now. I bet some of you are sleeping even as I type this- you lucky dogs.

*Yawn*

One of the fun things about being pregnant is cravings. Seriously- there's nothing like being really hungry for something specific, then satisfying it. Now, not being able to have what you want when you want it is a different story. Shannon gets a little cranky when that happens. You don't want to see that. It gets ugly.

But I digress.

As morning sickness recedes, cravings rise. Here are a few that have cropped up lately.

1. Pickle sandwich - as in kosher spears and mayo on white bread. Yummers! Try eating that in the employee lounge though- it's not a big hit. Pickle smell, I suppose.
2. Buffalo hotwings- blame Sarcasmo. As of yet- an unmet craving... haven't had time to get them, and part of me dies each day without it.
3. Fried mushrooms- I'm THIS close to sending Patrick out to George's to get me some! Keep your keys handy, babe. I'll share, I promise. (if you just eat a few...)
4. Banana split- I confess I've indulged this craving more than once lately. This is totally unrelated to my recent weight gain, I'm sure.
5. Chili cheese dog (NO ONIONS!!) from Wards- the nearest of which is at least 3 hours away. Shoot. Are all my dreams impossible?
6. Tomato sandwich- as in RIPE GARDEN not waxy Wal-Mart. I don't see this one happenin' either. Oh, and no crust on that, please. I want it round like at a wedding. Hoo-whee!!
7. Chicken divan-- this is on the menu for the weekend. Creamy sauce, here I come! I shall expire in ecstacy.
8. Did I mention the hotwings? sigh.
9. Chocolate milk shake- and not that bland, hey-isn't-this-vanilla? stuff you get at MickeyD's.
10. White style spaghetti with a few canned tomatos. (don't ask me to explain this old family culinary delight. You'll be totally grossed out- just ask Patrick.)

As this list grows... sadly, so do I. I gotta pooch, now, ya know. It's cute though.

At least that morning sickness knocked off a good 7 pounds, though. My body is SO freaking smart!! I've got at least 7 guilt-free pounds to play around with!

*Evil smile.*

I was talking with my sister-in-law, Amy, the other day. We talk every couple of weeks, catching up on the latest of who's doing what, getting family updates, yada yada yada.

We found ourselves discussing the price of groceries, and why it seems that we spend more and more each week. (Eli is my excuse, that kid is eating like a horse these days- well a pony anyway). So, we're lamenting the price of milk, and we figure there must be a cow shortage, because the price is outlandish. Maybe because of the war, we don't know. Laugh, laugh, laugh.

Okay, so a little more of that, and we hang up, promising to call again in a few weeks.

Later, I'm thinking of this conversation, and it hits me. I'VE LOST ALL SEMBLANCE OF COOL.

Waah.

Nine years ago, Amy and I wouldn't have dreamed of talking for an hour and a half about something so mundane. We'd have been planning our night, coordinating with a dozen friends, wearing berets and carrying wallets with menacing chains swinging at our hips. We'd be laughing and dancing and drinking daiquiries that we didn't pay for. Maybe we'd have glitter on our faces and it would sparkle in the sunrise we'd stayed out all night to see.

We definitely wouldn't be talking about the price of milk.

And it's not an isolated incident. I distinctly remember a recent call in which we discussed, at length, what cheap brand of diapers is the best. (Luvs has my vote, by the way. Whitecloud never holds- an ugly lesson to learn.)

What has become of me? There's no hope, is there? Because by the time I actually have the schedule and the money to become cool again, it's going to be a midlife crisis, isn't it?

Shoot.

All that, AND the price of milk.

These pictures are from my last trip home, taken by Ashley, who is infinitely better at remembering her camera than me.

If my husband makes a run to the library (FREE books, people! why buy?), and I am out of reading material, I'll ask him to pick me one up, too.

Something akin to wild panic flickers across his face. "Um... okay, I guess. Just write the title and the author down and I'll-"

"Oh, no," I interrupt. "Just pick me out one. Something that looks like me." I hide my smile.

He stares.
I stare.

And with a dejected sigh, he leaves to face what is surely "Mission Impossible". Because no matter how hard he tries (and he does try, readers- he sweats blood on those dusty aisles), he inevetibly comes back with something absolutely, stunningly perfect... for him. I don't know how he does it. He starts off in the right direction. He knows I like fantasy themes (so recently exposed in the Dragon Storm fiasco). And somehow, he finds the one book in the libary that is fantasty themed in a comic book. Sweet.

I love this man.

I don't really expect him to come back with The Nanny Diaries, or Girl With a Pearl Earring. I don't expect him to see that I am, embarrassingly, JUST that girlie occasionally. But he tries, and he is always hopeful that he'll find that one, perfect jewel for me, no matter how many times he comes back with a book that makes me just burst out laughing. He is so good to me, and for me- and I just wanted to say thank you. You rock, honey.

Next time I'll write it down, I promise.

And feel free to go ahead and read the comic book, I mean, graphic novel. It's all yours.

I should have known, based solely on the synopsis on the back of the tape:

"After meteorites fall to Earth in a medieval land, fire-breathing dragons emerge from the rubble to terrorize the countryside, bringing death and destruction. A team of six fighters will have to band together in order to defeat the flying monsters in order to assure the future of mankind."

"But there was nothing else to rent," I whine. So I took a chance.

Turns out, I was tragically and horrifyingly wrong to rent Dragon Storm: When Hell Reigns. Hell did indeed reign for an hour and forty minutes - B Movie Hell. That's an hour and forty minutes of my life I can never get back. And I didn't just subject myself to this film abomination, oh no. A perfectly innocent bystander was also injured by my poor judgement. My dear, sweet husband, who knows that his wife is tragically drawn to fantasy themed movies and is helpless to stop her- suffered along with me. (But not in silence, readers. Oh no. My husband is MST3K reincarnated- which actually made the event endurable.)

At one point, the evil king was wearing a sports jacket. No lie!! Shoulder pads and all! The costume department spruced it up a bit with some embroidery, but come on!! And I'm pretty sure his crown was the Burger King cardboard one, with a little extra gold glitter. I lie not, readers.

People kept falling off horses for no apparent reason, also. A dragon would fly by, and three people spontaneously fell off their horses. It was, in traditional b-movie style, kind of entertaining - but still. Would it have been SO hard to come up with a teeny weeny bit of choreography? Apparently, YES.

Not to mention the extras- I'm guessing there were about 4 all together. They wore hoods so they could be "re-used" in other scenes. It got to the point where you knew if somebody was wearing a hood, they are SO about to die. If I had been a betting woman, I could have won some money on it.

And the "old" wizened wizard? No way, jose. He was about twenty something with a gray wig. Or at least, just some gray dye. Don't ask me why they didn't just hire an OLD actor instead. Beats me.

You'd think all that would teach me not to keep renting these movies. You'd think. But sadly, you'd be wrong.

Poor Patrick.

Have you ever seen something totally bizarre, and it made your day? It made you laugh and you had to tell all your friends what a crazy thing you saw?

Sometimes I play the game "What would everybody do if I did ____" ? Sitting in church, I wonder what everyone would say if I just did a cartwheel down the aisle, for no apparent reason, then went right back to my seat like nothing happened. (this would be especially funny in my very conservative, not-charismatic-by-any-stretch-of-the-imagination Presbyterian church). Or if at the post office, I started singing "Hit Me, Baby One More Time" and maybe throw in some fake tap dancing along with it, a la Sammy Davis, Jr.

Seriously, what could people do? Stare, maybe laugh- join in? Obviously, I can't do those things, because well- I'm not crazy. But sometimes, I wish I was. Sometimes I wish I had the freedom to do something totally uncivilized and inappropriate, and get away with it. Oh the fun I'd have!! What if I barked at the checkout lady at the grocery store? Just a few little "woofs", nothing scary. Or if I drew a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on my forehead with a black marker and went to the bank to apply for a loan? What if I showed up to a job interview in a tiara and fairy wings, eating cotton candy? Wouldn't that be awesome?

I doubt I'd get the job, or the loan, and the checkout lady might call security, but still.

It sounds kinda fun.

Note:

If you wear a cowboy hat, and you tip it at me, and you call me "Little Lady" as you ask for a favor...

I'm granting it. And I'll probably be blushing, too, no matter how old, bowlegged, and homely you might be.

Guess I'm just a gal that appreciates cowboy manners.

When you walk into the labor and delivery of the hospital I work in, you are greeted with my cheerful self. I give directions, information, and I do it with a smile, too. I have to say- I rock.

("Toot, toot!" goes my own horn.)

I actually do like my job, and I am proud to leave people with a good feeling about the staff of this hospital. It's easy when you work for a company that you really like, and this is the best hospital in the state, I'm convinced of it.

Now, I'll admit, some days my smile is a little slower and slightly less genuine, but that's okay. It happens. But generally speaking, I'm happy here. I enjoy what I do and I find it rewarding.

How lucky am I?

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Have to it, boys! Spam away!

Good morning, world! Did you sleep well? I did. *yawn*

Looks to be a good day outside, weather is getting cooler and that puts me in an infinitely better mood. There's nothing like 80 degree weather in November to make a girl cranky. We're still in the weird, in-between stage of winter and summer clothes, but that's okay. Actually, this far south, you can never put away your summer clothes entirely. You just never know. Winter is fickle down here- I distinctly remember wearing shorts one Christmas.

Anyway.

Last night after work, I skipped happily out to my car, delighted to be going home, only to find a flat tire. Oh goodie. Luckily, the maintenance guy had a compressed airtank and he pumped it back up for me (enough to get me home). I'm really quite inept when it comes to flat-tires. I think there's a spare in the trunk, but I'm not entirely sure. I think I could put in some fix-a-flat if I had to, but it's an untested theory. I know I couldn't change the tire if I needed to. I'm pretty useless when it comes to car emergencies, mostly because I'm just not interested in learning how to do it.

Shameful, I know.

Well, that's my confession for the day. And that's all you're getting out of me, buddy. This ain't Taxicab Confessions, after all.

This weekend was so great. Just what I needed!

We loaded up (including Patrick, who was surprisingly free from school work), and headed to my parent's house for a few days. The weather was great, and the kids played outside until they brought a new meaning to the word "dirty". My parents are tucked away in the woods with their own lake and creek and woods aplenty, so there was a lot to do. We romped around till dark, and Patrick gathered up some trees for his bonsai-ing. My mom and grandmother cooked an incredible supper, and I was under the same roof with all my siblings for the first time in AGES. Saturday night, we had a bonfire and made s'mores and told ghost stories. It couldn't have been anymore fun. Unless there had been a spacewalk, which is pretty durn cool.

Anyway, while I was there, my dad showed me the new Sims2 game he bought, and showed me how to get started.

This was a dangerous thing.

There is no other word for this game than ADDICTIVE. And the sad thing, I'm just horrible at it! I've created this terrible sims mother who has no maternal instinct whatsoever. The baby had FLIES buzzing around her, and I still couldn't convince her to change the diaper. Sims Mama was juggling compulsively as Sims Baby wailed for a bottle. Sims Mama went and got in bed and left Sims Baby on the porch at MIDNIGHT where she eventually cried herself to sleep. It was so sad.

So I brought it home.

I can do better, I can. I just need more time. You'll see! Really!! If I can get Sims Mama to attend some parenting classes, and get involved with the local mother's group, I'm sure she'll improve. Maybe a cooking class or two, and it wouldn't hurt to drop by the community center to see somebody about the compulsive juggling... I can do this. Yeah, it's a commitment, but Sims Baby deserves the best, and I'm going to be there for her.

There's no Social Services in the Sims game, right? I was really worried about that. Which kind of... worries me.

"Therefore do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?' or "What shall we drink?' or "What shall we wear?' For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Matthew 6:31-34

Sometimes, I marvel at the fact that I've been a Christian for over twenty years, especially when such a simple concept still eludes me. I've had twenty years to learn not to worry- and I still struggle with it, especially when it comes to finances. The truth of the matter is, there are moments when the pantry is bare. When we're late on the rent. When the lights are almost turned off. We skate by, by the skin of our teeth, at the last minute- all the time. We're actually pretty used to it. We've learned what's important and what's not, and we're not hung up on most of that stuff. But it's not about those things that I worry. I worry about food, and gas, and insurance- the things that aren't luxuries, but necessities. I don't know how not to worry about those things, when it's my job to provide that for my children. There are times, when nothing short of a miracle is going to get us through till the next paycheck. What can I do? I pray, but I don't know if I really expect His help. Am I terrible? The fact is, we need MIRACLES, the real deal- water to wine kind of thing. And let's face it, God just doesn't work like that very often. I bought a lotto ticket, giving God an excellent opportunity to work a miracle, and He didn't. I look in the mailbox, waiting for some big check for something I've overpaid, and nothing. I know that's not the right way. But I've prayed and prayed my heart out, and I still feel like I'm not doing something right. I don't get it. I don't know what He wants me to learn from this. Not to be materialistic? To have more faith? Humility? I'm trying and I'm failing, whatever lesson to be found in this. I guess I feel like if I can figure that out, He'll let things be easier. Writing that, I realize just how short I am falling in this walk right now. I am ashamed to confess these things, I really am. But I'm desperate to find answers, and genuinely worn out from worry. If He knows what our needs are (and I believe He does know), why isn't He doing something? How bad of a Christian am I that I would question Him? Is this why things are hard, because I don't have enough faith? How close will He let us get to debtor's prison before saving us? He's on our side, right? So why do I feel so forgotten... or so unimportant to Him right now?

Before you think I've totally lost my mind, I really am thankful for all the blessings God has given me. I feel very ungrateful voicing these feelings in light of all the things I do have. I have so much more than most of the world. I have ten pair of shoes. How many people don't even have one? I have deodorant, a toothbrush, clothes to wear in the winter and the summer. I have a car and a roof over my head and a t.v. I have a computer! And that's just the physical stuff. I can't even begin to count the other blessings in my life.

I'm terribly conflicted.

Sorry to lament on my blog, I usually try to keep things upbeat around here. But, I also don't want to be false. I've said before that I want APOG to be real, and this is just part of it. Sometimes life is hard, and this is one of those days.

But, tomorrow is another day, somebody once wisely said. Thank goodness for that.

And thus ends what is surely the most depressing post I've ever written. Ugh.

I woke up this morning with the hugest political hangover of all time! Whew! Glad that's over with! Yay Dubya!

That's about as far into it as I'll go though. I'm all politicked out!

The last few days have been killer on me. I am on such an emotional rollercoaster now (to which Patrick can attest, unfortunately). I cry at the drop of a hat (especially if it lands on my toe) but then I laugh at myself because I know what a dope I am! I teared up over women's suffrage yesterday, for crying out loud. Don't get me wrong, it's important. It's just not worth breaking down over in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

I'm a mess.

I haven't felt much like writing lately, but I've been doing a heck of a lot of reading, especially blogs. I followed the election through some of the hot blogs, and I had SO much fun. Much more interesting than old Dan Rather and the gang. Bloggers absolutely ROCK, and this election proved it.

ANYWAY, my point was that I haven't been up to writing much. That's okay- there's an ebb and flow to writing/blogging/any creative outlet. My physical condition is starting to improve, so I expect I'll be more talky now. I feel the baby move now. Seriously! It's super early, I shouldn't really feel it for another month or so, but I know I am. I guess it's possible that I'm farther along than I thought, won't know that for sure until I see the doctor again. (next week). I've been feeling this little twitchy sensation for about a week now. When Ann did a sonogram the other day (remember the perk of working in labor and delivery?) and we saw my little cutie, he did a big kick, and I felt it! I just love being right! It almost makes up for wanting to hurl for 80% of the day.

But it's getting better. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel (well, of the first trimester, anyway. I'm sure I'll have PLENTY more to complain about as we go along, never fear.)

By the way, I told my sister-in-law today that I was close to being out of my first semester (instead of trimester). I had to laugh. It's either fetal brain drain, or we've just been in school TOO long.

Well dears, that's all for this post. We return you now to your regularly scheduled internet browsing.

Shannon's not happy. I don't usually blog when I'm unhappy because it makes for A Peck Of Self Pity, but I'm indulging myself at the moment. Blame the hormones. I don't think they got the memo.

Patrick found out that a mandatory school trip, which is normally scheduled for the week of Spring Break, has been rescheduled for the summer, and extended to 3 weeks. They leave May 22 and return June 7.

I'm due June 3.

There's no way out of it, and the professor is being a hard case about it. No trip, no graduation. End of story.

So what's a girl to do? Well, she has a nice long cry about it. Then she picks herself up-a little prematurely- and she has another nice long cry.

I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. If I were to be induced (shudder), he could be there for the birth, but then he'd miss the first 3 weeks of the baby's life! If he leaves and I pray that I go past my due date, I run the risk of him missing the birth all together, but not missing so much afterward.

-sniff-

Both stink.