Today I rest

It has been a crazy hectic few weeks. On top of kids being sick, finalizing adoption paperwork, preparing for Christmas, a birthday, working, and all the other craziness of December, Lee has been traveling almost non-stop, which leaves one weary Mama.

We’ve made it. I haven’t always handled everything gracefully, but by and large it has been a lovely Christmas season. That said – I need a break.

I get this look in my eyes when I’m about to snap. It’s kind of a manic, wide-eyed, get me out of the house before I break down mentally and spend a day on the couch eating Nutella with my fingers and staring at the wall sort of look. Lee knows it well. So tonight he is sending me to a hotel at the beach.

Alone.

By myself.

I’m sorry, but did you hear what I said? I AM GOING TO A HOTEL ALONE!

Are you jumping up and down, clapping your hands and girl shrieking like me?

I’m taking my computer and plan on working on my book, because I haven’t had time the last couple of weeks and it’s been driving me crazy. I’m going to order room service and sit in the hot tub and be totally crazy tomorrow morning and sleep in…until, like, 8:00.

So forgive me while I head off and merrily skip through the house. There’s laundry to put away and crunchy floors to clean. There are Christmas parties to attend at school and I think it’s time I got the car washed. I have one more Christmas gift to buy and the dog needs a walk and I should probably put something in the crock pot for dinner.

I can think about doing all that with out mentally shutting down because I’M GOING TO A HOTEL BY MYSELF TONIGHT!

Amen?

And we all said amen.

(PS – Please pray hard about this situation in Russia. It’s so tenuous right now. This thing is going to go all the way up to Putin and right now nobody can really read which way he will lean. But if he signs it into effect, Russian adoptions will be effectively banned beginning January 1st. What that means for us is still a little unclear. No one is sure if he will give a twelve month clearance before shutting it all down, or if he will effectively close it down completely.

Where yesterday I felt peaceful, today I am nervous. Pray for  the situation. Pray for Putin. Pray for the hundreds of thousands of waiting orphans. Pray for our family and all the families like us who are so close. Thank you!)  

It’s like he doesn’t know me at all

Update: Lee took me out to dinner on Saturday night, but before we went to the restaurant, we went to Target. He bought me the hat. He’s a fast learner, friends. A very fast learner. Let’s all give him a round of applause. *winky face!* 😉

Today, after dropping Landon off at preschool, I headed to the Promised Land. Target. The land of bright, happy colorful things that make the world a better, happier place.

While browsing, I came upon this hat:

I finished watching Season 2 of Downton Abbey last night and I have spent the better part of the last two weeks fawning over the fashions and styles of those days. This hat felt very Downton-esque to me and I quickly tossed it in my cart.

Then I stopped myself and put it back on the shelf, took this picture and texted my husband.

“Christmas gift idea. I love this hat from Target.” I included a winky face, of course, because every good wife should send her husband winky yellow ping pong heads when requesting a gift. It’s like wife-law in the new media age. 😉

I felt rather good about myself after sending this text for a couple of reasons, the main one being that I actually gave my husband an idea instead of shrugging my shoulders and asking the poor man (whose spiritual gift is decidedly not gift giving) to surprise me.

I went on my merry way, picking up on the items I needed and imagining wearing my new hat come Christmas day. Then I got a phone call that…well, frankly it took me very much by surprise.

Me: “Hello?”

Lee: “Alright, we need to get something straight here.”

Me: “Uh…okaaaayyyy.”

Lee: “Target is a store for buying kitchen items. You buy can openers and trash bags and maybe a brushed nickel picture frame from Target, but you do not buy hats from Target.”

Me: *silence*

Lee: “I’m not going to buy you a hat from Target.”

Me: “Why?”

Lee: “You don’t wear stuff from Target. That’s not fashion.”

Me: “You DO know that most of my clothes are from target, right?”

Lee: “That’s neither here nor there.”

Me: “Well, I mean, technically it’s here, because it’s true.”

Lee: “Go to Macy’s or some place like that and pick out a hat. I’ll buy you a hat. You look sexy in hats. But go to a place that makes quality hats.”

Me: “No, that doesn’t make sense. I could find a hat exactly like this one at Macy’s and it would cost $50. This one only costs $16 and I like it.”

Lee: “I just can’t buy you a hat from Target. It doesn’t feel right.”

Me: “Um, babe? You do know that Target is basically the Mothership for women, right? I mean, this is Mecca. It’s the Homeland.”

Lee: “No. It’s a place to buy kitchen utensils.”

Me: “It’s like I don’t even know you at all.”

Lee: “Women really like Target that much? I don’t get it.”

Me: “Clearly….so are you going to get me the hat?”

Lee: “I don’t think so.”

Me: “Huh. Can I buy it for myself for Christmas?”

Lee: “No because I’m going to get you a hat. I’ll get you the greatest hat you’ve ever seen.”

Me: “For sixteen dollars or less?”

Lee: “Go to Kohls. See if they have hats. Kohls is better than Target.”

Me: “I…I just…I don’t even know what to say.”

Lee: “Target is for kitchen supplies.”

I hung up the phone and couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. So I just laughed until I cried, which seemed like a happy comprimise.

First of all, I’m not sure I’ve ever bought kitchen supplies from Target so that alone is cause for a bit of confusion. Secondly, it is clear – CLEAR – he is seeing Target through blue glasses while I see it through pink. That can be the only explanation. Is it the male testosterone? Is that why he’s confused? Maybe he just doesn’t know…doesn’t understand. I think we should all pray for him, that his eyes would be opened to the truth, to the retail glory to which he is so tragically blinded.

I also think that this MORE than makes up for the shock and horror I caused during our conversation about The Natural.

Babe, we’re even. 😉

Now about that hat…

Lean into the embrace

I came home torn and confused and frustrated and plopped on the couch with a long sigh. He looked up at me over the glow of his iPad and waited a moment before speaking.

“I knew this would happen,” he said with a smile. It wasn’t a haughty or prideful smile. I felt his sympathy and my eyes welled with tears.

“This is so hard,” I whispered and he nodded his head.

We have lived in Florida for a year and we have visited and tried out every church in the greater Tampa area. We found one we loved and we connected. We connected with the people and the pastor and the worship. It was everything we thought we were looking for.

Large.

Stable.

Connected.

It fit into the neat little puzzle of church that we were used to and I desperately wanted to stay there. But…

It was a solid thirty minute drive from our house and I saw Lee shut down every time we made the drive. I knew that this couldn’t become our church home. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t practical to drive that far, particularly because our children turn into rabid, psychotic baboons in the car.

I wish I was joking.

So I wasn’t surprised when Lee mentioned that we needed to start visiting churches closer to home again. We did, over and over we visited and nothing fit. Nothing felt right. I came home in tears every single Sunday.

Finally we visited a small church about seven minutes away. We’d visited this church earlier in the year. It was a recent plant and there were a lot of bugs to be worked out. Upon revisiting the church I realized there were still bugs to be worked out…but they were in my own heart.

It’s small, this church. Smaller than any church we have ever attended. I’m not used to that.

It’s a plant, something I’m also unfamilier with and makes me feel uncomfortable. But who said comfort was the goal, right?

It’s Baptist. I haven’t been in a Baptist church in a really, really long time. I have to get used to it. It’s not wrong, but it is different and I am learning to embrace the different.

But the people…oh the people. They are wonderful. They remember us when we walk in the door. They are excited to see us when we arrive. They know us and want to see us using the gifts and talents that we have been given in the best way possible.

They want to build a community.

We need community.

And so we have stayed and I continue to allow the bugs to be pushed and prodded and shaped into something more beautiful. Less about me.

But it’s still hard, because it’s not what I’ve known. I’ve lived in the unfamiliar for over a year now and part of me longs for the peace that comes with knowing and understanding. The peace of comfort. Peace.

 

Could it be that peace is a choice?

 

I stepped forward to serve in a way that I’ve always served – in the area that God has not only gifted me, but also that I’m passionate about. But they don’t know me. They know I say I’m gifted in this area, but there’s no proof to back up those claims and I…well, I’m prone to sit in the back corner and wait to be discovered. That’s what happened on this particular night. I sat in the corner and I knew I couldn’t stay there.

As I sat on the couch, knees pulled up to my chest, Lee leaned forward and spoke wisdom.

These are your gifts.

You have to use your gifts this way.

Sitting in the corner is not your gift.

You have to tell them.

You have to be bold.

And this month is the month of believing I can, so I made the call. It was uncomfortable, this business of boldly proclaiming my gifts. It felt snobby to so bluntly lay out how I believe I can best serve within the Church.

I felt like a diva.

But I also felt empowered. My husband has never before told me those things and I’d never thought of my abilities in the way he spoke of them. It was the first time I’d embraced my skills and I leaned into the embrace. You know what happened?

Relief. Not just my own relief, though I certainly felt freed from the inner angst that threatened to keep me tied in the corner. But, there was also relief from those in leadership positions who really want to use us all in the way that God desigend us to be used.

As it turns out, pastors and worship leaders and church leaders don’t have ESP. They don’t have some magical sixth sense that allows them to see the future and see exactly how each member of the body should be used.

 

Weird, huh?

 

Leaning into the embrace not only freed me up to be used, but it freed them up to know how to best utilize my skills. Bold living, humble serving – this is how we work together as a body of believers.

It’s actually not as scary as I thought it would be.

The Date

Lee has the day off so we are taking advantage of cooler temps and an overcast day to go to Busch Gardens.

Alone.

Just me and him.

Alone.

We’re going to ride all the fun roller coasters that we haven’t been able to ride because we’ve always had the kids with us.

Alone.

This is an unexpected and lovely treat leading us into our weekend. A date. During the day.

Alone.

I’m not excited or anything…

What’s the most fun or creative date you’ve ever been on?

On raising intellectuals

“Bonhoeffer was a remarkably independent thinker, especially for one so young. Some professors regarded him as arrogant, especially because he refused to come too directly under the influence of one of them, always preffering to maintain his distance. But someone who grew up dining with Karl Bonhoeffer, and who was allowed to speak only when he could justify every syllable, had probably developed a certain intellectual confidence and may be somewhat excused if he was not intimidated by other great minds.” Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy (page 62). Written by Eric Metaxas

“…Then his mother weighed in, suggesting that perhaps he should study under Holl, the Luther expert, and write his dissertation on dogmatics after Seeberg was out of the picture. As the daughter of a respected theologian and the granddaughter of a world-famous one, she likely had more to say on this subject than any mother in Germany. The intellect of both Bonhoeffer parents and their interest in their son’s academic progress are remarkable, and we can hardly wonder at his closeness to them.” Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy (page 63).

Actual conversations heard in my house:

Sloan to Lee: “Hey Dad.” Pulls off his shirt and flexes his muscles. “How do you pop your pecs?”

Lee: “Well, son. Pec popping is a pretty well defined science. It’s really not to be attempted without intense training and a lot of dedicated practice.

Tia: “Can I feel your pecs while you pop them, Dad?”

Lee: “No. Because that’s weird.”

**************************

“Hey, Mom, look at this,” said the child who shall remain unnamed. “Look how far I can put this finger up my nose.” Shoves pointer finger up nose.

Me: “Hmmm…not bad, and that’s not even your biggest finger…now please don’t do that at the dinner table.”

***************************

We are just like the Bonhoeffers…

And then there were six?

This guy has been asking to do this for awhile…

Photo by Lulu Photography (LuluPhotog.com)

This girl told us a few months ago that she was praying very specifically…

This guy gets to play a new role and he is thrilled…

This girl is stepping onto a path toward her dream come true…

Photo by Avodah Images.com

And this guy is the one who has listened closely to the Lord’s calling and taken a giant leap of faith, leading our family down a very new path…

Big changes are headed our way. The path will be bumpy and rough and beautiful and scary and each step is taken with a gigantic measure of faith. It’s a path full of unknowns and we’re excited to see what the bend in the road will produce.

Have you guessed it yet?

Through God’s grace and His Provision alone, our little family of five will become a family of six.

 

We are in the process of adopting a little girl from Russia.

 

Pray with us, please?

This journey will not be easy and a child in our arms at the end of the road is not guaranteed. The adoption situation in Russia is tenuous at best and there is every possibility that the door could close so we take each step with great faith and prayer for protection for us and our children.

We are elbow deep in paper work and some days I feel so excited and filled with anticipation. Other days I feel discouraged and worried and afraid. I’m told this is normal.

Your prayers are most appreicated and coveted. We have a lot of work to do, a lot of money to raise, a lot of faith to develop and cling to.

I’m so glad to have you all by our side.

Happy Thursday, friends.

To us, they really will always be kids…

It’s all Olympics all the time around here. I’m exhausted. If we could get a medal for dedication to watching and cheering on, I feel I deserve at least a bronze. I went to bed at ten last night after looking up the results online because I was just too tired to spend another night watching TV so that knocks me down a bit in the medal stand.

The Olympics are emotional. No matter who wins or loses, I find myself in tears almost every single time. Every race, every match, every event is the culmination of dreams come true for some and dashed dreams for others. We are watching lives unfold before our very eyes, and it is exhausting.

P & G’s Thank you, Mom series of commercials isn’t helping. This particular commercial turns me into a blubbery mess every single time.

The other one that messes with me is this one, because it’s true. No matter how old, or how big, or how great they become, to us Mama’s they’re frozen in time, the little ones who begged for nighttime hugs and kisses, one more drink, a few more snuggles and can I please sit on your lap, Mommy?

Their giggles are frozen in time, the freckles that dot their noses imprinted in our memories until the day we close our eyes for the final time. As much as I love to watch the athletes succeed, I love to watch their parents even more. With each twist and turn, each stroke made, each stride, the mothers and fathers who walked this road alongside them move. You can see the tension in their faces, the relief in their eyes when it’s all said and done.

Most of us parents won’t be sitting in those sidelines. Most of us won’t welcome home an Olympian or a Super Bowl Champ or a World Series MVP. Most of us will allow those dreams to foster in our kids knowing that it’s probably not really in their futures and we’ll be okay with it.

But we will all watch our children grow and learn and succeed and fail in different areas – maybe on a world stage, maybe in an office cubicle, maybe in a classroom or a mission field or a boardroom or as parents raising their own children. We will watch them grow and develop and become who they were meant to be.

And we will love them fiercely and deeply and proudly.

Some of us will be disappointed by the decisions our children make. We will sit back and watch them struggle and we will ache and cry and pray and long to see them crawl out of the pit that they have dug for themselves.

And we will love them fiercely and deeply and proudly.

As we drove home from Sloan’s football practice the other night, he shared with us some of his fears. He is not an aggressive child making football an odd choice for him. He’s built for the game and is talented enough, but his heart is so tender and competition is not really in his genetic make up.

But he wanted to play, so we signed him up.

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone,” he said. “And, I’m afraid I won’t do a good job and you will be disappointed.”

“Son, let me tell you something,” Lee said, turning the rearview mirror so he could look into the eyes of his first born. The one he loves fiercely and deeply and proudly. “You can make every single play, throw the ball perfectly and win the top championship in the world, and I will be so proud of you and I will love you,” he said and Sloan nodded.

“And you can miss every pass, fumble every ball, miss every tackle and trip over your own two feet the entire game, losing every game you play and I will be so proud of you and I will love you.” Sloan nodded again.

“There is nothing you can do on or off that football field that will change the fact that I am proud of you and I love you. Because you are my son and that’s all that matters to me.”

To us, they will always be kids. They will fail and they will succeed. They will hurt and mess up and get angry and they will still be our children.

I don’t need a gold medal or a championship ring or a World Series pennant to be a proud and emotional Mama.  

Are you watching the Olympics? Are you as tired as I am?

Til Death

His bent frame curved low over the chair in which he sat. His head was bald, but a photograph in the corner told me he once sported quite a mop of dark hair. His face bore a perpetual smile and his hands trembled mildly as he passed me a black and white photograph of a young woman dressed all in white.

“We were married 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before she passed away,” he said and he offered a wide smile. “She was the prettiest girl I ever laid eyes on.”

I was in a Waco nursing home on an afternoon service project. On my left hand, the engagement ring sparkled and shined and I wore it with such pride that some days I wondered if my heart would burst. As I sat and spoke with Abe, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the picture of his wife, who had passed away only months earlier.

“Tell me about her,” I said. When he spoke of his wife, his face split in two and his eyes sparkled. Love has a way of preserving youth, doesn’t it? I could see the young man Abe had once been when his eyes danced in the memories.

“She had a lot of spunk,” I remember him saying. “Did you know we were married for 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before she died?” I nodded.

“That’s wonderful,” I told him. “I am getting married in just a few months.”

Leaning forward he looked deep in my eyes. “You enjoy it,” he said very seriously. I nodded and he leaned back, satisfied and content. He was, quite possilby, the most joyful man I have ever had the honor of speaking with. “Did you know,” he asked me again, “that we were married 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before my wife passed away?”

I wish I could remember all that Abe told me that day. He shared at length stories of his life with his beloved wife. Stories of the war, of raising children, of traveling and of growing old. And every other sentence was peppered with the fact that they had been married 60 years, 4 months and 22 days before she died.

When I walked out of that nursing home, I rushed to Lee’s house and told him all about Abe. “That’s what I want for us,” I said, lacing my fingers through his. “I want to be married for 60 years, 4 months and 22 days…plus some!” And that became our mantra. I even had it engraved inside his wedding band, which he lost a year ago. Some day I’ll replace it.

On our wedding day, Lee and I recited vows that we had written ourselves. In the vows we included the line, “I will never divorce you.”

Later, someone made the comment that she thought we were irresponsible for using those words. “How do you know what will happen in the future? How can you say you’ll never divorce someone?”

My first inclination was to react defensively. What do you think ‘Til death do us part’ means? Our vow was not meant to be a holier than thou approach to the institution of marriage. Rather, it was the acknowledgement that  marriage is hard and we were in for the fight.

Yesterday we marked twelve years since vowing to spend the next 60 years, 4 months, 22 days plus with one another. I can honestly say it’s been the best twelve years I could have ever imagined. Not the easiest, but the best. Our path hasn’t been smoother than anyone else’s. We’ve had to fight for one another, but it’s been more joy than fight and for that I’m so desperately grateful.

We have been through unemployment, the frustration and discouragement of wanting to be pregnant and not being able to get pregnant, the fear of nearly losing a child, two big moves, a house renovation (oy), the death of loved ones, loss of hair, thickening of waists and the list could go on and on. There have been times when I did not like him much and other times when I was not all that likeable. We are no different from any other couple on the planet.

But in the midst of it all there has been joy so deep that sometimes it takes my breath away. Lee makes me laugh harder than anyone else on this planet and there is no one on this Earth I would rather spend a day with than him. Marriage hasn’t been easy, to be sure.

But it hasn’t been that hard either.

I know how blessed we are. I have seen marriages fall apart and I know that sometimes divorce is the only option. I used to not think that. I used to believe that one should stick it out no matter what, but I know better now. I’ve seen people who were abused in their marriages, emotionally and physically. I’ve seen friends fight tooth and nail for their marriage only to realize that it would be healthier for everyone to just walk away. There is a lot of healing that can take place when someone leaves an unhealthy marriage. Sometimes walking away is necessary and I will never stand in judegement of a failed marriage.

I don’t proclaim immunity to difficulty in our marriage. We are falliable human beings, Lee and I, entirely susceptible to temptation and selfishness and capable of breaking the vows we uttered a dozen years ago. But deep in my heart, I know that there is no one better suited for me than the man I stood before as a fresh faced, naive twenty-two year old.

And with that in mind, I will continue the fight and will keep carving a path toward forever by his side. I will fail, he will fail, but together I believe the two of us are in for quite a journey. One thing I know without a doubt, we’re going to have a good time along the way.

We’ve got 48 years, 4 months and 22 days plus some to keep figuring this thing out.

Image by Avodah Images.com

Edited to add this link to my current favorite song. I love me some Ingrid Michaelson. Listen to it. Download it. Love it. Amen.

Smokey Bones Not Included

Photo by Avodah Images

He came home and called my name.

“I’m back here,” I yelled from our bedroom and he rushed back, his eyes lit. He had a plastic bag in his hands and a huge smile on his face. “I got you something,” he said with a lopsided smirk. I know that smile – it’s pride and mischief all rolled into one goofy grin.

“Okaaaaayyyy,” I replied slowly and I held out my hand. Our seventh anniversary was just days away. Earlier he had asked me what I wanted to do for our special day and I told him I didn’t care as long as he planned it. I hoped this little package had something to do with the big day.

The bag said GOODWILL across the front. This didn’t bode well for him or for me. I reached inside the bag and pulled out…light blue leather pants in a snakeskin pattern.

“Uuummm…” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. Was he serious? WAS. HE. SERIOUS?! So I just stood there awkwardly and he burst into laughter.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, holding his sides. “I saw those today and thought they were hilarious and thought I’d give to you as a joke.”

My face probably looked something like this. Ha ha huh? Photo by Avodah Images.

“Oh,” I said, stuffing the world’s ugliest pants back into the bag. “Um…ha. ha. ha?”

He stood up and wrapped me in a hug and kissed me, still laughing at all his funny. “Seriously, though,” he said, grinning. “I thought of the perfect place to go for our anniversary this weekend.”

I smiled back and leaned into him. “Really?” I asked. Planning has never been his forte’ so the fact that he’d put thought into this was thrilling. “Where are we going to go?”

“There’s this awesome new restaurant that opened up in the Valley a few weeks ago. The food is amazing – I love eating there.”

“Cool!” I said. “What’s it called?”

Smokey. Bones,” he replied, his eyes wide with excitement. “They have the BEST barbeque.”

*crickets*

I was waiting for him to say he was just kidding again.

He didn’t say it.

“Oh…” I let my voice trail off because seriously? He wanted to go to a barbeque joint called Smokey Bones? For our anniversary?!

He picked up on my disdain and quickly assured me we didn’t have to eat at Smokey Bones. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

That’s when I tried to smother him with the leather pants.

The next day we went to our small group Bible Study. I was still a little angry at the Great Smokey Bones Debacle and may have been a bit cold on the ride over. We walked inside our friend’s home and as per usual, we all stood around chatting and visiting.

“Hey Lee,” our friend Brad said, walking up to us. “I’ve got some clients coming to town this week and I’d like to treat them to a nice dinner. Do you have any places you’d recommend?”

“Oh sure,” Lee said and proceeded to rattle off five or six really nice, fancy restaurants around town. And then my jaw fell to the floor.

“SERIOUSLY?!” I interrupted and the room grew quiet. “And Smokey Bones was the best you could come up with for our anniversary?” Lee stammered and shrugged as our friends all burst into laughter, gripping their sides.

I can assure you all that we did NOT, in fact, end up eating at Smokey Bones for our anniversary dinner. In fact, I don’t think I have ever eaten at a Smokey Bones. Truly…truly…I am okay with that.

Photo by Avodah Images

My sweet husband has improved in the romancing and dating department in recent years. He learned a valuable lesson from the Smokey Bones incident and that lesson is that my idea of a romantic evening out doesn’t include plastic table cloths or food delivered in a basket. This is something that every man should be aware of, really. I’m doing all of you a favor by letting you in on this little secret.

Are you taking notes, gentlemen?

My birthday is Monday, so my husband is whisking me away for the weekend to a fancy place (which has been preapproved) where I plan to sleep, read, soak up Florida sun and eat good food at fancy restaurants, none of which will require a bib or wet wipes to complete the meal.

In other words, no Smokey Bones.

Amen.

Do you have any funny dating stories? Do share. We can laugh our way through the weekend…

Photos used by permission by Avodah Images.

If the neighbors didn’t think we were crazy before…

Do you know what responsible adults do? They stay home, skip the beach on a gorgeous Sunday, and do respectable things like mow the lawn and trim the hedges.

That’s what responsible adults do and that’s what we did today. Despite a ridiculously amazing day and more than one invitation to head to the beach, we waved our hands proudly and said “No thanks. We are going home to do responsible stuff.”

So it was that after church we made our way home where we were greeted by a ready meal in the Crock Pot (responsible). Apparently it’s Star Wars week ’round these parts so a marathon was playing on TV. I set up a picnic for the kids in front of the TV because not only am I responsible, but I’m also fun.

Oh yes I am.

After a bit of relaxing, we put on our super responsible hard work caps and set to cleaning up the yard. A few days ago we discovered that our leaf blower and electric hedge trimmer had been stolen out of our garage (awesometown) so I grabbed a pair of manual hedge trimmers and spent the next two hours painstakingly clipping away at the bushes.

I’m typing this post with my chin because I can’t feel or move my forearms.

As I worked at taming the hedges that were slowly choking the life out of our house, Lee hopped on the mower and cut back our jungle of a yard. My, what a respectable pair we made, cleaning up the outside of our home, making it a haven for all who come to visit.

(Please come visit us.)

(Seriously. Florida is awesome.)

(And our hedges are trimmed.)

On one side of our house, not only had the hedges grown to embarrassing impressive heights, but so had the weeds. I think at one point I may have cut down Jack’s Beanstalk.

As I leaned in to pull out a rather pesky weed I felt something prick hard into my skin. I thought it was a branch so I moved to the side, but the stinging grew more intense and then I realized that I wasn’t near any branches and I looked on my shoulder and saw a wasp the size of my head staring at me.

He was all, “Wad up, yo? I’m stingin’ yo a…”

I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence because I started to scream and swat and run high legged through the yard and the wasp was screaming too, probably because I was screaming, but maybe also because I was hitting him. After he flew away I ran a few more circles around the yard for good measure and to send a message to all the other wasps that I was not to be messed with.

It’s at this point that I began to wonder what the neighbors must have been thinking.

Oh, and for the record, wasp stings hurt. A lot. If you tell your kids they don’t hurt, you’re lying.

Anyway, back to the hedges. I picked the trimmer back up and snapped away at the bushes with a vengence. Anger motivated me to push past the pain and trim the heck out of those branches. Then the kids came screeching around the corner.

“SNAKE!”

I had just been stung by a wasp so I had no interest in dealing with another of God’s creatures.

“IN THE GARAGE!”

“Tell your Dad,” I said through clenched teeth.

A few minutes later, the mower stops. We all remember what happens when Lee feels the need to defend the homestead from predators, right? If you haven’t read the story I will give you a short, two-word synopsis:

Possom. Crowbar.

So I wasn’t surprised when Sloan came running around the corner with wide eyes. “Dad needs you,” he said.

My husband wanted me to help him catch a four foot snake. I felt it would be more helpful if I just took pictures of him capturing it. Then the kids and I screamed endlessly as he chased it down and hacked at it with the passion of a man defending his family against the greatest of beasts.

That’s when our brand new neighbor came running across the street. And when I say brand new, I mean they moved in yesterday. Apparently screaming women and crying children is classified as “comotion” these days. He found me snapping pictures of my husband hacking the head off of a snake (and yelping) with our three children crying in horror around us.

Responsible.

Respectable.

We firmly believe in making a good first impression… 

Yes, that's the snake's head...

In my house...