I said I would blog today or die trying, but I don't really want to die, so.... I'll talk a little.

Sometimes your mind and heart are so full, of joy and sadness and a combination of both and just... life - that there is nothing easy or near to say. So I say nothing. And in other worlds, I say too much. I saw this quote today on someone's Facebook and it struck me.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Plato
Greek author & philosopher in Athens (427 BC - 347 BC)

That's all I have for today. Tomorrow: more fiction... probably.

the world has shifted

nothing is right, and yet

it's better than I expected

I sat on the couch and waited

you bled out the pain and the guilt

I sat on the couch and waited

king's hearts were moved

I sat on the couch and waited

you walked away alone

I will sit on the couch and wait

to see you again

my precious friend

I don't actually want to be pregnant. I just want a baby. A little, tiny, floppy fuzzy haired baby. Now, before you buy your plane tickets, I am not pregnant. Not planning on getting pregnant. In fact, I had pretty much given up on ever being pregnant again, since I can't carry to term.

I've been working through this for years now, and I've gotten peace about being done, biologically, and about adopting, and even about not being healed. (although the healing-evangelist side of me is a little wary of being sick in body) So that's where I've been for a year or two now, and the spouse pretty much in agreement. Until recently.

Now, he has started making noises about having another baby. A bio baby. I then remind him, if I get pregnant, a) somebody has to take care of me full-time because b) I can't stand up when I'm pregnant and c) he has to quit touring and sing over me for 10 months, or 6 or whatever and d) we have three crazy awesome little kids that I would not be taking care of. Oh, and e) I have made it to 8 months ONCE out of 4 times.

Maybe this topic is super-heavy for you. It's not for me, because I am not pregnant, and thus I am just thinking this through.

So I remind him and then he remembers. And then we talk about healing. Before any of you dispense advice about soap toxins, or raspberry tea or something, uh, don't. It's a physical problem, and we have investigated it thoroughly.

So here's the thing. We stopped praying. And now we're going to start again. And if I get some kind of clear sign that I'm healed, then you can buy your plane ticket. So, pray for me and stay tuned.

Part 1: http://radiantjess.blogspot.com/2009/06/friday-fiction-611.html

Part 2: http://radiantjess.blogspot.com/2009/06/friday-fiction-619.html

Part 3: http://radiantjess.blogspot.com/2009/07/friday-fiction-breakfast-with-jimmy.html

---

Hi y'all. This is Mama talking here.

Now, I guess I get to tell my part of the story here for a minute. Trouble is, you probably don’t wanna hear it now that my name has been trampled, just trampled in the mud in front of well, everyone.

Things ain’t ever as clear as they seem. Like when you get a cup of water outta the faucet, and it seems good and clean, and then you notice little white stuff floatin in there. I’m here to stir up a little gunk so you can see better.

I married Jimmy Sr. when I was seventeen. Seventeen, y’all. Barely outta diapers. I started crankin out babies and then he got tired of the noise, and spending his hard earned dollars on something besides drinking and playing pool, and next thing I knew he was gone, and here I was with two snotty-nosed little kids and no money, and me looking like a million dollars.

I tell you what, I was something to look at. Still am, in fact. But back then, I knew I was too good lookin to work at Wal-Mart, and besides, I was Homecoming Queen both of my sophomore years.

Lucky for me, Mama was still living then and she worked three jobs anyway, so we just moved in over there and I helped out, kept the place picked up and made dinner every now and then. Mama never really appreciated me. She complained all the time, and who wants to be around a complainer? No one, that’s who. I spent most of my time at Thirsty Jim’s, and rarely paid for my own drink. God don’t give a girl a face like this because He intended her to pay for her own beer, I’m just sayin.

We managed to get by that way for several years, and then Mama took sick and we had to put her in the nursing home. She died pretty quick after that, bless her heart, and left us the house and a little nest egg she had been hiding, evidently. Surprised the heck outta me, because man, she could be stingy with her cash. Mama was selfish that way.

After a record-breaking 2 "0" comment posts, I received these comments on yesterday's blog. My initial response was a little "ouch" twinge, to think that some random anonymous person thinks I don't have "it" anymore.
I shook it off, responded politely enough, and then got on with my life, but it still bugged me a little. Then, I realized who it was.

Anonymous said...
Woah... You've been rockin the comments lately. Might want to call it quits! Throw in the towel. Give us the ghost! ?

July 22, 2009 8:16 PM

Anonymous said...
up... up the Ghost. (we'll at least you got another comment out of me..)

July 22, 2009 8:17 PM

Let's take this apart piece by piece.

"Woah... You've been rockin the comments lately. Might want to call it quits! Throw in the towel. Give us the ghost! ?"

excessive exclamation points, excessive figures of speech, use of the term "rockin"... misspells the no doubt complex word "up"

"up... up the Ghost. (we'll at least you got another comment out of me..)"

Manages to correctly spell "up" this time, but capitalizes Ghost, both an indicator of Charismaniac backing, and a Random Capitalization Disorder (RCD), and uses the contraction for "we will" (we'll) instead of the far simpler and more appropriate "well", as well as ignoring most basic punctuation laws.

It came to me. And as I sat across from the treacherous anonymous commenter on my couch, I posed the subtle question, "Did you comment anonymously on my blog today?"

Ah, the telltale guilty smile and evasive answer.

I press harder. "I know it's you...."

He turns brightish pink, all the way to the top of his bald Viking head and back down. I then explained my deductions, and broke him.

Son of a gun.

With friends like this....

I have been neglecting the ol' blog here lately, which is a bummer because I really love it. Things have been busy, and it's hard to organize my thoughts. So you're going to get lameblogs until I free up a little brain room.

---

Last night we led worship at the Teen Camp again, with Radiant. It was cwazy. They have worked up a techno-rave version of O Clap Your Hands, and there was dancing, and wildness. I am going to have to youtube some rave dancing to know what to do next time... it's a whole different dynamic than your basic rock twitching.

Later we moved into some really sweet spontaneous stuff, and they did some hands-on ministry to the kids, which I love so much. Sometimes I miss being a youth pastor. It got pretty nuts at the end, and there was kind of a giant conga line, which was all WIN. We ended around 11 pm.

---

This morning Matt and Nate and Daniel headed back to Texas. (Daniel still lives in KC, but he has stuff to do in Texas all the time) It's very quiet now. I miss the community of our team. We have finally made friends here, and we have people around a lot, but I miss having our team close.

So now we're off duty till Monday, when we lead worship again, this time with our IHOP team. Today is the first day off in a while, but that just means all the regular-life stuff has to be dealt with, like, we have a brake almost out and a flat-ish tire. And laundry. Lots of laundry. Still, I feel like I need to sit down and breathe a little.

Well, it has been a cwazy weekend. What? It's Tuesday? Oops.

Got my hair cut... Friday? I don't remember. Someone I will call "Rocky" managed to refrain from calling me an Irish boy this time. Some lessons are learned the hard way. I like it, and "Rocky" likes it now, as long as I girl it up with the cosmetics and the baubles and idle adornments.

Then I don't remember- it's like a blur. Nate and Matt and Daniel got here Sunday night, and we did stuff, and then all day Monday we practiced, except for the three hours that the septic tried to flood the basement. Then, Radiant led worship at ATC. It was a blast, we were a little tame but still pretty rowdy for these parts. We lead again tonight- in a couple of hours. Also yesterday, we housed 15 missionaries or so and farmed out another 20 something.... good friends from Nashville. It was great to see them, although I was in a sleepy haze.

Oh! and we had a professional photo shoot with Shelley Paulson! It was very very fun- we took my couch out in a field of tall grass and then we sat on it and jumped off of it and did various photograph-y things. I am stoked about getting those pics... they're going to be great.

So I am a slacker on the blogging, but in my defense, I have been having a life. So there you go.

Part 1: http://radiantjess.blogspot.com/2009/06/friday-fiction-611.html

Part 2: http://radiantjess.blogspot.com/2009/06/friday-fiction-619.html

Seeing Mama on that soap opera had really wore me out and I nearly overslept and forgot Jimmy's breakfast in the morning. By time I got it done, he only had a couple minutes and he was just grumpy as a bear. I gave him his eggs and a Pop-Tart on a special plate and sat down for a nice little chat.

Now, me and Jimmy have had our ups and downs. I mean, brothers and sisters tend to have their squabbles, you know, and we was no exception.

While back, maybe 2 years now, Jimmy brought this woman home. Boy, she was all fingernails and denim and big hair and loose morals… I guess he figured she’d move in and be something like a wife. Now, Jimmy’s no saint but Candy was pure evil. I tell you what, I slept with a butter knife under my pillow… Candy only made it a week or two before me and her crossed up, and then she left pretty quick. (stole my perfume I got from Avon, too. Not worth the bullet…)

Another time, Jimmy got thrown in jail for a fight or something and I came to pick him up and then we got in a argument and I left his butt there. 2 days he sat in County. Lucky for him, the pizza industry was not too hard on its workers back then, he just went right on back to work when he got out.

Anyway, Jimmy thinks I don’t want him to ever get married and I cause trouble on purpose. Fact is, I’d love for him to get married and start leaving his socks in somebody else’s couch. I’m just sayin there ain’t a long line waiting…

So I knew going in I’d have to handle him gentle.

I started out real easy. “Hey, uh, Jimmy,” I said, putting down the coffeepot.

He started to growling “Why you got to slam the coffee around? Just so dadgum loud every minute?”

“Jimmy, I need to talk to you about somethin.”

And just like that he got up and walked out, griping all the way about the electric company and deadlines and how the President had it in for us and so on. Slammed the door and held his head all the way to the truck. Woke up the baby, too, the no-good…

Now I need come up with another plan. Or just wait till Jimmy’s in a good mood, which is harder than it sounds.

Also, I gotta do some research and find out where Telenova is, and why they’re hiring rotten run-off deadbeat mothers for their rotten soap operas. I guess I’mon have to learn Spanish.

I didn't blog yesterday, FYI. Maybe you are so, so concerned and maybe even freaking out. If so, chill. You are way too invested in this blog, maybe even co-dependent. Now tell me, how did your mother relate to your father? Mmhm.

In other news, I am inspired. I checked out a very heavy load of books from the library about decorating on a budget (or free) and I have gotten a ton of ideas. Like this: (not my window)

So maybe you're like "Uh, no doiky. Bottles on a windowsill are a beautiful and inexpensive way to decorate, DUH." If so, you are a little hostile. Snap out of it.

So I went today and bought some bottles from the thrift store and some little decorative things... and I put candles inside my woodburning stove, which looks pretty. It almost helps me forget the mountain of laundry on the couch and the boxes in the garage. Almost.

I also bought this chair, and have been mocked. I don't care... I saw stuff like this in my book, and I WILL learn how to decorate or die trying. Or I will lose interest and give up. Anyways. This chair was $1.98. Yessss.

I have discovered, through my multitudinous books, that I like country. Now at first, I was alarmed, because I do NOT like ruffles, or geese. Or peach and blue. Well, whoda thunk that that is not country? At least not the Country that Country Living ascribes to. So I'm country, y'all.

My next step is getting some cash and a garage sale buddy... and keeping my inspiration.

R2 and I went to the eye doctor today, or if you're all fancy-schmancy, the ophthalmologist. It's been a year since our last visit, so you might not remember that our doctor looks like a movie star. It always surprises me. I mean, you expect to see stunning people at your run-of-the-mill 24 hour house of prayer, with awesome hair. But when you go to an eye doctor you kinda expect the scrubby short-haired glass-ed type with the lab coat. This one wears beautiful shiny clothes and has flowing curly blonde hair and a purse of magical toys. Anyways.

Going to appointments with just R2 is always a little strange. I mean, I did it for 6 years before Toby came along, but now I've gotten used to constant input. Constant. So now, to ride for a half hour with no talking in the van, and then around various elevators, up to the clinic where I answer all questions on his behalf, and so on. You'd think I'd enjoy the break from the noise. I tend to talk to him a whole lot, and kinda just keep both sides going.

His prescription from last year was a little strong, so we got a new and reduced one, which is fun because new glasses! I got him some hip little black frames that look pretty cool.

Also today: we got an x-ray of his hand and elbow- to determine bone age. This is über cool. He's about to go through some testing to determine if it's a problem that he hasn't grown in a couple of years, and the bone x-ray is the first step. I'm very curious as to how old his body thinks he is....

In other news, Toby has not been hellacious today, and I am feeling a little better. Chicken or the egg, who knows...

I have had the unmitigated gall to go and get sick. I know, I'm a nervy little broad. Now, before you buy your one-way plane tickets, Mama and Eva, I am not pregnant. Yes, I'm sure.

I am sick, though. I have some kinda flu that comes and goes... but for three days or so I have felt sick and achy and miserable... the problem is, I am the mama.

There is a bat-signal of sorts that goes out to toddler types when Mama gets sick. "Act bad!" it says, across the sky. "Act very, very bad! Maybe even draw blood!"

Toddlers house-wide receive the missive and comply like good little heathens.

"Steal the brownies out of Mama's room, and share them with your sister, and spread them as far as you can, in your mom's bed, and then in your bed and your sister's crib and all the way down the hall! More crumbs!"

"Nap? What's a nap? You aren't even sleepy! You should bite each other and scream instead!"

"You can't just eat that- you have to fall down screaming about how you NEVER EVER want pizza ever again first for a while. Okay, now eat it cheerfully."

and so...... on....

I had a meltdown today and tried to go to a hotel to take a nap. Couldn't find the keys, and besides, I wasn't really going to a hotel.

After I took out an ad and had it published on his forehead, the MOG figured out that maybe I needed help with HIS children, since I was having a psychotic break. I don't know exactly what happened, but I slept for over an hour, so whatever.

You might have heard me mention that this house has its quirks. Lemme tell you some. Obviously, you are hard up for some entertainment, lurking around here.

First, in the living room, there is a woodburning stove. Not so quirky, more like totally rad. We don't know if it works, since the landlord never tried it, and of course the Bachelors (previous residents) only used it to hold beer cans or something, or maybe to pee on, since they evidently peed on lots of things around here. (isn't that quirky?) (disclaimer: a bachelor really did pee on stuff, but the landlord cleaned it all thoroughly before we moved in. at least, we think it's all clean)

Another quirk: my stove is about 75 degrees wrong. Lucky for me, I'm good at math. (snort) It took incinerating cookies at about three different temps before I could gauge how off it was.

Oh, and there are TWO switches in the kitchen. Both operate the light and the garbage disposal, simultaneously.

And then there is the randomness. Somebody thrifty lived here once. The crown molding and chair rails are all the same color. So that is good. Now as to whether they are the same size, or the same design from one wall to another, come on. Nit.pick.y.

In my room, one of my windowsills is marble. That's the fancy one. On a different window, one side has a very ornate wooden trim running down one side, and one side only. Quirky.

The sunroom is pure quirk built in a drunken seizure of a man deeply in love with his wife. It is cheery, it is a huge, happy room, and it is a funhouse. Every windowsill starts out right and then things just get, well, quirky.

Let me also clear up any misunderstandings. I love this house. I just walk around geeking out all the time about how great it is, and how much I love it. I mean, I'm a little quirky my own self....

sliding door into sunroom

We have reached a discipline crisis of sorts with Toby. I say we because I am married to Toby's father. although he somehow manages to miss almost every infraction- just has his head turned at the right moment, or is deeply pondering the excellencies of Christ and completely misses Brynn taking a healthy bite out of Toby's elbow.... 

Anyway, this crisis falls primarily upon me. Toby steals food. All.the.time. It is more than crazy-making.... 

I think I don't feed them enough. It's tricky, though. Toby and Bean both can't have milk or fruit or juice- just tiny amounts or their stomachs get messed up... so I feed them lots of crackers and cheese sticks and granola bars and the occasional carrot stick... plus meals, of course. Actually, they eat a lot. Just never enough, I guess. 

The thing is, he steals fruit, and sweets. Today, he climbed on the chair, then the counter, and somehow got the box of cookies from on top of the refrigerator. I noticed the silence in the house and deduced correctly. He and Brynn were hiding in the sunroom with fists and faces full... (sigh) 

I have spanked him, threatened him, talked to him, etc. I have put locks on everything before, but I wish I could FIX the problem instead of just finding a way to limit it. 

If you aren't me, which all of you aren't, then this could be pretty funny. Actually, my inner imp finds it funny- the sneakiness and the LENGTHS the boy goes to for a brownie. And his partners in crime- if they happen to be there when he pulls half of a watermelon out of the fridge and sticks his hands in to the elbow- they don't turn down a free snack. 

But I would also like to be the boss of my kid. Also, I would like to eat the brownies myself. 

I have always envied girls with sleek straight hair, blonde with smooth honey highlights. I envy their manicures and their pedicures, and their tan arms, and their glorious white clothes. Growing up outside the Woodlands, you come to accept strawlike bleached-at-home tresses, and home manicures on splintery nails and even freckles. But I can never get over my white clothes envy. They are just so, so smooth.

Today I went shopping at the thrift store. I tried on about 15 pair of shorts and capris, looking for something that a) covers my thighs b) does not make said thighs look gargantuan and c) can be worn around people who eat spaghetti with their hands. I looked longingly at several pair of blinding white capris, but I don't live in denial. I cannot wear white. Especially white pants.

Maybe you're saying, Oh, because of your kids... no, because of me. I have spent most of my life advertising my last meal on my clothes. Just me, pre crud-wipers. I am a wee bit of a klutz. Maybe you have always noted my gazelle-like grace and now you are in shock and disbelief. Yes, I drop stuff. EVERY day. Food, clothes, valuables, especially dishes. I break a dish maybe once a week. So yeah, I tend to spread food around a little. I imagine, if I bought that gorgeous solid white tank with eyelet lace, I would manage to stain it before I even got home from the store, while it was still in the bag. ((sigh))

I love white. But we will e'er be star-crossed.

Oh, and if you are my friend or my sister, and you have sleek perfectly highlighted hair, and perfect nails, and you wear white pants, I don't dislike you. I just look wistfully on, the way I imagine a penguin would watch a giraffe, wishing he too could fetch leafy greens from the sky....

The thing about moving is, you need your stuff. But not everything. Just a few things out of each box, because everything else doesn't have a place yet, and if you brought it in, it would just sit awkwardly in the middle of everything until a) the MOG threw it away or b) you stop noticing it, and keep your Conroe Tigers Senior beer stein on the counter for a couple of years, maybe eventually putting loose change, guitar picks, and random screws and paper clips in it.  

So we have boxes full of things in the garage, and are currently unpacking 1-2 boxes a day and assimilating their contents into our daily lives. Other boxes are just being ransacked, and having one key item removed, leaving the forsaken remainder staring wistfully from within, packing tape hanging askew. 

I know we'll get most of it done, and then we get to get to the funner part, repainting the "orphanage green" stairwell, and various crafty projects I am envisioning. The reasons I am a little stressed about it are a) we might never unpack it, and our garage will just stay in its fallen state forever  and b) there is a MOUSE.

I know, it was too good to be true. Perfect house, albeit quite a bit quirky on its random assortments of crown molding and various other "special features". The other night, as I sat eating my sad, sad excuse for guacamole from Price Chopper, I saw something dart across the floor. I actually found myself hoping it was a cockroach. I was so alarmed I squealed like a little girl, and then remained frozen on the couch until Han and Richy came home. I tried to break it to them gently.

"I have TERRIBLE news," I explained

(concerned noises)

" We have....a...... MOUSE." 

(laughing at ME noises, explanations of the goodness and friendliness of "mouses")

"Mouses are not bad," Han explained. Imagine my relief.

Lucky for Mighty Mouse, I haven't seen him again. Because if I do, I will break Hannah's little heart and destroy him. 

I'm so happy I'm about to start composing poetry, to an appliance.

better to live on a rooftop, I know.

As I was making this video, the MOG interrupted me and forbade me to continue until more things are set right around here. Hopefully, that will be tomorrow.

So this is what happened since Tuesday. Sheesh, Tuesday was like a lifetime ago. Okay. Tuesday, Richy and his IHOP band took all the big furniture to the new house, and we sat on the floor and slept on mattresses on the floor and ate at McDonald's.

Wednesday, the boys started driving stuff over to the new house and me and Ham stayed (and the wee ones) and cleaned and packed some more, ad infinitum. Then I went to the new house with the little people and started unpacking boxes and never had internet again. Actually, I guess I never went back to the other house. I have a little sad twinge- I hate change but the new house is so exciting.

Oh, and we led worship for ATC Wednesday night and Fascinate 09 yesterday afternoon. In other words, insanity. In.san.it.y.

So here I am in the new house, with internet, although not wireless yet, so we are dragging around a massive cable to various internetting locales.

This morning, it rained on my skylight. That made me so, so happy, just the sound and the rain washing over - beautiful.

It's going to be a ton of work to assimilate all of our stuff into the house, as most of it is currently in boxes in the garage. Luckily, we have a lot of space to work with.

The thing is, this is a housey house. Like for grownups, with kids, and a lawn and stuff. Very exciting.