Honestly, I don't care what part in the eco-system the bug, any bug, plays. I just want it dead. Except for lady bugs, because who kills those?
I am happiest outdoors, don't mind getting dirty at all, and most of my hobbies are outdoor ones. I am only a girlie girl on two occasions: shoes and bugs.
I can brave a lot of things, but when a bug starts buzzing around me, I immediately turn into a hysterical, hissy fit throwing hot mess.
Now you know.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
something different
My sister and her husband have been in China for the last 6 weeks, specifically the area that was devastated by a massive earthquake. I'm not sure I can mention exactly where they are, they always have to be so careful, but I wanted to share a post with you that they made last week. They refer to each other by their Tibetan names.
Anyway, I wish this post could be shared with the world at large. I am so humbled by it.
Tonight I am feeling maybe one million things. Here’s the deal. I need to brush my teeth and all before I go to bed but there is only one bathroom in the house we’re staying at and our friend is taking a shower. So here I am, 12:49 am, mind reeling, teeth fuzzy, thinking and pondering and so so tired but still aware. So until the bathroom is free, here I am with you.
We leave in 4 days. FOUR DAYS. The sound of it makes me sick in the pit of my stomach. Oh if only I were enough like my Lord that a day was a thousand years to me… I just feel unfinished here. I have a strong suspicion that much of that has to do with the fact that I didn’t make it down to the earthquake city… and therefore did not really get to say goodbye to the friends I lost and the city I lost in the way I think I had hoped to. But strongly thematic of this trip has been a request from the Beloved one to die every day to my own poorly scrawled plans and accept with joy the thing He gives me to do for that day. I cannot judge His plan as unfair, incorrect, or insufficient. He gave me a lot of love and a lot of people to give it to in this city and oh, I just HAVE to be okay in that.
I’m just… how can you explain love? I have wanted a million times to explain perfectly to my family why it is that I come here. Why it is I can leave them for months on end even though when I do it feels like I am being torn limb from limb and I miss them like crazy while I’m gone and so on and so forth, if I were them I would wonder why on earth I do this. Sometimes even while I’m here I wonder why I do this. Why make life so much harder? Well… I have tried now for years to condense this into a charming anecdote but am hereto unsuccessful. I will tell you instead that:
It’s sitting here in the dark, chilly mountain night with my toes close to the breezy window and the tiny smells of incense and butter on the air and the little floating song from somebody else’s window.
It’s laughing hysterically with a total stranger taxi driver who slugs Dondrup and says “Hey did you watch that American soccer game last night?” and makes fun of how the Americans played. It’s getting to know a little of his life for 9 minutes, learning he has a son that’s 10 years old, learning he was born in this city, learning where his child attends school.
It’s sitting for hours in a living room with 30 nomads I can hardly communicate with and playing language games and absolutely rolling on the floor with laughter when one of them hollers out to my husband (in English) “You are handsome boy!”
It’s drinking the 8th cup of tea in a house where the family can’t afford new clothes to put on their own backs. It’s their offer to feed you dinner. It’s their attempt to give you a small trinket that is really something special to them, just because they consider you their friend.
It’s dressing up in their clothes just exactly the way they would wear them and being told you look absolutely beautiful instead of being scoffed at.
It’s seeing a teenage monk on a bicycle chasing a younger monk who is running down the sidewalk, both of them laughing so hard they threaten to crash, red robes billowing behind them, their humanity laid bare like their tiny muscled arms.
It’s holding a sweet baby that’s almost the same age as my new niece at home and thinking, how different, how very very different their lives will be.
It’s spending hours and days at the hospital with a beautiful precious girl who, short of a miracle, will never live a normal life, will never learn to read, will maybe never leave her home, because of something that’s quite treatable where I come from.
It’s seeing my Aji do something so thoughtful and sweet for a Chinese woman he doesn’t even know. It’s seeing the look of revelation on the Chinese woman’s face and the micro-scale reconciliation between the two ethnic groups there in that moment in that noodle shop.
It’s acquiring a friend and a dear brother and meeting his family. It’s spending time in their home and drinking their tea. It’s climbing mountains together. It’s taking long bus trips together and playing Uno to pass the time. It’s living in the same house. It’s cooking his meals. It’s getting a call on April 14th that his house collapsed in the earthquake and he is gone. It’s grieving deeply. It’s throwing up from sadness. It’s coming back here and deciding to honor his death by loving the people he loved. It’s doing good in his memory.
It’s the other life I live over here. These things are a fraction… a FRACTION… of the million ways that this place has my heart. I’ve seen, and I’m responsible. And I’m ruined. And I wouldn’t want to be rebuilt. I am ruined for life that is not life at all. And I am in love to the hilt with life that is real, true, sweating, bleeding, breathing, painstaking, breathtaking, REAL LIFE.
The bathroom’s been free for a long time now. But the can, it is opened, and the worms, they are everywhere.
Anyway, I wish this post could be shared with the world at large. I am so humbled by it.
Tonight I am feeling maybe one million things. Here’s the deal. I need to brush my teeth and all before I go to bed but there is only one bathroom in the house we’re staying at and our friend is taking a shower. So here I am, 12:49 am, mind reeling, teeth fuzzy, thinking and pondering and so so tired but still aware. So until the bathroom is free, here I am with you.
We leave in 4 days. FOUR DAYS. The sound of it makes me sick in the pit of my stomach. Oh if only I were enough like my Lord that a day was a thousand years to me… I just feel unfinished here. I have a strong suspicion that much of that has to do with the fact that I didn’t make it down to the earthquake city… and therefore did not really get to say goodbye to the friends I lost and the city I lost in the way I think I had hoped to. But strongly thematic of this trip has been a request from the Beloved one to die every day to my own poorly scrawled plans and accept with joy the thing He gives me to do for that day. I cannot judge His plan as unfair, incorrect, or insufficient. He gave me a lot of love and a lot of people to give it to in this city and oh, I just HAVE to be okay in that.
I’m just… how can you explain love? I have wanted a million times to explain perfectly to my family why it is that I come here. Why it is I can leave them for months on end even though when I do it feels like I am being torn limb from limb and I miss them like crazy while I’m gone and so on and so forth, if I were them I would wonder why on earth I do this. Sometimes even while I’m here I wonder why I do this. Why make life so much harder? Well… I have tried now for years to condense this into a charming anecdote but am hereto unsuccessful. I will tell you instead that:
It’s sitting here in the dark, chilly mountain night with my toes close to the breezy window and the tiny smells of incense and butter on the air and the little floating song from somebody else’s window.
It’s laughing hysterically with a total stranger taxi driver who slugs Dondrup and says “Hey did you watch that American soccer game last night?” and makes fun of how the Americans played. It’s getting to know a little of his life for 9 minutes, learning he has a son that’s 10 years old, learning he was born in this city, learning where his child attends school.
It’s sitting for hours in a living room with 30 nomads I can hardly communicate with and playing language games and absolutely rolling on the floor with laughter when one of them hollers out to my husband (in English) “You are handsome boy!”
It’s drinking the 8th cup of tea in a house where the family can’t afford new clothes to put on their own backs. It’s their offer to feed you dinner. It’s their attempt to give you a small trinket that is really something special to them, just because they consider you their friend.
It’s dressing up in their clothes just exactly the way they would wear them and being told you look absolutely beautiful instead of being scoffed at.
It’s seeing a teenage monk on a bicycle chasing a younger monk who is running down the sidewalk, both of them laughing so hard they threaten to crash, red robes billowing behind them, their humanity laid bare like their tiny muscled arms.
It’s holding a sweet baby that’s almost the same age as my new niece at home and thinking, how different, how very very different their lives will be.
It’s spending hours and days at the hospital with a beautiful precious girl who, short of a miracle, will never live a normal life, will never learn to read, will maybe never leave her home, because of something that’s quite treatable where I come from.
It’s seeing my Aji do something so thoughtful and sweet for a Chinese woman he doesn’t even know. It’s seeing the look of revelation on the Chinese woman’s face and the micro-scale reconciliation between the two ethnic groups there in that moment in that noodle shop.
It’s acquiring a friend and a dear brother and meeting his family. It’s spending time in their home and drinking their tea. It’s climbing mountains together. It’s taking long bus trips together and playing Uno to pass the time. It’s living in the same house. It’s cooking his meals. It’s getting a call on April 14th that his house collapsed in the earthquake and he is gone. It’s grieving deeply. It’s throwing up from sadness. It’s coming back here and deciding to honor his death by loving the people he loved. It’s doing good in his memory.
It’s the other life I live over here. These things are a fraction… a FRACTION… of the million ways that this place has my heart. I’ve seen, and I’m responsible. And I’m ruined. And I wouldn’t want to be rebuilt. I am ruined for life that is not life at all. And I am in love to the hilt with life that is real, true, sweating, bleeding, breathing, painstaking, breathtaking, REAL LIFE.
The bathroom’s been free for a long time now. But the can, it is opened, and the worms, they are everywhere.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Vegas, Baby!
Las Vegas. What can I say? It certainly lives up to the hype. I saw so much this weekend, I haven't been able to process it all.
Maybe 2 1/2 minutes after we walked into the hotel lobby to check in, I saw this lady that looked to be AT LEAST in her 70's or so. Probably 6'5'', not skinny, with a purple dress that barely covered what desperately needed to be covered, and hooker shoes. I know, I'm not supposed to say hooker. But there is no other way to describe those shoes.
It was pointed out to me that since she looked like a linebacker, walked like a linebacker...she was probably not a she.
People, I don't know these things. I was just horrified that somebody's grandma was working the lobby at Bally's. Not sure how much better I feel about it being somebody's grandpa. shudder.
Welcome to Vegas, right?
And that was just the first 5 minutes.
The rest will have to be told in person, it just can't be described on a blog. Plus, there are at least 3 of you that haven't forgiven me for saying hooker.
I have to give a big shout out to both sets of grandparents for watching the kids while we were gone. Wouldn't you know that 2 out of the 3 were sick while we were gone. It was puke fest 2010 at Mimi and Pappy's house.
I want to feel bad, but people, that's an entire weekend of puke I avoided.
Maybe 2 1/2 minutes after we walked into the hotel lobby to check in, I saw this lady that looked to be AT LEAST in her 70's or so. Probably 6'5'', not skinny, with a purple dress that barely covered what desperately needed to be covered, and hooker shoes. I know, I'm not supposed to say hooker. But there is no other way to describe those shoes.
It was pointed out to me that since she looked like a linebacker, walked like a linebacker...she was probably not a she.
People, I don't know these things. I was just horrified that somebody's grandma was working the lobby at Bally's. Not sure how much better I feel about it being somebody's grandpa. shudder.
Welcome to Vegas, right?
And that was just the first 5 minutes.
The rest will have to be told in person, it just can't be described on a blog. Plus, there are at least 3 of you that haven't forgiven me for saying hooker.
I have to give a big shout out to both sets of grandparents for watching the kids while we were gone. Wouldn't you know that 2 out of the 3 were sick while we were gone. It was puke fest 2010 at Mimi and Pappy's house.
I want to feel bad, but people, that's an entire weekend of puke I avoided.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Random
For those of you that don't know, I work at 7 Hills Homeless Shelter.
Today, I was talking to one of the clients and he told me to come close so he could tell me something (he was sitting at a table, I was standing). Anywho, I was prepared for anything, and he tells me my zipper is down.
It was fabulous.
Another client just looked at me when I walked out of the office, shook his head and said "Child. That hair."
It's the humidity people. (think Monica in that Friend's episode)
Anyway, this is not a too hilarious blog post, but it is about people that I have come to adore and am honored to serve, so I wanted to share it with you.
And that is all.
Today, I was talking to one of the clients and he told me to come close so he could tell me something (he was sitting at a table, I was standing). Anywho, I was prepared for anything, and he tells me my zipper is down.
It was fabulous.
Another client just looked at me when I walked out of the office, shook his head and said "Child. That hair."
It's the humidity people. (think Monica in that Friend's episode)
Anyway, this is not a too hilarious blog post, but it is about people that I have come to adore and am honored to serve, so I wanted to share it with you.
And that is all.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Oh yes. He did.
I can't believe I am going to make this public, especially since I may never be able to show my face in Springdale Library again...
The kids and I were at the library this week. We were all in the children's section when, from across the room, I see "the look" come over the potty trainee's face. I rushed over and asked him if he needed to go to the bathroom; he wouldn't reply - just kept pulling on the back of his shorts.
So, I took him to the bathroom and found...evidence...that he had an accident.
Here's the thing...
There should have been more evidence. It just so happens that he refused to wear underwear that morning, so he just had his shorts on. And I kept getting a whiff of something in the children's section.
So we left. Hurriedly. I mean, I don't KNOW that he left a little extra something there, but I really didn't WANT to know if he did. There is only so much humiliation this gal can take.
My apologies to the sweet lady that was working in the children's section that day. My son likes to hide things.
Wouldn't it be great if just one day didn't revolve around my son's bodily functions? Hello!
The kids and I were at the library this week. We were all in the children's section when, from across the room, I see "the look" come over the potty trainee's face. I rushed over and asked him if he needed to go to the bathroom; he wouldn't reply - just kept pulling on the back of his shorts.
So, I took him to the bathroom and found...evidence...that he had an accident.
Here's the thing...
There should have been more evidence. It just so happens that he refused to wear underwear that morning, so he just had his shorts on. And I kept getting a whiff of something in the children's section.
So we left. Hurriedly. I mean, I don't KNOW that he left a little extra something there, but I really didn't WANT to know if he did. There is only so much humiliation this gal can take.
My apologies to the sweet lady that was working in the children's section that day. My son likes to hide things.
Wouldn't it be great if just one day didn't revolve around my son's bodily functions? Hello!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I'm the mother to "that" kid
I am the mother to "that" kid...
The one who, upon the first day of no pull-ups, decides to park it underneath his art easel in his bedroom and...well...poo.
And because that wasn't enough by itself, proceeds to "paint" the sides of the easel with said poo.
Somebody please tell me their kid played with their poo and turned out ok.
Now that I think about it, Finley spread it on her arms and legs a couple times.
At what point does this start reflecting poorly on me?
The one who, upon the first day of no pull-ups, decides to park it underneath his art easel in his bedroom and...well...poo.
And because that wasn't enough by itself, proceeds to "paint" the sides of the easel with said poo.
Somebody please tell me their kid played with their poo and turned out ok.
Now that I think about it, Finley spread it on her arms and legs a couple times.
At what point does this start reflecting poorly on me?
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