My friend Molly pointed out that Halloween used to be one day of dressing up and trick-or-treating. She says she's looking forward to the end of Halloween Week, when she can throw all the candy her kids have collected this week into the trash.
Amen, sister!
Something is seriously out of whack when we take an afternoon to reflect on all we're grateful for, offering up some generic Thanks in between bites of mashed potato; but we take a whole week to immerse ourselves in Dead Things and candy.
What if we took an afternoon for Halloween, and a whole week to meditate on all the good gifts we've been given? What if we took a week to deliberately offer our gratitude to the God of the universe, from whose hand all good gifts flow?
I'm as guilty as anyone of the imbalance. As a family, we don't do much for Thanksgiving, other than cooking rich food and making turkeys out of the outlines of our hands.
I'm always preaching to my kids about having an Attitude of Gratitude. Maybe if I practiced what I preached a little more, my kids would catch on.
Hmmm. . . .
10.31.2009
10.30.2009
Throw a Bone to a Techno-Dummy, Please!
I am good at a lot of things.
Figuring out computers is not one of them.
I have always found it frustrating that I cannot sit down with my computer and have a rational conversation about what I was trying to communicate, even though I inadvertently left off the extra backslash. The computer just doesn't want to listen. The fact that I did things imperfectly automatically disqualifies me from further consideration.
Reminds me of some annoying people in my past, whom I evidently need to forgive, again (moment of silence whilst I forgive aforementioned people, and aforementioned computer).
Okay, moving on.
Which is why my blog currently has no title appearing in the cute little header frame.
I've noticed that many of you out there have blogs that are just as cute as a button. I've also noticed that the headers on your cute blogs contain actual words.
Can ya help a sister out?
Figuring out computers is not one of them.
I have always found it frustrating that I cannot sit down with my computer and have a rational conversation about what I was trying to communicate, even though I inadvertently left off the extra backslash. The computer just doesn't want to listen. The fact that I did things imperfectly automatically disqualifies me from further consideration.
Reminds me of some annoying people in my past, whom I evidently need to forgive, again (moment of silence whilst I forgive aforementioned people, and aforementioned computer).
Okay, moving on.
Which is why my blog currently has no title appearing in the cute little header frame.
I've noticed that many of you out there have blogs that are just as cute as a button. I've also noticed that the headers on your cute blogs contain actual words.
Can ya help a sister out?
10.28.2009
The 1st Annual 39th Birthday Bash
In a few short months I will reach the landmark age of 39, at which point I can no longer claim to be in my mid-30's.
Since the jolt of leaping suddenly from my mid-30's to 40 seems too abrupt, I thought I'd ease the transition somewhat, by hosting Krysta's 1st Annual 39th Birthday Bash.
Krysta's 2nd Annual 39th Birthday Bash will be held a year and two months from now.
I'm looking for ideas for a fabulous 39th Birthday Bash, and I'd be thrilled beyond words if you would post any suggestions that happen to pop into your brains.
Some ideas I've already ruled out:
1. Karaoke. I'm a HUGE Karaoke fan, but I don't drink, and somehow those two facts don't seem to mesh together well.
2. Inflatable Bouncy Things: After 4 kids, bouncing in any sort of a public venue is out, because at this point I am not willing to wear Depends anywhere, much less to my own birthday party.
Oh, and I should mention that I'm a tightwad who is saving ferociously for a down payment on a house - so the Big Budget Party will have to wait awhile.
That's it. Any ideas out there?
Since the jolt of leaping suddenly from my mid-30's to 40 seems too abrupt, I thought I'd ease the transition somewhat, by hosting Krysta's 1st Annual 39th Birthday Bash.
Krysta's 2nd Annual 39th Birthday Bash will be held a year and two months from now.
I'm looking for ideas for a fabulous 39th Birthday Bash, and I'd be thrilled beyond words if you would post any suggestions that happen to pop into your brains.
Some ideas I've already ruled out:
1. Karaoke. I'm a HUGE Karaoke fan, but I don't drink, and somehow those two facts don't seem to mesh together well.
2. Inflatable Bouncy Things: After 4 kids, bouncing in any sort of a public venue is out, because at this point I am not willing to wear Depends anywhere, much less to my own birthday party.
Oh, and I should mention that I'm a tightwad who is saving ferociously for a down payment on a house - so the Big Budget Party will have to wait awhile.
That's it. Any ideas out there?
10.26.2009
Someone has hijacked my knees
Over the course of my childbearing years, I've lost over 100 pounds of Actual Fat - not including the approximately 80 lbs. of baby/water weight that you lose within 2 weeks after the birth. I feel kinda proud about that fact.
Until I look in the mirror. Why am I still 15 lbs. heavier than I was before I got pregnant? That is discouraging.
On the other hand, the fact that I've technically lost over 100 pounds - though not all at once - helps me justify the strong temptation to pull money out of the kids' college funds to finance my tummy tuck. My kids are brilliant and will probably earn scholarships anyway, right?
Which brings me to my second topic of bodily discontent - my knees. Apparently, some middle-aged woman has broken into my house and hijacked my knees, replacing them with her own. I know this because the Fat Zone on my body has always ranged strictly from the mid-thigh up to the jawline. Everything in that zone has always been Fair Game, but my legs and ankles have always stayed blessedly slim. Thank God for small favors.
Suddenly, though, there are these lumpy, gelatinous blobs beside my knees. It is as if a portion of the lumpy, gelatinous blobs of my inner thighs jiggled free and slid down about 8 inches.
Except that my inner thighs are no smaller, so I know it has to be the Middle-Aged Hijacker Woman.
This stinks, for the following reasons:
1. Shorts and short skirts are no longer the good friends they once were.
2. It is too hot here much of the year to wear anything but shorts, short skirts, and capri pants.
3. Capri pants make me look shorter and squatter than I already am.
Which leaves me with a few options:
1. File a police report and hope they can find my Hijacked Knees.
2. Embrace my new knees (not a viable option at this point).
3. Pull out the P90X and get crackin'.
Sigh. Off to exercise.
Until I look in the mirror. Why am I still 15 lbs. heavier than I was before I got pregnant? That is discouraging.
On the other hand, the fact that I've technically lost over 100 pounds - though not all at once - helps me justify the strong temptation to pull money out of the kids' college funds to finance my tummy tuck. My kids are brilliant and will probably earn scholarships anyway, right?
Which brings me to my second topic of bodily discontent - my knees. Apparently, some middle-aged woman has broken into my house and hijacked my knees, replacing them with her own. I know this because the Fat Zone on my body has always ranged strictly from the mid-thigh up to the jawline. Everything in that zone has always been Fair Game, but my legs and ankles have always stayed blessedly slim. Thank God for small favors.
Suddenly, though, there are these lumpy, gelatinous blobs beside my knees. It is as if a portion of the lumpy, gelatinous blobs of my inner thighs jiggled free and slid down about 8 inches.
Except that my inner thighs are no smaller, so I know it has to be the Middle-Aged Hijacker Woman.
This stinks, for the following reasons:
1. Shorts and short skirts are no longer the good friends they once were.
2. It is too hot here much of the year to wear anything but shorts, short skirts, and capri pants.
3. Capri pants make me look shorter and squatter than I already am.
Which leaves me with a few options:
1. File a police report and hope they can find my Hijacked Knees.
2. Embrace my new knees (not a viable option at this point).
3. Pull out the P90X and get crackin'.
Sigh. Off to exercise.
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