New Car, New Dell, New Life…

New Car.

The Man says it’s his.

But My Girl already has her eye on it…

This has been the most painful experience. EV-er. The Man thought it was “so much fun. Duh.” I found it painful and finally got to the point where I said, “just buy a stupid car. Any car. Just buy it already.” In hindsight, I realize he had me just where he wanted me. When we went to car dealerships, I would ask for the keys of the oh…1999 Black Corvette. Knowing darn well we weren’t buying it, but it was fun to sit in and dream. I let him talk BS and get down and dirty in the mud with the sellin’ folks. I am totally non-confrontational so I would really go into a dealership and point at one and say, “that one…here’s a check.” And that would be it. Not The Man. I don’t know about y’all but my husband is a logistician. That means logistics* is my life :

*Pronunciation: lO-‘jis-tiks, l&-Function: noun plural but singular or plural in construction
Etymology: French logistique art of calculating, logistics, from Greek logistikE art of calculating, from feminine of logistikos of calculation, from logizein to calculate, from logos reason 1 : the aspect of military science dealing with the procurement, maintenance, and transportation of military matériel, facilities, and personnel 2 : the handling of the details of an operation.
(thank you http://www.m-w.com/)

Please note number 2: “The handling of the details of an operation.” Oh yes. That SO describes The Man. He has to “have a plan”. I know why he is like this.

His father. He is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kinda guy. You could get in the car with that man to go to the grocery store two blocks away and end up in Texas. We live in Virginia. I have never forgotten the time they tricked me into getting in to the car with him to go to lunch. We went to lunch alright. AFTER a trip to the cemetery. I had never been in a cemetery before. Had no notion of making any more than one trip and that trip wouldn’t bother me because I would be dead. Yup. I’m totally over it now. Totally. Not.

The Man has to have a plan. He spent days logisticianing. Nothing was safe. The Internet. The phone book. Friends. Neighbors. Strangers driving a car. He entered his first dealership with a head full of facts and figures and a notepad that would choke a horse. He knew his stuff, I have to give him that.

But he couldn’t make a decision. He was Logistician Man on speed. He didn’t just leap from dealership to dealership. He leaped from maker to maker. Model to model. Woe to the poor salesperson who didn’t jump to attention the minute he pulled into the parking lot. One woman read him right from the beginning and (on purpose I’m positive) irked him from the get go and he walked.

Thankfully, he finally narrowed it down to two cars. I knew we had progressed to Purchase Mode when I was informed that I had to go along with him and two of the Darlings to a dealership (I had given up going with him days ago). I had to test drive both models…a Toyota Solara and a Corolla S. Not that my opinion or choice actually mattered. And I knew it. So I graciously told him what I knew he wanted to hear. “Let’s be practical and get the least expensive/most MPG model” (I knew he really liked the Corolla better but he wanted to make it seem like there was actually some sort of decision to be made). Two hours later, Mr. Logistician and the salesperson were happy campers and I drove the new Corolla S home.

New Dell

You can imagine my dismay when he said to me a couple weeks ago, “let’s get a new computer with all the bells and whistles.” Oy.

Thankfully, we only buy Dells. Although I might have been talked into a Mac. I’ve never even SEEN a Mac, but I love, love, love all of it’s capabilities. And I adore the PC/Mac commercials.

But we were going Dell. So, in anticipation, I pulled together a couple of configurations (high tech logistician word) and waited. It wasn’t as painful as the car purchase. But that is because I had “handled the details of the operation”. Yup. I was pretty darn smug. Can’t wait for the new Dell to arrive. In the meantime, I’m going to learn all I can about Mac’s. Too late, you say? Never. If I procure my feminine ways of calculating military science, I should be good to go.

New Life

Seeing this heading, you might be thinking, “after all of that, she’s taking the New Car and the New Dell and high-tailin’ it outta there for a New Life”.

Nope.

This post by Beth Moore on the LPM Blog has really stuck with me since I first read it. I not only read it but printed it and stuck it in my journal. It keeps falling out and of course I have to read it again (and again) before putting it back in my journal. And every time I do, He teaches me something new about myself. It hasn’t been pretty. Between that sweet little bird pecking at herself and the Lifehouse Everything Skit video I posted, He has been doing a Word on me. Every day. All pointing me in one direction.

Susan, do you trust Me?
Susan, do you believe Me?
Susan, do you love Me?
Susan, do you love others as yourself?

The big ones.

I can’t really blame Beth or that poor little bird. He’s been trying to get my attention for years. YEARS. Decades, really. I listen. I hear Him. I change for a bit. But then I find myself right back there again. Disobedient. Lacking discipline. Hatin’ life. The kicker is that when I’m feeling this way, the people around me (you know…the ‘others’ I love) are hatin’ life, too. It dawned on me this morning…okay, it was during my quiet time/prayer time/bible study time so it was Him Dawning on me…that I was the reason The Man has been so grumbly and unhappy (not the car buying…that brought him great joy). Nope. Me.

Hate that. Totally. Un. Fair. He should be responsible for his own happiness (Susan do you love others as you love yourself? and Weren’t you just telling My Girl how much her actions impact other people?)

Who is a more important “other” than The Man or The Boy or My Girl or The Little Boy?

So, the New Life. Me. Trusting. God. Period.

Oh, that and joining Weight Watchers.

What could be better…Trusting God and losing weight. A New Car. A New Dell. And The Man who plans everything and saves us a ton of money and time, all because he loves me.

It’s a middle-aged woman’s dream come true.

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The Longest Summer. Ever.

I realized this morning during my quiet time that I am too busy.

Yes, this is yet another (obvious) revelation I have had. I’ve recognized it before but have not known how/why to deal with it before. It seems to me that the bible is a bit contradictory on the subject. We are to love one another as ourselves, right? So that means putting self aside and putting others first. Doesn’t “others” include what others want/need me to do? For example, putting my husband before myself. Doesn’t that then mean that I must do what he asks me to do? Which usually involves running our children around everywhere, doing things for him and for our children, yadda yadda. I also work outside our home. And then there’s the laundry. The cooking. The cleaning. The quality time. The sex (notice I included that separately because as busy as I am, it is just one more thing on the list).

So then. Do I give up everything else? Because obviously, my husband’s list of things for me to do is great. I don’t have time for anything else. For anyone else.

So this is notice that I will no longer be doing anything other than what my husband asks me to do. No helping out at church (including VBS). No meeting with friends (at least not without him). No getting together for bible studies and the like. No meeting at Starbucks or for lunch.

Had you going for a second, didn’t I?

Okay, so then. If not that, how/where do I get the balance?

Thankfully, I had another revelation (yes, two in one quiet time! God IS good.)

It’s obvious that I can’t continue on the same path. I’m just going to have a total meltdown if I do.

The March of Dimes phoned last night. Sounds so simple to just come up with 15 names and addresses and pop the letters into the mail. For all of you, it might very well have been something simple and easy and doable. I started panicking at the mere thought of taking this on. How/when/where would I be able to do it? I said no to the march of dimes lady and now hundreds of children will die. (Oh, the guilt of saying no!)

The solution?

Sounds trite. Sounds religious. Sounds smarty-pants. But the answer is one He keeps telling me over and over and in many different ways. Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Not only my eyes, but my heart, my soul, my mind, my very being.

What does that look like? How do I do that? (Questions I’m asking Him.) I like to THINK BIG. When actually, He’s asked me to do something very small. Turn my eyes upon Him. Open my heart to hear Him.

Having said all of that…I have been so grumpy the past few days (okay, months). But especially this week. I am so frustrated with my children and my spouse and our church. Am I the only one that can see what needs to be done and what isn’t getting done? Where does all of this apathy come from? Are we all just so weary and tired and busy that we just don’t care/won’t care/can’t care anymore?

A collective Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus is in order!

A Fuddrucker’s Father’s Day

Okay, you know you’re too busy when it’s Thursday and you go to your blog to start a new post and you realize (after much “what the?” “where’s my post?” “why is my post gone?” and such fussyness) that you NEVER POSTED IT IN THE FIRST PLACE. So here it is:

Father’s Day.

I really became aware of Father’s Day today. Not that I’ve not noticed it every year, but I took the awareness to a new level. I intently checked out the father’s all around me today. Almost forgot to phone my OWN father, but pulled that off in the nick of time, even sounding like I waited ALL day to catch him at the right moment.

We celebrated my husband’s fatherness at Fuddrucker’s with The Little Boy’s soccer team end-of-season party. A few of the father’s showed up. A couple of the mom’s. This truly was one of the most distressing soccer seasons. Not because of the players. In that regard, this was one of the best seasons. We had some great soccer players on our team this year. No…it was the parents. The divorce rate was high for this team. The parent apathy level was even higher. Throughout the season, I have had to remind The Man that it was all about our son and the other boys, and not about the parent (lack of) involvement and apathy level, which was running pretty high. Since The Man absolutely, positively adores our children and all that is “sports”, he pulled it off really well. Which helped to heighten my Father’s Day Awareness. For all that he may irk me at times (just because I’m a woman and he’s not) he is the best dad.

Now, my dad was an awesome father, but The Man…he is amazing.

He had never been around any babies before ours, except to hold my cousin Emily…she was “the first” and they still, at 47 and 23, have this tight connection that the rest of us are totally excluded from. He held her (but only because we would shove her into his arms and leave the room) and fed her and fell head-over-heels-in-love-with-her. But it was another six long years before The Boy arrived. And I must say that God knew what He was about when He sent us a son as our firstborn. From sonograms and all, our first child was “a girl…85% sure” but 100% turned out not to be! When The Man saw The Boy for the first time, he laughed and laughed. They are pretty tight, those two. And eleven months and one day later, My Girl was born. Tiny and pink and just the sweetest thing ever and it was love all over again for her poppa. He tossed her around (after the first month or so) just like he did The Boy and she was surely Daddy’s Girl. He has coached her and supported her and disciplined her and loved her as much as The Boy.

And then the let’s-try-to-have-another-oops-I’m-already-pregnant child arrived. The Little Boy turned out to be quite the momma’s boy (and his momma wouldn’t have it any other way). But, unfortunately, The Man had to go away for 10 months just as The Little Boy was three. We saw him only once a month, if we were lucky. A very difficult age for a child to be separated from his daddy. Eight years later, they’ve gotten it all straightened out, but it took a bit of time. The Man went above and beyond to make sure this boy knew he was loved by his dad as much as the other’s.

Now I know that dad’s are all different. They have had different upbringings, they have different jobs, but I can tell you that it has been quality AND quantity time that has bound our children to their father. Sometimes it was more quantity than quality…as evidenced by our children’s frequent references to FFF…Forced Family Fun. And sometimes it’s been quality over quantity…a special outing or treat squeezed into a busy schedule. But overall, it’s been both.

Interestingly enough, as I’ve watched The Man grow over the years as a father and a husband, I’ve developed a new and improved relationship with my own father. I solely attribute their growth and mine to our own Heavenly Father. He is the One that I have an entirely new awareness of after this Father’s Day.

Thursday’s Trivial

I just HAD to share the following amazing random thoughts:

How is it that when you have three children, all born of the same wonderful parents, they all are so different?

In looks…

…The Boy is big and bulky, sherry brown eyes, dark thick straight hair (dark like his dad, thick NOT like his dad like his mom).

…My Girl with dark blonde hair, pretty straight with a hint of “sure I’ll hold a curl if she wasn’t killing me with the striaghtner every morning”,green, green eyes and as slim as a well-proportioned runway model.

…The Little Boy with medium brown hair (closer to my natural color) with tons of curls and dark brown eyes. He is freakishlytall and a solid rock of muscle with a very defined set of six pack abs.

In personality…

…The Little Boy walked to school this morning. In the rain. It’s only three blocks, but I believe there are two reasons he insists on walking to school in the rain, sleet and snow:

1) it’s cool
2) it makes his hair REALLY curly.

And the 5th grade girls LOVE that.

I have curly hair. The rain does not make my hair curlier. It makes my hair look like this:



The Boy (big and bulky) HATES rain. Does not want to be out in it and will carry on quite a bit about it. He always begged me to drive him to school when it rained.

As previously noted above, My Girl curses me each day for passing on the ‘curly/full body’ hair gene that was toned down, but not obliviated by her father’s straight/no body hair gene. She works that hair straightner like nothin’ I’ve ever seen. I think we’re on hair straightening device number twentyfive. She now hates the rain, but when younger, could care less about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Man and I were at dinner last night discussing plans for the summer. Our server was a big old burly guy with a really deep voice. He positively towered over our table. He wasn’t the best server we’ve had at this, our fave restaurant. But I completely forgot that after this conversation at the end of dinner:

Burly Server Guy: Dessert?
The Man: That’s why we came here. One strawberry shortcake with two forks, please.
BSG: Coffee?
Me: I would like coffee. Could you make that half caffinated half non-caffeinated, please? With cream?
BSG: You mean, half-caff?
Me: I didn’t realize you spoke Starbucksese.
BSG: I love Starbucks. I was never a coffee drinker until recently and now I just can’t get enough of it.
Me: I know exactly what you mean! I drink coffee all day long.
BSG: Yup. Once I tasted that Hazelnut latte stuff, I just can’t stop.

There was just something so wrong about that…BSG should be drinking coffee. black. no cream. no sugar. NOT a Hazelnut Latte. Sheesh.

~~~~~~~~~~
I made from scratchslice-n-bake sugar cookies for Little Boy’s end of school party tomorrow. The initials of his school are “OH”. I thought I was sooooo very clever to put OH on a bunch of the cookies. Until I picked up the container and the cookies were turned around and they read…HO. And instantly, my poor worried mind imagined all of the teachers and home room moms reading them. Sigh.

Sigh. I sent them in anyway.

There would have been a lot more HO cookies, but Sam took care of that, as you can tell by her expression, immediately following my discovery that half the cookies were missing.

One of my BFF, Lori, turned 40 yesterday. I vaguely remember turning 40. Six and one-half years ago. My o my where DOES the time go? Little Boy was 5 then. The Man threw me a party. I was too stressed about it going smoothly to enjoy it. Sadly. But for my 50th surprise birthday party that he will be throwing for me…I fully intend to enjoy, enjoy, enjoy and not worry about it at all!

Speaking of worry, this post really hits it on the head with the worry issue.

Pillow talk…24 years into marriage…

Me: Also, thank you for just snuggling last night. It was exactly what I needed after a very anxious, stressful day. Thank you for recognizing it.

The Man: That’s my job. Also, way to hog the covers and take up the entire bed….

Me: I was just trying to get closer to you. That’s my story…

The Man: Yeah.

Doesn’t it make you just go all tingly? Me, too.