you can't photoshop this

It's that time of year again - when I get my annual reality check that I am not skinny, my husband is not photogenic and Christmas cards are a pain in the you-know-what.

The annual family photo shoot was a complete flop. First, because the cool background I had chosen for the picture was not an option due to its close proximity to the building that houses hubby's clients. Well, it wasn't an option because hubby refused to let it be one. That of course resulted in two people who were really in the mood to smile for 100 pictures. I was one of them.

The second problem was the fact that it was 20 degrees outside and my kids are wimps. Even with long-johns and long-sleeved shirts they looked so pained in most of the pictures you'd have thought there was a wave of constipation going through. I suppose this could be blamed on Mom since she waited so long to set up the photo shoot date. But, knowing how much a battle it would be, procrastinating torture is very understandable.

The third problem is that my Mom was taking the pictures and I failed to tell her where to stand or that the camera lens could be adjusted so us handsome Larsons didn't look a mile away. Then again, that may have been intentional on her part. Once I saw the pictures on my desktop, we looked much better further away.

Sigh. Now I'm left with a battle in my head between my vanity, which wants to send out a picture that makes us look somewhat normal, and my desire to make people laugh, which wants to send out the most god-awful picture I can find and put a funny caption on it. And believe me, I have lots to choose from. (Did I mention it was windy that day? And my boys hadn't had their wrestling haircuts yet?)

I'm afraid I will have no options but to go the funny route - man those pictures are horrible! I've toyed around with "Making the rest of the world look good, one snapshot at a time." Or "We don't always look this good." Or even: "If everyone looks crabby on your Christmas card, you might be a Larson." I don't think my in-laws would appreciate that last one too much.

Now, I'm really just wasting time writing here when I should just make a decision, get the stupid photo card done and mail it off. Time to spread some holiday cheer.

sweeten me up

I have a problem. And it's not an easy one to solve.

I don't like plain, black coffee. I wish I did. It would make my morning, afternoon and evening cup(s) of joe much easier to fix and consume.

I also like some flavor beyond just sugar (although that will do in a pinch.) I love creamer - French vanilla is still a favorite, but I will try just about anything except the caramel ones. I also love this time of year when Chocolate Mint Truffle or Peppermint Mocha is available. Last year, I stocked up on about six bottles of the stuff at the end of the holiday season so I could enjoy the flavors longer. (The shelf life on that stuff is insane. And a bit scary.)

What I don't love is that my favorite brands and flavors of coffee whitener are loaded with crap. And yes, I know I can buy cream, but it doesn't give me a vanilla flavor. And yes, I know I can buy vanilla syrup for my coffee, but - two problems - first, now I would be putting TWO things into my coffee (oh the WORK!) and second, it's high fructose corn syrup with a little fake vanilla flavoring.

Putting real vanilla extract doesn't work well either, because it leaves a bit of alcohol aftertaste. Yes, coffee is already bitter, but come on. I want it to taste right. I could steep a vanilla bean in cream, but by the time it would taste like anything, the cream would probably be spoiled.

So, I'm stuck. Land-O-Lakes used to make a vanilla-flavored heavy cream, but apparently I was the only consumer purchasing it, because it didn't stay on the shelves very long.

I recently got persuaded into trying Truvia in my coffee. All-natural, right? Well, okay stevia is a plant and it's natural. Sugar is natural too, but not when you extract only one part of it after it's gone through like 27 separate processing processes. All this so Cargill can put a patent on the combination, which they couldn't if they just mixed stevia and plain sugar. How hard could that be? But, ah, there would be no trademark and therefore no corner on the market and therefore no profits if someone chose to "copy" their idea.

Oh, and another thing - the Truvia was horrid. Couldn't even finish the cup. Don't know how that one got past taste tests in quality control.

So, all griping aside, I'm not sure if I have any other options. I guess I should just remind myself that there are worse things I could be consuming - I'm not spiking my coffee with anything other than the 35-calorie-per-tablespoon creamer. And I'm fixing it at home where it's still fairly inexpensive.

Sweeten me up with some sugar, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, sodium caseinate, dipotassium phosphate, disodium phoshate, mono- and diglycerides, cellulose gel, cellulose gum, coloring, salt, natural and artificial flavor, sucralose and carrageenan.

And honestly, I didn't know there was Sucralose in my creamer until just now!!

That's not news that can be sugar-coated with anything. I'm just devastated. Once again, I'm at the mercy of what's available to me as a consumer. It's maddening.

-------------------
*NOTE: It appears that only CoffeeMate's Italian Sweet Cream has Sucralose. The other four varieties in my fridge do not. Whew. I can still be my sweet old self.

artificiality

Thirteen years ago I discovered that artificial sweeteners like Nutrasweet give me headaches. Without fail, half an hour after consuming some tasty bite of yogurt, I'd get a weird throbbing in my temples and forehead. After I finally figured out the mystery, I have avoided Nutrasweet and its more recent successor, Splenda, as much as possible.

Once, at a church function, I think I may have I ticked off the person serving lemonade when I refused to take any after I learned it was Crystal Light. And I wouldn't let my kids have any either. She acted as if I had to be mentally ill to pass on the beverage and opt for water. (But, I guess I can see why she wouldn't understand, considering her Diet Coke addiction.)

It's not been too difficult until recently. I can buy yogurt with sugar as a sweetener. I can buy regular pop instead of diet. I don't have to buy sugarfree candy or Vitamin water or Gatorade - there are sugar or corn syrup-filled options for all of those products. (In no way, am I saying even those things are good for me.) But I can't find gum anymore that doesn't have Sucralose, Splenda, Aspartame or any other artificial sweetener in it. Even the good old Juicy Fruit or DoubleMint are contaminated. My only option is to chew Double Bubble or sugary Bubble Yum, etc., but the flavor in those lasts about 20 seconds.

I'm getting crabby about my lack of gum choices.

Give me back my sugar. Or my high-fructose corn syrup even. Not that I like to consume HFCS, but I'd rather have that than Nutrasweet or Splenda. And people consume this crap like it's no big deal. (If you're a diabetic, please don't take offense - I grant you a pass okay?) I don't want to ingest stuff that gives me a headache.

I swear we're letting food producers poison us. And I'm not sure what to do about it. I'm curious if it's the companies who produce artificial sweeteners lobbying to use their products in everything, including gum, or if the push is coming from the American Dental Association. (As if fluoride weren't bad enough...)

So, I'm curious if anyone out there has some non-artificially sweetened gum suggestions. I'm salivating already.

donations

I love the public library system. Millions of books at my disposal - and it's even better now that everything is online. I can search for books to my heart's content - click a link and presto! the books are waiting for me in a neat stack a few days later. Books from three counties away are trucked to my little library that is only four miles from my front door. Amazing.

I am continually in awe that I can read books and watch movies for free.

Only lately, it's not been so free. Right now I have $9.30 in late fees that stacked up because one random movie got stuffed underneath a pile of magazines to recycle. Six days later, I realized it was there. Do the math - that's a buck a day for a movie that was so old it wouldn't have even sold for $2 at a garage sale.

Whenever the library has its little $5 fundraiser, I politely decline. Mainly because I know that I've already contributed five times that amount over the past year because of books that somehow manage to disappear exactly the same day they're due. I must be picking popular books too - because rarely will the system let me renew online. Someone else has requested that item. It even happened on an Aaron Copland CD! Who listens to classical music anymore? Other than homeschooled kids who are forced to learn music history.

I fail to understand why my $5 donation could be tax-deductible, but my $25 late fees aren't. It's all going to the same place isn't it? I should write a letter to my representative. Maybe he can do something about this travesty of non tax-deductible donations to the library that I make on a regular basis.

I guess the only difference is that I'm not making them voluntarily. I've got better things to spend my money on, like Redbox rentals that take me three days to watch and all the gas I spend driving to town to drop off one book at a time when I finally find it.

My life is all about donations. I'm just not getting any credit for it - I'm getting debited.

when will power doesn't work

About a month ago, I switched out the summer and winter clothes, only to be completely mortified by how little fit me - tops and bottoms. Even worse than tight capris was the bulge between my armpits if I wore something sleeveless.

It was not a pretty sight. I think I may have actually gagged a bit.

So, I decided to do something drastic - a diet. For almost four weeks now, in an attempt to lose seven pounds before my brother's wedding, I quit pop, snacks and eating between meals. I haven't kept track of my calorie intake, but I know that I'm insanely hungry come meal time and could probably devour about three Happy Meals. But, I haven't. In fact, I have almost completely eliminated any processed foods from my diet, fixing home-cooked meals for lunch and supper. My only slip-up is cold cereal in the morning. Mornings and I to do not get along.

All of this has resulted in a grand total of losing one pound. One pound!!!! I probably could lose that much with my morning visit to the john. I probably could have kept drinking my beloved Dr. Pepper, eating chocolate, sneaking black licorice and snarfing down frozen cookie dough and wouldn't have done any worse.

Deprivation apparently does not work for me - which is incredibly ironic, considering that I was so disciplined with this and I am not particularly proud of my will power, especially when it comes to things like reading the Good Book or not yelling at my kids.

I was hoping to avoid physical exercise in this process. Figured I could sort of semi-starve my way into losing the flab on my arms. Evidently, the hyper-metabolism of my youth has died a slow death. I have been known to consume an entire foot-long Subway sub in one sitting and still have room for the pop and chips that go along with the meal. Seconds on a home-cooked meal? Sure, why not! I'll burn it off tomorrow.

So, what does one do when will power doesn't work? Does that mean I now have to been disciplined enough to, gulp, exercise too? Or do I just start investing in shrugs and shawls and chalk it all up to almost turning forty...

spring can fling

I'm not sure what's wrong with me. So many people I know are thrilled with the early thaw, the sunshine, the warm weather, with SPRING.

Not me. I think there may be a gene that went astray somewhere in my code. Well okay, perhaps one of many. But for this post - we'll only focus on the "Yay! Spring!" trait that somehow mutated to "Spring puts me in a bad mood" quirk in me.

I do not like this time of year. I do not like it with a beer.
I do not like it while in bed. I do not like it wearing red.
I tell you very honestly. I do not, do not like the spring.
Why that is, I could not tell. Only that it makes me yell.
Why it is that I can say - spring can fling - I'm in a fray.
I tell you very honestly. I do not, can not like the spring.
I do not like it when I wake. I do not like it for Pete's sake.
I do not like it like you do. I do not like you 'cause you do.
Spring can fling that's all I'll say.
Talk to me again in May.
Maybe then I'll be less a bummer.
Maybe then it'll be closer to summer.

Yeah...

I'm still wearing my long johns since it's not THAT warm and I really really hate all the muck and mud that four boys find this time of year. Warm weather means I have to start (gasp!) shaving my legs again and have to deal with the itchiness that goes along with that. And don't even get me started on spring cleaning - I'd really like to sink my teeth into whoever thought up that wonderful idea. (In case you can't tell - I'm not a happy camper. And I can't even blame it on cabin fever anymore or the lack of sunshine.)

The really weird thing is that I've been this way at least since college. I'm a writing major who mostly did non-fiction stuff and newsletter articles. Spring is the only time of year that I write poetry. Mainly because I need to be a bit in a funk to write a good poem and for some strange reason, Spring does that to me.

Case in point: I got a poem published one year in Bethel's annual competition (can't remember the name of it) that was entitled: Man: My Casus Belli.

Look it up - it will explain a lot.

So, I'm welcome to theories as to why this time of year gets me crabby, short, impatient and restless. Maybe you can figure out why I'd like to give spring a fling and move on to fall.

Oh, and just to demonstrate that I don't write bad poetry like the Dr. Suessism above, I'll try to hunt down those college rants and publish some soon. They're probably all saved on 3x5 discs, so it might be a task to recover... but hey, y'all are worth it. And of course I'd like to prove my point.

morning alarm

My wake-up call came at 6:10 this morning.

I heard banging downstairs - even to make me think there was a small bear rummaging through my cupboards, clanking dishes around. Turns out it was just Thing #4. The dishwasher hadn't been run last night, so he was improvising with the ceramic bowls for breakfast - five bowls were stacked atop each other on the kitchen table, apparently one of each of the boys and for Dad. He had pulled the gallon of milk out and there was a fresh box of granola on the table next to the teetering bowls.

And I did not react pleasantly to being woken by clanging below my bedroom when it was still dark out and I had three more good hours of sleep available. I hustled him out of the kitchen and put the milk away. He ran off crying back to bed.

Hubby rolled over when I crawled back under the warm covers and wanted to know who it was. When I told him, he wasn't surprised. A couple minutes later, just when I was drifting off to sleep, hoping to get back to my dream about Amy Butler fabric, he asked, "Did you hear my alarm go off?"

"Uh, uh," I mumbled.

He thought about that for a moment and then said (looking on the bright side of a not-so-bright morning), "Well, I guess it's a good thing he got up."

I really don't like morning people.

good morning

This is why I am not a morning person.

Hubby's alarm went off at 6:15 a.m. and he shut it off without getting out of bed. My boys (by some freak of nature) are early risers and were out of bed before him. Not so quietly out of bed, I should add.

The morning drill around our home is for everyone to go quietly downstairs, pour cereal and milk and remain quiet until Mom gets up, at...well I won't tell you what time because it, ahem, varies. This morning, they all decided to pile into the bathroom while Dad turned on the space heater and climbed into the shower (warmest room in the house, you see.) Only this morning, the pipes were froze, hubby was running late, Thing #4 had poop in his pants and all Thing #2 could whine about was the bacon he didn't eat for supper last night and wanted now for breakfast.

Mom was dragged from deep underneath the down comforter and a not-so-deep sleep, having figured out precisely what was going on, and rather kicking herself for not putting the heater going next to the pipes that perpetually freeze in winter, particularly in temperatures like what we're experiencing right now.



Note the picture to the left as proof of Minnesota's ridiculous winters and the fact that I was out of bed before 7:30 am. Actually had I thought of this sooner, I would have photographed proof at the actual time I got out of bed - 6:45 a.m. I can't even remember the last time I was up this early.

So, hubby is trying to get to work with no running water. Things 2-4 are hungry and Thing #1 has gone outside to start the truck. The pipes are still frozen as I'm writing this, so hubby would have had no chance to shower this morning and still make it to work on time. My solution for his situation? I found a pitcher of water in the fridge, dumped it into a stockpot and had to reprogram the stove since apparently the power went off last night. A few minutes later, I'm dripping semi-warm water over his head in the ktichen sink so he can manage the bed head a little bit.

Then, like the good wife I am, I even styled his hair with way too much mousse. But, he actually looked pretty good, all things considered. Next came dealing with the reek coming from Thing #4 and we are off to the races this morning. Kids got fed. I got my picture. And a blog entry to boot.

Good grief. So, here I sit, freezing cold and I'm not even close to hungry at this time in the morning. Think I'll go back to bed and get up in a couple of hours - then it WILL be a good morning.

you know it's been a rough week when...

- you just realized you haven't showered in three days.
- you can't win at Solitaire, even when you cheat.
- you're so desperate for chocolate, you sneak chocolate chips from the pantry.
- the kids are complaining about having no clean socks or underwear.
- every time you sit on the toilet seat, it's wet.
- a pile of 2x4's falls on your leg, leaving you with a bruise the size of a softball.
- you try to do a job that would take your brother an hour and it takes you all day.
- floss? what's that?
- you forget to pay the utility bill and the phone bill.
- you go over your cell phone minutes due to some unknown glitch that no one can explain to you.
- there is nothing in the house to make for supper, so you're forced to get creative with stewed tomatoes.
- you find a half-melted sucker in the bottom of your knitting bag stuck to a hat you just made for a baby gift.
- wherever you go, that's where the party's not at.
- the olympics are keeping you up way too late.
- the kids are getting you up way too early.
- the garden hasn't been watered in a week and a half and you really don't care.
- you realize that school's about to start and you haven't even begun buying supplies like pencils and glue.
- you think to yourself that the kids don't deserve pencils and glue when they lose everything anyway.
- boy #4 has diarrhea.
- boy #4 just ate cat food.
- boy #3 was caught licking dirt off his bike.
- you go to menard's covered in sawdust and you really don't care.
- you lost your discover card, somewhere in the house.
- then you lost your keys.
- you still have to can tomatoes, make cucumber relish, finish shower walls, paint a piece of trim, make two baby gifts, make two meals for new mothers, paint a vanity, glaze some closet walls - all by saturday.
- you realize that hubby is going on a four-wheeling trip sunday and guess who gets to plan the meals/pack the food.
- you need a vacation, but don't even know where you'd like to go.
- you really need a sauna.

Is that enough? :)

life in the slow lane

Commuting is slowly killing me. Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit, but it is driving me crazy, pun intended.

I have an hour’s drive each way to work, thankfully only a few days a week. But, it’s starting to become torturous. It’s not the traffic I mind. I have pretty much figured out the best route coming and going and the best and worst times to do either. If I do somehow end up in rush hour at 5:15 p.m., I know that I can plan on an extra 20 minutes to my commute. Not usually a problem. Crank the radio or call a cousin (now that I have a hands-free attachment to the phone.)

What is so painful is when I keep getting stuck behind slow drivers.

Keep in mind that I rarely drive faster than 60 mph, mainly because I’m not punching a clock, but also because Don Shelby assured me that it helps with gas mileage. It just doesn’t help so much with all the angry people forced to pass me as I drive the speed limit in the right lane.

You’d think I’d have a little grace then for the idiots driving too slow down roads that aren’t multi-laned. Nope.

I don’t even mind so much if they’re at least driving the speed limit. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve got stuck behind someone who either appears to not know where they’re going or isn’t paying attention to the line of 14 cars behind them or simply has nothing better to do than drive 44 miles an hour on a road with very minimal passing opportunities.

Just the other day, I was stuck behind someone from a very small town (I’m assuming that because the vehicle had an identifying dealership logo on it) who was tottering down the road in a late-model Suburu station wagon, travelling at the great rate of 42 mile an hour. Every once in awhile we peaked at 43. This went on for at least 12 miles before I finally was able to pass without breaking any MN laws.

I blasted my horn and was disgusted to see, no surprise here, it was a woman driver, perhaps mid-50s. And she had a male passenger. I wondered why he wasn’t driving. My guess is he might have been just as frustrated as me.

I hate to put females down, since I am one, but so many are such bad drivers. Or maybe bad drivers isn’t quite accurate. They’re not bad drivers in the sense that they drive recklessly or agressively; they simply drive stupidly. Or slowly. Or overly cautiously.

It is so frustrating to have only two real good ways in and out of the cities and both roads are single lane, leaving you at the mercy of someone on a Sunday drive on Tuesday afternoon.

I’m not trying to pass myself off as the world’s best female driver, because I sometimes pull out in front of other cars when I should have waited. I sometimes switch lanes and miss a vehicle in my blind spot. And sometimes I irritate people because I’m only driving 60 in a 55 mph zone and they want to go faster. Sometimes, I will increase the cruise control just a bit to make them less upset with me; other times I figure I’m already speeding and I’m not going to take the chance of wasting more than $100 on a speeding ticket.

But, still I know I don't upset that many people, nor am I the stereotypical female driver. Nor do I drive so slow that I have half a dozen or more people behind me who are mad enough to commit murder.

I'm not excusing road rage, but I can at least understand it. Especially when the anger is being caused by someone's lack of driving ability.

I believe there is a lane for slow drivers - it's called the shoulder.

had a bad day

Life is chaos with four boys. There is no limit to fights, punches, dirty socks and loudness.

Hubby came home from lunch today to catch me smack dab in the middle of a near-meltdown over two boys who wouldn't pick up Legos because they each thought the other was responsible for them, one boy who kept trying to dip a knife into the Miracle Whip and lick it and the other boy who kept pestering me about what the word "snicker" meant.

I told him - it's the look on your dad's face right now and the sound that's about to come out of his mouth, which will quickly be followed by a gasp after I throw my dishrag at him. He didn't get it.

Hubby then very astutely observed (out loud) that I hadn't made it into the garden yet today. (It was 11:30 a.m.) My goal was to finish planting and perhaps make it up north for the holiday weekend, but there wasn't a single pot clean to boil an egg, the laundry room was piled with clothes and I spent most of the morning chasing poopy diaper boy around the house. So, no I didn't get to the garden yet.

Then he wondered if perhaps I'd rather be painting today. (There's a running joke there - that me taking on a painting job an hour away was my way of escaping my children.) And the answer would be - YES, I'd rather be walking up and down a ladder repainting a bedroom for the third time than be right here right now. If that makes me a bad mother, so be it.

It's quiet there. It's peaceful there. I can actually hear ABBA on my ipod. I can actually walk without tripping over some shoe or toy. I can think. I can breathe.

This is a job that I started exactly eights months ago tomorrow and am still not done. (This is no reflection on my painting skills mind you, but on the homeowner's color preferences and inability to make a decision on a paint color until the entire room is done.) Even still, I'd rather be there.

Maybe tomorrow. But, in the meantime, I'm laughing about someone else's bad day and finding that life is indeed better when you can laugh at and with another funny mom.

Everyone has a bad day now and then. If you don't, I don't believe you're human.

lost in translation

Note: The following blog may shake your faith and upset your world. At the very least, it may make you question life as you know it, once you learn that the writer isn't perfect after all, like you may have previously believed. With all your preconceptions shattered, perhaps you can find some comfort in knowing that, yes, everyone makes mistakes. (Some of us are just more public about them.) If you didn't previously believe that the writer was the perfect wife, woman and mother, then perhaps you'll find some sort of satisfaction in the following revelation of the truth - finally!

So, Mother's Day was another fiasco here.

Not because of Hubby, well partly because of him. Not because of me. Oh, yeah, it's confession time - it was mostly because of me.

Here's the scenario: I am a gift person. Meaning, my love language is receiving gifts. I speak the language of finding or making the perfect gift for someone, wrapping it beautifully and hoping they will appreciate all the work I put into the gift. I receive love best through gifts and absolutely LOVE when someone finds me something unique, thoughtful and practical. Something that's "me." Here's a sample - one of the best gifts I've received was a yarn ball winder from my mother-in-law. Every time I use it, I'm grateful that I received such a thoughtful gift. (Now, just because I didn't mention something that you might have given me, doesn't mean I didn't appreciate it, but I don't have time or space or brain cells to recall, list and describe all the great gifts I've gotten.)

So, here's why the yarn winder was so great. It was second hand (I love recycling). It was unique (Who has a yarn winder?) And it was related to something I'm interested in (Knitting) and something I'd use (winding yarn - duh.) I love to get gifts (did I already mention that?) But even more so when it seems like the person has put time and thought into finding the gift.

Here's the problem. My husband's love language is acts of service. He doesn't care much to receive gifts. He hates to buy gifts. He would much rather do something for me than buy me a gift for say Mother's Day. So not only does this create a problem for me receiving gifts but also for me getting him things. I tend to have to think about things I could do for him rather than wrap for him. It's not always a pretty sight.

A few days before D-Day (Mother's Day) Hubby was frustrated with purchasing a gift he knew I'd be expecting and wanting. The only trouble was, he told me so. Actually he told me Mother's Day was too stressful and it wasn't worth it. Then told me not to feel bad because he wasn't upset with me. And then he wanted a list.

Yeah. That went over about as well as the beta fish I got a couple years ago for Mother's Day.

Anyway, I did my best to hold it together, feeling like "I" wasn't worth it. Unfortunately, my best was to tell about five people what he said and how irritated I was about it. Because buying gifts comes more easy to me, it's very very hard for me to imagine how difficult it could be to come up with an idea and find it, let alone find it with four boys in tow. (Keep in mind that I've had his Father's Day gift purchased for about three weeks now.)

Sunday morning the kids gave me breakfast in bed - cereal and a bagel - way too much for me to eat, but still it was nice. (I'm not much of a morning person, so I probably didn't come across very grateful.) I came downstairs to a mirrored garden ball and a cast iron plant holder for outside. It was a nice gift. I like to have my flower garden looking nice, so it was practical, unique and thoughtful. I should have left it at that. But, the trouble was, I couldn't look at it without thinking about how stressful and frustrating it was for him to buy it and how he was feeling like it wasn't worth it while shopping for it. Took a lot of the fun out of the moment.

But, I didn't leave it at that. Later that day, I tried to tease hubby and my father-in-law about a person who had left a bunch of gifts hidden in random places for his wife, like inside a roll of fresh toilet paper and a carton of crackers. Hubby commented that this person probably didn't have four boys along with him at the time he was shopping. (Oh, wait it gets worse.) Then my mother-in-law tried to tell me that she didn't always get gifts from her husband for Mother's Day and that it was okay.

I told her that her love language probably wasn't gifts and that it wouldn't have been okay with me because a gift is very important to me and then I told her (person number six) what hubby had said a few days earlier and how feeling like the whole thing wasn't worth it kind of made the whole thing not worth it. I was so frustrated my face was beat red and I had all I could do to keep from running into the bathroom crying because I felt so misunderstood. I was also embarrassed that I couldn't just keep my stupid mouth shut about the whole stupid thing.

The rest of the night was painful, at best. So, needless to say, I am not perfect. I am not the perfect wife. I am not the perfect woman. I am not even the perfect gifter, because if I was, I'd realize that the thing I bought for my husband will underwhelm him and that he'd much rather I give him a back rub or clean out the garage.

Anyone out there speak my love language? Or hubby's? I really could use a translator right now.

who your friends are

There's a country song about finding out who your real friends are in times when you really need them. Tracy Lawrence's voice is smooth, deep and comforting as he sings a truth that I have relearned the past couple days. (Parts of the lyrics are below).

FIND OUT WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE
Run your car off the side of the road
Get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere
Or get yourself in a bind lose the shirt off your back
Need a floor, need a couch, need a bus fare

This is where the rubber meets the road
This is where the cream is gonna rise
This is what you really didn't know
This is where the truth don't lie

You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are
----
When the water's high
When the weather's not so fair
When the well runs dry
Who's gonna be there?

You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are

It's interesting to see who responds. I've had some major surprises - friends and relatives whom I thought would offer words of comfort through email or phone calls haven't even so much as picked up the phone or made an Internet connection. Friends who I don't consider all that close have reached out, offered meals, to watch the kids, you name it. Some of it one can probably chalk to not being equipped to deal with pain, but most I think is just plain sad. There are those people whom it really would have meant a lot to hear from, those people who I expected to hear from (after all - they're family) and those people who really had no obligation to comfort me, but did anyway - and many did in a BIG way.

I don't expect anyone who hasn't been through a miscarriage to truly understand this, but it should be obvious to most anyone that this is still a tragedy and that I still need God with skin on - human beings who only need to offer a few words of encouragement or to say they're praying or sorry or just say something.

long john blues

I'm getting tired of wearing long underwear. They bunch up. They twist around. They make your pants tight. And they're not very sexy.

I'm also getting tired of having to wear long underwear. I am not one of those heat box types - I freeze in Minnesota from September to March. Constantly have cold finger and cold toes. These below zero weather is getting very tiresome. I think hubby's getting tired of me coming to bed dressed in - you guessed it - long underwear and a sweatshirt. Poor guy.

I tried to convince him to move to South Carolina, but he just said he couldn't handle the heat. I figure if us Minnesotans can acclimate to temperatures that would make a polar bear hibernate, it shouldn't be too hard to adjust to heat and humidity five months out of the year. He's maybe get to see some skin now and again.

Maybe I'd start shaving my legs again. But, that's a whole 'nother story and is not a pretty sight. Maybe we'll get an early thaw this year. One can always hope.