Everyday miracles

     You can take the girl out of the South but there ain't no getting rid of her southern fears.  At 5:30am, I saw it out of the corner of my eye as I walked down the hall.  Some of you will recognize the following routine.

     Keep walking and start praying.  "Please God, don't let that be what I think it is."
     Stop walking, start talking to self.  "Don't be stupid.  It's not what you think it is.  Can't be.  CANNOT be."
     Turn around, slowly.  "It isn't moving.  That's a good sign.  I should turn on the light.  I don't want to turn on the light.  PLEASE, God don't let it fly."
     Turn on light (while preparing to run).  "OK. Breathe.  It still didn't move." Actually breathe.
     Slowly retreat to go grab a shoe.  Walk around complete opposite end of kitchen to get a paper towel.  Continue inner pep talk.  "You live in Indiana.  That is not what you think it is.  Repeat.  Not.What.You.Think.It.Is."
     Move closer, try not to close eyes.  "It's just a moth.  Oh Lord, it's The Biggest Moth Ever."
     Try not to panic because deep down, you know it is still going to fly.  "Please God, just don't let it fly in my face.  Please God."
     Move in.  "Please God."
     And it's just dog hair.  "Thank you, God!  Thank you, God.  Thank You, God!"

     I've just admitted my house could use a cleaning but we've not yet invited roaches and thank the Lord, Indiana roaches don't fly!

     One more cup of coffee and I'll be ready to write another southern scene. ;)

It's all in how you say it...

For better or for worse, I have a tendency to pick up "local" accents wherever I go.  I don't mean to do it, it is just a bad habit.  (Not a problem until I hang out TOO long with friends from Canada as they start to look annoyed.) ;)

After 12 years as a military wife, you never know what I'm going to say!

Anyhoo....it comes with perks.  Like drinking with my little brother one night and he says "with each glass of wine, you sound like you come from somewhere else!"  Or...the cab driver in Miami, the other day who was listening to me talk to my kids.  He finally asked "where are you from?"  When I replied, "I was actually born here," he shook his head and said "that's not it."  I said, "We live in Indiana, now.  Do I have a MidWestern accent?"  He nodded and said "THAT'S it!" *sigh*

Although I grew up in Florida, I acquired my "southern" accent more during college in New Orleans and it seems to show up again around family in the South, or when I drink.  Ahem.  So... I am going to feign innocence (as even the older kids are giving their little brother a "break" on this one) as it isn't TECHNICALLY wrong for him to ask, "What the Hail?"
(Right?)

Momentary grace

We all have that sense--satisfaction--when we have done a good thing.  I always hope I can accumulate grace--that I might bank points, if you will--to counter all of the missteps that I make.  Most of the time, I just pray that I can break even.

Yesterday morning, I took the dog for a run.  Upon returning, I grabbed her water dish to rinse it out.  As I looked down to turn the faucet on, I saw a wasp clinging to my running shirt.  I screamed (I tend to conform to those girl stereotypes only when it comes to bugs) and shook my shirt to knock him to the ground.  By the time I had my foot poised to squash him however, I realized that he had just been hitching a ride and hadn't taken the opportunity to panic and sting me.  So I backed up, grabbed a cup and scooped him up.  I opened the sliding glass door and shook him out onto the deck where he promptly flew away.

I felt satisfied.  Proud.  Benevolent.  I washed my hands before grabbing the flyswatter to go kill the giant fly that had been pestering my daughter in the basement.  My brain didn't catch up with the irony until after the fly had fallen to the ground.

Last night, I pondered whether one "save" might cancel out the other "thwack" as I fished a fruit fly out of my wine.  At least that guy went numb first.

Run for your life!

I am standing in my kitchen, telling myself it is time to exercise.  It is time for all of us to exercise.  (Not you--everyone in my kitchen.)  I need to go for a run with the dog and the 4-year-old needs to run outside.

We should have gone earlier but my son requested pancakes and I made them.  Far too many of them.  I am hungry and if I do not go run soon, I will eat them.  But instead, I am standing at my computer, reading this true, real, fascinating article.  Before I can finish the article, I see the grin on my 4-year-old's face.  The grin with an index finger in the middle of it.  The grinning child with the finger in his mouth is standing in the kitchen, trying to block my view of the tub of margarine with a 4-year-old-finger-sized canal running through it.

He's sneaky but he's honest.  "I ate butter.  I like to eat butter."

Sigh.  It's time for a run.

Reckoning

Why're you trying to second guess me?
I am tired of second guessing
What will be your look this season?
Who will be your book this season? ...
~ R.E.M., "Second Guessing"

Once upon a time, a girl met a boy.  Or a boy met a girl, however you want to put it.

Many months later, she had no recollection of the first meeting but he remembered her.  He decided to call her, as she was no longer dating his friend.  He left a message with her roommate.  She did not call back.  One day, after two shelves worth of sticky-note phone messages, she answered the phone herself.  (Our story takes place long ago, before caller I.D.)

The boy begged her not to hang up and then convinced her to join him for one lunch, on campus.
After lunch and a walk, he asked her to join him for dinner, that weekend.  She explained that she was already busy on Friday.  (It was true.  She already had a date with a very nice guy on Friday).  This boy nodded and quickly said that he was busy Friday, too, but would like to take her out on Saturday.    She was at a loss for a quick excuse so she said yes.  (She could call and cancel, later.)

The weekend in question was Labor Day weekend, however, and our girl was not creative enough to come up with an excuse that would keep her busy for the rest of a long weekend.  Saturday night the boy picked her up in a friend's car and popped a cassette into the tape deck.  The girl started to relax, a little.  He had chosen one of her favorite bands!  This was an album that she loved but did not own.  It brought back memories of riding in friends' cars back home.  She started to think the boy had pretty good taste and the evening might not be a total waste, after all.  In fact, if all went well, maybe she would get to know him well enough to borrow the tape!

Twenty-one years later, a woman was running errands and heard an old favorite on the radio.  She smiled as the song brought back memories of riding in friends' cars back home and a particular first date, as well.  She even laughed as she realized that she never did borrow that tape.

She came home, downloaded the song and has enjoyed listening to it often, lately.  She asked her husband if he had ever really owned that tape, or just borrowed it from the friend who told him to play that particular album.  Her husband swears he owned it.  Of course, he gave away all of his cassettes a few moves ago, so there is no proof.  When questioned, he was able to provide the correct title of the album on the first try, so it's possible.

Not exactly clouds in my coffee

I try not to waste food or drinks in my house, so when my son left an almost full glass of milk on the table after breakfast, I decided to pour that into my coffee cup.   Milk however, should not go "plop!"

(My kids are currently enjoying "Vita Worm" vitamins.  My daughter tried to toss one onto her brother's plate in the morning but missed--it landed in his cup.  She gave him another one and he never knew--nor did I, until I almost had vitamin-enriched coffee!)

I don't want to know

My son was asking if it was possible for him to go to Hell before he'd made his First Reconciliation. Now that he only has two months before making that First confession, he has moved on. Now he wants to know how much time people spend in Purgatory.
Hopefully attending Catholic school will be good for him--he certainly knows Someone is watching him--but I'm a little worried about what he has been up to!