Under the Weather

So, you know that phrase people use when they're not feeling well? They're "under the weather". Well, I don't really know what that is suppose to mean exactly, but that's me. Not only do I feel under the weather, but I feel like the weather just pimp-slapped me, threw me down, and is sitting on top of me until I yell "uncle". And, I'll be honest- I'm not that prideful. "UNCLE, UNCLE, UNCLE."

It hit me Tuesday and I've been down with aches, chest congestion, a fever, and sore throat. Thankfully I had Zicam on hand and started it immediately once I woke up Tuesday with a tight feeling in my chest. Because of that, I don't think it's as severe, or will last as long as it would have otherwise.

All that to say- I had promised myself more posts this week and it hasn't happened. Right now, the only thing I can think about is going back to bed. So, in regards to this feeling of being "under the weather," I'm ready to be over it.

Powerful Perspective

Jon shared this with me the other night and I wanted to pass it along because it's powerful... and because we all need perspective.

"All that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing."
Edmund Burke

Medicating My Family (Mostly Myself)

When Jon and I planned a trip to visit my family last weekend, I realized it would be different than our first trip. On our first trip last fall, we met my family for a night of camping. They were out of their environment… there was a lot of wide-open space for the kids to release the effects of brownies, cookies and snack cakes… there was a ski boat and a jet ski for distraction… there were only twenty-four hours. This time… this time was going to be different. We would be at home- five adults and four children in a three-bedroom house. It would be cold… and raining… and twice as long as our first trip.

On Saturday, we drove thirty miles west to give Jon a tour of my hometown. I got to show him where I was born, where I went to school, and where I made my mom pack me a sack lunch because I just couldn’t make the 150-yard walk to my great uncle’s house without stopping to eat. Hey- 150 yards looks like miles to a five-year old! He also got to see the steep, concrete steps (all six of them) where my daddy dropped me when I was only a few months old. I tend to brag about surviving that incident as though it was Infant v/s Wild or something.

We also drove past my grandparent’s old house (hardly recognizable since their deaths years ago). It was a different color and both large trees in the front yard were gone, but I could see my younger sister and I making mud pies on the front porch, playing hopscotch on the sidewalk, and flagging down the milkman when he drove by- asking him to wait while we went inside to plead with pawpaw to buy us Push-Ups from the truck.

On our way back to my sister’s house, we drove through Maben- the nearest wet county to my hometown. With memories of our grandparents fresh on our minds, we reminisced about them driving us to the “medicine” store in Maben. Since we also took trips to the actual Drug Store when we were little (where we were actually allowed to get out of the car), it didn’t take us long to figure out those brown bags probably didn’t hold bottles of Milk of Magnesia.

Three hours later, we were still driving around. We had endured the lunch conflict- where two kids wanted McDonald’s over Sonic. So, we did what any responsible adults would do and catered to every request. We had endured tense comments between my sister and her husband over where they were going to live next- sprinkled with bitter resenting remarks over how he didn’t do anything for her on Valentine’s Day. We had endured my two nephews on the seat behind us- annoying each other (and me) with verbal and physical jousting. We had endured… well, only twenty-four hours thus far. As we arrived back at the house, I climbed out of the car and whispered to Jon- “I think I need to go to the medicine store.” We laughed and got through one more day without any brown, paper bags.

When Candyland Isn't All Fun and Games

Jon and I went to visit my family this past weekend. Within two minutes of our arrival, my six-year old niece started taunting me with the promise of good times.

I scooped her up in my arms and her first words were, “Guess what we can play when we get home? Four people can play!”

“What?”

“Candyland. Four people can play.”

Suddenly I realized why she was so excited. Who doesn’t love Candyland and who doesn’t want to spend their Friday night playing a game where you move one orange or two blues and you pray that you don’t get stuck on Licorice Lane and lose a turn, or worse yet- draw the gingerbread card and get sent back to the beginning? I quickly secured our places in the game- because only FOUR could play.

Since we met my family at the kids’ school for my nephew’s basketball game, Hannah Grace rode back to the house with me and Jon. She talked about Candyland all the way home and it didn’t take long for the trash-talking to start.

Hannah: “I’m good at Candyland. I play on the computer and the real game.”
Jon: “I think I’m going to win.”
Hannah: “No, I’m gonna win.”

Me, pointing at myself: “Hannah, you know who’s good at Candyland.”
Hannah: “I’m gonna win ‘cause I’ve been practicing every day on the computer AND the real game.”

Jon: “Well, you better bring it.”
Hannah: “I will bring it.”
Jon: “I’m gonna bring it double-time.”
Hannah: “I’m gonna bring it four doubles.”

I turn and look at Jon. “I can’t believe you’re talking smack with my six-year old niece.”

And then, from the backseat we hear Hannah, “I’m gonna smoke all of y’all.”

Oh, GAME ON girlie! And who won the game? Let’s just say the next day when we were talking about Candyland (because talking about Candyland doesn’t stop just because the game does), Hannah turned to me and said, “Aunt Jennifer, you brought it.”

Yeah, but she kicked my butt 6-1 in Old Maid, so I can’t brag too much.

Indicators of Growth

I know it's bad when I see a photo of myself taken less than a year ago and I notice how much slimmer my face looks. Seriously? Maybe it's the lighting, I tell myself. Surely I haven't been eating that much. I dismiss it. I was probably thrusting my chin forward when it was taken. It's a photo trick that makes you look thinner. Or like a freak. Either one. But then I get dressed. I pull on my jeans that I haven't washed in six wears and realize they should be looser by now. Instead, my thighs are screaming for air. I do a few lunges and squats, hoping to loosen my jeans and burn 1/2 a calorie. They are still too clingy. I decide I need to eat better... and less. At the end of the work day, I head to the Y to burn off the soft drink, four cookies, and chips I snacked on during the day. I work out, then feel bad about how undisciplined I was with my snacking, so I comfort my discouragement by eating some chocolate. Tomorrow is a new day and day eight of jean wear. Surely they will be looser!

This Idiot Voted

Months ago, I decided to not commit myself to any one presidential candidate. The field was wide. My time is valuable. I didn’t want to spend hours researching everyone’s stance on every issue. I knew the field would narrow before I had to cast my vote on Super Tuesday. Monday came and I still didn’t have a candidate I felt passionate about. I sat at my computer Monday night, reading On the Issues and trying to make a decision that would allow me to sleep at night. I went to bed undecided. And, when I say “undecided,” I really mean “undecided.” I don’t always vote along party lines. I vote for whom I think is the best person for the job, Republican or Democrat. Tuesday morning came and I knew I had to make a decision. I got to work. I read more on the issues. By mid-afternoon, my left eye was twitching from the stress. Seriously. The vote was closing in and I had to commit. I left work, driving to the polls around 4:45 p.m. My eye twitching, my mind racing. What is the right thing to do? I don’t agree with everyone on everything. What’s more important? Two miles from my polling station, I made a decision. I don’t remember my eye twitching after that.

I walked in to fill out my form. A long line quickly formed behind me. “You have to check one of these primaries this time,” the woman said. I looked. Democrat? Republican? I don’t want to choose, I thought. What will this mean anyway? Does it matter? I’m a registered Republican, but maybe I don’t want to vote Republican today. I could feel the pressure of those waiting behind me. It’s a good thing my eye was no longer twitching. There I would have been, leaning over the table, talking to myself, my hand going back and forth between the two check boxes, with a suspicious twitch. You know how the Red Cross serves cookies and kool-aid after you give blood? I think the polling stations should serve cocktails. Knowing I had to move, I quickly checked a box and moved on. What difference would it make anyway? A LOT.

In my stress, I overlooked the fact that my ballot would be based on what primary I checked. This is my political ignorance. So, there I stood, staring at a ballot that did not list the candidate I had finally chosen. I finally cast my vote for someone I felt okay about. On my way out, I stopped to get a sticker, but they were all out of the “This Idiot Voted” designs.

The Best of Both Worlds

Ask me what I did this weekend. Be prepared to be jealous though. I saw Hannah Montana & Miley Cyrus: Best of Both World Concert in 3D. Twice. That’s right- I’m thirty-five, without child and I was there. As my niece would say, “Don’t hate me ‘cause you ain’t me.”

Let me clarify though. As an independent contractor with Disney, I was assigned to see it. People paid $15 per ticket to see it. I was paid. Attendees were sectioned off in a separate area at the theater while they waited to go in. All showings were sold out. This was a big deal. This was Hannah Montana. This was the epitome of obsession. This was also one of the most interesting experiences I have ever had in my life.

Sure, I expected the little girls to be excited. I wasn’t too surprised by the Hannah Montana wigs they were wearing, or the screaming. Okay, I was a little surprised by the screaming. I mean Hannah Montana wasn’t actually there- it was a movie. I didn’t realize people actually screamed at movies. They did. A lot. But, these are young girls and that behavior is not odd. Their mothers on the other hand…

These were grown women with cameras. I’m sure they wanted to capture the memory of their daughter’s obsession excitement to show them later in life. That would explain why so many of them were snapping photos of their daughters with friends before the show began. Not every little girl got to go this weekend. Pictures would prove they were there. Those photographic moments can be explained. What cannot be explained is why these same mothers were taking pictures of the movie screen during the show. Seriously. Cameras were pointed up at the projection as mothers tried to snap pictures of Hannah Montana on screen. Let’s neglect the fact that this is in 3D. They did. I know those pictures couldn't have turned out that great. Mine didn't.

Did your mom really just say that?

Usually when you’re getting to know your boyfriend’s parents, there is a bit of nervousness… fear. Do they like me? Do they think I’m good enough for their son?
Do they think I’m worthy of bearing their grandchildren? I’m thankful that I’ve never felt those things with Jon’s family. I liked them from the beginning and immediately felt comfortable being around them. Maybe it’s their fun personalities, or Lutheran love, or the fact that they send me notes occasionally… such as this one I received this week from Jon’s mom.



Funny how something can make you so comfortable, yet at the same time- so very uncomfortable!!!