Autumn kisses

15Aug2008 Filed under: blah-blah-blog

Did you feel it this morning? If you weren’t here in Georgia, you missed it. But Autumn swooped in and tickled us with her gloriously cool hands, and I can’t wait, I just can’t wait, for fall.

It’s a sweet 64 degrees–so rare for August. Every window is open, the curtains are barely swaying to the music of the birds singing, a black crow is cawing. Honestly…you just couldn’t ask for a lovelier gift than this cool, fresh air after months of being cooped up in air conditioning 24/7.

I know that by this afternoon, it will be roasting again, and the windows will be closed once more, but summer’s time is running out. How fun that Autumn showed up for a little surprise visit, to reassure me that my favorite season will soon be here.

Writer in the making?

12Aug2008 Filed under: blah-blah-blog

Dooce writes about it. Doctors talk about it. Grannies do, too. So just know that if reading about bodily functions makes you queasy, you should not read this post. It could definitely be TMI.

But my son, he cracks me up! Honestly, the way he describes things, I think he might be destined to become a writer.

We were driving home this afternoon when he announced that he desperately needed the bathroom. We were just a few minutes from home, with no bathroom stops along the way. I told him to be a big boy and hold it just a few minutes longer.

“Mom, please hurry up. My poop is tumbling around to the top of my butt!”

So, I try to think of something to take his mind off it. I suggested that he count backwards. So he dutifully started at 10 and counted down to 1.

“That didn’t help, Mom…”

“Well, maybe you should do it again, starting at 20,” I replied, frustrated at the lady in front of me driving eight miles under the speed limit. “Do you think you can remember how to do that?”

“But mom!” Eli replied, sounding desperate. I could hear his legs wiggling against the seat. “Counting down like that made my poop rocket ready to blast off!”

Zach and I fell over laughing, and thankfully, we made it home before the little guy had an accident.

Later tonight, at dinner, he peered over the stove top to see the baked chicken breasts I’d pulled out of the oven. One had a particularly bumpy surface. He pointed to it, scowled and asked, “What IS that? It looks like a baked alien heart!”

He could use a lesson or two in good manners, but you have to admit: he has a way with words!

A man obsessed

11Aug2008 Filed under: blah-blah-blog

Poor Donnie. He caught the crud that zapped me over the weekend. It’s a funky tummy/sinus thing that makes you feel dizzy, queasy, stuffy and just…blah.

Sick or not, he will not unglue himself from the TV screen. He knows by heart all of the channels that are covering the Olympic games, and clicks incessantly between them all. He’s watched the men’s 150 mile bike race, synchronized diving, men’s & women’s basketball, swimming, soccer/football, and women’s volleyball (insisting that he liked the team games better than the beach volleyball. Yeah, right dear…whatever you say). I walked in the other day to find him watching women’s weight lifting and did a double-take at the huge Chinese woman on the screen.

The man even watched women’s gymnastics, something he used to make fun of me for watching. He’s obsessed, I tell you!

Me, eh, I can take ‘em or leave ‘em. I’ll be tired of it by the end of the week. Mostly I’ve marveled over the smog in Bejing. Is that some wicked-looking stuff or what? It made me wheeze, and I don’t even have asthma. LOL

Ten Random Ramblings

9Aug2008 Filed under: blah-blah-blog

A few of you will have seen this before. Most of you haven’t. I am missing a really cool writers’ conference today because I am sick. Bah! So, have a laugh at my expense as you understand a little more behind the insanity that is me.

1. I love books. My dream home includes a huge library to hold them all.

2. I use hand sanitizer while shopping, at the checkout, and again before I start my car. Yes, I’m a germophobe, but I’m healthier because of it.

3. I spend entirely too much time online.

4. I just read 1, 2, and 3 and have decided that I am the biggest nerd on the planet!

5. I love writing, but no matter how many accolades I receive for it, I’m still afraid that I will one day be exposed as an imposter who only thought she could write. 

6. I love a clean house. Not much makes me happier than a clean house.

7. I rarely ever enjoy a truly clean house because at heart, I am a slob (who loves cleanliness, go figure!) who married a slob and gave birth to two sloblets. Let’s all say it together: “KARI. NEEDS. A. MAID.”

8. If I find a nightgown that is super-comfy I will wash and wear it until it is too holey to be decent.

9.I love burnt cheese, like the kind on a pizza crust, or what oozes out of a grilled cheese sandwich, or the edge bits on lasagna. MMM!

10. I get really, really cranky when I go more than a week or so without any significant time alone.

One of my favorite authors

8Aug2008 Filed under: blah-blah-blog

I just love Max Lucado’s writings. He, Frank Peretti and Adrian Plass top my list of favorite writers of all time. This email I received today really touched me, and I hope I’m not breaking any rules by sharing it here. Earlier this week, I found out that a dear friend has metastatic pancreatic cancer. My heart is breaking for her and her family, and we all pray for her healing. But I needed to read this today, to be reminded that, as my dear old friend Jewel used to say in her quiet, gentle voice: “God knows all about it…”

When Death Becomes Birth

by Max Lucado

You live one final breath from your own funeral.

Which, from God’s perspective, is nothing to grieve. He responds to these grave facts with this great news: “The day you die is better than the day you are born” (Eccles. 7:1). Now there is a twist. Heaven enjoys a maternity-ward reaction to funerals. Angels watch body burials the same way grandparents monitor delivery-room doors. “He’ll be coming through any minute!” They can’t wait to see the new arrival. While we’re driving hearses and wearing black, they’re hanging pink and blue streamers and passing out cigars. We don’t grieve when babies enter the world. The hosts of heaven don’t weep when we leave it.