I'd have to rate mine somewhere between a C and a C-.
My day started out great. Jason made me the most delicious breakfast of what he calls Swedish pancakes (what I call crepes); they were filled with strawberries and whip cream and dusted with powdered sugar. They were delicious!
The day ended with my head in a garbage can. It wasn't pretty. And every half hour, almost like clockwork, I was throwing up. All. Night. Long.
And then, somewhere in the middle of the day, I learned that my friend had died from the cancer she has been battling for a few years.
But somewhere in the middle too...I received more emails, and phone calls, and texts, and Facebook messages, than I have ever received in my life, wishing me a happy birthday. And I felt loved.
And somewhere in the middle Jason and my sister and I went out to dinner and we laughed and had a good time.
And somewhere in the middle I got a card from my parents that made me cry.
And later, while my head was in the garbage can, Jason was there rubbing my back.
My head is no longer in the garbage can, but it is still dizzy. (Have I mentioned recently that I HATE vertigo?) I'm grateful that with this episode I didn't end up in the ER...at least there's that.
So the moral of this story is that while my day was a C-, the people in it get an A+.
I'm going now, to find my pillow and the couch.
If my head is clear tomorrow...oh just wait for the post I'll post!!!
I'm wondering something...
Where are you while you're reading this post?
Are you curled up in a blanket with something warm to drink?
Are you at work?
Are you on the subway?
Are you at an internet cafe in Honduras?
My husband...that guy I write about sometimes...the one you all adore?
I'd like you to know that while I agree, he is adorable...he has his moments.
This day, in it's entirety, has been a moment.
I have a thumb that doesn't work like it should...it gives out on me at the most inopportune times...like yesterday when I wanted to take a cookie sheet out of the oven and I couldn't grasp it...
My thumb, that I am quite convinced is arthritic, hurts me and once in a while I complain about it to Jason. He's not so convinced that my thumb is arthritic...in fact he laughs at me when I suggest that my arthritis is flaring up. He thinks it's an injury taking it's own sweet time to heal.
This afternoon as we were getting out of the car at my parent's house I asked Jason to take the bowl I was carrying, so as to 'help a poor girl out with her arthritic thumb.' (Because today friends, it hurts like crazy!) He took the bowl but I didn't hear the end of it.
When my mom asked me to run downstairs and bring something back up for her, Jason said "I'd better go. Noelle's arthritic thumb is acting up." I went downstairs, but not before hitting Jason.
It's been like this the entire day...Jason mocking me. (Which he does quite regularly...he thinks it's part of our marriage vows: 'I promise to mock and laugh at Noelle at least once a day for as long as we both shall live'...but not longer than that, because by the time we're both dead and living in heaven he'd better have matured. And that's assuming I make it to heaven after my calling Jason a brat at least 12 times today...)
I was brushing my teeth tonight and mentioned that my jaw has been sore for a couple of days and that while I was terribly sorry, I wouldn't be able to kiss Jason goodnight...on account of the pain it would cause. Jason said, "Maybe the arthritis has spread to your jaw." I smacked him with my pillow. When he got into bed he said "let me look at your thumb." I gave him my hand. "Now let me look at your other hand." And then he studied them for a few minutes and said, "Sorry dear. You really might have arthritis in that thumb. Look how swollen it is."
Because he finally admitted that I was right and he was wrong, I let him kiss me goodnight...in spite of the pain.
I'm a walking symptom...at least that's what my sister tells me.
I think I shall tell you a story before I end this post.
You remember Ruthie don't you?
Ruthie is my 3 year old niece.
Ruthie spends every day with her mom: going to work, going to the bank, going to the post office...but mostly going to the bank.
Whenever they get in the car they say 'check' once they've put their seat belts on.
The other day Ruthie's mommy said, "check" and Ruthie piped up from the back seat.
"No more check Mommy. Now let's say 'checking deposit slip'."
(...as that's what Ruthie hears her mommy ask for day after day...)
Ruthie's mommy is good to accommodate...and now whenever they put their seat belts on they do as Ruthie requested: they say checking deposit slip.
I'm turning 35 tomorrow (and by tomorrow I mean Tuesday)...I guess that's as good a reason as any that I'm going in search of my blue gel that is meant to ease muscle aches and arthritis pain...
"Why do you hate me?" is what I asked.
"I don't hate you," my stomach replied.
"Then can you please tell me why you're causing me so much pain?"
"Maybe it's because of what you eat," my stomach said with an air of haughtiness.
"What? You don't like that I mostly cut sugar out of my diet? You don't like that I'm giving you more servings of fruits and vegetables? You don't like that I drink water with lemon in it?"
"Maybe I don't like the mango and peach salsa you ate for dinner last night."
"And maybe I think you're retarded," is what I wanted to say.
But it's a conversation with my stomach...I don't think it would get me very far.
I have a question...
...a very serious question...unlike yesterday's not so serious question.
Is it worth getting to see Derek Morgan aka. Shemar Moore once a week for an hour? (If you don't watch Criminal Minds you won't understand. Maybe when you're older we can talk about it.) Is it really worth the bad dreams you might have after every episode?
Tonight I won't have bad dreams seeing as how my DVR quit on me, thanks to Comcast who is doing some kind of internal upgrade...whatever... and so I didn't see the ending.
But like I was saying...is it worth it?
And that brings me to this sad realization that I had tonight while I was talking to my stomach:
I work with morons.
(I'll bet you can't see the connection. Don't worry, it's there...in my head...my head that might need to be examined.)
As I was saying, I work with morons.
And I can't even blog about said morons...not really...because most of the people I work with are family. And if they're not family, someone they're related to probably reads my blog and so with my luck I'll have a co-worker approach me and say, "My aunt's sister's best friend who reads your blog said you wrote about me and now my feelings are hurt and I'm going to claim workers comp for the emotional damages you've caused, and I'm going to quit and then collect unemployment too. So there."
Do you see how I'm faced with an impossible dilemma?
I'm just going to tell you one little thing and then you and I will go forward with a silent understanding: Noelle doesn't always love her job, but she can't talk about it or she might get sued by someone who may or may not be family. (Actually, it if is family they'll know better than to sue...because who wants an old, rusty tractor as payment for emotional damages?)
I work with someone who isn't very good at accepting that he or she might have made a mistake. In fact, this person does a really great job of shifting the responsibility. An example might be in order:
A customer came in the other day to pay a bill.
"Hey No-Welle...how you doin'?" (Imagine that said with the best cowboy accent I can muster.)
"I'm fine thank you."
"Hey No-Welle, I need to pay mah (my) bill. Can you tell me what the total is?"
"I don't show that you have a balance owing."
"Oh, Ah (I) do. Ah came in yesturdee and ________ gave me a copy of the invoice."
And so I make a call and ask my co-worker, "Where is J's invoice?"
"I gave it to you," was my co-workers response.
"I don't have it. I haven't seen it."
As the co-worker is going through the paperwork on his or her desk the co-worker says to me, "I don't have it. I'm sure I gave it to you."
I had an edge to my voice when I said, "We are NOT playing this game again. Just because you can't find it doesn't mean that I am responsible for it being lost."
"It's okay No-Welle, I have mah (my) copy of the invoice raight (right) here."
And so the customer pays his bill and after giving me his very strong political opinion, the customer leaves. (For the record, I really like this customer. He always brightens my day.)
This afternoon the same co-worker came into my office with a slight grin on his or her face and said, "I found the invoice." Of course you did. "But it wasn't on my desk. It was on someone else's desk." Of course it was. "And I didn't put it there." Of course you didn't. And for all of my subtlety, it will be my luck that today is the day my co-worker decides to check my blog. If you read about a certain business going under because of charges of slander, you'll know why.
And for the other record, this example was NOT Baby Sister, who is exempt from the moron category, because she brings me food, and water, and sometimes even an apple flavored Hostess fruit pie. (Think she'll catch the hint with that last one?)
Dear Stomach, I hate you.
Dear Derek Morgan, can you have one happy, light, I want to skip through a field of flowers episode? Or at least make it up to Garcia? (Maybe you did...but I wouldn't know...grrr...)
Dear Co-Workers, I love you...really...but sometimes not so much.
Dear Baby Sister, you're a star.
Dear Blog Friends, tomorrow's Crayola Goodness will be all about the romantic ride Jason and I are going to take tonight on the ski-lift at Sundance Ski Resort, because it is a full moon after all.
Dear Stomach, I'm serious.
This beauty came to work yesterday. She comes to work most days. She calls me 'Damell' because she can't say Noelle. She'll be three in December. Yesterday I heard her singing one of her favorite songs from Pink: "So what ... I'm still a rock star ... I got my rock moves..."
She ducks her head and gets shy...and blushes...and giggles... whenever I say hi to her, but when she's on her own she sings Pink.
This little guy doesn't play, he just works. When I stopped by his house the other day he was outside moving rocks. "Noelle, come see the flow rider I'm building." I went across the street and admired his foundation made of rocks. I had to ask his mom what a flow rider is. It's that thing you see sometimes at swimming pools that lets you pretend you're surf boarding.
As I was leaving he said, "Can you tell my dad that I'm going to need the excavator and 6 or 10 bags of cement?" I told him I would pass along the information.
Trouble was minding her own business when out of nowhere an apple fell from Grandpa's apple tree and hit her right on the nose. Her nose started bleeding and she ran through the house looking for her daddy.
I'll be honest, we might have laughed a little bit.
This little guy, Trouble's baby brother, has to have surgery on his kidney. It's not working right and they are going to try and fix it.
Trouble's mommy said yesterday, "I'm glad we finally know why he cries so much. The little guy is in pain."
And me? I'm just glad I live close enough to all of these little ones to know what goes on in their lives every day.
Oh...and I took my lazy self back to the gym yesterday...it was a proud moment.
And another oh...I ironed one basket full of laundry last night...another proud moment!
Jason laughs at me at least 7 times a day.
7 times a day when I'm NOT trying to be funny.
Don't you think that's rude?
I was in charge of Jell-O for our Sunday dinner.
I've been in charge of the green salad for the last 13 meals - I was ready for a change.
Jason said he wanted orange Jell-O with mandarin oranges and extra creamy Cool Whip.
We bought the orange Jell-O and the Cool Whip.
I knew we had mandarin oranges at home.
I got up early this morning to make the Jell-O and quickly discovered a problem.
The cans of mandarin oranges were busy.
They were being used for something far more important than Jell-O.
Those four blocks that spell out home? Each one of them is resting comfortably on a can of mandarin oranges.
I looked at the blocks and down at the Jell-O and then back to the blocks and made a decision.
I finished making the Jell-O and went upstairs to get ready for church.
As we were walking to church I casually mentioned to Jason, "Honey, I didn't put mandarin oranges in the Jell-O. Sorry."
Yesterday we headed to the lovely mountain resort town of Park City. I was in search of a pair of jeans.
(No thanks to all 26 of you who commented on my Friday post. Did you miss the part where I said, "For the love of Walley, tell the girl where she can find a pair of jeans?")
I'm not upset or anything.
We spent 5 hours shopping in the outlets there, with a small break for dinner.
(5 hours = one amazing husband)
I found a pair of jeans.
As I stepped out of the dressing room I said to the girl who had been helping me, "Where's my husband?"
She pointed him out on the other side of the store.
"Did you need him?" she asked.
"I need him to tell me I look good in these jeans," I said with a smile.
He said I looked hot so I bought them.
We walked out of the store and nearly ran into some women walking toward us.
I looked at them and then looked at Jason and said, "Seriously?"
I'm all for freedom of expression in how a person dresses, to a point.
One of the women - she was way beyond that point.
She looked like she could have been a linebacker in her younger years.
She was wearing a strapless sundress that was much shorter in the front than it was in the back, due to her linebacker size and all.
Jason looked at the woman I was referring to and said, "He's a man."
"No way," is what I said.
"I'm positive he's a man. Look at his back, and his legs. There is not a woman alive who is built like that."
I looked again and took Jason's hand and turned him around so that we were following Ms. Linebacker and her/his date.
We followed them right into Old Navy and into the women's clothing section.
I got a close-up of Ms. Linebacker.
She/He had shoulder length red hair that had been curled under, acrylic nails that had been painted a sparkly purple, and makeup...lots of makeup.
I followed her/him around the store for a few minutes and finally concluded that Jason was right. He was a man.
I suggested that Jason do the right thing and tell Ms. Linebacker that he didn't look great in that dress...he would be doing Ms. Linebacker a huge favor. I even thought that I could help him out - show him some dresses that might better flatter his figure -
When it came right down to it neither one of us wanted to risk offending Ms. Linebacker. He could have squashed us flat.
Look at me...I've become all sorts of wordy with this post.
Let me tell you one last little thing.
My sister was playing her new piano yesterday when her 5-year-old daughter came into the room to listen.
"Mommy, when I play the piano I make noise. When you play the piano you make color."
I loved that.
These are my brothers...and my lovely sister...and my husband...
My brothers are wearing the pink ties...
My brother-in-law-who is mostly just my brother- is the guy on the left wearing the orange tie...
My husband is the guy on the right wearing the orange tie...
And I'll bet you can guess which one is my sister...
I made cookies Monday night-I had many birthdays to celebrate-including my lovely sister's.
I brought the cookies to work yesterday to package them and make them look birthday-worthy.
As I was tying a bow around one of the packages of cookies my brother Jared came in.
(He's the bald guy on the left in the pink tie.)
He eyed those cookies and me-and gave me that look-the one that said he was going to starve to death if he didn't get a cookie.
I gave him a cookie.
A few minutes later my brother-in-law Kevin came in. He eyed the cookies in much the same way Jared just had. I gave him a cookie too. He deserved it-he had just done a serious plumbing project for me.
As Kevin was about to eat the cookie Jared said, "I wouldn't eat that. Those cookies are gross."
Kevin ate the cookie anyway.
Kevin lived in Italy for a couple of years and as a result thinks he's a chef.
Actually, when I have a food question I call Kevin as much as I call my mom.
When Kevin was done with the cookie he said, "I don't think you can give those away"-implying of course that they weren't very good.
As I was getting ready to leave work I put the cookies on the front desk while I gathered the rest of my things. Ben saw the cookies and asked, "Noelle, what are those?"
"They're cookies Ben."
"Noelle, do you have a cookie for me?"
I didn't, not really, but I opened one of the packages that I was going to give away and said, "Here's a cookie."
He took a bite and then said,
"Noelle, you're a doll."
"You're a jewel...a precious gem...a sweet thing."
And then he ate the rest of the cookie.
Can you guess which brother I'll be making cookies for in the future?
My 3-year-old niece Sami, who you know as Trouble, has a bruise on her eye.
Trouble's cousin asked, "Sami what happened to your eye?"
Trouble shrugged her shoulders and said, "It got hurt."
Trouble's cousin asked, "How did it get hurt?"
Trouble, busy playing with something, shrugged her shoulders again and said, "It got hurt."
Trouble's cousin asked one more time, "But Sami, how did it get hurt?"
Trouble, finally at the end of her patience, looked at her cousin and said, "That just what my face do!"
As I was cracking up over her response Trouble's mom told me this:
After changing her clothes four times yesterday Trouble's mom finally asked, "Samantha, why do you keep changing your clothes?"
Trouble looked up at her and said, "That just what girls do mom."
Before The Lion King started on Friday night my sister and I got something to eat. The only place we found that didn't have an hour plus wait time was a little hole in the wall Mexican restaurant called The Blue Iguana. To be accurate, it was a hole in the basement, not a hole in the wall. As we looked down the stairs to the door of the restaurant we saw many neon signs advertising beer. My sister looked at me and said, "Maybe we should find somewhere else to eat."
(We don't drink...not even a little bit...and after seeing all of the neon signs my sister was a bit apprehensive.)
Now, if you know me at all, you know that I NEVER turn down a chance to eat Mexican food. And the more authentic the food, the better it is. I knew that this little hole in the basement would have authenticity coming out of it's ... enchiladas ... and I wanted to eat there. As I started walking down the stairs I looked at my sister and said, "Just because they sell it doesn't mean you have to drink it."
I was right. There was authenticity coming out of the burrito I ate and I was a happy girl.
Today is a big day friends. A BIG DAY! No, it's not my birthday yet...that's still two weeks away...today is something bigger than my birthday. Can any of you guess what it is? It's our sixth month wedding anniversary. 6 MONTHS! We've been married longer than we knew each other before we got married.
I've given a lot of thought to the last 6 months...the things I've learned...the person I've become...the man I love...and I've come up with one thing I want to tell you...one thing that stands out above everything else. I hope that you'll take what I tell you to heart...as that's where it's coming from...my heart.
Giving up a girl roommate for a boy roommate has one drawback. The boy roommate can't help you with your hair. There you go...that's the one thing that stands out above everything else.
My hair has two styles: hanging in my face or pulled back in a ponytail. I don't do anything else. And it's not because I'm lazy but because I can't do it! I really can't do anything else. (You can imagine me saying that with a whine...because if I were to say it out loud, you can trust I'd be whining.) When I say that I'm going to cut my hair my sisters roll their eyes at me. Becca even goes so far as to mock me. "You know right, that if you cut your hair you actually have to style it...maybe even with a round brush ... you know you can't do that."
And she's so right. Oh...the shame...
Do you know that when I lived with my sister she would have to curl the back of my hair for me? I can't even manage that very well. And do you know how many times I've wanted to ask Jason to help me curl the back of my hair?
And there we are, back to the one drawback of changing from a girl roommate to a boy. This morning I went a little crazy...maybe it was the pancakes I ate for dinner the night before...I'll never know... but I tried to braid my hair. One simple braid. After the third try I looked at my braid and hung my head in defeat. There was one strand of hair out of the braid...the same strand I had missed the first two times.
I walked out of the bathroom and tentatively asked Jason, "Can you braid?" He can't. I turned to put my hair in it's usual ponytail when my sister walked through the back door. I handed her my brush, sat on the arm of the couch, and said "HELP." She helped.
I'll tell you this though, if you take hair styling out of the picture...in every other way, I married the man who is perfect for me. And I love him. And I just wanted you to know.
Why don't you be a dear and leave me a comment telling me what I should blog about.
I'll just wait...
And while I'm waiting, I'll give you 10 random facts about me...
(You're not even going to finish reading this are you? You're going straight to the comment section to tell me what to blog about aren't you? ANYTHING but random facts about Noelle...that's what you're saying isn't it?)
1. I use at least two, and sometimes all three, of our bathrooms to get ready each day
2. I like to live on the edge: I eat unwashed grapes
3. Sometimes when I'm in Mexico I drink the water
(hold on, I'm asking my sister what she thinks is random about me)
4. I iron my jeans
5. my favorite cereal is Lucky Charms
(hold on again, I'm asking another sister what she thinks is random about me)
(she didn't answer the phone)
(now I'm instant messaging my brother...although he's just in the room next to mine and if I talked loudly he could hear me)
(he says I'm superb...that doesn't count)
6. Whenever Jason uses the hot water he lets it go until he burns his hands and says 'HOT!' before he'll turn on any cold water. I tell him, "Honey, it's going to be hot every time you turn it on."
(I know, I know, that wasn't about me...but I'm still thinking)
7. For the first time in my life I want to cut my hair...but now I have this husband who likes it long...
(I just instant messaged my friend Tia who I've known since high school. She says I bake fabulous cookies and I haven't given any to her in a while...that can't count either...but I'd better make her some cookies)
8. Making lists isn't my best strength
9. I'm left-handed
10. When I clean my house I listen to the soundtrack from Les Miserables ... or ... Counting Crows
PHEW...this post has taken me over two hours to write...
I'll end it now and put you out of your misery.
Tomorrow's Crayola Goodness is going to take your breath away!!!
My sister came into my office this morning and asked, "You haven't posted a blog today?!!"
I told her I was waiting for inspiration.
5 hours later when she came into my office she asked, "You still haven't posted?"
I told her I was still waiting for inspiration.
I'm still waiting...
My friend called me this afternoon and asked if she could stop by my office to talk for a minute.
I knew she was crying and I prepared for the worst.
She walked into my office, and without saying a word I wrapped her in a hug, and we both cried together.
After a minute she said, "Three to four weeks. That's how long my sister has left to live."
What do you say to that?
I can't talk about it...not without crying...and another friend told me "Don't put this on the blog. We'll all just cry."
So...in an effort to avoid tears all around...
How 'bout I tell you about the time I nearly ended Baby Sister's life? (She probably doesn't know about this time...she was too young to even be traumatized.)
When Manda Lou (or Baby Sister to some of you) was just one or a bit older, I was home babysitting her. My parents had a meeting every Wednesday night from 6:00 until 9:00 pm and I was in charge of Manda Lou. One night Manda Lou and my cousin and I were all hanging out in my bedroom. My bedroom was impossibly small and barely fit the bunk bed that I shared with my sister.
My cousin and I got the brilliant idea to rearrange the bedroom. We had it all planned out in our mind and knew just exactly how we wanted to arrange the bunk bed. We moved Manda out of the way and began the process. It was a lot of pull and a lot of shove and a lot of grumbling about how heavy the bunk bed was.
We had the bunk bed halfway to it's new home when we heard a rather loud cracking noise. We looked down and realized that the bunk bed was broken and there was no way we could move it an inch further. There was no way anyone could have moved it an inch further...unless his name was Dad. And we would have been perfectly content to wait for Dad except that the bunk bed broke right in front of the closed bedroom door. We were trapped, and Manda Lou had a messy diaper, and I was hungry, and my cousin had to go to the bathroom and ...
I picked up the phone and dialed the operator and asked for the number to the office where I knew Mom and Dad were. After several rings I got the secretary. "Can I help you?" she asked. "Yes, I'm looking for my mom or dad. Is there anyway I can talk to Mr. Platt?" The secretary paused and said, "You know they are in a meeting right?" I told her that it was an emergency and really needed to talk to one of them.
I was on hold for several minutes before my mom came on the line. "Hello?" she said in a whisper. "MOM! We're locked in our bedroom because the bunk bed broke and Manda has a messy diaper and we don't know what to do and I'm sorry I broke the bed and please don't be mad and when are you coming home and MOOOOMMM help us!" I got all of that out before she spoke again.
"Noelle you know we won't be home until after 9pm. You'll just have to wait there until we get home. Dad will fix everything when we get home." I hung up the phone in despair and said to my cousin, "We're stuck here for two hours...unless..."
You should never trust the 10-year-old version of myself when I say 'unless'.
My bedroom was on the second floor of an old rock home that was always under construction. Outside my bedroom window was some scaffolding that had been there for as long as I could remember.
Imagine this without the ladder. I said to my cousin, "If we crawl out the window and onto the scaffolding we could climb down and go back into the house through the front door.
The idea was a brilliant one except for one small thing: Amanda.
How was I going to climb down the scaffolding with Amanda in my arms? As it was, I had to use both hands when I was only playing around on the scaffolding. And the top of the scaffolding? That was off limits and to climb to the top ensured certain grounding for life.
But this was a matter of life and death...(death would have been a result of the fumes from the dirty diaper)...and surely I would be forgiven the crime for which I was about to commit.
I took a deep breath and said to my cousin, "We can do this."
I opened the window and let the screen drop to the ground below. I climbed out the window and let myself down onto the top board of the scaffolding.
"Okay, hand Amanda to me," I said to my cousin. She handed Amanda out the window along with the plea, "Don't kill her."
I told Amanda to hold on to my neck as tight as she could and I began the climb down the scaffolding. I held on to Manda with one arm and used my other arm to navigate the metal bars of the scaffolding. It seemed like forever before we made it to solid ground again.
Amanda was crying like a baby - perhaps because she was a baby.
To be honest, I don't remember what happened when my parents got home. I'm sure they praised my quick thinking. Dad fixed the beds...he probably had to crawl through the window to get to them though.
Don't be mad Baby Sister...you're alive and well, and you survived without a scratch.
And now I'm off in search of rainbow sherbet. Rainbow sherbet is to me what chocolate is to 99% of the female population.
I think he was more excited about this than he was for our wedding day.
Actually, look how my month is shaping up now that we have such LARGE TVness:
See that window just next to the TV?
It needs a curtain.
In fact, ALL of my windows need curtains.
Curtains scare me.
I don't have a clue about how to choose a good curtain.
The windows may stay bare until my sister takes pity on me.
My friend Brandee over at Think Tank Momma asked me to guest post for her today. (Just what the Internet needs...more of me.) Actually, I was happy to post for her. She's been around for almost as long as my blog has and although she lives clear on the other side of the United States, we grew up in the same small town here in Utah. I love that she says things just like they are.
Head on over HERE if you want to read about something a little more tender than LARGE TVness.
It's safe to say that at least half of my Sunday wardrobe is based around one brown shirt. I can wear almost anything as long as I've got the brown shirt to blend it all together.
This morning as I was getting ready for church I realized that the brown shirt was missing.
I couldn't find it anywhere.
I stood in my closet for 5 minutes, like a lost little girl, looking for something that I could wear with a black shirt.
I told Jason he was going to have to go to church without me.
He just waited patiently.
When we finally got to church someone commented on how we were later than usual.
I blamed it on my wardrobe malfunction.
This afternoon we went to another church meeting with my sister and her family. Trouble wanted to sit on my lap. (For those who are new to the party, Trouble is my three year old niece who is really named Samantha.)
A few minutes after the meeting started Trouble looked down at herself and whispered "Oh no, I wore the wrong shirt."
Jason and I couldn't stop laughing.
"You see dear, it starts young. I can't help but have a bad wardrobe day once in a while..." is what I said to Jason.
Later as we were leaving the meeting I finally looked closely at what my sister Becca was wearing.
I swear to you people that if I eat ONE more chocolate rolo cookie...
I won't finish that sentence. After all, it's my problem, not your's.
Have I mentioned to you that whenever we go to Jason's hometown I feel guilty?
He's a celebrity of sorts in Monticello...
...the golden child...
...every mother's dream for her daughter...
It's amazing really. Everywhere we go: the city building, the title office, the grocery store...
This is what I hear, "JASON! It's so good to have you back home!"
And that's where the guilt sets in - because I took him away.
He'd tell me it was his choice...but I still feel guilty.
Last night my sister asked if I would stop at her house on my way home and change her porch light bulb.
For the entire 7 years that we lived together I was the official porch light bulb changer...my sister isn't even sure how to get inside the light fixture.
She's so short she couldn't reach it anyway.
I told her I couldn't last night. I was on a tight schedule and had to run and buy some stationary for Grandma before my meeting at 7pm.
"I don't want stationary from just any store Noelle. It has to be from that store in the mall. And I need you to bring it down to me this week, because you have three months of bank statements waiting here, and my checkbook needs to be balanced, and when you come can you stop at the sandwich place and bring me dinner, oh and while you're at the mall can you shop for a black blouse for me?"
I drew the line at the black blouse.
That was a tangent...back to the light bulb.
My sister told me she would buy the stationary if I would change the light bulb.
She had herself a deal.
When I let myself in at my sister's house I found her new roommate and her roommate's semi-boyfriend sitting on the couch. That was weird.
I wanted to say, "Hey, who let you in? You can't be here. Get your feet off my sister's couch."
But instead I said, "Oops, looks like I have to knock now that someone else lives here too."
If I'm going to have trouble getting used to a new roommate at Becca's house, I can't imagine what she's going to go through.
Have you noticed yet that I really have nothing to say?
I'll stop babbling now and just show you a picture and then I'll get on with my day.
I have a million blogs to read.
And since I'm at work I think I should actually work.
And in a few hours I'll drive the hour plus to Grandma's house.
...can't let her starve...
...and there's that checkbook that needs balancing...
...while I'm at it, anyone else need their checkbook balanced?