Bring It

In the past, I've feared the "something big is about to happen" feeling. It was probably because I was doing something stupid and was on the cusp of either being arrested or kicked out of school or deported or excommunicated or something along those lines. But now that I have my ducks in a row (or at least in the same pond), we are anxious to see how God is going to move.

For the past several weeks Billy and I have begun to feel.....restless. I guess that's the best word to describe it. Our lives right now are comfortable and we are extremely grateful to finally have a handle on life -- better yet, we've allowed God to handle our lives. We are getting along swimmingly, we have a great house, we both have decent jobs, we finally have a handle on our finances, and we have wonderful friends and family, but there's this lingering feeling that God has something up his sleeve. I have no idea what it is -- I know my mother is probably praying that God will open up my womb and provide her with triplet grandbabies.

Billy has been searching for a police job for almost two years now, and the disappointment of failure is taking its toll. He's starting to look towards big cities as they have greater odds of hiring. As for me, I usually enjoy my job (more so the environment), but I'm ready for more. I do not feel as though I am living up to my potential and I know that God has something else out there for me; whether it's teaching Shakespeare at a major university or writing a column for a small town newspaper or becoming a personal trainer a giant health club downtown. I have no idea but the possibilities are endless!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Billy and I are ready. If the Lord calls us to Louisville or Mesquite or Denver--then we will pack our bags. If He chooses to send us through the storm of switching jobs--we will buckle down and grab our raincoats. If He decides that we need to start a family right now--ah jeez--then we will clean out the guest bedroom so Mom can move in. All we know is that we want to follow wherever He may lead us and trust that His will be done. Who knows, I may still be here a year from now blogging about unflushed toilets and Ms. McEatsalot.

Ribs, Roundhouse Kicks, and Carbs

Welp, so much for my low-key, relaxing weekend! I went to my parents' house to celebrate my brother-in-law's graduation, Father's Day, and the end of Hell week (if there was ever a time that I wanted to quit and/or get fired for not following proper protocol at work, it was last Thursday). I was hoping to chill out at home, eat some good food, and maybe play a pick-up game of ultimate frisbee. Instead....

• I managed to get Billy's truck (affectionately known as 'Duke') stuck in 6 inches of mud at the Marley Flea Market. After several unsuccessful attempts involving a bag of sand, a rubber mat, and a blanket, I played the "helpless wife" card and asked two random middle-aged men to help me out. I spent the rest of the morning trying to convince my mom and grandparents that I had everything under control.
• I ate approximately 4, 560 grams of carbohydrates on Saturday alone including (but not limited to) homemade pumpkin pie, a hot dog, popcorn, 4 cans of Pepsi, one small decaf iced blueberry coffee with cream and sugar, half a package of beef jerky, a cheeseburger, cole slaw, two fun-size bags of Doritos, a chocolate cupcake, a piece of chocolate cake, leftover frosting from said chocolate cake, and chocolate chip pancakes. I fell asleep that night in a happy, carb-induced coma.
• After returning to Bourbonnais Saturday night, the leftover cans of Coke sitting in Duke's passenger seat fell out of the box and exploded. Everywhere. Not only is Duke covered in mud on the outside, but he now smells like sweet, syrupy Coke on the inside. Poor guy.
• Billy and I drove back up north Sunday morning, which involved eating toast and Coke for breakfast, discovering that Keifer (my Jetta) had zero oil pressure, an emergency stop at BP for Pennzoil and gum, an impromptu lesson on reading a dipstick, and cutting off a Lincoln Towncar to get to church on time.
• For lunch we went to The Patio to celebrate my mom's birthday/Father's Day. I continued my carb-loading by devouring a half-slab of ribs, cole slaw, french fries, and a roll. Don't judge me.
• After we finally made it back to Bourbonnais, Billy and I decided to treat ourselves to Dairy Queen (more carbs) and watch the season finale of The Ultimate Fighter. Somehow this ended up as an impromptu lesson on roundhouse kicks and flying Superman punches. Good thing I'm the landlord, because otherwise I don't think I would be getting my deposit back.

And now I am stuck at work on this beauteous day while my sister, brother-in-law, and mother are screaming their heads off at Great America as so-called "chaperone's." *sigh* Is it Friday yet?

Lobster Claw

As you may recall, my husband and I participate in a self-defense class and somehow every time I end up bruised and/or bleeding. This week's injury?

The Lobster Claw.

Billy and were sparring (without pads -- brilliant, right?) and somehow my fist connected with his kneecap. I have had my fair share of jammed digits, playing basketball throughout junior high and high school, but this hurt like none other. I was fine that night, but come Tuesday morning I couldn't move my hand and the pain was shooting down my left forearm.

I made the mistake of showing Faith my hotdog-sized finger, and she immediately sent me to the trainer on campus. He poked and prodded and after I almost clobbered him, he put a splint on and told me to go get x-rays. Which, of course, I didn't. I took two Tylenol and went back to work. However, it's fairly difficult to type and/or write when:

Your writing hand looks like a demented lobster claw. I have considered only typing words from the right side of the keyboard, but I don't think my boss would approve of emails filled with poop, pimp, jump, junk, punk, limp, and kill. It's not all bad though -- I've become accustomed to "hunting & pecking" and my coworkers have forgiven me for continually flicking them off. Hopefully this will heal soon and I can go back to writing my own reports and typing faster than 10 WPM.

P.S. Under normal circumstances I would have made a special post in honor of my mother's birthday yesterday, but: 1.) the lobster claw wouldn't cooperate and 2.) she went to go see Topol in Fiddler on the Roof and I'm royally jealous so she doesn't get a blog post until I'm done pouting.

I'm sorry. I love you, Mom. Happy belated birthday!

I Left My Pride on the Dance Floor

Billy and I have been in need of a vacation for awhile, especially after this week (*future blog post #1), and decided to use our friends' weddings as our mini-getaway. This past Saturday we traveled to Pike County, Illinois (read: boofu, podunk, sticks, redneck country, etc.) to witness Kody Mefford and Amy Murray's beautiful wedding. Since it was held outside in the middle of June, they so graciously provided the guests with hand fans:

"Wait! Take a picture of me looking like a girl!"

I have never been more proud.

We had booked a room at the William Watson Hotel in Pittsfield for after the wedding, and it was just about the cutest place in the world. I take after my mother in the sense that I love old, historic, family-run places and the entire time I kept saying, "This is just so cute!"

Pittsfield has a population of about 4500, not including cows, so it was nice to get away and enjoy life a slower pace.

Billy took the "slow pace" to heart and slept approximately 3 out of the 3 1/2 hour trip. We left Pittsfield and drove another 3 hours north to our friends' Paige & Doug's wedding in Ottawa. I unfortunately do not have any pictures as my camera died at the start of the ceremony.

We met up with our dear friends, the McDaniels' (Matt & Laurryn and Mike & Jessica), and danced like we never danced before! Once I steal Jessica's pictures off of Facebook, I'll be sure to post the ones of Billy and Mike doing the catwalk to "I'm Too Sexy" and Billy lip syncing to "I Can't Fight This Feeling." I also extend my sincere apologies to the mothers of those two jr. high girls who/whom I taught "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy." I do love Jesus, I promise, but even He understands that sometimes I just hafta dance! Overall, it was a wonderful, hectic, long, relaxing, busy, weekend filled with laughter, amazing friends, and great memories.

Monday Morning Mayhem

Let me start by saying that I hate, absolutely hate, mornings - especially Monday mornings - and I do everything possible to avoid the inevitable. I hit my snooze button approximately 6 times, I drag my sorry butt into the shower where I have (more than once) fallen asleep under the soothing hot water, I stand in my closet for 10 minutes staring at my wardrobe in hopes that something new and exciting will magically appear, I finally get dressed and climb back into bed until my husband gets annoyed with my wet hair, I reluctantly do my hair and makeup, eat a measly breakfast while catching Al Roker's weather report, and am out the door by 7:58am. Yes, I start work at 8:00am. Don't judge me.

On this particular Monday morning I was in desperate need of coffee and since I left myself no time to brew a pot at home, I decided to stop at the local McDonald's. (I am on a budget. Don't judge me.) When I pulled into the drive-thru, an older woman in a beat-up Mazda was already ordering so I took my place behind her and waited patiently. TEN MINUTES LATER she finally finished ordering and pulled through to pay. I quickly looked at the screen and noticed that she had ordered fifty dollars worth of breakfast food. $50 at McDonald's?! For breakfast?! For ONE WOMAN?! Geez o pete -- so I ordered my simple small, decaf, black coffee and proceeded to the first window where again I fell behind Ms. McEatsalot. After paying for her smorgasbord in one dollar bills (seriously, I can't make this stuff up), I finally made it to the window.

McDonald's employee: "Hi! You had two McGriddle's, one without cheese; one sausage McMuffin, one Big Breakfast with extra syrup, a medium iced Mocha with sugar-free vanilla syrup, and an extra hashbrown?"

Me: "No. Just a small, decaf coffee."

After trying to figure out her mistake with the help of two managers, I paid my $1.16 and pulled around to find none other than Ms.McEatsalot at the window ORDERING MORE FOOD! I sat there for a good five minutes while she dug around her purse for change to buy another orange juice. Seriously. Once I finally got my coffee not only was it cold, it wasn't decaf, and I was ten minutes late to work.

Happy freakin' Monday.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

There is absolutely no way my grandmother will ever see this blog post, but I wanted to take a moment and wish her a very happy (and slightly belated) birthday!

Does YOUR grandmother go white water rafting? Didn't think so.

I love you, grandma!

I hope you had a wonderful day filled with family, love, laughter, and lemon fluff cake!

Dream a Little Dream With Me (Part I)

I'll be honest -- sometimes thinking of the future is so intimidating that I break out in hives and curl up on the couch with a box of Ding Dongs. But other times, when all of our bills are paid and the bathroom is clean, Billy and I enjoy dreaming about our future together. Join me, won't you?

This:

will be our faithful four-legged sidekick, Rufus. We'll also adopt an ex-racing greyhound and an American Staffordshire Terrier (the less intimidating pseudonym for a pit bull). Sorry, mom. I'll send pictures of your grandchildren.

This:

will be my chariot. I've always dreamed of owning a yellow Nissan Xterra so I can traverse the rugged Rocky Mountains or forge through the mighty Mississippi or fend off rogue shopping carts at the local Jewel. Ok seriously, I want one so when (if?) we decide to have these:

They'll think their mom is the coolest ever. Yes, I want all boys and no, I do not plan on birthing a black or hispanic child (JCrew likes to keep their ads politically correct). Yes, I will dress my boys in cute Oxford-ian outfits that I bought either on clearance or at a garage sale. Yes, they will hate me for it. Yes, I know I've been back and forth -- ok mostly back -- on the idea of having children, but when my husband looks like this:

Can you blame me?! Good Lord Almighty.

Be on the lookout for Part II -- when Billy and I buy a LeBaron, retire to Boca Raton, and survive on a diet of Wheat Thins and Tab.