cheap, hot date night

Mother-in-law, beware. You are welcome to read this post. But if you do read further, I'd rather not hear about it. Please. Everyone else, read on.

Pink was in bed, an old favorite movie was cued, popcorn was popped, and we looked at each other and realized we missed each other. We wanted a date night. We needed some time to connect. And so we did the only thing we could think of at the time: talk.

Yes, that's right, we talked. We grabbed Men Are Like Waffles, Women Are Like Spaghetti, and we opened to the homework for the chapter on the bedroom (ooh la la). The questions (that you each ask each other) are as follows:

1. One thing I really love about our (lovin) life is:
2. I really love it when you:
3. One thing I would love to try is: (giggling is perfectly acceptable here, ladies & gents)
4. One boundary that we could agree on that might protect our marriage is:

Then you are prompted to plan a 24-hour escape. We thought we couldn't afford a night at a hotel, but in thinking through it, we realized we had a little b-day money still saved up and we had a little extra income that was due soon. Put together, we could pull it off.

The openness of our answers mixed with the excitement and passion of planning a long-awaited getaway were so hot that they didn't just work for us, they worked for us (wink). And then we watched our movie.

Store-brand, microwave popcorn had never tasted so good. And by the way, to prove that it worked for both of us, it was Beloved who suggested that I put this up on my "blog thing."

Want to see more ideas that have worked? Visit the newest installment of Works for me Wednesdays over at Rocks In My Dryer.

also tagged twice (thanks a ton, jane)

As a twisted form of payback (after all, tagging is supposed to be unidirectional, and the fact that I tagged my dear friend, Jane, meant that I had ALREADY been tagged myself), Jane has tagged me with this:

10 years ago I...
1. moved to San Diego, transferring here as a junior at State. It would be my home for the next six years.
2. changed my major, yet again, to Spanish. That was the last change, though.
3. had completely different friends except for my best friend from high school who is still my best friend from high school (hi Lis)
4. was even more opinionated and stubborn than I am now.
5. had the energy to be everywhere at once, doing as much as I could possibly fit into my schedule. Fortunately I've learned that's not the best way to be good at anything.

Things on my to-do list (for tomorrow):
I'm not thinking about tomorrow. For today, I am resting and taking care of my body after a little bit of trauma recently, I am cutting out paper pumpkins and leaves to decorate for my toddler's b-day party, I am enjoying the fact that Pink is in daycare right now and her friends are exhausting themselves with entertaining her (thanks, guys), I'm printing out new pictures for the hallway, I'm reading Great Expectations to relate to my freshmen English students, and I'm coping with my life the way is has turned out (sounds pessimistic but it's fitting). And I'm going to limit myself to that. Good for me (see #5 above).

Things I would do if I were a millionaire:
1. Give it away. I would so love to be the person who knocks on a front door, hands over an envelope with lots of cash inside, and says, "God bless" before anonymously walking away. That happened to us and it still brings a lump to my throat.
2. Buy a house and let someone live in our little condo for free. I know some people who could really use a break in their living situation. That would make me happy.
3. Make sure the house I bought had a really big yard with a pool.
4. Attend a conference I feel led to attend that is out of our budget.
5. Quit my job. I love teaching, but I love mommying and wifing more. (I don't need a lesson in the present progressive, thanks for asking).
6. Take a long vacation. Or ten.

Places I have lived
1. Pasadena, California, where I was sure I would be the Rose Queen until we moved when I was in high school. Two years before I could try out. Not that I'm holding on, or anything.
2. Colfax, California. Where, you ask? In the boonies, in the mountains, above Sacramento.
3. Many parts of San Diego, California


Jobs I've had:
1. Tutor
2. Waitress at a small-town 50s diner. With one of those hats like In-n-Out. And my friends still came in to talk to me at work, (gasp) associating themselves with me.
3. Waitress at Baker's Square.
4. Waitress at a nice steakhouse
5. Science teacher for an after-school science program
6. Waitress at a hot-spot/meat-market (as in people were meat, not actual slabs of beef) brewery/restaurant that was really loud but paid well
7. Barista at Starbucks (still miss the free coffee)
8. College admissions advocate
9. High School Teacher (this one is by far the best)
**edited to include: receptionist for three different offices, bookkeeper, and assistant to a senior accountant
How long have I been of-age? Geez!

Since there aren't many people on my list who have not just been tagged already (or just had a baby), I'm limiting my tag to two people: Ella's mommy and girlymama

I've been tagged

My friend Kelli tagged me in her blog and now I'm supposed to write about 10 things my husband loves. So here goes:

10) Pats. Not my brother (though he's pretty high on the list, too), but the touch. His mom patted the heck out of him when we was young and that's a top way he feels loved.
9) All tractors that are green and yellow.
8) Looking up random stuff on You Tube for hours on end.
7) Taking care of things around the house. He's Mr. Fix-it.
6) Quiet, peaceful dinners. I didn't know this about him until someone little turned our dinners into a place for mayhem.
5) Play time with things that move (poor guy sold all his things that go vroom so he doesn't get to take advantage of this very often anymore)
4) Food. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Extravagant or plain, spicy or bland, he doesn't care. As long as it's edible.
3) Pink (the girl, not so much the color, unless it's on her or on me)
2) Me

And the number one thing he loves...
1) Getting reactions out of me. At times this might move down to number 3, but on most days, this is at least tied with, if not ahead of, his love for his girls. Which makes me laugh while it drives me crazy.

And now I'm tagging Jane, Dilenna, and Miranda. You're it!

Wordless Wednesday

Worry about cuteness for now, manners later

crock pot monday

My week is front-loaded. If I can make it to Wednesday, I know that all will be well with the world. The problem is Sunday night through Tuesday night. That 48 hour period of working wifehood/motherhood/friend/small group email person/volunteer/etc/etc/etc tests my multi-tasking abilities. And my patience. Just ask Beloved.

But since returning to work last week after a nice break, I've implemented a new survival strategy: crock pot Mondays. In the busyness of cleaning up dinner on Sunday, I hardly notice the pan of meat & onions that are browning. Toss that in the crock pot with a few other items, wash ONE extra pan on Sunday night, stick dinner in the fridge, and get it started the next morning before work. Now, I've long been a fan of crock pot dinners and I love coming home to the aroma-filled house that awaits me. But there's something about starting my week this way that keeps me going through the rest of that 48-hour marathon. Is your week loaded at the end of the week? Try a mid-week crock pot ritual. Another benefit: no sandwich artistry on Tuesday morning; everyone gets a tupperware of leftover goodness.

Oh, and getting Beloved to take over dinner on Tuesdays helps, too. But really, crock pot Monday works for me. Want to see other great ideas for all kinds of things? Check out Works for me Wednesdays at Rocks In My Dryer.

Have you seen my voice?

Do you remember when you were 12 and you knew that you knew who you really were? Why does any 12 year old girl think she knows everything about herself? And then you hit 18 and someone gave you a piece of paper with official words about studying for four years or something, you spent one summer being a graduate, and you tried playing the "KIT" game with friends left and right; then you knew that you had finally discovered yourself. That 12 year old? She obviously didn't know what she was talking about. But YOU did because you were, after all, 18. And all 18 year olds know everything. Everyone knows that.

Then you hit your mid-twenties and realized you knew nothing. If you're really lucky, you've already passed that oh-so-glorious birthday (30) in which you realize time really does pass by and you can start to understand who you were created to be. Things start to come into focus. I suppose that the lenses of life continue to focus as we age, and that we truly do know more and more about who we are as we age. I can only imagine how foolish this 31 year-old will seem to 50 year-old me one day.

In blogging years (the formula is similar to the one used to calculate doggie years, but way to complicated for me to explain, so just trust me), I'm around 12. What does that mean? I'm struggling with my blogity voice! Who am I? In blog terms, am I a wife first or a mom first? Or just a woman first? Or a working mom first? Do I focus on pics of Pink to share with family members? Do I drone on about my day-to-day life or put forth philosophical ideals (you'd better hope it's not the latter)? See my dilemma? So for all of you who have figured out your bloggity voice, be patient with the little 12 year olds around blogosphere who are still slouching with braces, bangs bigger than their head, pegged pant legs, and sleeves that won't stay rolled up. I'll grow up soon enough.

get thee to nineveh

I mentioned already that I'm pursuing a quiet God-dream that I have and that I'm excited to finally be answering this call. I also mentioned something along the lines of pursuing our dreams with reckless abandon. Yeah. That was all well and good until I looked up some details about one little experience I will have to go through.

"I'll fail. Everyone will think I'm ridiculous. I'll hear things like 'What's she doing here?' and 'Poor soul doesn't even know she's misguided.' I will be a laughing stock. Worse (in the case of what I will be doing) I'll bore everyone to death. My lullaby voice which silences my baby, husband, and some of my students into steady snores will surely hypnotize a few of the women I'll be with. I can't go. I can't do it. I can't." Some reckless abandon, huh?

But then I told Beloved about it and he reminded me of a revelation we had recently: if we keep ignoring God's call in one particular area he's been speaking in, we might land in a whale only to be spit up on the shore of the place he was telling us to go in the first place. So we named our calling and ministry Nineveh, and we answered the call.

When I told him recently that I was really scared of this one thing I have to do because my dream is so important to me, he said eloquently, as only he could, "Babe, I don't want to have to pluck you out of the belly of a whale just because you wouldn't listen to God. Now, GO TO NINEVEH!"

Oh, babe, that's why I love you. That's why I married you. Thanks.

the great debacle, er, debate

(SCENE: man facing his listener, leaning forward slightly with one arm extended)

"Let me just start by... avoiding the question."

This was Beloved's synopsis of the debates tonight. Profound, if you ask me.

Dyin' inside

I was driving Pink home yesterday and reached back to pat her leg. When I stopped she said, "More mama. More weg." Ohhhh, my heart! But that wasn't what made me die.

The song "How Sweet It Is" by Michael Buble came on (one of our favs) and I started bobbing my head as any good white woman with a moderate amount of rhythm should do. Pink started bobbing hers with mine. Now, this has happened before, but each time I ruined it by making a fuss. So, older and wiser than I used to be (last week), I did nothing. I didn't sing along; I didn't stop what I was doing; I didn't look at her directly. Just kept on bobbin'. And she did, too. Bobbin' that little blonde head, almost to the beat but not quite, lookin' around all cool-like, while it took everything in me to not burst out laughing. Which is why I was dyin' inside.

a little somthing left behind

My sister-in-law! loves! EXCLAMATION POINTS! So much that she should marry! them! Truly! She's obsessed! And that is just fine! Except that! I'm! a! chameleon! Which means that I! have blended in! with her use! of exclamation points! And if I could get my computer! to accommodate! me! all these enthusiastic! exclamation points! would have little circles! where the dots go!

These little circly! exclamation! points! are everywhere in my life! now! As in the box on my calendar! that reads, "Pink's Party Day!" or "Couples Night Out!" or "Female Dr. Visit for mama!" ok, not the last one! But the others are honest-to-goodness!cross-my-heart!100% true! Bless her sweet, fun heart! Her exclamation points have even taken! over! my thoughts! And I for one! believe in something! called a declarative! sentence! You know the kind?! with a period! at the end!

We miss you, Joy, we really do! But don't worry! A piece of you! remains! everytime! I! think! in these! crazy! exclamation! points! Ding! Ding!

Fall is here

In honor of the first day of October (Sept 22/21 is always too hot in SD to recognize it as fall), Beloved came home yesterday to a house with jack-o-lantern candles, pumpkin spice candles, fall leaves (from Michael's of course; where in SD would I get fall leaves?), and every fall decoration I could drag out of the closet. We had cranberries and almonds in our salad. We had apple crisp compliments of Pink's Sunday School project. And it was nice and cool. We made homemade applesauce, peanut butter popcorn, and pulled the couch over to the computer desk to cuddle up and catch up on The Office.

Yes, fall is good. With the air conditioner running, seeing as how it was 97 degrees at our house yesterday. Ahhhh, gotta love the change of seasons.

Dreams

We all have them. Some are pipe dreams. Growing up in LA in the 80s, the daughter of a die-hard Lakers fan, I just knew that I would someday be a Laker girl. I'm pretty sure that the squad wouldn't have been able to find a spot for me if I had paid them a whole lot of money. My adult version of the pipe dream? A one acre lot it the city with a 2000 square foot Tuscan, no Craftsman, no Cape Cod, no Bungalow, no Spanish style home with a huge pool and a gourmet kitchen with two stoves and two ovens. Not that I've been thinking about it, or anything. And of course we all have those nonsensical nighttime dreams. But I've never quite figured out the significance of my first-quarter-of-second-grade-best-friend showing up at my high school while I'm there with my husband and we're all doing the limbo for my boss' birthday. Hmmm...

But then there are those quiet dreams. The ones we almost want to ignore. The ones that whisper to us from the depths of our soul. We talk about God's promise to give us the desires of our hearts. But we think it's the house. Wrong! Not that the house is a bad thing. Did you hear that, God? A house like that is what Martha might call "a good thing." Anyway, I'm talking about dreams like: the ministry you want to work with. The kind of people you'd like to disciple. The lessons you want to teach your children. The marriage building you want to do with your husband. The people you want to reach.

Those aren't an accident. They aren't pipe dreams. They're bigger, more life-changing, and scarier. Our heart would ache if we pursued and failed. But the great thing about quiet God-dreams is that our Creator placed them there. He longs to see them fulfilled. Not that everything will be peachy, but our God wants to see that we have the chance to get on that path. He wants our dreams to come true because he wants to use us. I'm starting to walk in mine right now, volunteering for a ministry that has been near to my heart, quietly whispering for some time. And it's so much better than a house. With a pool. And my kitchen. I may never get my house, but I will be used by God and I will fulfill the purpose for which I was created by doing the good works he has set aside for me. So if you haven't started already, go chase your quiet dreams! I'm sure many a closed door awaits us, and maybe some slammed doors. But, if these dreams were put there by One who wants to see them come true, what do we have to do but to chase them with wild abandon?

But before you do, I'm curious: do you have any quiet God-dreams? Are you pursuing them? Are you in the waiting period? Are you living them out daily? I'd love to hear your stories and be encouraged by you.

Wordless Wednesday: timeless