Our EOFO adventures

One of the benefits of where my husband works is that he gets Every Other Friday Off.  Several years ago, he decided that he was tired of wasting those EOFO’s, so he started planning day trips for us.  He bought a couple of DayTrip books, some maps, a guide to Texas State Parks … my beloved is nothing if not methodical and logical.  As this is when I was going through the worst of my “What do I do with my life, since I’ve spent the past 20 years being a stay home mom and now my kids are grown?” phase (I need a shorter name for my midlife crisis LOL!) he was left to planning most of these outings on his own.  My contribution was to whine that I didn’t want to go anywhere, didn’t want to do anything and complain that EOFO outings were stupid.  Regardless, he persevered.  He read in the paper that several of the mighty oak trees in Galveston had been killed by Hurricane Ike.  Rather than just cut them down, some Galvestonians decided to  turn something ugly into art, and commissioned a chain saw artist to carve the stumps into something beautiful.  So one EOFO, we went to Galveston and found a dozen or so of these amazing carvings.

Then, another EOFO, we went to Brenham to tour the Blue Bell Ice Cream Factory. 

 

 

We’ve also gone to Washington on the Brazos to see the historical re-enactors tell us the story of the founding of Texas.

 

 

 

We drove to Luling, Texas to eat barbecue. 

He also found a list of the Top 10 Milkshakes in Houston, so that became a new EOFO adventure. 

 

Being my husband, several of his EOFO outings involved us going to various State Parks.

 

Those, I’m not so fond of.  Alligators, bugs, sweating … yeah, not my thing. 

Then time, apathy, life, health, weather all conspired to stop our EOFO outings.  Our EOFO’s ended up being taken over by doctor’s appointments, errands, chores … we stopped going to parks and art shows and restaurants and started going to Sam’s and Jiffy Lube and Home Depot.  The other day, I found Beloved flipping thru one of his DayTrips book.  He looked up and said, “There is a minor league baseball team in San Antonio.  Wouldn’t that be fun, to drive up to San Antonio and see a ball game?”  Needless to say, he and I have wildly differing ideas of as to what constitutes “fun”.  He’s also mentioned driving to Dallas and seeing the new Bush museum … as well as driving to California and seeing Reagan’s Museum.  (Note to Beloved:  That’s *way* more than an EOFO outing.  Just sayin’ …)

Last Friday, which was an EOFO, he said, “I have an idea.”  Knowing he was wanting to restart our outings, I assumed it was something involving a State Park, or a milkshake.  “Let’s go down to the YMCA and see what it looks like.  I get a corporate discount, and they have water aerobics classes which your physical therapist said you needed for your knee.” 

I’m sorry … the YMCA?  Seriously?  Aside from the Village People singing about the YMCA, I don’t know squat about the Y, except that it doesn’t sound like an EOFO adventure.  But off we went.  I was SHOCKED.  What a wonderful facility.  They have workout machines, a pool, group activity rooms – they have staff members who literally take you by the hand and guide you, step by step, thru an introductory session.  The people who were there were a wide variety of ages and sizes and fitness levels … I was totally blown away.  We signed up for a free trial and I jumped on a treadmill (and, after only 30 minutes, crawled off) and agreed to go back on Monday for the water aerobics class. 

I don’t do “new” well, so for me, to go all by myself to a water aerobics class is a huge deal.  I almost didn’t go, but I knew my knee needed it, and I don’t want to undo the progress I’ve made.  So off I went, knees shaking, fears bubbling up (“What if no one talks to me?  What if everyone else is already friends and they don’t want me in their club?  What if I make a fool out of myself?”) but off I went anyway.  Class started at 9:00 a.m., so I got there at 8:50.  Pool was deserted.  There was one lifeguard and at the FAR end of the pool, one guy was swimming laps.  That was it.  I stood there, frozen, until the lifeguard said, “May I help you?” and I said, “Is there a 9:00 class?”  He laughed and said, “Yeah, but they won’t show up until right at 9.  Feel free to get in the pool and warm up, tho.”  I glanced at the clock … 8:54 and it was still me, life guard and lap-swimmer.  Sure enough, exactly at 9:00, the instructor and one other lady showed up … they were chatting away, obviously friends ([cue little voice of insecurity:  See?  I told you everyone would already have made friends and wouldn’t want to include me!]  Shut up, little voice!) and the teacher said, “Hi!  You must be new.  Welcome!” and the three of us got in the pool.  Within 15 minutes, 20, 25 more people showed up … all ages, sizes, fitness levels, even a couple of guys! … and before I knew it, I had completed my first water aerobics class.  And my knee didn’t protest! 

So now, Beloved and I have a membership to the Y, I have a new pair of swim shoes and I made my little voice shut up (at least temporarily).

The next EOFO is in two weeks.  I think I need to take this bull by the horns and plan our next outing.  When I let Beloved plan them without any input from me, we end up at either a ball game or a state park.  Or the Y.  (Which, of course, *DID* make me break out into, not only song, but song AND dance LOL ... poor. long-suffering husband of mine!)

So that's on my to-do list:  find an EOFO outing before Beloved does.  Because I do NOT want to go to San Antonio to watch a minor-league baseball game. 

My poor, long-suffering husband

I frequently refer to my beloved as "my poor, long-suffering husband". He has earned that title, bless his heart, by putting up with me and my quirks. (We have decided to call them "amusing", by the way). I post baby pictures of him on Facebook -- and I tag him so that it's not only on my newsfeed, it's on his!

 

 I frequent burst into song, and in the interest of full disclosure, The Lord did not bless me with the gift of song, not that it stops me. What's worse, my musical genre of choice is Broadway musicals, so I frequently channel my inner Julie Andrews, singing in the mountains of Austria.  I don’t share his love of football or camping or his bucket-list desire to buy an RV and travel around the country and attend a baseball game at every major and minor league stadium in the United States.  And let’s be honest, what 50 year old man should live in a house that has Winnie The Pooh displayed on just about every horizontal surface.  I even put a Pooh sticker on his cell phone case.  Yeah, I think all of those would grant him the title of long-suffering.  But now it’s worse.

I have discovered genealogy.

Not only is it not an inexpensive hobby for me to have settled upon, unless you share the bug, it’s rather tedious to others.  When we would go to Kentucky and visit his grandparents

 

I would listen to them tell stories of their family, their history, their past.  She would show me some of the old family photographs

 

and I was hooked.  Several years ago, she asked me if I could go online and look up some records on her parents / grandparents.  I started working on her family tree and that got me started.  Since I was unofficially dubbed the family historian, I was gifted with all of her photos and documents she had saved.  90 years of memories, all given to me.  I was delighted and began to scan the pictures.  Sadly, some of them are unlabeled so I don’t know who they are

 

 

 but most of them I am able to identify, with the help of my father in law and my poor, long-suffering husband. 

He listens to me as I go on and on about this relative and that relative – he even pays enough attention that he can, sometimes, respond appropriately … “Now was that George’s mother?” … but for the most part, he’s just indulging me by listening and nodding at the appropriate time.

He doesn’t even blink any more when I tell him I found a long-lost cousin.  (And by “cousin”, I mean a third cousin with whom he shares a common ancestor four generations ago).  And when I make him listen to a detailed explanation of exactly HOW he and this new cousin are related (“Your great-grandmother was the sister of his great-grandfather”) he pretends like he both cares and is interested.

While I love having the photos and the marriage/birth/death records of these ancestors, what I really want to know is WHO these people were.  What did they think?  What were their personalities like?  I tend to fill in the blanks with my over-active imagination, but when you find a record for an ancestor who gave birth to 15 children, but only 9 lived to adulthood, you have to wonder.  What kind of strength did it take to bury six children, all before their 5^th birthday?  And what was it like raising nine (9!) children?  Did the dads play with their kids?  Watch them sleep?  Were they good, decent husbands and fathers or were they jerks?  Were the women content and happy, or were they resentful that they spent their teen years married and having babies?

And there were some particular characters that I’d love to get more info on.  The one who had a wife (and a bunch of kids) living on one farm and had his mistress (and a bunch of kids) living on the adjacent farm.  Really?  I would love to know more about that.

And I think that’s why I started this blog … because one day, maybe, 100 years from now, my descendants will read this and know that I was obsessed with Pooh, loved to sing (even tho I sang badly), loved my children, my (poor, long-suffering) husband and my Lord with all my heart and passion.  And that their great-great-grandfather was a poor, long-suffering husband, who found his wife’s quirks amusing.  That’s a gift I wish I had from those long-gone ancestors. 
And I also feel that it’s my obligation, my duty, to keep their names alive.  Even tho I don’t know much about them, I feel a responsibility to see to it that their lives are at least noted and documented somewhere.

And when that involves us going to Swink, Oklahoma to find the grave of Old George (why DID George move from Kentucky to Oklahoma, anyway?  I don’t know!  But as my husband says, “Wouldn’t YOU leave Kentucky if you had the chance?”  LOL) then my poor, long-suffering husband gasses up the car, and off we go to Swink.

And if, in 100 years, this blog still remains in some format, and technology hasn’t progressed so far that an internet blog is so old-school that it can’t be accessed, and if my great-great-grandchildren stumble upon this, I hope they know a little about me and the kind of people they come from.  And if they ARE reading this, 100 years from now, I hope you have the (literally, no exaggeration) 1,800 photos that I inherited that started this whole genealogical adventure for me.  I want you to know you come from a long line of fascinating, interesting people. 

I love you, future great-great-grandchildren.  Even tho I don't know you, I promise you that I love you and that I am praying for you even now, 100 years before you're born.  And I hope that, somewhere in your futuristic, space-pod, Jetson-style house, you have a Winnie the Pooh coffee mug that has been passed down through the generations, inherited from me.  And I hope you find it quirkily amusing. 

How To Keep Myself Distracted on a Stressful Monday

I’ve got three different photo apps that I can (in theory) use to upload pics to this blog.  I’m not too good with any of them, so this morning I thought I’d upload random pictures of random things and work on my photo-uploading skills.  It’s also an attempt to focus my mind on something other than scary, bad things and to keep myself distracted – so random pictures of random things seems like a great idea.  This is via Photobucket, which is the app I'm most familar with, but I don't think is necessarily the best for this blog. 

(Random Thought, and picture, #1)  We shop at Sam’s.  That means we buy lots of things.  BIG things.  When we buy meat, we always repackage it into smaller, 2-people portions.  We also always label and date the package.  Always.  So imagine my surprise when I went to the freezer to see how much ground beef we had, and I found this:

 

Unlabeled, undated mystery meat.  I’m assuming it’s meat.  For all I know, it could be waffles.  Anyway, I took it out the freezer and it’s thawing.  It’s gonna be dinner tonight.  I’m really hoping it’s meat of some kind, and we’re not going to be having English muffins for dinner.  But who knows!!

(Random Thought, and picture, #2) I saw this on Pinterest and I immediately texted it to my husband.  I said, “Who does this make you think of?” and he immediately came back with a name.  The exact same name I was thinking of!  I love how we think alike so many times!!

 

(Random Thought, and picture, #3 and #4)  We have a doorstop that is a cat with a brick in it.  It was my husband’s grandma’s.  When we’d go visit her, my kids would play with that cat. (I thought I had a picture of my son pushing that cat around in his red firetruck walker.  I didn’t.  But I did have a picture of him with that red firetruck walker, at her house … and look what he WAS pushing around!  That’s my boy!)  

 

 

 

 Years later, she gifted that precious stuffed cat to us.  I cherish it.  We have it as a doorstop in our bedroom.  Every morning, I kick that poor cat.  And every morning, I apologize to the cat.  I could move the cat, or I could remember it’s there and not kick it, or I could realize it’s a stuffed cat with a brick in it, and not apologize, but do I?  No. 

 

 

 

(Random Thought, and picture, #5, #6 and #7)  Many years ago, we discovered a gecko that was living in the fountain in our courtyard.  For reasons lost to the sands of time, we named him Spike.  Few months later, we saw Baby Spike chilling on the window next to our front door (on the OUTSIDE of said door, thankfully).  I thought Baby Spike was adorable and we promptly dubbed him our Guard Gecko.  (We’re odd.)  Every Spring and early Summer, Baby Spike would show up at dusk and “guard” the door until dawn.  For the past several years, every Spring, a new Baby Spike would take up duty by our door.  This Spring, I was worried because no Baby Spike had showed up.  I guess it’s been too cold, but a few days ago, Baby Spike 2013 showed up. 

 It pleased me more than it should!!  And for what it’s worth, Baby Spike 2013 is a cutie-pie, but when you take his picture at night, thru glass, using the flash, it makes him come out creepily ghostly white.  Don’t blame Baby Spike 2013.  It’s the photographer’s fault.

And this is Monday's attempt at photos.  And my attempt to keep myself occupied and distracted.  And keep myself out of WalMart, where I'll buy junk I don't need.  So posting pictures of random cats and Baby Spike is stopping me from buying more junk -- and keeping me from pinning yet ANOTHER recipe for yet ANOTHER "how to cook chicken" recipe.

**sigh** I went to resize the pictures and the first one was the only one I could resize.  Somehow, when I put the mouse on it, an info bar appeared with all sorts of options.  But only on that one picture.

I'm thinking Photobucket isn't going to work for me.

And 27 wonderful years later, here we are!!!

 

 

It was a whirlwind courtship.  I was going to London on a study-abroad program and was going to be gone from January – May.  We started dating in December, three weeks before I was leaving, and both of us knew, instantly, that this was something worth exploring.  I left for London and (in those pre-cell phone, pre-internet, pre-texting days) we had to “date” via snail-mail letters that took FOREVER to go from Houston to London.

I returned to Houston the end of May and within two weeks, we were engaged.  When I told people I was engaged, the response almost universally was, “To whom?  Someone you met in London?”  And I’d reply, “No, remember that guy I was dating before I left?  Him.” 

We planned on being engaged 18 months before having a December wedding.  You’ve heard the expression, “Man plans, God laughs”?  Well, He certainly laughed.  Due to circumstances and situations that are too convoluted to fully explain, I found myself pushed to the breaking point and I didn’t really know how I was going to make it until December.  One Wednesday in April, my husband (then fiancée) called me and said, “What are you doing Saturday?”  I said, “Nothing, why?” and he said, “Let’s get married.  I talked to the preacher, the church is available … let’s get married on Saturday.”  My response?  “Yes, let’s!”  And we did.  J  And let me say, when you move a wedding up from December to April and give everyone 72 hours notice, *everyone* assumes you’re pregnant.  Which I wasn’t, but that didn’t stop a lot of people from wondering.

By all counts, our marriage shouldn’t have worked.  We were young, we were broke, we were both in college, we had precious little family support (none at all from my side), we barely knew each other when we got engaged, the reasons why our marriage should have failed are many.  But it succeeded.  Why?  God.  That’s all I can attribute it to.  He meant for us to be together and, as clichéd as it sounds, love can conquer all.  We love each other, we were both 100% committed to this marriage, we put God first and we made it work.

 

 

 

And today, 27 years later, it’s still working.  We still love each other, deeply and passionately, we still put God first and we still sometimes wonder how and why it works.  But it does.  J 

The years have brought us great joy, great heartache, immeasurable sorrow and complete joy.  We have born children, we have miscarried children, we have stood at gravesites of loved ones, we have watched our children walk the aisle in marriage, cross the stage at graduation, get baptized and give their lives to the Lord.  We have defeated cancer, we have come back from a stroke, we have overcome financial reverses and we have watched our precious children leave our home and go into the world and make their way.

I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to be by my side as we start this new phase of our life; our empty-nest phase.  And my prayer is that we will have decades more together. 

And you know what?  After 27 years, it’s still fun.  He still makes me laugh, he still is a source of comfort and strength and he still makes my heart flutter.  But mainly, it’s fun.  Life is an adventure, a journey and it’s a thousand-times better to go on that journey with someone who makes you laugh, who holds your hand and gives you comfort, who can reassure you with just a smile and who knows you better than anyone in this entire world, and who still thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. 

I will say that, out of everyone in the church that April day 27 years ago, I think he and I were the only two people who thought we’d actually succeed.  And I think I can be forgiven if I think to myself, “I guess we showed ‘em, didn’t we?” when I remember how I was told that we’d never make it to our first anniversary.  So yeah, to that nay-sayer who told me he’d leave me and then I’d be “stuck with a handful of snot-nose brats and on welfare” … I think time has proven you wrong.

Kansas!

We just got back, last night, from a trip to Kansas to see our son and his wife before he deploys for his second combat deployment.  As there are 12 hours of NOTHING between Houston and Kansas, I spent great chunks of time thinking about this blog,about what I was going to write.  I assumed I’d write something about being a mom sending her son off into combat.  I mean, it seems so – timely –seeing as how I am a mom, sending her son off into combat.  But then I realized there wasn’t really anything to say.  Of course, I’m scared for him and I will miss him more than I can contemplate.  I know this will be a trial for him as well as for his wife, who is facing the next 8-12 months without him after only a year of marriage.  But what else is there to say?  He’s doing what he loves, what he’s trained for, what he wants to do. He is part of the best military force in the world, and he is highly trained and highly qualified.  He is surrounded in prayer and love and he is doing what he has to do, what he’s called to do.  I have other friends who have children who are in places (some in physical places, some in mental places) where they are in harm (harm from others, harm from circumstances, harm from themselves, harm from situations) and we moms commiserate together, pray together, laugh together … but in the end, there isn’t really anything I can say that hasn’t been said a million times before by millions of other mothers.  He knows I love him, am proud of him, am praying for him.  His wife knows I love her, am proud of her and am praying for her and that if she needs me, needs ANYTHING, I will jump in the car and be by her side in 12 hours. 

Then I tormented my long-suffering husband by playing the soundtrack from Oklahoma! as we drove thru the great state of Oklahoma.

I thought I’d go light-hearted and talk about the disappointment of turkey pepperoni (you ain’t fooling anyone.  It’s not good) or the overwhelming wonderfulness of Buc-ee’s cinnamon rolls when they’re fresh out of the oven (to die for, absolutely delicious) or the awareness of the fact that, if you get hungry or have to potty at any time in the 200+ miles between Oklahoma City, OK and Ft. Riley, KS, you are pretty much out of luck.  I was *VERY* grateful for that Buc-ee’s cinnamon roll.  Don’t ask how I know, but when you REALLY have to go, you can lower your standards to levels you never thought they’d be lowered.

Then I tormented my long-suffering husband by playing the soundtrack from Sound Of Music, because Pandora played it next after the Oklahoma! score ended.

I realized we were not too far from the (now defunct) town of Swink, Oklahoma, population  83 in 2000).  Swink is of interest because a distant ancestor of his moved from Ashland, Kentucky to Swink, Oklahoma for reasons that no one has fully explained.   (There are several mysteries in his family,this is one of them)   After a decade or so, his wife and children moved back to Kentucky but he stayed, and eventually was buried there.  I was going to suggest we make a side-trip and see if we can find Swink and perhaps even the Swink Cemetery where old Henry is buried, but I got distracted by finding more music on Pandora with which I could further torment my long-suffering husband, and we missed the turnoff for Swink.

Before my son was born, I practiced and rehearsed what my first words to him were going to be. I wanted it to be profound and deep, insightful and meaningful. When they finally placed him in my arms, I kissed his cheek, said, 'Oh ...' and burst into tears. For what it's worth, when we left Kansas, I wanted to say something profound and deep, insightful and meaningful. When we finally said our good-bye's, I kissed his cheek, said 'Oh ...' and burst into tears. So that may explain why, even tho I "wrote" this whole post in my mind for 12+ hours, I ended up talking about Pandora, potties and cinnamon rolls.  And a whole paragraph about Swink, Oklahoma.

So I’m going to end this by seeing if I can post some pictures I took on our journey … (I don't like this picture-adding thing. Bear with me, I'm going to experiment with different sites / apps / options over the next few days).

 

Root Beer Flavored Milk.  Good stuff!!

Nowhere to stop.  No gas, no Starbucks, no food, no bathroom.  NOTHING.

Not Houston temps!!





And, of course, if you wanted to send a prayer or two (hundred million) upwards for my son, his wife, our family and all the other Soldiers and families, I'd be most honored and grateful.  And I'll probably say 'Oh ...' and burst into tears.  But that's what I do:  I'm a mom of a deployed son.

 

I don't have a niche

Last night, I was all excited about starting a blog.  A blog! Me!  Something new to occupy my time!  As last night was a stinky TV night (my beloved was watching a show about a serial killer who has a cult following of other lunatics, followed by a show about post-apocalyptic, electricity free world.  And he makes fun of my watching Downton Abbey and Call the Midwife?  But I digress) so I decided to go online and look at other people’s blogs.  I was really trying to see how to do things like add pictures to my blog, and add a counter, and add an “email me” link but all the help sites were focused on how to get traffic to your site and all of a sudden I was off chasing rabbits:  still don’t know how to add graphics, but I know how to track my traffic.  For Pete’s sake.

It seems you have to have a niche.  Most of the blogs I was looking at fell into one of four categories: 

Super Crafty Women who can build an entire bedroom suite out of nothing but cereal boxes and duct tape. Yeah, that’s not me.  I once spent an entire afternoon trying to put up a paper towel holder.  If these women are real, it’s scary. 

Super Organized Women who take pictures of their linen closets, pantries, medicine cabinets and closets and then go into detailed, multi-stepped descriptions of how they scrubbed their garbage disposal with an old toothbrush.  They also apparently stopped and took pictures, mid-scrub.  They had before, during and after pictures of bathtubs in need of cleaning and gave intricate battle plans for rotating the beans in the pantry.  I have a feeling these women would pass out if they saw the dog hair in my living room or if they found out I didn’t regularly disinfect my dishwasher using Tang.

Cooking Queens (who all seem to model themselves after The Pioneer Woman).  Now I can cook, but I cook normal people food.  Last night, we had tacos.  They were good, too, but all in all, they were just tacos.  Certainly nothing I was going to photograph and blog about, and … what?  Post a recipe about how to make tacos?  They’re just tacos.  I saw one woman who posted (again, with pictures and a recipe) about her dinner of octopus and eggplant casserole.  True story, google it if you’re curious.  I would post a link but I haven’t learned how to do that yet.  I got distracted by pictures of baby octopi. 

And then there were the Budget Mavens who were living on$14,000 a year, while raising six children. And they paid off their mortgage in 5 years and were putting $10,000 a year in savings.  OK, so I exaggerate, but not by much.  I am all about saving money and budgeting (we are Dave Ramsey people and we swear by his FPU) but the whole “we live below the poverty level” spin on blogging sure isn’t my niche.

So what does that leave? Pictures of my dog?  Yeah, she sleeps.  Right now, she’s snoring on the couch.  That’s not exactly exciting. 

So, 24 hours into my blogging adventure, I was already discouraged and beaten down.  The negative self-talk had begun and because I couldn’t figure out how to post pictures on my blog and I sure wasn’t going to cook baby octopi, then why bother? 

But you know what?  I’m not quitting.  I’m gonna figure out how to post pictures of my snoring dog.  And I’m doing this for me. 

And it’s kind of fun. 

Jumping In To The Blogging Pool

After years of talking myself out of it, I decided that the internet was a big enough place for me to carve out a little space for myself.  The main reason I'm finally taking the plunge is selfish and personal.  I tend to get a little ... introspective ... at times.  That's a nice way of saying that when things get tough, I fight the urge to go to bed, curl up in the fetal position and cry.  I hope that the discipline of blogging will keep me from my bed, and it will remind me of all the joy and laughter I can find in every day things.

Who am I?  I guess if you're reading this, you already know, but just in case:  my name is Sandra.  I have been married to the most wonderful man in the world for almost 27 years.  I have two incredible children, a son who is 21 and married and in the Infantry, and a daughter who is 19 and is finishing her freshman year of college.  I was a stay-home mom ever since my son was born so when they moved out of the house, I had a MAJOR identity crisis.  What becomes of a stay-home mom, when all the kids are gone?

I'm figuring it out.  I am adjusting to my new role of empty-nester.  I am loving my new role of mother-in-law to an incredible young woman who loves my son and who now has the difficult job of Army Wife.  I am learning how to parent a child who is 3-1/2 hours away at college, and doing great, and who doesn't need a daily, hands-on mom, and I am learning how to not have a weeping panic when my baby boy tells me he's going into combat, but not to worry.  Please.  Not worry? 

My husband has a wicked-weird sense of humor and frequently has me laughing so hard that I actually cry. 

I have a giant dog who sheds more than any one dog should, and who brings much joy and happiness to my day. 

I have a fondness for Winnie the Pooh that some of my loving friends have dared suggest might border on obsession. 

I also must put out vibes or something that encourages random strangers to just come up to me and talk to me as I can't get out of WalMart without someone talking to me.  And I do NOT initiate it.  Ask my family, who has witnessed it first hand.  People just ... talk to me.  Random strangers.  And I don't mean the "Hi, how are you" in passing greeting.  I mean full-fledged conversations with complete strangers about ... everything.  It's odd. 

I wake up every morning grateful to God for the blessings He's put in my life and I know that I couldn't do a single thing without Him.  He gives me focus and meaning and hope. 

And that's me.  A stay-home mom with no kids in the house.  A blessed wife of a loving husband.  A beloved Child of God. 

And a reluctant blogger.  But here I go -- my life; the good, the bad, the ugly.