send concealer please

Have you missed me? Do you still care? Did you ever really care?

I have been busy. And tired. So tired. Staying up way too late, getting up way too early.

I think I have aged over the past few weeks, just by keeping a hectic schedule! Isn't it crazy to think I could age so fast??? But I feel like it, and apparently look like it too. I have these big, huge, dark circles under my eyes. I thought I was being all clever and sneaky by covering them up, but the other day I was sitting next to the Pastor and he said "boy you sure do have on a lot of make-up under your eyes."

Yes, he is still alive.



my clever new way to get out of church

Yesterday morning, the Sabbath, I got out of bed at 8 a.m. I snuck out of the room because I am always very sweet and keep things dark and quiet for the sleepy Pastor.

I am on my way to Starbucks and the serpentine belt (no I don't really know what that is) on the van comes loose again (It's happened before. I think the van is rejecting me as a driver.). I have no power steering. I'm almost to my Starbucks, and I figure I will just hang at my coffee shop until my knight in shining armor comes to my rescue.

Uh oh. I forgot my cell phone. In my effort to be so stealth, I left it plugged in right next to the bed and the sleepy Pastor.

I know my cell phone is on silent. I know the Pastor's cell phone is on silent. I know the Pastor's alarm clock isn't going to go off for two more hours.

I also know that since we have a vacancy in one of our rental properties, and since I am calling from the Starbucks phone, the Pastor isn't going to answer his phone even if he sees it ring, because it's from a strange number. Voice mail!

I'm screwed. At least I knew that and wasn't going to sit there continually calling him and getting all frustrated. I figured he would check his messages when he woke up for church (WRONG!), and in the meantime I'd just hang out and read. Not a bad way to spend a morning at all.

So I sit and I read and drink coffee and drink water and eat my breakfast. I stay there so long they give me a second drink for free. OK, I whined until they gave me a free drink.

The Pastor finally walks in the door. I have no concept of time, because in addition to not having my cell phone I never wear a watch, but that's a whole other story about how irresponsbile Robyn is. I get in the car and realize it is 11:45!!!!! I had no idea it was this late. I have been unproductive at Starbucks for nearly 4 hours!

But the most shocking thing to me, is that the Pastor went to church and preached his sermon without me!

Wasn't he concerned when I wasn't home when he got up?


Wasn't he concerned that he had a voice mail from a strange number and his wife was missing?


Wasn't he concerned that he couldn't reach me and he didn't have a text message from me?


Didn't anyone care that I wasn't at church?


He said he figured I was just being Tardy Barbie (OK, my words, not his) and I was just running late. He did start to get worried when he started preaching and I hadn't showed, but hey - when you are the preacher it's not like you can just leave.

He had called my phone, but of course it was plugged in and silent. But as I explained to him, if I had been dead in a ditch I couldn't very well have answered my phone, now could I???

He also said he thought maybe the Rapture had occurred and that's why I wasn't at church. That made it even more important for him to go ahead and preach.

Later in the day the Pastor was at Sam's Club and called to ask me if I wanted anything. Yes! Pria bars! French vanilla crisp! A whole case!

He comes home with:
1. corned beef*
2. a case of toilet paper*
3. a case of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal*
4. a case of Honey Nut Cherrios cereal*
5. a case of yogos*
6. an enormous container of chocolate covered raisins*

*all items that Robyn won't eat

and no Pria bars

But but but but but he DID also buy me a fabulous new wrap dress at The Limited and some other stuff, so even if he didn't get the Pria bars (he must think I'm fat and won't buy me food I want) and even if he did leave me dead on the side of the road, I couldn't be upset with him.

And let's face it. Every day the van is in the shop makes it one less day that I'm a van driver.

Good Sabbath.


her head was on the verge of spinning around

You know those horror movies - like "The Exorcist", "Poltergiest", "The Omen", "Rosemary's Baby" - the ones that feature those scary little kids?

Here's my movie idea:

"The Pastor's Kid"

Trust me. It could freak people out.

Here's a sample scene. A little girl is at Wednesday night church, making a craft about Jesus! It all seems innocent enough. We are learning about reading the bible! Obeying your parents! Praying! Doing nice good girl and boy things!

During this time, the pastor's kid somehow manages to:
1. pinch with her fingernails (She clarified the fingernail part, not me. When she was describing her pinching episode, she made sure to include this information.)
2. kick
3. pull hair

All while learning about Jesus!

This has all the potential of making one scary flick. When somebody writes the screenplay, be sure to give me a small cut of the profits. Maybe it will help with the therapy bills.


Peter Pan

Whipped peanut butter is the greatest invention ever.

And I didn't even know I liked peanut butter.


Our Church - Video link.


The girls are having problems matching their clothes.

Is it nature or nurture? Let’s take a look, shall we?

Nurture, part I
The girls have spent considerable time with their adopted dad, the Pastor. I love the Pastor dearly. Yes, he was a great single dad and he tried really hard. A+++++ for that. But let’s face it. Men should not dress little girls. (Nor should they undress them, but that’s a whole other topic.)

If it weren’t for me being around, the girls entire wardrobe would consist of the Pastor’s glorious Goodwill finds – yes, while they may be great deals, nothing involves the concept of an “outfit” and in the end it’s a bunch of pieces that don’t match. I think he tried to remedy this somewhat by purchasing a lot of black athletic shorts. Black goes with anything, right? No. Little girls who run around in sloppy track shorts grow up to be big girls who go to their college classes wearing unattractive sweat pants with the crotch hanging down to their knees, no make-up, house-shoes and a ponytail pulled into a sloppy knot.

Nurture, part II
Their adopted mom hasn’t exactly instilled a sense of style into the girls by wearing the same pair of denim Capri pants every day with – get this – a T-SHIRT - and thinking that a baseball cap counts as an accessory.

I tried to wear a t-shirt once. I couldn’t even stand to walk around my house with it on for 5 minutes. Then I came to my senses and put on something fabulous.

Well, when your bio-dad is a drug dealer and your bio-mom is the kind of gal that has illegitimate children fathered by drug dealers, that leaves you with the fashion sense of wanting to wear either a prison jumpsuit or if you are out and about, say going to Wal-Mart, your stretchy stirrup pants with your hair in a scrunchy.

That leaves me, evil step-mother/fashion guru. Clothes matcher extraordinaire.

Case in point.

I bought Loretta a pair of Mudd camo pants. Cute camo pants, not Patty Hearst camo pants.

Robyn, what can I wear with these?

Well Loretta, you can wear ANYTHING with camo pants, except let’s not wear orange because you will look like a little huntress. Also, let’s especially not wear red. We don’t want to look like Christmas. OK? Got that? No red. That’s n-o r-e-d. Let me sound it out for you. Noooooooooooooooo redddddddddddddddddddd.

Pink is good. That pink t-shirt would look cute. Your Cinderella shirt? Yes, you can wear that. Your clown shirt? Yes. JUST NO RED.

Repeat this conversation about four times.

Then we come to the part of the story where Loretta asks what about this RED t-shirt with a heart on it?


I swear, I felt just like Helen Keller’s teacher.

Then on the flip side, I have my own bio-child. The one who will run down the hall if he hears any sort of inkling that someone is wondering what goes with what. The one who is concerned that because he is SO GOOD at helping match things that he might be gay. I told him that doesn’t make you gay, but even if you are gay, Mommy will always love you.

Unless you wear stirrup pants.


labor day, without actually having gone through the labor/childbirth process

The little boy from across the street just told me he likes my toenail polish.

Little freak.

Why it sucked to be a wicked stepmother yesterday, part I:
The Pastor had a preaching assignment at another church. It was determined that it would be better for him to go at it alone while me and the girls went to our church, for a variety of reasons.

Let's make a fun day of this! Yes! Let's make it a fun day for the girls! First, we went to Starbucks. You can order whatever you want! See, I am not evil. I am nice step-mommy. Then, after church, let's go to Taco Bueno, because all of us gals love Taco Bueno, and the Pastor doesn't. This is perfect! Oh, but at Taco Bueno, younger daughter starts complaining of her food, the things she doesn't like on her plate just as soon as it is set before her. Nevermind, it's still going to be a great day!

After lunch, we'll go shopping! I was going to go to the mall, but the girls wanted to go to Target. OK, Target it is! You can pick out clothes! Show nice Robyn the clothes you like, look I am buying them for you!

Then it happened. I am standing in Target with an armful of clothes and younger daughter, Loretta, says "When are we gonna do something fun today? My daddy said we were gonna do fun stuff today."

Slowly. feel. blood. pressure. begin. to. rise.

Remain. calm.

deep breath in, deep breath out

My inclination at that point was to put away all the clothes and leave. But nooooooooooooo I didn't do that. After a quick call to the Pastor, he encouraged me to continuing having "fun" and purchase the clothing. So we get back in the van and head towards home. Has anyone said thank you? Nope. Still waiting. And I wait and I wait and I wait. The girls do not say thank you until they get home, and they say it IN FRONT OF THEIR DAD. Coincidence? I was about ready to drive back to Target and make them return the clothes, because they failed to say thank you.

Then they try on all of their clothes and go outside to play. I walk by their bedroom and notice that older daughter has left all of her new clothes wadded up and in various forms of disarray on her bed and on her floor.

This sure has been a fun girls-day-out.

Why it sucked to be a wicked stepmother yesterday, part II:
The step-daughter's mother is on a trip, which is why we have the girls this weekend. So yesterday mom calls the girls from her tropical va-ca and older daughter is on the phone with her. Older daughter is outside with the phone, and I am away from her, at a distance, sitting on the front porch. I notice older daughter's shoulders start to shake and convulse. Oh no. I walk towards where she is across the street to find that she is having an absolute crying-throwing-a-fit meltdown on the phone with her mother. Now, as far as I can tell (by some things we've been able to piece together in the past) her mother let's her get away with this kind of behavior. I, absolutely, positively do. not. allow. children. to. throw. fits. Fourth graders, especially, should not be throwing fits.

I take the phone from her, ask her mom to hold on and explain to older daughter that her mom has called her from her va-ca to talk to her, and she is NOT going to throw a fit on the phone and she is going to stop crying and stop whining and stop the drama, pull herself together, and apologize to her mother. Magically, she is able to turn the tears off instantaneously, and obliges.

Her mother SHOULD be thanking me. She should, at some point in the future, say you know Robyn I really appreciate the fact that you did not allow my daughter to throw a fit when I called her from far, far away. Thank you. But in reality, I know what is going to happen. When mommy picks the girls up on Tuesday, they are going to have a grand ol' time talking about what a meanie-head Robyn is and mommy can't belieeeeeeeve how mean Robyn was when they were talking on the phone!

Whatever. I'm not here to win a popularity contest, I'm here to raise children who are well-behaved, pleasant to be around and good citizens.

Anyway, that's what I keep telling myself.