This past week, I admitted to the Pastor I didn't know what "Pentecost" meant.

Is that really my fault? Isn't that some great failure of "the Church" - I've been going all my life!

So fast-forward to the Pastor's sermon this weekend. He was guest-preaching in Dallas. (Hello, Galleria! Hello Melting Pot! Hello Renaissance Hotel!)

The Pastor (who you will recall is also a Professor) starts off his sermon with a delightful anecdote about how he was "teaching" last week and one of his "students" didn't know the meaning of Pentecost. Yes, I was his stupid student.

As delighted as I was to actually find a place in his sermon as that has been such a rarity, this isn't what I had in mind.

He can make fun of me all he wants for not knowing about Pentecost, but then he went on during his sermon to include countless references to "Independence Day." What? It's no wonder I still don't learn anything at church. I spent the rest of the sermon not listening, willing the Pastor to look at me so I could mouth the words "MEMORIAL DAY" to him. Me, the stupid student, at least knows that it's MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND which means the swimming pools open and it's ok to wear white shoes again (but I also know from "What Not to Wear" that it's ok to wear white shoes as appropriate throughout the year, just never white jeans).

I did learn about Pentecost. Pentecost = Birthday, and if anyone knows what Birthday means, it's me.


he was right

Pastor: Reclining in the recliner, wearing his squishy travel neck pillow, resting.

Me: Right in front of him, attempting to perform routine I learned from my Carmen Electra video.

Pastor: "Stop it! I need to rest my eyes!"

Me: Confused, this wasn't in the video!

Me: "You mean that in ALL your 37 years (he's not 37, he just thinks he is) that you've had this happen to you SO MANY TIMES, you'll just take a pass on this one? Don't you want to be Electra-fied?"

Pastor: Laughing. "Guess I know what your next blog entry will be about."


OK, I should probably finish posting my b-day pics

I'm smiling and being very nice to this woman because she knows exactly how old I am.

I've grown weary of fixing the red eyes in every single picture of me. I don't even bother anymore.


feeling better about myself

Today, I ran into (well not literally) my Dad's aunt. She is in her 80's. Probably her upper 80's. Here's how it went:

Me: Hello!

various pleasantries exchanged

Me: Nate, this is Aunt X.

Insert here me giving Nate an explanation as to how he is related to Aunt X.

Aunt X: No, that's not right.

(yes it is, she was off by a few decades and relatives)

Aunt X: You got re-married. (I love it when people say re-married. Why not "Marriage: The Sequel!" or "Marriage: Part II!" ???)

Me: Yes.

Aunt X: You married that Pastor, didn't you?

Me: Yes.

Aunt X: You have to behave now.

Me: Yes.

Aunt X: Now how do I know you?


Since she was wrong about how we were related, maybe she was wrong about me having to behave.

13 going on 80

Yesterday, I went to the mall (shocker!) with Mom. Mom was looking for clothes to send to my niece, Kitty Kat, soon to be 13.

Mom utilized me as her high-fashion model. As you can imagine, I was just thrilled to be modeling clothes intended for a teenager. I, unfortunately, have no other need to be at American Eagle Outfitters.

I tried on one particular top. Mom was trying to gauge the size on me and exclaimed "Now, I just have to remember that SHE has boobs."

Ouch. Out-boobed by a pre-teen. AGAIN.

Later that day, I went to get some groceries at the Big-Box grocery store. I'll call it Big-Box because that's what the documentary the Pastor made me watch last night kept calling it. Oh, the crazy things the Pastor and I do at night. We get the kids to bed, and watch independent filmmaker documentaries on Mom and Pop businesses vs. the giant chain stores.

Back to my Big-Box story, I had an hour before I had to pick Nate up from school. I blitzed through the store, and when I checked out I realized I could not find my keys. I hope I left the van unlocked!

Boy did I ever. Not only did I leave it unlocked, not only did I leave the keys in the ignition, I left the van RUNNING the entire time I was in the Big-Box. You know, because gas is so cheap and all.

I am either (1) starting to experience serious "senior moments" after my high-numbered b-day, or (2) on some unconcious level, I secretly want someone to steal the van so I can get a Volkswagen Bug.






the birthday princess

upon her throne

my b-day dinner

me & Pastor at Japanese restaurant

Pearls were my present from the Pastor.

I saw this list on another blog and I stole it. The answers are mine though.

1. Where is your cell phone? I don't know. It's usually lost.

2. Your Vehicle? In the driveway and in the garage. Who cares. We're talking a mini van and/or a Honda with damage on every single panel. It's not like anyone is going to steal either one.

3. Your hair? Flat-ironed, slighly curled under. Oh, and totally my natural color.

4. Your father?: Probably shooting something.

5. Your favorite thing?: Things. Cupcakes. Shopping. New clothes. Cake. Starbucks. Spring. Having the windows open and the fresh air blowing through the house. The smell of fabric softener. Strawberry bubble bath. Donuts. Mexican food. Traveling to Europe.

6. Your dream last night?: I know I had one, but I can't remember it. Oh, wait a minute, I was at work at my old job. Bossing people around.

7. The room you’re in?: Family room/exercise room. Sitting on giant bean bag chair with Pastor. He is watching "Blood Diamond" movie.

8. You are? Robyn!

9. What do you want to be in 10 years? A famous writer.

10. Who did you hang out with today? The Pastor. Mom. Dad. Nate. Becca from across the street. Grey's Anatomy.

11. What you’re not? Answering this question.

12. Muffins?: Weight Watchers chocolate.

13. One of your wish list items? I have everything I could ever wish for, and more.

14. Where is the ______ ?: "Oh where is my hairbrush" - the Pastor sings that song everyday.

15. The last thing you did? Made myself a grilled cheese (love that sandwich maker!) with fresh bread from the good bakery and a bowl of minestrone. Ate and watched part of The Office and Grey's Anatomy. Had to go to 6th Grade orientation tonight.

16. What are you wearing?: This is not that kind of blog! Blue and white striped sun dress from Ann Taylor.

17. Your pet(s)?: One son, the Pastor, two step-daughters. I also take in strays.

18. Your mood?: Don't ask!

19. Missing? Having a small child!

20. What are you thinking about right now? I have a headache. I don't like this movie. Why didn't the Pastor bring me a Pepsi Icy.

21. Your Shoes?: No shoes on the carpet! Right now barefoot, but before it was white wedges.

22. Your work?: Professional Blogger.

23. Your summer? Swimming. Amusement Park. Water Park. Philly. D.C.! New York City! Florida! The Bahamas! Tan! Bikini all summer long! I'm taking Nora Ephron's advice to wear one every second I can, and I have about two dozen really cute ones. Snow cones. Cotton dresses.


Leave it to Beaver

On this day, I was the PERFECT wife.


Just like June Cleaver.

Look at the delicious meal I made. There's even meat.

beauty shop

An image of me, trying very hard to be nice step-mom.

Putting make-up on before the Dansical.

And by the way, this is just ONE of my make-up bags.

No complaining allowed!

I got up Saturday morning and made breakfast for Nate & the Pastor. Biscuits and bacon. Hey - it's what I had! First, Nathan got up and didn't want to eat the thick, hickory-smoked bacon because it makes him too thirsty. OK, then just a biscuit for you.

Then, the Pastor got up and complained there was no gravy. Has there ever been gravy? No! I am gravy impaired! I did not inherit the gravy making gene.

So when I made the Pastor's plate, this is what he got. Angry biscuit.

And I am never getting up and making breakfast again. Next time I'll just go to Starbucks!

Good Morning Starshine!

The Pastor eating his mad biscuit. He's not a morning person.



The Pastor and I made a late-night run for the Border. No, not for me, the Pastor wanted some Taco Bell. It must be nice to be able to have several thousand calories anytime you want intead of having to feel guilty about having a bite/container of cookie dough. Must be nice to eat whatever you want and not spend minutes/hours/days/MONTHS of your life on the treadmill, but I'm not bitter.

Anyway, the Taco Bell associate had a rather large tattoo on his arm:


The Pastor asked what the tattoo meant.

"Money over bitches. Cuz when you're out on the street, you gotta keep things straight."

The Pastor's tattoo would have to say BOM. But according the the Taco Bell associate, that's ok, as long as I'm "down wit it."

Robyn's fabulous movie review and cookie dough vs. banana

For those of you who, like me, enjoyed the movie "Love Actually" because Hugh Grant dances, you will really like "Music and Lyrics."

the reasons I ate cookie dough instead of a banana:

Because the bananas which had been sitting on my counter for more than a week were black and nasty.

But but but the cookie dough which I purchased at the store the same day I bought the bananas, was perfectly fine and fresh and delicious.

I tried to stop. I tried to call a friend for accountability - someone to talk me down from the cookie dough ledge. I called Dr. Friend! Surely a doctor could tell me how unhealthy it is to eat dough, tell me about salmonella or some bad cookie realated disease, but she didn't answer, and by then I was pretty sick of eating the dough anyway.


I'm better now.

No one has to die.

The PMS is over.

I probably won't cry today.

The Pastor was a very smart husband about the whole thing. He fled the house. Seeking asylum, he went to Target to purchase a blender (not for Mother's Day, we needed a blender). On the way home, he had the wisdom to stop at the $7 per scoop ice cream store to buy me a treat (with extra cookie dough).

He has even charted me on his palm pilot. For one week a month, he has an entry on his calendar that says "be especially nice to Robyn. Even nicer than normal. Be really, really nice to Robyn."


Happy Mother's Day! Lock up the jewelry and melt some cheese! Alternate title: Can-Can for Christ!

Oh, what a week.

As if it wasn't bad enough to be old and fat after my birthday, then I got sick.

But that's just me. Here's all the other fun stuff that happened!

The week started off with just a whiff of possible legal action because me and the Pastor - brace yourself - MAKE CHILDREN DO STUFF THAT ANY NORMAL CHILDREN/PEOPLE SHOULD DO. OK, I'm calm now.

Unfortunately, after this week, it's easy to not judge Alec Baldwin. No, not ok to do that to a kid, but we can relate to his frustration. Sharing custody of kids is not fun for anybody. Add some lying and manipulation and a bunch of other messed-up stuff, and it really sucks.

There was this little scenario:

child, to Pastor: Dad, I want to call my other parent and tell my other parent the day care will be closed next week.

Pastor, to child: No, it is not your responsibility to do that. That is a grown-up job. The day care will let your other parent know, and I will also send an e-mail.

So the next day child goes to school the next day and asks to use the telephone in the office to call other parent. One, to let other parent know day care is going to be closed next week, oh and by the way since I've got you on the phone, could you come up to school and see me?

Then other parent goes to the school, and child has meltdown. Child feels need to tearfully communicate to other parent how UNFAIR things are at our house. The child who got to go to Build-a-$50-freakin'-Bear four days prior. The child who is wearing on her body clothes I purchased for her on a special shopping trip. The child who would NEVER have known the glory of Starbucks if not for me. The child I made-up cosmetically for her Dansical this week (more to come on that). I could go on and on, but you get the point.

Yes, my dear, things are completely unfair. Because at our house we spend so much time being the parents who take you to the eye doctor and the ear doctor and the orthodontist and the dentist to get your glasses and take care of your ear infection and try to get you braces and see that you have healthy teeth, we tend to be a wee bit busy. By the way, we've had to take kids to all those appointmets just in the last two weeks we've had them. Not to mention all the dress rehearsals, etc. we had for the Dansical.

Then as a grand finale of the week, the children left Friday and coincidentally, magically, mysteriously one of my necklaces disappared. Am I to live in a home where I have to lock up my jewelry, just to be safe? It's bad all around. I either live in a home where your first inclination is to think a child steals, or I actually live in a home where a small child steals. Either way, it's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.

But there's a bright golden haze on the meadow! The kids performed in "Oklahoma!" the Dansical this week. At the church where they attend dance, I learned the church has a mission field - DANCE! The church performs so that secular dancers can see how dance can be performed for the glory of God! This statement was particularly interesting to me as one of the dances was a Can-Can number complete with Saloon Girls. Hey, who DOESN'T love a good Can-Can? I'm sure even God herself would appreciate that. That made me want to work on my mission. I decided my mission can be to show all the secular shoppers that shopping can be done for the glory of God - I need to look pretty for church, right?

Now on Mother's Day, after all of the unappreciated mothering I did this week, I sit here child-less as all the children are with their other parent's. You know, their NICE parents. This week was so bad, I didn't even have the energy to celebrate as I did last year - by heading with the girl's to the Mexican restaurant to celebrate "I am NACHO Mother Night," complete with a big plate of gooey cheese and tortilla chips.

Crappy Mother's Day!


field of dreams

If you build it, they will come.

And more importantly, if you whine incessantly and are demanding about your birthday, they will bring you presents, bake you cookies and take you out to eat.

I am exhausted. Am I exhausted from my party? No. Am I exhuasted from opening all my presents? No. Am I exhausted from shopping this afternoon? No. I am exhausted because after two days of eating with my "it's my birthday (or it's NEARLY my birthday) and I can eat whatever I want attitude," I am exhausted from holding my stomach in.

List of free things I received for my birthday:
-donut at Starbucks
-drink with whipped cream at Starbucks
-lunch (Thanks, Dad)
-orange hunting hat at country club
-chocolate covered strawberry
(this list does not include my presents)

I really am tired. I'm trying to type this and the Pastor keeps interrupting me. More tomorrow. I have one hour and seven minutes left of my birthday and I intend to milk it for all it's worth.

So far, so typical

May 5, 2007

Me, to Loretta: Loretta, when you wake up tomorrow morning, if the clock says before 7:00 GO BACK TO BED.


May 6, 2007

6:25 a.m.

Pastor: Happy Birthday Honey (said in sweet sleepy voice)

Pastor: GIRLS, GO BACK TO BED! NO TALKING!!! (in yelling voice)


6:35 a.m.

Me: Pastor, will you please go talk to the girls, they are not doing what you asked. (and unsaid, thinking in my head: I'm not dealing with this today!)


Cut to me, walking out the door, going to get my free donut and drink WITH WHIPPED CREAM at Starbucks.

More later.


3 more days til my birthday

The Pastor woke me up this morning, interrupting my dream.

I was dreaming I went to the bakery to pick up my birthday cake and they had made it all wrong. I was sampling the cake before I even left the bakery (not entirely unbelieveable) and discovered they had not done a good job mixing the ingredients before they baked it (gross). I complained to the owner. In my dream, the owner of the bakery was the same person who owns one of the German bakeries I frequent in real life. However, in my dream, upon my complaint, they sent out a hot Italian guy to fix my cake. This part of the dream is a bit strange to me because I can’t say that I ever recall a waking moment when I’ve found Italian guys to be especially hot, but in my dream he was. The Italian guy asked for my I.D. before he would make my cake, because, as it turned out, he intended to put my age on the cake. I told him not to do that, and the Pastor woke me up.

Why did he wake me up? So he could lament about the fact that I wasn’t getting up to make his needy self breakfast. That’s what happens when you buy 18 boxes of cereal! Go eat your Apple Jacks mister!

Sorry to be so cranky, it was just a really good dream.


I forgot the punch line!

The funniest part of the story, and I forgot to tell you. That’s what happens when I write late at night.

The story about the Pastor going to the mall with me was really funny because he was walking around trying to figure out how he could incorporate me as a church so when he “tithes” to me he could basically write me off (in a good way). But forget it, the moment’s over.


shop til you drop

The Pastor did his penance today.

I figure it must have been penance for some sin.

He went to the mall with me.

We were close to the mall and I needed makeup (compact broke). The Pastor suggested I show him some ideas for my birthday presentssssssssssssssss. (He is NOT going to think all those s's are funny.)

Me: walking through department store, exclaiming "Oh, I just love "

Pastor: pulling out cell phone, cutting me off, "I have to call blah blah blah."

Me: "Oh, I just love "

Pastor: cutting me off again, "blah blah blah."

Pastor, stopping: "OH, I see what you're doing. You are giving me the hints."

Me: "Well, I'm trying to."


Me: in department store, pointing at vintage-looking Rice Krispie dishes
"Oh, I really like these!"

Pastor: "I am NOT buying you those."


Me: in Coach store
"I like this bag, but I think it may look too hoochie."
"I like this bag, but it has brown on it. I don't care for brown."

(I really don't care for ANYTHING brown. I'm like an autistic child that way.)


He has now figured out to not give me presents early. I don't like it, much like the color brown. Plus now he has figured out by not giving me the presents he can hold them over my head much like a parent threatening a child with a Santa-no-show around Christmas.

So I'm going to be a very good girl for the next few days.