No trip is complete without
1. attending a Nazarene church and
2. finding a Goodwill/Salvation Army.

Our trip is now complete. We only went to ONE Nazarene church, but the Pastor managed to find three thrift stores!


Broken Spring

Fudgery Fudge & Fun!!!

LQ - don't worry. I was good at the Coach store.

I wish I could say the same about the fudge and fried pickles.


you are here

And you thought we’d never expand our family.

Meet Madge.

She’s British. Well, she speaks in a British accent.

Madge is our new GPS.

On our way to Branson last night, the Pastor proclaimed, “I like Madge!”

Do you know how many dates I went on with the Pastor before he was able to say (text me) “I like you?” Do you have any idea the kinds of things I had to do for that? Do you know how many dates I had to go on before he proclaimed it? A month before we got married, and he was still talking in the broad generalities of “combining cell phone plans.”

But Madge? Madge is different. One date, and he likes her.

Hold on though. When we were within 15 miles of our destination, suddenly our car turned into a lone icon on a blank, black screen. Welcome to the Ozarks.

Don’t steer me wrong Madge, said the Pastor.

C’mon Madge, find the road Madge.

Awwwww, how cute! Their first fight!

It was scary there for a minute or two (for the Pastor). Secretly, I was on the other side of the vehicle internally snickering to myself that maybe Madge wasn’t so hot after all!

She got us to where we needed to be. But did Madge pack his Smurf shirt? His cell phone charger? Noooooooo! In fact, did Madge pack Madge? No! If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be on the nightstand, so suck on that.

I think the Pastor takes for granted that the Packing Fairy magically gets all things ready for the trip. He doesn’t have to worry about things like laundry and packing and snacks, and the only thing he really has to worry about is getting to our destination. And even though the Pastor is smarter than anyone else I know with a map, since Madge helps him with his one task (the one thing I’m completely useless at) he really, really likes her.

Not to worry. I’m not the jealous type. The Pastor and Madge can have their love affair. What do I care? Madge did take me to Shake’s tonight. Frozen custard!!! OK, by the time I was done with the clerk, it was more like a cup of caramel topped with a dollop of frozen custard. What’s not to like?


sweatin' to the oldies

Greetings from the sleep lab.

I spent last night here too, for insomnia. : )

I like the sleep lab. You show up, they give you a menu, you order dinner and just chill til bedtime. Sure you have to sleep with things stuck on your body (not attractive) and you have to worry about how many dishes the Pastor is using and not putting in the dishwasher, but it's a pretty relaxing evening. Time to blog and I have my very own computer all to myself! Ha!

This morning when I woke up, the technician told me while I was sleeping I was sweating like crazy. (uhhhh, gross!)

So much sweating that they had to come into my room (didn't wake me up!) to turn down my air conditioner, because the sweating was affecting my brain wave activity.

Night sweats???? Is this the beginning of menopause?

Tonight when I got here, they put me in a different room. A room with a giant fan. Coincidence? I think not.

Blow me.



Since the Pastor doesn’t understand or frequently objects conventional holidays, I thought I’d make up some of my own. Can’t hurt.

Seriously. Or at least stop saying you don’t like chocolate.

The Pastor is notorious for his inability to sleep at night (yet oddly enough, I’m the one who’s been diagnosed with insomnia. Hmmmm.) Anywho, while I’m sleeping away, he apparently does his best work between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. After I’ve had my beauty sleep and have the courage to open my e-mail inbox, it hits me. Usually about twenty e-mails from the Pastor, forwarding me things I need to know. The only problem with this is he puts “here” in the subject line of every single e-mail. Then a day or two later, when he asks me “hey, did you get my email on blah blah blah” he doesn’t understand why I’m confused, why it's all a blur and why my e-mail inbox is perpetually a disaster.

When Robyn bakes you a cake and tries very hard to make it look just like the picture in the magazine, you don’t open the fridge and say “your cake is messed up right there.” You open the fridge and say “that is the best looking cake I’ve ever seen. Thank you. We are not worthy.”

People start asking me where the ketchup is as soon as they approach the fridge. It’s a 6’x24”x24” box. At least attempt to look for it yourself before you shout out my name. At least open the door and count to ten and pretend like you are looking. Every single person in this house has the “looking disease.” This house that is perfectly clean and organized and, by some standards, minimalistic. What’s wrong with these people? Have I secretly ended up in some sort of alternate universe where order is confusing?

Anyway, I don’t care about your stuff. Find it yourself. And and and!!!! I’m not hiding anything from anyone. Except the good candy. And maybe some clothes. And a Coach bag.

Just once. I know I’m a light sleeper. I know its cute/annoying, but that doesn’t make it ok for you to say things to me after I fall asleep because its fun to watch how fast I can go out of and back into a sleep state. It's just mean. And I’d like one day where no one makes any noise from the time I fall asleep until after I’ve had my coffee. And and and Pastor? This does NOT happen all the time.

Has anyone around here ever missed a meal? Starving? Pretty soon I’m going to tell people to just go dig something out of the garden and leave me alone.

In fact, how about NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME DAY. There's days when I think my phone is going to catch on fire.

Do you have any idea how many days I’ve had this stuff trapped in my head? Too many. Gee Robyn, why don’t you ever write anymore? When I finally take a moment to sit down, just try to grab a free laptop around this place!!!! Impossible! Then when I grab a laptop, someone needs to know where the ketchup is.

No, all these holidays aren’t geared just to me. I can be giving. OK, I know I’m bad with the incessant eyerolls and never ending sarcastic comments. I’ll try to give you serious answers, just once.

OK, that’s all I’ve got for now. And you can stick these holidays anywhere you want on the calendar. When? I don’t care. But I’d say about every 28 days or so would work out just fine.


New Parsonage! Dining room!

China cabinet. Proof that I am a total old lady.

The frogs I collect. If you ever run across one of these tacky "sit-by-the-sink" frog sponge holders, send it my way!

Smurf glasses/Starbucks City Mugs/Frogs

New Parsonage! Living room!

In the new Parsonage!

those Amish people know what they are doing

with the pretzels

Williams Sonoma Amish Pretzel Kit! Family fun project! But no one wanted to help me. : (

That is, no one wanted to help me until it was time to eat the pretzels. : )


New Parsonage! Kitchen!

of course we moved the fridge

something has to hold all the styrofoam containers of leftover Mexican food

so bad

New Parsonage! Bathroom!

Someone likes Target.

New Parsonage! Bedroom!

New Parsonage!

"mud room"

does one person really need this many condiments at the Mexican restaurant?


Do you have any idea how many tortilla chips this requires?


please please please just write your paper already!

The Pastor has an important scholarly paper to write.

He's driving me crazy.

He is doing whatever he can to distract himself from actually writing the paper.

He's driving me crazy.

He thinks that I should be immediately interested in/drop everything/participate in/watch/come along with every little distraction.

He's driving me crazy.

Today, he bought a GPS.

He's driving me crazy.

He wanted me to care about the GPS.

He's driving me crazy.

I didn't care about the GPS, even though it meant I got to go to Target. I'm sure when I'm driving around someday, somewhere - and I use the GPS, I'll care. Today, I just want him to write his paper.

He's driving me crazy.

Another thing he keeps doing is taking a nap/going to bed in order to not write his paper. Then he doesn't understand why I'm not ready to go to bed at 6:30 p.m. Last night, he wore me down and we were asleep before nine. This was after he - check out the audacity of this - took me to a movie and to get $10 carrot cake because he didn't want to write his paper. But my desire to go to bed early may have had something to do with his mini-seminar on how to properly burn a candle.

He's driving me crazy.

Silly me, making my own plans, finding my own ways to keep busy while he is supposed to be working on his paper. Today, he started to tell me over my shoulder the proper way to use a broom. I told him if he continued, he'd have to have my broom surgically removed. He'd probably like that though - if he has to go to the hospital, more time to not be working on his paper.

He's probably reading my blog right now instead of writing his paper. Sweetie, please stop reading blogs and write your paper.

You are driving me crazy.