here comes Peter Cottontail!

After the great Valentine's Day debacle of 2008, the Pastor had me send him an e-mail detailing all the dates I expected presents. I know, romantic, huh? However, it is highly effective and efficient. This is what happens when you marry a Scholar.

In my e-mail, I'm fairly sure I covered just about everything - Groundhog Day, Arbor Day, Flag Day (oddly enough - the Pastor's b-day!) but now I'm really not sure for which holidays I made demands, so I don't know if I should be excited or bracing myself for disappointment this weekend.

It's exhausting.

I'm already slightly disappointed. There's no little kids around here. No big fluffy dresses, no hats, no gloves. No eggs to hunt. No one (but me) excited about the Bunny coming.

I'm making Nate dye eggs with me. The 13 year old is thrilled. And it's not like the good ol' days when you could stick him in an empty bathtub with the eggs and dye for easy mess clean-up. Nope, the gangly, taller-than-me teenager will have to "help" me at the kitchen counter. He'll probably want to dye all the eggs black, or make me figure out some way to put the Hurley logo on them.

And I'm trying to be a good daughter and make Easter dinner. Since Dad is on the mend, thought I would make the traditional Easter dinner of enchiladas. I was even going to put meat in some of them. I hear some people like that. Changed my mind, now it's the traditional Easter dinner of taco salad. But now I am making dinner on Saturday, and Mom is making the ham (her claim of the tradiional Easter meal) on Sunday. So now we are both cooking??? What's up with that? Nice work, Dad! : )

But I'd think that if the Pastor was going to celebrate anything, it would be Easter.

Anywho, just in case, I wouldn't want the Pastor hoppin' down any bunny trails, so I've included some visual imagery here. I know how boys like visual imagery. I do what I can.

Mom already gave me my white chocolate rabbit. But don't forget, everything at Godiva? Half price on Monday!

You're welcome.




and p.s. if I got one of these Bonnie Cashin bags in my basket? I promise I'll never, ever want another Coach bag as long as I live.*

*As long as I live throughout the duration of this season of bags.

Thank you Easter Bunny.

Rob Riley's Fantasy Factory

I have a wild, fantastical imagination. I blame it on all those books I read as a child. Cursed reading!

Poor Pastor. If he only knew what was in my head. He doesn't hardly stand a chance.

Before we go on these trips, the romantic things I imagine! A trip to the beach! I conjure up visions of flow-y dresses and romantic handheld walks. Some of that happened, but -

I almost never imagine ahead of time that a hippie will touch every single one of my fingers, one by one (one of these trips I'm going to have to remember to say the first touch is free, the rest will cost you $5 per finger. I thought I'd learned this lesson a long time ago in Chicago when that man asked to touch my shiny hair. Think, Robyn, think!!!!). Or a goth man on Venice Beach will ask me if I've ever wet my pants. The Pastor refusing to stop re-working his scholarly paper, him at the computer in our swanky hotel room, me falling asleep while reading the Twilight book (another cursed stupid fantasy inspiring book!) while I'm waiting on him to come to bed. Or, him, finally in the bed with me, but us in the hotel "annex" next door to the two homeless guys who scraped up enough cash to get a room for the night, and leave their t.v. on at full volume against our adjoining wall to celebrate.

California? It's got a bad reputation, that's what I think. My coffee was cheaper there! Think of all the money I'd save! I could have stayed there forever. Me, the Pastor, our Chevy Aveo rental and Madge. Pricelining our way through the Golden State, going from hotel to hotel every night, buying our clothes at whatever Goodwill we stumble upon.

Unlike most of our trips, I didn't get a single bout of homesickness. Sure, I thought of Nate, but I thought of him in terms of telling Mom to stick him on a plane with the good cupcakes hidden in the deep freeze (You didn't think you'd get to keep him forever, did you Mom : ) ?). You gotta have something to munch on while you are reading all those books!

Thanks for taking me to the beach Pastor.

how to fuel up your vehicle in 32 easy steps

1. Ascertain location of car. Long story - but 6 cars and 2 drivers. Not as easy to find car as you might think.

2. Start engine. Sigh in complete and utter exasperation at fuel gauge because the Fuel Fairy is conveniently out of the country when you need gas in your car.

3. Contemplate driving one of the other five vehicles. No, I can do this!

4. Pull into gas station #1.

5. Think hard - which car are you driving? Which side of the car is gas tank on? OK, got that figured out. Pull up next to pump.

6. Note that all pumps are covered up. Leave gas station.

7. Drive to gas station #2.

8. Swipe card. I'm on the right path now!

9. Remove gas cap. Stare hard at gas cap mentally willing self to remember to place it back on and not drive off without it.

10. Enter zip code? What fresh heck is this? When did they start requiring my postal code for gas? Is it really their beeswax? But this is the trade-off you must have when you choose to deal with machines/robots instead of humans.

11. Enter zip code.

12. Enter zip code.

13. Enter zip code.

14. Get ready to walk inside gas station.

15. Greet attendant as he walks out. Apparently, I do get to deal with a human. The key pad is not working.

16. Drive to another pump.

17. Swipe card.

18. Enter zip code!

19. Wait.

20. Hang up phone with Mom. It's just too complicated to do all this at once!

21. Wait.

22. Wait.

23. Standing outside at corner gas station, look like stereotypical dumb blonde wearing heels with shiny red car who doesn't have a clue what she's doing.

24. What am I doing wrong? When did it become so freakin' hard to get gas? Doubt entire existence.

25. Count to ten. Once I reach ten, if something hasn't happened, I'm off to gas station #3.

26. As I get to ten, pump comes on.

27. Begin fueling.

28. Talk to other person fueling up about how hard it is to get gas.

29. Talk to attendant again as he comes out and apologizes for delay in pump coming on (Ha! : ) I didn't do anything wrong!)

30. Remember to place gas cap back on! Huzzah!

31. Wish to live in magical land I've heard of called "Oregon" where they don't let amateurs attempt this feat.

32. Message Pastor how much I miss him.

someday

someday I will live by the beach

someday I will feel sand between my toes everyday

someday I will put my feet in the ocean everyday

someday I will see palm trees everyday

someday I will live in a place where I can have an avocado tree in my backyard

and someday I will live in a place where I can wear my bikini even when I still look like this

(btw, this pic was the deciding factor in not getting "that special surgery")

priorities

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.

here

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

NATIONAL YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE CHOCOLATE SO STOP EATING THE M&Ms OUT OF THE CANDY DISH
Seriously. Or at least stop saying you don’t like chocolate.

NATIONAL NOT "HERE" DAY
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.

NATIONAL THANK YOU ROBYN DAY
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.”

NATIONAL LOOK FOR IT YOURSELF DAY
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.

NATIONAL DON’T WAKE ME UP DAY/NIGHT
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.

NATIONAL DON’T ASK ME WHAT’S FOR DINNER DAY
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.

NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME WHEN I'M LAYING IN BED RIGHT BESIDE YOU
In fact, how about NATIONAL DON'T TEXT ME DAY. There's days when I think my phone is going to catch on fire.

NATIONAL LEAVE MY COMPUTER ALONE DAY
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.

NATIONAL NO SARCASM DAY
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. : )

Delish.

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?

Yes.

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.

total BS

I went to college once. I actually got a degree. Funny thing - when I bought my college ring, I thought my degree was a Bachelor of Science (BS) and that was inscribed on my ring. It wasn't til after I got my diploma, I found out my degree was, in fact, a Bachelor of Business Administration (BBA).

All that to say, I went to college and I didn't know what the heck my degree was. My other college highlights include not outfit repeating my entire last semester, and only going to the library one time in four years, and that was only because a boy invited me. I didn't go there to study. : ) But these are stories for another time.

I got this adorable little e-mail from the Pastor/Professor/Mad Farmer/Perpetual Student:

Odd fact.

I realized, that, technically speaking, I have been enrolled in college *every* single year since I graduated high-school in 1989! Yes, that is right, I have been in college for 20 years! (Now, a few of those years were completely lost to school work as I was in the miry-clay of stupid divorce stuff - so I wasn't doing much school-work. I was still paying tuition and was still enrolled and still felt the stress of school.)

So, this is my official family announcement. When I finish this M.A. degree in May - I am not going back to college in 2010.



He's so funny he just makes me giggle. Don't ask me what all his degrees are in; clearly I don't know my own. He has his Bachelor's, three or four????? Master's (I've lost count) and a Ph.D. I do know the Ph.D. was about the Bible. Something about Kings. And violence. And maybe Judges. And Samuel? It was a big book and I get sleepy when I read.

Oh and I do take complete credit for him getting the Ph.D. and this last Master's - both done under my watch. But apparently being the "wind beneath his wings" hasn't been enough - he doesn't understand why I haven't accomplished anything with my life, other than keep his life in perfect order so that he can do all he does. Uhhhhh Pastor????? That's sorta a full-time job.

Anywho, I don't believe for a second he's done with school. Here's what my money is on -

1. After spending the summer hanging around our teenage and pre-teen family members, he'll go take a class in anything he can get enrolled in. Anything. Basket weaving. Dance Aerobics. Feng Shui. Numerology.

2. He'll realize there are only so many dishes I can make out of the FOUR ROWS of potatoes (yes FOUR HUGE ROWS) he's planted in the garden, and he'll use that as an excuse to go to Culinary School. This would not be a bad thing.

3. After hanging around me for extended periods of time, he'll realize how much money I spend on hair and nails. He will conclude it is completely stupid to spend this much money on hair and nails. He will conclude I have no intention of stopping having fabulous hair and nice nails. He will run the numbers and determine it is cheaper in our lifetime for him to pay the money for him to go to beauty school and do my hair and nails for me than for me to continue to have these things done. This might not be a bad thing.

He'll have to have something to do with all his nervous energy.

If he quits school completely, who would drink all the Mountain Dew in the world?

Come Fall, I'll probably wish he would go back to school. : )

But if he doesn't, that's fine with me. I'll go, and he can stay home with the kids. :) And I'm not nearly as good of a student as him - it'll take me a looooooooooong time to finish.

after

The Mad Farmer and his sidekick.

before

photo taken during the brief 5 minute period when I actually had a backyard at the new parsonage

Parsonage 3.0

Here I am!

Where have I been?

Moving from Parsonage 2.0 to Parsonage 3.0.

We've willingly gone from a 3,000 square feet home to a 1,500 square feet home.

And the Pastor? We're not even completely moved yet, and he's already managed to install a garden as big as the house.

By the way, he's never gardened before. And me? I've always found children to be easier to deal with than plants.

We'll see what happens.

cheesey goodness

All I want for Valentine's Day is the hope of one day being that old couple at Taco Bell. The couple who clearly did not make a run for the border, but hobbled in on their walkers. Maybe he dug through all the hot sauce packets until he found the "Will you marry me?" packet. He gives her that extra flap of tortilla from his burrito, and she takes a bite from the cheesy goodness of his Enchirito.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Saturday night

he who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her

Miss Manners is guest-writing this post for me!

**********

Dear Miss Manners,

I have unresolved anger issues in my life. Was it OK for me to have posted a rude, anonymous comment on someone's blog? Here's my comment. ...
Anonymous said...
pretty bad, if I do say so myself. Style tip - you're thighs are too big to have your jeans tucked in with those boots.

Signed,
2angry

Dear Too Angry To Be Polite,

Sweetie, no! In life, it is always better to go with putting positive energy out into the Universe. Invest your resources into your own life. Clearly, this is not someone you should be picking on for weight issues. Are you crazy? This woman has a 26" waist and is wearing size six Old Navy Skinny jeans on her firm and toned physique. Miss Manners thinks it is only a shame we are unable to see her back side!

We can however see your jealousy! Take a minute and reflect upon your own life. Should you be throwing stones?

Also, you may want to think twice. Remember, these are not the simpler days of dropping a letter off at the Post Office. Nowadays, it is harder than ever to remain anonymous. Many people, for instance former fraud investigators, are able to research IP addresses where electronic communications come from!

Sincerely,
Miss Manners

not bad, if I do say so myself

Not bad at all.

Wouldn't we have the most beautiful blonde and blue-eyed babies?

Sigh.

But at least I have this pretty brooch!

I like playdough

It was a strange progression.

I had to buy playdough for the Pastor.

I happened to notice there was a picture of a dog on the playdough box. Easy! it said. If you can make a cone, a circle and a snake - you can make this dog!

Liar. But I didn't figure that out for about 2 hours.

If I couldn't make the stupid dog, I had to make something. Nate showed up and became totally transfixed with the playdough with me. I'm probably not supposed to divulge that information.

This is the result. Of course, once it started to harden and crack, we were extremely displeased. We haven't played with playdough since, but it's icy out and I'm stuck at home, so who knows.

lobster boy

This little boy perfectly summarizes every relationship I've ever had with a male:

Wow!

I would like to touch them.

I don't like to touch them.

No!

Its got claws.

Can I see them?

Yes!

What's in there?

Can I touch them?

Its got long legs.

I want to see them.

Hey good lookin', whatcha got cookin'?

Something for Big Papa.

See how pretty my eye makeup is.

I bribe little boys with cupcakes.

I'm like the Witch in Hansel and Gretel.

Speaking of cupcakes, they are back at Starbucks. For a limited time only. Time to clean out the deep freeze and make room! Some people use their deep freeze to store all the things they bought on sale with coupons they lovingly clipped to feed their families because they are good wives and mommies. I use mine for Girl Scout Cookies and Starbucks cupcakes.

Dear Michelle Obama,

Here's my J. Crew yellow color block sweater with rhinestone buttons.

I had it first.

a three hour tour, a three hour tour

Last night - three hour Board Meeting at the Church of the Homeless. I think I was maybe asked to be on the Board because I refused to help out in Children's Ministry? Please, I begged. I'll do anything. Just don't make me work with kids.

Now I know what happens to mean, crotchety Church Ladies who don't want to work with the tiny ones in God's Kingdom.

Tonight - I'm on hour three of Battle of the Bands listening to headbangers shout a song entitled "I know I'm a lunatic but let's cuddle." The things we do for our kids. This is clearly an example of why I shouldn't be in charge of children. But I'm not a completely terrible parent (even though I may have forgotten to feed him dinner last night). I did refuse to let him have a Dr. Pepper after midnight. I don't feel sorry for him. I haven't had one in four years.

As soon as I'm done here, it's home to cuddle with my lunatic

I'm so confused

Does this mean no eating?

Or no eating with silverware?

thankfully, I stockpiled

"Consumers urged to use caution eating peanut butter"

This better not affect whipped peanut butter again.

But for once in my life, I'm prepared.

For Y2K, I did nothing. But for a possible whipped peanut butter emergency, I am ready.

I'm sick of IHOP.

But the Pastor claims I have an "unnatural attachment" to Mexican food.

yes sir

The girl scout picture from my blog post yesterday has been censured.

I hate Thin Mints.

I'm on Team Samoas.

The Pastor wisely bought me a box of each kind of cookie, except Thin Mints. That is, after he called and asked what kind I wanted - to which I replied every single kind except the stupid, overrated Thin Mints. Its a good thing he called first because it turned out what I wanted was apparently the exact opposite of what he would have done.

Instead of Flower Friday, I guess this was Cookie Friday. I'm happy to take a bouquet of cookies any day.

Its for a good cause, right? Girl Scouts are out there doing all kinds of good in the world, aren't they?

escape to Egypt

The Pastor did just fine at "Christmas."

Of course, my special day had to be rescheduled because he double-booked himself on January 6. I'm sure Jesus wouldn't have tolerated this from the Magi, but I'm more flexible.

Instead of gold, frankincense and myrrh I got Cheever's, Coach and Miss Dior Cherie. Unlike the baby Jesus, I wasn't surprised. I picked it all out, and he paid.

The Pastor's sermon on the Magi (yes, I've heard it a time or two - I could probably preach it myself) goes something like this: "The wrong people from the wrong place had the wrong information but they came to do the right thing, worship."

Even though Jesus didn't have to ask anyone to hand over his Discover card, the Pastor got the gist of it.

But weren't the Magi warned in a dream to return home a different way? OK, so maybe I only remember part of his sermon. But I got the gist of it! I'll be sure to be on the lookout for any mysterious dreams the Pastor has over the next few weeks to conveniently disappear right around Valentine's Day.

you better bring it

The dry spell is o-v-e-r.

I'll show you who can blog.

Its on.

Can't I just

dvr the New Year and watch it tomorrow???

Merry Christmess

I spent Christmas day at my parent's house, where they stuck in a dvd of converted 8mm films of my childhood Christmases.

It explained so much.

I was mesmerized by the movies. I'm pretty sure there wasn't a single shot of me in my early years where I actually looked happy. Thank God I wasn't, smiling would have just led to wrinkles. Also, it never really looked like I got the hang of crawling. No wonder I had to take College Algebra so many times.

And the parenting? My mom gave suckers to babies! Let little kids make their own chocolate milk! Took baby me camping and practically left me on a rock while dunking my brother's feet in freezing water. And the list goes on and on to include other things my own mother would have personally turned me into Child Welfare for had I even thought about trying with her precious grandson. And this one scene? She claims she was "rocking" me, but I don't know - it could have been shaken baby syndrome.

The Pastor was so transfixed by the movies it put him into a deep trance. Wait a minute, he fell asleep. All of this insight, right there in front of him, and he took a siesta. Is it any wonder he won't be able to figure out what to give me on January 6?

As if the movies weren't depressing enough, then there's all the Christmas cards and holiday letters. If you didn't get one from me, its because I don't send them out.

Somewhere around mid-December when the seasonal affective disorder is in full bloom, I get that final card/letter, the one that tips the scales and causes me to collapse in a puddle of tears. Why oh why, I lament, why don't I have a darling family with matching shirts? I think about it. I fool around with it. Look on-line at different cards. Draft up a letter. Try to put the perfect spin on my family and our events over the past year. Its complex though. With divorce and remarriage, no one is here at the same time. Its hard to include amusing anecdotes and stories about children that really do want to turn you into DHS. Then throw in the Pastor's insane work schedule, and I begin to wonder if people will think its weird for me to send out a card with only my picture on it and no words. After all, I am amazingly wrinkle-free after years of not smiling. Then I even begin to feel bad for not having at least a dog, cat or hamster to take a picture of and stick on a card. I lose the will to send cards, I lose the will to blog and end up in front of the tv where I end up watching the Duggar family with 18 kids which only makes me feel even more inadequate. To you it may be a simple holiday greeting, to me, its a downward spiral.

I'm glad the letters have finally stopped and I no longer have to dread having an anxiety attack when the mail drops through the slot.

I have ripped down the tree, but remember Santa doesn't come to see me until January 6 when the wise men went to see baby Jesus. My wise guy thinks with all this extra time he'll have a clue. He doesn't. We went to the mall together on December 26, and like the home movies he wasn't paying attention. Let me help. Pastor, that pink Coach bag you picked up? Not what I want.

In my doing research of the 12 days of Christmas to try to relate to the Pastor and help him out, I learned that the 12 days of Christmas are misunderstood and complex. Way to make it more complicated Pastor. Let's keep it simple, much like that baby born so long ago, wrapped in swaddling clothes, with a sucker in her mouth.

be like Jesus

I tend to tune out when the Pastor gets all Bible-ish, but not today. I paid attention!

Today, the Pastor (who has no doubt not bought me anything) argued that December 25 is not the day to give me a Christmas present.

First of all, he said, there's no real proof that was Jesus' birthday. OK, but who cares?

If anything, he said, it would be more appropriate to give me something on January 6, because that would approximate the date the Magi came to visit the baby. ????? Now I'm beginning to wonder if he's making this stuff up. There's no proof that Jesus was born on December 25, but we can figure out the Magi would have come 12 days later? Huh? This is quite possibly the worst abuse of his God knowledge I've seen.

While I'm not convinced, nor do I actually care enough about the specifics to research it myself, I began to wonder: what would Jesus do?

Would Jesus have wanted a gift on his birthday? There's already quite a bit of fuss on that day, and let's face it, if he's having to sleep in a stable, are there really any good stores open? Anything besides Walgreens? And if someone's going to spend the money, would you want just whatever tacky thing they decided to get you at the last minute?

Waiting until January 6 would have been a much better day for Jesus to receive a gift because, as everyone knows, babies are prettier at day 12 than day one. I've had a baby. And on day one, he was mostly just red-faced and ticked that he'd had to surface. A couple of weeks in, and the pictures of the whole gift exchange would be much better. This is probably why when you see a Nativity Scene everyone looks so nice.

While there is no way the Pastor could have convinced me Biblically or scientifically, he could convince me retail-ally. I'm not a scholar, but I know shopping. My only question was, if I wait until January 6, will I get a much better gift than what I would have received on December 25? OK, I'll take what's behind door number two.

Pastor, if you are reading this, I'm officially giving you notice you may give me my (much more spectacular) Christmas present on January 6. Of course, you'll probably have to take me to dinner that night too. I've already put it on my calendar.

And I can't wait to see what kind of argument he comes up with for Valentine's Day.

thank flu

Over four years of meetings, counting points, measuring and weighing.

Yet it only took one case of the stomach flu to finally get me the 15 pound weight loss award at Weight Watchers.

And if you think I told the receptionist who weighed me in that I'd just had the flu, you're wrong.

please make my Dad happy this Christmas

go to

www.browning.com

search entries for

Larry Buckmark Wigeon Duck Call

and vote ***** for him please!

Thanks!

If he wins I'm pretty sure I don't have to get him anything for Christmas! :)

Robyn's flu diary

Day one: Sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever. Nyquil coma.

Day two: Nyquil coma.

Day three: Nyquil coma.

Day four: After having trouble urinating and reading the side effects on the Nyquil bottle, no more Nyquil for me. Uh oh.

Day five: Not sure if I'm feeling better or if I'm just manic. The Pastor is coming home! He's missed my sickness. Clean my clean house. Wash sheets. Make bed for Pastor. Pretty myself up. Pastor misses flight. Just as well. I, cured from the sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever, start the other kind of flu.

Day six: Wash sheets again. The Pastor comes home but I am no longer pretty but back in my pjs semi-conscious on one of our giant bean bags.

Day seven: Good news. I've lost five pounds.

What's that Lassie??? Is Timmy trapped in a well???

Not only is the Pastor confusing when he talks, he also confounds me with his silence. Not once have I ever understood his non-verbal communication.

While he was sitting on the platform where the pastors sit on Sundays, he was giving me motions and hand signals and signs. I interpreted him to be saying he needed me to get his glasses.

He needed a Kleenex.

Maybe you had to go to church on Sunday too. I bet your church didn't have a drunk man yelling throughout the service. Nothing non-verbal about that.

if you watch this

you might feel like you were almost there, part of the party

only with a much better soundtrack

Of course, I arranged the whole party - but you can guess who got the credit!