If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, another daughter & son-in-law, 1 teen, 1 grandson, 3 granddaughters, 4 dogs, and a whole lot of love.






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Thursday, May 2, 2024

The one with me and a spray tan machine

If you've never seen the scene of Friends where Ross gets a spray tan, please click the link and watch that now so that you understand my mindset going into this experience because like Ross, I'm an over thinker.  

You might remember me referencing getting a spray tan in my post of the weeks leading up to our vow renewal, but in that case, an actual person with a spray tan gun was in the room telling me exactly what I needed to do...minus the part where I assumed I was supposed to be naked. You see, I'm also an under thinker who doesn't ask enough questions, all of which I take full responsibility for and the embarrassment is all mine.  

As you've probably guessed, I tend to suck at first impressions.

So the story begins like this.
An over thinking under thinker decided to go to a spray tan machine. 

I called ahead to ask the questions; price, their hours, will I turn orange, etc... Once I decided to book an appointment, she told me that they were out of hair nets but if I have dark hair, it should't be a big issue. 

When an over thinker hears 'shouldn't be a big issue' it automatically becomes a big issue. This is my hair, after all. We're not playing around with shouldn'ts. So I showed up with a Walmart bag and a hair clip.

I arrived to discover a very pale front desk girl. Red flag #1.

As I purchased my package of 4 spray tans and she showed me into the room, I filled her in on how nervous I was, but she downplayed all my concerns and assured me it was very easy. The machine would tell me which foot to put on which number, then count me down and start spraying. I looked at the floor and saw the 1, 3, 4, and then a blank one. So I asked the obvious question of an over thinking under thinker. "There's no 2?" She stared at me like I'm the problem here and she obviously hasn't seen Friends. Red flag #2.

For the record, I stand by my question. Is the machine going to tell me to put my left foot on 2 or my left foot on blank, because that's something I need to know beforehand. 

Then she showed me how to stand with my arms to the sides and hands hanging down like an upside down field goal sign. She told me when I'm getting my front sprayed to slightly curl my fingers so I don't end up with white lines on my knuckles and when I'm getting my back sprayed, to bend my wrists and face my palms to the floor so they don't get sprayed. "Why?" I asked. She stared at me again and said, "Because tan palms don't look natural." 

Obviously. I was testing you, of course. Good job pale girl. 

Before she left the room, I told her I brought a Walmart bag for my hair because once I've made a moronic first impression with someone, I like to go all in. By the look on her face, I knew she probably wouldn't care to know that I'm going to leave my underwear on too.

Alone in the room, I carefully covered my hair with my bag and lotioned up all my creases. Then I stepped into the giant machine and waved my hand in front of the censor to begin. The machine voice came on and told me to put my left foot on 1 and my right foot on 3 and the countdown began, followed by a spray moving up the right front side of my body and face. Then it blew me dry and the voice said something again, but the machine was loud and my Walmart bag had fallen over one ear and I thought it said turn to the right, but during the countdown I wondered if maybe it said turn left, and I couldn't stop wondering if one of my ears was going to be white from the bag covering it and just as the machine reached the end of the countdown, I jumped around to the left and it began spraying my back right side. 

Ok, that's good, the right side is completely done. I quickly fixed my Walmart bag and listened closely to the directions and it very clearly told me to turn to the right. Well, I can't do that again because I'll definitely get double sprayed, so I committed to continuing left and hoping for the best despite doing literally the exact opposite of everything the machine was telling me to do, but as long as all my sides got sprayed, no harm done. 

It wasn't until I stepped out of the machine and got dressed that I realized in all the confusion, I'd forgotten to flatten my hands and I stared down at my slightly brown palms knowing that they'd continue getting darker as the day went on. 

DAMMMITTTT.

I rushed out of the room in a panic. The girl looked up startled and asked "How'd it go?"
"I forgot to flatten my hands" and held up my brown palms to show her.

I wish I could adequately describe the expression on her face.

Look. I get it. We got off to a bad start and she thought I was an idiot. She's not the first person to think that and she won't be the last, but I'm standing there in crisis mode and all I needed to know was how to stop my hands from looking like gorilla mitts by bedtime. 

She finally snapped out of it and told me to use rubbing alcohol when I got home. I politely thanked her and left. 

Relieved that there was a solution to my problem, I glanced in the rearview mirror as I backed out of my spot and that's when I saw it.

The Walmart bag. 
 Still on my head. 
And we're gonna have to see each other 3 more times.


Monday, April 15, 2024

The 2024 Courter-ly Recap

It has been a hot minute since I've written anything, and this might not classify as my typical humor post, but in the interest of 'historical event' that our future generations can look back on, I decided this should be the one that gets me back to it. 

On Monday April 8th, 2024, our family got the awesome experience of witnessing a total eclipse. And since we rarely celebrate anything low key, we combined eclipse day, Easter, and Ron's 52nd birthday party, because that's how we roll. 

Normally we spend Easter weekend in a cabin where we do all the Easter and birthday activities, and since this is a post focusing on family memories to look back on, I'll go ahead and mention the egg dye tablet incident of 2023. If you read my post about "incidents", you know that 'incident' is code for 'that horrific thing that happened that should never be spoken of again.' And that's how Ace feels about the time he was eating Chex Mix with one hand while dropping egg dye tablets into cups with the other, got his hands confused, and dropped Chex Mix into a cup and popped the red dye tablet into his mouth. Panic and vomiting ensued and his mouth stayed red the rest of the trip. I feel better having this memory officially documented.   

Now back to 2024. Due to some scheduling conflicts, our family ended up in hotel rooms in TN celebrating Aubrey's slightly belated 28th birthday over Easter weekend and we feared including our annual hunt, coloring, and launching of hard boiled eggs at a hotel might be a little overwhelming. (For the hotel. We would've been fine with it, just so we're clear.)

But it didn't stop the Easter Bunny from showing up at the hotel pool waging a water war with the children using a high pressure water gun. We also took over the hotel lobby to watch old family home videos we'd recently found, having no idea what was on them beforehand. Pretty risky, if you think about it. In our defense, we asked to use a private conference room, but they were going to charge us $150. That seemed unnecessary considering they had a perfectly good lobby with an easily hacked television for free. If anyone was bothered by that, they should be thankful we didn't bring our sling shot.

So we rolled all the leftover fun we couldn't do in a hotel to eclipse day at our house, including Ron's annual birthday meal of choice; Thanksgiving, the sequel

If you read my Bigfoot post, you know my husband is a huge Sasquatch fan and even has a costume he wears to terrorize the children because he refuses to act 52. And before you point out my growing costume collection, let me point out that my frog and Easter Bunny never traumatize anyone. Except maybe Caymen when I wore it outside to wait for the school bus on Leap Day, but that's neither here nor there. 


We've also been collecting things for a family time capsule because between leap year and a total eclipse, 2024 will be a year we'll want to look back on.

With all of that, the running theme for Chuckle's birthday weekend became 'A Few Of His Favorite Things' and if you're a Sound Of Music fan like I am, you just sang that in your head. And if you know me at all, you won't be surprised that I rewrote the lyrics in his honor:

Thanksgiving dinner and Big Foot shaped cupcakes
Bright colored fireworks and boat rides on the lake
Fresh colored Easter eggs launched from a sling
These are a few of his favorite things

Pizza from Marcos and March Madness watching
Egg hunts and golf carts and lots of Sasquatching
The pool open early, the sun eclipsing
These are a few of his favorite things

Kids in their wetsuits and pool water splashes
Getting yelled at for taking off their eclipse glasses
Being the target for shots from the sling
These are a few of his favorite things

When the year leaped
When the moon creeped
And the sky looked rad
We'll always look back on these favorite things
And all of the funnn we had!

It feels good to write again. Tune in next time when I tell you about my first time in a spray tan machine. In the meantime, here's a little photo dump of April 8th, 2024 and a list of Facebook Reel links for our family to look back on one day. 








Yes, Zac is on the roof.




Slinging Easter eggs at Sasquatch 


"NO, I did NOT look at the sun without my glasses!"









Credit for this photo; Aaron Shirk

I've recently discovered a LOVE for creating Facebook reels for our family events, because for me, looking at pictures to a song makes my heart extra happy. Here's a list of our reels so far and I'll keep this updated. I really hope Facebook doesn't do anything stupid and these reels live on for our family to continue watching:
...and a billboard.
Barbara turns 30/Ace turns 9, November 2023
Trick or Treat, October 2023
Ron & Zac taunting Penn State fans and getting flipped off, October 2024

























Friday, December 22, 2023

The one with Santa and "the incident"(s)

No good comes from the phrase "the incident." You're basically saying "that horrific thing that happened that should never be spoken of again" but you also know you're gonna have to tell it now because nobody lets the word "incident" go unexplained. 

You know if I titled this 'The one with Santa' you wouldn't be reading this right now. You're here for "the incident." Or as it goes with our family, the incident(s).

My research for this blog (yes, I do research, don't look so surprised) entailed messaging our family members and asking if we have any incidents in our history involving Santa, specifying not counting the incident of 2020.

See. Now you wanna know what happened in 2020, right? Sorry. As the saying goes, what happened in 2020 stays in 2020. Therefore the incident with C*v*d Claus gonna stay in the vault. As will the incident involving Santa's unfortunate dismount from the mechanical bull I persuaded him to climb onto for a picture at my birthday party this year. *Zips lips, throws key* 

One of these days we're gonna run outta Santas willing to come to our house.

Anyhoo. Zac was the only one who responded to my in-depth research and answered, "The year I pooped my pants at dad's work party during pictures with Santa."

Unlike the pants pooping incident in 6th grade when he blamed the smell on Victoria until I picked him up from school, I'd totally forgotten about the one with Santa. The incident in 6th Grade was like, 2005. The one with Santa was 2016. He was 22. I  guess I blocked that one out. I remember now though, and it was very much an incident.   

In more recent years an incident happened that didn't directly involve us. Last year we'd taken our 4 grandchildren on a train ride to "the North Pole." Santa visited our train car and everyone was served cookies and the kids all received balloon animals. Everyone was having a great time, but before we could reach "the North Pole", the train stopped suddenly and we were surrounded by firetrucks, police cars, and ambulances. We had no idea what was going on, but once we started moving again an announcement came over the loud speaker: "We are now heading back to the station. PLEASE do NOT put your balloon animals in your MOUTH. Thank you."

So basically one latex intolerant balloon licker ruined the North Pole for everyone. Nice.

It obviously wasn't enough to ruin our experience because we went back again this year.

Same setup: Train ride, the "North Pole", Santa, cookies, and balloon animals because the operators of the Santa railroad apparently maintained their faith in the common sense of humanity. Adorable. They did make one change however, and brought in Lucky the libations elf to serve adult beverages. (Suspected connection to the chaos of last year's incident but unconfirmed). So if you needed a little somethin' somethin' to take the edge off, you just yelled "LUCKY!" and voila. Until Scarlet, age 6, called for Lucky and we had to wave Lucky a never mind.

Shout out to Lucky the libations elf. We kept her busy.

Ron had opted for the seat across from 2 strangers. He loves strangers. As I've explained before, on his solar system of relationship priorities, strangers are his Mercury, baby. 

I was sitting directly behind him with 2 of our granddaughters when the strangers found out we'd done this train ride before and said, "Must be pretty good then, huh?" to which Ron replied, "Welllll, last year there was..."
I interrupted from my seat behind him, "Ron, no." But of course he ignored me,
 "....the incident."
And as if that weren't enough he continued,
"Somebody almost died."

For Ron, the only thing better than strangers is making dramatic announcements so when his 2 worlds can collide, it's a Merry Christmas. 

But hey. If it prevented them from licking their balloons that day, I'll allow it. 

On the upside, we made it to the North Pole this year but the downside is that "the North Pole" turned out to be a stop at nothing where the train simply reversed and headed back to the station, so my apologies for resenting an allergenic child for an entire year. 

It was when they took our family picture that we noticed Hays, age 5, lookin' a little...weekend at Bernies, ya might say. But she held it together the remainder of the ride.

Back at the station, everyone was crammed in the isle waiting for permission to get off the train. Scarlet and I stood behind strangers and the rest of our family was behind us. Nick leaned up and whispered to me, "Hay Hay says she's gonna throw up." 

Okay, confession time. Did I switch me and Scarlet places with Nick and Hays, putting the backs of unsuspecting strangers in the line of vomit? Yes.

But have I seen Hays vomit over the top of Scarlet and witness the chaos that ensued? Also yes. Cue Kearstin's wedding and the vomit covered flower girls.  

My sincerest apologies to the guy in front of Hays who took the hit and everyone there who witnessed the stampede-like departure of our train car with Lucky the libations elf nowhere to be found. 

I can hear next year's repeat riders now:
"Wellll, last year there was...the incident..."









Tuesday, December 5, 2023

The one with Nate Bargatze, a dead body, and most of my triggers

If you don't know who Nate Bargatze is, start googling and enjoy the cleanest most hilarious comedian you'll ever see, in my opinion. I seriously can't say enough about his perfectly dry delivery of relatable topics, minus raunch and profanity. It's refreshing. 

Our adventure began when Ron bought tickets to take Caymen and me to see him in Cleveland. I was super excited because Nate Bargatze, but also not excited at all because Cleveland. 

I'm an introverted homebody. If given the choice, I'm staying home. When I am persuaded to leave the house, it better not involve excess traffic or people. And Cleveland just sounds traffic-y. And people-y.

I agreed to go to Cleveland, but he couldn't convince me to book a hotel and spend the night. It's 3 hours to Cleveland from here. That's a day trip. Nate Bargatze is totally worth a day trip. Not so much an overnight. Homebodies have a system and charts about these things. 

Halfway to Cleveland, I said out loud to no one in particular, "I'm excited to see the show and I'm excited to go back home." Fellow introverts relate to that statement. Extroverts will never understand. Ron and Caymen are extroverts. 

Our first stop was Harry Buffalo because we ate at a Harry Buffalo before the Big Foot Festival and after researching their online menu, we knew exactly what we wanted when we got there. But first we had to drive around and around and around Cleeeveland to find freakin' parking. 

You know where we never have to worry about finding parking? 
Our driveway. At home

After battling entirely too much traffic and parking lots charging $50 for 6 hours we didn't need, we finally found an empty spot in front of a meter and dropped in enough quarters to cover the amount of time we'd need for dinner. Then we walked the 2 sketchy blocks to the restaurant. 

And that's when we passed the dead body wrapped in a quilt and I stopped dead in my tracks. (Unfortunate pun, kind of intended.) Ron looked from me to the quilt and quickly said, "He's just sleeping" and guided me away from the doorway it was lying in. Um, no. Sir. He was stiff and straight, completely still, and wrapped head to toe in a quilt. That's not somebody sleeping. That's a dead body. 

In the very next doorway we passed a pile of poop so Ron thought it'd be a good subject change to announce "that's human" because nothing brings your appetite back from a dead body quicker than a pile of human feces. Seriously? Couldn't just let me think dog poop, huh? 

We arrived at the restaurant and let's just say that the Cleveland Harry Buffalo was nothing like the Hocking Hills Big Foot Festival Harry Buffalo. I can't believe I didn't see that coming. Right off the top, I was blocked in the bathroom for 5 minutes by 2 waitresses fighting each other. Then when I finally made it back to our table, we had a piece of paper with the words 'Limited Event Menu' written across the top. Code for- hope you're in the mood for a cheeseburger. 

Ron (aka; Spooner Senior, with his big feelings about his food demands) said "I'm ordering whatever I want from the online menu! I don't care!" I leaned across the table and whisper yelled "You damn well will care and you're gonna order something from this piece of paper because I know for a fact there are 2 waitresses here who will happily kick your ass and the last guy who probably 'didn't care' ended up wrapped in that quilt out there."

We ordered 3 cheeseburgers.
And they were seriously some of the best cheeseburgers we've ever eaten.

When we returned to our van, I was pleasantly shocked to find it just as we'd left it since throughout our entire meal I kept repeating "you know our van's being vandalized and we're going to be stranded here, right?" 

According to my therapist, I struggle with "catastrophic thought tendencies and abandonment issues." So then by all means play some sick game of trigger therapy with me and quit the practice with no forwarding address. But I digress. 

The body in the doorway remained unmoved, if anyone is curious.

We drove to the show where we then had to...you guessed it...find parking. We finally found an attended lot for $10, so we jumped at it. Then we walked the 4 blocks using GPS to the Key Bank Theater. But when the GPS said, "You've arrived" we were next to an unmarked building with fire escape stairs running up the side. We were standing there debating whether we were supposed to climb the stairs when I said "I think we should ask somebody." And Ron replied, "There's nobody to ask." 

Except that group of people that just passed us or maybe that guy crossing the street right now. If the introvert is suggesting we strike up a conversation with a stranger, you know things are desperate. 

He wouldn't agree to ask for directions, but said "Let's just walk with him." Yeah. Because silently joining him wherever he's going makes way more sense.

So we caught up and began crossing the street with him. Then I (the INTROVERT) turned to him and said, "Excuse me, Sir. Do you happen to know where the Key Bank Theater is?" He stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, looked at me like he was wondering if I was serious, and then said "It's right behind you." We turned around and faced a giant marquee with Nate Bargatze's face on it. 

Had we but just glanced to the right instead of crossing to the left we could've saved ourselves the humiliation of looking stupid to a complete stranger, which doesn't bother me at all. It still keeps Ron up at night.

Nate Bargatze was amazing and did not disappoint. As for the comedians who opened for him, the first 3 guys were pretty funny, the 4th guy no. As a whole, they did their job well. The first 3 guys, I mean. Couldn't stand the 4th guy, in case you didn't pick up on that.

*Pause for a couple of basic theater etiquette guidelines that apparently need reviewed*

1. Arrive on time. Come on. Unless you just found those tickets outside on the sidewalk, you knew you were coming to a show tonight. The ticket said 7pm. At 7:20, hundredsss of people were still pouring into the theater all casual-like while my anxiety rage-fired because the entire show was put on hold and then people were missing the beginning because entire rows were still having to get up and down to let people in to their seats. We had a 3 hour drive, found a dead body, ate dinner at a fight club, got lost, and still managed to arrive in front of the theater with time to spare before the doors opened. It can be done. 

2. I get that you're 6'4 and that's not your fault. But do you know what is your fault? That giant hat that you kept on top of your 6'4 head the entire show. Make better choices, lady. 

Now where were we?

Ah. We'd made it back to our van and I was excitedly messaging our kids that we get to come home now when it happened. I sensed motion beside my window and a strange man was standing beside our van trying to hand me a dead white rose while I stared down the barrel of a long gun he had tucked under his arm.

Okay, the gun turned out to be an umbrella, but it was dark, I'd been traumatized allll day, and in that moment I was staring down the barrel of a long gun so just stick with me here.

Caymen was in the seat behind mine and I turned in a panic to see how Ron was going to handle this. (His people skills are better than mine.) But the driver's seat was empty and his door was flung wide open. I assumed he was on his way around the van to be my hero, but turns out, he'd abandoned me to get himself a bottle of water from the trunk for the ride home. 

I had seconds to think this through. Refusing a gift from a guy with a gun seemed like a bad idea, but so did accepting a dead white rose before a 3 hour drive home. Not that I'm superstitious, but it's not a good look should the van flip and the coroner get called to the scene and find a dead white rose clenched between my cold dead fingers and bring this trip's body count to 2 in case you're not keeping track. 

So I decided to go with repeatedly saying "No thank you" like a super polite robot until he finally walked away and that's when I saw that his long gun was actually a long umbrella.  

My therapist would have a field day with this one, but of course she quit through no fault of my own, despite my husband accusing me of "Bob Wylie'ing" her, which I did not. 
But while we're on the topic of What About Bob, Dr. Marvin's 'Death Therapy' actually did cure him.

I'm not saying I'm cured. I'm just saying that ever since Cleveland, I sleep a little sounder, wake up a little happier, and stress a little less...as long as I'm in the safety of my own home.

Staring down the barrel of an umbrella changes ya, man.











Wednesday, November 15, 2023

The one with bad cop and the screen door

Ron and I take turns being 'bad cop' although admittedly, the role usually suits me best. He's the gentle giant with the patience of Job and blah blah good cop blah, until his eyes shift, and then everybody in the room realizes they underestimated him. The problem is, in my bad cop opinion, it takes far too long to push him to that point.

Take our new front door for instance. Last December, we ordered an exorbitantly priced front door from Lowes, complete with a storm door and screen door. The main door got installed, but problem #1 arose because after paying full price for everything upfront, we were told our door frame wasn't suited for a storm and screen door. Well sir, we already paid for it so I suggest you suit it up and make it work. So they eventually did.

Problem #2 was that the screen they installed was loose and clearly too big for the frame. It would literally billow in the wind, had no structure to it, and when Jehovah's witnesses stopped by with encouraging news for me, our German Shepherd dove through it and chased them back to their van. 

Ron spent the next several weeks repeatedly calling Lowes requesting they please install the screen that fits the frame. Repeatedly.Calling.Lowes. Until they finallyyy returned his calls and scheduled a time to replace the screen door.

Which brings us to problem #3 when they ordered the same wrong sized screen. You know, the big billowy one that failed to protect the Jehovah's Witnesses and their encouraging news.

And so it began. Months and months of Ron calling every manager in the store who'd tell us our new screen door had come in and they'd promise to "look into it" and call him back to schedule installation but never would. Meanwhile, our fully paid for exorbitantly priced front door stood with an empty screen-less frame that everybody stepped through to get into the house, because why would anyone go through the hassle of opening a useless shell of a door when they can just climb through it?

By the end of August, I'd had enough. So after nine months of Lowe's playing around with good cop, bad cop was goin' in. And by that I mean I was literally going in to Lowes.

That might not seem like a big deal, but as a general rule, I don't go into stores by myself. 

Let me give you a couple examples of why that is: 
Four days earlier, I had time to kill while I waited for Caymen at Driver's Ed. I decided to go into Big Lots, but accidentally walked into Shoe Sensation right next door, and then said out loud to one of the employees of SHOE Sensation, "Wow, I didn't realize you sold shoes here."

Another time before that, we had to stop by Verizon to get a new phone for me. While Ron parked, I walked inside and told the employee that I need a new phone. He just sat behind the counter staring blankly at me while I stared back wondering what his problem was, until Ron popped his head inside the door and yelled, "Shar! This isn't Verizon. This is Game Stop."

So you see why I don't go out unsupervised, much less ever gone traipsing alone on a mission into Lowes.

Until August 28th, that is. I put the grandbabies on the bus, got dressed, did my hair, and applied a full face of makeup. I was gonna walk in there looking like a put together woman who can reasonably work with them to solve their communication problem.

I also didn't eat breakfast, drink any coffee, purposefully drove through every construction zone, and listened to politics the whole drive over. If I could've inflicted spontaneous PMS on myself, I would've. Triggers I actively avoid had become weapons in my arsenal. 

Why? So that just under the surface of that put together woman would lie a female rage fire that would happily eliminate their communication problem for them, and cry on cue if needed. 

All the stops had been pulled and I had zero good cop supervision to step in and prevent whatever was about to go down. We could resolve this the easy way or the peri-menopausal way, the choice was entirely up to Lowes.

I walked to the customer service counter and politely asked to speak to a store manager.

When the smiling store manager approached and asked how he could help me, I gave him my most charming smile that didn't quite reach my eyes and calmly explained that we paid full price for an exorbitantly priced front door 9 months ago and it's still surrounded by a useless door frame that everyone climbs through because even though Lowes assures us our new screen door came in, they can't seem to pinpoint a time to get that installed for us. And then I stood there boring into his eyes while his smile slowly disappeared. Then he pulled out a piece of paper and said he'd take down my name and number and "look into it." 

That's when I ruined his day by explaining that I'm going to be staying right there in the store until we get to the bottom of this situation, me still smiling into his deer in the headlights stare. 

He then condescendingly explained to me that's not the way it works, so then I explained to him that their way doesn't work and it hasn't worked for nine whole months and I could've grown an entire human baby in the amount of time it's taken to get a screen door that fits on an exorbitantly priced and fully paid for door and that's the problem that brought me into Lowe's by myself so we're gonna try it my way today. 

Me still scary smiling. 

Realizing I wasn't going to budge, manager #1 led me back to manager #2's desk and told him the brief summary of what I needed. Then manage #2 pulled out a piece of paper and said he'd take down my number and call me back after he "looks into it." But I pulled out the chair across from his desk, sat down, and explained that he won't need to do that. 

Me. Smiling. 

Manager #2 wasn't smiling and actually looked physically ill. Manager #1 even asked him, "Are you ok?" And manager #2 said, "I don't feel good." To which I interjected, "I bet you'll feel better after we get our installation scheduled." 

Smiling. Always smiling.

Manager #1 escaped the scene and manager #2 called the installation company, told them what I needed and gave them my name and number. Then he got off the phone and told me, "They're going to call you. If they don't call you by noon, give me a call back and I'll call them again, okay?"

I sat my phone on his desk and said, "You'll know if they don't call." And I sat back and crossed my legs. Smiling. 

In a miraculous 20 minutes, we had the installation date set and to the relief of Lowe's Managers everywhere, I was leaving the premises. Everybody smiling. 

The new screen door was installed the following Monday.

Tuesday morning our 8 year old grandson arrived, ran his head through the frame, and was wearing our new screen door like a hat before anybody had a chance to remind him it had a new screen.

Wouldn't Lowes love to know who finally wiped the smile off my face.


 



Wednesday, September 20, 2023

The one where Jehovah's Witnesses regretted stopping by

I don't like unexpected visitors. If a car pulls into our driveway or somebody knocks on our door, I better know who they are and what they want because I'm not into surprises. That extends to phone calls too. There are like 8 people I'll answer an unexpected call from. Otherwise, leave a detailed message and I'll call you back after I'm mentally prepared to talk to you. Or don't leave a message and we can move forward and pretend that never happened. 

Part of it is due to my own anxiety and introvert-ness and a lot of it can be blamed on situations that happened when we used to live in a neighborhood where pushy people would knock on our door wanting to clean our carpets or guys selling meat out of the back of their pickup trucks. The final straw was when a guy with the name Sue tattooed across his neck knocked on our door and his opening line to me was "Would you like to take a look at my meat?" 

"Sue" almost got himself kicked in the meat that day.

Now fast forward to a couple of months ago, I was out watering my flowers when a white van slowed in front of our house. Thinking it was our contractor, I waved. But as it pulled in, I saw it was full of old people all dressed up and I knew this wouldn't end well for somebody. 

The white van was the first strike against them, because you might recall it was a white van that triggered a call to ADT and the transformation of our house into Fort Knox with cameras, motion sensors, security systems, and everything in between. Our 2 German Shepherds are the second line of defense. No need to detail our 3rd line of defense here, but if you know you know.

So while 2 old ladies climbed out of the van with clipboards and pamphlets, I walked inside to wait behind our useless and unstable screen door. (The story on that door is currently ongoing, but coming here real soon.) Ryder, our smaller German Shepherd, met them outside beside their van. Emma, our larger German Shepherd stayed inside beside me. 

One of the ladies was looking cautiously down at Ryder who stood continuously barking up at her and said, "He won't bite will he?" I replied, "Only if I tell him to." She nervously laughed and said, "You're not going to tell him to, are you?" And with a straight face I answered, "Depends on why you showed up to my house uninvited."

Let's get a couple things straight real quick. 
For one, Ryder's a girl but that's neither here nor there. 
For two, she's never bitten anyone that I know of, much less on command, but she's a rescue dog so I don't know her history. Just a word to the wise- your best bet is don't go onto somebody's property and ask if their dog bites. It's a dog. Assume it bites and do everyone a favor and don't show up at peoples houses uninvited. 

But undeterred, as Jehovah's Witnesses are known to be, both women stepped onto our porch and approached the (useless and unstable) screen door, which amped up the barking from all the dogs, making it impossible to hear anything she was saying. I just kept pointing to my ears and saying, "I can't hear you." 

She started to grab a pamphlet to give me as she yelled over the barking, "WE HAVE ENCOURAGING NEWS FOR YOU!" But when she reached into her bag, Emma lunged straight through our (useless and unstable) screen door and the women took off running screaming, jumped back into their van, and left without another word.

Unless their encouraging news is that they're going to get Lowes to finally replace our useless and unstable screen door, I doubt the van full of Jehovah's Witnesses comes back. 

Probably for the best. Our dogs don't like unexpected visitors either. Or pamphlets, apparently. And one of em's willing to dive through a door to shut that sh*t down. 


Wednesday, August 30, 2023

Jesus Talks

I don't compartmentalize Jesus. Any chance I get, I say His name. I'm not hesitant, embarrassed, or afraid to bring Him into conversations. As a matter of fact, I look for any opening that presents itself. 

Not because I'm a good Christian who lives a good Christian life and I think you need savin'. Quite the opposite, actually. Believe me when I tell you my list of regrets, struggles, sins, fears, traumas, insecurities, failures...they're all fresh in my mind because Satan keeps reminding me. (Usually on a loop at 3am.) 

If you know me at all, you know I speak openly and honestly about the mess that I am. Why am I so upfront about the crap that haunts me? 

Because it automatically gives me a reason to say it:
"But JESUS."

Remember when you did that? 
"But JESUS."
Remember when you said that? 
"But JESUS."
Remember how you still do this even though you know it's wrong? 
"But JESUS."

"But JESUS. But JESUS! But JESUS!!"

Satan will never stop.
Neither will I.

There is power in the name of Jesus and Jesus loves me!
And if Jesus loves a hot mess like me, He surely loves you too!

So if I'm talking about Jesus to myself at 3am and to anyone I encounter throughout my day, it's a no-brainer that Jesus talks happen on the regular with our kids and grand babies. It's not forced and I don't sit everyone down for a daily sermon, although my kids might remember differently about their childhood. I just speak His name like He's a member of our family who's in our house with us- because He.is.

For instance, every day at rest time, as I tucked our two youngest granddaughters into bed, I asked them, "Who loves you the mostest?" And they teased me with wrong answers until I yelled, "JESUS!"

It's the last name they heard spoken over them before they went to sleep.

One day Scarlet woke up from her nap and sat with me on the couch and I asked her, "What do you think I love most about you?" 

To be honest, my answer was going to be her huge sassy personality that refuses to follow the crowd and is destined to lead someday.

But without hesitation she answered, "My heart."
Surprised by that, I asked, "Why do you think I love your heart the most?"
And she said, "Because Jesus lives there and you always love Jesus."

*chills*
I wasn't about to let this opportunity pass, so I continued- "Did you ask Jesus into your heart? Because He doesn't just come in there. He waits to be invited."

Without missing a beat, she answered- "I talked to Him last night and told Him He could come in there and spend one night. He's going back to His house tomorrow."

And that right there is a glimpse of Scarlet.
Six years old now. 
Baby stepping toward salvation. 

Aren't we all?

The deeper levels of meaning you can attach to that conversation have been at the forefront of my mind. How many times do we invite Jesus into our lives, but on our terms?

Okay Jesus, you can be here today because it's a good day and I feel ya.
Okay Jesus, imma need you to head back to your house for awhile because I know you won't approve of what I'm about to do.
Stay put, I got this one Jesus.
Everything's falling apart, where you at Jesus?

I'm guilty of it and Satan loves nothing more than to shame me into believing that I'm a failure every time I get myself into another mess and call out to Jesus, because Jesus has obviously given up on me by now.

But Jesus isn't like that. He loves me with an overwhelming-never-ending-leaves the 99 for-reckless kind of love. Every single day. He's not a one and done figure painted onto my life portrait. He's the artist, and as long as I'm alive, I'm his masterpiece in the making and so are you. Even when I get it wrong.

Speaking of getting it wrong, awhile back, Scarlet asked me where babies come from.
As the grandparent, answering that with biological facts is outside of my lane, so I said "Babies come from mommies tummies!" She shot back with, "Nooo, they come from Jesus. I can't believe you got that wrong." 

I walked right into that one.

So for anyone reading this today who needs to hear it- Say it out loud: "JESUS." 

And for myself- a cracked pot, work in progress, repeat offender, baby steppin', lost sheep who needs Him to come find me every single day- I call out "JESUS!" 

If you haven't met Him, I'd love to talk with you about Him- reach out to me or click the link to check out this song and Let Me Tell You About My Jesus