TMI

There are certain things in life for which I have rules.

Almost unbreakable rules.

It's like a code.

But what I am specifically referring to here is bodily noises.

Now, please understand that this code is for me and me alone. I don't judge those who abide by a different code. I mean, I have a sweet friend whom I love dearly and she will unabashedly let one rip whenever she gets the urge and I will laugh with the best of them when she does.

But see, the day I try to do that? I'd probably end up crapping my pants or something. And undoubtedly would start crying about it. But would be laughing the day after.

I hope, anyway.

My point is, however, that I am not into private things being made public.

To the extreme.

Like when I was first seriously dating someone we would talk on the phone for literally hours at a time. Now somewhere into maybe our second hour of discussing our hopes and dreams I would start to feel like I had to go to the bathroom. Nothing serious, just number one, but still, I wouldn't utter a word to my boyfriend about it. I didn't want to even say the words I and bathroom in the same sentence, for fear that would gross him out. And because I was afraid he could hear it, I wouldn't sneakily try to go while still on the phone. And don't even think about making up some excuse to get off the phone so I could get myself some sweet relief; I was too honest to lie and too happy to sit there in a dark room talking to him.

So I would stay on the phone, sometimes for even another whole hour, just in silent agony while holding my bladder and happy to hear just one more childhood memory all the while.

Now fast forward to Drew.

We were on maybe our third date. And this was a big one. Easter at my house, with my whole family--all one hundred of us. Okay, so all 20 of us, but we make enough noise to be a hundred. We shared a bench at the dinner table. The piano bench, actually, since we had run out of dining room chairs at around person number 12. I wore my hair in braids circling my head, St. Lucia, American Girl doll style.

The night was a hit.

He stayed late, long after the food had been eaten and the last of the cars had driven away. And there we were, still talking, avoiding the clock and pretending it was earlier than it was.

Until he said something.

Something awful.

He started that conversation, the one in which the tone immediately lets you know that whatever is happening is about to end.

I should probably go, he said slowly, I mean, I know I am holding in so much gas that my stomach is hurting like crazy and you must be too.

And I was just horrified.

How could such a perfect night end in a few words about gas of all things?

Not romantic.

I barely knew what to say, so I mumbled something about how I was feeling okay but I am sorry that his stomach was hurting.

And when I closed the door after him that night I decided to put that sentence out of my mind for the time being. After all, there was so much good about him, I didn't want to let that one awkwardly spoken sentence define him.

But you better believe I've brought it up since.

And he still can't come up with the reason for why he thought that statement was a good idea.

this one's for you, babe

I've got this husband.

And when I got him, I also got a lot more musical instruments just strewn about.
Which is fine with me, by the way.

And our feet all seem to get along, which is a bonus.
They even get along with paws.

One of our favorite things to do is to write music together.

And then play it for other people.

I'm good at coming up with songs; he's good at making my songs better.

He's good at putting chords together I would never think of; I'm good at throwing words on top of those chords, strung together by a melody.

And something else we've made, too--a solution, of sorts.

One we came up with a long time ago.

It's necessary when you combine someone like me, whose inner monologue jumps ahead to any potential dialogue, trying desperately to avoid anything that could possibly make myself or anybody else feel awkward with someone like him, who loves, laughs, and speaks freely.

So.

If one or the other of us does not like what the other is doing or saying, we pinch their elbow. Discreetly.

Like a ninja.

Only we can wear normal clothes.

And leave the throwing stars at home.

Now I just came across a picture I had made sure to get but then promptly forgotten about. The picture is funny because Drew happens to think the phrase is pretty darn funny. And yes, uses it from time to time.
So here you go, Drew; this is for you.

And look, I am not even pinching your elbow.

But I am wondering if you've ever been to Maine with a can of pink spray paint in hand.

something large is napping

That was a phrase that surfaced in a game my family played at the beach this past summer. It cracked us up then and it still makes me smile to think about.

It also makes me think of this.
But in this case I should say somethings large are napping, I suppose.
Letting go of the world for a moment. Finding solace in sleep.
Forgetting about your argyle collar, your Armani glasses, and just cuddling up tight.
Letting the silence become a lullaby, the couch a vessel that takes you on a journey, a brief respite.
So go on then, slip into your
and we'll be here when you're ready to wake up.

Happy to see you.

But until then, something large is napping.

closets in the air and i believe.

Sometimes we need to make our own way in this world.

I get that.

But some things are just unavoidable. A part of life. Like accumulating paper. Lots and lots of paper. You'd think that somebody somewhere thought that trees grew on, well trees, with the amount of papers that are sent to our house every day. Coupons. Newspapers that are actually just more coupons, in case I didn't see that bulging packet of coupons that is sitting right beside it in the mailbox. Bills. Letters from dentists, for crying out loud, welcoming us to the neighborhood three years after we moved here. I mean, if I didn't feel welcomed by now, I am not sure how much a letter from a dentist is going to do the trick.

But in case you can't tell, I really hate all the wasteful papers that are sent my way. Just to be brought into my house. Just to fill up my trash can. Just to cause me to take out the trash and put in a new garbage bag once again. Just for those papers that were at first in front of my house in my mailbox to end up behind my house in my dumpster.

Couldn't the mailman save us all a lot of trouble by simply depositing those papers directly into the dumpster?

Anyway.

I hate excessive papers but I simply have to deal with it.

Because I can't just be like Drew, who one day says to me, I hate drawers, and the next day eliminates a lot of them from his life.

First of all, I had no idea the man I married had such a detest for something as harmless and helpful as drawers, of all things. But well, it takes all kinds, I guess and really, who am I to judge? He allows me my hatred of many many foods and drinks, so I suppose he is allowed to hate drawers.

Second of all, at least he can do something about it.

Like go to Lowes, pick up some antique chain and iron hooks, and then go hang a dowel from them after drilling it all into ceiling like this.
And of course, making sure that your newly acquired Japanese ninja sword from your lovely, intelligent, and hilarious wife is sitting next to your new hanging closet.

So there you go, Drew hates drawers and so made a closet in the sky. Or at least in the upper part of our bedroom.

And I present you the first piece of artwork in our room.
It makes me excited.

All of our artwork has gone to basically every other room in the house. Because other people see those rooms a lot more than our own bedroom, sadly ours is the room that has gone the most neglected.

But no more.

And we have plans for more, too.

Once the drill recharges and it isn't too late to drill, that is.

Oh, and a card that is presently in our house.

I agree with it.

And would like to add to it.

I believe:

in my ability to change.

because I used to never eat green peppers, but now I do and that counts for something. I did it just today, in fact, proving once again that I can change. And maybe someday change will be harder than just sticking a little old green pepper into my mouth, chewing, and swallowing, but well, that leads me to my second point...

in God's ability to change me.

because I know a guy who was a lot like all of us in that he just assumed that he would live forever or at least a very long time and got bogged down in all of the trivial things that don't matter so much, like what kind of shoes you are wearing and who is kissing who in the 12th grade. But then he found out that he was sick. Really sick, with something that most people think of as a stigma that leaves them saying no thank you and keeping their distance which only makes these people who are already sick also feel alone. But my friend--well now he is living life fully with no large or small moments lost on him, and he is radiant with a kind of joy that only the truly grateful among us experience. It's beautiful, he's beautiful and his sickness is not the point of his life.

So there you go.

What are you believing today?

what a man, what a man, what a mighty fine man

Some men might balk at holding a princess umbrella over their heads.

One that declares you Gentle as a True Princess.

And even though pink is often declared the new black, they might opt for an umbrella that is the old black, the standard black, you know, just black.

But not Drew.

Cool as a cucumber under a pink princess umbrella.

And dry too, thanks to that pink princess umbrella.
And apparently very very happy to be under that pink princess umbrella.

Godspell

It's crazy to think that this morning I was in Milwaukee.

Since then I have flown to Baltimore, got a ride with my cool sis Jenna, kissed my cats, kissed my husband, had lunch with a dear friend, and was able to be in the audience of a downright thrilling, hilarious, and moving production of Godspell.

Really, it's hard to explain how proud I am of them.

And it's hard to explain the magic that took place on that stage; the ways that each person walked out friendship with Jesus and how kindly and warmly He explained the best ways of living for us all; how the songs would flow from the dialogue seamlessly and the dancing was perfect punctuation.

And of course, Drew can always make me laugh.

And tonight he made me cry...Good tears, though; some of the best kind, I think.

Now it's time to sleep.

Thank God for this.