About Me

I am excited at the thought of a new grandbaby coming in early January. Babies are gifts God gives us which fill our hearts with joy and our noses with sweet baby scents. Well mostly sweet baby scents; there are a few that aren't so sweet but they aren't important. Babies are the epitome of hope and are worth every moment of nausea and swollen ankles we suffer. Of course, in this case I don't have to do the suffering but I would. You bet I would.

I want to see the end of hatred.

I have got to lose weight and exercise. Would someone out there in blog land kick my behind and get me started? Please!

I wish I could ride a bike. Seriously. When I was a kid I rode a bike to and from school, all around my neighborhood, even on a paper route. As an adult I cannot balance the darn thing. My husband has forbidden me to get on one again because the last time I tried I had a nasty wreck that peeled the skin off my face (yes, I had on a helmet but the helmet didn't have a face mask!) Now I have an adult tricycle. Yes, you read that right. But I still don't feel comfortable on it - I feel like any minute I'm going to keel over even though I know that's not possible. It isn't possible, right?

I hate that I can no longer multitask like I could when I was younger. I burn a lot of food because I put something on to cook and try to do a load of laundry, or make a phone call, or vacuum the carpet. I've done it enough that my husband knows exactly how to make the smoke alarm quit ringing in the shortest amount of time possible.

I fear living longer than my children. I can't imagine anything worse. And also snarling dogs.

I hear static in my left ear. Ok, someone out there should know the cure for this. I wouldn't care if it was music but all I get is static.

I search for the very important thing that I put in a safe place so I would know where it was when I wanted it.

I don't think it's fair that just as I get older and wiser I seem to be unable to remember the wise things I need to tell you. Or your name. Or where I met you. Or if I met you. But I can remember what color my bicycle was when I was in the 4th grade and what my telephone number was then.

I regret the things I didn't do that I should have done. Like wear a bikini when I was young and looked good in one.

I love finished quilts, good books, a clean house, jeans that fit, shoes that don't hurt my feet and are the envy of everyone who sees them, phone calls from friends.

I ache for hungry children.

I always cry when the wind blows in my face. Darn allergies.

I am not happy about this menopause thing. In fact I'm very angry at Eve. It's her fault - everything is her fault. Hot flashes, allergies, cellulite, weeds, snarling dogs - I lay them all at her doorstep.

I dance like The Tin Man. Stiff. Jerky. Not graceful and not pretty.

I sing beautifully when I'm alone. Off key when anyone is close.

I never plan to ride a motorcycle. Unless one of my children or grandchildren is sick and that's the only way to get to them. Then I'll ride anything.

I rarely do nothing. Rarely relax. I don't think I'm ADD but I'm always busy. I've had to put my calendar on my google site so my children and husband can keep up with me. There's something wrong with this picture.

I cry when I watch babies sleeping in their mother's arms.

I am not always patient with people who feel sorry for themselves for no good reason. There are a lot of good reasons to feel sorry for yourself - I do it quite often. In fact, I quite often have a pity party. But I once heard someone say there's 2 things wrong with pity parties - no one comes and there's no refreshments. If you're going to feel sorry for yourself that's fine but set a time limit - I'm going to feel bad till say 10:00 in the morning and then I'm done with that. But if you have a good reason I'm ok with you feeling sorry for yourself for a bit longer.

I hate that politicians are ever allowed on television.

I'm confused about why people break in line. Or get road rage. Or yell at sales clerks who have no control over the price of what's in the store.

I need Iced Tazo Chai Tea Lattes. A lot. I'm addicted. Seriously addicted. It's a sickness. Help.

I should spend more time praying and less time thinking about praying. I think God would like that.

I stole this format from Melissa at Stretch Marks who stole it from someone else so feel free to steal it from me. In fact it won't be stealing. I give it to you. Take it, please. I'd love to read about you. And if you haven't read Melissa do it right now. This woman makes me laugh out loud almost every day, except for the one time when I sobbed out loud. She is truly remarkable and even though she has not ever read my blog I'm sure and even though I only comment on hers once in a while and she has never commented on mine I will be keeping her on my reader list forever because she's that good. I took The Pioneer Woman off and kept Melissa - does that tell you anything? No offense, Pioneer Woman, because you are truly wonderful but I really, really have to do something else during the day than reading blogs. My behind is getting seriously numb sitting here and reading.