Really? Over a month?

It seems my writer's block can only be broken by some sort of crisis.

Although, once we got the mice gone, I then had to deal with (all by myself, because Jason was out of town and unreachable) an infestation of ants. IN MY ROOM. What the heck? Contrary to popular myth, this fat kid does NOT hide Twinkies and Ho Ho's in her nightstand, so I don't know what they were after.

(That reminds me of a joke my dad used to tell - maybe a Flip Wilson gag? - "Do you believe in the hereafter? Good. Because I'm here after your money.)

(HAHAHA. You've missed my razor-sharp wit, haven't you?)

Once I got shed of the ants, via two applications of Terro, the best ant-killer ever invented, it was FLIES.

We have never, in the six years we've lived at our present address, had an issue with flies. Ever. It started out being a couple, which we chalked up to Anna Marie not closing the back door properly. And then one day I get a phone call from Jason, asking em to go to the store (THWACK!) and pick up (THWACK!) some flying insect spray (TWACK!).

Yes, he was calling me with one hand, and slaughtering flies with the other. Because he's a great multitasker that way.

They were all congregating around one of the windows in the kitchen, and were apparently quite dumb. Because even though they saw the rolled up newspaper sending their insect brethren to that big manure pile in the sky, they didn't move, and consequently suffered the same fate.

Thankfully, the flies seem to be gone. We're hoping for a nice, cold winter to kill them and all their mosquito cousins who live in the drainage ditch at the back of our yard, and attack us when we go out there to spend time with the dogs.

I don't know anyone named Moses, I haven't been to Egypt lately, and I'm not expecting frogs to show up in my kitchen any time soon.

And no, I'm not going to rename this blog "Plagues I have known." Just so you know.

I may as well blog

Y'all, if I had known how much cleaning was going to be involved with the aftermath of a handful of rodents, I probably would have just left everything and moved.

Seriously. Anyone who knows anything about me at all knows I HATE cleaning. HATE it. Not in a "Oh, well, I'd rather be watching reruns of LOST than mopping this floor," way, but more of a "I'd rather have my hair pulled out strand-by-strand than mop this floor."

Yeah, there's a difference.

Sure, I like my home to be clean. Who doesn't? Other than those people on those hoarding shows on A&E, most people you polled would prefer a tidy house over a messy one. It's just that, even after a dozen years of living in my own house, my brain just doesn't "work" that way. I don't look around a room and think "I need to do X to clean this room, and then when that's done I'll do Y as the next step." Noooo, I walk into a room, become overwhelmed because I don't know where to start, and walk right back out again.

Lest you think that Neicy Nash and her Clean House crew is due to show up on my doorstep, let me reassure you that I married smart. My husband has that "cleaning" gene, in spades!

In our marriage, we've only had a couple of real "bones of contention." The biggest one is housework. Jason is a "clean up after yourself" type of guy, and I'm more of a "I'll pick it up when I get around to it" type. I know, I KNOW, this is a horrible way for an adult to behave, and a terrible example for my daughter.

I'm just being real, y'all.

So, back to my current situation.

Jason has spent the last few days taking everything out of the cabinets, inspecting for evidence of mice, and cleaning all the contents. He has also discovered that we have way, WAY too much stuff in our teeny tiny kitchen. So, he gave me instructions to decide what to keep and what to toss.

People, I still had half a dozen sippy cups in my cabinet. And my daughter hasn't used them in probably four or five years, nearly the amount of time we've lived here! Unfortunately, they were all chewed up (from a teething toddler) and missing their seals, so they had to be trashed.

Random plastic containers, broken bits of this and that - all on their way to the landfill. Part of this is Jason's fault - HE is the one who can't seem to throw anything out. I think he has realized where that philosophy has gotten us!

We also - and this will make my mother VERY happy - have started a "send to mom's yardsale" pile. She's forever planning yard sales, and forever asking us for donations, so there she goes. She now has enough for a whole separate kitchen section.

Now comes my greatest dilemma. In our teeny, tiny kitchen (seriously, it's probably 9x12) we have very, very little counter or cabinet space. That kitchen also contains our washer and dryer (it's an old house) and doors to the backyard and the room next to it. To try to counter this problem, we used a small hutch we'd had since we got married, placing it in front of one of the windows. I LIKED this arrangement. It was just big enough for my coffee maker and our microwave, with my coffee stuff and some fancy dishes going up top, and larger appliances (like my crock pot and George Foreman grill) underneath.

However, Jason has decided that the hutch has to go. True, it did take up some of our kitchen space. And, it blocked a window, which blocked some of the light from the room. He is under the impression that we can clean-and-organize our way to a hutch-free existence. I am not so sure.

I guess we shall see who wins this round.

Yesterday I left work early because of the holiday, and spent two hours helping him clean. And then we left to run some errands, and returned for another two hours of work. And we're STILL not done - I had to look for nearly five whole minutes to find my coffee grinder this morning. That is NOT a good feeling.

But, I have a temporary respite. He's still asleep, and no way in the world am I embarking on this mission without his directions. Did I mention, he has re-loaded the dishwasher when I didn't do it to his specifications? So, yeah. This kitchen re-do is way bigger than that.

My kitchen and dining room are a mess. Jason is still asleep. My hands are pretty much tied.

I may as well blog.

Success!

(Sorry for the lack of a picture, folks. It goes against everything in my newspaper page designing background not to have one, but seriously - I'm pretty sure we don't need to see some deceased rodents up in here.)

When last we met, Jason was trying to figure out a way to out-fox a wily mouse.

Turns out, he was trying to out-fox wily mice. PLURAL. As in, there has been more than one varmint roaming around my kitchen.

Saturday night, he decided to put a trap in the small gap between the refrigerator and the stove.

Sunday morning, I heard a very, very nice sound: SNAP. As in, the death knell for the mouse. As in, music to my ears.

He re-set the trap, you know, just in case. After church yesterday, we found out just what that case was: Mouse #2.

I thought it was over. Really, I did. I mean, come ON - what were the odds that we had more that one mouse, let alone, more than two? Once again, we left the trap there, on the off chance that another mouse might show its little mousie head.

(Did I mention, he's RE-USING the traps? GAG. He says they are made to be re-used, and I'm sure he's right. It seems like what all those super-exterminator shows he likes to watch recommend doing. He also says that mice are cannibalistic, and that if they smell a dead mouse, it will draw them to that spot.)

(EWWW.)

So tonight, we came back home late after a meeting at church, thanked my mom for watching Anna Marie, and started getting ready to turn in for the night. And then my eye caught an odd sight: the mouse trap beside the stove was upside down.

I will give you three guesses as to why that was, and the first two don't count.

Jason is taking heart, though. He says they're getting smaller.

"This one was itty bitty," he proclaimed, a little hopefully.

He checked the dryer vent hose to see if that was the point of entry, but it doesn't appear that way. He's working tomorrow in Memphis, so we'll have to move the stove out tomorrow night or Wednesday and investigate that situation more fully. It is quite possible, or so he tells me, that the mice are living in an open space at the back of the stove, but we still don't know how they're getting in.

In the meantime, guess where that trap is. Yep, you got it.

And the saga continues...

I wish I could report to you, gentle reader, that my shock-and-awe campaign had rid our house of its unwanted guest.

But that would not be the truth. And I am nothing if not honest, y'all.

Oh, sure, we started out going easy on the little guy with the glue traps. One under the cabinet where he'd taken up sky diving on Tuesday morning, and one behind the refrigerator, where he had taken refuge after his descent from on high.

Nothing. Well, I guess I should be more precise: Jason spied some, ahem, evidence that the mouse had lighted on one of the glue traps, but apparently he wasn't stout enough to actually get stuck on the board.

So, we set out an old-school trap under that cabinet. A day or two passed, and we still didn't catch the little booger. Finally, Jason figured out what part of our problem is: this is no ordinary mouse.

I know, I know. We all like to think that our mouse is something special, but the one who is interloping here on Tate Street really is a cut above. You see, while most mice play it safe and run along the perimeter of a room, this mouse goes for the gusto and runs right straight ACROSS the room.

This makes it nigh unto impossible to place a trap where he will be tripped up by it. I'm beginning to understand all those bumbling idiot vs. mouse movies I've seen over the years. They aren't that far off base. Jason has threatened to litter the kitchen floor with traps, just like in one of those movies - but he's afraid he'd come through at 2:30 a.m. to go to work, forget about the traps, and set off a chain reaction.

So, four days in, we're still no closer to catching the mouse than we were last week.

Next stop: KING SNAKE.

Oh yeah, it's on.

Dear Little Mousie that fell out of my kitchen cabinet,

(Yes, I'm breaking a nearly two-month blogging hiatus with a post about a mouse.)

Ahem, as I was saying,

Dear Little Mousie that fell out of my kitchen cabinet this morning,

I don't know who you think you are, or how you got in there. We run a clean establishment around here. But I'm issuing a cease and desist order right now.

I did not appreciate it when you very nearly gave me a heart attack this morning, falling out of my high cabinet and scurrying across the floor that way.

Why can't you just meander peacefully across the floor? It isn't so much YOU I'm frightened of, it's your scurrying-ness. You STARTLE me.

There is a difference, you know.

So, here is the deal. I am offering amnesty, good for one day only. If you leave the way you came, and inform your little mousie friends that the Turner house is not one to be reckoned with, I will let you go on your merry mousie way. No questions asked.

If you refuse, be forewarned that I went to Walmart this morning and stocked up on an arsenal of mouse-fighting devices. I will come at you with a quickness. You will not know what hit you.

(I would make a GREAT Dread Pirate Roberts, by the way, little mousie. Just so you know.)

Furthermore, be advised that I will be sending you a bill for the lunch money I had to give Anna Marie today (because packing her lunch would have meant opening the refrigerator, the same appliance behind which you were lurking); the $5 worth of wooden and glue traps, along with the $2 in peanut butter to bait them with, that I had to buy this morning; and the $7 for the shirt I bought on clearance, just to make myself feel better. Because I totally wouldn't have bought THAT if you hadn't traumatized me so.

Also, I will be sending a bill for whatever we eat out for dinner, because I am totally not cooking in that kitchen while you're still around.

For your convenience, I accept cash, credit cards, and PayPal. I've been burned by too many rodents in the past, so please, no checks.

Sincerely,

Melissa

Methinks I need some Minions

Last night was the first night of my annual "Week-of-no-redheads" observance - that time of year when Jason and Little AM get a "vacation" and I do not, because I am so "vital" to the "operations" at my "job" that no one can fill in for me for a week.

In honor of WONR, Amanda (pictured above) and I typically try to have a girls' night out. One year, it was Vietnamese food and Napoleon Dynamite. Another, it was Vietnamese food (from a different place) and Batman Begins. This year, it was Pei Wei (are you sensing an Asian-centric vibe to our food choices?) and Despicable Me.

Since she works at the most-awesome Muddy's Bake Shop, which is across the street from the equally-awesome Paradiso Theater, someone came by last week and offered free passes to a sneak peak of the movie.

(Yeah. Anna Marie still doesn't know I went to see it without her!)

She is off this week because Muddy's closed for a "break," and the two of us painted the town yellow. Or as yellow as you can paint it on a budget and a weeknight.

(We lived dangerously, though - snuck in snacks in my purse! Power to the people!)

Thankfully, the theater showed it on a HUGE screen in a HUGE room, so there was plenty good room for all the freeloaders.

I didn't know much about this movie before last night, which I guess was a good thing. I watched a trailer this morning, and many of the jokes were included there (but were surprises to me.) But don't worry - this isn't one of those movies where all the best jokes are in the trailer!

Gru is a villain (voiced by Steve Carell) who needs to step up his bad-guy game due to competition from up-and-coming baddies. He adopts three girls from a local orphanage to help in one of his schemes, but does not expect to be won over by their love.

It was a really, really sweet movie. And funny. Did I mention funny? Laugh-out-loud funny. Not just 10-year-old toilet humor, either. I felt it was a really family-friendly-flick.

As it was a promotional event, meant to build buzz, they did have folks stationed at the exits writing down comments. We, however, were not approached personally.

We were blessed to see it in 3D, and my Android phone had a Best Buy movie app that kicked in magically as the credits rolled, translating the Minions' language. Amanda and I thought it really added to the film, and I figure other smart phones have the app as well.

I'm planning on sending Anna Marie and my mom to see this when she gets back, and downloading the app onto my mom's Hero so they can join in too.

Disclaimer: I got a free ticket to this movie, but they didn't ask me to do anything promotional in return. I'm just doing this in the name of good, family-friendly fun.

And on the {14th} day, {some of them} rested.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Two weeks straight of running at full steam does not a happy Melz make.

Most folks get to take it easy in the summer (especially you teacher types out there - don't even get me started on summer vacation!) but not me. Not newspaper reporters, who instead see weeks filled with special editions, and weekends filled with special events needing covered, and contentious school board meetings as they decide how much to tax us THIS year.

Last week - well, I spent the first three days getting together our annual "Progress" edition (something I'd never heard of before I moved here, but apparently they're kind of a BIG DEAL, in Mississippi at least.) Strangely, though, there hasn't been much more "progress" around here than there has been anywhere else in the country. One year we had about a dozen subdivisions going up; the next, the bottom fell out of the housing market, and we've spent the past two years spotlighting the "progress" of local businesses staying around.

(Well, we have had a couple of large companies locate here in that time, but one was tied to the Toyota plant and so has been treading water for two years, and the other won't start production until first quarter next year.)

Then, I spent that Thursday doing all three of my pages, so I could be gone to our press association convention. Now, don't get me wrong - I was thankful for the opportunity to go, especially since it was only half an hour away in Tunica and not all the way down on the coast, but still - I near about pulled my hair out that week trying to get ready. Because it doesn't matter if I'm off work for a day or two - I have to get my work done before I leave!

(I was really, really happy to be there when we brought home second place in the General Excellence category, and so was my boss, who in all of his years in the business and all the papers he has owned, has NEVER placed in that competition. It's been kind of a big deal around our office this week.)

This week I thought it would be a little quieter, but we've had a couple of those contentious school board meetings, plus some other extra work thrown in there, and trying to get finished early today for an early press time - all of it landed me with a throbbing headache.

Four days with Anna Marie at camp, and I still didn't get any rest.

So, I hope you can appreciate the AHHH of relief I am letting out right now - Anna Marie spent the day here at home (with my mom in the morning and me in the afternoon) recovering from returning from camp yesterday. She is on the computer, again, making up for four days without electronics. Jason has been at the church three days this week (and only three because he had to work his "real job" the other two) helping install a new computer system for the children's department, and is still there now; and I'm on my bed, surrounded by stacks of clean, folded towels, watching the Clean House Messiest Home in the Country special on the DVR.

My house is still (relatively) clean because we've been gone so much - my child is home for a few days before she and her dad leave again for South Carolina - my headache is (mostly) gone - and I'm propped up in bed, writing for pleasure (not business), and ready to enjoy my three-day weekend.

Say it with me now: AHHHH.

We all had a lovely time, thank you.

A very lovely time indeed.

Guess who finally got a BIG trophy at the Five Star Races? Hmm? Hmm? Betcha can't!



YESSSS!

She won first place in her age group, and she couldn't be happier. Well, I suppose she could, if she'd won the quarter-mile overall. But, whatever.

I did not race again this year, because 1. I kept hearing the scanner go off, with the EMS getting called out for people PASSING OUT because of the heat; 2. My knees were bothering me again, and 3. Having to take pictures of all the racers, and be prepared to race myself, is just too taxing. Within a 20-minute time span, I have to be in about four different places, getting photos and names of winners, and that doesn't leave me much time to psych myself out.

Saturday was very, very relaxing, since a miracle happened and the cleaning we did last weekend was kept up on a daily basis! I KNOW! Who would have ever thought that the "pick up after yourself" thing would actually work?

And yesterday, I did another sugar overload, as Amanda came to have lunch with us and my parents and brought not one, but TWO cakes from her job. One, called a Frankly Scarlett, was a miniature red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. "Happy Father's Day" was written on top, and they couldn't get a hold of the person who'd ordered it, (and they would be closed for the next two days) so she brought it home.

(Yes, apparently REPEATED attempts at contact were made. I'm pretty sure they aren't in the habit of taking paid baking goods home without their due diligence.)

The other cake was a MASSIVE, three-layer number called the Cindy Lou Who. Each layer was a different color - pink, yellow, or purple - and it had pink frosting with coordinating "polka dots."It was a birthday cake, but the patron who'd ordered it insisted she had canceled the order the next day. It was vanilla flavored cake with vanilla buttercream, and it was sinful.

I'm "detoxing" today, because I need to be on my Ps and Qs in anticipation of our Press Association convention this weekend. Wohoo! It isn't at the coast, but at a casino about half an hour from here - which I guess was fortuitous, since none of us know what the condition of the beaches will be from one day to the next.

Fortunately, there don't seem to be any family functions on the horizon, so Amanda shouldn't be bringing $40 cakes to tempt me with!

You're gonna need a bigger birthday cake.

This weekend, Jason's probable pick for all-time favorite movie is having a birthday.

Jaws is turning 35!



I did not know when we got married just how obsessed he was with this movie. Or, should I say, movies. He has shown over the years to be a fan of those cheesy SyFy made-for-TV-movies with ridiculously unlikely plots. I guess Jaws is where it all started.

Last summer, we went to The Orpheum in Memphis to watch Jaws as part of their Summer Movie Series, on the big screen. I had never watched it in its entirety before, and I jumped out of my seat a couple of times!

Jason is the proud owner of Jaws I-IV on DVD, and has just about memorized the commentary. Do you know how much he enjoys telling people trivia tidbits, like that the "You're gonna need a bigger boat" line was ad libbed?

Loves. It.

So, I suppose at some point this weekend, one (or all) of the Jaws installments will be playing on a television (or computer) screen at the Turner house. I shall have to find somewhere to be, so as not to pee my pants again at the sight of that dead body under that sunken boat.

(Which, by the way, they had to reshoot in someone's pool, because it didn't turn out right the first time?)

(Man, he's starting to rub of on me.)

I think I'm gonna need a bigger house.

I love a good wedding.

This weekend, I was a guest at three - count them, THREE - very distinct weddings. Two were held at my church and the third in the tiny chapel at a Baptist church here in town.

Thursday night, our church bookkeeper tied the knot. She and her intended had both done this before, and both have grown children and grandchildren. It was a sweet, simple ceremony with a sweet ending - a dessert and coffee reception! A table full of pies and cakes, and divinity shaped like hearts. How cool is that?

One of the best parts of the wedding was the new (to me, but I'm seeing it more often) tradition of having the couple pour grains of sand of different colors from separate containers into one larger vessel, symbolizing their new blended life. Since the bride and groom were also blending a larger family unit, each grandchild (five of them in all, ranging in age from about 3-10 years old) came, one by one, and dumped a bottle of sand into their respective grandparent's vase, and then gave the couple a hug before sitting back down. I don't know what it was about that moment, but I was truly touched!

Friday night, a young couple (and fellow LOST fanatics) were the bride and groom. Their love for each other and God was so sweet, and so pure, and everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) spent the whole service crying. The groom started boo-hooing as soon as he saw his lovely bride come in the door, and basically didn't stop for the rest of the evening. Both he and the bride had a hard time getting through their vows for their emotions, and even the pastor had to take a handkerchief break.

The bride comes from a large family, and they all played a part - from sisters as bridesmaids, to a brother and brother-in-law as ushers, to her VERY talented twin brothers serenading us with a couple of duets.

Their reception was off site at a community center, but we didn't stay long. We got caught in traffic coming up and had to drop Jason off at the church (to help with the video feed) so he didn't get dinner, and it was HOT and CROWDED up in there. Apparently, our pastor and his lovely wife cut quite a rug, so I'm a bit disappointed we missed that!

Oh, and before the ceremony, this happened:



That's the pastor's daughter, Anna Grace, with my own Anna Marie. Two Annas, two DSs, two church weddings in two days' time!

Saturday night, we attended the wedding of a girl I've known since she was in her mother's womb. Seriously. My mother's family has had a strong connection to a certain neighborhood in Memphis for years, where both the bride and her father grew up. My grandfather planted a church there in the early 1970's, and our family lived there at different time for several years. We were living there when Char was born.

She has ALWAYS loved horses, which I suppose she got from her mother (who had a horse in her backyard in that neighborhood. No joke.) She just graduated from vet school at Mississippi State University, and I'm extremely proud of her for getting through all that.

She had a very small wedding, where she wore cowboy boots under her dress and had wanted posters with a bride and groom silhouette on the ends of the pews.

(Good thing it was small, because the minister was slightly senile and messed the ceremony all up. He tried to pronounce them man and wife three times while she still had other things on the program.)



The reception was barbeque, prepared by her uncle, at the couple's new house. Anna Marie was super stoked, because their horses came up to the fence and she got to see them up close and personal.

(The bride's mother encouraged me to buy Anna Marie a horse. Easy for her to say!)

It was a very relaxed, laid back affair, just like the couple themselves. Thankfully, they also had the foresight to bring in a fan to conjure a breeze and keep the insects away!

Yes, I love a good wedding - but right now, I'm glad to have a break from nuptials for a few weeks!

What to do, what to do…

So, Anna Marie had her dance recital on Saturday. And she has declared it to be her very last one.

So now, I have to find something else to occupy her time once a week, preferably on Wednesday afternoons (while Jason is at work.)

It isn't anything against the dance studio. The teacher is lovely, and Anna Marie has learned some things about music, and dance, and rhythm in the past three years. Between the dance performances, and being involved with the childrens music program at First Baptist after school on Tuesdays, she has basically overcome her stage fright.

But, she isn't "into" dance. At least not the ballet and tap parts. I think if they offered some type of "TobyMac Hip Hop" lessons, that'd be right up her alley. However, her teacher is a classically trained ballerina, so I don't see that happening.

She has also taken tumbling lessons for the past two years after her dance lessons, and honestly, it's the tumbling that has kept her going all year. She has begged me not to make her go next year, and when we've been getting our costume pictures made and dressing up for the recital, she kept saying, "At least this is the last time I have to do this."

So now, she wants to concentrate on gymnastics. There are a couple of places here which offer classes: one which she went to when she was four (and I wasn't crazy about the instructor) and another, newer gym (where many of the girls who used to take dance with her now go.) I don't have a problem with that, and in fact, watching the older girls dance on Saturday, I had the distinct feeling that if she'd continued in that vein that as she got older we would be more and more uncomfortable with the outfits she was assigned and the moves she was learning. (If that makes any sense at all).

I can't find a listing for the other gymnastics teacher, but I know a couple of people who can get me the information.

We've also considered music lessons, since Jason plays piano and violin and I play, well, the radio (as my dad says.) We have a piano, but Jason's violin is too big for her and we'd have to rent or buy her a smaller model.

At any rate, I have a couple of criteria: it can't take up more than one day during the week (we have other obligations, like church and family, and she'll likely be playing Upward basketball again in the winter), it can't cost more than what we were paying for dance/tumbling, and it really, REALLY needs to be on Wednesdays, so I can justify the expense as "childcare."

Not too much to ask, is it?

Dear God,

Thank you that all it took to get me going this morning was a cup of coffee and some of your Word, and not a bucket full of pills.

Thank you that I'm ambulatory enough to take care of my home and that the work isn't overwhelming.

Thank you that while our cash flow might not have been ideal this week, You supplied all of our needs and gave us wisdom to use what resources we did have.

Thank you that I need to be two places at once today, but that they're joyous occasions like a dance recital and a wedding, and not two funerals.

Thank you that my family is healthy and well fed, and that we have more "stuff" than we actually even need.

And thank you for the realization that, as I cleaned up the nearly WHOLE BOTTLE of laundry detergent that I spilled this morning, that I probably won't need to add any to the next load of towels I do - so not all is lost.

Thank you for little reminders that you always have us held safely in the palm of your hand, and help me to see whatever I encounter today through your eyes.

Amen.

Book review: The Revolutionary Paul Revere

You don't know how much you don't know, until you find out. Isn't that how the old saying goes?

I had studied American History in eighth and twelfth grades, and again in college, but other than memorizing a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, I knew next to nothing about Paul Revere.

Did you know that he was a soldier in both the French and Indian War and the Revolutionary War? I didn't. I also did not know that he had two wives, and between them bore 16 children for him.

I also learned that he wasn't the only rider on April 18, 1775, but one of three - and that he didn't even make it to his destination because of a run-in with British forces.

So if you're a history buff, or even if you aren't, you owe it to your American self to read The Revolutionary Paul Revere. It will give you a much deeper understanding of a true American patriot.

You can buy your copy here or here.

Full disclosure - this book was provided free of charge by Thomas Nelson Publishers in exchange for my honest review.

Oh Pandora, how do I love thee?

Let me count the ways…

• I love that I can access you from work or at home, and not have to worry about which computer I've synced my iTunes library with.

• I love that you give me access to WAY more music than I have hard drive space/money for, and help me discover new stuff all the time. For FREE.

• I love that I can dial you up on my netbook, take it into the kitchen, and listen to TobyMac or Sinatra or Aretha Franklin or Jack Johnson while I putter around.

• And I really, REALLY love that when Jason brings home my Android phone in the next day or two, there will, indeed, be an app for that.

Sigh. What did I ever do without you, Pandora dear?

You just THOUGHT I was back from the Bloggy Wasteland

Instead, I continue to take long, unscheduled breaks from Melz World.

Heh. Guess I showed you.

In the past couple of weeks, we've finished up our One Month to Live challenge, and, as a result, I'm thinking a lot more deeply about some things than I might have otherwise.

And, last weekend, Jason went to Discipleship Walk, the life-changing retreat I went on last fall. And, well, it was life-changing for him as well.

And now, I've been thinking a lot (since yesterday, anyway), about self-control.

I thought I had self-control. Most of the time, anyway. I've never been a binge eater, unless you count the whole bags of Vinegar and Salt Lays I'd inhale in college. (And really, since their slogan is "You can't eat just one, I seriously think that doesn't count.)

I've never gone out partying, and I've never blown $1,000 on a mall-wide shopping spree.

I've lost 90 pounds. I think that speaks to some measure of self-control, don't you?

But lately, I've been letting that self-control slip. And my waistline is starting to show it.

And then yesterday after church, Anna Marie told us what their verse was in Children's Church: "A person with no self-control is like a city with broken down walls (Proverbs 25:28)"

Man. That hit me as very profound. We spent a good bit of time at lunch talking about what that verse meant. I explained to her that in Bible days, cities had walls to guard their residents, but a broken down wall let all sorts of things in.

In modern language, I broke it down even further. Lack self-control in your spending? That can let in massive debt. No self-control in your eating? Sign me up for bigger pants, please! Need to control your mouth at school? That'll cost you recess.

A lack of self-control can let all sorts of ugly things into our lives. And make no mistake, you can lack self-control in some good areas too. Too much exercise can be just as bad for you as none at all, and you can eat too much of the right things just like too much of the right ones.

Not that I've ever been accused of either of those. It's just, you know, an example.

So, I'm looking at my self-control today. I am exhibiting a major amount of it, because one of my co-workers keeps putting snack-sized Snickers on her desk. And she isn't even there a lot of the time, so no one would know it was me getting one every time I walk past.

But I would. And eventually, so will my pants.

And I'm looking at my self-control when it comes to wasting time. Instead of getting caught up in watching TV when I got back from the gym this morning, I sat and ate my breakfast quietly, enjoying the short solitude before my people-filled day began.

So, today, take a little time to look at areas when you need to exercise a little self-control. Let's build up those city walls, instead of letting them be broken down.

Your pants, and probably your sanity, will thank you.

Sometimes, being a mom is kinda like being God.

You know, in that "Better clean up your mess because you won't like it if I have to step in" sense.

(Because I'd MUCH rather see my issues and start to deal with them, before God has to bring them to my attention. Because sometimes He can be a little drastic. I'm just sayin.)

I spent nearly my whole lunch break today cleaning Anna Marie's room.

I've been after her for weeks and weeks and weeks to do something about it, but somehow, nothing ever got accomplished. So today, I took action.

I actually started last Tuesday, in the space of time after I take her to school and before I have to be back over there to volunteer with the PTO. I carried out three Walmart bags full of T-R-A-S-H.

(And lest you think my kid's room is a landfill, bear in mind that I'm including Happy Meal toys and broken Dollar Tree trinkets in that designation.)

Today, I did the same thing. Another couple of bags of trash, plus two large-ish school projects. As much as I love that model of K-9 she made last year for her class, I just don't have room for the pooch anymore.

Sorry, little dude.

I wisely made sure to carry the items to the trashcan, which was on the curb, because I've made the mistake of ditching it in the kitchen can one too many times - and then she throws something away herself, and discovers what I've done.

At lunch, out went another 13-gallon bag. I took all the "junque" on her floor, placed it on her bed, and will give her a checklist this afternoon.

To whit:

• Pick up EVERY SINGLE THING on this bed. Individually.
• Put it WHERE IT BELONGS. If it's a book, put it on the bookshelf. If it's a small plastic toy, put it in your toy box. If it's paper, put it in the sidetable drawer.

If it's money, give it to me. KIDDING! Well, only slightly.

That's it. That's the extent of what I need her to do today. Go through the stuff on her bed, and put it away. I'm not asking for the cure for the common cold here, folks.

I think she shall be pleasantly surprised when she gets to the bottom of the pile, because her reward will be several items she's been looking for over the past couple of weeks. I'm not going to even tell her they're in there - I'll know she's done her job when she finds them.

This weekend, Jason is going away with the men from church for four days. Know what I'm NOT going to be doing while he's gone? Cleaning her room.

She may get a bit miffed if/when she figures out where some of her "things" have gone, but I think there's a life lesson to be learned here: if she had dealt with it when I told her to, I wouldn't have had to step in and be the Cosmic Sheriff.

As I saw on a billboard once: "Don't make me come down there - GOD."

Contrary to popular belief

We did not blow or wash away this weekend.

Although, at times it felt like we could have.

Really, we didn't get nearly the bad weather that those around us did. There were lots of bleary-eyed folks at church today because the tornado sirens were going off all night Friday and Saturday in the county where the church is (and where most of the folks live). They didn't go off down here at all - we just got tons and tons and TONS of rain.

(We were bleary-eyed this morning too, but because we had an eight-year-old climb into bed with us during the thunderstorm last night!)

There are stories of horrible flooding not far from here, and a couple of tornadoes touched down - and some lost their lives. Add that to the tornadoes in south Mississippi last weekend, and that oil spill making its way towards shore, and we have a lot of praying to do in the next few days, my homies.

I hope that wherever you are out there in blogland, you are safe, and DRY!

Looks like I'm going to have to moderate you folks

I wish it was because my posts were so awesomely thought-provoking that they inspired great debate.

Unfortunately, that isn't the case. You can thank your Friendly Neighborhood Spammers for the change. The word verification doesn't seem to be stopping the weird, out-of-country comments, so this is the only way.

Now, if you'd like to have some heated debate about this, I'm all ears ...

If Valerie can come back to Blogland, guess I can too.

When last we met, Anna Marie was surprising us all with her sudden interest in wearing things that FIT and did not involve baggy jeans and one-size-too-big T-shirts.

There's a little of that still going on - she wore a dress to school yesterday - but there's something much deeper going on in my life than that.

On Easter, our church started this study called the One Month to Live challenge.

And what a challenge it is.

The premise is this: if you had just one month to live, what would you do differently? We each had the opportunity to purchase the book of the same name for a discounted price, which has 30 days worth of chapters in it. (Thankfully, the chapters are only about five pages long!) Each week, our pastor's sermon takes its theme from the upcoming week's readings: Love Completely, Learn Humbly, etc. Then, each day we read a short chapter comparing life to something - a hurricane, or a roller coaster, or GPS.

Our pastor joined Facebook about this time, and he posts his thoughts on the chapter each day. We can then discuss them in the comments.

It's very, very, practical stuff. And very thought-provoking.

We're also wearing some nifty green wristbands to remind us of the challenge. Several people have commented that they've had "green wristband moments," where they've stopped what they were "busy" doing (usually watching TV, or, I don't know, maybe Farmville) and spent quality time with their families.

Because really, no offense to the Farmville folks, but if you only had a month to live, would you want to spend it feeding imaginary farm animals? Or would you want your kids to remember you spent time with them?

We're a little over halfway through the book, and each day I'm made more aware of how I'm spending the most precious commodity I have: my time.

So, I'll leave you with this challenge today: if you had just one month to live, what would you change?

Well I'll be a monkey's uncle

(Just kidding. I'm not a monkey's uncle. I'm not actually anyone's uncle, come to think of it. I just couldn't think of a more appropriate way to express my shock.)

So, in the nearly 10 days since I last blogged (that incredibly depressing post, as I look back on it now) Anna Marie has made a mockery of my muddling.

This picture is from an amazing photoshoot my sister did with Anna Marie on Easter. Since she didn't want a dress, we compromised on a nice capri set. And she let me fix her hair - a HUGE deal for us!

The afternoon after I wrote that last post, I went to my favorite children's consignment shop, Jack N Jill. I had mom bring Anna Marie over so she could 1. Try on a couple of things, and 2. Make sure she'd wear them, since they have a no-return policy.

We picked out a cute pair of peach and olive flowery camouflage-type print (GAP) capris and a peach (GREEN DOG) shirt to match ($12 total!).

And - an Old Navy denim dress.

Yes. She picked out a dress, and would have had a couple of denim skirts if my budget would've allowed it.

And she's worn that dress twice already - once to school, and yesterday to church. Both times it was her idea. She had shorts on underneath, naturally, but still. A. DRESS.

Today? She's wearing a skort she picked out on Saturday. Not quite a dress, but it's halfway to being a skirt! And her hair is done today as well. I think she only allowed it because I told her it was Lucy's hairstyle in The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. I really must try replicating the hairstyles of more of her favorite movie characters.

So there you have it. My daughter, the enigma wrapped in a mystery.

I don't know what has gotten into her, but she can prove me wrong like this anytime.