An Eventful and Expensive Monday

In the mornings I always sit on the screened porch in front of our house and watch the kids until they catch the bus. Monday at 6:40 a.m. I was sitting there as usual, calmly reading my devotional book, when my oldest daughter came running back from the bus stop.

She was holding something in front of her with both hands, way out from her body, and the kid I call Crutches Boy was trailing her. (I call him Crutches Boy because he had a broken leg at the beginning of the school year, and I don’t know his actual name. He is not currently on crutches, however, so it’s a bit of a misnomer, I guess.)

I sighed and got up, slipping on my shoes to cross the yard and say, “Okay, what nasty thing are you bringing home NOW?” As you might guess from that statement, she has a history of bringing home nasty things. We won’t go into that now. (And I hope poor Crutches Boy didn’t think I meant him. Whoops.)

She said, all in a rush, “Mom, it’s a hurt kitten; I think it was hit by a car.” Crutches Boy bobbed and hovered behind her.

I could see that it was indeed a kitten. It had a little spot of blood on its nose, but it looked okay from the front other than that. I said, “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Take it to the vet or something!” she said.

I sighed and said, “Just put it down and go catch your bus.” I knew the middle school bus was due any minute. When she set the kitten down in front of the house I saw that from the back it was definitely not okay. Its poor little tail had been stripped somehow; it was nothing but bone and blood. It lay down on the porch and looked pitiful. Well, I couldn’t just LEAVE it there, could I? I went to get a towel or something to wrap it in.

I went into my younger daughters’ room --they were still sleeping-- and said, “Wake up girls! I need your help with something.” As might be expected, the response to THAT statement was unenthusiastic mumbling muffled by pillows. I added what I knew would get them moving.

“Your sister found a kitten.”

Two heads popped up and they both bounded from bed. I told them it was on the front porch and I followed them out with the towel. When we all came out the poor kitten was re-energized by fear and tried to run away. It was quickly caught and wrapped in the towel. We brought it inside, and I set the girls on the tasks of comforting it and seeing if it would take some milk from an eyedropper.

While that was going on, my cell phone started buzzing. There were two new messages. My oldest daughter was texting from the bus. “kitten?” and “wat happened”

I texted back “kitty ok,” and took a picture of her sister holding it to send her.

My phone buzzed again. “can we keep it” she was asking. I answered that one with the classic “we’ll see.” Momspeak is good in text language too!

Then she texted me again. “it’s name is bunny” At the same time, her sister was saying, “We should call it Lucky!” I decided to table that discussion for later.

In the meantime, I was trying to look up a vet in the yellow pages. It looked like an animal hospital was in order, and I found one that was nearby. I also found a cardboard box left from last week’s trip to Costco to transport the kitten.

Once the kitten was in the box, I told the girls to get their clothes on and get ready to catch their bus. I went to get the twins up. I was already exhausted and it was only about 7:05 a.m.!

By the time my daughters boarded the bus to elementary school, I was in the car with the twins and the kitten in its box. I followed the bus out of the neighborhood and headed out.

Weirdly, the animal hospital was right next door to the “Hawaii Sperm Bank.” I didn’t know they were even really CALLED sperm banks! I thought that was just on TV or something; in real life shouldn’t they be called infertility clinics or something! That distracted me for a minute, but then the task of getting into the door of the animal hospital claimed all my attention.

Maneuvering an injured animal in a cardboard box, along with a double stroller that’s just a SMIDGE too wide for the average doorway takes a lot of concentration. After a while one of the ladies behind the desk took pity on me and came to help hold the door.

I explained why I was there and they called for a someone to come “assess” the kitten. They asked me, “Are you willing to adopt this animal as your own?” That seemed a little formal. Was I taking some sort of vow? I said okay.

A lady in scrubs came out and looked in the box. She said they would take a look at the kitten in the back and then come out and tell me what it needed.

Then the lady behind the desk gave me some forms to fill out “as best I could.” She asked me if we had a name for it. I said, “That’s under a bit of a dispute.” Personally, I thought Bunny was a stupid name for a cat. I mean, you don’t call your dog “Horsey,” you know?

I texted my daughter, since it was still before eight and I knew she’d keep her phone on until school started. “your sister wants to call it lucky,” I told her.

Quick as a flash, the answer came back, “too bad I saved it,” and then a moment later, “it’s name is bunny!!!!!!!!!!” I sighed and wrote “Bunny” on the form.

While I waited for the doctor to come speak to me several people came in with animals. One lady came in with a young Dalmatian that had a cone on its head. It really wanted to smell everything in the room, but its nose was just a little shorter than the cone, so it just kept clunking the edges of its cone into everything it wanted to sniff, making the sound a plastic cup hitting a table makes. The twins were pretty entertained by this, yelling, “Doggy!” periodically. Someone else had a little Yorkie and a baby in a carrier. The twins added an occasional yell of “Baby!” to the conversation.

Another lady came in with a bunny in her purse. There was discussion at the desk over this, because the rabbit specialist wasn’t in that day. (I’m like, There’s a bunny SPECIALIST? Aren‘t veterinarians supposed to be able to take a lizard/a chicken/a pig/a frog all in the same day, like Kramer said on Seinfeld? I feel so disillusioned!)

While that was going on, lady in scrubs came out and said, “Bunny?” Dalmatian Lady and I pointed at the purse on the desk. She looked in the purse and then said, “No, I mean the kitten NAMED Bunny.”

So I had to say, “Oh. That’s me.” You see! This is EXACTLY why I didn’t want to name the thing Bunny in the FIRST place! Now I look like a moron in front of the veterinarian.

She told me Bunny needed his tail amputated. (And that he was a he, by the way.) This seemed reasonable to me, until we discussed how much it would COST to amputate the tail! Animal surgery is just as complicated as people surgery apparently! But at this point, I felt like I was committed. Especially since I’d vowed I would adopt the animal for my own. So I said go ahead and do the blood work, and the x-rays, and the surgery, AND the overnight stay.

I also went to Wal-Mart and picked up a litterbox and food for when Bunny comes home. The expenses are mounting up already! (The twins thought the cat food might be for them.)

Like I told my husband later, once I picked up the injured kitten in a towel, I was pretty much stuck with footing the bill for him. But my husband suggested the name “Stumpy” or “Money Pit” might be more appropriate than “Bunny.” We’ll see…

Okay, so here's Bunny, groggy from surgery and wearing a cone on his poor little head. I hope other cats don't have internet access to see this or he will be SO embarrassed! But seriously, how could I have resisted this face!

I Had A Bad Day, and Daniel Powter Didn't Sing About It Either

I had a bad morning yesterday.

Yes, I know my pretty rainbow picture above doesn't really fit that statement, but it's of the military hospital that will feature later in my story. It's one of the funny things about living in Hawaii, you're living in a beautiful tropical environment, so even the bad days look pretty.


Well, I guess it wasn’t THAT bad of a day; everyone is still alive and all. But still…

I had to take the twins in for their two-year-old check-up. Yeah, I know their birthday was a month ago. I didn’t remember to call for an appointment until the day they turned two, and this was the soonest they had at the military hospital here.

I remember when I had that first child and I was so diligent about getting her check-ups as close to her actual birthday as possible. I also disinfected her pacifier every time she dropped it. Things change, okay?

So I was heading up to the military hospital yesterday. It is absolutely HORRIBLE to go there by the way. The place is a giant maze on a hill with not nearly enough parking. I’ve started just going directly to the farthest parking lot from the building and then heading for the grass and packed-dirt field behind it, because that’s always the only parking left. Then there’s the long walk uphill through three parking lots pushing a double stroller, as a lovely prelude to taking two different elevators and heading to the very back of the hospital to reach the pediatric clinic.

So I thought I’d get a diet coke on the way there to fortify myself for this journey. I took the back way instead of the interstate so I could go past the McDonald’s that has $1 any-size drinks. That’s a good deal anywhere, but here in Hawaii it’s particularly good.

So as I cruised along down the four-lane road on my way to McDonald’s, a police car came up behind me with his light flashing. I pulled over slightly to let him pass me, and he pulled up next to me and said to pull over all the way in the grassy area across the street.

I was like, “Me? He’s after ME?”

I pulled over in the grassy area he indicated, which by the way was someone’s YARD. It was a yard full of parked and/or abandoned cars, in front of a house that strongly resembled a doublewide, but still. Do these people not MIND the police giving out tickets right in front of their door? Or maybe they’ve worked out a deal…. hmmmm…

He said I was going fifty miles an hour, while showing me the readout on his radar gun said “50.” Did I mention this was a four-lane highway? I think fifty is pretty okay; I’d figured the speed limit was fifty-five or forty-five.

I asked what the limit was. He said, “Twenty-five.”

I said, “TWENTY-FIVE?! Are you kidding?!”

The policeman was not interested in chatting about this. He took my license and went back to his car.

Baby Girl said, from the back-seat, “Bye-bye!” in her cheerful voice.

I was like, “I WISH, Baby Girl.”

So while he filled out the ticket --of COURSE I was getting a ticket; he wouldn’t spend all that time writing for a warning-- I had plenty of time to berate myself. “You wouldn’t be IN this mess if you didn’t have to get a diet coke,” I told myself. Myself answered defensively, “Oh, so now it’s a CRIME to want a carbonated sugar-free beverage in the morning?”

I did not, as you notice, berate myself for speeding. Because I wasn’t! Who would go twenty-five on a huge highway like this? People were zooming past us like crazy as we sat there. I could hear someone inside the house watching TV. Yes, I was THAT close to these people’s house. I hoped none of the cars I was blocking in were operable. It would really stink if someone came out of the house wanting to go to work and found me there getting a TICKET!

So finally the policeman came back to have me sign the ticket. I signed, even though I wished I had the guts to check the “Refuses to Sign” box and hand it back to him.

He said I could write a letter if I wanted, requesting a court date and telling “my side of the story.” He didn’t actually make air quote marks when he said that, but I could tell he meant them. Then he gave me my copy and left, ready to go stop another one of the poor hapless motorists breezing past us.

Baby Girl said, “Bye bye!” again.

How much was the fine, you ask?

Well, you know how things are more expensive here in Hawaii because everything has to be brought in by boat? Apparently that applies to traffic tickets too. I guess they take up a lot of SPACE on cargo ships!

It was ONE HUNDRED EIGHTY-TWO DOLLARS!

Pardon my screaming in all caps. I was having a mini heart attack typing that.

Well, I guess I saved a dollar though, since I didn’t have time to get my diet coke after all that delay.

Whoopee.

At least I made it to the appointment on time. And the twins are perfectly healthy, plus they only needed one shot this time.

So it could have been worse.

But I would have felt a lot better if I could have made the policeman come with me and push my stroller up the hill from the parking lot. While I told him “my side of the story.”

That might have been WORTH the $182!

Brooke Shields' Eyelashes

I love Brooke Shields.

And not in some weird way; I’m a married woman here, and this is a G-rated blog, remember? But I just love her. First off she’s way gorgeous, even more so now than when she was younger in some ways. Also I love how she wasn’t afraid to talk about her post-partum depression, and also how she forgave Tom Cruise for saying she was the devil for taking anti-depressants. She’s just a classy lady.

But you know how she’s been a spokesperson for that new eyelash-growing drug? I’ve seen the magazine ads: “Talk to your doctor about Latisse.” Well, obviously, I haven’t spoken to my doctor about it, but I figure it’s for people who actually have sparse lashes, like it says on the incredibly long drug information they have to waste two pages on after every prescription ad.

I mean, my lashes aren’t exactly don’t-hate-me-because-I’m-beautiful here, but they do their job; they hold mascara (when I can be bothered to put it on) and they keep junk out of my eyes. That’s what eyelashes are for, right? That, and making wishes when you blow them off your finger, but I don’t think I’ve done THAT since I was about sixteen, when I used to be a lot more diligent with the mascara.

But anyways, I was just reading a newspaper article that said lots of people --okay, let’s just call it like it is here: lots of WOMEN-- are getting prescriptions for Latisse online or at beauty salons and then having some bad side effects.

Okay. First off, if you’re getting a PRESCIPTION at a BEAUTY SALON, you have got to know there’s something wrong here!

And we all know that every drug has side effects, particularly a prescription drug, and that’s why you’re supposed to see a DOCTOR who actually EXAMINES you before you take one. I mean seriously, y’all!

So anyways… moving on here… The article said some people can be allergic to the drug and get a rash on their eyelids. And if you get that, you should stop using it. Pardon me for sounding like my 13-year-old here, but DUH!

And then they told about this lady who began to get a little rash on her eyelid, but she didn’t stop applying Latisse. Because people were complimenting her on her new “plum-colored eye shadow.” So she KEPT PUTTING THE STUFF ON HER EYELIDS.

Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh here, but come on! That’s what the two boring fine-print pages in magazines after prescription ads are all about! PLUS the little novella-size insert in the package your prescription comes in. Number one thing here: If you are allergic to the drug, STOP!!!!

So this lady thinks her rash is attractive, and she does not stop. Then the rash begins to spread, as rashes are wont to do, and she starts to get the plum-colored eye shadow UNDER her eyes. No longer so attractive, right? The Muhammad Ali look is not “in” this year. So she FINALLY stops applying the stuff.

But now, four months later, the rash is just beginning to fade. So she is all, “Boo-hoo! Why didn’t someone TELL me there were side effects?” Oh PLEASE, honey! Is it not common sense?

And THEN the article said, that in some very rare cases, Latisse can actually turn blue, green, or hazel eyes brown. PERMANETLY. And now I’m like, Ewwww….

It’s like the opposite of that old Crystal Gayle song. Sing it with me folks, “I only meant to grow a lash; I didn’t know I’d get a rash! But honey now I do, Ooooo! And don’t it make my blue eyes BROWN!”

So I guess the moral here is, read the fine print; it’s there for a reason.

Sorry, Brooke… but at least YOUR lashes look fabulous!

Sibling Love

“How good and pleasant it is when brothers and sisters live together in unity!”


This is a Bible verse (Psalm 133:1) my mother used to quote to my brother and me when we were fighting. As I read it, even now, it still sounds as if it’s being said through gritted teeth!

With my own kids, there are moments when they all are getting along and playing happily together, and this verse comes to mind. Unfortunately, these moments are rare.

A few months ago, ET, my 13-year-old daughter, was in the bathroom. In the grand tradition of teenagers, she is often in the bathroom. We are thinking of moving her bed in there.

On this particular day, GG (aged ten) started banging on the door. According to their father, the conversation went like this:

ET: Go away!
GG: But I have to GO!
ET: Use the other bathroom!
GG: Boo’s in there!
ET: Then go outside and pee on a tree, dumb-butt!

Of course, she was reprimanded for insulting her sister, and made to hurry up and get out of the bathroom. But my husband had to come and tell me about that last comment, because it’s just so typical of ET. I actually wrote that quote down because it was just ET in a nutshell.

Here's a photo of the door to her room. Enough said....

As the oldest child, she is the most responsible of all the siblings; however, she is also the bossiest. Last night she decided to clean her room. I rejoiced over this decision, since I haven’t actually seen her floor in a few months. But it was a big job, so she started looking for help.

I witnessed the following conversation in the kitchen:

ET: So…do you want to help me with something?
GG: (suspiciously) Why would I do that?
ET: I’d pay you $5.
GG: (even more suspiciously) What is it?
ET: Help me clean my room.
GG: Oh, okay!

They both went off together. ET seemed strangely cheerful about the arrangement. I thought it was nice that they were going to be working together and had come to such an amicable agreement. Since parting with $5 was involved, I should have been more suspicious.

About ten minutes later I heard screams coming from ET’s room. I sighed and called down the hallway.

Me: What’s going on back there?
ET: I fired GG!
Me: Why?
ET: She’s a lazy slacker!
GG: I am not!
ET: You’re fired! Get out!
GG: You’re a meanie!

Thus GG was ejected from the room. A few minutes later ET herself emerged, smiling sweetly at her next sister, Boo, who is seven.

ET: You want to earn $5?
Boo: Okay!

This only lasted about five minutes before Boo was back in the living room. I was surprised, mostly because no one was screaming this time.

Me: I thought you were helping ET clean her room?
Boo: I quit.
Me: Why?
Boo: She’s mean. She wanted me to do all the work and she just sat there.
GG: I know right?
Daddy: (looking up from the computer) She made YOU do all the work in HER room?
Me: She offered to pay them.
Daddy: (returning to the computer) Oh.
Boo: She said HELP her clean. She didn’t say do it ALL.
GG: I know. She’s a meanie.
Boo: Yeah.

So ET continued cleaning her room alone while her sisters watched TV in the living room.

A few minutes later one of ET’s friends showed up. She said she’d left her glasses in ET’s room during a sleepover the night before. I wished her good luck in finding anything in that room.

Then I heard the girl exclaiming over the sight of ET’s floor and went to investigate. Lo and behold! To my amazement, the floor was actually visible! And the glasses were located in a trice! I was shocked and congratulated ET on making such quick progress.

Me: Wow! Your sisters must have really helped!
ET: Yeah. But they quit so I don’t have to pay them.
Me: What?
ET: I figured if I made them do everything they’d get mad and quit. Then I wouldn’t have to pay them.
Me: (speechless)
ET: If only the babies were old enough to help…

She went back to cleaning cheerfully enough, and the room was done in about an hour. (Well, done according to her standards, meaning the mess on the floor had been moved to the dresser, the closet and the bed.) My husband and I were left to marvel at her diabolical mind.

But every once in a while, ET does get a little of her own back. I was giving the twins a bath one night last week and GG was helping me. ET came in and saw us all in there.


ET: Aw! I’ve got to GO!
GG: Go in the other bathroom.
ET: Boo’s in there!
GG: (with a big slow grin) Then go outside and pee on a tree!

She’d been waiting months to say that!

I'm Just a Girl Who Cain't Say No, Apparently

Today I got sucked in by the Dead Sea Facial guy. His name was Omar. He complimented my naturally beautiful nails, and then told me how they could look even more natural for only $49.95!



You’ve probably seen these people. They have little kiosks in malls and when you walk by they accost you with, “Can I ask you a question?”



I always say, “No thank you,” but today my resistance must have been low, because the next thing I knew Omar was massaging natural mineral oil into my right thumbnail and speaking to me soothingly in an exotic-sounding foreign accent.



Then he held my thumbnail under the light, and it was so beautiful and sparkly! And so natural-looking! I couldn’t stop looking at my beautiful thumb!



So the next thing I knew I was giving Omar fifty bucks! And part of me is going, Have you LOST your MIND?! You don’t even use the beauty products you already HAVE! But the other part of me was still saying, Oooo, pretty sparkly!



I guess I’m like a magpie with a credit card.



I should have known better than to stop and speak to this guy. I should know I have to just keep walking and ignore the sales pitches like Kate Gosselin going past the paparazzi. My problem comes when I stop and listen to them.



I never used to be like this, but lately I can’t even watch infomercials with out thinking, SHOULD I be teaching my baby to read? or Wow, that chamois cloth is really absorbent! I need that!



Fortunately, with the infomercials I don’t actually succumb, because once I’m away from the TV salesman’s mesmerizing voice I snap out of it. But in person I can’t seem to break away.



I think I need some blinders like they use for horses so I can get where I’m going in the mall and ignore the sales pitches. That or a little device with a recorded voice that says, “No thank you,” over and over while I’m walking.

And by the way, now that I’m at home my thumbnail doesn’t look nearly as good. What, does it wear off like Cinderella’s spell? Or did Omar use some special light to fool me? Oh well. Too late now. At least the special hand lotion smells nice…

What happened to my sales resistance? I don’t know. But nobody better come to my door selling vacuums today, or we are in trouble!

May 5th is Boy's Day

So in Hawaii they celebrate Boy’s Day, which is a Japanese tradition, and is now officially called Children‘s Day to be fair. But everyone still calls it Boy’s Day of course. And actually there IS a Girl’s Day, which was on March 3rd. These holidays are to celebrate the children with the giving of small toys and cards, and decorations are made and displayed: paper dolls and flowers for girls, carp banners (symbolizing healthy young boys--see photo) and kabuto (war helmets) for boys.


Hmmm… a holiday celebrated by the giving of small toys and cards… Do NOT tell Hallmark about this! Or the Wal-Mart corporation!

The first I heard of this was when Boo, my seven-year-old daughter, came home a couple of months ago and said that it was Girl’s Day at school today. She showed me a paper doll in a kimono that she’d made and said that the boys had to let the girls go first today and put up the girls’ chairs at the end of the day. She was pretty happy about it, obviously. I kind of assumed her teacher had made this up. I asked her if there was a Boy’s Day too, and she said there was, but not for two months. Boo said, very seriously, that she’d probably want to absent that day.

Her older sister confirmed that this was an actual holiday, and I looked it up online.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/230162/japanese_holidays_imported_to_the_hawaiian.html?cat=40

The article explained the history of these holidays in Japan, which was interesting, and then suggested that we in the U.S. should celebrate our children more, and focus more of our love and devotion on them, so that they would be more like Japanese children. That’s where she lost me, I have to say.

Honestly, I don’t think ANYONE lavishes more love and devotion onto their children than Americans. Many experts agree that’s the PROBLEM with American kids, that they grow up thinking they’re the center of the universe because of all the LOVE and DEVOTION they get. I mean seriously! I think there’s a little more to the success of the Japanese children than one day of celebration a year!

You know, when I was a child I asked my mom why there was no Kid’s Day. I said, “There’s a Mother’s Day, a Father’s Day, even a Grandparent’s Day. Why isn’t there a Kid’s Day?” She said, “Every day is Kid’s Day. Now go clean your room.” (I’m kidding about that last part of course. I think.)

Interestingly, my husband says he asked his mom the same thing as a kid and received the same answer! What, was it in the Parents’ Manual, Nineteen-Seventies' Edition?

But now that I’m the mom, I can see what our mothers were saying. Every day IS Kid’s Day! I mean, their meals are made for them, their clothes are washed for them, they get driven anywhere they want to go… It’s every adult’s dream!

But I do think Boy’s Day and Girl’s Day are a fun idea after all. Even if just to make the kids do something for each other, like put up the chairs at the end of the school day.

And Boo is NOT allowed to be absent tomorrow!

Retreat Weekend

So this weekend I went to a FABULOUS women’s retreat with the ladies from my Bible study group at the chapel here on post. You may ask: You live in Hawaii; you’re already in paradise! Where do you go for a retreat?


Well, I’ll tell you, it wasn’t too far of a drive! We went to the Ko’olina, which is a resort hotel (complete with a spa) on the beach about fifteen miles or so from my house. It was gorgeous there! I had a beautiful room I shared with a friend with a view of the ocean.

Here’s a picture of me relaxing in my room. HA! HA! Obviously I copied this from the Ko’olina website and that is a model. And pardon me, but who are we marketing to here, with Svetlana here in her underwear? But I digress…

We spent Friday evening with food and fellowship (is that redundant? doesn’t fellowship automatically mean food?) and then the next day we listened to a great speaker and did fun activities.

Plus I only had to worry about feeding, washing, and clothing my own self for twenty-four hours! Now you see how I was REALLY in paradise?

Friday evening we had a picinic --excuse me, thought I was Yogi Bear for a minute there; I meant PICNIC-- on the beach. I took that fabulous photo of the sunset with my cell phone.

Then we had a “pajama party” in my room with desserts. I started to miss my kids and husband as it got later…but then I saw there was chocolate pie!! …and I forgot…

On Saturday morning we woke up bright and early; breakfast was at 8:00. I wish I had taken a picture of my room and the HUGE bathroom because it was SO nice! The shower was like a big glass box; I felt like I was in one of those display cases for signed baseballs or something. It looked like you were supposed to invite people in to watch you perform The Theater of The Shower or something. Maybe if I looked like our friend Svetlana above… but obviously, I didn’t do that!

After breakfast, the first thing we did was a few icebreaker games. The first one was a purse scavenger hunt. I thought I had that one cinched, but apparently there is a bigger purse pack rat than me in our group! (A flashlight? A screwdriver? A floppy disk?! Come on!) The second game was guessing advertising slogans. My team NAILED that one! (Which does NOT mean we watch too much TV, by the way.) We all received medals made from York Peppermint Patties. Do I know their slogan? Of course! Get the sensation, right?

So I was still on a big winner’s high as the speaker, Dawn O’Brien began. She started out with a few jokes about how competitive our groups were in the games. She was right! Some of our ladies were really in a smackdown! I’m glad I wasn’t one of them…

During the opening I unwrapped my big peppermint pattie and ate it. But I’d forgotten that sometimes peppermint doesn’t agree with me. And that was a LOT of peppermint! Just as Dawn began to get to the part about her poor and tragic childhood, I started to feel sick to my stomach. Talk about getting the sensation!

Now the door of the meeting room was all the way in the front, meaning that to go to the restroom I would have to walk up in full view of everyone and exit behind the speaker. So I tried to calm my stomach down with a little mental pep talk. It will go away soon, I told myself. I never throw up, right? I asked myself. Unless I’m pregnant, I answered myself. Ha ha, I tried to reply.

Now THAT’S when I started to panic a little. Suddenly I was like, Oh NO! I’m going to throw up all over the beautifully decorated table at this Christian ladies’ conference, and then I’m going to have A SIXTH CHILD?!?! ARRRGGGHHH!!!

So I got up, hyperventilating a little, and walked briskly out the door to the restroom. Of course, the nausea passed. I did not throw up. And I am NOT pregnant. I don’t think.

When I came back in, through the front door again of course, Dawn had just finished the story of her tragic childhood. People were sniffling, kleenexes were out, and I tried to slink as quietly as possible to my seat. All the way in the back far corner.

At least I didn’t miss her salvation story, and how she became a speaker and Christian radio personality. That was the important part, right?

Well, the rest of the day was fabulous as well, with some great sharing a prayer time, and even a craft! I made a beautiful bracelet.

And when I got home, all the kids were still alive, the house was not any more trashed than it usually is at six in the evening, and my husband had made dinner! (He’d ordered pizza, but that qualifies in my book!)

All in all a WONDERFUL weekend.

Now I’ve got to check the calendar… when was my last period?