story of the fish

If you were wondering about the fish in my title box that I recently changed, then here is the story. If you weren't wondering, then here is the story.

For those of you that don't know, I like to change things up every once in awhile. And right now I love this deep eggplant purple. [And yes, we are just now finishing up painting all the rooms in our home and I'm wondering why this color did not make an appearance anywhere?! Oh well, my fickle mind will change again soon]. I also like fall and its colors. Thus the orange. So then I began hunting amongst my millions of pictures for a picture that incorporated one of these two colors. And I came across the photo I snapped a few Christmases ago of STRIPE.

My nephew, Hawkins, had recently gotten Stripe and wanted us to be introduced. Hawkins also thought it necessary that I take several pictures of Stripe, and that I be photographed with Stripe. [He is a budding young photographer, isn't he?]But here is the real kicker-- he wanted me to video tape him telling stories about Stripe's day. He is pretty creative with the ideas he has for Stripe's future.

After remembering how excited he got about his fish, I thought it was the perfect picture to adorn my blog. Because it really is the little things that matter.

AND-- for you faithful first followers, you may remember the reason my blog is entitled "words that sing." It came from a piece of writing from the poet Neruda and in that writing it said: it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop... Vowels I love...They glitter like colored stones, they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread, metal, dew...I run after certain words...I catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish,...And then I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them, I let them go...Everything exists in the word...They are very ancient and very new....

I know it isn't silver, but once I remembered that connection I knew the picture was perfect for right now :) And that is the story of the fish.

poetry

I love poetry and for that I know I am a rare breed. In it I find words to put to my messes of thoughts. There is a song I currently love by Sarah Bareilles with the line: I've got a thick tongue, brimming with the words that go unsung... And for me, when I find a poem that sings the words I want to but can't quite place, I get so excited I just can't contain myself. I have watched my husband jump out of his seat while watching a KU basketball game and pump a fist high in the hair while shouting; this is how I feel when I read a good line of poetry.

So it did not come as a shock to me when a fellow language arts teacher friend of mine [yes, that is her official title] and I were in a store [anthropologie, to be exact! great store] that primarily sells overly priced, trendy clothing and vintage-type [overly priced] decorations and we gravitated to one of the few books that were interspersed throughout. We each picked up a copy and then forgot the other person existed for almost an entire ten minutes. Finally we pulled ourselves away from the pages and looked at each other with that knowing "i-have-to-own-this-book-i-don't-care-how-much-it-costs-it-smells-good-it-is-beautiful-and-don't-let-people-fool-you-teachers-make-enough-money-to-splurge-every-once-in-awhile" look. [What? You don't know the look I'm talking about? Ask an English teacher near you.]

Anyway, the "book" is actually a journal of sorts entitled "The True and the Questions." It is created and written by Sabrina Ward Harrison [whom I had never heard of but the blurb on the front says she has three books of poetry. I will include their titles here in case any of you have started a list of Christmas possibilities for me ;) : Spilling Open, Brave on the Rocks, and Messy, Thrilling Life.] Anyway, fellow language arts teacher friend and I decide that we could buy one another the book, as an early birthday present for each of us [to justify actually spending money on ourselves...yes, we understand what actually happened]. Since that time we have been emailing and messaging one another lines from the book. She even used some of the prompts for a writing activity in her classroom and, if I am brave enough to explore that territory with my students one day, I will too.

Here is a recent poem I stumbled upon on one of the pages:

life is a growing expedition
through the tangled and unfilled-in parts.
What happens after age nine?
Because of the fear we don't trust
our own life?
our own story?
our colors?
To be afraid and leap regardless
there is such power in that.

to live into the questions of our lives
when nothing feels clear.
We have this chance to do absolutely
anything,
to reach out to another,
vulnerable and true.

to dance on the roof in euphoria
to pray into the ocean and let go.
We have this chance every moment
to be alive and give to this world,
which needs each one of us.

We must show up for our own life
Be brave
Be messy
Be loud
Be strong
Trust yourself.

Okay, so I don't know if you had a jump-out-of-your-chair-and-pump-your-fist-in-the-air reaction to that poem like I did. I just feel like right now this poem speaks volumes of the fears and questions I have about where I am currently. My life is still unfilled-in. There are still SO many questions. But like the poem says, I want to LIVE INTO THOSE QUESTIONS...be AFRAID AND LEAP REGARDLESS.

God will provide my daily bread...but I must do the leaping.

our house

I don't have time to do an extensive tour of our new home, but will show you the kitchen for now. There is still some work we want to do [tile the countertop and extend one section out for a barstool area], but we are very proud of our progress so far. We have gotten A LOT done since we got the keys June 11th. We have had a ton of help and are so thankful. We have one bedroom left, and then we'll focus on our mudroom and landscaping.

So for now...here is our kitchen before and after:

This was taken day one or two. That is kitchen carpet folks. And wallpaper [no offense, Kelly :)]

Please note the built in desk and shelving on the left [that will soon be gone]

Grandma and I had the idea to tear out these cabinets that separated the kitchen area from the dining area; you couldn't even see someone if they were standing in the kitchen and you were on the other side. So Grandpa and Uncle Kirby went to work and....

I can't believe how much BIGGER the kitchen feels! By July we had the cabinets down, the walls painted, and Grandpa m.e.t.i.c.u.l.o.u.s.l.y. patched the ceiling and wall where the existing cabinets had been
Then we hired a lot of help to paint the cabinets. Oh my goodness this is a process! Here is Hawkins :) Our parents helped a TON as well
And Grandpa [see a pattern? Grandpa has put more hours into this house than anyone! He's incredible...and talented] closed the cabinet back up and it looks as if there was never a gaping hole! :)

Once the cabinets were painted this beautiful turquoise [my favorite color in the whole house!], and all the ugly, sixties, bronze hardware was changed, and we hung the cabinet doors back up [which was a NIGHTMARE because the 1/10th of an inch of paint on the edges made them not want to close...Grandpa to the rescue... after a day and a half we had all the doors hung back up], it was time to start on the floor. We started by tearing up the nasty carpet, and were left with this linoleum.

Brent and Beck went to work...

And by the end of the day...
[and yes folks, that is GREEN carpet!]

We had a beautiful laminate floor laid that resembles slate. We LOVE it.

And now we have a fantastic kitchen [counter tops coming soon], and are happy with the way it all turned out. Brent trusted my color palate, and allowed me to test some pretty bold colors!

Notice something different on the left?! This is the FANTASTIC pantry that my Uncle Kirby [with the help of my Grandpa] built for us. We tore out the existing desk, which opened up the kitchen even more, and decided to build a pantry. Kirby went to work and in a day and half...poof! A custom built, fantastic pantry and additional storage [I have SO much storage in this house!!]. When we tile the countertops we will also tile the buffet on the pantry.

Eventually I have a vision to tear out the windows here and put in french doors that lead out into our wonderful backyard. But...that will take a little time. We also have our eye on some different lighting, but will wait a little while for that as well.

And there you have it folks. It has taken many hours and a lot of help, but that is a peek into our kitchen, the first room of many we have been working on.

what's in a record?

What is in a record? Blood. Sweat. Tears.

Yes. All those cliche nouns people say make up sports.

Sacrifice. Hard work.

Very true.

But there is so very much more that goes into every season; so very much more that, to the untrained eye, is not represented by a team's record.

Last night my girls ended their season in a triple overtime game in the bottom of the tenth inning. Their season record: 17-6. As we packed up the equipment and the girls gave one another teary hugs, I couldn't help but remember seven years ago when I was doing the same.

It's hard to explain to someone who has never been a part of a sport's team exactly what that 17-6 represents for a player.It is more than wins and losses. It is more than proof of how many games were played. It stands for more than showing a winning or losing season.

It can also be deceiving, for although the first number stands for games won, it doesn't always represent a happy ending. Many times, though a win was achieved, the seven innings it took to accomplish that feat were painful, even ugly at times, and not a showcase of the team's true talent. And on the flip side, the number representing losses might also stand for proud moments of endurance or late game rallies that barely fell short but left heads held high. Sometimes though, as we proved last night, a number on the left may stand for a game of ten innings- scratching, clawing, pulling one's teammates to the finish the line.

But what is often missed in the record by those looking from the outside is the dash. For the dash in between the wins and losses is what has made athletes come back to the game since competition was first invented centuries and centuries ago.

The dash, deceiving in its inconspicuous size and placement, is the heart of an athlete. It is the practices in the summer, sweat trickling on tanned skin. It is hearing your friends shouting and splashing at the pool across the street while you do one more push up for an overthrown ball. It is weight lifting in a gym with no air conditioning to be half a second faster and capable of throwing the ball harder than your opponent. The dash is staying after school day after day to practice, sometimes wondering what it feels like for your classmates who get to be home before 5:30 or 6 every night. It is setting up the pitching machine, filling up the water jug, and running three laps around the field. It is taking a ball to the shin, face, arm, gut, or ankle, and waiting with anticipation for the bruise to show up. It is dirt in your shoes, clothes, hair, fingernails, car and room for four months. It is laughter at practice while a teammate imitates the coach. It is a joke at the mound to relieve tension. It is 123 bags of sunflower seeds.

The dash is also laughter, frustration and tears with teammates, high fives and pranks. The dash is bus rides and sandwiches and fudge rounds and capri suns and grapes. It is giving up Saturdays for a tournament that requires you to wake up at 6:30. It is scars on your knees when you're in a dress on the homecoming court. It is a prayer before games, hands held in nervous anticipation. It is breaking from a huddle, thundering "ALL HEART!" for the other team to hear. It is lucky underwear and superstitions, and the school song sung off key.

The dash is a community that believes in you and follows your games and cheers you on. It is parents who leave work early, make food, cheer the loudest, and bring you your cleats you left at home. It is a loyal fan who comes to every practice and beats the bus to every game. It is catchers and pitchers who get to practice early and stay late to throw more pitches and work on their rise ball. It is wanting to win a game for your coach who has stuck by your side since t-ball and taught you fundamentals. It is blisters and bruises and smiles and small victories that the crowd doesn't see. It is a crucial steal to second, and a beautiful slide into home. It is a diving catch, or a routine play at first.

You see, the dash is what distinguishes the athletes. It is the dash that creates a team and it is the dash that teaches respect. It's the dash that made me want to be a part of a team again and makes players wish they could all make it to the pros. It is the dash that will be remembered well after the wins and losses are forgotten.

So what is in a record?

It's hard to explain unless you've put on the helmet and pulled up your sliders. If you haven't spit dirt out of your mouth after a slide, or caught a pop fly against the fence, ran so hard and fast that you broke another new pair of cleats, or hit a double on a full count than you may look at the dash between our 17 and our 6 and not know all that it contains.

17-6.

What a story it tells.

Remembering

At the time eleven years felt like an eternity. After all, I was only 13 so 11 years was most of my life time. I do remember thinking about that at the funeral: Eventually will I forget all of this? Will I forget him?

However, the remembering tends to be clearer after eleven years.

Eleven years ago today Sgt. Bob Kimberling was killed in the line of duty as a highway patrolman. Eleven years. Last year reflected on this event as well.

It has been a little different for me this year though. Most of you know that Brent and I moved back home this summer. For those of you that don't know though, we bought the house that Bob and his wife Kelly used to own before moving. I have had several people ask me things like, "Is it/was it difficult to move in because of the emotional connection to the house and the memories it would stir up?" But I think Kelly said it best after visiting one afternoon, "They are all happy memories here."

This past week we discovered we have two hot water heaters. One is underneath our house in a crawl space. This heater was leaking water and we had to shut it off, which left us with hot water only in one end of the house. The bathroom we normally use is currently not receiving hot water, which means we are having to shower in the other, smaller bathroom. Why do I tell you this? Because every time I use that bathroom I think of Bob. And I am happy.

I think of him walking into the mudroom in his uniform, and slipping back into the little bathroom to wash up and change into his "regular clothes." I think of his life, and not of October 6th.

Many other memories have come crashing to mind unexpectedly since we purchased the house. As Brent and I moved our bed into the master bedroom I instantly recalled getting spanked by Bob in that same room. As I folded towels and put them in the closet in the bathroom I remember countless happy pre-bedtime baths with his daughters when we were little. When we were trying to figure out how to use the attic fan, my dad took the styrofoam cover off the slatted opening, and he immediately called mom and I over and pointed out the custom-Bob-made hooks that held it in place. Bob's ingenuity never ran dry. And just two days ago when mom [yes, my mom], Brent, and Beck had to crawl under the house to check out the leaking water heater, I remembered the time that Bob gave the four of us girls our own flashlights and we got to crawl under the house with him. Going on an adventure with Bob, or helping him work, was always a treat.

So no, it's not sad. Being in the house is one of the best ways to remember Bob. And I know he would be proud of Brent and me for purchasing it and working on it, and making it our home now.

It wouldn't be fair if I said there weren't also moments of sadness. I wish he could come and have a cup of coffee at the kitchen table with me. I wish he could explain to Brent how he put new belts on the attic fan when needed. I wish he could see the new carpet we laid and laugh about the old, green carpet we tore up.

When I was watering our new grass in the front yard yesterday, I thought of the story that the picture above represents. The picture at the top is obviously of Bob, with his genuine smile and hospitality in his eyes. However, the "medal" to the left of the picture is its own story. It is a medal that I made for Bob when I was probably 5, after he played a vital role in capturing an escaped convict from a local prison. The whole town knew of the escape and was buzzing. Bob and Dad were called out and so Mom, Kali and I walked across the street to the brick house on the corner. The four of us girls played in the front yard while Mom and Kelly kept tabs on what was happening from the front porch. Eventually we found out that Bob had found the man, and the four of us girls shouted in joy! I wanted to make Bob a medal...because after all he certainly deserved one. I found some purple yarn and asked mom for some tin foil, and in my young handwriting drew a picture that represented the story in my innocent mind: Bob is standing next to a bush, under which the escaped man is laying on top of his bright orange jumpsuit, trying to avoid being seen.

From the time I gave it to him until Kelly passed it on the my dad, it hung proudly from Bob's dresser mirror.

-**-**-**-

I think of what the writer Sharon Dubiago once said, "My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write."

Though I could write memories and heartache, I can't capture it all. But I think that is okay too.

On October 6th, 1999, Bob was killed. I would be lying if I said I never asked, why. However, I don't believe that what happened that day was the active wrath of God: I don't believe God took Bob that day, but I do believe He welcomed him.

And now I am making peace in living with the "remembering."

The Lord gives and takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

And I believe that with Bob, the Lord mostly just gave.

one of those moments

So I currently have 5 minutes of my lunch break left and am shoveling down pasta I made last Saturday afternoon in a few moments of freedom. It was after a JV softball tournament in the rain which was after a week of homecoming festivities. Little did I know then.

I have not had time to make a meal since. Sunday Kali arrived and so did practice [unusual for a Sunday but you'll understand why we had to on a Sunday in a moment]. So did cleaning for Caroline's big first birthday that would be at my house [which I couldn't attend which you'll understand why in a moment].

Monday came and so did a meeting in the morning and away Varsity and JV softball games. I made it back in time to see the tissue paper being put away and the dishes being done after Caroline's party.
Last night were more away games and I made it home in time to jump through the shower, throw in a load of laundry, not see Kali, Caroline, or Aunt Linda, and crash in bed.
This morning I had a faculty meeting and we have another away game tonight.
We have a home game tomorrow and a tournament on Saturday. [My softball girls are 14-2]

I haven't used the restroom since 6:45 this morning, I have bandaids on my toes to prevent blisters, and a student just asked me last hour, "Have you graded our personal narratives yet?"

I didn't slap him because I'm a professional.

breathing

I have been driving away from home for a long time. 6 years. It started the fall of my freshman year of college and continued through last spring.

I hated it. I hated driving the turns and curves knowing I was driving away from the land that made me. So, over the 6 years I built up a pretty thick wall. I taught myself how to not think, how to hold my breath in those moments of leaving. Eventually this spilled over into the driving-towards-home. I didn't let it sink in because if I did the driving-away would cut that much more.

So I stopped breathing and kept driving.

Last weekend I made a quick and last-minute trip to visit a friend up north. She was stressed, I was stressed; grades were due for her, grades were due for me; and we both thought what the heck! Better to be stressed and grading in the company of a good friend than alone! So I threw a few things in a bag, filled my car with gas, and headed down the road.

This road was the road that led me to college for four years. A road that had mixed and blurred the lines of happiness and sadness.

But as I drove I looked at the land. Bright, golden yellow wild flowers sprinkled the ditches like a tube of spilled glitter. The trees , holding onto the last summer green of their branches, painted shadows on the pavement before me like a carpet. Cows munched grass in the pastures, not caring that I drove so close to their fence rows. A gust of wind swept through the hills and the cattails, standing like soldiers, bent in its power.

And I breathed it all in. Through my mouth. Through my nostrils. Through my heart.

I breathed it all in because as I felt the beauty of the land curving and dipping beneath me I knew I would be returning. The past tense WAS and the present tense IS blurred together. This was my home. This is my home.

I will continue breathing in the land that made me and let it become the land that is making me still.

oh me oh my

Remember my resolutions back in the blistering cold of January?

Yeah...apparently neither do I. In my defense, on January 16th when I wrote these I did not realize that over the next 7 months my life would change drastically and become busier than it ever was before. However...I do realize that is justification. So, mainly for me, here my update on my new year's resolutions:

1. I want to get to know Jesus again. I mean, I know him, and love him, but I want to get back to the point in our relationship where I always feel his presence. I just feel like I've been missing him recently. [And yes, this is the one resolution that is NOT in random order. This is number 1 for 2010]. Okay. This is difficult. I kept this resolution... until May. And then when life got the craziest, and when I should have been seeking Him the most, I let the ball drop. Brent and I are also still trying to find a church here where we can really get plugged in and find community amongst peers our age. Not having a church home yet is really having a toll on both of us, and the post-Southeast mindset is difficult to overcome. However, we are praying and know that God will be faithful. But church or no church, I need to make time for Jesus again. No excuses.

2. Do something intentionally everyday that is completely, and unselfishly for Brent. I want to have a more serving heart, and this is where I feel it needs to start. This could be a variety of things: buy pineapple [he loves it, I don't], write him a note to find in the morning,wash and fold his clothes AND put them away without being slightly upset that he didn't help with one of the steps...etc. He is the most selfless and serving person I know and I feel so loved by the ways he serves me daily. He deserves the same. And my heart will be better for it. Oh goodness gracious. 0 for two. I have bought an occasional pineapple or gallon of ice cream for him and written an occasional note...but... It's so difficult to intentionally step outside of myself on a daily basis. I will work on this one too.

3. Stop thinking about where I want to be and live where I'm at. No matter where I'm at. This is something I've written about before, and something that I struggle with a lot. Ever since I began college this has been difficult for me, and after every change I regret the way I lived in the places I was placed. Yesterday I had a brief meltdown about my time here in Louisville...crying out of sheer frustration with myself for not investing more. A friend told me that those are tears of unexpected blessings...I didn't expect to be blessed by living here. I just started reading "Faithful Women and Their Extraordinary God" [from the same friend who told me the previous statement], and in the introduction the author says, "[We often] just sit and wait for "normal" life to resume. Don't we sometimes feel we are treading water until our "real" life and ministry begin?" Thus this resolution. I don't want to tread water any more, no matter where life brings me next. Oh how prophetic this resolution...if only I knew where life would take me next. I have often thought of this in my time here. I am trying to dig deep where I've been planted, and as you have read previous posts I have again struggled with change. I am determined to not let it own me. I feel like in the last few months of our time in Louisville, I did invest as much as I could. I even took a brief trip back in July and I have been intentional about keeping up with the relationships there. But now, I am HERE. And I am trying my best to live here and be here. Not treading water anymore.

4. This is post number 247 since I began blogging. My fourth resolution is to have written at least 500 by the time 2011 rolls around. I want these resolutions to be realistic, and realistically I will not be able to write everyday. So, 253 posts this year seems more doable. 2 days ago I said that writing is cathartic for me, and it truly is. So I want to do it more. I also think that the more I write the better I will become at writing. Like I always tell my students, "If you write everyday you get better at writing everyday." If I expect this of them, I should do this myself. So I want to "become big and write with the whole world in my arms." I think you can be the judge of my failure on this one... will work on it, but it will require my life to slow down a bit.

5. This is connected to number 2: wanting to have more of a servant's heart. I want to go on a service project or mission trip this year. Whether that means going downtown to help out at a soup kitchen or going overseas to help build houses or love on orphans, I want to be available. This was in the works in Louisville...our small group committed to doing a "fourth saturday serve" [every fourth saturday] somewhere in Louisville. And then we moved. Lame. Any suggestions?

6. I want to complete p90x. Last summer Brent and I started, if you remember, what I deemed "the devil's workout." But I felt so healthy. It is not a workout to necessarily lose weight, but to build muscle and strength and endurance. Something I have missed since my days of high school basketball. We are wanting to start at the beginning of February, and I want to finish this time. [Last time Brent hurt his shoulder about 45 days into it, and without him to help me stay motivated I stopped.] HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Nope. [Sidenote: Brent is doing fantasic with this one! :)]

7. I want to be less of a budget nazi. See post from a few days ago if you have not been introduced to this alter ego of mine. This doesn't mean that I still don't want to be frugal and wise with our money; I believe that is biblical. I just don't want to feel controlled by it, because that is NOT biblical. I want to find the balance. [Soon I will write about my first step in this process]. Okay...I actually feel like I have done a good job on this one!!! YAY for the first resolution I feel I have actually accomplished! I don' t know if this was intentional or if buying a new house just automatically forces you to loosen the purse strings, but I'm slowly finding balance. I think part of this stems from me realizing how crazy I am/was [the budget nazi me is a real deal!], and the other part stems from me wanting to make this place a home for us. I also realized that we have a savings account so that when our blue car poops out we can actually replace it without going into debt. Even though it means taking some money from savings, we are okay. I am proud of how much we have been able to do and how we haven't gone into debt [except our house loan...obviously, I mean, come on people!]. And before you think I've totally gone off my rocker you should still know that I haven't gone completely crazy--- I mean, I still tear my gum in half pieces so that the pack lasts longer :) [Oh and the first step was that Brent and I bought tickets back home to see Paige and Torri on the courtwarming court...it was a surprise for them and worth every penny!]

Well... as you can all see... I have failed miserably. I will get to work on this. I promise you.

And a mini update:
- my softball girls are 11-2. Awesome.
- I have roughly 45 minutes of free time a day [if you count eating free time].
- school is going fairly well. I'm getting in the routine of having three different classes more and more. I still miss my community at my old school every day, but I still enjoy teaching none-the-less.
- Brent is still liking his job.

Now, if you don't mind, I have some resolutions to attend to. Have a great weekend!

how to..

...clean a car the way my mother taught me. [Be sure you have set aside at LEAST 4 hours.]

1. Carry LARGE trash bag to the car and begin removing all foreign objects [shoes you wore when you were 17, granola bar wrappers from last winter, water bottles with foreign substances caked to the side, and a variety of church bulletins from 1993].

2. Leave doors open and air out the vehicle.

3. Return later with three different rags and two buckets of "as-hot-as-you-can-stand-it" water-- one with soap, and one without. You will also need a toothbrush. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a toothbrush. NEVER, EVER throw away your old brushes... they will come in handy shortly.

4. Scrub every visible and hard to reach surface with soap "as-hot-as-you-can-stand-it" water. Dip toothbrush in soapy water and scrub in the cracks.

5. Empty and renew your water frequently. Unfortunately, frequently means about every 5 minutes.

6. Be amazed at not only how long it takes you to scrub all the surfaces, but also just how much crud can hide in the crevices of your vehicle.

7. Repeat step 4 and 5 with "as-hot-as-you-can-stand-it" plain water and fresh rag. You don't want soapy residue on your dashboard, now do you?

8. While the surface is still wet from step 7, wipe off with a clean, dry rag to ensure a spotless shine. I have also found this prevents dust from settling in the future...even more than Armorall.

9. Take a break. Eat some string cheese or something equally refreshing.

10. Return to the already-fresher-smelling car with shop-vac in toe [or vacuum with various random attachments]. Begin sucking up dirt to your hearts content. Be sure to take out floor rugs and beat them 28 times each before vacuuming them. Lean seats forward. Vacuum. Lean seats backwards. Vacuum. Vacuum some more. Be so sick of vacuuming that you must be finished.

11. With what little strength you have left, clean the windows on the INSIDE. This requires leaning awkwardly over seats and steering wheels and hoping the neighbors aren't looking.

12. Take it to the car wash and wash the outside because, Lord help us all, we don't have the kind of strength required to wash the outside by hand at this point.

13. Be amazed at how new your car looks, and remember to save your toothbrush.

13b. Notice on the way to work the next day that you didn't get the inside windows very clean in your famished state and be very discouraged that you have to return to the beast again.

on headbands, cooler weather, three day weekends, and a bed in the living room. [But mostly on headbands]

Let me just say this: We slept with the windows open last night and Brent said this morning, "I think it may have gotten just a little bit too cold last night." What a beautiful statement. I love fall. One of my rather eccentric, loveable, and talkative 8th graders started class today by saying, "I woke up to a beautiful day for a football game. 10% chance of cloudiness with a slight breeze. So come on out to the game tonight but remember to bring a light jacket or hoody, and there is a slight chance the bugs may be out a little so wear jeans too. 100% chance for a win." [Seriously, he said that...in a weatherman voice. It was quite funny.] So yes, I'm excited that fall may be knocking at my door, that it's football season, that my students have the ability to make me laugh, and for LABOR DAY WEEKEND! Beautiful.

And, Brent and I got new carpet which is exciting, but have yet to move our bed back to our bedroom. So we have been lounging on it in the living room and think it's quite possibly the best thing ever. We may leave it for awhile.

However, and that is a big however, I am getting slightly tired of wearing headbands. For you gentlemen reading this, please don't take it the wrong way when I say: you have NO IDEA what it is like. "Torturous" comes to mind as a word to describe it.

Now you are most likely thinking, "Then don't wear a headband...problem solved." Problem NOT solved. If you don't remember or never knew, I lost my brain at the beginning of June and chopped off nearly a FOOT of hair. That's a lot of hair for anyone, but especially for a girl that has never had a short haircut. The night of the haircut was awful. I held in the tears for a long time, tried styling it multiple ways for a couple hours, and then finally crashed in a defeated heap on the couch. The first commercial that came on had a girl with long hair ... and I broke into a puddle of tears. Poor Brent.

Anyway... that was 3 months ago. I can finally, FINALLY, pull it very tightly into an-almost-not-there-ponytail. However, this requires at least 6 bobby pins and a headband. If I don't wear it in a ponytail, I still must use multiple bobby pins and still must wear a headband because it is in a horrible "in between" stage...or as Brent would say, "tweener stage." [Sidenote: this word was created when we were engaged. He said we were in between dating and marriage...we were tweeners.] Now, for you women that have ever had a short haircut, and then decided to grow it out, you know the agony that this can cause. Well because of the choppy layers and my curly mane, a headband has become a staple.

Now, for those of you that have never taken the time to actually examine a headband, please take a moment to do so now:
You may be distracted by the shiny colors, or the bow adorning the top, but what I really want you to look at is the bottom...the ONE INCH space. Now, please put your hands just below your ears on both sides of your head. Now, without moving them closer together, move your hands in front of you. I don't know about you, but the space between my forefingers is at least 4 inches, if not more...and it is DEFINITELY NOT the same space as in the picture above. So you may now understand my daily discomfort. [I did find some headbands that are much softer at Kohl's, and they have helped... but still... ]

So whoever invented headbands and thought that the human head is the size of a ping pong ball..you were sadly very, very mistaken. It may be safe to say: I hate you.

The good news in all of this is, my hair is getting longer by the day and I can get in a ponytail, even if the ponytail requires a headband and causes others to giggle.