Is it too much to ask?

What I Want:

I want to see Boston in the fall.
I want to have my hair in hundreds of tiny little braids, just once.
I want to go on a girly-girl trip with my daughter to a spa.
I want to give Joss Whedon a bear hug.
I want to take a self-defense course.
I want to own every single season of "Little House on the Prairie" on DVD.
I want to go on a tornado chasing vacation.
I want to own all of Robert Sabuda's works.
I want to see the ocean from the cliffs of wherever...cliffs and ocean make a great pair.
I want to see Barlow Girl in concert with Holly.
I want to be cherished.
I want to shake Jick's hand and say "It was fun, dude."
I want my children to know and honor Jesus in their lives.
I want to see the movie version of Dean Koontz's "Intensity."
I want to see "Lo Mein" made into a movie, starring, of course, Bruce Willis.
I want to meet Madeleine L'Engle just to say "Thank you."
I want to study harmony for one hour under the Indigo Girls.
I want to take a mid-summer nap in a real hammock slung between two shady trees.
I want to learn to knit. (I tried the "How to...Dummies" book...sheesh, I'm a dumber dummy!)
I want to.... keep some wants private.

Can I pass out now?

I'm bone tired. Brad had surgery this past Wednesday, and just came home about two hours ago. Sleeping at the hospital, then driving home near midnight because I forgot Katie had an awards ceremony on Thursday, so the babysitter who was GOING to spend the night with the kids didn't, and we had to wake them up so I could take her home. I did get a good seven hours sleep Wednesday night, though, which I wouldn't have gotten sleeping on the hard hospital chairs. Wednesday, it was up, no time for shower, good thing the hospital is so freezing that I didn't sweat yesterday, wake up Olie, no really, you gotta get up, put something nice on, get Katie to school, go and help set up for the ceremony, get a seat and WAIT, take pictures of Katie, take pictures of Joseph because his mom couldn't be there and I know she scrapbooks, pictures of Carol for her mom, close-ups of Beth because Amy's digital died and she only had a non-zoomer, walk Katie back to class and speed away in the van to pick up the babysitter, drop her and Olie off and change clothes to accommodate the freezing hospital, zoom off there, get half a protein bar in me, grab a ruby red grapefruit juice in the cafeteria, hide it since Brad can only have ice, spend all day in the chair, some walking Brad around the loop, gotta go take the babysitter home, take the kids to see Brad, thank goodness for McDonalds on the way, WAIT MOMMY, MY BEAR'S SHIRT IS GONE! going back down the corridor till we found the bear's karate shirt, visit Brad, take the kids out of the room so he can try to go pee pee for the nurses, ten minutes later he still can't so I take the kids home, stopping at the grocery store for strawberries, bananas, and treats to celebrate Katie's summer birthday with her class (spend more more more time than my nerves could handle looking at labels to make sure there is no chocolate, lactose, and have not been in a ten mile radius of equipment used to process peanut), stuff them in bed, Katie has a breakdown which takes almost an hour to handle, I grab some Colby cheese, go through emails, check my friend John's blog which is still not updated, email him about strawberry pie, and hit the bed running, after downing my sleeping pill. Up this morning at sevenish, run a bath, promptly fall back asleep in bath until near eight thirty, have to wash Katie's hair, get myself dressed and tell Katie more than once that I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU WEAR, IT'S THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL! and somehow get her to school one full minute before the bell rings at 8:45. Off again to grab the babysitter, off to the hospital, grab my ruby red grapefruit juice, walk with Brad, sit down and promptly fall asleep in the hard chair, holly calls me, my phone plays "Take on Me" by A-Ha, can't get it in time, don't know how to get my messages, good thing I know Hol's number by heart, walk three loops with Brad, watch him try to eat jello and drink isopure, heh he's going home, carry two bags around my neck, one bag in right hand, stack of books and juice in left hand, and he barks out "PILLOW", nodding to his pillow that it seems he thinks I should carry (WHERE? WITH WHAT EXTRA BODY PART?) and that he can't place on his lap for the wheelchair ride home, almost strangle him, make it out to the hot van, thank you to the two teenagers in the elevator who let me go first, crank the air, go and sit and wait for Brad, take him home, trying to go easy on the bumps, get him in bed, start cleaning up the house, take babysitter home, drop off prescription, get home, clean, there's Dorothy at the door with chicken Parmesan and spaghetti, hot from the oven, and hot buttered french bread, thank God for Dorothy, rip into the dinner since I last ate sometime last night, kids love the bread, and blog for a few minutes before going to pick up prescriptions.
And so, can I pass out now? Just for a few millennia.

CH-CH-CH-CHANGES

Life's been a changin' for me. After almost seven years of staying at home, I'm signed up to be a college student in the fall. I always thought that music was the pathway I'd choose for a career, but am finding myself in love with photography and design (I still sing, though. Loudly. Boisterously.) And today, for the first time in more years than I can remember, I wore white pants.

That's right, friends, white pants. I've lost a fair amount of weight in the past year, and I actually, finally, felt comfortable wearing "color me bigger" WHITE. In fact, this morning at church, I was in the ladies room washing my hands, and as I turned to grab a towel, I glanced in the mirror and thought [WARNING: PLEASE DO NOT BE OFFENDED AT MY HONESTY, MY FRIENDS, BUT THAT IS WHAT THIS BLOG IS FOR AND THIS IS WHAT REALLY WENT THROUGH MY MIND- SLIGHTLY INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE TO FOLLOW:] "Damn, my butt looks GOOD." Call me a potty mouth. Call me egotistical. Just call me Ms. White Pants.

For so many years, I've been scared of change. But if I can wear white pants, I can do anything. With God's help I will. A young graduating lady sang this morning "Brave":
"Cause it's been fear that ties me down to everything
But it's been love, Your love, that cuts the strings
So long status quo
I think I just let go
You make me want to be brave
The way it always was
Is no longer good enough
You make me want to be brave
Brave, brave"

Those words reverberated in my head. "fear that ties me down to everything." And it has been. Scared to go back to college, even though I was a Dean's list student back when I was in college last. Scared to follow my passion and try something new. Scared to EVERYTHING.

But I can. I can FAIL, and yet not fall. I can succeed, and still change my mind. He's gonna be there, and He's promised his plans are for me to prosper, not bring me to harm. God makes me want to be brave. (So, ok, maybe the white pants weren't God's idea, but I'm tellin' ya, I haven't liked the look of my butt in a pair of pants in a long, long while.)

I do want to be brave. And Chris's message this morning, starting off talking about the choices and decisions God leaves up to us to make - that struck me, too. Because that's where I've been so scared. WHAT IF I MAKE THE WRONG DECISION? I want to be brave. And a good part of that is trusting God that IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT, even if I *do* make a wrong decision. That it's a part of learning, a part of developing wisdom, to mess up. To choose unwisely. And to think a little differently, a little more wiser, next time.

I'm looking at some tough decisions that I may be facing in the future. And I'm trusting that He'll give me the tools to be brave. In fact, I believe He already has given those tools. And I count you, my friends, among them. Thank you for listening, for making me laugh, keeping me in line, and letting me begin to reclaim ME. The loud, boisterous, singing fool with a camera in her hands. And her bottom in white pants.

Botanical Beauties!

Had a wonderful time at the Missouri Botanical Gardens yesterday. My camera, however, did not record much of the wonderful time, because after being plugged in for over a week, it only had 26 minutes of charged time. How long do lithium batteries last, anyone? We've had this camera for around five years, and lately, it just does not charge very well at ALL.
Anyway, I did get a couple pictures I liked:

MOTHER'S DAY: the Sequel

I am blessed. Beyond measure.

Yesterday morning, I was dozing, lazily, in bed while the kids were watching PBS and Brad was off to an interview. "Just a few more minutes, then I'll get up and get them ready for school." Yeah, we've all thought that, and TWENTY minutes later, I'm woken up by:
"Good morning Mommy! We made you breakfast!"

Perched on my bed are my two sweet darlings, pajamma clad, with an "All Star Sports" breakfast tray (Olie bought it at a garage sale with his own money) sandwiched between them. On the tray is a bowl of romaine lettuce, with "Goldfish" brand pretzels sprinkled in (that came from Olie's snack at church the day before), a piece of bread folded over an enormous chunk of swiss cheese, Thousand Island salad dressing, and a full glass of Kool-Aid.

My children had worked together, had COOPERATED, on a project of love for me. Now, THAT'S a perfect Mom's day present.

As I type this, my two darlings are preparing a breakfast for their father. They're trying to decide which dressing he'll like. And they've combined the rest of the hot cocoa I made them this morning into a cup for him. With a few marshmallows.

Father's Day came early this year in the Kibler household. Here's to those that make it special, to those that make us Mothers and Fathers. There should be a "Darling Daughter's Day" and "Stupendous Son's Day". Here here!

A 150ft. drop for Mother's Day!

It was quite a Mother's Day for me this year! My son planted and even started to grow a mini-rose plant for me, and my daughter, in Sunday School, insisted on making all her "handprint flowers" green, against the teacher's advice to make them more colorful, because she knows green is my favorite color. And at dinner, she saved the last bite of her pickle for me. My kids love me. In spite of me. Another reason to thank God each morning.
So... Six Flags had a special "bring a friend free" Mother's Day thing going today, but for some reason, all our kids' friends' families thought spending Mother's Day in drizzly 50 degree weather outside for six hours wouldn't be fun, so no one took us up on our offer. Too bad, poo poo on you. Cause we had a BLAST! We bundled up in layers, took our gloves and mittens (I even wore my earmuffs. So I looked like a dork. My ears were toasty) and literally walked right onto every ride we wanted. I think Katie and I waited for maybe four or five minutes to ride THE BOSS, that was the only ride with a wait.
While we were on the Boss, we saw the new Superman Tower of Power (a straight drop of 230 feet, I believe) operating, and Katie begged to go on it. My girl is crazy. So we found Dad and Olie (Olie doesn't like the fast and high rides) and went to see Katie and Daddy fall to their near deaths. BUT, it wasn't really open. They had only been doing test rides for the official opening this Friday. Katie was crushed, but then she and Dad rode the screaming eagle and we did the bumper cars (Olie and I slammed them so many times, Brad is walking bent over.) And then we went out for a Mom's dinner at Ozzie's. Olie was hoping Ozzie Smith would really be there, but I think he only came when his son Nikko was on American Idol. Still, Olie was impressed with the stories and pictures of Oz's backflips.
It was a GREAT Mother's Day. The best thing: both my kids still wanting to hold my hand walking through the park. Sigh. Big, big SIGH.
Here's a pic of Olie and Bugs Bunny riding the Tazmanian Twister.

School's OUT? for the summer?

Is this supposed to be a sign? Seems the FAFSA we filled out was for the 06-07 year, and classes offered in the summer are for the 05-06 year, so there will be no financial aid if I take classes this summer. The aid is quite a lot, more than enough to pay for the tuition and books, so I can't really justify spending money on classes when Brad is still unemployed. Besides, because the summer schedule is so light on classes (they combine all the 1's and 2's, and leave most stand alones out of the schedule till fall) to get my 6 hours in that I need to qualify for aid, I would need to take a GREAT class on macro photography, that I desperately want to take, but that requires a macro lens, which my current camera can't support, so I would need to upgrade to the Rebel SLR that I've been dreaming of, which is $760, and the lens is another $400. Now, aid can count for supplies, but....that's a lot of dough when Brad is out of a job. So, maybe this is God's way of saying hold off till fall. Or, just maybe, stuff happens.

In other news, "Up on the Roof" is playing in our house, as in Brad has SHINGLES. I thought shingles were in line with scurvy, but apparently not. You see, the virus that causes chickenpox never goes away, it settles into your spinal cord and WAITS. And sometimes, when your immune system is down, due to old age or STRESS (as in "I need a job" stress) the virus wakes up and causes shingles. They are very very painful sets of blisters that occur on only one side of your body. Brad's erupted on his face and lymph nodes. In the middle of the night last Thursday, he drove himself to the ER where they diagnosed him. Ever seen that episode of "Friends" where Ross has something weird on his bottom, and the doctors all crowd around to see it? Yep, that's what happened. The ER doc called in the nurses and residents to show them what Shingles looked like, and they "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed over Brad's poor red, embarrassed face. He's still in much pain, but being a trooper and trying to get on; he even mowed the grass yesterday while the kids and I were at church (he didn't want to take a chance and possibly give chickenpox to someone at church, which you can do when you have shingles.) My guy.

ZZZZZ...ZZZZZZ...ZZZZZ

I slept! YES! For those of you who don't know (I wasn't trying to keep anything from anybody, I just got tired of having to tell the story..you just get tired of hearing your voice again and again...) and those of you who do know (which are the people I see every week and therefore they could see the growing dark circles under my eyes) I've been having problems sleeping since October '05. At first the doctor prescribed Rozerem, which did NOTHING. Then he gave me Ambien CR, which is supposed to be one of the best sleeping pills out there. At first, it worked, letting me sleep 4 hours straight, and then after being up for a 1/2 hour or so, I could go back to sleep for 2-3 hours. But sometime in February, it stopped working. I would sleep for an hour, two hours tops, then wake up for an hour, then sleep for another hour, wake for an hour, etc. Don't rag on me, cause Holly and my doc already did, but I even tried taking two, once three of them, and it still didn't work. Ambien would put me right to sleep (I could sense it coming on, when my clothes in my closet doubled, I knew I'd soon be alseep) but once awake, I would do things that I didn't always remember. After Holly called to see if I was alright one day, because I had sent her a strange email at 2:30 in the morning, full of goobly gock and that I had signed "Lid" I decided to stop taking the medicine.

Then my doc tried Lunesta. No workie. Still waking after an hour or so. So, Tuesday I talked to him on the phone (which will be another blog, I've got the best doc!) and he decided to up the "class" of controlled sleep aids, whatever that means. He gave me Restoril. And REST I did! I slept for four hours, woke, did the bathroom thang, and went RIGHT BACK TO SLEEP until morning. Last night, same thing! I'm already a new person! I have some energy back! I don't look so racoonish now! Whoo-hoo!

So, for those of you who were offering prayers for me, I thank you. We still need to eventually get me sleeping without any aid, but just the fact that I'm sleeping fills me with euphoria.

And, don your shiny red shoes, grab the scarecrow's arm (carefully, he's just made of straw you know) and sing with me: "I'mmmmmmm off to see the neurologist, the wonderful Dr. Turpin." My bloodwork came back fine, more than fine actually, so now it's up to Dr. Turpin to find out why I'm having the uncontrollable twitches. Again, for those who don't know, for the past few months, when I'm sitting or laying, basically at rest and not moving, my muscles/limbs will jerk every few minutes, out of my control. Once, we had friends over for dinner, and my leg kicked out and hit the table so hard one of the guests yelped in surprise. Yes, really, he yelped. It's gotten worse in the last couple weeks, even occuring a few times while driving, so I went again to the doc. He doesn't believe it has anything to do with the sleep problem. It's not painful, just annoying and embarrasing (if you saw me get up in the middle of church a couple weeks ago, that's why, I admit it's shallow but I was embarrassed at my shoulder jerking up and down..) I go the first week of June.

And, that's what's new with me. Brownies is over for the school year, we're probably gonna have Katie miss school tomorrow so we can all go to Six Flags, yeah yeah, one day won't kill her, and Brad had his third interview with Edward Jones last week....fingers crossed everyone!

Pants on Fire

"Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies"
"Lie to me, I promise I'll believe."
"Girl don't lie, just to save my feelings Girl don't cry, and tell me nothing's wrong Girl don't try to make up phony reasons I'd rather leave than never believe"

I hate being lied to. Hate hate hate hate hate. Being lied to. The best act of friendship ever to me was when my friend Kirsten told me that she had noticed that I wasn't treating my husband with enough respect. And she was right, and I changed. She cared more about me than her comfort level.

When I was 11, my mother gave me 300 stuffed Avon books and told me to deliver them to the homes in the park where we lived. I was miffed; I wasn't being paid, it was summer, this was HER JOB. So, I went to the park pool (even though you had to be 12 to swim alone) and swam for a long time. Then I started delivering the books. Sometime after dark, my dad found me and drove me the rest of the way. Sodden with guilt I remained for two whole years, until I could not take one more minute of keeping the truth from my mother, and I confessed what I had done that day. And do you know what? She grounded me for two weeks! Two years later!

Want to ruin our friendship? Lie to me. I can't stand it. There's someone in my life that has spent the last 13 years lying to me. This person has had major problems, but I've stuck by them. Helped them get help. Where do you draw the line? I have tried being so co-dependent about it; I've said "Now if you lie to me off the cuff, then you can email me, or write me a letter, call me, leave a post-it but just tell me and I won't hold you accountable." But they continued to lie. And always got caught. I've learned: Just ask God to show you what you need to know, and He will. And He has. This person, after getting caught once again, said "I think you've been praying too much."

Recently, this person went for serious help with their lying problem. They went into a half day program, for five weeks, where they were diagnosed with generalized anxiety, obsessive/compulsive, and even some narcissism. They worked on perfectionism, and was constantly "exposed" to situations that made them anxious, in order to learn that it's ok to be anxious, it's ok to not be perfect, it's ok to get in trouble, but it's NOT OK TO LIE.

So, this friend seems to be slipping back into some pre-program ways. And, truthfully (what other way), I'm waiting for the lie. I've been told by some people that "Jesus forgave you, you should forgive them." Forgiveness and TRUST are not the same thing. I've forgiven this person, I don't keep hate and bitterness (well, most days) around to chew on, but I do not trust them. How long will it be till I can begin to trust? Will it ever? Some of my friends think I'm pessimistic, that I should be "hopeful." That hurts. When my friend has gone lie-free even half the amount of time that they spent lying to me, then we'll talk hopeful.

Don't lie to me. I'd rather be hurt, I'd rather be mad (and get over it, I get over being mad pretty quickly), I'd rather be bodyslammed into cement than lied to.

A Day in the Life...

This is my second try at blogging. The first was under the direction of a good friend from college; it seemed a bit out of my control, so I stopped using it. But I like the idea of a place where I can "dump" my thoughts, where I can talk when I need to, whether or not someone is listening. And have a history of such talks.

And heh, if you don't like the name? Comment and give me a better one. Who knows, I might use your suggestion, and then you get a prize. I'm not saying it'll be a great prize, but it'll be something. Maybe those popping bubble packaging things. Those are always fun for a few minutes.