What a Day!

Okay, I've been out of the blogging groove for a month or so now. Don't know what happened to those creative juices, but they were definitely not flowing. Sometimes it takes a mountaintop experience to get a girl back to writing. Sometimes it takes a poopy day. Literally.
I got home at 3:30 from a day of supply teaching the most wonderful grade one class. Seriously, the sweetest little cherubs I've seen in ages. They actually sat in a circle on the carpet when I asked them to and sang the little songs I taught them and told me that I was the best teacher in the world. (When I teach, it's actually all about me - can you tell?) Duncan was at football practice, Emma was babysitting. It was just me and Benji boy. Aaahhhh. I could feel myself relaxing and settling in for a nice quiet evening. I mean, the day was practically over. Time to coast through the remaining few hours til bedtime.
Wrong. Somehow my mother-senses had gone AWOL. Seriously, we all know that life with children just doesn't work that way. It's precisely in the most peaceful moments, the times you let your guard down, that life kicks it into high gear and knocks you on your keister.
First blip on the radar of my perfect day: Benji turns to a limp noodle while practicing the piano because his teacher wants him to do "the wave" with his hands as he plays a staccatto (sp?) song called "The Flute Player and the Bird." My perfectionist child cannot face the cold harsh reality that he might have to practice for more than one day in order to accomplish this. My heartrate accelerates slightly.
Blip #2: One of my other two children (who will remain anonymous in order to protect my own health and well-being) receives the bad news that a dear friend is moving on to a new church and school ... not the best news of the year. Many many tears. Much unhappiness and grief. No desire to hear words of encouragement or wisdom from Mother. Sigh. Heart rate definitely up and a slight flush to my face can probably be observed.
Blip #3: I realize that the dogs (our dog, Toby, plus Charlie, his mom who we're dogsitting for my parents) are still in their crates downstairs in the laundry room. I trot downstairs to let them out. I swing open the laundry room door. I am met by the most concentrated wall of dog-poop-odour that I have ever smelled in my earthly lifetime. (And that's the only lifetime I've had so far.) Let me just say that I've grown up with dogs. I've stepped in my fair share of "piles" over the years - I'll spare you the details - but I'm just saying that I'm no stranger to the more offensive odours involved in dog ownership. Charlie, however, had topped them all. What I found in her crate was beyond anything I've ever had to clean up - human, animal or otherwise.
Blip #4: A phone call to John at work confirms my suspicions that he had totally forgotten to come home at lunch and .... let the dogs out. Huge blip.
Blip #5: I discover more of Charlie's revenge for an 8-hour-crate-day on the carpet downstairs. In more than one spot.
Blip #6: When I go to mix up my carpet cleaning concoction, I realize that I'm all out of white vinegar. Will it make it worse or better to scrub up dog poop smells with apple cider vinegar? Hmmm....this was a deep and vital question for me today.
Strange to think that my seven and a half hour work day felt infinitely shorter than the three hours that followed it at home.
Well, there you have it. My day. I guess I'd better go check on the apple cider vinegar downstairs.

What Takes You Back?

Recently our neighbourhood has been graced by several visits from a fantastically airbrushed, magically musical ice cream van. Yes, you read that right. It's an ice cream van. It cruises up and down the streets in our area, piping out its tantalizing circus music for all the children to hear. It's so funny to watch the kids' reactions because it's a perfect reenactment of my own childhood experience.

"Mom, Dad!!! It's the ice cream truck!!"

"Yeah, I hear the music...it really is!"

"Everybody run! Get your money!"

All three of them go roaring down to their rooms (moving faster than they have all summer, the little rascals) and then fly out the door with coins in hand. As the chief launderer of the household, I'm also sad to report that they are usually in white socks without shoes. As I said, this is perfectly reminiscent of my own ice cream truck years ...with the exception of one little detail. OUR ice cream truck was more technically an ice cream BIKE. It was ridden by a solitary rider dressed in white (many of us girls saw him as our knight in shining armour) and was basically a chest freezer on wheels. Does anybody else remember these things? The music that caught our ears was the simple ringing of the bells ... but those little bells caused quite the uproar when we heard them!

It's amazing how a little thing like an ice cream van can make you feel like a kid again. Will you think I'm weird if I tell you that my heart rate increases a little bit when I hear those words, "It's the ice cream truck!!" ?? I think a lot of it is just watching my own kids enjoy something that I used to find so exciting. Life can be pretty fun sometimes.

How about you? Is there something that "takes you back?" A song? A smell? A place? A book? I have lots of them. I'd love to hear some of yours!

Yummy Recipe!

My kids love tortillas. Not tortilla chips (although they like those, too). Tortillas. Round flat soft taco shells. They like them with almost anything in them - melted cheese, lunch meat and lettuce, pb and honey, hot dogs cut up, refried beans, fajita fixins ... the list goes on and on. It's hard for me to believe that as a kid I didn't even know these babies existed! For us, white Wonder bread was the pinnacle of the bread family!
Anyway, I just tried a new recipe for supper last night. This is always a risky endeavour, as you other mothers know. Four pairs of eyes looked upon the steaming pan in the centre of the dinner table with suspicion and disdain. My family likes to eat familiar yummy things, so I always have to tie a new dish into something they already love.
"What is this, Mom???"
"It's called Cheesy Enchiladas..."
"Cheesy what? What are enchiladas?"
"Are they like chimichangas?" (This from my husband.)
"I don't know because I've never had chimichangas. BUT they're in tortilla shells and they have ground beef and cheese in them SO I'll bet they taste a lot like tacos, which we all already LOVE!!"
After the pep talk, I just started dishing it out. No negotiations, no grumbling ... adventurous attitudes only, thank you very much. Well, they LOVED it! Yippee. Another one I can transfer into my new green recipe book for keepsies.
Thought you might like to try it, too.

Sunni's Cheesy Enchiladas (I don't know who Sunni is - I knew you'd ask, though)
1 lb. ground beef
1 lb. Velveeta cheese, cubed (I used nacho cheese product plus grated cheddar instead)
1 can diced tomatoes
16 oz. sour cream
1/8 cup butter or margarine
1 medium onion, chopped
garlic salt (dash)
salt and pepper to taste
approx. 8-10 tortilla shells, depending how full you make them

Brown meat with 1/2 of onion. Add garlic, salt and pepper. Drain and set aside. In saucepan, mix sour cream and tomatoes. Add butter and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. Add cheese. Add remaining onion. Simmer 5 minutes on low, continually stirring. Add a portion of the cheese sauce to the ground beef mixture and fill tortillas. Roll tortillas, then place seam side down into greased baking dish. Spoon remaining sauce over tortillas. Bake at 350 for about 15 minutes.

What with the heat wave we've been living with around here, I actually did these in foil on the bbq, just for a shorter time, and they were great. Hope you like 'em!

He Keeps Messing with my Ducks!!

I truly am a thankful person. I should be thankful for we are a blessed family. I live in a nice house with a fenced-in yard and central air conditioning. We have two working vehicles. We have a dishwasher, a fridge full of food and clothes to wear every day. Compared to many people in this old world, my family lives a life of luxury and I know it full well.

Living smack dab in the middle of North American culture, however, can sometimes make it easy to forget about my blessings. I don't always feel as rich as I am! Does anyone know what I mean? My nice house always seems to need an update and the "working" vehicles just recently hit their double digit birthdays. The dishwasher leaves crumbs and crud in the glasses and I've noticed that our clothes are starting to look a little long in the tooth again lately.

Our family, like so many others, lives on a fluctuating income - Dad does sales and marketing and Mom is a career substitute teacher. We both love our jobs and are thrilled with the family time we're able to pull off. If you've ever worked for commission, however, you understand how challenging this lifestyle can sometimes become.

Especially if you're a ducky girl like I am. I like my ducks in a row. Always have and probably always will. Seventeen years with a free-spirited, entrepreneurial husband have rubbed off my sharp corners a little bit, but most often I'm still arranging those ducks .... just ...... so. I like to research, plan, make lists and organize stuff. That's just who I am.

Yes, it's been an interesting journey, this life I'm living. Most of the time I'm really fine - and why wouldn't I be? Like I said, I've got it good and I know it. But every once in a while, when the commissions haven't come in quite on time for the next pay and we're already playing catch-up from that last time when what's-his-face didn't open the invoice when it came in (or whatever!), I get a little tired. A little tired of having to be careful. Of having to say "No" again to something that the kids want to do or buy or attend. Is it always like that? Not at all. But it is sometimes and those are the times I long to get my ducks back in a row.

So I found it interesting in my morning Bible reading as I read the story of God's people wandering around in the desert. He had just finished rescuing them (in a most dramatic and miraculous way) from their slavery in Egypt and was now getting them organized for their trip to their very own homeland! There were a lot of them, though, and they were going to need food for their travels. God provided a rather unique solution to this problem by sending down "manna" from heaven - little white flakes of bread for them to gather from the ground every morning. Cool. God just gave them one stipulation: Only gather enough manna for one day's use. "Gasp!" said all the Israelite duck arrangers (there had to be a few in a crowd that big). If they even tried to save a litle bit of one day's manna for the next day's meal plan, it would be filled with MAGGOTS by the morning.

Why? Why wouldn't God just let them store some up and plan for the future? Surely He wanted them to be industrious and efficient! Surely He wants all of us to be that way! Yes, I think He does ... sometimes. But at the bottom of my Bible page I found an intriguing note from the editors. It read like this:

We instinctively resist a style of life in which it is necessary to depend on God each day to supply our needs. We wish to have supplies in advance so that we can feel independent. God was training the people for a life of faith.

Slam. Right between the eyes for Stephanie Biffany. It's what I needed to hear that day and it's what I've been reminding myself of ever since. God values my faith more than my efficiency or industriousness. He's more interested in walking each day with me and building my dependence on Him than He is in all my attempts at self-sufficiency. If that means He has to mess with my ducks, then He's going to knock them out of line every once in a while. And you know what? I think I'm okay with that. I've known Him for most of my life and He's never let me down. If He says that dependence on Him is more important than my own independence, then I choose to believe Him. He is awesome. He is everything good and perfect and I know I can trust Him. And so can you.

I'm not saying I'll never put my ducks in a row again. I'll just try not to complain when I see His hand reach down to move them around a little.

FYI

Read it. Seriously.

My Early Morning Wake Up Call

I remember hearing once that some mathematician calculated the cost of raising a child in Western civilization. He came up with this staggering number in the millions, I think - a price tag so astronomical, I'm sure it sent many a newlywed husband off to the surgeon's office for an immediate and hasty vasectomy.
It's true, though, the fact that kids are expensive. I, for one, am not keeping a running tally on the moola John and I have shelled out so far in order to keep this family machine in motion, but there's no doubt that our three little treasures are hard on the bankbook. We were driving to Emma's horseback riding class the other night and, as I was scratching out the cheque on my lap (John was driving - safety first), I decided to peruse the entries in the register booky-thing ... you know, just curious as to where we spend most of our money. Bottom line: We spend most of our money on the kids. Piano lessons, drum lessons, school lunches, class trips, karate, hockey and church youth events. Yikes, I thought. These guys make up the biggest chunk of our investment portfolio!
But this morning I was the one on the receiving end. Still in that muffled world of half sleep and dreamy cobwebs, with my arm thrown over my face, I heard seven-year-old footsteps pad across my bedroom floor. I sensed a presence beside me, heard the soft breathing of a child (couldn't smell it, thank goodness, seeing as it was morning breath) and knew it had to be Ben. Being our youngest, he still loves to come and visit us first thing in the morning, more often than not climbing in between his parents for a start-of-the-day cuddle. Today's agenda, however, did not include any cuddling. No. Today, for some reason unbeknownst to all but Ben himself, my son was focused on his mother's beauty regimen. For as I lay quietly in the early morning shadows, as I continued to pretend I was sleeping for just a few more minutes of peace and quiet, I felt .... not his soft little arms reaching around me for a hug ... not a kiss on the tip of my nose. I felt a COMB begin to work its way through my tangled, flat-on-the-left-side, rat's nest of a bedhead.
I think I deserve some credit for the self-control it required to lay there quietly for the five minutes or so that he took to finish the job. Without laughing, might I add. I mean, no self-respecting hairstylist wants to see their client start shaking with laughter in the middle of an appointment. He'd never have allowed me back in his salon had I insulted him that way!
I'd like to say that I climbed out of bed glowing with beauty and sveltness. I'd like to say that, but I cannot tell a lie. No fault of the hairdresser's of course ... imagine what he had to work with! No, I wasn't aglow with beauty or sveltness, but my early morning wake up call was exactly what I needed to start my day off right. Thanks, Ben! You're worth the million dollar investment ... and so much more!

The End of an Era

Today my three kids marched out the door to walk to school together. For the last time. This is Duncan's last day of Grade 8 and in two years Emma will start high school as well. Then Benji will finish elementary school all on his own and go solo for his high school years. So today was it. The last "all together" day.

It's strange how these milestone moments can feel so normal. I mean, I still had to rush around making lunches for everyone. Benji's hair required a little extra attention seeing as he woke up with a big wing across the front. The cookies I'd baked for Emma's class party barely fit into the Rubbermaid I dug out of the cupboard. And, horror of horrors, Duncan's new Aeropostale t-shirt was nowhere to be found! Dig, dig, dig through the baskets of unfolded laundry.

And yet as normal as it "felt", I knew it was a morning to be savoured. I parked myself at the back window and watched them toodle out the gate and down the street to meet their friends on the way. I thanked the Lord for watching over them thus far and thanked Him for what He has in store for the future. I could almost see His mighty hand cupped behind the three of them there on the road - providing protection, guidance and the occasional poke to keep them all in line! And although the tears well up in my eyes and my heart aches just a little for the door that is now swinging silently closed on this season of our family's life, at the same time I say, "Thank You Jesus!" for carrying us to this point. And for promising to carry us all the way to the end.

Happy Birthday to My Sweetheart

It's late at night (which is when I always find myself sitting down to the computer, darn it all) and I really should be running off to bed, but I must take a second to send out a Happy Birthday to my very own Johnny Boy. He, of course, will never know I even did this because he doesn't read my blog, but for all you faithful followers, I must tell you that my husband is celebrating number 43 tomorrow and he is PUMPED!
John is always pumped about his birthday. He's not one of those grown ups who modestly tries to downplay the celebration. Nope. "Bring on the party," is his motto, and so we do. Now if it were up to him (which it's not) we'd have a huge bash every year, but seeing as his wife is a little more low key, we've learned to strike a balance and alternate between "everyone parties" and smaller get-togethers. This year he starts with breakfast in bed (bacon and eggs), then garage saling (please don't even ask me why anyone would want to kick off their birthday this way) in the morning with good buddy Deve; then we'll have good friends over for dinner and a games night; then Sunday night is his "date night"with moi, complete with dinner out and a movie.
Happy Birthday, honey bunnicula! You are my best friend in the world and the one who makes me laugh the hardest. I told you tonight you were a great "consolation" to me and that, I think, is one of the best words I can think of to describe you. You listen to me when I need to talk, rub my head when I have a headache, calm my fears when I'm stressing and basically turn my days from black-and-white to colour.
We've had our ups and downs, of course, in the 22 years we've known each other, but you truly are God's gift to me.


Happy Birthday!

It's the little things in life...

It's a beautiful clear Saturday morning and my heart is full. John snuck into Benji's room this morning and woke him up with the words this little 7-year-old has been dying to hear.
"Wanna go fishing, buddy?"
When the little things so often mean the most, why does it take such an effort to do them? I seriously don't know. When all my daughter wants to do is make a raspberry cheesecake with me, is it just my pure laziness that has kept me from it? When our fourteen year old son has been asking to watch the newest action movie for three weeks now, why does it take so long for us to get around to it?
The little things: going for a bike ride together, playing Wii Sports as a family, working on the scrapbook we started last month, baking cookies or playing a board game. These are the kinds of things I want to do with my kids.
And from the look on Benji's face this morning and the spring in his step, it seems the kids are pretty pumped about the little things, too!

Looking for a summer project???

No? Me neither. I always start the summer so optimistically, with a project list as long as my arm - "paint basement, pull out dried-up shrubs in front yard, lay flagstone path by shed, sign kids up for swimming lessons, book one more camping weekend, start jogging" (that's on my list all year long).
But then a dear friend e-mailed me today to say that God had been challenging her to keep her mind more focused on His truth. Would I be interested in memorizing some Scripture together this summer?
Would I?! You bet I would.
Here's why. Since I began seriously working at Scripture memorization about five years ago, God has honestly and truly rocked my world in ways I never could have imagined. Now don't get me wrong ... it's not like it's been back-to-back mountaintop experiences, sunshine and roses, or floating on cloud nine with not a care in the world. Nope. Life has gone on and, in some ways, it's gotten harder. We've had our same share of frustrations, disappointments, questions, losses and failures. Life continues to be tedious and mundane a lot of the time, no doubt about it. But in the midst of all that, God has CHANGED ME! And I know for a fact that a big part of that change is due to the verses and passages He's helped me to memorize. It's like He's taken those verses and made them a part of me... so much so that I find the words, HIS Word, coming to my mind or my lips right in the middle of a prayer or in the midst of a crap-ola situation that I have no idea how to handle. I can't count the times I've asked for His wisdom when I'm at a total loss for what to do ... and just as I learned from James 3:17, I've found that "the wisdom from above is first of all pure ... peaceloving ... gentle at all times and willing to yield to others." You think we can work up that kind of wisdom on our own? Not a chance, my friend, not over here in my world anyway. It's all Him, and only Him.

So if you're interested, but not sure how to start, here are a few things that helped me along the way:

1. Choose a verse or passage that MEANS something to you. It's a lot easier to work at memorizing something that God is currently using in your life or speaking to you about.


2. Give yourself some kind of timeline. (eg. "I want to memorize a verse a month for the summer - June to September.")
   
3. Find someone you can be accountable to ... someone who will ask you to recite your verse to them at the end of the month!


4. Buy yourself some index cards or, even better, a set of them already prebound in a spiral set. Set them somewhere visible. (I prop mine right up on the counter by the kitchen sink so I can practice that month's verse while I wash dishes. Needless to say, the cards are kind of ugly and wrinkled from all the dishwater I've splattered on them, but such is life.)

One more thing. Maybe you'd like to memorize a whole chapter or passage that's meant something to you along the way - like the twenty-third Psalm maybe. I'm actually memorizing Psalm 103 right now and all I'm doing is taking it two verses per month, just flipping to the next blank card in my spiral at the beginning of each month and writing out the next two verses from the chapter. It's working!

So, I hope this has inspired you to add one more teensy, tiny little thing to your summer project list. It's a teensy, tiny little thing, but the rewards are huge!

We're Heading South!

Well, we're doing it! We've bitten the proverbial bullet and we are heading down to Florida. Orlando, to be exact. Disneyworld to be exact-er. It was no small feat, convincing my sweetheart that our family NEEDED to spend our income tax return in this way ... but he eventually ran out of excuses and most likely got so tired of the pathetic, pleading look in my eyes that he figured it would be easier to cave and just do the thing than it would be to live under that kind of pressure much longer. I love that about him.

So, in exactly 48 hours we will be rolling down the 1-75, probably with our van scraping the pavement it will be so loaded down with "diversions" for the children. How exactly are we going to survive a 22-hour ride straight through the night and into the next afternoon? I have no earthly idea. Seriously, I don't. But "everyone" does this, apparently. I've lost count of the number of people who casually shrug it off. "Oh yeah, we do it all the time." "We drove straight through every year when our kids were young." Clearly this is within the realm of the possible. And so, I forge ahead with my packing, planning, organizing .... all the things I love to do. And I try not to think about the reality of what I've talked my husband into. Will we actually arrive in that far-off land? The hordes of tourists we will encounter at Disneyworld are the least of my concern right now. I just want to GET THERE!

Signing off in the hopes that we shall meet again...

It's a "Marvel-ous" Life

Have you ever stepped back and taken a look at your life and marvelled at the things you see there? I use the word "marvel" on a couple of different levels. It could be "marvel" in the sense that you can't believe your own good fortune. Or it could be "marvel" as in "This is more bizarre than anything I could ever have imagined being a part of my earthly existence!"



Being the rather introspective, pensive person that I am, I tend to do this quite regularly. Here are some things in my life that cause me to "marvel" from time to time:

• I have a snake living in my house. Right across the hall from my bedroom, actually. Atticus is a one-year-old rainbow boa belonging to my 13-year-old son Duncan.


• This fact alone causes me to shake my head, but even more bizarre is my willingness to participate in the weekly "feeding" of said snake. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I actually remind Duncan to defrost the frozen little mouse that he has removed from my chest freezer and then watch with morbid interest to see whether or not the sacrificial offering has been accepted.


• I marvel at the fact that we are not financially free and independent. I really thought by this time in our lives we'd have more of a handle on the money thing, but, well, we just don't.


• I find myself in awe over the love I have for my children. Of course, I knew I would love them like crazy, but sometimes I look at them and feel an ache in my chest for all the tenderness I feel. (Other times I feel an ache in my head for all the stress they cause, but that's for another post.)


• I am amazed at the faithfulness of God throughout my life. I really am. I look back and see His hand in so many situations; His patience with me as I try to walk closely with Him; His wisdom in the way He's guided me and taught me such important life lessons; and His power as He's delivered me from debilitating anxiety and fear. He is truly the biggest, greatest thing in my life. He is more than I'll ever be able to fully comprehend. And He is love. For all of us.

Have a marvel-ous day, wherever you are!

Happy Birthday to Me!

This may seem odd to you, that I'm wishing myself a Happy Birthday. Does it? I guess it might look a little self-centred or maybe it just seems weird that a 41-year old gal like myself is actually CELEBRATING another climb up the birthday ladder. Oh well. The fact of the matter is that this year I'm totally happy about my birthday. Maybe it's the fact that last year for my 40th I was confined to the couch with the worst head cold I've ever had. And we had to cancel all festivities (which included ice skating and cake & hot chocolate back here at home). It feels good to feel good for my birthday, for Pete's sake.

Actually, I think the main reason I'm so happy on my birthday this year is just that I'm feeling plain old thankful. On the way to work this morning, I was talking to God about stuff and I found myself saying, "Thanks for 41 years on this planet, Lord!" As my mind started to wander over the years of my life, it felt like I was watching a slide show in my own head (I know, I'm weird) ... the blessings just went on and on. How can you not enjoy your own birthday when God brings to mind an unending list of things to thank Him for?

So here are just a few of the blessings I am pondering on the big 4-1. (Don't worry, I won't be silly and try to think of 41 of them... you have better things to do):

• Parents who loved, encouraged and taught me what I needed to know for life
• Sixteen years of marriage to a man who loves, respects and values me
• Three amazing kids who challenge me and let me be part of their lives
• A flexible job where I get to do what I love the most (teach kids) and yet have lots of time for my family as well.
• Life in a free country
• God's amazing, unconditional love for me
• Friends
• A van that is on its last legs (wheels?) but still roars to life every morning for me
• Health
• Our new hardwood floors
• A great school for the kids, with (so far) no major issues to deal with

Thank You, Jesus!

I was so naive...

I thought blogging would be easy. I'd just sit down at the keyboard whenever the fancy struck me and, shazam!, something entertaining or lovely or moving or inspirational would miraculously just flow out of me. What foolishness! It has been almost three full months since my first and only post and I have been utterly paralyzed by an unidentifiable something ... any time I even think about blogging, my mind turns to mush. Or maybe even worse than mush - maybe something in the liquid family, like tomato soup. I don't know. See, I'm rambling already.

So, Laurie Lane, my favourite follower (heehee - there are benefits to being the one and only), this post goes out to you, my darling friend!
**********************************************************************************
Okay, I'll quickly tell you the weekend story. Here I was, all excited about taking John to this fabulous place I found .... the kids were super pumped about being at Mom and Dad's .... we had a great drive all the way there, talking about parenting, the future, all the typical "we're finally having an adult conversation" topics. As we entered the city, Steph the Diligent Navigator, promptly got out the Google Map Directions and un-bossily directed John as to where we should be going next. (This HAS been an issue in the past. Sigh.) We got ourselves onto the correct street, which turned out to be quite a high-traffic area, and started watching for house numbers. The magic number on our directions was house #102. No problem. Being the university graduates that we are, we quickly ascertained which side of the road contained the even numbers and scanned them carefully. 46, 58, 72, .... two blinks of an eye .... 134, 142, ....

Eeek! Back the truck up! Hmmm...well, maybe this was how it worked in bigger cities. We were clearly not in Kansas anymore, Toto. John turned the van around and back we went, squinting at the address plates even more carefully. Number 102 jumped out at me just as we were passing a house on the corner. With perfect style and form, my honey wheeled onto the narrow, icy side street and parked us by the curb.

"I don't think we should park here," said I. (Trying hard to be un-bossy and romantic.)
"Why not?"
"Because it's a really narrow, old street and there are two perfectly good parking spots in this here driveway at the back of the Bed-and-Breakfast."
"But we don't know for sure whose driveway this is, so I think we should stay parked on the street, go in and register and they'll tell us exactly where we SHOULD park and I can move the van when I go get the luggage." (No one told me marriage would be so full of tedious, drawn out decision-making conversations where we both try to be agreeable and giving, but deep down wonder why the other person cannot see what is so blastedly obvious to the rest of the world.)

"Alright, darling," I said. (In so many words.)
Off we went, hand in hand, towards the back entrance of the B-and-B. We noticed a cobbled path leading toward the rear of the house (how quaint - a cobbled path) and carefully made our way across a lovely patio area. Just as we were walking under a delightful little archway, my Columbia hiking shoes instantaneously lost all their little traction-bumpies and left me hovering in midair over a patch of ice. Down I crashed, my full weight coming to rest on the pointiest part of my right elbow, followed by a solid crunch of the right hip. Through the fog of my pain and surprise, I sensed a large St. Bernard coming to my rescue behind me. Oh. No, that was John. He was running in one spot on the ice while simultaneously reaching down to help me up. I'm sure we were a sight to behold.

In fact, I KNOW we were a sight to behold because just as we hobbled to our feet, the side door to the B-and-B swung open and we heard a decidedly irritated voice call out, "Can I HELP you? What are you doing back here?"
Hmmm... not the compassionate tone I was hoping for.
"I think you could use some salt back here," I pointed out in a very tactful way, I thought. "We're your 1:00 arrivals."
"Actually, that is our private entrance and no one is to be back there anyway."

Is it self-centred to want someone to care that you've just hurt yourself? On their property? I don't know. By the time she actually said, "Are you alright?" (in a totally unconvincing way) I was too far gone to even make conversation. The fact that she then sent us hobbling around to the front door, which was locked when we got there, and then proceeded to interrogate me as to why we were even BACK there in the first place (this all happened while John was getting the luggage) left me so utterly confused and furious that all I wanted to do was get out of the place. We had a couple hours until official check in time, so we zipped off to do some shopping. Like I was in the mood for that. As soon as we were back in the van, I actually started crying! And it takes a lot to make me cry. (Well, from pain, anyway- a good book or song can make me cry at the drop of a hat.)

I'll tell you, it took everything I had, plus a major infusion of Godly peace, to make me even want to go back to see that woman again. I was so determined to not let it ruin my weekend, and with the benefit of a few hours under my belt before we had to go back, I managed to actually smile at her and even make small talk. But I'll never go back there. Nope.

And that was how our weekend getaway began. I'm happy to report that this was the lowest point and that my wonderful husband quickly rejuvenated my spirits (by shopping for accent cushions for our living room with me). For John, this was the ultimate sacrifice of his time. He really is the best.

Wow, this blogging thing kind of takes over once you get going!