Complacency is poison.

Last evening about 6:30, I began to notice a little irritation above my eye and behind my ear.  By the time, I realized it was another migraine setting in, it was too late.

This morning, it was still with me.  I hadn’t yet vomited, but I knew that were I to attempt to get to Sunday School, I’d ruin everyone’s day.  So, home I stayed.

Keenly aware that there was to be a reason for my situation, I read and studied and updated my Words With Friends.  Fortunately, the girls, in their cheek, had left two loads of laundry in my room. I folded those.

You know how the prompting and the message comes repeatedly for many days in many ways?

It came again.

Generally speaking, I have a mess on my hands.  I have not done all I could.  There are no excuses. Which is good.  Jesus died for my sin.  Not my rationalizations, justifications, or really good reasons.

While I couldn’t lift my head.  In the first solitude I’ve had since… sheesh, months.

Then they got home. Something was wrong.

Phone call.  Mr. S. yelling at his friend.  He doesn’t yell.

It happened again.  In youth Sunday School.  For six years.  Being patient.  Turning the other cheek.  Always told the problem is ours. More complacency.  Waiting for what.  The next time?

Odd.  I would be listening at home for the voice that would thunder.  In two places at once.

Invisible fangs sink deep into flesh.

Cooling numbness. 

Blurred vision.

Unseen serpent snatched and flung away, slithers back. 

Relentlessly. 

Landing more strikes. 

Claiming more victims.

Would that I could hide. 

Conspicuous. 

Looks different. 

Full of sound. 

Crossing the damned line.

He didn’t call us to hide.  He called us to seek.

Show up harsh against the background of the status quo.

Strike.  By the time we feel the effects, the flesh is rotting, the heart is permanently affected.

Only antivenin…drops of perfect blood.

You know when you have ignored your purse for awhile and you clean it out and go, “I didn’t know I had that!”  “Yea!  I thought that was lost!”  “Cool! $.37!”

When I was posting about…something on Wednesday last week, I found a whole lot of good shots that are too much for a post on each one, but too much fun not to share what we’ve been up to.

This is the room we were in on Fridays all year.  My back is against the wall.  Crazy, it was.

They also got to play outside.  When it wasn’t raining.  Because, it never got too cold.

She doesn’t look like she’s having a great time at the spring concert….

Which is funny considering she and her sister were about to rock their duet.  Seriously, the ensemble thing.  I can’t even tell you how wrong it was.  There are seniors in that ensemble who sound like they are getting an amputation without anesthesia.  And I’m not just partial.

On the last class meeting of Theatre class, the instructor invited a guest to speak to the kids.  Less about acting and more about what you are meant to do, Cylk Cozart shared from his heart about knowing from an early age that he was meant to act.  He is from our town, bi-racial and adopted.  He is a fascinating person.  Of course, I would think so.

I am currently sitting at my computer with my mouth watering.  I have had breakfast and lunch and it is only 2:36 ish.  I thought this photo from a “Capture the Flag” Party might help me talk myself out of going into the kitchen and eating out of the Bisquik box with a spoon*.

Per, no.

I have no idea what he is reporting, here, but he adores to be the first to tell the news.  Obvious or no.  I should call him, “Scoop.”

Life is good.

I am linking this post with parenting BY dummies for Wordful Wednesday.

*Don’t be silly.  I don’t do that anymore.  I settled for birthday cake and flavored tortilla chips.  PMS, anyone?

Two Several months ago, I shared with the entire universe, the reasons I am not a cat person.  I think it is worth mentioning that I know for sure my husband read the post.

I am working on a post about some ‘obvious secrets’ to a happy marriage.

I digress.

Literally, hours after hitting the publish button.  I found myself and my husband here.

The man is not a shopper.  He doesn’t go here, but we were without teens, so he knew no one would be pressuring him to get an animal today.

So we go in to let Small Fry and I look around.

And we see this.

 And the man stands there looking at me with one eyebrow cocked and a pleading expression.

“He looks so much like Howard.”

Yeah.  I will not clean a cat box.

“His bob tail is the only difference.”

He is charming.  I will not clean a cat box.

“What do you want to do?”

Not clean cat boxes.

Whatever.

I haven’t had to clean it.

I am linking this post with parenting BY dummies for Wordful Wednesday.

Last week, I posted a request on facebook for a task swap for shopping swimsuits for my about-to-be-15-year-old daughters.  My idea was that if I took your colonoscopy, you’d take the girls and shopping for the right suit.

No one responded.

I faced the quest alone.

In the first store, Type A consults a price tag and declares, “I can’t find anything I like here.”

We stopped off for a burger.

Then Sam’s.

Target. The boy needs eye patches.

A friend is in Target shopping for suits, as I wished I had been doing for the last several hours.

Her daughter is 16 and attends a private Christian school.  Recently, there was a pool party at which only one girl had been wearing anything but a string bikini and another gal was inadequately covered up top.  The 16 year-old is the oldest of 4 children, the next two in line being girls and the grandmother has a pool.

I don’t envy my friend this task.

What exactly is the task?  I quote: “We aren’t doing what every one else is doing,” and “Trying to walk the fine line between ‘skank*…

Nothing personal, Kate, the swimsuit issue is for mensroom "reading", not shopping.

and ‘mom-suit’**…

If this makes you laugh, you aren't yet 37 years old. It's not that funny.

Our standard for the girls up to this point has been the one piece.  All the Target one-piece suits were in larger sizes and had heavy-duty cups in them.  The message is clear, “One-piece is for old women.”

This conversation is where we also found out that the tankini has fallen out of favor.

Whatever.

Next, we go to Sears to the Land’s End department.

Initially, there was grumbling.  This is all for ‘moms’.  Then Type A found a top and bottoms.  Diva M looked over what she found picked a different bottom and the same top in a different color.  Tried them on.

That was it.

~record scratching~

The price.

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.  My throat was closing.

What. The. What?

They held them for us so the girls could help me find some oxygen and maybe get a little something to take the edge off I could talk to Mickey about this kind of expenditure.

I talked about beauty and “investment dressing”.  He agreed that I could do what I wanted.  We shopped Dillard’s and returned to look at an Old Navy suit, Type A had seen earlier in the season.  We talked about if you get the one at ON, then we can buy you a lot of other clothes with the difference.

The ON suit was a one-piece and it was ohmyholyJesushelpme SPECTACULAR.

Fortunately, the world will never know.  They picked ‘pretty’ and ‘two-piece’ over “Just Freaking Amazing.” (Type A was willing to buy this $20 suit due to the price alone.  Not because she wanted it but because she is on board with what has been going on the last few years and was going to take one for the family. Again.)

I breathed into the paper bag and wrote the check.  We’ll see what is in style after these bold young women unveil these suits.  And the thing that is assuring my restful sleep every night?…

No boy will ever see them in that one piece.

It’s a win-win.

And yes, Dumb Mom, bunching hides a lot.

*photo credit: Sports Illustrated (duh)

**photo credit: vanity fair