Don't complain about the way God answers your prayers

This song came on Pandora today. I absolutely love this version. Carrie is insane with the talent. And I caught myself thinking "man, I wish I could sing like that so I could make that kind of impact."

And immediately I heard it.

Instead of wishing you could do things you can't to serve Me, why aren't you using the talents I gave you in the first place to do it?

I'm not, and never will be a singer. It's something I wish I could do but that's quite a pipe dream considering the last time I was singing to myself while I was cleaning my brother's house, his dogs started doing this. I wish I were joking. They totally did that.

In his book "Blue Like Jazz," Don Miller imagines a conversation with Moses had he been one of the "golden calf" worshipers. In this conversation, Moses says this to Don:

"Your problem is not that God is not fulfilling, your problem is that you are spoiled," he writes. "Don't complain about the way God answers your prayers."

Gulp.

Because the truth is, God is fulfilling. He has provided me more than a few resources and talents that I take for granted every day. Am I using my writing, my cooking, my computer skills, my audio and video editing skills to serve Him? Am I using my money and my time and the extra space in my house for it?

Not much, no.

Instead of wishing you could do things you can't to serve Me, why aren't you using the talents I gave you in the first place to do it?

A trip versus a vacation

My view on a trip:



My view on a vacation:



See ya later, suckas!

I'm in love with a super-villain

It's my work-from-home day.

Jack wakes up this morning, only slightly more wound-up than usual, chattering away as I drag myself to the dining room table and try to focus on the squiggly lines that make up my audio files. He leaves for a few minutes, then brings back Starbucks drinks for both of us.

He really doesn't need the caffeine though.

Usually when he's in this kind of a mood, I don't respond to much of what he's saying, because I've found that he doesn't actually need me to complete these conversations of his. If there's no answer, he simply keeps talking. And talking. And talking. And talking. And then singing a little. And then talking some more.

When I finally say "what's up with you," he begins singing the song from Kenan Thompson's SNL skit, "What up with that." And then he stops abruptly.

I gotta stop singing, Cheetles. My fro is about to pop out.

When I say "I don't know what to do with you," he raises both arms and sings "Rejoice, Rejoice, Emmanuel" in an exaggerated falsetto. And that triggers a six-minute monologue about how he used to play that in church for midnight mass.

You know that song, Cheetles? It's the song we sing at Christmas! And I used to play it on my trumpet for Midnight Mass. Remember how I played at Midnight Mass? I would play and I would be the only music. No other music. Just me. That's kind of nerve-wracking, Cheetles. But it's okay. Because I'm awesoommmmmeeeee. Remember the song, Cheetles? It goes "Rejoice, Rejoice, Emmaaaaanuel, hm hm hm hm hm hm hm hm hm hmmmmmm."

And then he looks around the empty room and whispers like he has a big secret that's just between us.

That's the part where I don't know the lyrics.

It's like he gets extra words while he sleeps that he must use in the first two hours that he's awake.

At one point, he emergs from the hallway, puts his arms and legs out in a running position, freezes, and makes a sound-effect.

"PSSHEEWWWWW!!!"

Then he unfreezes and walks casually across the room. Just as he's about to reach the kitchen on the other side, he looks over at me, then points at the trail behind him where he had just walked.

"See, that's all just a blur," he explains matter-of-factly as he continues his walk out of the room, and I realize what he was doing: he was being a super-hero, like the Flash or Superman, who had super-speed.

And maybe the super-speed was imagined, but I'm pretty sure that Jack does actually have super-morning-personness.

It's a shame only villains have that super-power.

The Five Stages of #BikeMS

You know the five stages of grief? Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance?

I've decided that there are five stages of BikeMS too. And they're kind of similar. For example, this blog post occurred to me while I was in the denial stage of BikeMS, which I basically live in most of the year. Let me explain.

Denial (mid-May through September and also all the time)

I know, I know. Same as grief, right? Well, that's because when you know you're going to have to go through a trauma, you don't want to believe it can happen. This sets in mid-May, several weeks after the euphoria and pain of the last BikeMS's ride has passed and about the time you realize that you're going to have to do it all over again next year.

Except, no you won't. Because you're in denial. Maybe next year I just won't ride! I've done it eight years already; I don't need to. Yep! That's what I decided! Never doing it again! Phew! That's a load off my mind.

Except, then there's the next step.

Coercion (September through October)

This is a sneaky one. The staff at the MS Society and captains of the BikeMS teams may seem really sweet, amazing, and wonderful, but really, THEY ARE CULT LEADERS.

Just one sip of blue Poweraid, they whisper. Don't you remember how amazing the blue Poweraid is? Because it is. It is SO AMAZING. And you get all the blue Poweraid you want if you just ride again. We even have a discounted registration today only! Fifteeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnn dollars! Fifffteeeeeennnnn!!!!

(That last part was done in a ghost voice in my head, and for some reason I'm thinking of that Winnie the Pooh episode with the flood and the Heffalumps and Woozles where they're all creepy, you know the one?)

Anyway, you sign up. Because they are all wizards who lead you unknowingly to the next step.

Unbridled excitement (October-December)

This feeling is I how I imagine people end up with more than one child even after experiencing childbirth.

Remember how very very tiny she used to be? What a wonderful time that was? Don't you want to do that again?

The NMSS staff have planted this feeling in your head with their dark, dark magic (and their pep rally-like end-of-the-year awards banquet), and now all you can remember is HOW VERY VERY MUCH FUN YOU HAD LAST YEAR and HOW MUCH YOU ARE HELPING PEOPLE WHO LIVE WITH A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE DISEASE!

THIS YEAR IS GOING TO BE BETTER THAN EVER!

Panic (January through April)

This is when your thoughts will stay in the ballpark of "OH SWEET GOODNESS THERE IS JUST SO MUCH TO DO AND OH MY COW WHY DID I SIGN UP FOR THIS AND WHEN AM I GOING TO ANSWER ALL THESE EMAILS FROM MY TEAM AND WHEN'S THE NEXT TEAM CAPTAIN MEETING AND WHAT TRAINING?"

Feelings of dread and panic will intensify as the ride gets closer, especially when you realize that you are going to have to get on a bike you have barely touched in months and ride it 155 miles (this method of training not recommended).

During this time, it is expected that you will slip back into the denial stage many, many times.

Euphoria and pain (Weekend of the ride + any time you get a donation)

Ahhh, the actual event. There's nothing like it. People are cheering, upbeat music is playing, and the cult leaders announce your team through the big loud speakers. A drumline plays an upbeat rhythm as you slowly turn onto the Tollway in a sea of 3,000 other bikers, most of whom will be passing you "ON YOUR LEFT!" within seconds.

There's really nothing like that feeling.

But then the next feeling comes - PAIN. Your legs, your back, your arms, your feet, your crotch. OH MY COW, YOUR CROTCH.

WHY IN THE WORLD DID YOU SIGN UP FOR THIS AGAIN??

And then you see the lady parked on the side of the road in her wheelchair, holding up a sign that says "Thanks for riding for me."

And you'll smile and wave at her and pedal on, thinking about the thousands of dollars you raised to get her the medicine she needs and to help find a cure for her disease.

You'll cross that finish line seeing so many more like her, so many people from whom this disease has stolen so much. So many people so thankful that you're willing to fight for them. To shamelessly beg for donations for them. To get on a bike despite every natural desire in your body (and your crotch). You'll look into their faces, and into the face of your mom, who can still walk because of the medicine that the cult leaders' organization helped create.

And you'll remember how it's all worth it.

--

That's what I'm doing this weekend - what are you doing? Can you help make all of this worth my dread and pain and denial by making a donation to the MS Society on my behalf? You can do that (and see why I ride) here!

But it was the rat that carried the cane

Jack was in rare form when he got up yesterday morning.

Well, not really "rare." As I have mentioned before, Jack is both a morning and night person, a true freak of nature.

So, yesterday morning, he was in "hyper-as-normal" form, chattering and skittering about as I was staring at the eyeliner pencil in my hand, trying to remember exactly what it was used for.

When he went to put on his polo shirt, he stuck just his face through the hole and let the collar form a frame around it.

"I'm a turtle!" he proclaimed, excitedly. "But I'm hiding in my shell!"

I smiled and nodded, humoring him, but didn't say much back, because it was before 9am and nobody should be expected to interact coherently before 9am.

Slowly, Jack pulled his head through the hole in his shirt. Leaving it draped around his neck, he turned his head back and forth in exaggerated slow-motion, mimicking the head movements of a turtle.

I laughed at him a little, always willing to reward commitment to a joke, and suddenly Jack snapped his had back toward me and stared, wide-eyed.

"What?" I asked.

"I just realized!" he replied, excitedly. "I'm an actual NINJA TURTLE!"

Seven nice things he did lately

I like to order my meat in bulk from Zaycon foods, because it's fresh, reasonably priced, and I always have some in my freezer. I had ordered a 40-pound case of ground beef, which comes in four 10-pound tubes that need to be packaged nicely into one-pound freezer bags. The night before it was to arrive, my sister-in-law went into labor and my mom and I left town. Not only did Jack pick up the meat for me, but he also split up and packaged ALL OF IT, which usually takes me about four hours.

Something in the toilet flushie tank thing wasn't working right in our bathroom, so Jack got new parts for it and fixed it himself... Didn't even have to call a plumber. I think he may be some sort of wizard.

While shopping a few weekends ago, Jack saw me admiring some clothes and gave me $100 to pick out a few pieces that I wanted.

He found and hired a financial advisor, who tells Jack all kinds of boring things about our money that I don't have to be involved in of I don't want to because he takes care of everything.

He also hired somebody to mow our lawn every week, and now it always looks awesome.

He also saved money until we could afford to have somebody come out to see about fixing our foundation, and when it didn't need fixed (!!!!), he started the process of getting landscaping put in with that money instead. (!!!!!!!!!!!)

He ordered and sold taekwondo t-shirts at his school, with 100% of the profits benefitting my BikeMS ride. And donated another $500 from the school on top of that.

Evolution of a nickname

"Cletus" - This came from the Eddie Murphy version of "The Nutty Professor" where Eddie says "C'mon, Cletus!" Jack used to yell that at me in a silly voice when he was trying to get me out the door sometimes. This transitioned to everyday conversation, which led to...

"Cletus Nicole" - Nicole is my middle name

"Cletus Hole" - My brother said "Cletus Nicole" sounded like "Cletus Hole" and Jack loved it.

"Cheetles" - No idea why.

"Big Cheetles" - Because he calls Maggie "Little Cheetles." This one is not my favorite.

"Cheetle Hole" - See also: "Cletus Hole."

"Cheeto" - He insists this is the Spanish word for "Cheetles." He often says "Me amo, Cheeto" in an exaggerated southern accent.

"Cheeto Hole" - See also: "Cletus Hole" and "Cheetle Hole."

"Tito" - No idea why.

Unrelated to Cletus:

"My little sausage." - One time he said "I love you so much," and I said "Did you just call me a little sausage?" That stuck.

So, "sweetheart" and "darling" and "pumpkin" aren't really his thing, I guess.

Devin Jett Crawford

He was born April 6, 2012 at 2:56 p.m.



After my sister-in-law was in the hospital for 60 hours and in the "super-ouch" kind of (MED-FREE) labor for 20.



(She is a rock star. Fo REAL.)



He was 7 pounds, 4 ounces.



And he's ridiculously...



insanely...



astonishingly...



fantastic.

Vegas and peanut butter, I guess.

• Every time my dad opens a jar of peanut butter, he smells it. Because he really, really likes the smell of peanut butter.


• Sometimes he opens peanut butter for the express purpose of smelling it.


• That didn't have much to do with anything except that I was opening a jar of peanut butter today to spread it on celery and I smelled it. 


• Yep. Still smells like peanut butter.


• My mom used to spread peanut butter on Saltine crackers and put them in chicken noodle soup.


• I know, I know, it sounds disgusting. But it's awesome. Just try it. I dare you.


• No, seriously. It's good.


• I was going to actually write about something other than peanut butter today.


• Vegas! We went to Vegas!


• We went for a takewondo tournament. Jack won first in forms and second in weapons in the Master's division. 


• He is annoyingly good.


• Vegas is kind of gross.


• I know, I know. A lot of people like Vegas. But I had reasons for not liking it.


• It was Spring Break week. Therefore, a lot of drunk college kids. A LOT of them.


• I didn't even like drunk college kids when I was in college.


• And Jack got us a hotel suite. It had a little living room and everything. And the bathroom was the size of our living room at home. 


• AND THE CURTAINS HAD A REMOTE CONTROL OH MY COW.


• I just wanted to stay in the aforementioned hotel suite at all times and read my book and look at the pretty, pretty view. Because I am super-cool like that.


• (I am not super-cool. Like, at all.)


• But he didn't let me stay inside the room! He wanted me to, like, LEAVE and stuff! And walk down the strip and look at things and eat at restaurants and things!


• WHY would you ever want to do that?


• What a weirdo.


• During one such discussion about me not wanting to ever leave any room ever, I asked him if he wished he didn't have such a lame wife. He said "yeah, kind of."


• At least it's just "kind of."


• We also went to see Jersey Boys in Vegas. Oh my cow. So good. Definitely worth leaving the hotel suite for.


• So, I got the tablet so that I could get a Kindle app so I could read my Kindle books on something bigger than my phone. And the Jack packed approximately 84 paper books in his carry on because he makes poor decisions.


• And then they made me turn off my tablet during takeoff, so obviously I stole the paper book that he was about to read.


• And darn it, it's really good. So now I am, once again, a slave to a paper book.


• DARN YOU, TREES!


• I'm sorry, trees, it's not your fault. In fact, I guess you're on my side on this one.

I didn't know

I didn't know a lot of things when I said "yes," Hornbuckle.

I didn't even know when I said "I do" exactly four years ago today.

I didn't know that you would fold all the towels, because you do it better than I do (and you have The Crazy.)

I didn't know that I would be the one catching the snakes for you. (And you probably didn't know just how many geckos you'd have to catch for me.)

I didn't know what kind of power I would be handing you, to take care of me, to protect me, and even to hurt me sometimes.

I didn't know that you would somehow end up calling me "Cheetles" all the time.

I didn't know for sure that you would get everything you had ever dreamed of. That you would have 300+ of your own students who call you "Master Hornbuckle," and how exhilarating watching all of that unfold for you would be.

I didn't know how much my leaving towels on the counter after cleaning the kitchen would bother you. I didn't know how much your leaving your closet door open all the time would bother me.

I didn't know how much you would need me.

I didn't know how much I would need you.

I didn't know how often I would be sitting at our school on Sunday afternoons and weeknights at 8 p.m. after having worked at my own job all day.

I didn't know how little I would be dealing with our finances because you just, take care of all of it. All the time.

I didn't know how much we would laugh. Or how many pieces of cake we would eat together at Bonnie Ruth's. Or how good it would feel to stay cuddled up in a warm bed with you and Maggie for "just five more minutes" in the morning.

I didn't know how beautifully orchestrated our story would be.

And the best part is, I don't know what the rest of our years will look like, either.



It's good to be learning all that with you.