The Mutiny: Month 2 Day 6: Finally Telling You What I Am Wearing

So...this will most likely be uber-short as I have no time.

You know why...the standard excuse from the past 3 weeks: The Little Man.

But, seeing as how (yes I am certain that is grammatically correct...still on no sleep...my other excuse of the past 3 weeks) you, my adoring fans,

a) have most-assuredly been missing me,
b) have been wondering how this second month of "fasting" has been going, and
c) are dying to know what I chose for my 7 articles of clothing.

So...I will tell you but I must back the train up for a minute; I must explain that Jen Hatmaker included in her "7" her shoes...two pairs of shoes = 1 item.

Our Hope Group opted not to do that; we only "allowed" two pairs of shoes, but they did not count as one of the 7 clothing items.

And we also said that "workout clothes" and pajamas also did not count.

Or socks and skivvies...because that would be 3 items right there; and while this whole "7" business is a bit cray-cray in and of itself, we don't need to be over the top about things.

And while we are on the subject of workout clothes (ok, not really but I don't have time to attempt a smooth transition), I am so thankful for them. The Little Man tends to be most "urpy" first thing in the morning. And being as how (also grammatically correct...don't question me) we are now going to the gym in the morning (because there is nursery/childcare in the mornings AND it only costs $2/hour...wahoo!), I begin my day in my workout clothes.

And I can change them as often as need be (at least once a day, but it has been more...) without dipping in to my 7 allotted articles.

I may be stretching things...don't judge.

As an aside I must really love you people because I am holding a fussy baby and using my right hand to hunt and peck this out. Frankly it is not unlike my method of texting so I am quite familiar with the process.

Don't judge.

Anyway because time is of the essence, and my unsupported left arm is beginning to tremble, here's my 7 clothing items:

Pardon any dirt you may or may not see on the carpet...tomorrow is Home Ec Friday at the PBA and it will be rectified then.

• 1 pair of jeans
• 1 skirt
• 1 dress
• 1 3/4 length sleeve sweater
• 2 short-sleeve shirts
• 1 long-sleeve shirt

 My two pairs of shoes...we are hovering on fall but I think I can get by with sandals as one of my two pairs...at least I hope I can!

This was my original selection...at the eleventh hour I switched my long-sleeve shirt from white to black, and changed the dress to one I can wear by itself...just in case you were wondering if I made any last-minute modifications. This is funny b/c I made my clothing decision the night before we began...and did not put nearly the thought into it as I did the food.

Clearly food is more important to me than clothing.

Don't judge.

And I know that this month is prepping me to give-away during the "possessions" month...so clearly more fun is to be had!

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Thanks for the Gift…What is It?

Recently, my 11yo brought in the mail…it’s one of his assigned “jobs,” lest you think he’s just that helpful.

Don’t get me wrong…sometimes he IS that helpful. But this wasn’t necessarily one of those times.

But I digress.

He brought in the mail and within it was a package. He wanted me to tear into it right away, but I didn’t. In glancing at the size, I presumed it was Indy’s heartworm/flea & tick preventative.

Yes…in spite of my vet’s stringent warnings, I order from Petcarerx.com.

My vet says that I don’t really know what I am giving my dog, it might not be what I think it is, blah, blah, blah…but if I buy it from the vet, it costs quite a bit more.

And to be honest, Indy’s never had fleas, ticks or heartworms and we’ve been ordering it for him all along.  I will admit that I love him, and I will do what I can to keep him healthy but at the end of the day, he is still a dog.

I’m all big a tough right now, but let’s talk when he gets sick, ok?

Actually…let’s not.

Again, I digress.

So the package sat on the counter for a while…maybe an hour or two. We had just gotten home when he brought in the mail and frankly I had stuff to do. Facebook had not been checked in hours, and I most certainly was writing a witty and charming post for all of you lovely people to enjoy.

By the time I got to opening the package, no one was around. The PBA had scattered outdoors. (You like how I use the word “scattered” as though there’s more than two of them? It only feels like more than two of them…but there’s still just the two.)

I realized as soon as I lifted my scissors to slice open the tape that I had been mistaken. This package had a return address in Paris.

“Well, how nice was this?” I was thinking. My friend Christine (aka “In the Coop” had recently been to London and Paris and I simply assumed that she had gone way above and beyond in speaking my love language: gifts).

I opened the box and inside was this:

Hmmm…I had no idea what this was.

And why on God's green earth would she send this to me.

I looked back at the address. My name and address were typed nicely and neatly on a proper mailing label. Now…I love Christine and all, but I had my doubts that she had the time or the foresight to type up and print a label before she left for her trip, and then schlep it all the way to Paris and mail something to me.

I mean…she TOTALLY would if it had occurred to her, I am quite certain. But being as how she was in Europe visiting some friends, as well as celebrating 20 years of marriage with her hubby, her thoughts were not likely to be on me.

And I’m fine with that. 

Mostly.

So then I looked back inside the box and actually lifted the contents up to take a look. In the bottom of the box was a clue (ok not really a clue, but the whole stinkin’ answer) to my question of why I had received this.

True...this did not show the flag for the US but it was the only paragraph which had English so I went with it...

Recently I had joined a group called Toluna…they send you surveys and you answer questions to earn prizes, and/or they also have promotions in which you can apply to test market an item (for free) and then give them your impressions and input.

Ah…so now it’s crystal clear.

Well, except for the part about having no clue what it is. All of the print on the box was in French.

All of it.

I even took the contents from the box, thinking that they would, perhaps, offer up a clue.

Nope. No help at all.

Now, I took 4 years of high school French. I tested out of 2 semesters of college French (probably not my wisest move because I took at least one more semester and it was rough…fortunately my mother was a French teacher and dragged my behind through that class.)

I’m not too proud to tell you that on more than one occasion I had to call her and say something to the effect of, “So this is what I am trying to say…how would I write that in French?”

And because she’s a fabulous mom, she helped me.

All this to say…I am not fluent in French. Not even remotely close. I throw French phrases at you every now and then because they spontaneously pop in my head, but otherwise…yeah. It’s not fabulous.

Or remotely fluent.

My apologies to my mother, Madame Frampton and Miss Hodges…all of whom gave a valiant effort to teach me French. I appreciate your attempts.

So…before I tell you what I discerned from my bits of French memory, I will share my conversations with the PBA. I called them in, one at a time, so as to not influence one another’s responses.

Me: I got this in the mail. It’s from a company who sends out products to people for them to try and give their opinions.  It’s all in French. Using your etymology from the past couple years, tell me what you think might be in here.

11yo:  A biology kit.

Me: OK, these are things the people who receive them might actually use. Do you think a 40yo woman would have need of a biology kit?

11yo: No, probably not. Is it some sort of medication? I don't know, Mom...I've done all I can do.

And then the 11yo was finished with the entire process.

I did get the 13yo to hang in there a little bit longer and actually look at some of the words.

13yo: Coffee or tea? (He based on picture on the front)

Me: Do you see any words you recognize.

13yo: Himalayas… Nepal…I think it’s coffee or tea.

Me: What about this word?

13yo: Oh…"detergent"…maybe it’s detergent made from coffee or tea.

Then he lost interest.

Please take note that I am quickly skimming over the fact that neither boy truly attempted to utilize their etymology lessons, so that was a good three years of effort wasted. They’ll use it someday, right?

OK, so then I showed it to Mr. AR. He was much more into it…however he has never taken a day of French in his life. He took Spanish. Same etymology root base, so I figured we’d be ok.

With his help, we were able to tell that it does have something to do with laundry, and that it’s from part of a tree. And you put the fruit or seeds or whatever they are “dans le petit sachet de cotton” (in the little cotton bag…you could all read that in the French though, right?)

Here’s the burning questions which remain: WHY would I do this? How often? Will this stain my clothes?

Like any good little French student, I took my box to my favorite professeur de Francais (That's "French teacher"…try to keep up, people).

And I am referring to my mother, lest you be confused.

So…I toted my little box on over to her house and explained the situation. Now she won’t think the blog is quite as funny because I even told her the part about me believing that Christine had sent a package. 

Because I cannot tell a story succinctly. You may have noticed.

This goes for real-life too.

Anyway…she read the box and even though we still don’t know exactly what KIND of seeds these are, they are most-definitely for washing.

Washing your “delicates”…at this house, we don’ t have any “delicates”…so I’m not certain these will be used.

So because I am certain you wanted to know the full details (you’ve hung in there for this long with the post, so you must be fairly interested), I shall share my wealth of knowledge.

Basically you put 4-5 of these seeds “dans le petit sachet de cotton” (we knew that already) and place the sachet in among the clothes.  Run the washer but before the spin cycle, you can stop the washer and scoop out the water. Because these seeds are biodegradable (I mean, they’re seeds for the love…do we need to explain this characteristic about them?), the water is safe to use on your lawn or garden.

Let me just stop right there and say that I am all about biodegradable stuff, etc, but it is highly-unlikely that I’ll be doing this step.

Don’t judge.

One other thing of note, you can reuse each set of seeds for up to 3 washes.

These seeds are non-staining (nice to know…no one wants all their white skivvies to be brown from the detergent...or for any other reason, frankly).

And one kilogram is sufficient for a family of four for one year. (Unfortunately, we only received 500g, so we’re only set for 6 months. Rats...)

So…that’s all I know about this product. I’ll be curious to see if I actually get it used…especially by the time I am requested to answer my survey. BTW I am happy to share with all of you lovely people…you just need to have your own “petit sachet de cotton” because I am not sharing that; something that would come into contact with both my and your "delicates" just would not do...no matter how close our friendship.

Sorry if that bothers you.

One last note: You might be asking yourself “Why didn’t she just Google it?” Because frankly, my dear readership, where’s the blog post in that?!? Would you have wanted to read a post that went like this: “I got this strange package in the mail from France. It was all written in French. I Googled it to find the English translation. The end.”

  

On second thought...maybe you would.

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Skivvies are Not Clothing

So…this week I am (for the most part) footloose and fancy free.

And no, I am not holding high school proms in barns with the assistance of Kevin Bacon. I’m certain you know what I mean.

But here’s a musical interlude for you, because that quintessential song has undoubtedly popped into your head. Feel free to listen as you read the post. Or stop and watch the whole thing...it's entertaining, for sure. (My 11yo's comment about it was "What in the world are they wearing?!?")

My 13yo is at church camp for the week...I am certain, though, that you knew this, as you undoubtedly read my blog faithfully each day. And I (without intent…seriously, though you may have your doubts) signed up my 11yo for Pacers Basketball Daycamp this same week. 

So from 8:45 to 2:30 every day, I get to make my own schedule.

“So what have I been up to?”, you are surely asking.

Well, on Monday I spent the day with my mama. We went to Starbucks and then to an outlet mall where she bought me some clothes. I lucked out that my 11yo only wanted socks the last time she took the PBA shopping, so she spent his share on me. Thanks, Mom! Oh…and then we had frozen custard for lunch. 

Don’t judge.

On Tuesday, I went to the gym (where I could workout without the added bonus of the 11yo asking every 2 minutes, “How much longer?”) and then met a friend at Starbucks (the one inside the local Target…and yes, you are seeing a theme. I also went on Thursday and have plans to meet another friend there today as well. No worries...I have a gift card!) and we cruised the clearance sections while chatting and sipping our beverages.

I had tucked in my purse before I left the house a few Target-specific coupons: one for a half-price frappuccino (only good at the Target Starbucks), one for BOGO on spray-on sunscreen, and one for “$2 off Women’s Apparel Item”.

Well, I knew the Starbucks coupon would be no problem to spend. My only potential stall-out was actually looking at the calories listed for each drink. (Because I know you want to know, I did get the coffee frappuccino with non-fat milk…which was the cheapest one and also the lowest calorie count. I did get some whipped cream on top, though, which probably blew the whole thing out of the water. Don't judge.)

Now, the sunscreen presented more of a challenge. It was also a Target-specific coupon which I had (somehow) received in the mail a few weeks ago. It was for a new sunscreen by Coppertone, and it was offering them BOGO.

If you know anything at all about spray-on sunscreen, it is one of the best inventions of the 21^st century. (Maybe I exaggerate a bit...a hyperbole, if you will...you all remember that term from high school English class, right? I'm certain you do...but I digress. That spray-on sunscreen stuff…it’s pretty awesome). 

But it is also kind of crazy-expensive. So a BOGO (let me pause here and explain BOGO…Mr. AR only recently learned what that meant so I shall presume that someone out there reading this is also a bit in the dark. BOGO=Buy One Get One.)

Anyway, I'm certain you can see why this coupon was a real boon.

But it did take me/us a while to find it in the store.  (And yes...I put my friend to work. Let me pause here a moment and offer just a word for all of you out there who may ever consider going shopping with me: I don't mess around and if you go shopping with me, prepare yourself to possibly be bossed into searching for things, trying on things, holding things, etc. It's not easy to be my shopping friend; not for the faint of heart, for sure. Consider yourself warned. Only the serious need apply.)  Target had sunscreen available for sale in about 8 different places.

When I did find it, it was not on sale, but I bought it anyway (gasp!)…it was $6.99 for one, but with the coupon, I got 2 for that price.

Spray-on sunscreen prices being what they are, I thought it was reasonable. I learned how reasonable when I later that day went to both CVS and Walgreens. And because I am just like that, I checked their prices on the same sunscreen.

Yes, I’m living on the edge during my “free time” this week, aren’t I? Don't judge.

At CVS, one bottle was over $10 (not on sale). And at Walgreens, it was "on sale" for 2/$19 with $5 back in Walgreens cash or Register Rewards (or whatever they call it).

For that price, this stuff should automatically reapply itself every 2 hours.

All that to say, Target did me a favor.

But I am certain you are still wondering about my last coupon…I still had my “$2 off Women’s Apparel Item” coupon burning a proverbial hole in my pocket. I must tell you (in case you were unaware) that often those kinds of coupons from Target give a stipulation: $3 off $20.,. or something to that affect.

I don’t want to spend a stinkin’ 20 bucks (pardon my language); I want to see how close I can get to the $3 and spend as little (or no…that’s a totally different level of shopping high right there) money as possible.

So…this $2 coupon was a rare find.

Feel free to shake your head at the mere fact that I know that. I am a little embarrassed about it myself.

But not embarrassed enough to still try.

And trust me: my embarrassment level in this story has not reached it max just yet.

My goal for the day: find a women’s apparel item for as close to $2 as possible.

It is goals like these which have gotten me to where I am in life…clearly.

We searched high and low through the clearance racks. I have to admit…Target Clearance was kind of letting me down yesterday. I wasn’t finding any deals…even in the 70% off clothing racks.

So I decided to switch gears and check out skivvies and socks.

Hey…who couldn’t use an additional pair of skivvies or socks?

Well…the regular price of individual skivvies was $5. That seems a little crazy to me.

But then I stumbled upon some clearance ones. They were $2.50 each.

I supposed I could suck it up and pay 50 cents for a new pair of skivvies. Plus I didn’t see another way I was going to fulfill my goal.

And it’s all about achieving the goal, right?

So…in my cart I had my BOGO sunscreen and my $2.50 skivvies.

Oh...and one banana. I didn’t mention that earlier b/c I didn’t have a coupon for it. Frankly, I only needed one banana; please let me explain: My 11yo needed to pack lunch every day this week for camp and I didn’t quite have enough bananas for each day. He wouldn’t have one on Friday and Heaven-forbid he not have fruit in his lunch (that’s me driving that train, not him)…and since I wasn’t going to go to the grocery until Friday, I was trying to rectify that “issue” before then.

All that to say, I didn’t realize how odd my assortment of purchases appeared until I put them on the belt: one pair of skivvies, one banana, and two bottles of spray-on sunscreen.

Yeah…you can shake your head at that. I know I did.

Anyway…the real fun was about to be had. The cashier scanned my items. And didn’t even comment…thankfully.

Then she scanned the coupons:

BOGO sunscreen? Check.

$2 off Women’s Apparel Item? Nope. “Item not found”.

Cashier: This one won’t work (showing me the coupon, as though I had not seen it before: remember, lady…I’m the one who just handed it to you?).

Me: But I bought a pair of underwear.

Cashier: (silence)

Me: (silence)

Cashier: (re-reading the coupon) Well, they mean, like, clothing.

Let me pause right here and submit for your perusal the coupon…does it give any stipulations about what is included or excluded? Does it say “no clearance” or “no skivvies or socks”? No…it does not…because I read my coupons carefully, so as to avoid such issues at the check-out...especially when it comes to such items as skivvies, because no one wants to be standing at the check-out register at the target, haggling over the price of a pair of panties.

And yet...I found the courage to soldier on.

Me: Isn’t underwear clothing? (now turning to the woman in line behind me, looking for some solidarity; I received none. But I did get an eyeroll from her, so that was good. It made me miss my boys.)

Cashier: No, not really…

Me: Well then what is it?

Cashier: (silence)

So there we have it people…breaking news from the Target checkout: skivvies are NOT clothing. We don’t know what they are, but they are most definitely NOT clothing. Or apparel.

And because I am certain you wanted to know, I then had her remove the skivvies from my purchase…I was already in up to my chin. Why not finish myself off...no way could it get more embarrassing. 

This action also warranted an additional eyeroll from the customer next in line.

So my coupon lives to see another day. Frankly, it only gives me another excuse to go back to try my personal challenge again.

To quote Arnold: I’ll be back! (Because there are so many similarities between me and Arnold Schwarzenegger...this is just one.)

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Thankful for my Son's Physique

So this is an odd-sounding post, right? So I shall explain before you think it is anything other than honorable.

He's an honorable boy, that one. At least that's what I am trying to claim as my take-away from today.

Today he had a soccer game. Two actually. It was day two of a tournament.

And I was dressed for the day. Or as best as someone in Indiana in early May can be dressed for the day...you know, layered up and ready to shed and/or add layers as the wind dictated.

So I was wearing a super-cute black with white polka-dots short-sleeved blouse. Not because I wanted to wear a blouse for watching my son's soccer games...but because I love the blouse and I felt like wearing it.

But because it was early May in Indiana, I wore a long-sleeve white t-shirt underneath. And a black jacket on the top. It may not sound it, but it was cute. I promise.

However, over the course of the morning, it got a little warm with all those layers. So, like the good little former soccer player I was, I tried to do the "remove the bottom layer without anyone being the wiser" trick by pulling my arms inside both shirts and then putting them back through the shirt on the top, then removing the undershirt from under by taking it off over the head. Voila!

It's one of those necessary tricks I had to learn as a girl (and especially a girl on a boy's soccer team) when I had to change jerseys and there was no where private to change.

Those boys did not need to see my skivvies.

Unfortunately I had never tried it with a blouse. Learning point here so pay attention and do not try this at home: a blouse does not like this trick.

In fact, it so rebelled that I popped not one but two buttons. Oh yes.

Fortunately I still had the shirt on underneath which I had to wrangle my arms back into.

But still, I felt oh-so-exposed and uncomfortable.

And worst of all...very warm.

So I paid little attention to the rest of the 12yo's soccer game, instead scheming how I could get myself into a short-sleeve shirt. And then it occured to me: my son has two uniforms.

Unfortunately for me, he was going to need them both over the course of the day. He was wearing the black one, but for the afternoon game he was going to need the red one. Which left me with two options: wear the funky one he was currently wearing, or wear the red one for most of the day, changing out of it just before the game so he could be properly dressed.

I opted for the funky black one. Most assuredly you are thinking "Yikes!" and you would be correct. It was FUN-KY.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

As soon as the game was over, I made a bee-line toward my son. Fortunately for me, he had already changed out of it into his warm-up shirt.

I said to him (after I congratulated him on playing well, of course!): Dude, I need your black jersey.

12yo: Ummm what?

Me: I need your black jersey. Is it in your bag?

12yo: Yeah but why?...

Me: I popped two buttons on my blouse and even though I have a shirt underneath it, I still feel a little "exposed" and nobody wants to see all that!

Without further hesitation, he reached around to his backpack and pulled out the jersey. "You're right mom, nobody wants to see that!"

I am mostly trying to NOT be insulted by my son's observation and mostly just be thankful that he and I can wear the same size shirt.



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A Matter Which Should Be More Delicate

Today our family had to split up.

Do not panic. It's not anything permanent...just for the afternoon actually.

The 12yo had a soccer tournament (both today and tomorrow, actually) and the 11yo had a lacrosse game (also today and tomorrow, only not a tournament).

Most of the lacrosse games have been on week-nights when it is easier (in terms of juggling the schedule) to send the 11yo with the coach to the away games and have Mr. Always Random meet him there to watch the game and bring him home.

I, in turn, make sure the 12yo makes it to soccer practice and home. And is fed too. He kind of likes to eat.

So...all that to say, I have missed more than I would care to of the lacrosse games. But it is ok. It is my choice. I am truly not complaining.

Well, maybe I am just a little because here's the thing: on Thursday, there was a lacrosse game which I, of course, missed.

And my boy scored a goal. This is a big deal because he just doesn't score many goals.

So today, I was determined to be at his lacrosse game. Which meant I missed the afternoon soccer game of my 12yo.

So of course, the 11yo did not score a goal (you know...at the game I attended), but the 12yo (who also doesn't score goals b/c he mostly plays defense)...he scored a goal.

I am getting the message, boys: I shall stay away from your games. (Ok, not likely but I do hear what you are saying: "I will only score points when my mama isn't there. Happy Mother's Day early, Mom!")

But that's not why I sat down to write this post. I sat down to tell you about a conversation (albeit a somewhat brief one) between myself and the 11yo when we arrived at the lacrosse fields.

I must back up a second to say that this whole "cup business" is still somewhat new to me. Yes, yes, I understand the purpose and I understand that there's a strap and that it's not just skivvies holding it up (although apparently skivvies can serve that function...it's all very fuzzy to me) and all that, but to me, it seems like a bit of a delicate (as delicate as a guy can be) matter and not to be trod upon lightly.

I had asked the child several times, in fact, before leaving the house as well as on the way to the game, "Do you have your cup? And your strap?"

Yes was always the answer.

So, we arrived at the field. and I said,  "Do you have your cup? And your strap?"

11yo: (insert eyeroll) Yeeeees...

Me: Everything in place? (insert raised eyebrows questioningly)

11yo: It's in my bag.

Me: The strap too?!?

11yo: No, I have that on. The cup's in my bag. (grabbing his bag to head to warm-up)

Me: Don't you want to take care of the cup situation (yes, I called it a "situation"...because shouldn't it be?) before you get over there...you know, in the privacy of the car at least?

11yo: No we just all put them in when we're on the edge of the field right before the game starts.

Note to self: clearly this is not a delicate enough matter...

My boy's the one with the ball...proud mama

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Farts Are Funny

Last night at bedtime, I was feeling a bit anxious. I knew the 10yo was anxious about today's surgery and I wasn't sure how it would manifest at bedtime.

I didn't know what the conversation would bring, but anticipated some tears (I won't lie...from both of us) as the anticipation was kind of taking its toll.

He asked me to pray, and I was happy to oblige.

About halfway through the prayer, I heard a long, low rumble under the covers.

And then violent shaking of the bed and stiffled laughter.

Always the professional, I forged ahead and pretended to be unaware of the giggling going on just inches away.

As soon as I closed, my 10yo informed me, "I farted."

Me: Yes well, God made farts so He wasn't offended that you didn't it during prayer. (I am totally making assumptions here...the Bible doesn't address this topic specifically but I am basing it on what I know about God. Please don't try to debate my theology here.)

10yo:  I tried to hold it in but I just couldn't.

Unaware that I was was delving into an inpromptu science lesson, I replied: Yes, well, sometimes you just can't. What is a fart anyway?

10yo: It's gassy poop. (more laughter)

Me (insert eyeroll...can I just tell you how thankful I am that eyerolls are not auditory, but that's a topic for another day): I'm pretty sure poop does not always accompany it. Do we need to check your skivvies?

10yo (horrified): No!

Me: Ok, so farts are gas, just like burps are gas. When your digestive system has too much gas, it needs to be released, right?

10yo: Yes...

Me: So it either comes out as a burp or a fart.

Can I just pause and tell you how up until a few years ago I had only used the word "fart" maybe 5 times in my life (I realize that it could be more...that's all I can recall...I could have blocked it out, I suppose)...and now it's like saying "ice cream." Just rolls off the tongue.

10yo: So how does it know where to come out?

Me: I guess whichever end of the digestive system the gas is closest to...

For the record, this was not at all the direction I thought the bedtime conversation would go...

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Combos (and Then Some) in the Locker Room

Yesterday after my workout, I had to shower at the gym. Yes, it’s kind of gross. And yes, I wore my flip flops specified only for public showers. Let’s be clear: it’s not that I shower publicly often, but when I do, I wear those shoes.

To begin, I was a little bit bummed because though there are two shower stalls, the one I prefer was occupied. The one which I ended up using is smaller and has a hand-held shower head. Fortunately for me, it clips onto the pole high enough for me to stand up straight and shower somewhat normally. I would venture to guess that for the majority of my readership (ok, not my mom or my grandma) it would be a tortuous exercise to bend that low and/or hold the handle and still bathe somewhat effectively.

Reason #357 that I’m glad I’m 5’2.5”.

That being said, I didn’t have time to wait for my preferential stall so I went with the other one.

Now, fast forward through the shower. It was gross; the hair on the shower walls and all that business makes me a little gaggy…even now as I type.

So, as I was getting dressed inside the little stall…because where else was I going to get dressed, right? 

Who would leave the safety and comfort of the stall and get dressed in front of God and everyone? That would be C.R.A.Z.Y., right? (If you’re sensing a hint of foreshadowing there, you are quite astute…I have nothing but quality readers, I am certain.). From inside the shower stall, I heard a noise to which I am familiar: it was undoubtedly a snack food wrapper of some sort.

Well, I am not one to judge because who hasn’t, on occasion, imbibed in a snack food “reward” after a workout?

I didn’t think much of it, however, in the few minutes it took me to get dressed, and then put away all my toiletries and such, I continued to hear the crinkle-crinkle-crinkle of the wrapper.

Surely someone isn’t sitting in the locker room, eating a snack…is she? (I’m making a presumption here, but it was the women’s locker room, so I figured it was a safe assumption.)

Now, I was completely focused on the sound: What else could it be?

I don’t know…it can’t be anything other than a snack food wrapper.

It can’t be a granola bar or something like that…it’s taking too long for her to eat. No one takes that long to eat a granola bar…it’s only 3, maybe 4 bites tops.

I don’t hear a crunch…so what could it be that doesn’t have a crunch? Maybe there is one but I can’t hear it.

And why don’t I hear ANY other noise? Isn’t she getting changed or something?

Maybe it’s a pre-workout energy boost?

That must be it…she’s getting ready and fueling her body for a top-notch workout. I’m not judging…who hasn’t, on occasion, imbibed in a snack food “fueling” before a workout?

When I could no longer take it and just HAD to see what’s going on out there (plus I was totally dressed and all packed up, so there was really no reason to remain in the shower stall), I flung open the curtain and what did I see?

A lady sitting on her towel, in only her bra and skivvies, eating a big bag of Combos.

It’s not exactly the high point of the story you were expecting, was it? Me either. I can’t promise you too much for the falling action of the story either.

She had a couple bags on the floor around her, open and stuff kind of spilling out everywhere. Her hair was still dripping wet. And she kind of gave me a look like “What?”

Apparently my face belied what I was thinking…which was the same word, different inflection, “What?!?”

I quickly scurried by, because my hair was also wet and undone and figured I should get to the business of doing something about that.

As I was drying my hair, I had my head tilted down but I saw movement in the mirror. I looked up (it’s those survival instincts…don’t want to be caught unaware, lest I be ambushed in the bathroom) and it was the same lady passing by.

Yes, there she was, sauntering out into the area with the sinks and toilets (not so much the “ladies locker room” area, but the “ladies restroom” area. Here is where all the Senior Saints pop in to use the potty when they’re in between laps around the track.)

Anyway…the lady still only had on her bra and skivvies. And flip-flops…she did have those on too.

And she carried in her hands a hairdryer. And the bag of Combos.

She proceeded to primp a little bit and eat some Combos and then dry some hair. And then repeat the process.

It was like a bad accident…only I didn’t let myself look other than furtive glances. Kind of like on the tour at the Black Pine Animal Sanctuary.

I was so stunned by this one woman, turning two of my fundamental truths completely upside down: 

     1) you can’t be eating anything when you’re only wearing your skivvies, and 

     2) you can’t walk around public places in only your skivvies.

Yes, these are two of the hard and fast rules by which I live my life. Is it no wonder, with such staunch truths by which to live, that I’ve gotten this far?

(True confession: I do have at least a couple other rules which may or may not have a little bit more stringent hold on me, and may have had more to do with the content of my character than these particular ones which she so blatantly broke.)

And believe it or not, I have NEVER broken either one of these rules.

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Cutting Remarks

So…in case you were unaware, I cut the PBA’s hair. I have done this since they were about 2 and 4 years old, respectively. That means it’s been for a while now….and yet, I will freely admit that it sometimes comes out better than others.

I don’t always know the reason. 

• Maybe the hair is not as clean as it should be.
• Or maybe I am in a rush.
• Or the clippers need to be serviced…or replaced (both of which have happened…it’s really not fun when the clippers get stuck in your child’s hair, especially if you are the one holding said clippers. It’s only happened to me once, thankfully. And yet he still lets me cut his hair...but does he truly have a choice?)
• Or perhaps…the child moved suddenly and ended up with a bit of a “gouge” or “chunk” (take your pick on the word that give you the best visual…I do not have pictures of my children to illustrate my point, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about…and if you don’t, you can find one online for your examination) out of an area of hair which they would have preferred there not be a gouge or chunk.

I’m going to pause here…what kind of shoddy writing is this? Where WOULD there be an area on their heads which they would prefer there was a gouge or chunk missing? Someone call me on these things, please!

Anyway…

The reason for their sudden movements is typically one of two things:

1. Freshly-cut hair has fallen onto a part of their body which caused them to flinch as though a bug had landed on them. Or the hair was tickling them. Or making them itch. I have heard all of these…and more.
2. Or I inadvertently stepped in front of the television. Which is bound to happen. I set up my “shop” in the middle of the living room, spreading out a large sheet on the floor, putting a barstool in the middle, and the “client” saddles up…though I must say that the 12yo is almost too old for the barstool.

Actually as I think about it, the 10yo is too. Better consider other plans in the near future. But I digress.

So yes…they get their hair cut in the middle of the living room. How white trash are? Apparently very.

Anyway, it began as a way to keep them still, but even after all this time, they still watch TV during their cut.  And if I step in front of the TV, they often will jerk their head to one side, seeking out an unobstructed view.

I have learned to keep the clippers far away from their heads if I know I’m going to block their TV viewing. I'm a quick study.

One thing I must say that has changed about the haircutting process is that the 10yo now doesn’t want me to put a towel or anything around him to keep the hair at bay. He typically takes his shirt off before the procedure begins, and then hops in the shower afterwards to shed the thin film of hair.

This time, however, as soon as he had finished with his haircut, he decided to take off everything…including his skivvies…before retreating to the privacy of the bathroom.

My 12yo was sitting in the living room at the time, his torture (I mean haircut…why would I say that? torture…) already complete.

12yo (to the 10yo, which goes without saying, but I am saying it nonetheless): Don’t strip in front of the TV!

Me: Actually, I don’t think the TV even noticed.

12yo: No, I meant that I’m watching TV and he’s standing there in front of it!

Me: OK, but I still don’t think the TV even noticed that he stripped in front of it.

12yo: (eyeroll)

Is this the kind of thing Scripture is talking about in Ephesians 6:4? Surely not…otherwise I may be in trouble.

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The Birth of my Now-12yo Mr. Always Random

I can’t believe it’s here. My oldest child is turning 12. It's tomorrow actually, but I just couldn't wait until then to post about him.

This is (obviously) his last year as a tween...and he is very quick to tell me, or anyone else, so.

And he will finally be able to legally ride in the front seat of the car.

My handsome young man...almost 12yo.

I should amend that statement…he will finally be able to RIDE in the front seat of the car. I believe that Mr. Always Random has allowed him to ride in the front of his truck, but Little Miss Rule Follower has not let him ever ride in the front seat.

That’s me, in case you didn’t know.

Full Disclosure: I was staunch about it until last Thursday...I did let him ride in the front on the way to pick up his brother from camp.

But that's IT.

I think my child is most excited about this aspect of turning 12...riding in the front seat...there aren't really any other perks which ride on the coat-tails of the 12th birthday.

It is most unfortunate for him, however, that he probably will have to wait an additional two weeks after his birthday to enjoy such privileges...at least on a consistent basis. We are leaving on vacation tomorrow. A two-week-plus vacation. Six of us in one van…and no way an adult is riding in the back when there is no need…birthday boy or not.

We’re mean like that.

So, even though it’s been a while, I think I remember some of the details surrounding this young man’s birth. 

I was there for it and all. I shall attempt to be succinct, but as we all know, I sometimes tend to get bogged down in details so no promises.

With that…we are off (in two senses of the word, at least!)!

My now-12yo was due in July. July 15, to be exact. Which is very confusing to me (even to this day I have to stop and think about it before I say his birthday) because he was born on June 17. (Originally 7-15, but arrived 6-17. 

As we’ve previously discussed, math is not my thing. Frankly numbers in general…not really my thing. But I deal with them because I have to. How else will I get that shopper’s high if I don’t know how much I’m saving. For that, especially, I’m willing to do the math).

So…on June 15, I had an appointment with my OB/GYN and they thought I was getting too big. Or he was...let's say it that say, shall we? Otherwise it simply sounds like they're calling me fat.

They did an ultrasound to check on the baby’s size and estimated that he was already at about 7 pounds.

I was a little surprised at that, because I, myself, was only 6 lbs 1 oz at full term. But Mr. Always Random was a hefty 10 pounds and something…but three weeks overdue.

It almost goes without say (but I’m obviously saying it anyway) that my MIL was not allowed to have any more children after delivering her bruiser of a baby.

Anyway…at the time of my pregnancy, Mr. Always Random was working a second job as a banquet captain (be sure to picture him saluting as you read this, because I always do) for a catering company.

He’d had this job off and on since college and when we found out we were expecting our first child, we thought it might be a good idea to have some extra income in the bank account.

See, that's funny because we didn't know that there would never again be something called "extra money in the bank account".

So…on June 16, Mr. Always Random was working his last catering gig before the baby’s due date. We didn’t want to risk the possibility of me going into labor while he was at work, because THAT would be crazy.

Please keep in mind, you young whipper-snappers, that these were the days when cell phones were not attached to (most) people all the time. People who did always have their phones were usually dealing in illegal goods of some kind.

Not judging...just stating facts.

I don’t remember what all I did that evening but I do remember that I ate a late dinner. I didn’t have plans and was home by myself. In fact, I had showered and was in bed by 9…I had some HGTV to watch, no doubt.

So on second thought, it WAS a big night. It’s always a big night with HGTV.

So, I was in bed, and if you know how it feels to be 8 months pregnant (which is what I was), it’s not always terribly easy to get comfy in bed. So I rolled over…and immediately felt something wet.

“Are you kidding me?!? Did I REALLY just wet my pants? Really?”

I got up, went to the bathroom (again…I went right before I got into bed), changed all my clothes, including my skivvies (I just wanted to say that so I could include the label "contains the word skivvies"), took them into the laundry room, and got back into bed.

I laid there for a minute and decided to try an experiment. Fully confident that my bladder was empty, I rolled over. Wet again.

OK…I think that’s my water. I called the doctor’s office and got ahold of the medical exchange, who took my information and promised to have the doctor call me.

In the meantime, I changed clothes again and pulled out a feminine hygiene product (not a tampon, just to be clear), to prevent another clothing change.

Took the second set of wet clothes to the laundry room and by the time I got back to my room…how should I say this?...the water was gushing.

Fortunately I already had my bag packed, so after changing clothes again (this is the third time, in case you're having trouble keeping up), I sat on a towel to absorb any excess moisture.

And I called Mr. Always Random.

Now remember, children, that he was at work. And it was catering work. It is not often that someone is in the office during an event because they’re all serving the clients. I say that in case you are unfamiliar with such things. I’m certain that I would be unfamiliar if I were not married to a former banquet captain (insert salute here).

And God would, in his graciousness, have it, Mr. Always Random just happened to be in the office when I called the office number.

AND…he actually answered the phone. He NEVER answered the phone in the office.

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition! (Yes, I’ve referenced this 1940’s War Propaganda song in the past so I’m certain you’re all familiar with it and possibly sing it to your children when you tuck them in at night, just as I do…but if you’ve not had the pleasure, here you go.) 

No, it has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m talking about here, but since when has that concept ever pertained to this blog? Thanks for just rolling with it.

So…Mr. Always Random answered the phone. Frankly I don’t know the words which were exchanged (though, let me say for the record that there is very little in this world that I forget…Mr. Always Random will tell you that), but through our brief chat I made it abundantly clear that he needed to come home because I needed a ride to the hospital.

While he was on his way, I was still awaiting a call back from my doctor. Yes, I had not been told to go to the hospital yet, but seeing as how I knew it would take my husband a while to get home, better to call early rather than late.

When the doctor finally called (and I was thrilled that in a group of doctors, it happened to be my own doctor who was on call that week-end), I explained what had happened, and the several costume (ok not really but it sounds better in the context, doesn’t it?) changes. 

And then she proceeded to ask if I had simply wet my pants.

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

I could tell she didn’t want to tell me to come in because she didn’t think it was truly “my time” but she told me to go ahead and go.

A few minutes later, Mr. Always Random arrived home. I was sitting on the couch (ok, on a towel on the couch) with my bag on my lap. He came in to get me and wanted to head back out the door, but I made him change first. “Yes, it is a big event but I don’t know that you need to wear a tux…”

“Do I have time?!?”

“Yes, I haven’t had any contractions…just a bunch of water. But hurry up.”

Clearly he had missed the part of the obligatory classes which explained that first babies can often take their sweet time.

Well, let me tell you brothers and sisters…this one did.

I won’t go through all the ins and outs...the gory details, if you will.

Well, maybe just a few…what woman doesn’t want to share her birth story, right? And what woman doesn’t want to sit politely and smile and nod because she’s not really listening…she’s just waiting for her opportunity to share her story.

Or some other story that she finds more interesting than the one she's supposedly listening to.

I apologize for that. And I don’t mean to be snarky so please forgive if it comes across that way. But I do have a birth story to share for my now-12yo so I’ll be sharing it.

Feel free to skip ahead if you’ve heard it / don’t care to read it / frankly just want to get to the end of this thing so you can see the pictures of my handsome boy.

I won’t be offended because I won’t.even.know.

So…after a few hours after a broken water and nothing happening…I got the beloved pitocin.

Ok, it’s not beloved.

Not beloved at all. Frankly, it's horrid.

And in spite of it's horrible effects, still not much happened except a bunch of pain. So I got my epidural.

And they over-dosed me on my epidural. My blood-pressure dropped, I threw up and the only parts of my body which were not numb were: my head and my right arm.

Yes, you read that correctly. I could feel NOTHING. ELSE.

As it tends to do, it began to wear off and when they redosed me, they gave me less (good call), and I regained some of the feeling in my left arm.

But  I did throw up again.

Fast forward…twenty hours after my water broke, I still had no baby to show for my laboring.

And I was BARELY at 4 cm.

For those of you who may not know or cannot recall: that’s not enough room to squeeze out a nearly-full-term baby.

Ten cm is the ideal. At least that’s what they tell me. I never had a regular delivery.

So…my doctor, who had been on call since Friday night (it was now late on Sunday afternoon), said we had two options: continue to wait or c-section. I didn’t hesitate.

“Get it out. Now.”

Yes, I called my child “it”…I’m not proud of that fact, but I was over this labor business by that point. I wanted to see this baby in all his birthday suit glory.

He’ll probably kill me for that statement, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

NOTE: I do NOT want to see him NOW in all his birthday suit glory. I’m sure that will make him feel much better.

So…they whisked me off to delivery and frankly I don’t remember too much after that. I think they gave me more drugs; I do know that I was loopy (as the photos immediately following would indicate…should I let you see them, but I will not. You’ll have to trust me here. I don’t look good.)

At 6 something that evening (yes, I’m a horrible mother for not remembering the exact time..but I’m fairly certain it’s written down in the baby book. Wherever that is. JK. I’m just too lazy/busy to go and fetch it. I’m all about the facts but I’m letting this one go.)

Actually…I’ll just tell you a time and you’ll never know the difference. It was at 6:21pm that my first sweet baby boy came bouncing into the world.

He was 5lbs 10ozs of pure joy. Early joy, but joy nonetheless.

Born on Father’s Day…the perfect gift for his dad, two grandpas, and one great-grandpa...all of whom got to be there and meet him minutes after he was born.

Just about an hour old. Sweet baby.

And not to bring this back around to me, but since I alluded to the post-delivery experience in my post about the Birth of Mr. Always Random the Youngest, I wanted to follow-through with some info.

Because I’m certain you’ve been eagerly anticipating this post for weeks. And I hate to leave my readers twisting in the wind.

So…briefly recapping the events thus far:

• My water broke on a Saturday night.
• I did not handle the epidural well AT ALL.
• My son was born on Sunday evening, via a c-section.

Which brings us to Monday…the day before we should have gone home (which was Tuesday). I was sitting up and eating my first solid food (no more broth…wahoo!) on Monday afternoon…the first solid food since my dinner on Saturday night.  And the first time I had really be able to sit up.

I stood up to go to the bathroom and my pjs were soaking wet.

No, I didn’t have a bladder control issue.

So I sat back down and my mom called the nurse.

After a quick assessment of the situation, she paged my doctor.

Yes, the very doctor who’d been on call all week-end. It was her day off. She was out bra shopping (she loved to remind me of that every time I saw her after this, because she said she would never forget what happened in this scenario). When the nurse explained what happened, the doctor told her to keep me in the bed and she was on her way.

Well, by this point I REALLY had to pee…because they have you drink all that water to flush the epidural medicine out of your system.

I was freaking out and begging to get up.

Nope…wouldn’t let me.

More begging…I don’t think they understood the severity of the situation.

At one point, they told me to just go…there was a pad underneath me that would soak it up, and they could change it from underneath me.

Well, I was desperate but not THAT desperate. I refused. But continued to beg.

Finally they said the only option was to cath me.

“Yes, please do.”

I proceeded to fill one bag and they had to change it. And then I half-filled the second bag.

“Boy, you weren’t kidding…you really had to go!”

Would I honestly joke about something like that? And would someone WILLINGLY choose to be cathed if they DIDN’T have to pee really badly.

As we’ve already discussed, I have a bladder the size of a cow…they must have missed that memo.

So…finally the doctor arrived, took one look at me and I knew it wasn’t good.

Apparently part of my body which should have been on the inside were not. It was outside.

Because the stitches of my c-section had come apart.

Oh yes...they did. I could not be kidding you less.

Fortunately I had enough pain meds coursing through my body that I hadn’t felt a thing.

So…they gave me ANOTHER epidural (though this one went slightly better than the first one…no vomit this time) and took me back into surgery…where they stapled my incision shut. And sewed it up too, using individual stitches, not the more conventional “running” stitch I believe was used during the first attempt.

And because of my infection risk, I didn’t get to go home until Friday. Yes, your math is correct…I was in the hospital for a week. My baby, who was technically a preemie, was able to go home on Tuesday morning.  

But I was not.

Fortunately they let him stay too.

So that’s his story of his big dramatic entrance. Not at all what (or when) we expected, but a blessing nonetheless.  

Happy Birthday, Darling! We love you and are so proud of the young man that you are and the gentleman you are becoming. What a gift you are to us each and every day. God has blessed us richly by the treasure of you!

Skivvies of the Bible

Everyone might want to take a couple GIANT steps back from this one. You can tell by the title that it might be a dicey, dare I say blasphemous, post today.

It’s not the first time, and it probably won’t be the last time, that I am tempting God to smite me.

But it is the first (and may be the last) time that I use actual Scripture to make a joke. I’ll see how this goes over and we’ll decide about future posts from there.

Now, I feel I must preface this to ensure that I am not, in fact, bragging, gloating, or making myself seem all high, mighty, and pious. I am not.

I am working my way through the Bible. It’s actually a Bible broken up into 365 “chunks”, so it can (theoretically) be completed in one year.

This is the second time I have read through the Bible. The first time my “Bible-in-a-year” took me two years. I didn’t really care…I was pleased to have done it at all.

This is my second time through; I started in January. Don’t be too impressed. It was last January...as in January 2012. Long about last March/April, life got busy and my reading became very sporadic. And then in the summer, things fell apart (details are not necessary…and this coming from the Queen of Details). 

Unfortunately, I put the Bible reading aside for the most part (I’m not proud of this…I’m just confessing it), and it wasn’t until September that I picked it up again. I am on track to finish by this September. So it is almost like it’s in a year plus a little bit extra.

Anyway…my point in all that rambling being this: I love it and highly recommend it to anyone who has never done it. The first time for me was set up so that each day was some Old Testament reading, some New Testament reading, as well as some Psalms and some Proverbs (and yes, I know that Psalms and Proverbs are Old Testament as well, but you understand what I mean; at least I hope you do.).

My current Bible-in-a-Year is set up chronologically. It’s only been in the last few years that I really figured out that it wasn’t written chronologically. I mean, with the Gospels it’s obvious, but I never paid enough attention to the Old Testament especially to “get” that.

So embarrassing.

But anyway…I L.O.V.E. the chronological Bible. It has been terribly helpful in helping me put all the pieces together in the order in which they happened.  

All that being said, I am currently in the book of Jeremiah.

A couple days ago, the passages for the day began with Jeremiah 13.  And I immediately began to laugh.

Now, if you are familiar with Jeremiah at all, you know that it’s not really something that one might find funny. It’s not funny at all.

Here is what I found so amusing:

Jeremiah 13: 1-11  A Linen Belt (NIV)

13 This is what the Lord said to me: “Go and buy a linen belt and put it around your waist, but do not let it touch water.” ² So I bought a belt, as the Lord directed, and put it around my waist.

³ Then the word of the Lord came to me a second time: ⁴ “Take the belt you bought and are wearing around your waist, and go now to Perath and hide it there in a crevice in the rocks.” ⁵ So I went and hid it at Perath, as the Lord told me.

⁶ Many days later the Lord said to me, “Go now to Perath and get the belt I told you to hide there.” ⁷ So I went to Perath and dug up the belt and took it from the place where I had hidden it, but now it was ruined and completely useless.

⁸ Then the word of the Lord came to me: ⁹ “This is what the Lord says: ‘In the same way I will ruin the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem. ¹⁰ These wicked people, who refuse to listen to my words, who follow the stubbornness of their hearts and go after other gods to serve and worship them, will be like this belt—completely useless! ¹¹ For as a belt is bound around the waist, so I bound all the people of Israel and all the people of Judah to me,’ declares the Lord, ‘to be my people for my renown and praise and honor. But they have not listened.’

Ok, I’ll confess…that’s not funny. Not funny at all. But it’s the version I had always read.

The NIV…just like it was meant to be read in.

I know that’s not true….the King James is the original language, right?

Is this microphone on? Anyone laughing out there?

Trust me…it gets better. At least I hope it does.

So, moving on…maybe this is the version I read:

Jeremiah 13:1-11  People Who Do Only What They Want to Do (The Message)

13 ^1-2 God told me, “Go and buy yourself some linen shorts. Put them on and keep them on. Don’t even take them off to wash them.” So I bought the shorts as God directed and put them on.

^3-5 Then God told me, “Take the shorts that you bought and go straight to Perath and hide them there in a crack in the rock.” So I did what God told me and hid them at Perath.

^6-7 Next, after quite a long time, God told me, “Go back to Perath and get the linen shorts I told you to hide there.” So I went back to Perath and dug them out of the place where I had hidden them. The shorts by then had rotted and were worthless.

^8-11 God explained, “This is the way I am going to ruin the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem—a wicked bunch of people who won’t obey me, who do only what they want to do, who chase after all kinds of no-gods and worship them. They’re going to turn out as rotten as these old shorts. Just as shorts clothe and protect, so I kept the whole family of Israel under my care”—God’s Decree—“so that everyone could see they were my people, a people I could show off to the world and be proud of. But they refused to do a thing I said.

Well, still not funny. Ridiculous? Yes. Funny? No.

Linen shorts…the idea of it seems ludicrous, especially in the desert. You’ve got to dry clean and iron linen. Who wants that? I mean, I know God knows what he’s talking about, but frankly you’ll be a wrinkled mess by the time you get to where you’re going…

And don’t wash them? Haven’t we seen those reports on 20/20? Clearly this is before the days of bedbugs infiltrating clothing from overseas…I can’t imagine wearing something without washing it.

And yes, I realize there were all sorts of creepy-crawly things everywhere so washing it wasn’t necessarily going to take care of any bedbug infestation. The infestation had nothing to do with things coming from overseas.

So…another version perhaps?

Jeremiah 13: 1-11  (American Standard Version)

13  Thus saith Jehovah unto me, Go, and buy thee a linen girdle, and put it upon thy loins, and put it not in water.

² So I bought a girdle according to the word of Jehovah, and put it upon my loins.

³ And the word of Jehovah came unto me the second time, saying,

⁴ Take the girdle that thou hast bought, which is upon thy loins, and arise, go to the Euphrates, and hide it there in a cleft of the rock.

⁵ So I went, and hid it by the Euphrates, as Jehovah commanded me.

⁶ And it came to pass after many days, that Jehovah said unto me, Arise, go to the Euphrates, and take the girdle from thence, which I commanded thee to hide there.

⁷ Then I went to the Euphrates, and digged, and took the girdle from the place where I had hid it; and, behold, the girdle was marred, it was profitable for nothing.

⁸ Then the word of Jehovah came unto me, saying,

⁹ Thus saith Jehovah, After this manner will I mar the pride of Judah, and the great pride of Jerusalem.

¹⁰ This evil people, that refuse to hear my words, that walk in the stubbornness of their heart, and are gone after other gods to serve them, and to worship them, shall even be as this girdle, which is profitable for nothing.

¹¹ For as the girdle cleaveth to the loins of a man, so have I caused to cleave unto me the whole house of Israel and the whole house of Judah, saith Jehovah; that they may be unto me for a people, and for a name, and for a praise, and for a glory: but they would not hear.

Clearly there is nothing funny about wearing a girdle, so that must not be it. But I will pause and admit that when I was a touch heavier I wore a “body shaping garment” (otherwise known as a girdle) and when I was finished with it, I wanted to bury it…so that part really speaks to me.

But we are getting somewhere in the humor department…just the use of the word “loins” makes me giggle. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it just does.

The word “tenderloin” does not make me giggle, however…it makes my mouth water. A nice big, flat, fried pork tenderloin (NOT the pork fritter like we used to get in school lunches…those were good…yes, I liked them, don’t judge), that is twice the size of the bun. Now that’s what I want for dinner…thank you so much, Jeremiah.

Sorry if that offends. I have already apologized to God and made my peace with Him about it.

Kind of. I am still chuckling a bit, so many I’m not over it.

And that’s still not the version that sent me into fits of laughter.

But this is it. I promise. This is the version I am using in my Bible-in-a-Year Bible. I’d (clearly) never read this version before and thought it might be a nice change.

I’m obviously enjoying it thus far.

Jeremiah 13:1-11  Linen Underwear (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

13 This is what the Lord said to me: “Go and buy yourself a linen undergarment and put it on, but do not put it in water.” ² So I bought underwear as the Lord instructed me and put it on.

³ Then the word of the Lord came to me a second time: ⁴ “Take the underwear that you bought and are wearing, and go at once to the Euphrates and hide it in a rocky crevice.” ⁵ So I went and hid it by the Euphrates, as the Lord commanded me.

⁶ A long time later the Lord said to me, “Go at once to the Euphrates and get the underwear that I commanded you to hide there.” ⁷ So I went to the Euphrates and dug up the underwear and got it from the place where I had hidden it, but it was ruined—of no use at all.

⁸ Then the word of the Lord came to me: ⁹ “This is what the Lord says: Just like this I will ruin the great pride of both Judah and Jerusalem. ¹⁰ These evil people, who refuse to listen to Me, who follow the stubbornness of their own hearts, and who have followed other gods to serve and worship—they will be like this underwear, of no use at all.¹¹ Just as underwear clings to one’s waist, so I fastened the whole house of Israel and of Judah to Me”—this is the Lord’s declaration—“so that they might be My people for My fame, praise, and glory, but they would not obey.

As one might expect, of course when I read “underwear,” my brain translated that to “skivvies”.  

I won’t make you re-read it and insert the word skivvies…I’ll do it for you. I’m a full-service blogger, if nothing else:

Jeremiah 13:1-11  Linen Underwear (Mrs. Always Random Somewhat Blasphemous Translation)

13 This is what the Lord said to me: “Go and buy yourself a linen undergarment and put it on, but do not put it in water.” ² So I bought a pair of skivvies as the Lord instructed me and put it on.

³ Then the word of the Lord came to me a second time: ⁴ “Take the skivvies that you bought and are wearing, and go at once to the Euphrates and hide it in a rocky crevice.” ⁵ So I went and hid it by the Euphrates, as the Lord commanded me.

⁶ A long time later the Lord said to me, “Go at once to the Euphrates and get the skivvies that I commanded you to hide there.” ⁷ So I went to the Euphrates and dug up the skivvies and got it from the place where I had hidden it, but it was ruined—of no use at all.

⁸ Then the word of the Lord came to me: ⁹ “This is what the Lord says: Just like this I will ruin the great pride of both Judah and Jerusalem. ¹⁰ These evil people, who refuse to listen to Me, who follow the stubbornness of their own hearts, and who have followed other gods to serve and worship—they will be like this pair of skivvies, of no use at all.¹¹ Just as skivvies clings to one’s waist, so I fastened the whole house of Israel and of Judah to Me”—this is the Lord’s declaration—“so that they might be My people for My fame, praise, and glory, but they would not obey.

Seriously…I think I’ve been hanging out with the PBA WAY too much…