GEEZE-O-PETE!!! When did October get here? What happened to September? Or July for that matter?
I suppose what I'm trying to say here is...well I don't know really what I'm trying to say. I'm sure it was something nifty about time and Jim Croce and a bottle. Or it could just have been about my lack of discipline and getting behind on stuff.
Something to that effect.
Anyhoo, I think when last we spoke I was tellin' y'all about my brush with the stripper pole. Turns out, that was not to be the only time during vacay that I would almost come in contact with the exotic dance industry. Oh no.
After much back and forth with our friendly GPS lady and approximately 11 U-turns...we finally arrived at our destination (completely intact and only slightly worse for wear). We were pleasantly surprised by the ocean view from our condo "balcony." I put the word "balcony" in quotation marks because it was only about a foot wide. Two people could fit out there, but your behind would definitely be smooshed up against the sliding glass door.
We snapped some quick pics of the kids faces as they got their first view and then we did what normal people do...we dropped our bags and hightailed it out to the beach. Now, in order to get to the beach, we had to go down one floor to the lobby and walk past the pool and hot tub. As we were walking I noticed some people out there that were a bit, well, out of the ordinary...but I just chalked it up to "Hey we're at Myrtle Beach" and tried to keep up with the kids as they ran pell mell to the ocean.
A while later we dragged the kids away from the ocean in order to feed them dinner. We only accomplished this feat with promises of returning as soon as possible. We got cleaned up and hopped back in the car (oh joy! rapture!) in search of grub.
Now, I should remind y'all...I have never had to drive myself around Myrtle before. I was therefore, immediately lost. But we had our trusty GPS lady to guide us and what do you know...only 3 minor U-turns and one trip through the North Myrtle "red light" district later (see paragraph #4) and we found a suh-weet little Mexican restaurant.
We walked in and almost walked back out because someone had seriously doused the entire place in Pine-Sol. It was nauseating. We considered leaving but we were pretty much done with all the "being in the car" so we decided to stick it out. PSA: Mexican food and "pine-fresh scent" do not go together well.
After dinner we headed back to the beach for one last dip before collapsing into our beds. Keep in mind we had been up since 4:30 in the am. Y'all we were tired. Which might help you understand the whys and wherefores of what happened next.
My friend began working her "mom" magic and somehow managed to get the littles calmed down enough to drop off to sleep. We had turned out the lights in the condo and were settling down ourselves when the people I had noticed earlier decided it was PARTY IN THE USA time. Because spending their whole day doing shots at the pool-side Tiki bar hadn't been enough. And lucky for us...our room was right over the pool/hot tub area. So we got to hear every bit of slurred conversation and "friendly banter" happening between the guys and the gals.
One of whom started to get really upset. Girlfriend and I peeked through the curtains and noticed that one of the party-goer guys was a little on the short side. Someone had called him on it or asked him about it and I don't know what else was said but it must have been bad because next thing we know, homeboy is up out of the hot tub going "Come AT me BRO! Come AT me!"
Now y'all...Mimi is all about people of all shapes, colors and sizes. So please don't hate me for saying this...but the sight of that little man dripping wet and hopping (I kid you not...he was hopping) and screaming...well it was somewhat humorous. It didn't help that we were slap-happy by that time either.
After the initial chuckle or two, when things didn't seem to be calming down, this was the point when Girlfriend started getting a little mad herself. We were TRYING TO KEEP TWO KIDS COMATOSE UNTIL AT LEAST 6AM FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. It was 11pm and the rules clearly stated (we knew because being the nerdy girls we are...we actually read them) that 11pm was quiet time. Girlfriend wanted those peeps gone. I just sat back (see blog title) to see what would happen. Plus I didn't want to get in her way. She was getting this strange twitch in her eye and mumbling something about sleep so...I just tried to survive.
Girlfriend marched to the phone...picked up the receiver and called the front desk. Yes. She TOLD ON THE PARTY-GOERS AND THE ANGRY LITTLE MAN. It should be mentioned here (because my wordcount isn't NEARLY long enough and you haven't been completely bored to tears yet) that the front desk guy was all of 150 pounds soaking wet. And his name was Richard. Not Rick. Not Ricky-Bobby. Not Studly McStudmuffin. Just Richard.
BUT...he WAS covered in tattoos so we were hoping there was enough toughness in him to get the job done. We were especially worried that Richard might have to tangle with the ANGRY LITTLE MAN...so after Girlfriend hung up we did what normal, mature, grown-up Christian ladies would do. We peeped through the curtain to watch the show.
Home-boy Richard was brilliant. Those people argued and whined...but Richard the Night Manager got them out. We were high-fiving him and giving him the thumbs up and telling him (from the safety of our second floor room and behind our curtains) that we had his back. At this point, Richard turned and LOOKED UP AT US and gave us a thumbs up. And that's when we realized the sliding glass door was OPEN and he had heard us.
Every. Word.
Mortification. It's a definite buzz-kill.
Tune in next time for the story about the one-legged lady and Lt. Dan. No, I am not kidding.
Showing posts with label Adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adventures. Show all posts
Friday, October 5, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The Cracker Barrel And The Stripper Pole
You know what two phrases are rarely heard together in a sentence?
"Stripper poles" and "Cracker Barrel." But today, friends...prepare to be amazed as history is in the making where these two phrases are concerned.
Only in my world could they ever be together. A fact for which I thank God for...truly.
Now, I love ye olde "CB" but I am in no way affiliated with that corporation, nor am I being paid to mention anything about them.
I just like to eat there.
And a few weeks ago, whilst on yon vacation...I decided to stop there. To eat. With my friend and her two littles.
The only problem with it was, we were in South Carolina and apparently, they do things a bit differently there. In my neck of the woods, when you walk in to a CB, the dining hall is always to your left, and the general store is to your right.
Not so in South Carolina. It's all backwards. So after hitting the bathroom up and mentioning all the geographical oddities of this particular locale...we commenced to being seated and eating breakfast. It should be mentioned here that Girlfriend's four year old has an appetite that is approximately the size of an ant. She's a little stick figure with white blonde curls and gorgeous blue eyes that swallow her whole face.
She is lethally adorable.
The one thing she does love to eat in any sort of measurable quantity is bacon. Because...who doesn't? Even if you don't eat it because of diet restrictions...you're still craving the salty, crispy goodness of porkfat. Yum. So...Princess Pea (as she shall henceforth be named) and I ordered ourselves a nice helping of bacon.
At which point Princess Pea says, "You wike bacon too?" And I said, "Psshhhttt...yeah...I lurve bacon!" And then she giggled and squirmed and put her hand up to her mouth to whisper to me, "You and me can be bacon buddies!" *snort giggle giggle snort*
To which I replied solemnly, "Yes. Yes we can." And so we are even to this day.
Now during this whole exchange, the eight-year-old was discussing with his mother what he would have and so on and so forth. When the food came out...he took two bites and declared loudly to all within hearing range that "This is the best food I've ever had!!!"
Have I said to you that I love these kids??? I mean...they are foodie geniuses!
Eight-year-old declared and avowed his love for his meal again to our waitress, who then proceeded into the kitchen to tell the cook...and buddy boy got a huge thumbs up from our table. And eight-year-old's day was made when the cook waved enthusiastically in response.
And then we all rolled out to the car...having eaten so much bacon and such that we could no longer walk.
I tipped the waitress with some "ones" from my "stripper stash."
Oh wait...I forgot to tell you about that part.
Prior to the culinary episode at CB...we had stopped at a gas station. I walked into the store to pay because all I had on me was cash. Large bills. It was a bit early in the day and the cashier only had ones, so she asked me if it would be ok if my change was a bunch of...well....one dollar bills. I said, "Sure."
To which she replied, "Just tell everybody you got them at the stripper pole last night."
To which I said, "Alrighty then."
And then I thanked her for thinking I had the flexibility and dexterity to be able to work a pole.
At my age...you've got to take the compliments where you can get them people.
So Lord...today please bless the Cracker Barrel people who have to serve copious amounts of bacon to weary travelers who can only tip them with cash that may or may not have been earned at a stripper pole. And bless the gas station attendants who have the optimism to believe someone whose physical shape largely resembles that of a bowling ball...would seem desirable enough to have warranted that many dollar bills.
Amen.
Tune in next time folks when Mimi throws together the phrases, "Angry Midget" and "Hot Tub."
"Stripper poles" and "Cracker Barrel." But today, friends...prepare to be amazed as history is in the making where these two phrases are concerned.
Only in my world could they ever be together. A fact for which I thank God for...truly.
Now, I love ye olde "CB" but I am in no way affiliated with that corporation, nor am I being paid to mention anything about them.
I just like to eat there.
And a few weeks ago, whilst on yon vacation...I decided to stop there. To eat. With my friend and her two littles.
The only problem with it was, we were in South Carolina and apparently, they do things a bit differently there. In my neck of the woods, when you walk in to a CB, the dining hall is always to your left, and the general store is to your right.
Not so in South Carolina. It's all backwards. So after hitting the bathroom up and mentioning all the geographical oddities of this particular locale...we commenced to being seated and eating breakfast. It should be mentioned here that Girlfriend's four year old has an appetite that is approximately the size of an ant. She's a little stick figure with white blonde curls and gorgeous blue eyes that swallow her whole face.
She is lethally adorable.
The one thing she does love to eat in any sort of measurable quantity is bacon. Because...who doesn't? Even if you don't eat it because of diet restrictions...you're still craving the salty, crispy goodness of porkfat. Yum. So...Princess Pea (as she shall henceforth be named) and I ordered ourselves a nice helping of bacon.
At which point Princess Pea says, "You wike bacon too?" And I said, "Psshhhttt...yeah...I lurve bacon!" And then she giggled and squirmed and put her hand up to her mouth to whisper to me, "You and me can be bacon buddies!" *snort giggle giggle snort*
To which I replied solemnly, "Yes. Yes we can." And so we are even to this day.
Now during this whole exchange, the eight-year-old was discussing with his mother what he would have and so on and so forth. When the food came out...he took two bites and declared loudly to all within hearing range that "This is the best food I've ever had!!!"
Have I said to you that I love these kids??? I mean...they are foodie geniuses!
Eight-year-old declared and avowed his love for his meal again to our waitress, who then proceeded into the kitchen to tell the cook...and buddy boy got a huge thumbs up from our table. And eight-year-old's day was made when the cook waved enthusiastically in response.
And then we all rolled out to the car...having eaten so much bacon and such that we could no longer walk.
I tipped the waitress with some "ones" from my "stripper stash."
Oh wait...I forgot to tell you about that part.
Prior to the culinary episode at CB...we had stopped at a gas station. I walked into the store to pay because all I had on me was cash. Large bills. It was a bit early in the day and the cashier only had ones, so she asked me if it would be ok if my change was a bunch of...well....one dollar bills. I said, "Sure."
To which she replied, "Just tell everybody you got them at the stripper pole last night."
To which I said, "Alrighty then."
And then I thanked her for thinking I had the flexibility and dexterity to be able to work a pole.
At my age...you've got to take the compliments where you can get them people.
So Lord...today please bless the Cracker Barrel people who have to serve copious amounts of bacon to weary travelers who can only tip them with cash that may or may not have been earned at a stripper pole. And bless the gas station attendants who have the optimism to believe someone whose physical shape largely resembles that of a bowling ball...would seem desirable enough to have warranted that many dollar bills.
Amen.
Tune in next time folks when Mimi throws together the phrases, "Angry Midget" and "Hot Tub."
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Driving In The Car With Kids...A Guide
So I promised a second part to the whole vacay story. So this week, in not-so-Paul-Harvey-esque fashion, I promise to relay the "rest of the story."
But first...a list. Consider it a guide of sorts.
You're welcome.
1. If you're planning on driving a car with a friend and two kids in the backseat for a significant distance, make sure you wait until the last minute to pack so that you won't go to bed until 3 hours before you're supposed to leave. And then as you slide into the driver's seat...tell your friend that you didn't get any sleep. This is to build up her confidence that she and her offspring will survive the drive.
2. Make sure that your route is filled with as many mountainous roads and switchback turns as possible. This will ensure that your friend at least will stay awake even if you can't. Also, if you're gonna go off the side of the mountain...then at least one of you should get the "full effect."
3. Don't be afraid of eighteen-wheelers. Get as close to them as you can. If you can coast in their blind-spot, so much the better! This will give your friend an opportunity to get closer to Jesus, as she will certainly call out His name several times.
4. Take the time to plan a vacation at a destination you've never actually had to drive to before. This will give your lazy GPS lady a workout and goodness knows she needs one. It will also give your friend something other than the door-handle to clutch as you go barrelling around those switchback curves.
5. Get friendly with your gas pedal. This is because your lazy, good-for-nothing, cheap, worthless GPS lady will give you wrong directions...and you'll want to be able to show off your donut skillz while performing numerous "legal" u-turns in traffic.
6. Be observant. You want to make sure to point out those stop signs and various shrubbery to the kids because they might not have noticed them the first 8 times you passed them.
7. Don't forget to call your husband en route to let him know that your tires feel funny and your engine light just came on. Do this in front of your friend...that way you kill two birds with one stone and can possibly spark a revival, as this will up the amount of spirit-filled prayer that your friend is now doing non-stop; not to mention all the "special" language now being uttered by your husband (who is hundreds of miles away). Remember, where two or more are gathered together....
8. When filling up your tank in a strange city, go to the one with bars on all the windows and a parking lot filled with "hooptys" bouncing lots of bass and gangsta rap. This will help the two youngsters in the backseat get the full message behind Elvis' classic hit "In The Ghetto." Because vacations don't always have to be filled with fun and sun. They can be educational too.
9. Take only cash with you. That way, when you're in above-mentioned gas station, you can flash it to any and all passers-by as you go in to pay. But make sure you take your car keys with you into the station, as your friend may by now be slightly over-reacting and won't unlock the car door without a certain amount of "encouragement."
10. Buy candy for the kids to gobble up in the back seat. This move cannot be overstated as it will improve the chance for a full sugar melt-down right as you're pulling into your destination and are getting ready to unload the car. Your friend will appreciate the fact that her kids have demonstrated their vocal abilities to the entire establishment, because who doesn't love a "grand entrance?"
So...that's it. My guide to traveling by car with other people. And kids. I have no copyright on this guide, so feel free to tweak it with your own special variations and make it "yours."
Also, no children or friends were harmed in the making of this guide. At least...not physically.
But first...a list. Consider it a guide of sorts.
You're welcome.
1. If you're planning on driving a car with a friend and two kids in the backseat for a significant distance, make sure you wait until the last minute to pack so that you won't go to bed until 3 hours before you're supposed to leave. And then as you slide into the driver's seat...tell your friend that you didn't get any sleep. This is to build up her confidence that she and her offspring will survive the drive.
2. Make sure that your route is filled with as many mountainous roads and switchback turns as possible. This will ensure that your friend at least will stay awake even if you can't. Also, if you're gonna go off the side of the mountain...then at least one of you should get the "full effect."
3. Don't be afraid of eighteen-wheelers. Get as close to them as you can. If you can coast in their blind-spot, so much the better! This will give your friend an opportunity to get closer to Jesus, as she will certainly call out His name several times.
4. Take the time to plan a vacation at a destination you've never actually had to drive to before. This will give your lazy GPS lady a workout and goodness knows she needs one. It will also give your friend something other than the door-handle to clutch as you go barrelling around those switchback curves.
5. Get friendly with your gas pedal. This is because your lazy, good-for-nothing, cheap, worthless GPS lady will give you wrong directions...and you'll want to be able to show off your donut skillz while performing numerous "legal" u-turns in traffic.
6. Be observant. You want to make sure to point out those stop signs and various shrubbery to the kids because they might not have noticed them the first 8 times you passed them.
7. Don't forget to call your husband en route to let him know that your tires feel funny and your engine light just came on. Do this in front of your friend...that way you kill two birds with one stone and can possibly spark a revival, as this will up the amount of spirit-filled prayer that your friend is now doing non-stop; not to mention all the "special" language now being uttered by your husband (who is hundreds of miles away). Remember, where two or more are gathered together....
8. When filling up your tank in a strange city, go to the one with bars on all the windows and a parking lot filled with "hooptys" bouncing lots of bass and gangsta rap. This will help the two youngsters in the backseat get the full message behind Elvis' classic hit "In The Ghetto." Because vacations don't always have to be filled with fun and sun. They can be educational too.
9. Take only cash with you. That way, when you're in above-mentioned gas station, you can flash it to any and all passers-by as you go in to pay. But make sure you take your car keys with you into the station, as your friend may by now be slightly over-reacting and won't unlock the car door without a certain amount of "encouragement."
10. Buy candy for the kids to gobble up in the back seat. This move cannot be overstated as it will improve the chance for a full sugar melt-down right as you're pulling into your destination and are getting ready to unload the car. Your friend will appreciate the fact that her kids have demonstrated their vocal abilities to the entire establishment, because who doesn't love a "grand entrance?"
So...that's it. My guide to traveling by car with other people. And kids. I have no copyright on this guide, so feel free to tweak it with your own special variations and make it "yours."
Also, no children or friends were harmed in the making of this guide. At least...not physically.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
In Which I Tempt Fate A Second Time
Y'all. I believe I have documented somewhat my feelings about myself interracting with nature. Don't get me wrong, I like nature and I think it's good and stuff...but it could be so much better if it were devoid of bugs and had better air conditioning.
But last week...like the self-sacrificing Christian I am, I ventured out once more in the name of friendship and freedom. As in "free lodging and food" freedom. An issue which I'm sure our forefathers would have included in the Constitution had there been such things as condominiums and vacation resorts in their time.
Instead of rolling down the river, this time I was at the beach. I shall not name the beach except to say that it starts with "Myrtle" and ends with...well..."Beach." I haven't written about it until now simply becauseI'm lazy the words wouldn't come out. It was a trip of epic epic-ness in a way that only those who are in love with Dr. Sheldon Cooper and the movie The Great Outdoors can understand. The selection of wording must be just right so that you too, Dear Reader(s), can experience what my friend and I experienced last week. You lucky dog(s), you.
A couple of months ago, a very sweet friend of mine mentioned to me that she had an opportunity to go to the beach, but no way to get there. She sort of asked in an off-handish way if I would be interested in going...I'd just have to drive and provide the gas and she would take care of the rest. In what I can only describe as a cranial infarction, I said, "Sure! I'll go!" Obviously I had completely blocked out my previous flirtation with paralysis a few short months ago and had now opted for certain death by various and sundry means on our nations coastline.
Now I should note here that my friend and I had heretofore spent a little time together, but nothing like this. I mean, 10 hours in a car and then 4 nights together with her two littles? It had not yet been attempted. At this juncture I should also tell you that I adore her kids. She has an 8 year old boy and a 4 year old girl. In my opinion...this is the best age to take your kids anywhere.
My friend had been to the ocean before...but her kids had not. So we were both kind of pumped to see the reactions on their faces. I had mentioned to my pal that we would leave super-duper early...like 6am...(and we all know what a fan Mimi is of pre-sunrise activity) and that the kids would probably sleep most of the way there.
It was at this point when my friend patted my shoulder and got this sad, yet loving and sympathetic gleam in her eye as if to say..."Oh...you sad, strange, little woman...it's been a while since your kids were small hasn't it?" I shrugged it off as Mom-jitters. You know, the kind where you really want people to think your kids are the greatest thing since sliced bread and you're nervous and tense that what they're really gonna do is make people think that you and your husband should be henceforth banned from ever procreating ever again? Sort of like Honey Boo Boo's parents?
Yeah...Mom-jitters. Not that I've ever had them or anything. My kids were angels I tell you. ANGELS.
We got the trunk packed up in a fashion would have made R. Lee Ermey proud, got the kids buckled into their carseats and proceeded to put the pedal to the metal. Or something like that. Actually, I went the wrong way right out of the gate, but it was all good because I needed to stop at the gas station to top off the tank. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it!) We got that done and I get back in the car and I kid you not...we had come all of 2.5 miles and we needed a potty break.
Yep. It had been a while since ol' Mimi had gone on a trip with littles.
There was a Hardee's across the street from us which also happens to be the primo spot for all the local geezers to get together for breakfast and solve the world's problems. I know this because there were two of them who stared at us upon entry and exit of afore-mentioned potty break and made us feel as though we had tread carelessly on sacred ground. Like we had let the kids pee on the Lincoln Memorial or something. I waved to them as my friend shoved her kids into the back seat and we peeled out of there like two bananas. (Get it? Peeled? Bananas????)
Clearly...we were off to a super-duper start.
To Be Continued...
But last week...like the self-sacrificing Christian I am, I ventured out once more in the name of friendship and freedom. As in "free lodging and food" freedom. An issue which I'm sure our forefathers would have included in the Constitution had there been such things as condominiums and vacation resorts in their time.
Instead of rolling down the river, this time I was at the beach. I shall not name the beach except to say that it starts with "Myrtle" and ends with...well..."Beach." I haven't written about it until now simply because
A couple of months ago, a very sweet friend of mine mentioned to me that she had an opportunity to go to the beach, but no way to get there. She sort of asked in an off-handish way if I would be interested in going...I'd just have to drive and provide the gas and she would take care of the rest. In what I can only describe as a cranial infarction, I said, "Sure! I'll go!" Obviously I had completely blocked out my previous flirtation with paralysis a few short months ago and had now opted for certain death by various and sundry means on our nations coastline.
Now I should note here that my friend and I had heretofore spent a little time together, but nothing like this. I mean, 10 hours in a car and then 4 nights together with her two littles? It had not yet been attempted. At this juncture I should also tell you that I adore her kids. She has an 8 year old boy and a 4 year old girl. In my opinion...this is the best age to take your kids anywhere.
My friend had been to the ocean before...but her kids had not. So we were both kind of pumped to see the reactions on their faces. I had mentioned to my pal that we would leave super-duper early...like 6am...(and we all know what a fan Mimi is of pre-sunrise activity) and that the kids would probably sleep most of the way there.
It was at this point when my friend patted my shoulder and got this sad, yet loving and sympathetic gleam in her eye as if to say..."Oh...you sad, strange, little woman...it's been a while since your kids were small hasn't it?" I shrugged it off as Mom-jitters. You know, the kind where you really want people to think your kids are the greatest thing since sliced bread and you're nervous and tense that what they're really gonna do is make people think that you and your husband should be henceforth banned from ever procreating ever again? Sort of like Honey Boo Boo's parents?
Yeah...Mom-jitters. Not that I've ever had them or anything. My kids were angels I tell you. ANGELS.
We got the trunk packed up in a fashion would have made R. Lee Ermey proud, got the kids buckled into their carseats and proceeded to put the pedal to the metal. Or something like that. Actually, I went the wrong way right out of the gate, but it was all good because I needed to stop at the gas station to top off the tank. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it!) We got that done and I get back in the car and I kid you not...we had come all of 2.5 miles and we needed a potty break.
Yep. It had been a while since ol' Mimi had gone on a trip with littles.
There was a Hardee's across the street from us which also happens to be the primo spot for all the local geezers to get together for breakfast and solve the world's problems. I know this because there were two of them who stared at us upon entry and exit of afore-mentioned potty break and made us feel as though we had tread carelessly on sacred ground. Like we had let the kids pee on the Lincoln Memorial or something. I waved to them as my friend shoved her kids into the back seat and we peeled out of there like two bananas. (Get it? Peeled? Bananas????)
Clearly...we were off to a super-duper start.
To Be Continued...
Monday, August 20, 2012
See...This Is Why I Need To Carry My Camera Everywhere
I saw Elvis on Saturday. I had no idea he lived here, but apparently he's living the good life downtown. I'm happy to report to you that the white jumpsuit with exaggerated collar and huge belt are still in play. Although I do wish he would get his tailor to use somewhat thicker material.
Because Mimi really didn't want to see that much Elvis.
I know it sounds too good to be true being as there was a funeral and a grave (which we all KNOW is fake) and this is the reason why I really do need to carry my camera with me. Because truly, some things just require photographical evidence. The camera on my so-called smartphone is not very smart so it's no use to me at all. Plus, I'm a somewhat semi-professional photographer so isn't there some sort of unwritten rule? Aren't there like, the Ten Commandments of Canon?
If anyone out there knows the answer to that...feel free to holla back at me!
In other news, I had to be at the hospital unexpectedly on Saturday. Not for medical reasons, but because as stated above, I'm a somewhat semi-professional photographer. I do newborn portraits for Bella Baby Photography on a part-time basis.
It's a fantastic job...I mean, hello? Newborns? So delicious! I could eat up everyone of those precious littles! (Not literally. I'm sure you knew that but, just in case...I don't mind a little PR, but that headline on CNN might not be the kind of PR Mimi needs.)
(Notice how my use of "PR" makes me sound like I know what I'm doing. Or not.)
(It might just make me sound like a big ol' idiot.)
(Have you noticed that I like parentheses? And rabbit trails?)
(SHHH! I'm hunting WABBITS!!!)
(Oh dear, I've totally de-railed. It's Monday. That'll be my excuse. Sorry.)
So yeah...hospitals. I was at one. On Saturday. Yep.
The point that I'm not making very well is that even with photographing scrumptious little babies and spending all my time on what I consider to be the happiest floor of a hospital...it can still be a depressing place. There are babies born every day into precarious situations that make little sense to me. And it's a wonder to me that in a place filled with sickness and death...life is still bursting forth.
But then, that's our world isn't it? It's crazy that on this sin weary planet, right smack dab in the middle of the enemy's playground...there are new beginnings and light and life everywhere. This is an awesome testimony to the power of our God. He truly is all around us.
Because Mimi really didn't want to see that much Elvis.
If anyone out there knows the answer to that...feel free to holla back at me!
In other news, I had to be at the hospital unexpectedly on Saturday. Not for medical reasons, but because as stated above, I'm a somewhat semi-professional photographer. I do newborn portraits for Bella Baby Photography on a part-time basis.
It's a fantastic job...I mean, hello? Newborns? So delicious! I could eat up everyone of those precious littles! (Not literally. I'm sure you knew that but, just in case...I don't mind a little PR, but that headline on CNN might not be the kind of PR Mimi needs.)
(Notice how my use of "PR" makes me sound like I know what I'm doing. Or not.)
(It might just make me sound like a big ol' idiot.)
(Have you noticed that I like parentheses? And rabbit trails?)
(SHHH! I'm hunting WABBITS!!!)
(Oh dear, I've totally de-railed. It's Monday. That'll be my excuse. Sorry.)
So yeah...hospitals. I was at one. On Saturday. Yep.
The point that I'm not making very well is that even with photographing scrumptious little babies and spending all my time on what I consider to be the happiest floor of a hospital...it can still be a depressing place. There are babies born every day into precarious situations that make little sense to me. And it's a wonder to me that in a place filled with sickness and death...life is still bursting forth.
But then, that's our world isn't it? It's crazy that on this sin weary planet, right smack dab in the middle of the enemy's playground...there are new beginnings and light and life everywhere. This is an awesome testimony to the power of our God. He truly is all around us.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,”
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You.
Psalm 139:7-10 (NASB)
Isn't that last line wonderful?
It makes me feel safe to know that even when I don't know what's going on, and I can't see my hand in front of my face...God sees and knows and nothing...not even darkness can overwhelm Him.
I do however wish that darkness would envelop Elvis a little.
Because y'all...that white jumpsuit was just a tad harsh on the eyes.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Merrily, Merrily, Merrily...A.K.A Dear Jesus, Please Don't Let Me Die In An Innertube
Welll...this weekend was LOADS O' FUN. Yours truly was out in nature, enjoying all of it's splendor and being carelessly rammed into huge boulders in the name of FAMILY TIME.
Honestly, the fault was mine. Last Thursday I was reading a blog about how few summers I have left with my son and I got all mushy and all I can say is...I claim insanity.
I hopped on the web with determination that we were going to have a GREAT TIME this weekend, and in the words of Clark Griswold...we were gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny Kaye.
(If you don't know that movie, I'll say a prayer for you tonight. Because you are clearly in need of a cinematic education my friend.)
In the midst of the hopping and surfing and all, I came across an advertisement for a company that will allow you to get into a plastic inflated circle of death and roll on down the river. Yes we could have all ended up as quadraplegics, but hey, it only cost 9 bucks each and if nothing else, we are all about life-threatening injuries for cheap.
Actually, what was on the forefront of my mind, and imminently more frightening (you know, more than my son's well-being and the possibility of his life being cut short) was how I was going to look getting into the stupid tube. Because y'all...Mimi has put on a leetle poundage since her hey-day as a young and happening hipster.
Yes indeed.
And since the sun hates me, I get the added bonus of having the skin pallor of the undead.
So we rolled into the parking lot and a really bored (and tan) college guy comes out and shoves some paperwork at me that basically says, "BLAH, BLAH, BLAH...you can't sue us even if we're negligent...BLAH, BLAH, BLAH...neither can your kids, or your friends or your friends' kids...sign here and good luck not dying, and if you lose our tube, you owe us twenty bucks."
The concern for the safety and well-being of their customers just rolled off the pages.
We go to the change rooms where I tried not to think about germs and MRSA and whatnot and I squeezed into my bathing suit. I had a nice breezy black cover-up that didn't quite cover-up what I wanted to cover-up...so for my family's added enjoyment, I put on a pair of blue striped polyester cropped pants.
Quite the fashion plate I am.
We got our tubes and got on the shuttle which drove us to the drop-off point. In what I would term as a minor miracle, I managed to successfully get on my tube with the first try. I paddled out to the middle of the stream where my husband and son werewaiting floating away and tried to follow the rules that our shuttle driver imparted to us, which were a)don't die and b)don't go down the river backwards.
Oh well, why didn't I think of that?
So naturally out of all the floats that were available I got the broken one, because no matter how hard I tried...I floated backwards. And it appears that the Holy Spirit may have been trying to tell me something because my float went straight for the biggest boulders in the river. Every. Time.
My husband tried shouting helpful things to me like, "Don't try to control it! Just go with it!"
Oh really? Hi, do you know me? Your wife of twenty-one years? Helicopter mom?
Eventually though...his words got through to me. And there was actually a second where I let myself float and didn't try to steer anything. And for that one moment I found that it was easier if I just let go and trusted that Jesus was not about to let me die in an innertube.
I'm sure there's a life-lesson in that for me somewhere.
By the time we got to our exit point I had even worked up enough courage to ask the fam if they wanted to go again. Even though what I really wanted to do was you know...go home. But they were hungry and were more interested in finding food than tempting God a second time, and honey, when they told me that it was all I could do not to break out in tongues and do the Holy Ghost buck and jive.
Which I'm sure would have given all the out-of-towners and vacationers who were there with us a lot more sight-seeing than they really wanted.
And everybody said, "Amen."
Honestly, the fault was mine. Last Thursday I was reading a blog about how few summers I have left with my son and I got all mushy and all I can say is...I claim insanity.
I hopped on the web with determination that we were going to have a GREAT TIME this weekend, and in the words of Clark Griswold...we were gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny Kaye.
(If you don't know that movie, I'll say a prayer for you tonight. Because you are clearly in need of a cinematic education my friend.)
In the midst of the hopping and surfing and all, I came across an advertisement for a company that will allow you to get into a plastic inflated circle of death and roll on down the river. Yes we could have all ended up as quadraplegics, but hey, it only cost 9 bucks each and if nothing else, we are all about life-threatening injuries for cheap.
Actually, what was on the forefront of my mind, and imminently more frightening (you know, more than my son's well-being and the possibility of his life being cut short) was how I was going to look getting into the stupid tube. Because y'all...Mimi has put on a leetle poundage since her hey-day as a young and happening hipster.
Yes indeed.
And since the sun hates me, I get the added bonus of having the skin pallor of the undead.
So we rolled into the parking lot and a really bored (and tan) college guy comes out and shoves some paperwork at me that basically says, "BLAH, BLAH, BLAH...you can't sue us even if we're negligent...BLAH, BLAH, BLAH...neither can your kids, or your friends or your friends' kids...sign here and good luck not dying, and if you lose our tube, you owe us twenty bucks."
The concern for the safety and well-being of their customers just rolled off the pages.
We go to the change rooms where I tried not to think about germs and MRSA and whatnot and I squeezed into my bathing suit. I had a nice breezy black cover-up that didn't quite cover-up what I wanted to cover-up...so for my family's added enjoyment, I put on a pair of blue striped polyester cropped pants.
Quite the fashion plate I am.
We got our tubes and got on the shuttle which drove us to the drop-off point. In what I would term as a minor miracle, I managed to successfully get on my tube with the first try. I paddled out to the middle of the stream where my husband and son were
Oh well, why didn't I think of that?
So naturally out of all the floats that were available I got the broken one, because no matter how hard I tried...I floated backwards. And it appears that the Holy Spirit may have been trying to tell me something because my float went straight for the biggest boulders in the river. Every. Time.
My husband tried shouting helpful things to me like, "Don't try to control it! Just go with it!"
Oh really? Hi, do you know me? Your wife of twenty-one years? Helicopter mom?
Eventually though...his words got through to me. And there was actually a second where I let myself float and didn't try to steer anything. And for that one moment I found that it was easier if I just let go and trusted that Jesus was not about to let me die in an innertube.
I'm sure there's a life-lesson in that for me somewhere.
By the time we got to our exit point I had even worked up enough courage to ask the fam if they wanted to go again. Even though what I really wanted to do was you know...go home. But they were hungry and were more interested in finding food than tempting God a second time, and honey, when they told me that it was all I could do not to break out in tongues and do the Holy Ghost buck and jive.
Which I'm sure would have given all the out-of-towners and vacationers who were there with us a lot more sight-seeing than they really wanted.
And everybody said, "Amen."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)