I could be the Cookie monster.

I'm sitting here eating a snickerdoodle, one of my favorites. Its not the best I've ever had, but I don't come by them very often and I have to utilize every chance I get.

There is also a dessert reception going on at this very moment for a choir concert featuring choirs ranging from the 4th grade to the 12th grade. One reason I love dessert receptions is that everyone brings cookies. Can I just tell you that I love cookies? I always have, and I think chances are, I always will. They are just so stinking delicious. How can you not resist the chewy or crunchy amazingness wrapped up in 7 heavenly bites? I had to stop buying cookies from the store because I will eat them...all of them. Adam doesn't usually help. I could finish off the package in about 3 fell swoops, leaving a trail of crumbs the whole way.

Cookies have gotten a lot harder to enjoy since we made the conscious decision to evaluate our buying power. Are we unknowingly funding slavery by our purchases? Most often, when we buy chocolate, we are (granted, its in a small way, but everything helps.) A slave that was rescued from one of the cocoa farms in the Cote d'Ivoire said in a BBC interview that eating chocolate that came from Cote d'Ivoire was like eating his flesh. It kind of stuck with me. Long story short, we decided that we could not knowingly buy or eat chocolate that was not Fair Trade Certified. (There was a big push from the US Government to eliminate slavery from this process in 2001, and they say they are working on it. Statistics show that not much has changed.)

Most of the good cookies have chocolate in them! Oreos, Chocolate chip cookies, M&M cookies, brownies, mud pie cookies, the list could flow forever. Yikes...guess my new favorite cookie is the snickerdoodle. I was so happy when I saw it at the reception tonight. My heart rejoiced with all the anticipation of savoring every last morsel and nugget of the cinnamon goodness.

Just popped the last crumb in my mouth, and it was magnificnent. Thank you, Jesus!

This weekend, we had our first non-parental family visit...Nana came to town. Nana is the hub's maternal grandmother. As a fairly newlywed who hasn't really gotten to know the family yet (these things take time,) I have to admit that I was a little terrified. I also have to admit that I am probably the worst housekeeper and for this reason, I was even more terrified. Anyone who knew me growing up knows that my problems as a teenager all boiled down to homework and housework. I mean, what teenager doesn't have those problems? Oddly enough, I never grew out of it. I still hate both. Anyway, since I am not a good housekeeper, I get really nervous when people come over. Mostly because I feel like they are going to know I spent the last six and a half hours frantically rushing around the house, trying to undo a few weeks of not dusting, sweeping, wiping, or tidying. When someone is going to stay the night, I get extra nervous.

So, Nana comes into town, and I feel like she is bringing with her white gloves and a bucket of cleaning supplies so she can disinfect the house before anything else. I know she actually isn't going to do these things, and I know it is ridiculous to think these things will happen. This is just the irrational fear in the back of my mind. *Not unlike the fear that shoes will protect me from the things that come to attack me once the lights go out...no really, I'm afraid of the dark and I wholeheartedly believe that shoes will protect me. Like I said, irrational for someone who has made it past her 7th birthday.

All in all, we had a great visit with Nana. I can safely say that she did not die from sleeping in our house, nor did she bring white gloves. I had a great time getting to know a little bit more about her and her past. I also got to hear what my husband was like as a kid, which was fantastic.

I can now say that I have gotten past the first non-parental family visit...whew.

If any of you are looking for some good new music (or just plain good) check out Jake Armerding (www.jakearmerding.com) He has an album that just came out. He did a release party at Bethany on Sunday. It was a. ma. zing. Amazing. I guess you could call his music folk/americana/bluegrass/awesome.

Let me know what you think.

Tears over dances.

So, the fact that we don't have cable seriously hinders my TV watching ability for any channel but ABC. I am really okay with this because if there is cable anywhere within a 100ft. radius of my body, its like someone abducts my body and inhabits it. I have no willpower. "What? You say I have been watching this Law & Order: SVU marathon for 6 hours? Hmm. Ooh, here comes another one. As soon as this one is over..." Needless to say, our apartment fell into serious disrepair. Also needless to say, it is a good thing we don't have cable.

Last night was the season finale of Dancing With The Stars (DWTS hereafter.) Hooray! It was the only thing on and the husband was at a Sox game (for staff team building...right.) No way that I'm gonna sit in silence or do actual housework. So, DWTS finale. I have watched the show a couple times, my faves being the three that end up in the finale. I think I've always wanted to be a dancer because if I'm not paying attention, my body will start contorting itself when people are dancing. Anyway, I'm watching the show, subconsciously contorting and when each of the dancers are done, the tears inevitable start. Why? Not sure. Maybe because they did a great job, maybe because I wish that was me, maybe because I am a female.

The end of the two hour show finally comes (not counting the hour re-air of the previous night's show) and I am laugh/crying for the contestants. Now, (SPOILER ALERT) the two that are left are Gilles Marini, an exotic model/actor who the ladies love (not me in particular, but whatever,) and Shawn Johnson, the 17 year old Olympic Gold Medal gymnast. If I had to pick a fave, she would be it. She was scaring me there for a couple weeks, but here she was in the finals! Of course, they draw it out for goodness knows how long, and the whole time I'm thinking "Gilles is gonna win. I want Shawn to win, but Gilles is gonna do it. You had a good run, Shawn...come on, WIN!" And then they announced Shawn was the winner...roll, tears, roll. I cried for a good 5 minutes. Oh, the humanity.

"Slumdunder Mifflinaire"

Okay, this post has nothing to do with the title. Its just a phrase that is stuck in my head. Has been since Thursday.


I called the husband this afternoon, asked him what he was doing. Not an uncommon conversation, as many of you understand. Apparently he is in the process of assembling something for me. Wahoo! He won't tell me what it is and now I can't wait to get home, assuming it will be done today. Knowing him, he will probably tell me I can't go into the basement or the 2nd bedroom or something. He knows how much I hate restrictions.

Also, apparently I'm really good at guessing things that he gets me. Normally, this is a really good thing...except he's learning. Now, he won't give me one clue or hint to let my mind do its thing.


*On a completely unrelated issue, my best friend is having a baby really really soon...like she could be in labor right this very second. She was due on Saturday and I have been on edge every time my phone rings. I get really crazy when I miss a call. This, friends, is exciting stuff. Baby best friend, hurry your late self up. Thanks.

Parental Rights

This morning on our local ABC affiliate's website, there was a link to a story about Daniel Hauser and his decision to refuse chemotherapy for Hodgkin's lymphoma. Daniel Hauser is 13 years old.

I bet you think I'm going to rail on this kid's parents for abusing or neglecting their child. I'm not.

Why is it that the people of this country cannot choose non-medical treatment? Forget the fact that this is a 13 year old child who is scared. Forget about the fact that he is citing religious reasons for this decision. Forget about the fact that his parents are being painted as parents who step aside and let their child govern himself (I'm not sure this is the case, but whatever.) Forget about the fact that this 'religious leader' is probably a nut job, a crack pot, a quack-a-roni. Forget these things and look at the rights of the parents.

When does the government have the right to step in and make choices for the parents? At what point is this acceptable? If the parents of this child simply abhor the idea of six months of chemo and then radation for their child, why is it not okay for them to choose a different route? Is this actually neglect or is this a strange grey area?

These people believe that chemo and radiation will be far worse than the cancer itself. In all actuality it may not be, but it very well could be. Does the law have to force them to comply with the recommendations of Daniel's doctor?

I don't know the answers to these questions. They are just flying through my head right now.

UPDATE: A Minnesota judge ruled Friday that 13-year-old Daniel Hauser must get medical treatment for cancer.

Questions are still flying, just in case you were wondering.

Wahoo!!

Hooray! Today marks my favorite day of the week. That's right. Wednesday. Love it.

Why do I love Wednesdays so much?

1. Have you ever said Wednesday like its spelled? It is so super fun. Go ahead, you try...I'll wait. ... See, wasn't that fun? p.s. I have to say it like this every time I spell it. every time.

2. From the glorious months of January to May, LOST is on. Oh, LOST, how I adore thee.

3. Every Thursday, I have the day off. That means that Wednesday is like a mini-Friday. Yessssss.

4. During the school year, there is church supper on Wednesday nights. I don't ever eat it, but the fact that it is there makes me happy. not sure why.

5. During the summer, Adam doesn't have to work on Wednesday nights. And that is awesome.

6. I drink one soda per week, at lunch time on Wednesday. Dr. Pepper, you are so magnificent and you burn my tongue and my throat in such a splendid way. We should do this more often. Wait, wait. no, we should not. You keep me up into all hours of the night and the burning might not be so healthy. Just a guess. Let's keep it to Wednesday.

7. Being that my mini-Friday is a Wednesday and no one else's is, there are less people at the places I want to go. Coffee? short line, less loud. Dinner? short line, less loud. Movies? short line, less loud. You see a pattern? Me, too.

8. When I go to sleep on a Wednesday, I know that I get to cuddle in the morning. yay! Anticipation. You can't stop it.

9. Most of the time, I don't shower on Wednesday mornings, because I have done so on Tuesday. That might gross some of you out, but its natural...don't worry. And from what I can tell, I don't smell. Back to the original point -- it takes me less time to get ready in the morning for work on Wednesday, meaning.......that's right, I get to sleep a little later! yeah!

10. Its just Wednesday. How can you not love a Wednesday?

An open letter to all the other drivers on the road (especially you, Mr. blue Chevy Silverado):

Cutting me off is never a good idea, it just makes me angry. If your circumstances require this abominable action (which yours, blue Chevy Silverado, did not) please, please go the speed limit (Mr. Chevy Silverado) once you are in front of me. If the speed limit is 55, please do not go 50 or 45 or even 40. Please go at least 55, because we are in the fast lane and that is what the fast lane is for. Fastness.

If you choose not to do this, I can't promise anything. Okay, so I probably won't flip you off or yell at you, I may just give you a hand throw-up and a dirty look that you probably won't see. But know that it makes me angry, and I'm not really a fan of being angry. Plus, it makes me look bad when I tell my husband not to be angry because you cut him off. So, please, all other drivers, don't cut me off.

Thanks.

Shhh...

Don't tell Adam, but I kind of like listening to WEEI, a sports talk radio out of Boston. He left it on in my car and I was just too lazy to turn it off. Again, don't tell Adam, but I really started to enjoy it.

I am becoming more and more like my mom, more than I ever thought possible. This isn't a bad thing, Mom, not a bad thing at all. Happy Mother's Day (a day late).

Bonnie (our 4year old puppy who is probably not a puppy anymore) had a bad day on Saturday. We got up early (for a Saturday) and went for a walk with some friends. We both brought our dogs and set out on a leisurely walk around the pond. Bonnie pulled the whole time, which does not make Adam happy. She then thought it would be a good idea to pace back and forth across the trail. Also not making Adam happy. About a quarter of the way around the pond, a beautiful tan husky comes sauntering our way.

Now, Bonnie has always gotten pretty excited when she sees other dogs. We've always attributed it to her liking them. I am learning that it is a false attribution.

Husky, saunter, etc. What does my dog think would be a good idea?? A lunge and a bite.

By the way, I wonder what goes through a dog's head when it lunges at other dogs.
"They will love me more if I take a chunk out of that beautiful dog that is way bigger than me"
"Mmmmm..."
or, my favorite, "Maybe this dog will want to have fun."

Luckily, no contact was made, but it was super scary. Looks like my dog gets to be cooped up for the rest of her existence. Oh, the life of a dog owner.

As I walked out of Panera this morning with my breakfast splurge of the delicious bacon egg and cheese ciabatta, an older gentleman went out of his way to hold the door open for me.

It got me thinking. Where has this tradition gone? I don't really remember the last time anyone under the age of 50 (besides my husband) held open a door. I know I'm a young, able body that can handle opening a door myself, but it really does make a gal feel nice.

The finer things

Oh, FailBlog. How I love thee.

( failblog.org ) if you haven't had a chance to wander over there.

*Some of you might want to turn on the G-rated option, it can get graphic.

Give it a go.

Ok, here goes the typical 'first post' post. Actually, nevermind. I'm just gonna give it a go. (While I was having breakfast this morning, I was compiling a list of things to blog about in my head. Funny how when I actually sit down to blog, all the ideas evaporate. Yeah...funny.)


I was roaming through Hannaford yesterday afternoon and I ran into someone that goes to our church. She was picking up a bottle of wine and gave me the halfway embarrassed grin, I guess because I caught her redhanded. Ha. There's this idea that if you are pastoral staff (or are married to pastoral staff) you don't drink or play cards or gamble or go to bars or dance or listen to anything but Michael W. Smith. Oh, friend, how wrong you are. But thats another post for another day (until I actually sit down.) We had communion at church yesterday, and I made a comment that I wish it wasn't so taboo to have actual wine during communion. It was one of those times that I didn't know I thought that way until it came out of my mouth. I was a little surprised, but I went with it.

The reason I wish it wasn't so taboo is because the death of Jesus isn't this sweet, happy thing. Grape juice, on the other hand, it pretty sweet and sometimes happy. I think it would present an interesting theological piece to the equation. This tradition comes from Passover, in which bitter wine is always served (or supposed to be, anyway.) We need to remember the suffering, the pain, the sacrifice in order to know the goodness and the fullness of his death. Will a bitter wine help me with that? Not sure, but it could.