New Year's Resolutions

For the past two years I've confessed my NY Resolutions on this blog and for the past two years, I've broken every single one of them. So, instead of resolving to do anything, here's a list of things I'd like to accomplish in '09:

• Walk/jog at least 25 miles a week
• Run a 5K race (and not just a few steps, like in '08)
• Be more open minded about meeting "the one" (so LB wasn't Mr. Right, or even Mr. Right Now, but he did remind me that there are still good guys out there, so I guess he served his purpose)
• Bake no cookies nor agree to lunches with any cute boys unless they ask me out on a real date
• Travel to Europe
• Spend more quality time with my friends
• Learn to say "no" to things that don't improve my life or someone else's
• Listen more

I'm closing on my house on Friday, so I suppose "becoming a home owner" should be on the list. And I made my last credit card payment this week, so getting out of debt (save mortgage, car and student loans) is a very real possibility in '09.

Here's to the new year, kids. Hope yours is great.

Oh, and leave me comments with your resolutions or, at the very list, things you'd like to accomplish in '09.

Happy birthday, Hurricane Hope!

She made landfall five years ago today, and our world hasn't been the same. Happy birthday, sweet baby girl!

SWF looking for a rich husband

I've discovered my mission in life: to be a trophy wife.

This morning I walked two miles on the treadmill, took a shower (no comments necessary), stopped for a latte, and got a pedicure. Then I picked up my pal LiLar so that we could head to Tulsa for some shopping and lunch at the Cheesecake Factory.

After all those calories, I did another three miles when I got home. Because if I'm going to be someone's trophy, he's gotta think he won a good contest, right?

Oh, and the housekeeper came today, so my house was spotless when I got home. Hey, it's a tough life I lead.

What day is this?

I wasn't meant to be a lady of leisure. It's day seven of my vacation, and all of the days are starting to run together. I haven't showered since Friday, which was the last day I left my house.

Tomorrow I'm headed to Tulsa with my pal Lindsay to eat at Cheesecake Factory and do a bit of shopping. Bring on the pasta!

It's Monday, right?

Wonderful Christmastime

Some pics from this week:

Chance



Hope got lots of makeup



Taylor and me on Christmas Eve



Dad, Taylor, Hope, Brad, Chance and me



Mason and Isaac on Christmas morning



Jen and me on Christmas day



Taylor, Brad and me



Peyton taking his Christmas nap

Monday update

Only one more day to work this year, unless it starts to ice tomorrow morning, in which case I'll be headed south early. I'm spending tomorrow night with my brother and the kids, then Christmas Eve with Sorne and Amanda.

Sunday evening we had Christmas with my mom's family, which was great, but I lost my camera, so I guess you'll never see the great pic of me and Dr. Jen. I hope whatever Lonestar server went home with my Canon enjoys my family pics.

Leftovers

I have leftovers from dinner last night. I have leftovers from lunch today. I have food on all possible kitchen surfaces. So much for the diet!

The work party went pretty well. I made baked brie, guacamole, monterey jack salsa, and bleu cheese dip for appetizers; chicken tortilla and tomato/basil soup; and chocolate covered pretzels, peppermint bark, peanut butter kiss cookies and brownies for dessert. And leftover cheesecake from last night. I threw away the extra guac, but I still have some of everything else.

This morning, while chopping cilantro, I had a little medical incident when I gave myself a manicure with a sharp knife. I managed to not bleed on any of the food, but I have a kitchen towel that will never be the same. One of my coworkers thought it would be hilarious to bring me a first aid kit this afternoon.

We played dirty Santa with white elephant gifts and I ended up with some lovely Christmas lights. I've also discovered several "gifts" dispersed throughout my house, like the fabulous pine-smelling air freshener that LiLar was supposed to take home.

Now I'm watching the last game at Texas Stadium. The Cowboys look terrible, but hopefully they'll figure out a way to win in the next four minutes.

Update on the non-date

Ok, I know some of you are waiting with bated breath (several of you have called and/or texted), so here's the 411... LB showed up. He was perfectly lovely and, after our first non-date, I can officially report that I'm no longer confused. He's absolutely, positively 100% in like with me. As a friend. Nothing more.

And that's okay. It's great that I figured this out without having to have a painful conversation.

I'll try to add more later, after the work party. If you want juicy details, ask LiLar. She actually met LB and can attest that he is a living, breathing human.

Finally Friday

It's finally Friday and that's good for several reasons: (1) only two more days of work before eight days off; (2) only three hours to officially work today before I'm off to a Christmas party; and (3) the dinner party's tonight and we'll finally know whether LB is really a big loser or not.

You know, the more I think about this, the more upset I become. No matter what happens tonight, I'm done driving over for lunch. At least I'm pretty sure I am. No, really.

Christmas countdown

Holidayitis: the state of being physically present in your office while your mind is already on Christmas vacation. I'm suffering from a serious case of it.

These last three days are going to be painful.

I was gone to lunch for nearly two hours today, but considering I had to make a deposit at the bank, go to Wal-Mart, put up my groceries at my house and make my bed in addition to grabbing a bite, that wasn't too bad. I admit that I don't miss the traffic in Conway or Fort Smith during this time of year.

I've started cooking for my two parties this weekend. Last night I made chicken tortilla and tomato and basil soup. The tomato one is especially yummy. Tonight I have to make sauce for chicken rigatoni for tomorrow night (sorry, Lon!) and start thawing out the cheesecake that I did not make.

The exciting news is that the cleaning lady came this afternoon, so my house will be spotless when I get home. I had to buy a mop for her because I haven't used one since I've lived in Siloam; I usually just sweep and vacuum the tile. She's also going to clean all the baseboards, something else that's never been done.

Still no word on whether LB will show up tomorrow night or not, but either way, he'll be at the party tomorrow afternoon I have to attend. Bah humbug. The more I think about it, the madder I get. At least there's cheesecake in my future, whether or not he shows up.

I only have four presents bought... I'm starting to freak out a bit.

A long winter's nap

My two weeks of not sleeping finally caught up with me and made me sick. I stayed in bed this morning with a headache and slept all day, so hopefully I'm finally over whatever was causing my insomnia.

I talked to LB today, via e-mail, and he was weird, like I've done something to him. Yeah, this is my fault.

Battle of the sexes

To address Susan's question, today LB stands for either Loser Boy or Large Butthead. Pick your favorite; they both apply.

I've never been married, so I don't have a ton of experience in the male psyche, but can someone please tell me how two people, one male and one female, can be present for the exact same conversation and yet have two completely different interpretations? Are men really that clueless, or is it just convenient for them to believe we're saying what they want to hear? Ugh.

Perhaps it's my fault for being too subtle or, more likely, it's my fault for reading too much into it, but I've always been of the mindset that single men do not call single women just to chat for no reason, nor do they schedule weekly lunches (which they pay for) with chicks with whom they just want to be friends. Not to mention the flirting. And the staring.

So we'll let all of you weigh in. Here was the conversation:

Woman: So, if you're still planning to come over on Friday, I'm having friends over for dinner that night and I'd love it if you'd join us.
Man: Sounds fun. I'm in.

Woman's interpretation: It's not really a date, but he gets that it's kinda a date, right?
Man's interpretation: If I can find nothing in the world better to do, I'll take a free meal.

Today, during casual conversation at lunch, LB questions who all will be attending dinner Friday night. I reply that it will be some friends; people he doesn't know. He responds that he will PROBABLY still come to dinner, but there's a possibility he might have a date. What the...

Is it just me, or is it rude to blow off a friend for a blind date? A girl he hasn't even met, much less knows that he likes? I get Tuesday lunches and she gets Friday dinner?

Which is it, Large Butthead or Loser Boy? I hope he chokes on those peanut butter cookies I stayed up late to make.

Liar, liar

Conventional wisdom tells us that it's not good to start off a relationship on a lie. Perhaps it's time to confess the truth to LB about something important.

I did not make the cookies.

Oh, he's dazzled by my culinary skills, so I haven't exactly come clean. Granted, I never said I made them. He just thinks I did and I haven't told him otherwise. Thank goodness for the Pillsbury dough boy.

A few weeks ago we had a lunch non-date and I happened to have some no bakes and chocolate chip cookies in the car that I sent home with him, both of which I made from scratch. They were a bit too dry, but he was sweet and said they were good.

Last week I made brownies (from a box but I did add the egg and oil) and peanut butter cup cookies and took them to him for our weekly lunch non-date. Two days later he went on and on about the peanut butter ones, calling them the best cookies he's ever tasted. Oops! So today I braved the ice and cold to head back to the world's largest retailer and buy some more cookie dough to perpetuate the lie that I am the world's best cookie maker.

If they came out of my oven I made them, right?

Tomorrow I'm having lunch with LB and will present him with two dozen of those scrumptious peanut butter cup cookies. Maybe he'll think my hair color's natural, too.

The Christmas Pageant

My pal Alisa sent this to me, and it was too cute not to share. Whether you have kids of your own or just kids in your life, you can surely appreciate this. We serve an awesome God; One who has a sense of humor, I'm sure.

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The Christmas Pageant

My husband and I had been happily married (most of the time) for five years but hadn't been blessed with a baby.

I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if he would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with His word as my guide.

God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son.

The next year God blessed us with another son.

The following year, He blessed us with yet another son.

The year after that, we were blessed with a daughter.

My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old.

I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella."

I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs.

I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint Him.

I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks.

I tried to be understanding... when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three frogs.

When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess.

In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children.

While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother - I didn't even come close...
I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God.

I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too.

Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."

My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant.

My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine.

My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes."

But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes."

My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes."

A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.

I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama..."

Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.

My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur."

The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.

"I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," laughed the pastor, wiping tears from his eyes.

"For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense and fur."

"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin.

Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master.

Had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher.

Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer.

Had no army, yet kings feared Him.

He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world.

He committed no crime, yet they crucified Him.

He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today.

Feel honored to serve such a Leader who loves us.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

I'm finally home from my marathon weekend. After two days of chopping onions, sprinkling powdered sugar and making small talk with strangers, it feels good to be back in my own bed. I had a fantastic weekend, but after the five-hour party yesterday, I am tired.

I stopped in Fayetteville today to buy some wrapping paper. It was 66 degrees when I left there, and 46 degrees when I got to Siloam 30 minutes later. Now I'm snuggled under the down comforter waiting for the snow to start.

This is a busy week, with a trip to Little Rock on Wednesday-Thursday and the hosting of two parties next weekend. I finally gave in to my brat-dom and have a housekeeper coming this week to clean. Yeah, it's ridiculous, but that's why I went to college for 12 years... so that someone else can scrub my toilet. We're still negotiating whether she needs to clean once a month or every two weeks, but since I have no husband, kids, or pets, it really doesn't get very gross.

I know some of you are itching for info about the boy, but I'm just not ready to share yet. I'm not sure if there's anything there, but when and if it happens, I'll be happy to bore you with all of the details. For now, the boy and I (we'll call him LB for now) are planning lunch this week prior to the non-date this weekend. Suffice it to say that I'm seriously, ridiculously smitten with LB. Ugh. I hate that.

Christmas Party

I've been in Mountain Home since Thursday, helping Estella get ready for her Christmas Open House. It was so nice, but I'm pooped. Here's a pic of Joe and me, right before the party.

Falling hard

I am in so much trouble.

When a boy is sweet and thoughtful and remembers a conversation we had weeks ago, it makes me swoon. When he does it while looking cute, it makes me weak. And yeah, he may act like we're on the playground and I have cooties sometimes, but at the end of the day, all he has to do is look at me and... I'm in trouble.

No update on the non-date. That's next week.

High maintenance

I'm still not able to sleep, but I'm making up for it by doing a lot of girlie stuff. Yesterday I got my hair colored and my eyebrows waxed. Today I bought new red lipstick. I wanted something fun and festive, but the girl at the MAC counter painted on so many layers that my lips entered a room three minutes before I did.

Tomorrow I get to see the guy I'm not dating. Wonder if he'll notice the red lips....

Losing sleep, counting sheep

For more than a week, I've been having trouble sleeping. I can usually go to sleep fine, but I wake up in the middle of the night with my mind racing and am unable to go back to sleep. The good news is that I've been able to exercise twice a day these past few days. I may be sleep deprived, but at least I can look good walking around like a zombie.

My dinner in Fort Smith tonight was canceled, so I'm able to go to bed early and not brave the winter precipitation. Bring on the snow!

The guy I'm not dating

It's a classic tale. Boy meets girl. Girl is attracted to boy. Boy and girl begin a friendship, deepened over lunches and intimate conversations. Made more interesting by flirting and fleeting looks. Made more challenging by dating other people. But still coming back to the boy and the girl.

And somehow, after months of back and forth, boy and girl finally decide to up the ante and make plans to do something other than lunch. Technically not a date, but it's a start.

Girl is excited.

When the going gets tough, the tough get... cooking?

I'm not quite sure why I'm wired this way, but whenever I get stressed, I have the need to bake. Perhaps it's the chance to beat something with a whisk, or maybe I just like being able to control something when everything else in my life seems so uncontrollable, but for whatever reason, when I feel stress, the chocolate chips come out of the pantry. Eggs are cracked. There's flour on my shirt.

Why can't I be predisposed to run when I'm stressed? Or clean? But no, I have to bake.

I have baked about 20 dozen cookies in the past month or so. But the good news is, if the way to a man's heart is truly through his stomach, perhaps I found a relationship shortcut.

Anticipation

For the first time in recent memory, I'm actually ready for the weekend to be over. Not that the weekend was bad--I had a pedicure on Friday afternoon and, save for a trip to church, have done very little since then--but I'm ready for the week to start.

Things are stressful at work, but I suppose I'm just ready to get these next couple of weeks over with and have two weeks off. And on the personal front? It promises to be a very interesting week. Of course, I've said that before and been wrong, so who knows?

But bring on Monday.

The thrill of the chase

I always seem to want what I can't have. But what I do have--even if I really wanted it for a long time--isn't nearly so great as I thought it would be.

Take my new red handbag, for example. It was beautiful in the store, but it's not quite so fabulous now that I actually own it. I was obsessed with that bag for a month before I bought it. Couldn't stop thinking about it. I would stop by the store and gaze longingly at the glass case, imagining the fun I could have with it on my arm. Turns out my life with that handbag is no more exciting than it was before.

Boys are kind of the same way for me. I can chase after one for months on end, enjoying the thrill of him getting closer and closer, anticipating the moment when I'll be able to stop running, but when I finally catch up and he's within my grasp, I start to freak out a little. Will he be as great as I've made him out to be in mind? Will he understand my neurosis and need for multiple, expensive handbags? Nice restaurants? Alone time in the bathtub?

My happy ending seems to be in sight, but is it really what I want? Or am I destined to die alone, because no man will ever be the perfect blend of smart conversationalist, man's man and good provider?

Yeah, my standards are a impossibly high, but every once in awhile, you find someone who's not only gainfully employed and enjoys deer camp, he can actually talk intelligently about the economy and the national debt. Perhaps he is indeed Mr. Perfect.

Or maybe not. Either way, I plan to keep chasing.

I'm confused

What in the world... I don't understand. Boys are so weird.

Merry Christmas to me

Yesterday I bought myself a shiny new fridge. It's my holiday present to myself. Isn't it beautiful?

It took the guys two hours to put the new one in and the old one in the garage. That's okay; I was really tired of being at work. Turns out 10 days of vacation isn't enough.

Under the crescent moon

Evidently tonight's a sight one only sees every 40 or 50 years. A beautiful crescent moon beside two bright... not stars... planets. Neptune and Jupiter. Cool, huh?