Sparks and Butterflies...

But aside from that, she's still completely normal

How I Met My Husband Part I

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Through a series of life choices and unfortunate circumstances, I ended up in northern California penniless and drug addicted. Through connections I made there, I became drug free, got a job, and had a roof over my head. Calvary Chapel was instrumental in all of that. This was in 1997.

I volunteered in the church book store. One evening, I was sitting on the floor behind the counter entertaining the baby of the bookstore manager. She was manning the register. The guy came up to the counter to purchase a commentary on Acts. I heard a transaction taking place, and I looked up. As I looked up, he looked down. We made eye contact. Something happened. I don’t know what. A zap. A feeling. A physical oomf! I don’t remember what he looked like at that moment, I only remember those big blue blue blue eyes. He nodded at me slightly. I nodded back. He completed his transaction and left.

I told the manager, “I’m going to marry him.” She thought I was crazy.

Move on to Part II

Hot Cross Buns

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I just got home from a concert of Joseph’s 3rd grade class. Three classes, playing their recorders. I suppose less is more in describing that one. Heh.

I’ll be uploading videos onto my YouTube account today maybe. We’ll see. Or maybe Vimeo. Last time I tried YouTube, it hated me. I won’t post it here though – I just want the final product in the clouds as well as on my hard drive. Got a ton of photos to go through as well – need to picnic and flickr those.

We still haven’t heard from Poe’s job prospect. They did call and tell him that they haven’t forgotten him, they’re just still thinking about it (they would be adding a whole department just for him.) Understandable. But itchy.

El Dinero es nunca. No Money. Going to use a credit card for groceries this week. We don’t use credit anymore, so you know we’re desperate. But, God provides. Faith. I’m trying to. I keep trying to refocus my thoughts on God and His promises. I won’t pretend that it’s not a struggle.

But, on a lighter note – here’s a couple of pictures of what we’ve been up to.


Beach in March

Beach in March

Joseph Turned 9

Joseph Turned 9

Logan Turned 7

Logan Turned 7

Josephs Team Won the Championships

Joseph's Team Won the Championships

Josephs Class had a Concert

Joseph's Class had a Concert

My husband should be sainted

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Today we got one of those phone calls. The kind that usually come in the middle of the night scaring you half to death.

Apparently my dad fell, and was asking for Poe to come help him. OK, fine. So, Poe went to help. Apparently he had fallen outside while working. Badly. Seriously hit his head (blood,) arm (more blood,) knees (even more blood,) – oh and his arm hurt. Like too much. Poe decided he was going to the hospital.

And my father said yes.

Coming from a man who treats cuts that absolutely should be sutured with crazy glue, this meant it was serious.

Poe called me to let me know what was going on. Of course, I gave him the litany – ID, medical card, medications and dosages – and then made sure my mother didn’t need me there. My dad takes care of her – from food to meds to testing her blood glucose. She said she was fine and would call me if necessary. I was on kid duty, with another pickup coming and the homework. While that sounds banal while my father was on the way to the hospital, and my mother was holed up in her house, trust me when I say that disrupting the homework routine would mean that everything was NOT OK to the kids – and I didn’t want to scare them. Which was confirmed, when I explained why dad wasn’t there to Joseph. He was silent, and when I looked, big fat tears were coming down his big 9 year old face.

So. Dad had X-rays, EKG, and Cat scan. Yeah, he hit his head that hard. Knees will scab and be sore. Arm didn’t need stitches, but has a huge bandage. Head CT is all clear… Except he dislocated his shoulder. Which prompted morphine for the serious pain. of the dislocation, plus the – er – relocation? of his arm.

So, why is my husband a saint?

The man got him up, cleaned up, dressed (my dad thought he would shower first but was in too much pain), and fly zipped. Then took him to the hospital and spent the next 5 hours with him while they put him through pain, and then watched his 74-year-old father in law flirt with nurses and tell war stories on morphine.

Oh, and caught my father flipping him off on the camera phone. Which I should so post.

He then came home and told ME how grateful he is that I care about my parents so much.

Knighthood. Sir Poe. That might be his new name here.

An Ode to My Husband

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Our wedding anniversary was last month. I never wrote a post – to say it has been weird and crazy around here is an understatement. We’ve been married 11 years. We made it past a decade!

Lots of pictures, past the jump.
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Love Gets Annoyed

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Poe and I have been sniping. Or maybe just I have been sniping.

When couples are together for a long time, they learn everything about each other. We recently celebrated our 11th anniversary. That’s a long time. And I’ve discovered something. Normally, I am very good about keeping completely menial gripes to myself. Certain things just don’t matter, and there’s no reason to bring them up. Like socks balled up in the dirty clothes. It bugs me.

Before, I was always able to just let it go. Who cares? Why pick a fight over socks of all things?

But now? It’s becoming a lot harder not to gripe. And the reason is simple. He’s always here. We’re always together. We do everything together. 24/7. All of this togetherness is driving me up a freakin’ wall. We’re trying to find him a job. That’s a totally different issue – market’s horrible, and we’re doing the best we can. But on the other hand, it’s like, go away so I can miss you!!

I’d be willing to bet this is the same thing that couples go through when they retire – the sudden togetherness. Seems we need to recognize it for what it is, and not let petty stuff get the better of us.

Amazing how easy it sounds when you put it that way. As easy as NOT balling up your socks.

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