Rodeo Dad

My parents are amazing.  If I can ever say that I got lucky anywhere, it’s with whom God chose to be my parents. I believe that, even at my lowest point in life, my dad still saw my potential.  I think from day one, he believed I was going somewhere, or at least was going to be heard if I had something to say.  However, I think even my dad might have seen my limits when I was just a little thing.

When I was little, I wanted to be a cowgirl.  I wanted to be a REAL LIVE COWGIRL. I made sure everyone knew it.  Even my dentist knew I wanted to be a cowgirl. At one appointment, he offered me a whole cow girl suit if I would go live with him.  When we got to the car, I told my mom, “I just want you to know, when he told me I could have a cowgirl suit, I almost went with him."  I think, I was probably five or so at the time and looking back, it’s kind of creepy when your dentist offers you a cowgirl suit if you will go and live with him isn’t it? 

At any rate,  I was going to be a cowgirl. I even had a shirt. My favorite shirt, it was white with pearl snaps and pockets with blue ribbing.  It was beautiful, and it made me feel like I was a real cowgirl. 

Ya see, I once saw, somewhere, I don’t know where, a rodeo and I watched in amazement, the bull riders.  Yes, you guessed it, I wanted to be not just a cowgirl, but I wanted to be a bull rider. Then the little children that would come busting out of the gate on a sheep, a bucking bronco sheep and they were timed to see how long they could stay on, I asked my dad right then, can I be in the rodeo and ride the sheep?  My dad replied, “yes, when you are seven, you can be in the rodeo”. 

 I’m sure he was hoping in the next few years I would give up on my obsession and move on to something like Barbie dolls, but I did not. I wanted to be in the rodeo.  I still want to be in the rodeo.  My seventh birthday came and went, my  eighth birthday came and went, my ninth birthday came and went, and my....well my last birthday....came and went....  I never got to be the rodeo. I was a little heartbroken. My dream was shattered and the older I got, the more I realized I was NEVER going to be in the rodeo. Forever destined to be just a Rodeo Dreamer.  I blamed my dad, and I never let him forget the promise he made to let me be in the rodeo when I turned 7 and ride the sheep. 

 I thought for sure I was going to be the first woman in the Rodeo Bull Riding Hall of Fame.  But nope, instead, there was no rodeo. There was never going to be a rodeo. There never will be a rodeo for this girl. 

After having several years to really reflect on that dream that went unfilled, maybe my dad knew something I did not realize yet.  He saw something in me that kept him from following through on that promise, and there was no way he was going to be able to convince my young mind that he knew what was best for me. In fact, it just dawned on me in the last week or so what he knew that I did not.  I’m not safe standing in an empty room, let alone on the back of a 2000  pound bull.

My old memory does not go back much further than these early memories. I wonder when it was he saw what he was really dealing with here.  He probably saw something long before I was swinging on a metal swing set (ya know the ones the ones that are outlawed now for safety reasons) and it tipped over and fell on my head.  I’m sure hundreds of children swung on that swing set, but it was when I got on it, that it fell over and landed on my head and a nurse had to be rushed to our camp site to stop the bleeding

I'm sure it was before the day playing on a hay wagon at my grandparent's house with all my cousins, and I fell off and a stick stabbed me in the center, just above my forehead.  No one else fell off, no one else was impaled by a stick, and again they had to find something to stop the bleeding. My uncle ushering  my mother out of the room so she wouldn't faint after seeing blood pouring down my face. 

When did he really realize his daughter was a walking disaster and it probably was not going to get much better as time went on?

Long before I was the catcher for the little league summer girls’ softball team that I played the position of catcher. Now, in my defense,  I had watched all the other basemen clean off the base from the dirt every now and then and decided to clean off home plate. I bent down to pick it up like they had only to realize home plate is bolted to the ground.  Did that stop me?  No, I was going to clean home plate and yes, the game had to be delayed.  

Definitely long before the weekend he took us all up to Michigan to Powder Horn Mountain downhill skiing. One might ask my dad did you take her skiing that weekend?  Maybe he thought I had overcome my obstacles by then.   He paid for us to have a ski instructor teach us what we were doing before just letting us climb to the top of a hill and wing it.  That guy was a great instructor too! On the bunny hill I wasn’t just too bad of a skier even.  I went up that tow rope like a pro in no time and snow plowed down, slowly, carefully, and without falling.  If grades were given, I would have gotten an A+ on the bunny hill and then, the instructor said, “we are moving on to the next hill."  

To which I replied, “I’m quite comfortable here thanks, I think I’ll stay."

 It was not going to be heard of.  He was being paid to teach me to ski and he was going to follow through on that. So to the next hill we went. Chair lifts.  We both get on with no problems, but I don’t recall him ever telling me how exactly to get off the chair lift as we were going up. I do remember looking a long way down and it was probably the first time I realized I was afraid of heights.  We got to the top and the instructor got off the chair lift and I did nothing. I did nothing but cling for dear life to the side rail as the chair took me down to the bottom, crying like a fool scared to death. Now, I see my dad going up the other way (I don’t know that I really remember this correctly or not, but most likely) just bowing his head in shame.  I got off at the bottom of that chair lift so happy to be alive planning to just go back to the bunny hill and snow plow my way through the remainder of the day with as little adventure as possible. My plans were soon dashed as one of the men who had come with our group happened to be the chief of police of my home town. He said I was going back up that chair lift and being raised to respect authority, I wasn't telling him no. I was scared to go up the chair lift but more scared to say no to the chief of police. Back in line I was ushered and we both got on the chair and up we went again. As we went up he explained that when we get to the top, and I feel my skis on ground, I was to stand up.  The minute he saw I was not about to stand up he grabbed my arm and yanked me off the chair. I, of course, fell down.  Falling down with heavy clothing, big boots and skis is quite cumbersome and it took me awhile to figure out how to get up again. Just when I was about half way to standing, the next chair in line came to the top and hit me and knocked me back down.  I had to crawl to safety, CRAWL TO SAFETY before the next chair came and hit me again. No one wanted to say they were with me after watching me trying to crawl with all that ski garb on.  I do nothing gracefully.

My dad knew....he just knew....the rodeo could not be my future.

I can’t imagine the turmoil he went through when I turned 16 and was going to get my driver’s license.  I do believe this is the one and only time in my life, my dad wanted me to fail.  He wanted me to fail so badly that he made me take a suburban to the City Hall to take my driver’s test the morning of a blizzard, when there was a perfectly good station wagon, and an even better Monte Carlo in the driveway. I knew he wanted me to fail and well, I. DID. NOT. FAIL.  I passed that test with flying colors and I was proud.  But, I never got to drive the suburban again, I got to drive, the station wagon. I must say, even back in the 80’s it was not cool to drive a station wagon.  But I now know, dad knew there was a trait in me that would not make the rodeo a feasible dream to pursue.

 Like, for example, (and I’m not saying this happened or anything), but if by chance I was running late for work one morning at the part time job I had at the hair salon, and forgot to shut the front door to the house, he knew that IF I forgot to put the SUBURBAN into park as I pulled back up to the house to shut the front door, it would have done a lot more damage to the garage had I say been driving the station wagon.  He knew, there may have been a little more damage to the stuff inside the garage, if say, (and I’m not saying this happened or anything) I tried to stop the suburban by grabbing onto the trailer hitch instead of running to jump into the driver’s seat and stop the car. It would have been more than a curled up crinkled garage door, and whatever else was behind that door, IF that were to happen. 

 My dad is a  man who could see all possibilities of things that could happen. So, if I were given certain opportunities to follow my dreams of being the first female bull rider ever to be in the Rodeo Hall of Fame. He knew I would fail and he knew I might not live to be crushed by that failure.

Sadly, for my dad, it took me far too long to realize father really does know best.

If  only I had realized all this before I got my revenge and had him named FHA (Future Homemakers of America) Dad of the year. 

The end of the year banquet when parents and members sat down and watched as their children were presented with certain awards received through out the year. The President of the high school FHA club stood and said, “We would now like to recognize some very important people that have supported our organization, our FHA Dad’s.  Would you please stand as I call your name, Jim Smith”…… pause……. “Let’s give him a round of applause”. 

 My poor dad.

 I’m so sorry about that. Really I am so sorry about that. As all of us senior girls at the head table started to snicker and then could not contain our laughter any longer. Seeing all the other dad’s looking at each other thankful they were never asked to be FHA dads by their daughters.  It takes a pretty amazing dad to say yes I will without hesitation when his little girl comes home and asks him if he would be an FHA dad.  I, maybe,  did not know there would be no other dad’s asked to be an FHA dad. Dad, you were the best FHA DAD EVER, even if you were the ONLY FHA dad to ever exist in the history of man. 

So here’s to my dad, for seeing in me what he saw, that I was going to go places in life and he was going to support me. My dad who also had a great burden to bear being my dad.  He endured the burden of getting me to adulthood alive.

 I can’t imagine how many nights he prayed to God for the strength and the will to keep doing it, all the while listening to me say, “remember when I could have been in the rodeo dad?” and him thinking to himself, “someday you will understand”. 

If you are lucky enough to have your parents still in your life, give them a call and thank them for all they went through to raise you.  I’m sure, probably not as hard of a job as my parents did raising me, or maybe, (If so, let’s get together and swap stories, in an empty, padded room).  Give them a call. As a parent, I miss hearing from my son who moved away from home.  And I would do anything to feel his arms wrapped around me in a hug, and I long for the day, he says, “Mom, I get it, thanks for loving me through it all."

Thank you Lord for giving me parents who not only wanted to see me succeed in life, but also had the strength to make sure I knew what it was I was going to succeed in and steer me from the things that were just too plain dangerous for a girl like me to try. Thank You, Lord, for their prayers every night now when I think they pray, please Lord, let her get through another day without starting herself on fire, without getting arrested for trying to steal a rooster from someone, and somehow her being able to not pass that along to her children.”  While I pray every night, Lord, thank You for getting me through another day, allowing me to laugh, to face adversity with, I hope strength and faith in You. Thank you for your unending grace and thank You for my mom and thank You for my Rodeo Dad.

Maybe the Floppy Hat Isn't Really All That

I love hats.  LOVE HATS.  Most days, especially in the summer, you will see me wearing a baseball cap of one color or another.   So, I get this rewards card in the mail for JCPenney and I have a free, FREE 20.00 to spend at their store.  Well, yeah, it’s not free considering the interest I pay on the JCPenney Card that is in my purse, however, I never refuse to take advantage of these great coupons they send me.  I immediately saw what I had wanted forever, A FLOPPY HAT! It was beautiful, just this beautiful brown floppy hat that went with just about everything.  I got that hat and just waited for an occasion to wear it. 

As soon as Dave saw the hat, he said, I won’t sit by you if you wear that to church.  “REALLY?  This is an awesome hat, I could pull it off”, I said.  When I showed my friend Elizabeth my hat, she of course, being the great friend she is said, “What a cute hat! It’s like a Blair hat (Gossip Girl)!”  Oh, yeah, now I knew I had the coolest hat ever if it was like Blair’s!!!

Well, I needed to gather up the courage to wear the hat in public due to my husband’s snickers and I needed to get past the humbling of the day I wore it and it was windy and when I went to get the mail the wind swooped my hat right off my head and I was chasing it down the street. But the day arrived when I could wear the hat.  It was the perfect occasion! My dad’s birthday! 

The family was meeting for Pizza at Sammy’s Pizza in Schofield. (BEST Pizza ever).  So I donned my floppy hat and away we went.  Elizabeth, who has now become a part of the family came along said nothing about the hat.  I just knew she liked it, she didn’t have to say anything. 

Well, I started to wonder if the hat really was all that.  Because, everyone who arrived from my family, to my sister, my brother, my sister-in-law all said the exact same thing at different times.  “What’s with the hat?”  I LOVE THE HAT I responded.  My sister in law even asked me if I had MADE the hat, which resulted in bursts of laughter from others.  They all remembered the hat I knit for my Godson at Christmas time.  I’m telling you, it was the cutest, THE CUTEST little green and brown stocking hat for a baby I had ever seen, if I do say so myself.  Christmas Eve, she emailed me a picture of the hat that I worked tirelessly on for weeks.  However, I did not look at the picture immediately.  Two weeks later, I thought, oh yea, I gotta see the hat on Calvin.  Opened the picture and just sat there for about 30 seconds not moving.  Not breathing, and then the bursts of laughter came and tears were rolling down my face. Don’t you just love when you laugh until you cry?  The hat, well, to put it lightly, did not fit him.  Was it too big?  Oh no, It did not even cover a quarter of the top of his head let alone pull down around his ears to keep them warm from the cold Wisconsin winter.  That hat sat on the top of his head and looked like it belonged on a Barbie doll.  So, no, no I did not make the floppy hat I was sporting that day.  I never heard anyone ask my brother what was with the hat he was wearing, a Brewers baseball cap.  Never heard anyone ask Dan, what was with his hat, a baseball hat.  Nope, they all just commented on me and my big ol’ floppy hat.  I guess the hat just isn’t all that.  Especially when walking out my dad said, “I used to have a hat just like that”.  ALRIGHT ALREADY, I GET THE HINT! Not that my dad doesn’t have great taste in hats, but I really didn’t consider this a hat to be even closely suited to a type of hat that a man was wearing. I was channeling my inner Blair, not my inner safari hunter.

I’m used to being laughed at though.  I laugh right along with everyone, I know exactly where I fit in, in the grand scheme of life. 

If you haven’t realized how big of a dork I am by now, this may be what leads you to the other side.

I was gathering all the things I needed to take to the pizza place that day.  My family all lives quite a distance away, so usually there is a pile of stuff that needs to go along to be passed off to someone else, and believe me when I say, as much stuff as I bring to them, they give to me. We never come back with an empty trunk, even though we make the agreement before we leave almost every time that we will NOT be bringing anything home with us. 

However, I needed to wrap two gifts, one for my dad and one for my mom, whose birthday was the previous month. (YES, I saw my mom before going to the celebration for my dad’s birthday but kept forgetting to give her the gift I had waiting for her). 

Did I have birthday wrapping paper?  No.  Did I have a correct size gift bag for the gifts? No. So, I wrapped them both in Christmas wrapping paper.  My husband, of course, said “nice paper”.  I said, “oh, it’s just going to get ripped off anyway and besides…it should be Christmas everyday!” But then came time for the cards. I had two cards for them, each having a funny saying about hearing impairment, not that they are so old they can’t hear anymore, but more so making light of my own hearing impairment.

I signed my mom’s card and wouldn’t you know I had no envelope.  Honestly, I’m not sure I even grabbed an envelope when I bought the card.  So, I signed the card and taped it to the package with a little side note saying “Late AND no envelope, someday I’ll get it all together, but don’t hold your breath”.  I signed the card from the four of us and taped it to the top of the gift and put it in the microfiber bag I had been packing with other things I needed to take along.

Then I signed the card for Dad.  Guess what?  No envelope.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME???  Nope, I had no envelope.  SO, another side note was added to that card immediately. “Christmas paper AND no envelope, someday I’ll get it together but pretty sure my hearing will come back first”.  Then I signed the card. Love, Dave, Becky, David, Dave & Lane.  Oh crap.  New little note added to the bottom. “I guess Dave loves you double today, see side note”.  It got a chuckle out of my dad I think but well, I wonder if he fears for the day my husband is going to send me back.  No, I don’t think I need to wonder, I know he does.  Don’t worry dad, I’m not coming home again, Dave is stuck with me, and guess what? HE CHOSE ME….HA…who is the joke on now???

So, the floppy hat has been hung in the closet.  I think I’ll wear it this weekend to the crab boil. See how many people there say “What’s up with that hat”.  Oh, I will only know 4 people there so out of the 20 or so will be saying, awesome hat!!! Or more likely probably whispering, “who is the chick with the ridiculous hat on? Where does she think she is from , the upper east side?”   

Well, no people, I do not. I am not even from the upper east side of Redgranite.  But man, ridiculous as it may look, I love that floppy hat and think if I wore a plaid flannel shirt, I may even resemble Ellie Mae from the Beverly Hillbillies.  Wouldn’t that be fun? On to the next adventure for this cracked pot.  But I know someday God is going to use my brokenness for the good of others.  I have said it before, I'll say it again, even if that is just using me so people can look themselves in the mirror and smile and say, well at least I'm not THAT girl.  

Wear your hats ladies!  The bigger and floppier the better and pretty soon everyone will be wearing them and I can say I started an awesome fashion trend in the area.  Yeah, ok, it's JCPenney that did...or tried anyway, I found the hat on the clearance rack, I know...no one is buying another floppy hat.  I will wear mine with pride thank you very much.

May God bless the rest of your week! 

My Ship's Gonna Come In, Right After I Pull The Dock Out For Winter.

Years ago I quit allowing myself to rent movies or check out books from any library.  I was never responsible enough to get them back on time and the late fees usually amounted to me being able to just buy the movie/book for cheaper.  So you can imagine my joy when Netflix arrived and I became Amazon.com’s best customer for my reading materials.

Then we moved and I discovered the closest library does not charge fines for overdue books.  Oh the elation. Instead they have on the counter a “Guilty Conscience” Jar. How great is THAT for a girl like me, I thought to myself. BEST LIBRARY EVER. 

Well, a year later now, I realized WHY that is not so great for a girl like me.

I am a person who feels guilty for EVERYTHING.  I could live on guilt.  Chicken with a side of guilt is usually on the menu for dinner at my house. I have learned I’d rather just pay a set fine now than a fine determined by my own guilt. I throw change in that jar every time I walk into that building! I don’t even have to have a book checked out and a quarter goes into that jar, because I’m sure I’m guilty for something!  I feel guilty if the person before me had 10 books overdue and did not feel guilty about it.  I pay their fee. And if I DO have a book overdue, since we now have a one day a week visit to the library, what goes into that jar is most likely far more than what the actual fine might have actually been.    

Maybe it’s a mom thing. Aren’t we always thinking we should have, could have, would have done better if we could just get one do over. Or maybe it’s a woman thing, I’m 45 lbs overweight and I just ate 4 chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting. (Can anyone say EATING DISORDER).  I really could consider myself bulimic.  Except I binge but never purge. Throwing up is the worst possible thing I could think of doing. Not to make light of eating disorders in anyway…oh man, I’m sorry, … the guilt.   Or, I just bought a sweater, I don’t need, doesn’t fit me, but IT WAS ON SALE!!!  Then we start to feel guilty for feeling guilty. 

Maybe it’s just a Becky thing….but it’s a never ending cycle for me. So I decided I am going to blame my guilt now on the Library. Well, that didn’t work, now I’m blaming the library for my own hang-ups. OH THE GUILT.

It’s just been one of those weeks.  I have said the wrong things and done the stupidest of things yet again.

I am taking two different classes at my church. One is a Breaking Free by Beth Moore women’s Bible Study.  It is all about how to break the chains of captivity to truly living freely in Christ.  You want guilt….well this has loaded me up.  I now know however one of my main obstacles to living free is Prayerlessness.  I’m not a great prayer.  I want to be a good prayer, but I just am not good at it. When I start praying in my head quietly, pretty soon I’m distracted by something, next thing you know I’m talking to the cat or thinking about the bathroom in the lower level that probably should be cleaned.  My mind is constantly distracted.  I can’t stay focused.  But it was what I decided I needed to work on more. I do great with a prayer journal.  I call them my letters to God each morning.  But well, some mornings I don’t get up when the alarm goes off and I’m running behind and I don’t’ sit down later to write my letter.  OH THE GUILT….

The following night I have membership classes at church, since I am changing to a new type of church all together, I have to take the course that teaches the doctrine of the church.  I absolutely enjoy the class each Tuesday night and am meeting some very nice people there.  Amazing, for being so unsociable for so many years, I am starting to learn to LIKE meeting new people again, hearing loss and all.  For years I was afraid of looking stupid because I didn’t hear something right and responded completely wrong, only to get that look of “HUH?” Yes, it’s happened a zillion times.  Or afraid to fall over from a drop attack in public. THE HORROR. And then when I didn’t hear someone greet me and I didn’t hear them, I just looked like a snob….and I felt guilty for looking snobby, even if it was out of my control.  I holed myself up for years and only stuck with the few people who knew my illness and understood it and we didn’t need to talk about it or go anywhere.  Years later I have finally taken the step to try and meet new people, new friends, etc. etc.  People laugh when I say I’m kind of shy, but really I am.  Or was.  Or maybe just reserved.  I don’t’ know, what do you call a person like me?  OK, don’t answer that.

Anyway, this week after class I asked my pastor how his wife was feeling.  I knew she had been ill and wondered how she was fairing.  (Remember the night before I just realized my obstacle ,prayerlessness).  We were all walking out and I just stopped and asked him how she was, and went on to say that I think of her every day.  She and I had been introduced months earlier and we had a great conversation and that I really understood where she was at to a point with her “hidden illness being a sufferer of one myself.  So I just wanted him to know (and her I guess) that she was on my mind daily.  Another lady, nearby also told Pastor that she also was thinking of her and prayed for her every day.  Here is where it gets sketchy….open mouth insert foot.  I nodded at her and looked at Pastor, who clearly I think wanted to just get home for the evening and said, I don’t pray for her every day, but I do think of her.  The minute it was out, I was pleading in my head, like Rose to Jack in the Titanic.  “Come back….COME BACK”. I needed the words to go back into my mouth and not have come out. SERIOUSLY? DID I REALLY JUST SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO MY  PASTOR?  Well by golly, yes I did.  I was mortified and I knew there was no time and really at that point no use in trying to explain my obstacle, but I tried anyway by just quickly saying “it’s something I’m working on” and humbly walked to my car just kicking myself again…and the guilt, oh the guilt.  I just told my pastor I wasn’t praying but worse, I wasn’t praying for someone he loves.  OH man, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? 

Let’s go back just a half hour to an hour earlier when it was asked if anyone needed someone prayed for in the class and a lady said yes, I do, and told who that person was.  Pastor looked around the room and said “Who will pray for this young lady?”.  I immediately said I WILL.  But then, I realized, he wanted me to pray right then and there.  Well, now wait a minute, I first am terrible at public speaking.  It was the college class I HATED the most.  Probably would have been my downfall had I ever become the lawyer I dreamed of being.  What did I do?  Well, I said, “Well, no I’m not going to do it NOW, I will do it at home”.  The chuckles went around the room and I was like oh for crying out loud Becky, can you EVER keep your mouth shut.  Only later, of course, for this woman to hear me tell someone else, well I think of her but I don’t pray for her.  She probably thought.  Nice, who is this freak?   Believe me folks when I say I will be praying for you, I really am sincere and each morning (MOST MORNINGS) I am sitting down writing a letter to God because that way I need to stay focused and I have my list of friends and family who I need to be praying for along with their friends and families and when I sit down to write that prayer, EVERYONE is included. I PROMISE, my progress is coming along.  REALLY.

Well, Wednesday I figured was a new day.  The events of the night before played over and over in my head and I just kept thinking, I am a total dork. Just an idiot and I need a mouth filter.  I decided I needed to not dwell on it. I planned to get Lane off to school and get right to my morning personal Bible Study. But while I was waiting for him to get ready, I felt a spark in me to start singing. And singing loudly, making up a song as I go.  If you are my facebook friend, you know I tend to do that every now and then.  Just make up stupid little jingles here and there. So,  I’m just singing away some song about Fall and Leaves I stop to take a sip of coffee and I hear HELLO? HELLO?  I accidentally made a call to my sister and it was on speaker phone.  I started to sweat, uhm, hello…..I think I called you by mistake.  “Yes, I think you did”.  “Did you just hear me singing?”.  She started laughing and said uhm, NO.  Oh thank you…oh thank you thank you thank you thank you.  Relief never felt so good. I am a dork, I know it, and usually embrace it, but I have my limits.  Got Lane to school safely (imagine that) and came home and got right to my study and my written letter to God. Afterwards, I looked out the window and saw the big patch of weeds in the front yard.

The weeds had been there long enough. It was time to clean them out.  So out I go.  I knew I had work ahead of me and I wasn’t feeling well, but figured I’ll just mow them all off.   I took out the few stepping stones that had been laid when I had great visions of a beautiful flower garden in that spot and crawled on to the lawn mower.  First row through my “garden” and there is a CLUNK and the whole mower SHUT OFF.  OH boy, I’m in trouble now…..and I couldn’t get the lawn mower to start.  Oh man, Dave is not going to be happy with me now!   SIGH….10 minutes of trying and then it just becoming a challenge I was going to get that lawn mower started. We could NOT afford to buy a new lawn mower and I could not afford the guilt of breaking it.  Amazingly enough, all I had to do was push in the button for the blades and it started right up.  10 minutes later, the front half of the weed patch was mowed and I was satisfied and I put the lawn mower away.

Mind you, while all this is going on, I’m not feeling well this week.  Meniere’s has reared its ugly head making life wobbly and foggy at best and on top of it I have a head/chest cold.  So tonight, I decided I was going to pay a visit to my neighbor. She is so busy all the time, I thought, I’m just going to go over, spend a few minutes chatting and catching up with her and then come home and go to bed. (oh, now that I typed that I feel guilty I was going to go over to her house sick, possibly infecting her family, oh good gravy).  I go to the garage and tell Dave, I’m heading over there and do not plan to be gone long so am not going to take Lane. I also said, I think I’ll drive the lawn mower over there.  He said … “Why? Why not take the 4-wheeler.” Me, “Well, the lawn mower will be easier to get out of the garage and between the van and the truck, it’s smaller”.  So I hop on and back it up and turn it around and start heading out of the garage.  What comes next?  CRUNCH, CRUNCH SCRAPE, SKPSKSKSKSKKSKSKSSSSS.  I stop.  Turn around and look back and there is Dave with his head in his hands. I look down and the small wheel on the thing over the blade part of the lawn mower is underneath the siding on the garage.   Oops   Yes, I broke the edging and then proceeded to get the wheel stuck beneath the piece of siding and it was pulling it off.  I didn’t know what to do then…back up…go forward.  I just stopped, shut it off and sat there.  He said “Go forwards.”   I said, “From here that doesn’t look like that is a good idea.”  But neither did going backwards so he had to come and pick the lawn mower up and pull it out.  Yes, that is where my night should have ended.  I went to the neighbors anyway, only to find her not home but her husband there. He immediately said “What you been demoted to the lawn mower?” I just shook my head and said, well, for now yes, but when I get home…I am pretty sure I’m going to only be allowed to ride the TRICYCLE from now on…..

Happy weekend all.  Enjoy the beautiful weather and don’t forget to Praise God for all He has blessed you with and I really am praying for you! REALLY I AM!   I am a work in progress, and I am pretty sure I will always be....but hey, every morning I smile and thank God for another day to try and get it right.  And maybe, just maybe someday I will, but I won't hold my breath on that and I will always thank HIM for His mercy and grace because I really rarely get close.