Book review: The Unlikely Disciple

A few weeks ago I read the book The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University by Kevin Roose. Mostly I was interested in it because I'm currently paying $25,000 a year for my daughter to go to that school (Liberty U., founded by the late Jerry Falwell) and I wanted to read an outsider's perspective.

Among Christian colleges, Liberty is actually considered rather liberal. The dress code includes pants for girls, tank tops are okay as long as the straps are three fingers wide, girls and guys are allowed to hold hands, stuff like that. But I guess for an unsaved guy from Brown, the "rules" seemed quite restrictive.

To his credit, Kevin Roose did not write a scathing report about his experience. He went there posing as a Christian, led his friends to believe he was one, and lived that lie for the entire semester. He made good friends, learned a lot of Bible he would not otherwise have learned in college, and published the last written interview with Dr. Jerry Falwell before his death in May 2007, at the end of Kevin's only semester at Liberty University.

I thoroughly enjoyed The Unlikely Disciple, not only because I have "insider information" about Liberty, but because it is well-written and very honest. I recommend it only if you don't mind reading about the private lives that are lived inside a guy's dorm. While I don't agree with Kevin's deception of those he called friends, I understand that he would never have been able to gain the perspective he did without it. I'm not saying that justifies what he did, only that I see why he did it.

If you're interested in hearing a sinner's honest view of Christians, this is a good place to start. It's an honest, hold-nothing-back, largely positive view of one of America's big Christian colleges.

Be thankful ~

Karen

The money pit, or why I'm always broke.

Just checking in quickly to encourage you to read the post about blogger frustration (below), and to let you know that Abbie, who refers to herself as the "money pit," stole borrowed my 35mm 1.8 lens and I think she's hooked. This could be expensive. But I think that may be what's wrong with my photos of late.

On the upside, she's getting great grades in her photography class. You know, every artist gets to a point in her training when the tools she is using are no longer good enough. When Leah was 16, her orchestra director told us very bluntly that her then-current violin was holding her back. That cost us a few thousand. I guess $200 for a lens isn't so bad. Good thing I love her so much.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Blogger frustration.

I just read a post written by Darcy at My 3 Boybarians that I can totally relate to. I can't tell you how many times someone has commented on my blog and I've wanted to respond but had no way to. This short tutorial explains how to set up your blog so that I can write back when you leave a comment here. Please do it! It's so much more fun when we can have a two-way conversation!

So go—do this right now. And thank you.

Be thankful ~

Karen

A visit with the princess.

Princess Petunia spent the day with us today, and that's always entertaining. How is it that I forget between visits what toddlers are like?

P is usually happy like this. She wanders around the house looking for buttons to push

and calculators to talk on. Looks like a serious conversation.

And then when you get really busy mopping all the wood floors and you keep telling her "no" about the bucket of mop water, she goes looking for a substitute. And she finds Pete's bowl, which just happens to hold about a half gallon of water.

Pete is very concerned about this turn of events.

P is enjoying stomping in the puddles.

Yes, her hair is wet. Don't ask me how that happened. I don't want to know, and neither does her mommy.

And then when she sees me coming, she smiles and says "Bye-bye!" and closes the door.

Be thankful ~

Karen

PS. If you have any idea why the focus on my camera is so bad, please clue me in.

Get up! Get ready!

Last night the teens were in charge of our church service. They prayed, they sang, they played the organ and piano, they took up the offering, and then two of the young men preached: Luke S. and Man-boy.

And you know how to make a really proud mama? Get her baby up there preaching.

Man-boy has a thing for Job. He preaches in children's church and at the nursing home all the time and has always said, if you can't figure out what to preach on, go to Job. I never would have thought that. So last night he went to Job. You know the story in chapter one: Job loses everything he owns (which is substantial), all his kids, all his servants, and then comes verse 20.

Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and (wait for it) worshipped.

Is that what you would do? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, Man-boy went on to tell about how last fall he fell in a big way. He made a bad decision that he knew was wrong, and within seconds it was public knowledge. Falling flat is one thing, but falling flat publicly is another thing entirely and pretty hard to recover from.

Man-boy spent the next four months trying to get past it and had a hard time picking himself up and getting going for God again. Until just recently when he was listening to Gold City and heard this song:



and he decided he'd better get up and get ready and stop wasting time whining and having a pity party. What a great message from a 17-year-old!

Be thankful ~

Karen

My opportunity to rename the boy.

Today at the gym I learned how to play Cutthroat, which is essentially racquetball played with three people. I played with a borrowed, partially broken racquet. And without my glasses. Entertainment is cheap here—just visit my gym.

The guy who taught my friend, Cari, and I is really, REALLY good, and he was obviously taking it very easy on us, but every once in a while one of us accidentally made a good shot so we each wound up with four points to his fifteen. But like I said, I was without my glasses so I'm not feeling too bad about it. One of these days I'm going to take my camera just to prove I'm really on a racquetball court, which is something I never thought I'd do. Kind of like jumping off a bridge into the Buffalo River with my children.

Now here it is, almost 5 pm. I've worked some, done a little laundry, watched Man-boy do the dishes (his idea), and made a pot of Salmon Chowder so the house smells like bacon and salmon. What could be better? I was supposed to go get our taxes done tonight, but the accountant's husband called to say she was coming down with the flu and could she call to reschedule. I wonder if we can do taxes over the phone . . . I don't want to get near her for a month now.

So when I walked in the kitchen while Man-boy was doing the dishes, he turned around and said, "Mom, after my 18th birthday, what are you going to call me?"

My first thought was, "Does your name change when you turn 18? I'll call you Elijah, just like I have since you were born." But I must have looked at him with that deer-in-the-headlights look, because he continued, "You won't be able to call me Man-boy anymore."

Hm. Apparently Man-boy's name will need to change on May 9th. I'll have to think about that. Any suggestions?

Be thankful ~

Karen

Monday update.

And the hunt continues. I've started looking at all the small SUVs: Ford Escape, Chevy Equinox, Toyota RAV4, Nissan Rogue, and I'm sure there are more I've forgotten. I've been reading reviews until I'm cross-eyed. I had to make a chart and start writing things down because just like when you're looking at houses to buy and they all start to look the same and you mix up the great kitchen in one with the beautiful finished basement in another, details have become a little muddy.

The Ford is noisy. The Toyota is rated #1 by Car & Driver. The Rogue has a continuously something-or-other transmission that you either love or hate. (I'm staying away from that one. I'd rather not make a $20,000 mistake.) Edmunds says the Honda is the best, and that makes me wonder what I missed when I drove it the other day.

My head was swimming so much I had to go make banana bread. Carbs make everything better, right? Especially warm carbs with lots of melt-y butter.

In other news of the day, there's a lot of sickness going around, but so far it's not here in NoVa.  Deb, David, and Sticky Bean are all sick with some kind of horrible cough. They've been tested for pertussis, but because today was a holiday, they haven't found out yet if that's what they have. Deb says when she coughs she holds her eyeballs so they don't pop out.

Leah is battling a very sore throat and says she's drinking lots of water and eating garlic. Good thing she doesn't have a roommate. I left her advice on facebook to gargle with apple cider vinegar in case it's strep, and her uncle who lives nearby and is a chiropractor (how's that for handy?) commanded her to come get an adjustment TODAY.

Then I got a text from Abbie who informed me she passed out in Convo this morning.  This seems to be a family malady. Apparently she neglected to eat breakfast and had a sugar drop. You might remember that Leah has a habit of doing this too. She started to sweat profusely, and then when she realized unconsciousness was imminent, she told her friends she was about to faint. Kimmy said, "Put your head between your knees!" which she did, and then fell on Kimmy's lap. What are friends for, right? When she came to, people were shoving food at her (all of this in Convocation, Liberty's version of Chapel with several thousand people) and telling her to eat. She did and recovered just fine. She'll be eating breakfast from now on.

That's it for the Monday update. Tuesday is a running day, and racquetball. And work. And getting my taxes done. And probably more banana bread.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Car shopping: take one.

Today I ventured out to do my least favorite thing: car shop. I chose a big dealer in town that advertises "no-haggle" prices, which essentially means "pay us what we want and don't ask any questions."

So I walked in and immediately started asking questions, all of which were answered by two very friendly salesmen, Adam and Jeremy (I think. Or something that starts with a J. I was a little preoccupied, and anyway, that's what business cards are for.) I was impressed right off the bat that Adam actually knew what Bob Jones University was. And he was a music major too. Now he's selling used cars.

Leah, things are not looking good for you (that's my daughter, and she's a graduate music student at BJU).

Anyway, I went there for the sole purpose of driving a Honda CR-V, which I did, and I was underwhelmed by it. It's a 3300-pound vehicle with a 4-cylinder motor in it. I knew this before I drove it, but it was made very clear once I got behind the wheel and tried to accelerate up a steep hill. Honda, I love you, but that baby needs more horses.

Then I sat in a Honda Pilot, and let me tell you that is the most basic, no-frills $25,000 vehicle ever made. Lots of plastic. Two strikes.

Then just for grins I sat in a 4-door Civic and I might love it, or at least like it a lot. I'm going to go back and drive it plus some other small SUVs. I just can't make a decision in one day—I've got to spread out the agony.

More to come . . .

Be thankful ~

Karen

Mid-weekend update.

Some days just don't turn out like you think they will, and yesterday was one of them.

I got up early to get some work done before I went to the gym, and knew that after my Strive class I had to take one of our cars to get a brake caliper fixed. Usually I come right home after the gym and take a shower, but knowing I'd be out for a little while, I took a bag and showered at the gym. That turned out to be a very good thing.

I got to the car place at 11 am armed with my latest book, The Unlikely Disciple by Kevin Roose (more on that in a minute), and had a seat. After finishing the last 100 pages of the book, I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so I walked next door to a gas station and bought a bag of Combos. That's what all the top athletes eat after a workout. I read a magazine. And another one. By this time it was 3 pm and still no word on the car, but it's a busy place, so I was being patient.

Meanwhile, we had company coming for dinner at 6 and the rest of our Sunday school class coming for movie night at 7:30. I started texting Man-boy instructions to clean the bathroom, vacuum the rug, and dust the tables. Then I realized that my great plan for a gluten-free dinner (for the sake of one of our guests) of pot roast with carrots and mashed potatoes was not going to happen, so I started making a new plan—grilled burgers, roasted red potatoes, spinach salad—but that would require stopping at the store on the way home.

By 4:30 I was beginning to panic. It was, after all, Friday in Northern Virginia and that means horrendous traffic. I called Ben and asked him to come get me. We ran through Wal-mart in record time and actually got dinner on the table in 30 minutes. The class all showed up, we watched our movie, ate a LOT of guacamole (that's a 14-inch pasta bowl),

severely burned a bag of microwave popcorn (don't try this at home), and played spoons.

Pete loves the attention.

By the time it was over I was worn out, but it was a good worn out.

Today it's sunny and warm again but windy. I got some work done, got our taxes together, and went for a run (2 miles, 21 minutes). Now we're waiting for the mechanic to call and tell us he's fixed the dumb caliper for good. And the pot roast is in the oven. I'm thinking that's a pretty good weekend so far.

Be thankful ~

Karen

ps. I'll review the book next time.

An almost literal run-down.

Today started with the raucous beeping of the alarm at 4:30 a.m. Man-boy and I had an appointment on the north side of DC at 9 and needed to leave the house by 5 in order to beat the worst of rush hour. In case you've never experienced a Northern Virginia rush hour, don't. That's all the advice you're going to get from me. Just cross it off your bucket list right now.

So we headed out armed with directions and lots of prayer and it's a good thing. Not 30 miles up the interstate the car directly in front of us was rammed sideways by a big white pickup, which then attempted to move over to the right shoulder by almost hitting a semi, followed very closely by cutting off the little car behind the semi. It was one of those moments that seems to be playing in slow-motion before your very eyes, like the time you tripped up the steps in your formal wear going into the junior prom. Six hours later, Man-boy was still expressing his disbelief at how quickly it happened.

Anyway, since we beat the worst of the traffic, we found ourselves in the cozy town of Bethesda two hours early, so we thought we'd get some breakfast.

Did you know people in Bethesda don't eat? There is not a food-serving establishment in the entire city. We did find a Starbucks, but the closest parking was five blocks away. Gives new meaning to the phrase "drive-thru."

We wound up going outside the Beltway and finally found an old-fashioned diner that claimed to serve locally-grown, fresh food. The ketchup on the table was organic, so we figured that was a good sign. While we were eating our locally-grown, fresh breakfast and enjoying the oldies on the jukebox (and by "oldies" I mean the stuff I listened to in the '70s), two 50-ish looking men came in and one started busting a move right there in the aisle between the booths. And it was a pretty good move, if I do say so myself. I was quite impressed and told him so. It might have made his day.

By the time we got home it was almost 3:30 and the day was still beautiful.

I just couldn't resist throwing on the shoes

and grabbing the iPod (yes, it's a pink iPod with orange earbuds. Don't ask.)

and going for a 2-mile run/walk. And you know what I learned? Running on a treadmill is WAY easier. There are no hills. There's no wind. Neighborhood children and dogs are not gawking at you. The ground keeps moving and all you have to do is pick your feet up. But in spite of all that, I made it in 22 minutes, not too bad for my first road run.

When I posted this pertinent data on facebook, I was immediately invited to run an 8K and a half marathon. Really? Don't let the fancy running shoes fool you—I'm still a turtle. But at last I'll be a healthy turtle who fits in her jeans.

When I got back I sat outside for a while enjoying the warm air and spotted this in the garden below the deck:

Spring really is coming.

Be thankful ~

Karen

A challenge to me.

God is good all the time, but every once in a while we stop and take note.

We own two houses, one in Virginia and one in Tennessee that we rent out. As you can imagine, we have mortgages on both of them. And you know how once a year you get that escrow analysis thing that tells you whether you have a surplus or a deficit in your escrow account? And it's usually a deficit? And you have to pay the deficit or your monthly payment will go up?

Yeah. We got one of those a few days ago, and the deficit was rather large.

So I spent the last few days thinking about how we could pay it and not have our monthly payments go up.

Then today we got the escrow analysis from the other mortgage company, and attached to it was a check (A surplus? Are you serious?) for $50 more than we needed to pay the deficit on the other one.

And that reminded me of this verse in Isaiah 65:

(24) And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; 

and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.

God knows and meets our needs before we even know we have them—what security!

And this one from Psalm 68:

(19) Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits, 

even the God of our salvation. Selah.

Did you catch that word daily? Are you even aware of the benefits God loads you with daily? Let's wake up tomorrow looking for them. And then . . .

Be thankful ~

Karen

Dogs just want to have fun.

Have you met my dogs? By now you know Pete the Terrible (he's the big one), and if you've been here a while, you might remember Spanky. He was the perfect one who has since gone on to the big doggie park in the sky.

Spanky's been gone for three years now, and Pete has been lonely without him. Yearning for a friend. Someone who is young and full of pep.

Enter Cooley.

This is not just a pile of fur. There's a dog in there somewhere, I promise.

Cooley moved in next door and they've been best buddies ever since.

There he is! Cooley loves our house. He comes over all the time and stands at the door waiting to be let in. He comes in, jumps up on the couch, and helps himself to the water bowl. Sometimes Cooley doesn't want to come when he's called, so we let Pete out, they run around the yard, we call Pete, and Cooley follows. It's quite handy.

Today I was sitting at my desk looking out the French door and guess who showed up on the deck looking for his buddy?

Can Pete come out and play?

Be thankful ~

Karen

Warning: Hunter photos ahead.

If you are the type of person who wants her meat to look like it came from the Acme (on a foam tray covered with plastic wrap), you might want to go read somewhere else for a few minutes.

Man-boy is a hunter. Living in suburbia hasn't been easy for him, but he's learned to make do. We do have plenty of deer and the occasional black bear, but since we live in a subdivision, you can't really shoot at them.

On a side note, this morning I picked up a piece of wood to put in the woodstove and a spider the size of an orange crawled over the top of it. So naturally I did the mature thing and screamed. Man-boy rescued me and threw it in the fire.

But back to the hunting. Friday he got a squirrel. Cranked open one of the sunroom windows and shot it with a pellet gun. Through the ear.

Do you know how small a squirrel's ear is?

Anyway, I feel sure the squirrel never knew what hit it.

And then commenced the skinning and gutting. Thankfully, that was all done outside and the hide is now stretched on a board and covered with salt in the garage. The rest was brought inside and washed.

I wasn't sure how much meat was on a squirrel, but Man-boy didn't care. It was his and he was determined to eat it.

So just in case you ever have an extra squirrel in the freezer and don't know how to cook it, I'll share my made-up-on-the-spot recipe.

Place the squirrel in a very small crock pot (mine might be 6 or 8 cups). Sprinkle with kosher salt and pepper, add some thyme and about 1/2 cup of beef broth. Cook on low about 6 hours.

We were amazed at how tender it was, but full of tiny bones.

You'll never get fat eating squirrel—it's a lot of work picking the little shreds of meat off all those bones.

And do you see who's staring intently? It's the closest he's ever been to one.

Man-boy says he's ready to be the next Man vs. Wild star.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Long live the Ribmobile.

This is a sad weekend. The Ribmobile (so named because my license plate says bensrib) is gone.

It was the best vehicle we've ever owned.

It was more than just a family van.

Let me tell you the story of the Ribmobile.

In 2000, when we were still an active duty Navy family, Ben was deployed to Bahrain for six months. We did a lot of planning for that long separation, including a general power of attorney for me, just in case. At the time, we were driving a little Ford Aerostar van that had 195,000 miles on it.

One day right before he left, Ben asked me, "What are your biggest worries for this deployment?"

I replied right away, "The van," at which time he assured me the van was running great (it was) and we had nothing to fear.

Fast forward 3 weeks into the six-month deployment.

The kids and I got in to go to church one Sunday morning and the van bucked and shook the entire 45-minute ride. When I got there I asked one of the men to look at it. He pulled the transmission dipstick and said, "Ewwwww."

(Long story mercifully shortened here) I went looking for a van and found this one. At the time it was four years old and had 50,000 miles on it. We've driven it 11 years and put on an additional 208,000 miles. It still runs like a champ, tows a trailer (as seen in the above photo), has been used for more long trips than I can count, holds an entire family's camping gear plus the giant dog crate, and sleeps seven children plus three dogs. We've never had to do any major repairs to it, and the biggest bother is that the volume down button for the radio doesn't work (there's one in the back seat that the driver can reach).

So last week when it was announced in church that a family was in desperate need of a vehicle, Ben decided it was time to give it away. This was Pete's reaction:

He loved the van, even though the only time he ever went anywhere in it he got shots. Why are dogs so dumb?

The children were equally shocked.

So it's bye-bye Ribmobile and now I'm looking for something else to drive. I was convinced I wanted a Honda CRV until I found out they don't come with a 6-cylinder engine.  I can't imagine merging on I-95 in a 4-cylinder. But I'm going to go drive one and see what it feels like.

Pete wants his van back.

Be thankful ~

Karen

You can dress him up but, well, you know the story.

I feel like today has been 72 hours long, which may be due to the fact that I slept in 30-minute increments last night.

Nevertheless (who makes up these words?), I got up at 6 and worked a little before I headed to the gym. I intended to do six miles on the bike before Strive, but only rode 4—slacker. Then Strive. Then Target for essentials like milk, cookies, and salsa. Then home. Then shower and lunch. Work a few more hours.

Are you still here?

Man-boy needs a suit jacket for a preaching competition in March, because we all know you can't preach without a suit jacket. *rolling eyes* So we went in search of one before church tonight. Silly me, thinking it would be easy.

It seems Man-boy is well-endowed in the shoulder and latissimus dorsi area. Add to that his thin waist and tall stature and you have a recipe for suit-jacket disaster. The salesman called him "Superman."

We finally found the only athletic-cut jacket in the store, and it fits him pretty well. While we were discussing whether or not it would need to be taken in at the waist, the salesman gave this explanation.

Salesman: You don't want it too tight, see? Say he's at a dance with a girl . . .

(Man-boy is standing behind salesman, his eyes are getting big, and he's slowly shaking his head no.)

Salesman (continuing): and he has one hand up here holding her hand and one around her waist . . . (demonstrates this with a suit on a hanger.)

Man-boy: That's highly unlikely.

Salesman (looking from Man-boy to me and back to Man-boy. And back to me.): Well maybe he has to give his mom a hug . . .

Man-boy (smiling): That's much more likely.

People just don't know what to make of us.

We ended our day with a Ding-Dong stacking contest of which I have not one photo, and good preaching. Zero to Hero in 70+ years: the story of Jacob.

Tomorrow's a run day, so no slugging for me.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Man-toys.

Ben doesn't usually buy things for himself. When he needs food, I buy it. Ditto with clothes and most other stuff. Even cars. He's giving away my van this week, and I've been instructed to find a new car.

Alrighty, then.

The extent of Ben's shopping is deciding what to get at Starbucks, which doesn't even count because he always gets a Pike's Place redeye, and what's the fun in that?

But a few weeks ago he started looking at tools, and that can be dangerous. I've threatened to take away his credit card before he walks into Lowe's. But these are not those kind of tools.

These are the kind of tools you have to order over the Internet. And hire an electrician to re-wire your garage for. And have delivered by tractor-trailer, and I'm not even kidding.

Today was delivery day. Ben knew they were coming, so he took the day off to be here and oversee the grand arrival. Thankfully, I was firmly entrenched in winning my first-ever racquetball game at the gym, so I missed most of the festivities.

When I pulled into our subdivision and came over the hill just up the street from our house, the first thing I noticed was the tractor-trailer sitting smack-dab in the middle of the cul-de-sac with its back end wide open. Second, I looked up my driveway and saw the van with the trailer attached, and three men (Ben, Man-boy, and the driver) trying to get a 700-pound wooden box off the trailer into the garage. The third thing I saw was this:

That would be what's left of my mailbox. I'm not asking how it happened but the driver held his hands up and shook his head, signifying "not me," indicating the guilty party lives in this house.

By the time I parked the car and got to the garage, they had the big box unloaded:

and a mere six hours later, here are the tools of the day:

I have no idea what they are or what they do, but I'm told it's part of decorating the man-cave.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Apparently I struck a nerve with a few people in my last post, the one in which I complained about the botching of the national anthem before the Super Bowl. I don't enjoy offending people, so please accept my apology if you were one of them. And let me try to more gently explain my feelings about it.

My husband, and therefore my five children and I, spent more than twenty years defending our country in active duty Naval service. There were separations, some lengthy. There were threats (like on 9/11 when Ben was on NAS Norfolk on lockdown and we feared it would be next on the hit list). Ben missed events. The children missed their daddy. Often I had to be both mom and dad, and believe me, that doesn't work out well. There were many, many, MANY sacrifices, way too numerous to mention here. No military member can do what he does and do it well without the wholehearted support of his spouse and children. And my oldest son is now in the Air Force.

We love our country.

My gripe this week is not just with Christina Aguilera, but with anyone who has ever sung The Star Spangled Banner publicly and made it a venue for self-promotion.

Have you ever been in a church service when someone sings a solo, and it's obvious that in the singer's mind, it is a "performance" and not an act of worship? It makes my skin crawl, no matter how beautiful the singer's voice.

That's how I feel about the national anthem. It is NOT about the singer. It's about the sacrifices that have been made, the price that has been paid, the incredible struggles we have gone through as a nation and come out on the other side all the better for it. When popular musicians stand before the whole world and muddy that message by "making the song their own," it detracts substantially from the meaning of the song. I've wondered if we wouldn't be better off just reading the words:

Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and home the of the brave?

Do you know the story of Francis Scott Key writing The Star Spangled Banner? You can read it here. Read it to your children so they understand why we stand up, remove our hats, and place our hand over our heart when it is sung and when the Colors are presented. Teach them flag etiquette. Explain why we raise the flag quickly and lower it slowly, and why we never let it touch the ground.

Teach them to sing the national anthem in the spirit in which it was written.

Thank you to those who commented and sent private messages disagreeing with me. I appreciate your honesty.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Thankful it only lasted 2 minutes and 8 seconds.

Being the extreme football fan that I am, I skipped the Super Bowl and went to church. (No offense to those of you who love your teams. It's just not my thing.)

When I got home just a few minutes ago, facebook was SMOKING with complaints about the singing of the sort-of-national-anthem, so I had to go look it up. As I knew would be the case, The Huffington Post had the video up, just waiting for me. If you haven't heard it yet, you can listen here. But be forewarned; it was worse than awful. Mike said his entire squadron booed.

Way to make us the laughing stock of the world, Christina. We Americans can't even find someone who knows the words. Why do we worship these idiots?

Not feeling very thankful ~

Karen

Saturdays go by way too fast.

Not much to report. Abbie and I went to the gym where I broke the 12-minute mile mark. Not by much, but all it takes is 10 seconds and I can officially say I made it and lived to tell the story. Two minutes into my run, a guy got on the treadmill next to me and started huffing and puffing whatever garlic-laced food he had for dinner last night. It may have made me run faster just so I could get out of there.

Then Abbie and I spent the afternoon discussing The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, which is actually a very good book. It's only about 150 pages—a really good read. The part where he made the decision to become morally perfect just cracked me up.

Then we spent some time playing around with each other's lenses (we have the same camera), and decided to swap for a few weeks.

When the mail came, I was excited to find that my new business cards were in it. I immediately began handing them out to family members.

I told them, "Now whenever you see a misspelling somewhere, hand them a card and tell them your mother is an editor."

The two dyslexics in the family wondered how they would know if they saw a mistake.

Be thankful ~

Karen

ps. Just so you know, the dyslexics comment was made by them, not me, and they approved its use on the blog.

A happy birthday post for Mike.

The first thing I realized when I sat down to write a birthday post for Mike is that we have no pictures of him. Twenty-six years and all I could find were seven photos, and most of those I had to rob from facebook. I believe that gets me the lousy-mother-of-the-year award.

Maybe it's because I was so busy trying to figure out how to BE a mother. Yeah, that's it. They say you make all your mistakes with the first child, and truer words have never been spoken. But Mike's a survivor and very forgiving, and for that we're thankful.

By now you all know Mike is in the Air Force. He's in tech school in San Angelo, Texas. I don't know what he's studying. He could tell me but then he'd have to kill me, so I'm happily ignorant.

You also probably know that Mike is tall, and by tall, I mean he towers over everyone. Here he is with a buddy at basic training graduation. Note that Mike is not standing on the curb.

Before Mike went in the Air Force, he graduated from James Madison University with a degree in political science. Here he is with his senior seminar group:

And with some of the College Republicans at CPAC:

Mike is also an uncle (notice we always find a way to get Sticky Bean in here?). Little kids love Mike because they're waaaay up high.

Mike is also a self-taught guitarist. He picked one up when he was younger (10? 12? How old, Mike?) and has been playing ever since. He's quite talented and also has an amazing voice. He sang with my brother at Deb and David's wedding and it gave everyone goosebumps. He's written and recorded a few songs with his brother and sisters, and can even make himself sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks.

It's not easy overcoming your parents' stupidity, but Mike has done that and more.

Mike, we are so very proud of the man you've become and thankful for your service to our country.

Be thankful ~

Karen

Wordless Wednesday: Happy Feet

means

Be thankful ~

Karen

Philosophy of the treadmill.

I hear the winter storm is not going to hit us this week and there are not enough words of praise to express how happy I am about that. In fact, it's supposed to be 60° here tomorrow. I'm getting out the flip-flops.

My daughter and son-in-law in Tennessee haven't been so blessed, but at least Sticky Bean has had his first taste of fun in the snow.

Those of you who are facebook friends know that I've been trying to get my middle-aged body in some kind of decent shape before I turn 50 in August. I've been doing Pilates for a little over a year, and then we switched gyms in September. It took me a while to get used to the new place, but eventually I added Strive classes (weight lifting mixed with cardio) three times a week. When I first started, I couldn't even lift enough weight to break a sweat, but persistence pays off and I can feel that I'm getting stronger.

Then two weeks ago, I was complaining about whatever machine I was on and Tony (the guy who runs the class) told me to quit whining. He's a 19-year-old who didn't get spanked enough when he was a kid.

Well. That just ticked me off. There's a sure-fire way to get me motivated, and that's call me a whiner.

So I decided I was going to run. I know plenty of people my age and older who run long distances all the time, so why couldn't I, right?

Someone should have slapped me.

The first day I got on the hamster wheel I could barely run at all. I walked a little, ran a little, walked more, ran less. It was pathetic. I was gasping for breath inside of five minutes. The people at the front desk put 911 on speed dial. The second day was only slightly better. But today was my fourth day and I can tell it's getting just a little easier. I'm still gasping, but my runs are up to 3 minutes, with a little less walking in between. It probably still looks pathetic, but I'm getting there.

I'm learning a lot about perseverance even when it hurts. Knowing it will be a little easier next time makes me willing push harder today. And isn't that the way it is in all of life?

Be thankful ~

Karen