Trying desperately to find the humor in it all

The last few weeks sort of kicked my trash. I've spent more time in tears in the last two weeks than I have in the last two years.

But I'm over it and moving on. Today is a new day (and all that crap). So we're going to play a little Monday morning game that is a favorite of seventh grade parties everywhere:

Truths and a lie.

Below, you will find a list of things that actually happened to me this week, and one thing that didn't. Pick out the lie, tell me which one it is, and every correct answer will be thrown into the mix for a prize of some sort.

Last week:

My dishwasher breathed its last (resulting in me hand-washing the dishes EVERY. DAMN*. DAY. while waiting for the new one to arrive).

I took Chase to urgent care for a cut on his finger that he received while slicing banana bread with a pocket knife (because using a normal knife like a human is clearly beneath him).

I dropped my glasses in the toilet (after, not before).

I had to bandage McKay's bloody toe after he stubbed it and ripped the nail clean off.

I did not exercise at all.

I went to drive a carpool to the church and found that the garage door had broken a spring and would not open, resulting in the kids and I being stranded.

I single-handedly killed 96 fruit flies (honestly, where are they coming from?).

I made a huge, traditional turkey dinner and a sword-shaped cake, all on the same day.

I spent $150 on co-pays at the doctor's office in one week.

And I got kicked out of a fall festival by a policeman.

So take your guesses. Which is the one lie in all these terrible, awful, no-good truths? Contest ends Tuesday at noon.

*Don't worry. I've already given the jar a quarter. It was totally worth it.

The post that was (and then wasn't)

So there was a little post up yesterday, and after receiving more hate mail in five minutes than I have in my entire life, I decided to take it down.

Not because I let other people dictate what I say on this blog.

But because I had a horrible day yesterday, and after sobbing on the phone to the Husband about it, the last thing I needed was to sit down in front of my computer and be berated by strangers.

By people who clearly do not know me at all. By people whose intent is to hurt and to hate.

Neither of those things are my intent.

Nor will they ever be.

My sense of humor simply may not be your thing.

If that is the case, my advice to you is this: STOP READING.

To the rest of you fine people: Thanks for all the sweet words you leave here. They mean more than you will ever know.

Further proof of our Napoleon obsession

Last night, I had a friend coming over to get some updated corporate head shots. With the backdrop and lights set up, I snagged the first kid I could find to pose for a few shots while I tested the lighting.

With no staging or awareness of my Kip post yesterday, this is what he gave me:

Remind you of anyone?

And, yes, I do believe he was imagining himself weightless in the ocean, surrounded by tiny little seahorses.

That was it. That was the one. I think that's going to come out real nice.

Stay home and eat all the flippin' chips, Kip!

Last week, McKay got his braces on.

In case you lost count, that makes TWO children in orthodontia. (Ah, money. How I miss you. We used to have such good times at the mall.)

But I find that braces totally suit my boys' smiles. Gives their crazy teeth a purpose. Makes their smiles seem much more full of promise, instead of just snaggily and crooked in those mouths of theirs.

Lately, though, every time I turn around, I get what we have dubbed, The Kip Face.

For those of you not versed in Napoleon Dynamite speak, I am referring to the scene where Kip and Lafawnduh share a milkshake across the table and he looks up at her through his eye brows while raising them up and down, and smiling like a hyena.

It's oh so suggestive and alluring.

[Turn your sound off though for this clip. The music makes you want to kill yourself. And you really only need watch the first two seconds to get the gist of what I'm talking about)

Meet Kip. And Kip.

Brothers bonded forever by their love of stupid movies, braces, and their need to make their mother crazy.

Seriously, though. How cute is this boy? It's a good thing I like him so much.

J. Golden Stie?

Yesterday I gave a talk in church on personal revelation.

I think it went rather well.

Except for the part where I accidentally and inadvertently said crap from the pulpit.

And, no, not proverbial crap.

I said the actual word crap.

My oldest son told me he immediately looked around the room to see if his teachers were hanging their head in shame and disgust.

My daughter told me she felt I would have to give a quarter to the swear jar.

My middle son was too busy reading Calvin & Hobbs to notice.

Do you think it means they won't be asking me to talk again for a while?

I do hope so.

P.S. Those of you confused by the title, see this article. J. Golden Kimball was a prominent leader in the early days of our church who liked to swear from the pulpit. He's a legend of sorts and it took all my power to convince the husband NOT to name any of our children after him.

Him

I watched his hands as he worked, sawdust floating around him in the air. Big, strong hands. Hands I know well.

Hands that held mine continuously through three deliveries, even when I squeezed so hard he feared a broken bone.

Hands that gently supported three newborn heads, each in their turn, as he pulled back the blankets to peek at their beautiful, squishy faces.

Hands that have reached out to wipe many a tear from my freckled cheek.

Hands that rub his chin when he's lost in his thoughts.

Hands that carry his suitcase when heads out the door for yet another business trip.

Hands that tap the steering wheel in his car while he drives and sings along with the music.

I love those hands.

And I love the man attached to them even more.

He took a much needed day off a few weeks ago. Work life has been crazy for a while now and I was so relieved when he decided to take a break. It was a real treat spending the day with him.

Just he and I.

It hasn't been just us for quite a long time.

As I sat in the garage watching him work, I studied this man of mine. And I came to the conclusion, for what must be the millionth time, that he's one of the good ones.

They say that a good marriage is the ability to fall in love over and over with the same person.

I'd say it just happened again.