Of Scents: Stinky and Flowery

Being that we now live in a climate that allows us to have our windows open all day, each morning finds me throwing open every one in the house and breathing in the crisp, cool air. When we lived in the desert, opening windows during the summer was akin to opening a big oven door, which, you know, wasn't too helpful when it comes to cooling the house down.

But the thing I've noticed since we've been here is that in addition to cooler temperatures, we also have much, much, much more greenery. And sometimes... that greenery puts off an interesting odor. Now, we've established before that I am a plant murderer (although I can't link for proof--it was on the old blog), so it is safe to say that with very little exception, I have no idea exactly what kind of plants reside around our beachy home. What I do know is that on some days--particularly the hotter ones--some of theses plants stink.

Lots of open windows + Stinky plants = Stinky house

I don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on having stinky house.

So. My usual wonderful combat tool is burning a whole lotta candles... because, ah, how I adore candles. Of course, we all know that the only REAL candle is a Yankee Candle, but I do confess to keeping a little stash of cheapy ones from Wally World for when I'm in a pinch and need a new candle for an empty holder.

But, really, even an obsessive candle person like me has a hard time burning candles all day when it's hot outside. It just seems... odd. I usually light the candles before John comes home as part of my "clean up the toys, tuck the slipcover back in, turn on a CD and light the candles before Daddy gets home" routine. But I don't like to have them burning all day long, you know.

Today, the windows are open, it's relatively (important word, that one) hot outside, and the greenery outside is making my house stink. So what did I do?

Grabbed a bottle of my body splash and splashed it around the house.

I know, we are all just in awe of such homemaking cleverness, now, aren't we?

Now my house smells like Sweet Pea. (From this place, of course... because no matter how close the other brands try to get, they still can't quite match the original... not that I'm picky about brands, mind you. That would just make me far too Southern for where I live.) Because Sweet Pea happens to be my signature scent. The one I splash on every day. The one my family puts bottles upon bottles of in my stocking at Christmas, because a girl can never have too much of it. The one that when my husband catches a whiff, he thinks, "Ah, how I love my bride!" Well, okay, maybe he doesn't think that exactly, but he thinks something a little less dramatic, with the same meaning.

I love my stash of Sweet Pea stuff. I just love it. So much so that Sweet Pea deserves Capital Letters as I'm sitting here breathing deeply the light, flowery aroma filling the house (which is also covering the Stink, but that's beside the point). And also so much so that I try to get as many different forms of that particular scent as I can. The only problem at the moment is that I happen to be completely out of my Sweet Pea lotion. I'm out of the body wash, too. And the hand cream. And the bar of soap. The only thing I actually have is that one bottle of body splash. How we came to be in this state of affairs is beyond me, except for the fact that in The Craziness of the past few months, I've just forgotten to pick up any new bottles. So I'm resigned to either using regular old white lotion in combination with my body splash, or--what I've actually been doing--using up some of the other lotions and perfumes I have in my bathroom, but don't use on a regular basis.

Tonight when John gets home, the house will smell like Sweet Pea. I'm fully positive that when he walks in the door, he'll think something along the lines of, "Ah, how I love my bride!" as he is greeted by the oh-so-sweet aroma. I'm just sure of it.

Hopefully he won't think, "What is that overwhelmingly strong scent of perfume in this place?" Or worse yet, "It smells like Ash has been tilling the soil and working with those stinky plants while wearing her perfume stuff."

Because that's not quite the reaction I had in mind.

"Our happiness is not as important to Him as our holiness"

Last night we were a little shaken up. I had been gone all day and came home to the news that either John or a Marine he works with would be leaving within the week for that Sandy Spot on the other side of the globe--and that we wouldn't find out until the next day. We are already planning for a trip to that Spot in the near future... but we weren't planning on it being quite this soon, or being during the time that the baby is due...

This morning brought the update that John won't be the one going... due to several work-related factors, his friend is instead. And this Marine doesn't end up having even a week to prepare--he's leaving tonight. If you think of it, please pray for his family. He hasn't even been home six months from a 13 month deployment.

Last night we called both sets of parents, asking them to pray--for peace while we waited to hear, and most of all for God's will in the situation. About a million and one questions and concerns were running through our heads, and the concious decision to place it in the Lord's hands is much easier said than done in these sort of moments. But He is faithful to give the peace He promises... after the initial wave of fear, we were able to just rest, knowing that He knew when we didn't.

My father in law sent me a long email last night, filled with such love, support and wisdom that I felt it warranted being shared with others beside myself. Many of us face difficult times, whatever and whenever they are, and these words apply to just about every circumstance we might be enduring or foreseeing.

Ashleigh, we're praying for strength and submission. I just read in Luke about the storm on the sea of Galilee today, and the Lord intervened. He well may. But I am reading Job, and the Lord never intervened, but all worked out perfectly.

I don't know what the Lord will do. Maybe he will work for our convenience. Maybe he has much higher goals in mind, and our convenience may not be as important as our commitment to Him. Further our Happiness is not nearly as important to him as our Holiness!! We in America pursue happiness, and find the pursuit brings happiness.We never reach the goal of happiness, the closest we come is in its pursuit.
Hebrews says we are to pursue holiness, and the pursuit brings the relative holiness we crave, but the goal of perfect holiness is outside of our reach. That one depends on God's timing. Still, even there our holiness is more important than our happiness. And our perfect happiness like our perfect holiness only happens as God stages our Exodus.

By the way I spoke from Ruth [my father in law is a pastor--here he's referring to a message he preached] and in the KJV there is a wonderfully interesting, quaint and to us partially incomprehensible phrase, "And her (Ruth's) Happe (1611 KJV Mgn "Heb. happe happened.") was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz." "Happe" is related to "HAPpiness" and "HAPpening." It means "chance" or "as luck would have it" or it "Happened." NKJV "She happened to come to the part..."

The reason I bring that up is to show the beautiful contrast between happiness and joy. Happiness happens when things happen as we want them to happen. Joy is a deliberate choice engendered by the Holy Spirit, where we have very similar emotions to happiness, including the lightness, the contentment, the peace and rest, the confidence that things will work out according to our desire--but our desire is totally the Lord's revealed will. Joy is based not on things happening as we want, but on our choice to trust the Lord to run our lives better than we ever could, and to submit in confidence to His will and not consider our own plans and desires except in the context of His revealed will--revealed by the circumstances and the Word of God.

So even in what unsaved would consider hard times, we can rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.

THE Buttery Apple Chops

SO. Tired.

That is me today. :smile: We had a wonderful, fun-filled weekend these past few days with my parents, my brother and a family friend at a nearby bluegrass festival. My parents go to a number of these festivals throughout California (and even a few out of state), and John and I enjoy tagging along to the closer ones when we can . The thing with bluegrass is that, well, it's a bunch of musicians who keep, well, musician's hours.... meaning such things as staying up till the wee hours of the morning every single night. So after a long day of sitting outside listening to all sorts of pickin', everyone grabs their own instruments and heads for the campground to jam until they're falling asleep standing up.

Okay, maybe not everyone... I mean, those of us who don't actually play a bluegrass instrument, even if we own do happen to one ourselves--AHEM--don't go jamming. Which means that I certainly wasn't out there for hours every night. So I really don't have the same excuse to be So Tired as everyone else, but, hey, I just am. :grin: Being rather pregnant might have a bit to do with it, and I could add that having a toddler to keep track of would contribute to the tiredness... but that would be a little odd, considering that between the help of my husband and my mama and everyone else, I didn't have to do a whole lot of the chasing and running and carrying over the weekend.

So, since my mind is fuzzy and not coherent enough to actually write up a logical post, I'm giving you the recipe for those lovely Apple Pork Chops, as requested by Kimi at Bushels of Apples.

The thing is, this is what my recipe card says:

Apple Pork Chops

4 chops
4 Tbsp. butter
2 red apples
3 Tbsp. packed brown sugar
2 tsp. cinnamon

1 Tbsp. butter over each chop
350--30-45


That makes a whole lotta sense, now, doesn't it?

So here's how I actually make these puppies. Since, you know, they always turn out so great due to my masterful cooking skills.

Now the very first thing I should tell you is that I always--unless it's like, 6:30 and I'm just getting to dinner after a crazy day, which did actually happen one time, would you believe it??--I always sear my pork chops in a hot skillet with a little oil before I cook them. They come out much more tender and juicy for me that way... and I'm not a big fan of dried out pork chops. :smile: I also love the boneless pork loin chops for this recipe, but the regular bone-in kind work just fine as well.

I take those four seared pork chops and lay them out on a foil-lined baking sheet. (You just might want to make sure that the baking sheet has a good sized lip around it, or at least that your oven is actually level--or you could just be smart and use a 13x9 pan.) I then put about one tablespoon of butter on each chop. (Which can be, of course, very approximate.) I sprinkle some brown sugar and cinnamon on each one, then place half an apple (roughly cored) on top of it all and slide it into the oven. Real difficult, huh? The amount of time they take to cook depends on how thick the chops are, but since I have such a "thing" about not letting them get dried out (which means I've employed every trick I've seen on every cooking show about pork chops) I usually check them at around 25 minutes, and they're usually done at around 30-35.

The best part about the whole thing is the smell when they're cooking. You can smell that cinnamon and butter throughout the whole house.

Unless, of course, the scent you're picking up is your butter burning on the bottom of your oven.

I think we have some food issues in this house

Today Troy was eating lunch.

Which, you know, happens every day.

I noticed he'd eaten the food on his tray much more quickly than usual when he started asking for more food (which, for him, is signing "please," reaching toward the fridge and pantry, and saying "Moh?" :smile:). I attributed it to the fact that he was eating a later-than-normal lunch due to taking a later-than-normal "morning" nap, and was just pretty hungry for a little guy.

I gave him a little more of the food he'd been eating and went back to unloading the dishwasher.

Not one full minute later, I heard, "Moh? Moh?"

I thought there no way had he already finished everything I'd given him. But there he was, sporting his widest grin--with just a hint of mischief in it--and a completely clean high chair tray.

It was then that I noticed the dog, laying quite contentedly, half under Troy's high chair, sporting her own doggie grin... licking her chops.

A little later in the afternoon, I picked up Troy and noticed a funny smell about him. Not a dirty diaper kind of smell...

It was then that I noticed his full, clenched fists, the little brown and red "crumbs" on his chin... and the pieces of dog food in his hands.

I want to be a Fireman!

Troy's current obsession is his Grandpa. His "G'duh'pa'duh" or "G'puh'duh," to be more precise.

You see, to Troy, my dad's name is Grandpa Dule. The "Dule" part has nothing to do with my dad's name, and everything to do with my dad's daughter, who is the queen of making up nicknames, one of which she bestowed upon her daddy when she was little. It stuck. Then, when we would jokingly wonder what our children would call my parents, we said jokingly that our kids would be confused and end up calling my dad Grandpa Dule. That stuck, too. Poor Dad. Or, Dule, as he's more often called when I'm talking to him. :grin:

But Troy is completely in love with his Grandpa Dule these days. Every morning when he wakes up and every night before bed, he runs to my dresser, upon which sits a picture of my dad, John and my brother on our wedding day, signs "please" and cries for "G'puh'duuuuuuuuh!!" His routine is then to take the picture one of us has handed him, say, "Awww, G'puh'duh!" and plant a kiss on Grandpa Dule's face. He also does the same thing whenever I sit down at the computer... only then, he wants to go to my mom's blog and see the pictures Grandpa Dule and Grammie from Grandpa's birthday post.

Needless to say, he was quite thrilled when he recently got to go to Grandpa Dule's fire station for the day.

If you notice any blotchy-looking spots on these pictures, it's because they were edited (albeit quickly and without my editing software available for use at the moment) for privacy.

Troy had to check out the whole place. and felt quite big hanging out with G'duh'puh'duh.

And then Grandpa Dule got a call, so Troysie got to do what his mommy did oodles of times when she was little--watch the guys scurry to get their gear on, get out the door, and listen to the dispatcher. We waved from the window as Grandpa Dule hopped in the fire truck and then Troy squealed when he heard his Grandpa's voice coming over the radio into the station.

When Grandpa got back from the call, Troy got the grand tour--"driving" the truck, turning on the lights and all. Then he discovered that he and Grandpa were in the big side mirror. Being the very, ahem, humble little boy he is, he amused himself for quite a while by making faces in the mirror. Forget the fire truck! I wanna see ME! :grin:

His greatest wish? To be left all alone in the driver's seat, door closed, window rolled up (i.e. with not a bit of help) and to be allowed to drive on his own. He didn't quite get that wish, given, uh, the fact that there are only half a million buttons and levers and knobs to push in there.

Buuuuut, little did he know that the greatest fun was just around the corner, in the form of the water pump. Grandpa Dule showed him how to get water to trickle out of the pump. (Ha... I think that's what it was. I've only been a fire fighter's daughter my entire life, ya know, and have played with these very things, but still can't be sure I'm right...) After that, he didn't want to do anything else.

Mama's hero and her bebe.

And Troy has only asked to give G'puh'duh about ten kisses in the process of putting together this post. A managable number, I'd say. Until bedtime, when it will be back to the picture on the dresser for Grandpa Dule's night-night kisses.

And FLOP goes the dinner

You know how you hear those stories of young brides who burn the casserole, or forget some essential element of their supper, usually on some special occasion... and we all laugh? When I was little, I often wondered what grandiose mistake I'd make in the first few months of my marriage. Now, I always grin at those stories, but, with all humility, of course, think to myself that it's funny I've never really had a meal that completely and utterly flopped.

Unless, perhaps, you consider that orange chicken I made in the crock pot, served with noodles, to my husband of about a year and my little brother. The one we couldn't finish because of the mental block--expecting the orange sauce to be cheesy with every bite and getting a burst of citrus instead. But that was more of just a recipe we didn't care for than a mistake I made. At least, that's what I've told myself.

Is over three years into marriage too late to have a classic I-completely-messed-up-dinner story?

Because I have one.

Earlier today, my friend Elizabeth mentioned that it was a rainy day in her Alaska home, and I found myself longing for the same kind of day here where I sat in a sticky 85 degree house. I turned on the air conditioner and was glad that I'd defrosted pork chops already, because I had in mind a scrumptious apple-y glazed pork chop recipe and it seemed perfect for my mood. Today was also John's first day of Iraq training, so I thought he'd appreciate to come home to a relaxing evening and the aroma of a tasty meal cooking in the oven. I lit all of our Yankee candles (and the couple cheapy ones mixed in there :smile:) and turned on John's favorite Southern Gospel music.

Then I started dinner.

Weird thing number one was that when I pulled out what I thought were three medium-thick boneless pork chops, what I found was six extremely thin chops, stacked two tall. Oh. Okay. The package probably said something to that effect, but I missed it apparently. I just altered the way I prepared them slightly, and stuck those chops, with apples, brown sugar, cinnamon and a bit of butter on the baking sheet I've used several times before... then put them in the oven.

Then I mixed up some corn bread and decided to make muffins out of it instead of using my square pan, and slid those in alongside the pork chops.

Everything was great. I pulled a load of laundry out of the dryer, straightened up a few things. I even brushed my hair to look my prettiest when that hard working Marine of mine walked in the door. I was feeling pretty good about myself and my accomplishments. I even thought, in actual words!, that I was doing pretty good today, that I'd been pretty productive, and how sweet I'd be for John when he came home. I envisioned us sitting at the dinner table over a nice meal, me telling him of all the things I'd done and seeing him smile at his industrious wife. Because, you know, my love language just happens to be words of affirmation, in case you couldn't tell. :wink:

Then he came home, gave hugs and kisses to both of us here at home... and asked what he smelled. I told him it was pork chops. He paused and sniffed again, and said it smelled good. Then I walked into the kitchen. And just about choked on the smoke.

Apparently, the oven in this house is not level.

All that butter on the pork chops? (Not that I'm telling you just how much I used, because I wouldn't want to distort the mental picture of us being health nuts.) It was all on the bottom of the oven. Step one was to open every window in the house before the smoke alarms went off, and step two was to pull out the somewhat, ahem, shallow baking dish, only to discover that it was time to take it out anyway, given the extremely thin cut of the chops. (Probably should have done that in reverse order, but my first concern was having our neighbors think the house was burning down.)

It was okay, though, because at least the chops were still perfectly edible, even if the aroma wasn't quite what I'd planned and the apples didn't get to bake as long as usual. Then I pulled out the cornbread.

I don't know what happened to those corn muffins... but somehow, despite greasing the muffin tins and the fact that I've made corn bread and corn bread muffins a half a zillion times... the inside was just barely fully cooked, the tops were perfectly golden, and the sides were, well, black. Perfectly black.

I wasn't too happy at this point. I even, much to my increased frustration, could feel my eyes smarting and welling up. I was not, NOT going to allow myself to be so silly as to cry over a smokey kitchen and burned corn muffins.

I set about tossing together the salad I'd forgotten in the midst of everything else, and opened my bag of baby carrots to slice for the salad... only to find them slimy and rotting and, in a word, disgusting. This was the bag I bought just a few days ago. I leaned against the counter, where John was beside me, busy holding a corn muffin and pulling off the outer "crust." I took a deep breath.

So much for my nice relaxing evening and tasty supper.

Then John, after swallowing a bite of the inside of a corn muffin and setting to work on separating the next one from its burned sides, said, "You know, I've never liked that part of corn bread muffins anyway. It's the part you just deal with to get to the good stuff. It's a whole lot better like this."

And he was serious.

We sat down to eat now-semi-cooled pork chops, half-crunchy-half-baked apples, corn muffins without the sides on them, salad with no carrots, and a bowl full of peas--hey, at least those turned out okay.

The candles were still burning and the music was still playing... and John was smiling at me, asking how my day was.

Then it was all better.

Much ado about nothing,,,

The blog, that is.

Sorry, peeps, if you tried to access this blog within the last couple hours--as in, right after I published my last post. You probably were directed to a hosting site that declared, "This website coming soon." Although, the fact is, it had already come and gone... for a time.

My beloved in-house computer tech husband was trying to help me with something and somehow in the process... we lost the blog. :grin: Thankfully, it wasn't really gone, just temporarily and by our doing, unavailable.

Nice way to start back up, huh?

All is well now... you may go back to your regular bloggie business.

Toddlerness (which is a word--now, that is)

Yesterday I talked to my aunt for a good long time on the phone, while stuck in traffic on the way home from the beach--which I'm not used to, but need to get used to real quick-like. That's just the way it is in good ol' So Cal. I also was stuck in traffic on the way TO the beach, because of a road work truck parked on the side of the road with two road workers doing something on the ground beside it. Good reason to back up traffic for twenty minutes, dontcha think? Me too.

(Actually, my whole trip to the beach--which would have normally taken about a half hour and ended up taking almost an hour and a half--is, once again, a whole 'nother post. Not because of the traffic, but because I ended up driving on the freeway with the high downtown buildings of one of California's largest cities on either side of me. A particular beach, where a group of mommies and babies waited, was my destination. Downtown S.D. wasn't that beach. :grin:)

But anyway... I was talking to my aunt. Now the thing about my aunt is that she is not actually blood related to me, but as my mom's dearest-and-belovedest-kindred-spirit-friend, she is my aunt. She's also known me almost my entire life and loves me anyway... an amazing feat in and of itself. I could count on one hand the number of people I can talk to for hours on the phone, being that I'm not usually much of a phone-talker, and my Auntie would most certainly be on that hand. The funny thing is that it's been that way since I was a little girl. She'd call from another country where they lived for a time overseas, and sometimes, if I answered, my mom would have to come and tell me I needed to hand over the phone, because, after all, the call was only being made on international rates! :)

Anyway, again... yesterday I talked to my aunt, on the phone, for a long time. :grin: It was great because I hardly noticed the traffic anymore. We talked about oodles of things... one of which was my life with a toddler and being 7 months pregnant. See, I'll tell you once again, this Auntie of mine knows me well. She knows all my tendencies, faults and any slight good points, and I think she knew that I might be a little overwhelmed sometimes. So I rambled on and on to her about the past couple days, since John had gone back to work after being off, due to moving, for a good chunk of time. I was telling her some of the cute things Troy does... but then said that sometimes it feels like all I do is damage control all day long, because Troy always thinks he's being oh-so-helpful when he does things like taking ALL Daddy's socks OUT of his drawer for the fifth time that day, and lovingly placing them in the clothes basket from whence Mama is pulling freshly dried clothes. Or when Mama is putting away said clothes, or she is working on unpacking one of the last couple boxes, and then she finds him with half a roll of toilet paper strewn across the bathroom floor, attempting to put it all IN the toilet and flush it down the drain. Always, of course, when he's found, meeting Mama with a grin and some babble that clearly says, "Didn't I do good, Mama? See, I'm helping!"

I went on telling her how active he is and that he's just all. over. the. place. these days, and that it was quite different around here, in a new house, without the extra set of eyes and arms that I've relied on from Daddy since we moved. I laughed, albeit with a hint of weariness, and told her that only halfway through the first "back to normal" week, I wondered if I'd completely forgotten how to do this mommy-thing.

And she giggled. She said, "Yep, that happens!"

You see, my aunt is the mommy of six children. Her oldest in now at college. Boy, has she been there, done that. Talking to her is like talking to my mom... they can both almost read my mind and know what I need, and are both always so wise, especially when it relates to children, it seems to me. (They are both also laughing right now as they're reading this... I know them, too :wink: ) She knew I wasn't saying I don't like being a mommy, or that life is terrible, or that I'm about to go crazy. I was just saying that there are moments when I get a bit overwhelmed and wonder if I'll make it to end of that hour without pulling my hair out, just a leetle. :grin:

So she gave me some pointers. Some tips on handling toddlers... and especially on handling toddlers when you have a newborn... and especially on handling toddlers when you have a newborn and your husband is deployed. I smiled because she told me, as have both my mom and my mother-in-love, that it's normal to feel overwhelmed some days. But that it all works out in the end... if and only if the mama herself is daily seeking Jesus and relying on Him one hundred percent. ("Some days, Ash, you won't even have had a single moment to be in the Word that day yet, and all you'll have the strength to do is cry, 'Lord, I need You, right this very moment, to help me take another step or know what to do next. Help me, Lord!' And that's what it takes... He is your strength.")

The best thing about talking to mamas like these is that I know they aren't perfect and have stumbled themselves many a time (because I heard many a heartfelt conversation between these mamas when their own children were small :grin:) and that anything they have to tell me comes from personal, nitty-gritty experience. I value that more than anything a book written by someone I don't know can tell me. (Not saying that books are bad, justsoyaknow...)

So... here's the deal. I like helpful tips. :smile: In the comments, I'd be ever so grateful if you'd share with me your Number One child-related tip. Whether you're a mama, or a grandma, or an aunt, or an older sister, or if you've ever even seen a child, for goodness' sake :grin:, tell me something that's been helpful to you... just for the fun of it. Not necessarily only, "This is how I got through hard days..." but stuff like, "This helped me get a shower sometime during the day when I had four kids under four." Or, "This can make naps easier..." Or, "Something fun for mamas and little ones to do..." Or, "Here's my all-time favorite parenting--related scripture." Practical or sentimental, silly or serious... Of course, if you don't want to, there's no obligation. :grin: I'll love ya anyway. Promise.

Oh, and if you are or have been a military wife and mommy, I'd really, superly, duperly love some helpful hints about raising little ones during deployments. As in, long, thirteen-month ones. :smile:

Okay, ready, set, go!

Oh wait, sorry, that was meant for Troy, who is currently racing around my computer chair, between my arms and over and under my legs, wielding a wooden sword and laughing his lil head off. :grin:

If you find the box with my mind in it, be sure to let me know

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.

It will come as no surprise to most of you that I have completely lost my marbles. I'm just not "with it." I've known this to be true for quite some time, but something about a second move within five months, being the mama of a toddler, wife of a Marine, carrying an itsy bitsy one-on-the-way, and about a million other odds, ends and tidbits just served to confirm the fact.

For example.

Last week we made a trip to the laundromat. Now, mind you, I'd only once been to a laundromat--almost two years ago, before Troy was born--and all I washed were two big fleece blankets that wouldn't fit in my washer and had been on a cross-country camping trip. That one was on a military base, and the only civilian laundromats I'd seen (in tiny desert towns) were... well... not anyplace I'd want to go alone. BUT, being that we'd been sold a used washer and dryer set that ended up needing a few adjustments before we could do our laundry (which could be another blog post in and of itself, ahem), and it had been two weeks since we moved, the laundromat called. Since John was still off from work last week, we loaded up a few baskets of laundry, supplies, Troy, along with a couple toys for him and headed toward the nearest building with coin washers for our use.

We were greeted by a friendly attendant, an immaculately clean and relatively empty facility and the fresh scent of clean clothes. I set to work filling several washers, dropping coins cheerily into the machines, adding soap, closing the lids... and waiting. Ah, the novelty of it all. :grin:

Troy hadn't fallen asleep in the car, as we'd been hoping, hoping, hoping he'd do, but he was fascinated with the dryer windows, as a few more customers had come in to change their laundry from the washer to dryer. While we waited for our clothes to be cleaned and dried, then folded each load, Troy made friends with the nice lady attendant and the owner, who came in for a while, and then with a little girl who spoke very little English... but neither does Troy, so what did it matter to them? :smile: I chatted with both the attendant and the owner and we all laughed over and over at the things that crack up a toddler. While Troy played with the little girl, John and I smiled and gestured to her mama, wishing we could understand one anther, but enjoying watching our children have such a grand time of it. In between the starting the washers and transferring the clothes to the dryer, Troy and I even went into a drug store nearby to see if they had one-hour photo processing for a disposable camera we've had sitting around for, oh, a year or two. They didn't. But the cashier did look at me a little funny. We even went to McDonald's across the shopping center and got some lunch (always healthy, yes we are!).

The point of all of this is to make you understand that we were at the laundromat for several hours. And we were other places beside that. Walking around. In public. We talked to a number of people. We were seen by even more people.

Why does that matter?

Because when we pulled into the driveway, I looked down, intending to slip on the flip-flops I'd discarded once we'd hopped into the car. I looked twice. I glanced around the floor under my seat, hoping to see another pair of flip flops I'd left in the truck. There weren't any other sandals beside the ones I had just put back on my feet.

This is what I saw:

Because embarrassment is nothing without photographic evidence.

I told John to look at my feet. He looked at me to determine his own reaction. It was a good thing my startled look held a certain degree of amusement, because he couldn't hold it in. He smiled. I giggled. We started laughing. We started cracking up. Laughing our heads off.

I don't remember the last time we laughed that hard. Any stomach muscles this pregnant belly has left were sore from it. We couldn't even move... we were both doubled over in our seats.

Seriously, wearing two different shoes isn't as funny as you'd think from our reaction. But after the pressure and leetle bit o' stress we'd put on ourselves with the move and everything going on... we just couldn't help it. We laughed till we both had tears in our eyes.

But when I walked into the house, I shook my head at just how out of it I must have been, because my brown flip-flop has an almost non-existent sole--a quarter-inch at most--while the turquoise one is at least 3/4 in. thick. I felt it as soon as I stepped out of the truck at home... how I'd not realized it earlier is... well, I was gonna say a mystery to me, but I know just how scattered my brain has been. :grin:

And yet, I don't know what is more ridiculous... me wearing two different shoes in public for several hours, the two of us holding our sides and cracking up in the driveway, or the fact that two hours later John stopped me to show me that I still hadn't taken off the mismatched sandals.

I'm hoping that while we finish unpacking, I find a little container somewhere in the garage with the marking of "Ashleigh's Lost Marbles." I could use 'em about now.

And we're up and running!

Finally, after a scary incident and quite a break on my part, the blog is once again in existence, and in a new home.

Looks a whole lot different, doesn't it? :wink:

Okay, I know... I basically just copied the old template and made a few minor changes, fully intending to tweak it and end up with a whole new look for the "re-grand-opening", but I've come to the conclusion that if I actually wait to do that, you'll all have forgotten that this little place where I share my Heart from my Home (punny, aren't I?) was ever even here. So everything is just the same ol', same ol' around here. Perhaps eventually I'll get around to putting together my new look. It would also help if our computer hadn't turned up dead as a door nail when we unpacked it in the new house, and I could get to my design programs. For now, I'm thankful to at least have a laptop connected to our big monitor, thus providing internet connection. :grin: We don't have a printer currently, either. That one gave up the ghost the week before the move. But we have internet connection! And that's all that matters, yessiree.

And just fyi, the old bloggie-place will still be there (though in its current one-entry and blank sidebar state), only for the sake of all the entries over there, now stored as drafts, that I'd rather not have to transfer. But it won't ever be updated again, so be sure to delete that URL from your Bloglines account, if you haven't already done so, and put this new one on there by just clicking the button at the bottom of my sidebar. And if you don't have a Bloglines account... well, goodness gracious, how are you living???

Anyway. All that to say...

Here we be, peeps.