I’ll admit it. I’m hooked, and have been since I watched that first, creepy season on DVD a few years ago.
If you haven’t watched last night’s episode yet, don’t read the rest of this post, and don’t click on any of these other posts listed on Shannon’s blog either.
I’m just saying.
I was most disturbed by Jin’s supposed death. (And I say “supposed,” because what can we really know for sure when it comes to LOST?)
I didn’t like the way the writers manipulated that hospital scene to make us think Jin was rushing to the hospital to be with his wife when, really, it was some kind of flash back. That’s my theory anyway. I don’t think Jin was one of the Oceanic Six. I think the Panda scene was a flashback to a time before the plane crash, when Jin was still working for the bad guys. (And while we’re on the subject of the Panda thing, I will say I was getting frustrated with Jin. As a woman who has had the privilege of giving birth several times, I wanted to shout: JUST GO TO THE HOSPITAL ALREADY. YOUR WIFE WILL NOT CARE IF YOU BRING A STUFFED ANIMAL OR NOT.
So will Jin be the one to die next week? Maybe. He did say that he would do whatever it takes to protect Sun and the baby. Of course, maybe he sent Sun off to be rescued and simply stayed on the island, and Sun has to pretend he’s dead.
And Michael. Wow. He must be Ben’s spy on the boat. But how does Ben get everyone to do all of this stuff for him? A few weeks ago, we saw that even Sayid had succumbed to Ben’s powers, which both sickens me and rouses my curiosity. Who exactly is Ben and how does he get people to do the things they do?
As always, there are more questions than answers.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
abs of...cheese?
My neck hurts.
When I saw the trainer lean back on that big exercise ball and start doing crunches, I knew I was in trouble.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I said.
“Well, just give it a try. We can modify it later if we need to.”
Right.
When I signed up for the 12-week fitness challenge at my gym, I thought it would help me bring my three-times-per-week workouts to a new level. But after my hour-long meeting with the trainer yesterday, I’m starting to wonder if it’s for me.
I have no desire to spend eight hours a week at the gym. I’m not looking for washboard abs or buns of steel. Seriously. I’m 35. Pretty much, I just don’t want to have a heart attack anytime soon, which given my families history, will be an accomplishment in itself.
I get tired of hearing the rhetoric of “But you deserve this! You deserve to look and feel great!”
Well, yes and no.
Do I need to take care of myself? Absolutely.
But what is my motivation? Good health? A svelte figure? Pure selfishness? At this stage in my life and in the lives of my children, where is the balance when it comes to taking care of my body?
On the couch pounding down potato chips? At the gym for hours every day? I’m thinking somewhere in the middle of these two extremes is good. I don’t need abs of steel, but flabby abs of apple juice aren’t good either.
I’m thinking abs of cheese might be just right.
When I saw the trainer lean back on that big exercise ball and start doing crunches, I knew I was in trouble.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I said.
“Well, just give it a try. We can modify it later if we need to.”
Right.
When I signed up for the 12-week fitness challenge at my gym, I thought it would help me bring my three-times-per-week workouts to a new level. But after my hour-long meeting with the trainer yesterday, I’m starting to wonder if it’s for me.
I have no desire to spend eight hours a week at the gym. I’m not looking for washboard abs or buns of steel. Seriously. I’m 35. Pretty much, I just don’t want to have a heart attack anytime soon, which given my families history, will be an accomplishment in itself.
I get tired of hearing the rhetoric of “But you deserve this! You deserve to look and feel great!”
Well, yes and no.
Do I need to take care of myself? Absolutely.
But what is my motivation? Good health? A svelte figure? Pure selfishness? At this stage in my life and in the lives of my children, where is the balance when it comes to taking care of my body?
On the couch pounding down potato chips? At the gym for hours every day? I’m thinking somewhere in the middle of these two extremes is good. I don’t need abs of steel, but flabby abs of apple juice aren’t good either.
I’m thinking abs of cheese might be just right.
Monday, March 10, 2008
please pray
I don’t often post prayer requests on my blog, but would you please pray for the Achlimans today? Tyson, Leslie and their young son are a part of our church family, and have been on a long, hard road since Leslie was diagnosed with cancer last fall.
Today, she faces another difficult surgery.
Read more about their journey here.
Today, she faces another difficult surgery.
Read more about their journey here.
Oh gracious, sovereign Lord,
hold Leslie in your hands today.
May she and Tyson know your presence;
and, please, God
heal her.
Amen.
Friday, March 7, 2008
q-tips and marriage
A few days ago I was driving to the gym when my ear started feeling itchy, so I scratched it. Imagine my surprise when a huge glob of ear wax came out. And I do mean huge. (I sincerely apologize if you’re trying to eat lunch and read this at the same time.)
This got me thinking about my marriage. (I know, I am just romantic that way.)
Over the past few weeks, almost every time we get in the van to drive somewhere, Llama Papa and I end up frustrated with each other. For instance, Llama Papa says, “What do you think we should do for Spring break this year?”
“What?” I ask.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD DO FOR SPRING BREAK THIS YEAR?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
And I say, “What? What were you going to say? You never talk to me. Why don’t you ever talk to me?”
“I do talk to you, but you don’t listen.”
“I’m listening. Tell me!”
“What do you want to do for Spring break this year?”
“Would you please stop mumbling? I can’t understand you when you mumble.”
“Oh, never mind!”
I’m sure nobody reading this can relate.
Honestly, until a few days ago I chalked the whole thing up to Bad Communication in Marriage and started to wonder if maybe we needed some marriage counseling.
I am really good at being right. But like everyone else, I don’t know what I don’t know. I need to keep in mind that things are not always as they appear.
Sometimes we need marriage counseling. Other times, we just need a box of q-tips.
This got me thinking about my marriage. (I know, I am just romantic that way.)
Over the past few weeks, almost every time we get in the van to drive somewhere, Llama Papa and I end up frustrated with each other. For instance, Llama Papa says, “What do you think we should do for Spring break this year?”
“What?” I ask.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD DO FOR SPRING BREAK THIS YEAR?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
And I say, “What? What were you going to say? You never talk to me. Why don’t you ever talk to me?”
“I do talk to you, but you don’t listen.”
“I’m listening. Tell me!”
“What do you want to do for Spring break this year?”
“Would you please stop mumbling? I can’t understand you when you mumble.”
“Oh, never mind!”
I’m sure nobody reading this can relate.
Honestly, until a few days ago I chalked the whole thing up to Bad Communication in Marriage and started to wonder if maybe we needed some marriage counseling.
I am really good at being right. But like everyone else, I don’t know what I don’t know. I need to keep in mind that things are not always as they appear.
Sometimes we need marriage counseling. Other times, we just need a box of q-tips.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
craft overload
I love to encourage creativity in my children. The twins would rather do crafts than just about anything else, and they come up with some really cool stuff. And what the boys’ crafts may lack in quality, let me assure you, they make up for it in quantity.
Oh yes they do.
See these fine creations covering my kitchen table? This is from one morning.
One. Morning.
And they like to make things every day. Which is wonderful, really it is, but all of this creative wonder is wearing me out.
Today is the backwards edition of Works for me Wednesday, and I actually have four questions to ask, but this one seems the most urgent:
What do I do with all of these crafts?
I’ll admit that my strategy at the moment involves some stealth afterhour trips to the trash can. And in the morning when one of the boys asks me, “Mom? Have you seen my skyscraper?” I play dumb. “Skyscraper? Hmmm. I don’t see it anywhere…”
What I need is a plan.
So leave me your best advice for handling all of these crafts, then head back over to Shannon’s. Blogging Moms everywhere need your help!
Oh yes they do.
See these fine creations covering my kitchen table? This is from one morning.
One. Morning.
And they like to make things every day. Which is wonderful, really it is, but all of this creative wonder is wearing me out.
Today is the backwards edition of Works for me Wednesday, and I actually have four questions to ask, but this one seems the most urgent:
What do I do with all of these crafts?
I’ll admit that my strategy at the moment involves some stealth afterhour trips to the trash can. And in the morning when one of the boys asks me, “Mom? Have you seen my skyscraper?” I play dumb. “Skyscraper? Hmmm. I don’t see it anywhere…”
What I need is a plan.
So leave me your best advice for handling all of these crafts, then head back over to Shannon’s. Blogging Moms everywhere need your help!
Monday, March 3, 2008
guess again
Gloomy weather and a crummy night’s sleep have me down on this Monday afternoon. So…let’s play a game, shall we?
Just for fun, I’ll post pictures of four objects and you try to guess what they are.
Ready? Here we go.
Did you guess a pot, a laundry basket, a napkin basket, and a stool?
Well, you got one right. Actually, at my house, these are all stools. Baby b. scoots pots and baskets over to wherever he wants to be that he shouldn’t, and voila! Access to Mommy’s computer! The phone! Whatever his little nineteen-month old self wants to touch that he shouldn’t.
And I wonder why I'm exhausted at the end of the day.
Just for fun, I’ll post pictures of four objects and you try to guess what they are.
Ready? Here we go.
Did you guess a pot, a laundry basket, a napkin basket, and a stool?
Well, you got one right. Actually, at my house, these are all stools. Baby b. scoots pots and baskets over to wherever he wants to be that he shouldn’t, and voila! Access to Mommy’s computer! The phone! Whatever his little nineteen-month old self wants to touch that he shouldn’t.
And I wonder why I'm exhausted at the end of the day.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
questions
Why does the barfing always start in the middle of the night?
It was eleven o’clock and Llama Papa and I had just settled into bed when we heard baby b. crying. Llama Papa jumped out of bed, “He doesn’t sound right,” he said.
And he wasn’t.
Which brings me to my next question: When we’re dating, why do we spend so much time going out for dinner and the movies? Why don’t we care for barfy children instead? Because, honestly, I can’t think of the last time Llama Papa and I went out for dinner by ourselves. But barfing kids? We’ve done that on a fairly consistent basis.
We dated for three years and asked each other important questions in the process. Neither of us took marriage lightly, and in many ways, we went in with our eyes wide open.
I expected to make sacrifices in marriage, I really did. But self-sacrifice is so much easier in theory, isn’t it? How can any of us know how we’ll handle barfing kids in the middle of the night? How can we predict life with little sleep, and the enormous grace that will be required in order to simply survive, much less, survive without being crabby at the people we love most?
When I think back to our courtship, I’m grateful for all of the fun memories we made. When we married, I knew Llama Papa well enough to know he was, and is, a man of integrity and godly character. What I didn’t know was that he was also a man willing to get up in the middle of the night and wash vomity sheets and rock a barfy baby.
And that, my friends, is what it’s all about.
It was eleven o’clock and Llama Papa and I had just settled into bed when we heard baby b. crying. Llama Papa jumped out of bed, “He doesn’t sound right,” he said.
And he wasn’t.
Which brings me to my next question: When we’re dating, why do we spend so much time going out for dinner and the movies? Why don’t we care for barfy children instead? Because, honestly, I can’t think of the last time Llama Papa and I went out for dinner by ourselves. But barfing kids? We’ve done that on a fairly consistent basis.
We dated for three years and asked each other important questions in the process. Neither of us took marriage lightly, and in many ways, we went in with our eyes wide open.
I expected to make sacrifices in marriage, I really did. But self-sacrifice is so much easier in theory, isn’t it? How can any of us know how we’ll handle barfing kids in the middle of the night? How can we predict life with little sleep, and the enormous grace that will be required in order to simply survive, much less, survive without being crabby at the people we love most?
When I think back to our courtship, I’m grateful for all of the fun memories we made. When we married, I knew Llama Papa well enough to know he was, and is, a man of integrity and godly character. What I didn’t know was that he was also a man willing to get up in the middle of the night and wash vomity sheets and rock a barfy baby.
And that, my friends, is what it’s all about.
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