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There's a Troll in the Dungeon!

A huge, massive LAUNDRY troll in the dungeon, er, laundry room. I wish it was a laundry EATING troll, but alas, it was not.

Laundry trolls love just one thing...laundry. The thicker the layer of laundry, the happier the troll becomes. These trolls smear chocolate ice cream onto clean kids' clothes, eat just one sock of each pair, make the washer overflow, and practice the ancient art of t-shirt cloning all to make a happy home for themselves.

Laundry trolls also feed off of negative emotions towards laundry, and I must admit that I hate doing laundry. I think it goes back to my childhood. In the first house I can remember, the laundry room was an unfinished room full of wolf spiders and bad memories. Like the time Granny spanked me for playing hide-and-seek in the dryer. So uncalled for! The next house was 1908 charmer with a basement laundry room that resembled the Bastille. The crawl space openings on the far wall looked like dark creepy eyes, and the open stairs that descended into the gloom just begged for a goblin to reach out to grab my feet as I made a mad dash for clean undies. And, on top of that cheeriness were the bugs. Big bugs. Big bugs with a bazillion legs. Big bugs with a bazillion legs that just would not die easily like a good bug should. And, on the floor....troll fodder and lots of it.


So, no wonder I have laundry issues. It's genetic. However, this week, we conquered the troll! With teamwork, homemade laundry soap, and a washer and dryer that ran constantly every waking hour, the laundry troll was dismembered limb by limb. Much of the remains were carefully packed into to huge lawn&leaf bags to be taken to a charity drop-off. (But don't worry, the remains were cleaned, neutered, and rendered incapable of creating baby laundry trolls of their own.)
 
Here is The Boy standing triumphant on the battlefield:
 

Musing on Homemaking: Loving my husband

I am coming up on my 9th anniversary of homewifery. After almost a decade of managing my home as my primary occupation, what do I have to show for it? At the top of a short list, I am proud to announce that my husband has not had to Febreeze his clothing in a few years.

Apparently, I...don't...get...home management. The growing pile of self-help books, dishes, and laundry is proof of that. I am searching for a magic pill. For home management from an easy-spray applicator. For the perfect template from a successful homemaker that I can make my own with next to no effort on my part.

When I wanted to search the Web or type in my credit card number for yet another book, I was gently directed to the Word instead and to Titus 2--that wonderful chapter on setting our lives and homes in order. Older women are encouraged to be teachers of good things. This includes teaching the younger wives "to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient to their own husbands" (v. 3-5). All of this starts with love.

What is love then? 1 Corinthians 13 explains in detail. Starting with verse 4: "Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in truth, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails."

To see a picture of love in action, I only have to look to my own husband. He never forgets to thank me for things he should be able to take for granted--clean underwear, a home-cooked meal, a task completed, happy kids. He thanks me for all I do even when there is no dinner prepared, the laundry is piled high, he is tired and still has to hunt for his own meal after a long day at work. He is unfailingly kind to me. He is the antithesis of the nagging, cruel, guilt-driven voice in my head who reminds me constantly that I am nothing and deserve nothing. Sadly, I listen to that voice more than the sweet voice of my husband. I can't believe that someone can love me despite these serious flaws and that just makes me sink deeper into despair and chaos. Rather than using his love and kindness as a lifeline, I have made it a noose. It is time to let go and just...love.

Titus 2--love my husband. I can't be filled with love when I am filled with self-loathing. I am redeemed by Christ, from whom all good things come. Jason and his unfailing love are good things. I am redeemed by grace, made perfect in Christ, loved by my Maker and my husband. My cup runneth over.

Housewife Know Thyself

Mission: Towels has brought a new level of understanding into my life. Five towels on five hooks, rotated once a week. Sublimely simplistic. A second set of towels waits in the wings to be rotated...stop right there. Here's were reality sets in again. Waiting to be rotated turns into waiting to be washed which turns into using up valuable storage space which leads to the Post Office creating a new zip code for my laundry room. Why have 10 towels when 5 will do? With just 5, I am forced to wash them. Into the wash they go, then right back on the hooks. Same with sheets. If I remove my one set of sheets in the morning, I have to have them back on the bed before night. (An extra set of replacement sheets and towels can go into long-term storage.) I know myself well enough that I will not sleep on a bed without sheets. Just won't do it--even if that means waiting up half the night for the sheets to dry if I forget! So, for linens, this system should work for me. This is part of knowing my weaknesses and building workable solutions. I hate doing laundry, but I love having clean clothes, sheets, and towels. This lead me to rethink all of our clothing as well. Beanie has outgrown all of her summer clothes. This is great for Lemony, but not great for the budget. What if I got her 7 basic shirts, 5 shorts, and 2 skirts for the warmer months? I can keep track of that much--it is just the mountain of shirts that only go with one pair of pants, etc, etc, that culminate in the new zip code. Not to mention that even with all the clothes my kids have, they never have anything to wear--its all on the floor in the laundry room. The Boy has just a few favorites that he wears anyway--why waste the storage on clothing he doesn't wear? This is going to take some more thought... In my mind, I envision 3 neatly dressed children each with matching polo shirts and crisp, clean jean shorts. Red for Monday, blue for Tuesday, green for Wednesday... In reality, they would revolt. But, it is a pleasant, freshly scented dream.

Lessons from Wayne's World

I've been feeling drained over the last few weeks. Random episodes of fatigue just roll over me. I wasn't sure if I was sick, depressed or what. Yesterday, I had had enough. I got up and started doing again. It was...difficult. Today, it is a bit easier. I am hoping tomorrow will show that I am on the mend again. Perhaps Wayne Campbell holds the answer to this mysterious illness: "I once thought I had mono for an entire year. It turned out I was just really bored." Actually, my problem is an impending move. Sorting and packing up 5 years worth of stuff and memories is much more difficult than I ever imagined. For the first time in our almost 17 years of married life, I feel like J and I have made a real home. Our babies have grown up in this house. They've learned to roller skate and ride bikes, made forts and friends, and asked the Lord to be their Savior here. There are the pencil marks on the wall showing how much the kids have grown. Each dent in the floor and smear on the door tells a story. I know every inch of this house--mostly thanks to the numerous paint changes each room has endured. We've laughed, cried, and rearranged (furniture and lives) here. Now I am entering the unknown. Big changes are in store, and I am rebelling by dragging my feet and sitting in my comfy chair. But I do feel like I am on the cusp of something amazing. A year of grace and promise. But where? In a strange city with my beloved or home without him? Only God knows. For now that has to be enough. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

'The Path of Life"

I sent the kids outside to revel in this heatwave--42 degrees! Wahoo! They are out there loving every minute of the warmth. Yes, I am serious. This is WARM, comparitively speaking. I heard The Boy tell his sister that he needed to go inside for supplies before they started on the "Path of Life" game. I was curious (and a bit fearful) as to the supplies needed for this game and about the game itself. Turns out the supplies were just cups of water for thirsty kids (whew!). The game was aptly named the "Path of Life." He had set up two paths--a broad path and a narrow path for the kids' scooters. (I think you know where this is going. I did...and I loved it!) The broad path would cause the scooters to crash, but the narrow path led to victory. I thank God for this little boy!

Thursday Thoughts

We had a rough day home schooling today. The Boy is usually a whiz at math, but double digit division has just baked his nugget. He is so freaked out that he is getting the simple components (like 14-8=6) wrong. This tested my limited patience today. This is where grace comes in, both from my son who didn't hold my frustration against me, and the Lord who gave me an idea to help him. Turns out, that all of the numbers in straggly rows and columns confused him. I printed up the same equations in Excel in a graph pattern so that each digit had its own box. Much better results!

My Dr. Bronners soap and coconut oil arrived today. I did a test patch with the coconut oil on my hand--wow! Major improvement over regular lotion!

A Tale of Ten Towels

I found this both ironic and amusing, so I decided to share it.

Backstory: In my search for simplicity, I took on my towel situation. Most of my towels looked like victims of a Jaws attack:All of the towels were of an era, much worse for the wear. So, I got to thinking that if each of us had 2 towels each, I could keep up with them a lot better. I put up a hook in the bathroom for each one of us, and made the family promise that they wouldn't leave these towels on the floor or feed them to Sonny. (So far, so good! I think the fam likes having clean towels. Who knew?) The idea was that each set of 5 towels would get rotated and washed at the same time, and that there would always be a clean set ready to go. Here they are, warm and fluffy from the dryer, folded on my freshly made bed:

And, then, there's a reality check. Called my linen closet...or "Proof that simplicity isn't easy in the early days." No room for my fresh towels. Enjoy:

Tuesday Twitterings: More on simplicity

Ugh. Is Tueday the new Monday? Feels like it.

So, in the spirit of simplicity, I went shopping. Ah, the joys of retail therapy! Completely guilt free this time! Thanks to Amazon's handy-dandy textbook trade-in, I got some serious gift cards that I used today on soap. Yes, soap. Castile soap in peppermint, tea tree, and almond scent. Plus some big vats of coconut oil and olive oil cleanser, facial soap, and moisturizer. I might smell like a cross between a pizza and a Copacabana cocktail, but I'm hoping it all makes our lives easier and our skin healthier. I was intrigued by Tsh Oxenreider's shampoo-free pledge on her blog, and I'm going to give that a go too. Jason says he will try it. Can't wait for that! LOL!

I think it has been a year since I went commercial laundry detergent-free, and I think our clothes are cleaner than before that switch. I actually use about 1 TBSP of a commercial liquid detergent--for some reason, the homemade mixtures need just a touch of the premade stuff. The upside is that I buy the liquid maybe every 4-6mo, and the borax and washing soda about that often as well. Very cost effective! The only thing I miss is the heavier scent of commercial detergents. I know I can add essential oils to the homemade mix, but I just haven't been brave enough to do it. I was reading that I can use the Castile soaps in the laundry, so maybe that will do the trick.

Monday Musings: Search for Simplicity

My last entry was 2/28/11. Since then, I have made my bed every day except two! It appears that this is a novelty that is not going to wear off. I do love getting into a freshly made bed. I even enjoy the moments in the morning when I make the bed--I get such satisfaction from such a small chore! Again, I am amazed that I have spent so much of my life wrestling with covers and frustration and poor sleep when with just a few minutes, I can tuck and smooth my way to a restful night. Another perk is in the moments when Jason is just about to drift off when he whispers, "This is the best bedroom we've ever had." He's said it more than once--I think he means it.

I have transformed our bedroom too many times to count--this one has been painted over 3 times in 5 years, but I've never stripped it of things that don't make sense or taken pains to keep it orderly. This room is clean--bordering on sparse. Jason can get up to answer a page in the middle of the night and not have to risk a broken toe. There are no piles of clean laundry blocking the closets. The stuff that is in this room is either useful or beautiful. (Thanks Tsh Oxenreider!) I really, really, really like this simplicity stuff!

Today I am ready to start tackling other rooms with a vengeance. I put all of this on pause while I finished a class, but rather than taking a break and doing nothing, I'm going to dive in. This week, my goals are to complete our family mission statement, declutter the bathroom, and begin work on the dining room/school room.

I'm toying with the idea of homemade soap...

Monday Musings

1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp is transforming me. Grace is difficult to give and even more difficult to receive. There is so much joy and freedom in grace, but I want to cling to my self-loathing, reveling in my unworthiness. God wants to give me grace so that I can give grace. Give. Grace.

The first thing I did this morning was cancel my e-subscription to a homeschoolers' devotion. It weighed me down almost every morning with guilt. The antithesis of grace. No more. Yes, we are all going to screw up, daily, maybe with every breath, but that is the point of God's grace. He knew before we were even a thought that today would be here and that I would react, think, and goof up. He still gave us unfathomable grace. EVEN THOUGH HE ALREADY KNEW what I would do with it. To wallow in loathing is to reject this precious gift. Give. Grace. Giggle (or repent) and get on with it.

Gifts from today:
Clean sheet Monday! Fluffy pillows, crisp sheets just begging to be snuggled in!
Homemade bread!
Eating breakfast together!
Intentional Homewifery!

Towards my mission for simplicity:
Toss extra stuff in the bathroom.
Start on the girls' room. The Boy's room looks great! My room is finally a refuge--I even swept it again yesterday! What a luxurious feeling to crawl into a clean, freshly made bed, deep and soft with warm blankets. How wonderful to crawl out of that bed in the morning without tripping over stuff. I am almost 1/3 of the way to a simplified main floor. It is wonderful and scary at the same time. Why, why, why has it taken me 36 years to realize the beauty in simplicity? I am LOVING this! Thanks to another great book, Organized Simplicity by Tsh Oxenreider.

Glue, and not in a good way

I lost it over glue. No, not in a hot, painful low-temp glue gun disaster, but in a cold, white, messy Elmer's sort of way.

I faced the New Year with the longest list of resolutions I have ever created. Go big or go home, right? I searched the Internet for self-help tips and books and ordered my way to a new me from Amazon. As quickly as a book arrived, I devoured it, gleaning truths from people who knew better than me with regard to parenting and finances. Armed with my new personal organizing notebook and fridge calendar--filled in!--I set out to make today THE day to put all my plans and dreams into action. (Well, except that diet thing...) I read the first two chapters of Philippians before the kids woke up, and I was humbled and inspired by the Apostle Paul's advice to the church. I was ready to teach today!

Then the kids woke up. Sick. ish. Sickish. Sick, but not sick enough to give them a sick day. Determined, we plugged on through the morning. The kids did great. Then Dad came home. He was helpful in working with Em, and I really appreciated him, but he threw off my groove. It could have been the incessant and ridiculous humming/singing thing he does (which he is doing right now as I type) of just humming/singing 1 tiny part of a song. "How much is that doggie in the window? Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. The one with the waggly tail? Oh please is that doggie for sale? (Yes, I just typed that from life. Someone shoot me.)

I digress. Science involved cutting and gluing. Yep, we are finally to the glue part. Fresh out of safe, kid-and-Mom's-sanity-saving glue sticks, I brought out the old-fashioned Elmers. I thought my instruction of "just use a little dot of glue" was sufficient. Um, no. Three kids and lots of glue everywhere later, I lost it. Not pretty. Definitely a far cry from the Moms I have been reading about in my self-help books.

I had another hissy fit later over something random. Then I realized that the meat I had set out to defrost was still frozen solid. Then I sat in a funk for a while. All my fine plans unravelled in an instant. I realized I was at a crossroads. I could give in and get take-out for dinner which goes against the Moms advice I've been reading, not to mention the Dave's financial advice, and continue the cycle I have been trying to break, or I could get off my butt and figure something else out for dinner. At home. Now tonight's dinner is still cooking, and I refuse to divulge what I am feeding the family, but it is homemade. Um, sort of.

I'm still cranky, but strangely elated. It is like I am on the cusp of something big and the powers that be don't want me to succeed. I can either approach today as a failure or a springboard. I can either give in and get take out, or charge ahead with those crescent-wrapped hot dogs. (oops) I think the direction my parenting and even financial life will take hangs on these little crossroads. What doesn't kill us, or give us indigestion, or glue us to the kitchen table makes us stronger.



Edited to add--my new books really are helpful as long as I don't use them as tool to quit or beat myself up. Self-help, not self-destruct. =)

New Year's Wisdom from Yoda

"Do or do not. There is no try."

As I looked over my alarmingly extensive New Year's Resolution list, I started to panic. There are so many areas in which I need to improve, along with other areas that I'd like to improve. Fear and the need for perfection have always hindered me. I give something a half-hearted try because I know that I will fail or that my efforts will not be good enough. I've written before about being committed but not submitted, and this cycle leads me right back where I don't want to be. Like Luke on Dagobah, I sense fear, pain, and failure. Luke had Yoda to set him straight in the story--I have someone infinitely better!

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13).

The AOP devotional today referenced Revelations 3:15, reminding us not to be lukewarm. (No pun intended to my favorite Jedi warrior!) This cycle I have been in for so long is lukewarm. Ineffective. Unsustainable...as long as it remains MY list. Through prayer and Bible study, I can have the perfect help of Christ who strengthens me and will help me do all things I need to do according to God's will. Perhaps not all of my list will make the cut. Perhaps there will be more added.

There is something wonderful about New Year's Day. Today is a new day, in a new month, in a new year--a day of renewal that millions are using to improve themselves. But, I don't have to wait. I can have renewal every minute of every day. Praise God for that!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I'm not doing this on purpose

Pre-Christmas blues? Maybe. I was searching the web for home ec lessons, and I stumbled across a blog about simple living which led to another blog about intentional SAHMness. That got to me. To be a SAHM is one thing, but to embrace it and fill the days with intentional activities is quite another. Case in point--it is 2:20 in the afternoon, and I am still sitting here in my pajamas...that I wore all day yesterday. At least yesterday I put a bra on before the AT&T tech came over to fix my TV. Today, um...

During the school week, I stay pretty much on top of things. I feel like I have a purpose, even though I am not doing all the things I would like to do with my kids because of my own rigidity. I think I am afraid that if I veer from the schedule printed in a random book of curriculum that I will never accomplish anything. Which leads me to this computer on a Tuesday during Christmas break still in my jammies sans bra.

Does purposeful SAHMness mean scheduling every activity and giving up my unorganized, slobby ways? Yep, pretty much. A messy house, full of stuff does not make me happy or fun to be around. The kids could have fun at an insurance seminar provided they had a few basic tools--paper and crayons for Em, a couple of stuffed animals for Bean, and a magnet, or electronic gadget, or a hand blender for The Boy. If they can be happy living so simply--and they are (*see my note), why can't I strip down to the essentials and be happy too? (I do wish bras were non-essential, but that is not my lot in life since I just can't seem to defy gravity all by myself.)

The new year seems to be the natural place to start a year of purpose. Parenting on-purpose, finding contentment in what I already have, and loving each precious day with three beautiful children who insist on growing up too quickly for my liking. To stop letting life drag me by the hair while letting go at the same time. To live simply, on purpose.

*I walked in the living room today to find all three kids snuggled up in a chair together watching a movie. There was no fighting or shoving--just three little kids enjoying a moment of closeness with each other. Simply happy.

Committed, not submitted

I freely admit it. I struggle. The very word "obedience" is odious to me, and the word "submit" gets my panties in a wad. What do you mean submit? Modern Girl here does not likey that old-fashioned word. For the record, even though I am happily married to my first and only spouse, a homemaker, and a homeschooler it is all because of my CHOICE as a woman to do so. No outdated ideals here, unh uh. Nope, none at all.


I am a committed person. I am committed to Christ, to my husband, and to my children. To commit means to put in charge or to entrust. I am in charge of the home. I am committed to that, and sometimes burdened by that. Girl Friday? I started this blog because I was overwhelmed by the commitments that being in charge of the home made on me. Girl Friday also implies being second to someone. When I chose the title, I didn't realize that a true Girl Friday leads a committed, submitted life for the glory and edification of someone else. Do I struggle because I have not submitted or because I refuse to be second?


What is submission anyway? Several online dictionaries define it as the act of submitting to the power of another. This definition is followed by a quote from early 20th century activist Simone Weil, "Oppression that cannot be overcome does not give rise to revolt but submission." Yikes. No wonder the word makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up! Weil was committed. She walked, talked, and starved herself for her convictions in a time where her definition of submission was embodied by the Nazi regime. Is submission an outdated word for simple-minded, broken people? I see something else in a the second definition of submission: meekness. Okay, okay. Yet another term, another definition. What in the world, then, is meekness? Being meek means one is patient, mild, and easily imposed upon. A Girl Friday is a meek person.


Meekness is not a quality honored by today's society. In those pesky online dictionaries meekness is exemplified by a dog "quivering and abject...abasing itself before its master" (Jean Rhys). Rhys apparently chaffed under patriarchal society, evidenced by her writings and life, and it is no wonder she equated meekness with weakness. How does a modern, Christian woman allow herself to live by such words as obedience, submission, and meekness? More easily than I could have ever imagined.

My eureka moment came when I was reading an assigned book for my latest class. In the book, Spiritual Leadership by Henry and Richard Blackaby, the authors describe the difference between being committed and being submitted: "There is a significant difference between a personal determination to try harder and a complete abandonment of one's self to God's purposes. The former rests on people and their commitment; the latter relies on God and his sufficiency." Commitment is like a pledge. I can say the words and follow the motions, but I can also secretly rebel and derail. Submission is surrender. I can yield my entire self, all that I am and all that I can be, to the cause of Christ. That act will guide me in all the areas of my life. Truly surrendering, submitting, makes all the petty internal arguments moot. No longer me, me, me...just Him.

The Very Literal Boy

For Mother's Day, our church made videos of cute things that children say about their Moms to show during the service. In one part, they asked each child, "Who is boss at your house?" My son said, "Mom is boss during the day, then Dad is boss at night. Actually they are both boss." Ah, political correctness starts early. I love that boy!

However, that was the only comment of Alex's that they were allowed to play in church, as I found out last night.

At a potluck, our pastor's wife was telling us about her adventures in taping the kids. She thought it would be cute if she asked the kids, "Where do Moms come from?" Cute until she got to Alex. When she asked him this question, he got a funny look on his face and replied, "Well, the egg cell joins with the sperm cell..."

The Very Modest Boy

I had to have a talk with the kids yesterday about why we don't walk around undressed. "Even outside?" Emma asked. "Especially not outside," I replied as I managed not to laugh. I explained to them about modest dressing and how modesty shows others that we respect them and ourselves. Laura was wearing a shirt that she insists is a dress and which I insist should be paired with leggings. Using the shirt as an example, I told her that in our house, modesty means that we don't show too much leg or wear "dresses" that show our undies when we bend over. I told them that in the olden days, women couldn't even show their arms! We all giggled and agreed about dressing modestly.

This morning, Alex came out in a pair of shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. Without even a hint of sarcasm, he asked, "Mom, am I showing too much leg?"

Embracing the dark furniture stage

I wanted to lighten and brighten my living room. So, I perused copious decorating photos and settled on one that highlighted crisp white slipcovers. The Mom-Turned-Designer of that room gushed that she might have 9 kids, 5 dogs, and 3 long haired cats in her house, but keeping the slipcovers crisp and white was as easy as doing the laundry.

I...should...have...stopped...right...there.

Doing laundry easy? Easy? EASY? For a woman who awoke to the sound of her poor husband Febreezing yesterday's socks, I know that easy and laundry are incompatable. But, when has that ever stopped me?

I bought crisp, white slipcovers for my Ikea couch and chair. Kept them on for 1.5 days. After I lost my voice gently reminding my family not to touch them, I realized that white probably wasn't practical outside of fairyland. Hmmmm, I thought. Dilemma. What to do? What to do? Ah, yes, Rit dye. Easy peasy. Thinking to start small, I bought 2 boxes of a sunny yellow for my chair. Apparently sunny yellow means different things to different people. But, still, I could wear sunglasses until I found another color to cover it up. Undaunted, I moved on to the sofa. And the chair again. In a nice, safe tan. Jason decided to help. After the sofa cover went into the washing machine, I told him that I didn't think I should add the chair cover. He was determined all of it was going to fit--that gleam in his eye should have warned me, but again, when has that ever stopped either of us? Crammed full of dye and covers, the washer did its thing. What came out was a splotchy flesh colored mess. Not attractive. Still undaunted, I got four more boxes of tan dye and went to work again. This time, I was much smarter. I decided to just do the sofa, and I called the Rit people for help. All I had to do was use color remover and then re-dye the cover. Simple. Now instead of a blotchy flesh colored mess, I have a used peanut butter frosting colored, blotchy mess that for some reason glows in the dark a bit.

I had to face two cold, hard truths. One, I will never die, er, dye again. Two, we are in the dark furniture stage of our lives. What the heck was I thinking? White slipcovers? Three kids? A man who needs a bib when he eats? A fluffy white dog who steps in non-white, foul-smelling things that he tracks all over my house including on the furniture? Even in the used peanut butter frosting color, this sofa cover is an endangered species.

Of course, I could always dye it black...

Ewwww! Honey, was that you?

So, I made dinner tonight. Yummy turkey, mashed potatoes, and green beans--a favorite on winter nights. Jason came home late, so I nuked his plate and he started eating in the kitchen. I smelled something funny, but I didn't want to embarrass him while he was eating so I said nothing. He left the room, and the air cleared. Life was good again. Fast forward about an hour, and I was sitting at my computer doing some work. Jason walked into the kitchen, and I smelled it again. Exasperated, I asked him, "Honey, was that you?" He replied, "Might have been. I don't remember." Ugh. Men. I explained to him that if it wasn't him then I had to search the kitchen for the culprit. He assured me it wasn't, and we set off to find the source of stinkiness. We found it inside the very bag of potatoes that I used to make my lovely, fluffy mashed side dish. Next time we watch "Labyrinth" I won't have to wonder how the Bog of Eternal Stench smells in actuality. I lived it tonight. Who would have thought that a small rotten potato could emit such putrid foulness? And the worst part--it leaked. I can handle almost anything as long as it doesn't ooze or stink. This did both. I nearly turned in my badge tonight. But, after lots of bleach and some therapy, I am going to be okay.

"God is not the author of confusion"

This was one of the main points in our pastor's sermon today. I feel like my life is full of confusion at times, and I shut down rather than sort it all out. So, if God isn't behind it and doesn't like it, then that means He has something better in mind for me...peace. Our pastor also said that women have an innate ability to sense danger in our families and especially with our children. Our inner smoke detector goes off when the little ones are mysteriously too quiet or when our older ones say, "Mom, I know you told me never to put the dog in the dryer, but..." However, our pastor cautioned us about constantly being alarmed over every little thing. Ugh. Arrow straight into my overly alarmed, unpeaceful heart. Isaiah 26:3 promises us that God will keep us in "perfect peace" when our minds are focused on Him. PERFECT peace. Oooo, there's that word again--perfect. What is nice to remember is that God doesn't expect us to be perfect, but He and everything that comes from Him is. Perfect peace. Now that is something I can handle.

Of course, peace isn't going to get my laundry done or scrub the crust out of my microwave. There will be fires to put out (hopefully not literally, but I have kids, so I'm trying to be realistic), boo-boos to bandages, and sibling fights to break up. I will still have the responsibilities I have now, but a measure of peace that flows from within might make every day more bearable. Peace will allow me to prioritize my life to get done the most important things first, leaving the rest to sort itself out. I am fond of saying, "Everything always works out one way or another." Worry, anxiety...they add nothing to this mix of life except pain, disappointment, and guilt. Enough already!!! I am promised perfect peace when I focus on the Lord.