What Time of Day Do You Want It To Be?

I used to be a night person. I could stay up half the night, and still function well the next day. But no matter what time I went to bed, I did not function well in the morning. I still don't. I move slowly. I think slowly.

The problem is, I'm not a night person anymore. I'm longing for bed well before 10:00. I don't get there often, but I still long for it.

Even then, I still don't like getting up early. I don't function well in the morning.

There are good things about being an early riser. There's that aspect of having the whole day in front of you. There are all the things you can accomplish with an early start to the day.

Plus, there's the beauty of the morning. How inspiring is it to sit with a cup of coffee and watch the daylight increase. (I'm not saying watch the sun come up because that's a little too fanatical for this non-morning person.) But I do like the early morning, watching a mist rise off the pond behind our house, and the sunlight stream through the trees.

Unfortunately, even if I enjoy the scene, by the time I'm through with it and ready to start my day, I feel like I need a nap.

So now that I'm not a morning person or a night owl, what am I? I think I'm someone whose day got even shorter than it was already!

So tell me--morning person or night owl? And why?

Now I've Seen It All

There are somethings at Walmart that you expect to see. Kids screaming. Shelves empty of the one item you need. People wearing sleep pants, flipflops and a t-shirt.

Seriously, why is it necessary to roll out of bed and head straight to the car and go to Walmart? Is it really so much trouble to pull on actual street clothes first? I never see people in pajamas at Target. Or Kohls. I don't even see people in pajamas at McDonalds. Why is it okay at Walmart?

But that's something you see all the time. I'm talking about something I saw recently that I've never seen before. I actually saw a store employee stop in an aisle and ask a customer if they needed help. The customer didn't ask for help. The customer didn't stand in the department for 10 minutes, hoping an employee would show up. The employee didn't brush by the customer without a glance. He actually stopped and offered help.

I had to do a doublecheck that he was wearing Walmart blue and not Target red.

Now I have truly seen it all.

Building My Self Esteem

"How Do I look?"

Ever ask someone that? If you ask a female, she will generally tell you that you look good. She might even comment on the hair, the dress or the shoes. Females know that when you ask that question, you're looking for validation. You're also wanting to know if everything is put together right. Is your slip showing? Is your hair sticking up on one side? Females help you feel confident, and they correct obvious mistakes.

Males respond with brutal honesty. And since I live with seven males, I hear brutal honesty almost all the time. Once I was putting on lipstick while driving. Nicky was sitting next to me, watching carefully.

I smiled at him. "How do I look? Nice?" (Sometimes you have to give them a clue.)

"Sure." He said. "But did you notice you have a little bit of hair right here?" He touched his upper lip.

I send out verbal birthday clues to the males in my family. I see no sense in waiting until my birthday shows up and then being disappointed the whole day because no one remembers. So I recently made an announcement while driving with the four guys in the picture.

"Two weeks from today is very special guys. Know what it is?" After I finally got them to realize it was my birthday, "and how old am I going to be?"

I ask that second question to make sure they either get it right, or err on the side of youth.

Their answer? "Sixty."

That trip was on the way home from the grocery store. I got irritated when I realized I'd forgotten to buy a box of hair color. (Hmm! Maybe that's why they said I look sixty!)

Luke made an effort to be complimentary. "You don't need to color your hair, Mom."

I pointed to my temples where four weeks of gray showed. "You don't see this gray hair?"

"No," Luke answered after hesitating. "It just, you know, blends in with your...skin."

Great. So I look like I'm going bald?

The guys keep me humble. I'm just not sure how much more humility I can take.

The Bane of the Burn

Some things just linger. The aroma of freshly washed linens. A wonderful piece of music. The great lift you have after watching a feel-good movie. The meatloaf you ate an hour ago. The sunburn you got at the Gulf.

Oops.

Fairskinned or not, most people tend to burn when they go to the beach. But some people, who have suffered from extensive sunburns in the past, are smart enough to use sunscreen when they visit the beach on the other side of the state in their spur-of-the-moment vacation. Of course, some people, like most people, want a little bit of sun because what's the point in going to the beach if no one can tell you've been there?

So some fairskinned people would, perhaps, choose to snorkel for an hour in the Gulf of Mexico. Then, she might decide that, since the freckles on her arms were standing at complete attention, it was time to put on some sunscreen.

Some people, but not many, would think to slather sunscreen on their arms, but would completely forget that their legs were also in the sun. Those not-thinking-too-clearly people might then play for a few more hours at the beach before realizing that snorkeling is the equivalent of lying face down on the beach in the sun.

When this not-too-bright person returned to her motel room, she might discover that the back of her legs were bright, glazing red. She might even be in such pain that she couldn't sit on a chair or couch or anything that came in contact with the back of her legs.

This same person might swallow the pain for a couple of days, only to be overwhelmed by the itching and flaking and peeling that would happen a few days later. This same person might even wake up in the middle of the night, a week later, clawing and scratching her way back from the insane itching.

It was so worth it.

The One Where We All Screamed

This is a wolf spider. I minimized the picture because just looking at it freaked me out. Part of the the reason for that is because I don't like spiders. The other part of the reason is because this picture looks remarkably like the spider that was crawling on the wall in my home office the other night.

I was looking up something on the internet for some of my children when all of a sudden, this monster spider appeared near the ceiling. No one knows where it came from--a fact which disturbs me greatly--it just appeared.

My boys' reaction? "Whoa!"

My reaction? Screaming for my sons to come to my rescue.

One of them rolled up a newspaper, but it you splat something that big on the wall, what kind of a mess is it going to make? Can a newspaper even kill it? It was up over our heads on the wall, giving us a distinct disadvantage in attacking.

What if it jumped on our heads? Or worse. What if it grabbed the paper out of our hands and started beating us with it?

I say "we", but actually I was cowering in the corner.

My two oldest boys reluctantly moved forward to do battle with the monster spider. The three youngest (drawn out of bed by my screams) stood in the doorway and cheered their brothers on, all the while preparing to run if the creature got the upper hand. I continued to screech for them to get rid of it. Pandemonium hit a new level when the spider moved.

It was fast. Really fast.

Now it was on the wall above an armoire, and it was much more difficult to reach.

And closer to where I was sitting.

I moved almost as fast as the spider did. But in the opposite direction. Realizing that the battle must be fought, one of the boys threw a shoe at the spider, knocking it off the wall.

And down behind the furniture.

My son figured out of sight, out of mind, but I wasn't at all convinced. So my son asked me to finish looking up the information he needed while he searched for the spider. Two of them pushed and moved the heavy armoire away from the wall. I worked with one eye on the computer and one eye on the wall. The boys continued banging and moving generally stirring things up, almost dreading the thought of getting another look at the spider. In fact, they were so busy staring at the floor and getting behind the furniture that they didn't even see the spider again.

But I did. It suddenly skittered out from behind the armoire, once again high on the wall. And this time it was directly over me. With a bloodcurdling scream, I bolted for the door. The boys were all shouting as well, and into this wild scene walked my husband.

Indiana Jones threw us all disapproving looks for carrying on so about a spider. He did a doubletake when he actually saw the size of the spider. But then he walked into the room, grabbed a rolled up newspaper and killed the intruder. Then he disposed of it. Without a word he dumped the paper in the trash, gave us all a challenging glare and headed to bed. My hero.

I think it would have been better if he'd been wearing the hat and the whip.

There is No I in We

"I need some time away."

This is how I viewed my quest for some time off.

"We'll take some time this summer."

This is how my husband viewed my quest. Somehow he could not seem to grasp that I wanted time alone. Never mind that he has been known to take off alone for the occasional hunting or fishing trip. Apparently that's different.

Not that I minded his tagging along. I love him and we get along well. (Good thing, since we're married!) My problem had to do more with the fact that I viewed this little vacation as a time of rest and relaxtion.

But I'm married to Indiana Jones.

Indiana doesn't take vacations. He goes on adventures. Since life with him is an adventure, I wanted a real, honest to goodness vacation. I wanted a somewhat luxurious hotel room and maid service.

His idea of getting away is camping in a tent or staying in a somewhat spartan cabin.

I wanted to sit in the sunshine (alternating with the air conditioning) and enjoy the quiet.

His idea of quiet is spending hours in a tree stand.

I like sitting in a comfortable spot and people watching. He almost canceled our whole week of vacation because he was going to get an opportunity to use his chainsaw.

He finally got the idea that this getaway was not negotiable. When he agreed to it, I rhapsodized about how relaxing it would be to simply eat, read and sleep. He muttered a comment about what was he supposed to do, and I smiled sweetly while reminding him he didn't have to come at all.

He finally agreed to the vacation I wanted, but I could tell he still didn't get it.

Even after arriving at our destination--

--it took about twenty-four hours for him to settle into a real vacation mode.

How's that for a sweet little vacation spot?

The Trouble With Running Away

Have you ever threatened to run away? Ever dreamed of throwing in the towel and disappearing for a few days?

I've been telling myself for months that I would run away. I told myself that during our church's Super Conference, when we had guests at the house for a solid week and meetings every night.

I told myself that when we had missionaries staying at our house for three weeks straight.

I told myself that when we started the fourth quarter of our school year, and I realized we would never be able to finish before June.

I told myself that while Indiana went through his back surgery. I told myself that as we planned our church's spring ladies' luncheon. I told myself I would runaway as we began planning for Vacation Bible School and I started a month long turn at working full time.

I wanted to run away from the dishes. The laundry that went on for ever. The continuing struggle to teach all the males in my household that cleaning up is everyone's responsibility. I wanted a few days where no one asked me, "What's for dinner?"

In truth, I didn't really care where I ran away to.

I just wanted to be away. I wanted to read a book without interruption. I wanted to sleep whenever I felt like it. I wanted some quiet time. Shoot, at some point I'd have been happy to sit and stare at a wall.

There is a time in life when you realize you have truly had it. That you will not be able to go forward unless you take some time to recharge and rest. I had reached that point.

The problem was, I reached it in February.

Since February wasn't a good time to get away, I operated on fumes for a while. But I promised myself that, before the summer was over, I was going to get away.

Alone.

The only problem is, I'm not alone. I'm part of a big male group. And taking off for a few days is no easy feat.

How did I manage? Come back tomorrow to see why there is no I in We.