Chewymom

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We had been living in north Alabama for about a year when we decided to move about 15 miles west into the town where we had become “plugged in.” We had joined a church, joined three soccer teams, lined up two piano lessons, and given birth to a baby girl in that town, and the only thing tying us to the town where we lived was the proximity to Chewydad’s work.

Whenever I was over in the next town, which was approximately five times per week, I would drive around to see what was on the market. There was this one house that I fell in love with. It was brick, next door to a family we knew, and oh the neighborhood! It had been built around an elementary school. Literally. The school sat on a rectangle of property which included a big field and some woods. And the homes were built on the four streets surrounding the school, so that they all faced the school–like a little square. This house sat on the street along one of the sides of the school.

It had been on the house a very long time. It was way over priced, and a contract had recently fallen through because some mold was discovered in the master bedroom closet. Although it was out of our price range, I began to wonder if we might be able to get the house for half of its asking price. A close friend of mine said, “I’m going to pray for that! We’ll pray that the house will sell for $150,000 instead of its asking price of $300,000!”

I did not quite have the faith of my friend, but I prayed along with her, because after I saw the interior of the house, I adored it. Brick kitchen floor, unusual layout, numerous gathering rooms, a back yard large enough to add a pool, and right across from the school!

As time went on, I debated whether this was the house for us, and my friend said, “Pray for some big sign!” Now, I’m a little leery of that sort of thing, being a good Presbyterian and all. Still, I secretly prayed that if God really wanted us to have that house, he would let me see a purple bus. That was just bizarre enough that it couldn’t happen unless God wanted it to.

Time went on, we continued to look at other houses, and we got a little nervous about the work that might be needed in that house. Another house on the square around the school came on the market, and this one was in our price range. We made an offer, and miraculously sold our house in the other town rather quickly.

On the day of our final walk through, just before closing, our realtor happened to mention that the house we had loved had a contract. For $150,000. My heart sank. We had prayed that it would sell for that very amount! But I wanted it for ME! I puzzled over why in the world we had never made an offer, and I consoled myself with the fact that it did need a lot of work.

I busied myself with my own new house and did not give much thought to the other house. Until I was driving to the local pharmacy located about two miles from our new house. And noticed a retirement home with a fleet of purple buses. I nearly fell over. It had been perfectly and easily within God’s ability to show me a purple bus on one of my daily trips to this town. And yet he kept them hidden from my sight. And meanwhile, he answered my prayers that the house would sell for 1/2 of its asking price.

We watched as the family that bought the house spent a lot of money upgrading and fixing things up–the yard, the roof, the bathrooms the mold. And then something happened and they couldn’t pay the bills. The house went under foreclosure. And we learned that there were major structural problems. Another family got a bargain, fixed the structural issues, ripped out walls, and completely redid the house. It is beautiful now!

And every time I drive past it, I feel a twinge. But it isn’t really a twinge of sadness as it is a twinge of amazement that God had somehow used the desires of my heart, along with the encouragement of a friend to direct me to pray for two specific things. And he had answered the one with a yes–that it would sell for 1/2, and the other with a no–that I would see a purple bus. He was very specific about how my prayers were answered, and in fact, he had been guiding my exact driving paths through the city in the months prior to us making an offer on the house we bought in order to allow me to NOT see the purple buses. And the combination of those things is an affirmation of God’s love and his care of such tiny, specific details in my life.

I have been a fan of Horny Toad clothes since I got my first black dress made by them about five years ago. I have only bought their clothes through retail stores, and today I got a catalog directly from them. As I flipped through, I came across a page in the center that tells about a program called Planet Access Training, which is a non-profit life-skills training group in Chicago. Horny Toad has partnered with PAC, and they even send their employees on vacations with adults with developmental disabilities through the Search for Adventure travel program.

On page 31 of my catalog was printed the following letter, which I loved:

To all Toads,
Thanks to you guys I just spent an incredible week out in Gunnison, CO at the Powderhorn Dude Ranch. It was so beautiful out there–a perfect place to get away fro cell pones and computers. The best thing about the week by far, was the group from Search.
Getting to know Ed, Richard, Mark, Jim, Allie and Jen made the week. It’s hard to put into words how much fun we had. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so much!
We kept busy all week. We rafted down the Gunnison, rode horses, went 4-wheelin,’ hiked, took a pontoon boat down the Black Canyon gorge, squared danced and played a few hands of Blackjack. Those guys had the time of their lived, as did I.
I don’t know how to describe it other than to use Ed’s words. He’s an older guy who’s pretty quiet. He has difficulty seeing but he’s willing to try everything. He does a mean Elvis, too. I was helping him walk back from horseback riding and he started laughing to himself. I asked, “What’s so funny Ed?” His response was, “I just can’t believe how blessed I am.”
That says it all for me. Thanks for making that happen for Ed, and for me. It’s a week we’ll never forget.
Sarah McDonald

If you are looking for cool outdoor clothing, please be sure to check out Horny Toad! This is a business I’m happy to support!

About a year ago, Chewydad and I were sick of our vacuum. This was probably our fifth vacuum that we had owned in our married life, and darned if it didn’t seem to put more stuff back onto the floor than it picked up. We decided to visit our friend who owns a vacuum store.

This friend went on and on about the virtues of a Filter Queen. Sure, it’s older than me. (And I’m old–remember? My kids think I’m 102.) But, my friend said, this is the vacuum they use to blow out clogs in the cheaper vacuums that come in for repairs. We considered the fact that our animals shed enough hair to knit an area rug on a daily basis. Clearly we needed a really good vacuum–preferably one that would last more than about three years.

So we bit the bullet and paid more money for an ancient vacuum than most sane people would spend on a new one. And although it is heavy and bulky and I curse it every time I have to lug it up the stairs, it definitely sucks! In a good way.

Today I hauled it out, used it on the stairs with no attachments and decided to just keep going with the hose end. I poked it into dark corners and under furniture, never certain of what I was sucking up. And hoping that loud slurp I just heard wasn’t Mr. Darcy. I vacuumed under the four beautiful legs of the kitchen table, and glanced up to see breakfast cereal and last night’s rice still scattered on the table. Oh come on! Last night was American Idol! You didn’t expect us to clean the kitchen, did you?

Pausing for a moment, I stuck the hose up on top of the table. Slurp went the Kix and the rice. I continued, growing happier by the second, all the way around the table. I even poked that baby up to the edge of the lazy susan. And boy-oh-boy, that kitchen table is clean!

And my secret should be almost safe, because only one family member reads my blog daily. And technically I think it is his job to clean the table, so he should be pretty happy right about now.

Don’t any of you who know me in real life let on to Chewydad that I just vacuumed the table.

No, I take that back. Go ahead and tell him. He’ll never believe you. Because he knows that it would be incorrect grammar to use the words “Chewymom” and “housework” in the same sentence.

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Do you remember a while back when I posted about the conversation I overheard about people with unpainted toenails? Well, apparently feet are more than a tiny obsession in our town. Maybe this is everyone’s opinion in the good ole USA, or maybe it’s a southern thing. If either of those is true, I’ve been ignorant for my whole life.

I just got this email from an Arbonne consultant, and frankly it made me really mad. If you’re a rich, white, small-town southern girl, maybe it is true that your toes are that important. Maybe. Most people have more to do in their lives than to study people’s toes and feet though. And I can tell you right here and now that for the poor in our community, having sandals that are neither too big or too small, having painted toenails that are completely unchipped, and having a hairless big toe are the least of their concerns.

To me, this email smacks of arrogance and snobbery, and it makes me just plain mad. And more resolved than ever to never pursue the white Mercedes that Arbonne dangles in front of the aspiring upper-middle class ladies it pursues to become consultants.

Is this kind of stuff a concern where you live? Big toes, painted nails, and the newness of your sandals?

Here’s the email:

Please raise your big toes and repeat after me:

As a member of the Cute Girl Sisterhood, I pledge to follow the Rules when wearing sandals and other open-toe shoes:

I promise to always wear sandals that fit. My toes will not hang over and touch the ground, nor will my heels spill over the backs. And the sides and tops of my feet will not pudge out between the straps.

I will go polish-free or vow to keep the polish fresh, intact and chip-free.

I will not cheat and just touch up my big toe.

I will sand down any mounds of skin before they turn hard and yellow.

I will shave the hairs off my big toe.

I won’t wear pantyhose, even if my misinformed girlfriend, coworker, mother, sister tells me the toe seam really will stay under my toes if I tuck it there.

If a strap breaks, I won’t duct-tape, pin, glue or tuck it back into place hoping it will stay put. I will get my shoe fixed or toss it.

I will not live in corn denial; rather, I will lean on my good friend Dr. Scholl’s if my feet need him.

I will resist the urge to buy jelly shoes at Payless for the low, low price of $4.99, even if my feet are small enough to fit into the kids’ sizes. This is out of concern for my safety, and the safety of others. No one can walk properly when standing in a pool of sweat and I would hate to take someone down with me as I fall and break my ankle.

I will take my toe ring off toward the end of the day if my toes swell and begin to look like Vienna sausages.

I will be brutally honest with my girlfriend/sister/coworker when she asks me if her feet are too ugly to wear sandals. Someone has to tell her that her toes are as long as my fingers and no sandal makes creepy feet look good.

I will promise that if I wear flip flops, I will ensure that they actually flip and flop, making the correct noise while walking and I will swear NOT to slide or drag my feet while wearing them.

I will promise to use my Arbonne salt scrub and a pumice file at least once a week to keep my feet babies butt smooth.

I will promise to throw away any white/off-white sandals that show signs of wear… nothing is tackier than dirty white sandals.

Okay, did anyone see the opening song tonight on American Idol?? Shout to the Lord? Now, THAT was a shocker. And I LOVED it! Love the Idol Gives Back , too. Go Idol!

I know this is Wordless Wednesday, but this requires a few words. Have you ever seen a dogwood tree like this? I thought one section of my white dogwood was dead. Turns out, it’s PINK! Is that even possible? To have a white dogwood tree with a pink section???

Drew told me that this evening, to which I replied that he needed to say more funny things! He informed me that he says all kinds of funny stuff when he isn’t around me. I guess he needs to ask his friends to start blogging.

Exactly 33 minutes ago, my spring allergies started. I had just picked up Brig and Drew from their schools, and I was headed over to get Sally, when WHAM!

My inner ears and throat started itching.

Then my eyes started feeling scratchy.

And then I sneezed.

How do they do that? One minute I’m fine, the next, it’s spring allergy season! I’d love to find someone who could tell me exactly what started blooming at 3:13 pm, Central Daylight Time in northern Alabama!