Bumps and Lumps

Getting older is a pain.

Literally.

Monte made fun of his sister PROFUSELY when she brought this contraption with her from Texas this summer. 

It kind of looks like a tire iron.

It is better than a massager because it concentrates on pressure points.

To my surprise, one arrived in the mail last week.

Monte never tells me about the things he orders.

You put the hook part on your back or shoulder or elbow and pull it forward to work through the tension of your pain.

Monte and I fight over it at night.

Don't we sound like a blast?

It's super heavy.

I was lying on the couch watching TV the other night 

spinning this tool around mindlessly 

when the ball end of one of the hooks 

clocked me on the bridge of my nose, 

right between the eyes.

I thought I broke my nose 

and I'd have to tell the ER doctor just how I did it.

Moving on…

I went to the dermatologist a few weeks ago to get a routine mole check.

She told me the mole on my neck wasn't actually a mole but a skin tag.

A skin tag that would continue to get bigger with age.

Since I don't want to eventually be called "Grandma Mole Neck,"

I took the doctor up on her offer to remove it.

And no, I did not tell her about the Frankincense incident.

The doctor also wanted a bump on my calf removed and sent to a lab.

That would require surgery and 10 stitches.

Seriously?

I stood at the front desk for a long while trying to come up with a good time to get all this done. The front desk lady and I went back and forth but finally settled on a good time to slice open my calf and safely burn something off my neck.

I went home to discover I had put my dress on backwards after my exam.

My dress had pretty significant detailing on the neck line indicating that it was a front, not a back.

I'm really hoping my long hair covered it.

And I'm  SUPER thankful 

I didn't run any errands afterwards.

Yesterday Monte took me in for my appointment/surgery.

I went back by myself to get the skin tag on my neck removed and some things on my back I wasn't aware were there.

The nurse informed me the topical anesthetic would sting.

It did but it was NOTHING compared to the chemical burn of the Frankincense!

I didn't tell her that because I was too overwhelmed 

by the smell of my own burning flesh.

She didn't even have on a mask.

How does she DO THAT everyday?

They then led me to the surgery room and had Monte join me.

I was surprised they let Monte stay during the procedure.

The doctor told me to lie on my stomach on the table.

I foolishly thought that would be super comfy.

She had a student with her to assist in the surgery.

They were busy chatting away when the doctor said something about me feeling the prick of the needle that would numb my leg.

She inserted the needle into the bump on my leg.

A piece of broken glass slicing open my calf would've felt better.

I instantly wanted to say all the bad words.

But they just came out as a noise.

I got sweaty on my upper lip.

Everything after that was preoccupied by trying to figure out what they were doing, wondering why I was having muscle spasms in part of my calf and WHY IN THE WORLD the doctor and the student were debating the best way to handle the practice of female body part mutilation in different parts of the world.

I wanted to turn around and look at Monte but I was afraid to move.

He told me later I would've found his nose in his phone 

because he didn't want to see why there was smoke coming from the table.

After the surgery, they wrapped me up in a sassy pink bandage.

My calf was completely numb.

It is very strange to walk on a foot you can feel with a calf you cannot.

My brain misfired and I couldn't decide if I should limp 

or drag my leg behind me.

Walking to the car was an odd series of choices 

on what to do with my partially dead leg.

Overall, I liked the doctor and the practice very much.

I have to put a special gel on all my spots where the lumps and bumps used to be to prevent scabbing.

This afternoon, I get to redress my wound.

Fun times.

I go back in 14 days to get the stitches removed.

In the meantime, no running and jumping for me.

But the aftercare sheet said nothing about not cooking dinner 

or doing laundry.

Womp womp.

Deflated

Friday our church had a Harvest Fest with a Trunk or Treat.

Last year, our adorable youth pastor's wife decorated her trunk and I decided we had to do that this year.

Last week was super busy so I didn't get to work on the decorations until a few hours before the event.

I decided on a Jurassic Park theme since:

 1) We had the costumes.

Ellie was babysitting and McDaniel is away at college so it was just going to be Dr. Graham and T-Rex at Trunk or Treat.

2) Monte has an orange Jeep.

3) Dinosaurs.

Duh

I vowed to not spend a dime.

Using a box from Amazon, I cut and covered the cardboard with a brown grocery sack to make the back of Monte's Jeep look like the entrance to Jurassic Park.

I taped black card stock paper to look like a torch and crumbled some orangish/red scrapbook paper to be the flames.

I just propped them up in the back of his Jeep and brought two ferns from our back yard and the Jurassic Park logo I printed out a few times and strung together to make a banner.

Other than my cardboard being a little too wide for the Jeep, everything worked out fine for the props.

It was my inflatable dinosaur costume that fell flat.

Literally.

I replaced the batteries for the fan before I left and even brought more batteries with us.

No matter what I did, I could not get the crazy dinosaur costume to inflate!

Womp womp

I could feel the air coming out of the fan but it just wouldn't blow up already!

I could hear the kids coming by excited about Monte's outfit and the decorations than there was always an,

"Oh!"

or an

"Aww…"

when they got a peek at my sad, 

anemic, 

prehistoric self, 

trying to hide by the side of the car.

I even heard a,

"He looks dehydrated!"

The inside of the suit was quite humid 

and I could've used a sip of water for sure.

One little boy, came over to me and said,

"I got you. I'm going to help!"

He held my deflated head up so I could feel around for the fan or a tear in the costume or something.

He introduced himself and his brother.

He loudly whispered to him,

"It's a girl!"

I thanked him over and over 

but told him it seemed to be broken.

He left to continue his trunk or treating.

I never saw his face.

I was so disappointed.

This T-Rex does not look well.

I had envisioned me chasing the kids around the parking lot.

Taking pictures with them.

Popping out from the side of the car to 

scare surprise them.

Instead, they all felt sorry for me.

The extinct jokes were coming fast.

We drove home in silence.

Back at the house, we looked at every square inch of the dinosaur suit for a tear but found none.

We pulled out the directions and Monte figured out that I had put the fan in the suit backwards.

There was no way for the fan to intake any air to blow up the suit.

Once the fan was flipped it inflated in seconds!

Yay!

I had Monte take a picture of me in the inflated suit so I could send it to the mom of the little boy who thought I was dehydrated.

How do you like me now?

You know, there's a lesson in this.

On my own, I'm just a dehydrated shell filled 

with hot, 

humid, 

recycled air 

that isn't even enough to lift my own head.

But when the fan is pulling air from another source,

much more powerful than me,

I'm filled right away.

John 10:10

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; 

I have come that they may have life, 

and have it to the full.

Psalm 121:1-2

I lift my eyes to the mountains--

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the LORD,

the Maker of heaven and earth.

That Time I Charbroiled the Bathroom

There was an incident.

Just a few short days after the fried pickle incident, the smoke alarm robot yet again spoke up loud and clear that her overly-sensitive sniffer whiffed some smoke and she was going to make a loud sound.

My prayer group had just finished and the ladies were still here chatting.

As I was grabbing a chair, I heard a lady apologize from the bathroom something about the candle.

I assumed she blew it out 

and the smoke irritated the robot lady.

Again.

I told her it was fine and to just keep the door closed when she was finished.

I turned off the smoke alarm and forgot all about it.

About an hour later I was upstairs when I heard the smoke alarm robot lady say something.

I waited but no beeping followed.

Again, I went about my business.

Shaking my head because this smoke alarm 
was more like a false alarm.

A friend stopped over to drop off some books.

We chatted in the kitchen for awhile.

I complained to her about the ridiculous 

"false alarms" of Smoke Alarm Robot.

All in all, it was about SIX HOURS LATER when I finally went into the small bathroom off our kitchen to see that the candle I had lit that morning was still burning.

Tall and bright.

After that it was just a rapid fire series of discoveries.

The toilet seat was soot covered.

The walls, especially the corners, were black.

The ceiling, Soot City.

No.

No!

NO!

Smoke Alarm Robot tried to tell me.

I ignored her!

To my credit, 

she had cried wolf a few times.

Why?!

 How?!

The candle still had some wax in it.

I did not understand the Armageddon it set off.

Bliss, my foot.

I grabbed a spray bottle and mixed up water and Dawn, grabbed some kitchen gloves and went to town scrubbing the walls.

Some came off, some didn't but overall I was making things SO. MUCH. WORSE by rubbing it all in.

I searched the internet what to do.

It recommended I use rubbing alcohol.

But just like that time it told me to put Frankincense on the mole on my neck before I went to bed, the internet BETRAYED ME.

The rubbing alcohol took the paint off the wall.

Guess where I used to have a picture hanging.
It looks like I chalk outlined its body for a police report.

I furiously sprayed and scrubbed, sprayed and scrubbed.

At one point, I thought if I could just get some sort of pattern going with my soot-smearing, that I might be able to pass the bathroom off as some sort of creative "leathering" or "rag rolling" paint technique.

Then I started in on the ceiling.

Bad.

Bad!

BAD!

It was just ALL BAD!

Somewhere in the middle of my soot smear, Monte got home from work.

He asked what I was doing.

"Something bad happened,"

I said in defeat.

He listened quietly to the whole howler monkey pitch of my story.

I left nothing out.

He walked away and said he was glad it was just smoke damage and not fire damage.

Then he casually passed through the hallway again as I continued my futile efforts and added,

"The smoke alarm robot tried to save your life."

I agreed but I silently vowed to 

NEVER apologize to that smug white squawk box, 

even if Monte asked.

The next morning, I went to the paint store and then spent the ENTIRE DAY painting the walls, ceiling, trim and door.

For such a small room there was lots to work around with the sink, light fixtures, mirror and toilet.

I wasn't about to get Monte involved.

Guess who's judging presence kept an eye on me during the repainting?

As I recounted my bad story to friends, they all asked if I had trimmed the wick of the candle.

Trim the wick?!

I didn't realize this was still a thing

 this side of The Little House on the Prairie.

And boy did I learn the hard way.

**NOTE:  As I was typing this, Monte asked if I was having trouble with the wifi. When I said no, he said The Nest thermostat was having trouble connecting. He looked at me accusingly.

"It knows I'm writing about its Smoke Alarm Robot sister?!"

Monte took this picture.

Failed to connect indeed.

Strike Two

Ellie decided to make fried pickles after school the other day.

I told her to be sure to turn on the exhaust fan lest the smoke alarm robot flip out.

Oh, why do I even speak words sometimes?

The smoke alarm robot lady flipped out.

She warned us there was smoke.

She warned us that there would be a loud sound.

Then she beeped 

and warned 

over 

and over 

and over 

again.

I got my chair out and tried to turn her off but she told me she could not be shut off.

What?!

I went to my phone app and got the same message when I tried to shut her down remotely.

The dog turned into a shaky, nervous mess.

We ruined him on beeping noises years ago 

with an ill-advised shock collar.

The robot kept telling us there was smoke even though the exhaust fan was on and Ellie was simply frying pickles.

Smoke Alarm Robot Lady shut down the AC and I couldn't get it back on so I opened the windows and nothing seemed to convince her that there was not in fact a fire happening in our house.

Finally, after what seemed like 4 weeks, 

the blasted alarm stopped beeping 

and Smoke Alarm Robot Lady said the smoke was dissipating.

I told Ellie those fried pickles had better be the best things ever.

They were. 

They really were!

I informed Monte I was not happy with Smoke Alarm Robot.

In my head I noted:

"STRIKE TWO!"

And I tried to remember the last place 

I saw Monte's Louisville Slugger baseball bat.

I'm not sure I have a Strike Three in me.

But I might be able to summon the strength to Carrie Underwood Smoke Alarm Robot.

One More Robot

Monte LOVES technology.

He's an early adapter when it comes to anything technological.

He is a beta tester for for Apple's new 

iPhone operating systems.

Yeah, that's a thing.

He treats every new technology as his own "A Christmas Story" major award fish net leg lamp.

And I'm left to not "accidentally break it" while dusting.

Monte has to download new operating systems on my phone while I sleep because I would never agree to it.

This old dog does not give three hoots about learning new tricks.

This summer,

WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE, 

Monte ordered a new thermostat called The Nest 

that links with your phone to control the temperature in your house.

Supposedly, it picks up on your patterns of heating and cooling and intuitively, turns on and off the thermostat for you.

Like, if you like to sleep in a cooler temperature, yet eat breakfast warmer.

Monte sees this as freedom from not getting up in the middle of the night to change the temperature when I put my ice cold feet on him to warm up.

I see this as another example of robots taking over our lives and somehow, some way one of us is going to have our identity stolen because of The Nest.

Or we will be murdered in our sleep by thermostat robots.

Which is why Monte bought it WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE.

He loves it so much.

He sits in bed at night and changes the thermostat because he can.

When he was out of town on business, he texted me goodnight and I mentioned the temperature had really dropped that night.

I heard the heat kick on for the first time in months.

Monte, using The Nest, turned on our heat from Pennsylvania!

Show off.

I leave The Nest alone. I've tried to change temperatures a few times but I can never seem to get it to work. I have yet to use my phone to change it.

I've chalked it up to another robot hating me like Siri and Alexa.

But thank goodness The Nest doesn't talk.

Several weeks ago, Monte secretly opened a package he'd received and started acting very mysterious.

I got distracted and forgot about it.

The next morning he announced that he had installed The Nest's smoke alarm and that it might "talk to me" during the day as it was being set up.

Nope.

I made it very clear that if a robot lady starting talking to me suddenly and randomly in the middle of the day from the hallway,

I wouldn't handle it well.

Just like Alexa always piping in her two cents 

when Nigel and I were trying to enjoy a quiet day 

while the girls were at school.

I had a very vivid dream the other night that I walked down to the kitchen in the morning to see a man asleep in the hammock in the backyard.

The next morning the same man was asleep on the chair on our patio, closer to the house.

Each time, I'd turn on the outside lights and he'd run away.

Monte suggested, in the dream, that we get The Nest's security system since there were cameras with it.

Each time, I'm like,

"Are you even kidding with the more robots?!"

When I told Monte this dream he said it was true that The Nest had just come out with a security system with cameras and he didn't bring it up to me because he never thought I'd ever go for it.

He's right. 

Creepy sleeping guy or not, 

I can't handle anymore technology.

And I'm starting to wonder if Monte yammers on to me 

about new technology while I sleep because 

HOW DID I SUBCONSCIOUSLY KNOW ABOUT THE NEST SECURITY SYSTEM?!

I host a mother's prayer group in my house once a week.

Three seconds after everyone had left after prayer, I blew out the candles in the bathroom and the kitchen.

Suddenly and loudly a robot lady announced that smoke had been detected and that an alarm would soon be sounding and that it was going to be LOUD.

I thought to myself,

"That's what the robot wants my take away to be? 

Brace yourself for a loud sound? 

Not, run!? 

There's a fire!? 

And it will be HOT!?"

I instantly hated the smoke alarm robot lady.

I grabbed my bible (it was handy and it made practical sense, don't you think?) and started wildly fanning the smoke alarm as the loud sound, along with a flashing light that I wasn't warned about,  started doing their things right in my face.

The robot lady said a few more things but I couldn't really hear them because of the LOUD alarm.

I grabbed a chair and started pushing and pressing every part of the alarm.

It worked and turned off.

Before I could even put the chair back where it belonged, 

my phone rang.

I knew it was Monte before I even looked.

The Nest is connected to our phones.

"Our" meaning mine AND Monte's.

He was already informed that there was a fire.

I told him the smoke alarm robot lady was a liar.

And I was REALLY glad that didn't happen during prayer.

Strike one, smoke alarm robot.

And I'm keeping my stink eye on you too, The Nest thermostat.

Church of the Small Things

This summer I got to be part of the book launch team for one of my favorite authors, Melanie Shankle.

I was able to read her latest book, "Church of the Small Things" in July.

It was finally released into the world officially, yesterday.

It's worth it, people! Go get it!

I received the DVD last week of her bible study that goes along with it.

I can't wait to dig into that.

This is a departure from her other books.

"Sparkly Green Earrings" talks mostly about parenting but both of my girls have read it and LOVE it!  The part about Melanie's elderly neighbor asking for "rat cheese" on a grocery shopping trip is hilarious. And Monte and I still talk about "Tim Duncan's Shoe" in reference to "things that let us down".

"The Antelope in the Living Room" is mainly about marriage.

This is my all time favorite of her books. 

Which is tough to say 

since I love them all.

Melanie hits the nail on the head when describing situations and responses as "NEW LOVE" and "OLD LOVE". 

Meaning, how marriages naturally change the longer we're in them. 

My friend Shannon and I quote this all the time when talking about our own marriages. 

For example, I recounted a time this Spring when Monte was out doing yard work. He stuck his head in the door and hollered, "A breast, a thigh and a leg!" then slammed the door and went back outside.  

A "NEW LOVE" response would've followed him outside and slapped him in the face. 

"OLD LOVE" figured out that he was talking about the pieces of fried chicken he wanted me to heat up from the night before.

"Nobody's Cuter than You" is a sweet and funny book about friendship.

And now a new one!!

"Church of the Small Things" is still the funny, sweet, laugh out loud one second and tear up the next book that I've come to expect from Melanie.

 But it also sheds God's light on the everyday business of ordinary life.

I was reading this book at Fripp this summer and it uncharacteristically rained for two solid
days. Which made for bad beach weather but great reading time on the porch.
See the water spout? How cool is that?

This book exposes the purpose in the minutiae of our lives through the filter of God.

Melanie grabbed my attention immediately in the Introduction when she wrote about the mother who packed the five loaves of bread and two fish for lunch for her son that Jesus would eventually use to feed 5,000 people:

"No matter what was involved in packing that lunch on that particular morning, I'm willing to bet she wasn't really concerned or even thinking about how God might choose to use her boy's lunch that day. I bet she didn't wring her hands over whether or not that lunch might matter in the larger scheme of God's plans or wish she could do something on a larger stage in front of an audience of people cheering her on as she tucked that fish and those loaves into a basket, and she definitely didn't do an Instagram story about it. The bottom line is, she didn't do the glamorous thing; she did the faithful thing. She packed a lunch for her boy just like she'd probably done a million times before, and God used her small act of faithfulness to feed five thousand people."

Not feeling as good about convincing Ellie to 

"just buy already" because I didn't feel like 

packing her a lunch last night.

The book is full of the small things that make a big impact.

Like time spent with grandparents, the decision to get bangs, exercise and a hilarious story of her husband literally dodging a bullet.

Do yourself a favor and get this book.

And if you haven't read any of Melanie's other books, get them too!

Then call me, so we can talk about them.