I HAVE MOVED!

Joey bought me www.jennawoestman.com, so that's where I am now! This blog is now defunct.

Please update your RSS feed (which, as you should know by now, stands for Really Super Sweet feed) to this: http://feeds.feedburner.com/ThemisadventuresOfJenna

My new blog isn't totally set up the way it will be eventually, but it's good enough for who it's for right now and it'll get better as I figure out how to do stuff. Mostly Joey has to do everything right now because I'm not real quick on the technological draw.

So...go to jennawoestman.com and all your wildest dreams will come true.

Sister = Jerk

I just got off the phone with Sister.

"I learned something in my counseling class," she said smugly.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yes.  I learned that you are not codependent on The Kid, because if that would me that he is dependent on you for survival and that's not true at all," she said.

"HEY!"  I bellowed.

"You are counterdependant.  That's the one that means that you require The Kid for your daily sustenance,"  I could tell she was pleased with herself.

"Whatever, The Kid needs me," I mumbled.

Then she had to go shopping with Grandma or something, so she hung up and went to hang out with everybody cool that's in Indiana...except for me and Joey.  Oh, and Brother and Laura, they're not in Indiana neithers.

We Overslept.

My poor husband.  He's absolutely exhausted and there's nothing I can do about it!  Last night he had signed us up to go to a philosophy lecture at DTS (he said "I want to share my educational experience with you!" so how could I resist?) and it we didn't leave the school until 7:50 p.m.; I had originally thought this thing would by over by 7.  Clearly I had underestimated how many strange/annoying questions certain DTS students (my husband not included) could ask.

We got home and got ready to go for a walk with the dog, who was climbing the walls just like me, and just as we were walking out the door poor Joey said, "I am so tired.  My eye has been twitching for four days. All I want to do is go on this walk, watch an episode of MacGyver, go to bed by 10:30 and then sleep in through spin class in the morning.  Is that OK?"

Well, I did want to go to spin class, but not at the expense of Joey's sanity...because that would be ultimately more frustrating than missing spinning.

So we watched MacGyver, got ready for bed and read for "nine minutes, we can read for nine minutes because, you see, it's 10:21.  I want to go to bed at 10:30 not 10:21."  He wanted to make sure I was using a literal hermeneutic, I guess, and not interpreting him metaphorically.

At 10:30 we set our books down, synchronized our alarm clocks for 6:15 a.m. so Joey would have plenty of time to get to work since he was filming a class the next morning, switched them on and went to sleep.  Just before drifting off, I prayed that Joey would be well-rested and that his eye would stop twitching.

We awoke this morning at 7:45.

Somehow both of our alarm clocks were set correctly, turned on, and had the time set correctly and neither alarm went off.

"HOLY COW," I gasped, shooting upright in bed and looking at the time.  "JOEY, it's 7:45!!"

He sat up faster than I've ever seen him move and the two of us began rushing around like our tails were on fire.  We left the house by 7:53, miraculously, with his lunch thrown together, my makeup bag, and hopefully everything else we needed for the day.

I slapped my makeup on the car (probably applied too much) as we drove, shoved Joey out of the car at DTS and zoomed over to work.

Somehow, I made it in the door at 8:15...half an hour flat after I woke up.  (My hair looks seriously bad.)  The good news is, though, that on the drive in Joey said "Hey, my eye's not twitching anymore!"

"Maybe God wanted to give you some extra sleep?  Clearly we did everything right to avoid oversleeping and can't explain why our alarms didn't go off..." I pondered.

What a great way to start the weekend - getting 9 hours of sleep on Thursday night.  Oy.

Look - a picture of Joey and me!

I was irrationally tired last night. It was the kind of tired where what I mean to say and what I actually say gets short circuited and winds up being either:
a.) confusing
b.) wicked strange

To only add fodder to my already delusional state, Joey and I were discussing the new Heaven and new Earth that we'd been talking about in Sunday School. Never discuss Eschatology when extremely tired. It's just not a good idea. Here's a snippet of our conversation last night, sometime after 10:30 p.m.

"I think what I want to do most of all is to go back to that Panda Breeding Center in China that we saw when we were there. I want to see the Pandas again and hold a baby one....it would be like the best day of my life," I sighed.

"Better than the day we got married?" Joey had me trapped.

"Oh. Um. Not quite that good," I hedged.

After a short pause, I thought of something that was potentially even better.

"So, when we are living in the new Earth do you think we'll have jobs? Like, can I be a caretaker of baby Pandas?" I asked Joey.

"Um, I don't know. Maybe...you'd probably like that a lot." Joey replied.

"I think that in the new Earth someday, we won't be worshiping God 24/7," I said, almost asleep at this point.

"Oh?" Joey asked. I had piqued his interest with this one.

"No...sometimes people have to be taking care of the Pandas..." I mumbled.

I didn't think anything of this remark, mostly because I was almost asleep, until I heard Joey muttering, "I need my own blog or something so I can post these kinds of things...but nobody would believe me anyway."

"What?" I woke up a little bit.

"Sometimes people have to be taking care of the Pandas?!" Joey asked, incredulously, "You are way tired, that's like the craziest thing I ever heard!"

He's right, you know.

Never mind that in the new Earth Pandas will very likely not be endangered anymore and therefore won't need to be taken care of by humans, but it's hard to explain that to an irrationally tired person who was just discussing Eschatology.

The First Annual Jenna Loves Joey Day

For the record, I love Joey every day.  But today...today is special for no other reason than that he wasn't (really) expecting anything today.

About a month ago, Laura said "I have this great idea for the boys!"  She proceeded to describe her great idea - which was/is truly great - and that was to hang signs and posters all over DTS outside the boys' classrooms, by the mail box, outside the chapel, etc.  A week ago we got together and made signs while Joey studied.  He thought we were just hanging out but he was wrong. 

We each made plenty of signs and then hid them all over Laura's house to dry, hoping that Danny - her husband - wouldn't find them.  Laura snapped some pictures of our creativeness on my camera.  I'd post the pictures, but I think Joey took the camera out of my purse because it's not in there.  (At least I hope that's where it is.)

Laura had bought a ton of sidewalk chalk which we used to make the posters, and we thought it would be fun to chalk the sidewalks at DTS.  But we thought we might need to ask/tell the DTS Police before we did it so that we wouldn't get shot or anything...those guys are totally armed.  So on Monday morning, I put in a call to the DTS Police who sent me to Student Services who, several hours later, told me that no, chalking the sidewalks is not appropriate, nor is posting any signs for our husbands because it's too public.  They didn't really want to start that and then wind up having to clean things up all the time, and I can see their position.  DTS is, after all, a very serious institution of higher education. <sigh>

So...there we were. Kiboshed.  And after almost a month of planning!  The original plan was scrapped and Laura and I decided to do our own things for our respective husbands.  Since I'd contacted Student Services and they knew who I was (and who my husband is!), it seemed like a pretty bad idea to go ahead and do it anyway, especially since that would more than likely shame Joey instead of encourage him...what with me knowing it wasn't allowed and all.  Plus I didn't want him getting sat down in Dr. Garippa's office because his wife was out of line.

Plan B: chalk the sidewalks around our apartment complex (Joey was riding his bike to school today) and post the signs intended for his classrooms along his route. Leave several legal surprises for him at DTS.

left the house late last evening under the guise of taking Henry outside but I was really going to write little lovey-dovey chalk messages on the sidewalks. JOEY (the snitch!) came out to find me!  I was real mad at him for ruining the surprise and sent him back in the house immediately.  (He had also found the pictures on my camera earlier...)

I set my alarm 7 minutes early this morning and RAN to the Dumpster where I taped up a huge sign, and then ran out to Shady Brook where I stuck 3 signs in the grass at intervals down the road, one for each word of "I Love Joey".  Then I ran back inside like nothing had happened and was relieved to find Joey still asleep.

At 6:45 I left the house in the car, sped to DTS where I put a bouquet of balloons outside his office door and did a couple of other non-public and OK by Student Services things that I'm not sure he's found yet, so I'm not going to tell you.  Hopefully all his coworkers, at least, think he's the man and know that his wife loves him since the entire student body doesn't get to be in on the surprise.  C'est la vie.

I figure I'll do something like this annually...but not on the same date.  Gotta keep Joey on his toes and all.

Meet our friends!

From left to right we have: Casey & Rachel (and Mikylah but she's not born yet), Me & Joey, Laura Wilkerson & Josh, Laura Stiller & Danny, Becca & Luke.

As far as doggies go, there's Merlin, Henry (who is not facing the camera) and Riley.

We met at White Rock for some Frisbee and hanging out on Sunday and, in the course of playing Frisbee, Laura W threw the Frisbee to Laura S and the wind caught it....it wound up BOINKing into a mid-life-crisis-type-guy's Corvette. He was standing right there, too, and he looked NONE TO HAPPY at poor Laura S when she went to retrieve the Frisbee from the ground. She apologized nicely, too, as all the rest of us ran away like five year olds.

Later, as we were getting ready to go to see the ducks, I said to Laura W, "Smile!" It was extremely convenient that she was standing right in front of the Corvette when I took her picture...
I'm probably going to get in trouble for this one.

Baby Pandas

I found this wicked cute video of some rolly-polly pandas on NPR's website. I recommend watching it as soon as possible. I've watched it twice in the last half an hour...it seems to have some kind of addictive quality to it.

Joey's New Toy

Joey has been saving his pennies from selling off the stockpile of paintball equipment. His goal was to purchase a paintball pistol with said money.

However.

Joel Wires got a new lens for his camera and Joey became monstrously jealous. He considered the stash of cash he had in his drawer and thought to himself If I didn't buy a paintball pistol, which I really won't use that much anyway, I have enough money to buy a lens like Joel's!

So that's why, as I was in the bathroom plucking my eyebrows, he leaned against the door and said, "I think I won't get that pistol after all. I think I'll buy a lens for my camera."

"OH?" I asked, secretly pleased that he wouldn't be buying that pistol after all...I don't like guns...

"Yeah, I think it will be more awesome. Plus I have enough money."

And with that, his mind was made up and he purchased his lens on Amazon.com the very next day.

It looks like this: And it's called this: Nikon 50mm f/1.8D AF Nikkor Lens

Congratulations on your new toy, honey!

The Monday Night Randoms

Monday, unfortunately, is ironing night.  I hate ironing, it makes me want to poke my eye out.  Joey knows this, too, because I always make sure he knows how much I hate it before I dive on it...some weeks I even ask him to set up the ironing board so that I'm roped into doing it.  You know, once the ironing board is up you can't very well just take it down without ironing because that would be lame.

I decided Monday night would be ironing night a couple weeks ago.  I wasn't doing it on Saturday, my previous ironing day, and that was causing major pile-up problems and Joey could find himself without his favorite shirt, which we cannot have.

So I ironed.  I also called my Pops to tell him that it was 84 degrees in my house and I was going to die from heat exhaustion.  (Never let it be said that I was not an overly dramatic person. I think, actually, that Sister may be worse.  I'm not sure how this is possible since Mom is the least dramatic person I know, but it is.)  In relating to Pops my activities of the day, something I did - or hadn't done - caught his horror and he said "OH!  Jenna!  Don't you know better?"

Of course I probably did at one point but, as Joey said, Pops may have tried to teach me something (like how to change the oil, for example) and I either forgot really fast or categorically refused to remember it.  It's really not Pops' fault.  Or Mom's, for that matter.

Anyway, after about 10 minutes Pops decided that he'd probably better talk to Joey in order to offer him some comic relief (from me, presumably) and the two of them discussed what's wrong with me for awhile (I'm getting sick of catered lunches at work and wish I could take my own - Pops feels no sorrow for me and neither does Joey) before moving on to more enlightening topics like Dad's cows and the condition of their grass.

After finishing the ironing and talking to Pops on the phone (he left to go check on the cows' grass with Mom, who is scared of cows) I moved on to editing Joey's paper for his New Testament Introduction class taught by Hoehner.  It was one of those 10-pagers and he was arguing the authenticity of 2nd Peter and making a case for Petrine authorship vs. pseudepigraphal or pseudonymous authorship.  It was actually quite interesting, but I used up almost an entire pen's worth of ink on the first three pages. Good thing I went to Bible college I guess.

So that was my Monday night. 

My Brother Andrew: Smarter Than You

I called my Pops last night to tell him that Charles Ryrie was at our church on Sunday. (It's not every day you have the guy who wrote [notes in] your Bible at your church neithers.) He was baptizing his grandson who apparently goes to our church.

Anyways, in the course of the conversation, turns out Pops was in Ames on Saturday watching my brother Andrew (he's like some kind of rocket scientist basically) and his senior engineering team fly their helicopter for their final project. His project is sponsored by some big aerospace firm, but Andrew says I can't tell you who they are because they wouldn't want to be associated with the likes of me. This helicopter, apparently, was made 10 years ago and never had a successful flight until my brother Andrew (ta da!) stepped on the scene.

Andrew and his team didn't think the helicopter would hover but, as you can see from this video that Pops took (you can hear him crowing with jubilation about 1:15 into it) the helicopter clearly hovers. Oh, that's my brother holding the chopper thingys.



So Dad said that every time the helicopter malfunctioned, Andrew was the go-to guy. He was like flying 500 mpg giving orders and throwing parts here and there...pretty amazing stuff. Pops even said that one time before the problem was diagnosed, some parts of it fell apart in Andrew's hands (imagine my Pops' dramatic retelling, complete with extreme intonations and gasps) but Andrew was able to fix them with the greatest ease, once they drove to Urbandale to pick up a part that was $1.50.

I'd totally have been there if I didn't live in the Texas. This is the time of year when it's lame to live 732 miles from home, particularly when it involves younger brothers being awesome. But this is why I have a blog so I can post this kind of stuff on it and pretend like I was there.

But to hear Pops tell it (which is almost as good as being there), Andrew basically saved the day, passed college and brokered world peace, all in one afternoon.

Good thing he's my brother. I'm wicked proud of him.

Two Years With Jesus

Mom reminded me this morning that today marks two years since my Grandpa Richardson, her daddy, went to be with Jesus. That makes this is one of those happy/sad days that makes me want to remember him.

Grandpa was a extra-special kind of grandpa, the kind who was a whiz at rhymes and silly poems, liked grape juice with ice in the afternoons and watched Jeopardy every day. He also was a pastor for over 50 years and had shelves upon shelves of commentaries that were well-used and smelled like old books. I have some of those books on the shelves in my home, and I always remember him when I see them.

Since I miss my grandpa, I thought I'd share some of my favorite Grandpa memories with you.

When I was about five my dad took me on a special trip. We got to go along with Grandpa to a small church somewhere in the boonies of Iowa to pick up a player piano for Grandpa to refinish. It seemed like the longest car ride of my entire life, and when we finally got to the church to pick up the piano, it was in horrible condition. I worried that maybe my grandpa had met his match and wouldn't be able to fix this one. But sure enough, he did. It's in the family room at my parents house right now...and when all us kids go home we put rolls and sing "The Old Spinning Wheel" with gusto.

Grandpa used to amuse us kids after dinner with silly poems and stories. My sister's favorite is "There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly" but my personal favorite is "You Must Pay The Rent". I think Aunt Ginny got Grandpa on video doing "You Must Pay The Rent" (napkin and all!) but I'm not sure about the fly one. In any case, nobody could tell goofy stories or make up silly poems like my grandpa!

Grandpa had the coolest hair. Sometimes, if we were very, very good, he'd let us comb it and put barrettes all over it. I can't believe he let us do that, but that just goes to show how very patient my grandpa was. I'm not sure that he let anyone photograph him like that, though. It was my favorite thing to do when I was a little girl. My cousins and I called it "Messing Grandpa Up," and that's exactly what he looked like when we were done with him.

When Grandpa and Grandma moved to Cedar Rapids, we used to see them once a week. We'd mow the lawn (Grandma would always come out to make sure we didn't miss any spots) and when we were done, grandma had glasses of ice-cold juice waiting for us. Grandpa liked grape juice and cranberry juice. If mom was late to pick us up, we'd sit there and watch Jeopardy with them (or Wheel of Fortune if it was getting really late) and Grandpa always knew the right answers.

Every year for our birthdays after they moved to Cedar Rapids, Grandpa and Grandma would either make us a special meal, or take us out for Taco Bell or something. I always thought it was cute that no matter where we went, Grandpa and Grandma always split a meal. Always.

I remember the very last sermon Grandpa preached - it was at Galilee Baptist Church. Can't remember how old I was, but I remember being there and wearing a skirt. Over the years different people have given me old tapes of Grandpa preaching and I love listening to them. One one tape he sings, too, (must have been special music that day maybe?) and I'm really glad somebody had the foresight to record it!

When I was in college on break, Grandpa and I were in the family room at my parents' house. I was studying and I think he was watching Jeopardy. Greek had been giving me a terrible time and I was so frustrated that I couldn't even remember some simple words. I was sitting there on the floor, tapping my pencil fiercely against my notebook when I suddenly burst out, "Grandpa! I am losing it, I can't remember the Greek word for 'church' right now!" Grandpa sat there quietly for a few moments and I thought he hadn't heard me. But out of the blue he said quietly, "It's εκκλησία." Of course it was.

As Grandpa started having more trouble with his Parkinson's, he didn't talk as much and he didn't joke as much...but we sure knew Grandpa loved us. Daddy would always ask Grandpa to pray when we saw them for dinner, and I always loved to hear my Grandpa pray. Somehow when he was talking to God, even as he became more of an observer rather than a participant, he blossomed. It was clear that Grandpa loved Jesus and somehow, talking to Him was the easiest thing he could do.

My very last memory of my Grandpa is on Easter Sunday, 2006. My whole family was there, the Johnsons, Aunt Mary and Gerry, Ginny and Jim...it was fun; more people than I had expected to come for Easter lunch! Grandpa was quiet that day, but when Daddy asked him to pray, he prayed so fervently and clearly that it brought tears to my eyes.

On that next Tuesday, Mom called to say that Grandpa had gone to be with Jesus.

My Grandpa's funeral was a celebration of a life spent serving Jesus. Someone sang "Finally Home" and it was a great reminder of where Grandpa is - with Jesus! There was a slideshow at the end of the service...someone had found one of those old tapes of Grandpa singing special music and had it playing behind pictures of Grandpa with his children and grandchildren. My favorite part was in the middle of the song on the tape when Grandpa forgot the words he was supposed to sing next. It was nice to have a giggle and remember what fun Grandpa was.

I definitely miss my sweet Grandpa, but I'm thankful that he's "Finally Home".

Golf.

Joey and I pretty much think golf is poke-my-eye-out boring, but we are willing to make one exception. Every year we are given free tickets to the Byron Nelson, a PGA Tournament in Las Colinas, and we make a day of it.

Last year we followed Phil Mikkelsen around and watched him lob a golf ball all the way from the green over to a house where some people, who were quite intoxicated, were yelling "Philllllll, hey PHILLLLL, throw your golf ball over here!" I thought he was lucky he didn't break a window.

We tried to dress all nice and cute because, naturally, that's what one does when one goes to a PGA thing, right?

WRONG. Those golfer guys walk fast.

This year we are doing several things differently. We are wearing sunblock (we got a little pinkish last year), we are taking hats and sunglasses (it's easier to watch the ball if you're not squinting into the glaring sunlight), and we are wearing extremely comfortable shoes. We're bringing my camera. We're also checking tee-times before we get there so we'll know who we want to follow around.

Tiger, unfortunately, won't be there so we'll have to pick somebody else...hopefully we can recognize a name or two. But since we know nothing about golf, I wouldn't hold your breath.

The only thing that's a bummer is that I somehow got entered in a drawing and won VIP passes, but they can only be used on Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. We definitely don't like golf enough to miss work just to do whatever people with VIP passes for a PGA thingy get to do.

Poor Joey, I told him I had won VIP passes for days we weren't available and he's said, "Woah, cool! What could we have done with them?"

Honestly, I didn't even look at the perks involved since I knew we wouldn't be able to use them. So I guess I'll never know how much ritz we could have had. It's probably better this way. We never win anything, and here I win something I didn't even know I had been entered for and we can't even use it. Isn't that just my luck.

I was just handed my free tickets (good for any day of the tournament, fortunately!) which is why I am posting about something that won't happen for a week. I'm done now.

Why Pandas Are The Best Animal Ever

Check out these cute little babies bottle-feeding themselves at the Chengdu Panda Breeding and Research Center, where I've actually been. (And paid $7 to hold a panda who didn't really like me much.)

I love panda.

Last night Joey said to me, "I think it's your turn to pray tonight."

"OK," I said.  I prayed about his upcoming papers, the end of the semester and several other things before I moved on to my sunburn. 

"God...my sunburn hurts a lot and I'm getting really sick of it.  Please heal it quickly.  I really learned my lesson this time, I will never use expired sunblock again and I will always be more careful when going out in the sun because I hate being reddish-purple and hurting every time I move."

I stopped here and realized how whiny I was starting to sound.  There are Christians who are being persecuted for their faith right now and you're whining to God about your measly sunburn, I chastised myself.  I was starting to feel a little guilty for being so selfish.

"Thank you that I'm starting to feel a little better," I continued.  "And thank you that it's not worse.  I'm really looking forward to when you heal my skin enough that it starts to peel...although if it's really itchy you will probably hear from me again about this."

I finished my prayer up shortly and as soon as I was done Joey said, "You do realize that you just whined at God."

"I know..." I said, "But it's not like He wasn't aware that I was thinking whiny thoughts in my head.  I was just being honest."

So I realized two very important things last night:

• God actually does want to hear me when I'm whiny because He already knows my heart.  (I often tell myself not to bug God with little things like sunburns, but I need to remember that He cares!)
• I'm a wimp.  I don't like my sunburn and I'm quick to tell God that and I'm not even suffering anything major like some Christians are.  It reminds me to pray for them, actually, which is why I'm putting a posty-note on my monitor about that very thing right now.
  

Dear Friends of The Kid:

It has come to my attention that you think that if I were to die by sting-ray barb and it were to get caught on film, I would most likely want have it shown on TV post mortem. First of all, I'm afraid of water and would probably never be caught dead swimming around anywhere in water deep enough for sting-rays. Second of all, I think it's weird that you're sitting around talking about death by sting-rays at lunch. But whatever, you're all in college and get away with stuff like that.

However.

If I were to die by panda attack (pandas are my favorite animal) and it happened to get caught on film, then The Kid could totally sell it to whatever media outlets he wants and make his millions. (No setting me up to die by panda attack now, The Kid. That's just plain mean. I haven't even made you an uncle yet, so no killing me off for awhile.)

May your next lunch conversation be more appetizing.

Sincerely,
Jenna

Adding Insult To Injury

This morning, my hairdryer melted. Not at the end of my hair-drying ritual, but right at the beginning. So here I sit; red and crispy with half curly, half fluffed out hair. Joey said we'd stop by the store and buy a new hairdryer on the way home tonight.

POOR ME.

Additionally, after I went home early yesterday to slap on loads of aloe I checked my sunblock. Sure enough, the expiration date was 4/2008. So throw out all your old sunblock, everyone! I am never, ever getting burned like this again. Me and my sun hat (yes, I have a sun hat - don't make fun) are going to be pals this summer.

But here's some pictures of me with my sunburn on Sunday. Joey took them for your general amusement.

When people gasp in shock and horror because of your sunburn as you approach, it's time to go home.

Kentucky Fried

On Saturday, Laura and I went canoing.  You'll hear more about that later, after I get the pictures from her.  But first I absolutely most post about the sunburn because it hurts like a banshee.

So in April, what Iowan thinks about sunblock?  Not really me.  Plus it was a cool, breezy day and not what I'd construe as "DANGER!" weather.  I brought along last year's sunblock, though, and Laura applied it liberally to her neck, which was already a little crispy from last weekend at her brother's baseball came.

Honestly, I didn't think I'd get a sunburn.  It's only April, for crying out lout, it's still snowing back home!  We hit the water at 11:00 and stopped for lunch about 12:30.  At that point, I decided I should put some sunblock on, so I slathered myself up but good.  Laura did the same.

We hit the water again at 1:30ish and canoed like madwomen until 3:00 when we reached the end of our 10 miles.

I realized at that point that I might be a little crispy.  We loaded up and drove back to Dallas, which was about an hour and a half away.  By the time we got home, I knew that I was a lot crispy.  My poor husband had spent the entire time I was enjoying myself (and getting burned) in the library working on a paper, so as his reward he wanted to watch Star Wars Episode Three.  I made it through half before I just couldn't stay awake anymore, so we went to bed.

I woke up at 2:30 feeling like every nerve in my body had been lit on fire.  I also discovered that I had excessively swollen knees.  (Swollen knees from a sunburn?!)  I hobbled to the bathroom and applied another round of Aloe lotion, drank some water, and threw myself back into bed, moaning slightly loud because I wanted Joey to wake up and feel sorry for me.  (I'm not kidding; I really did this.  He didn't hear me at all, either.)

By the time the alarm went off at 8:00, not only were my knees swollen, by my calves and thighs as well. 

"I...I think I'm going to die."  I moaned.  I hobbled over to the bathroom again to apply more aloe and drink more water.

"You seem like you're in distress," Joey said, with quite a bit of concern, "I'm going to call my mom for medical advice."

So he did.  I was told to take 800 mg of ibuprofen at first, then 400 mg every 6 hours.  Unfortunately, I misheard Joey's directions and thought I was supposed to take 600 mg every four hours.  (Joey discovered my mistake at about 9:00, after I had OD'd myself several times.  I blame it on the sunburn confusion in my brain.)  I was also to put cool washcloths on my knees to attempt to reduce the swelling.

At about 11:00, I decided I needed to call Laura to make sure she was OK.  She didn't answer, but about 45 minutes later I got a call back.  It went something like this:

Laura: OH MY GOSH are you DYING?!
Me:  Yes, are you too?
Laura:  My knees...are your knees swollen?
Me:  Yes they are; I can barely walk.

And so on and so forth.  This was the part where I started to wonder if my sunblock had become inert over the winter because I know Laura put way more on than I did.  And the parts of me where I applied sunblock are, oddly enough, the most burned and swollen parts of me.

"You are like Kentucky Fried Chicken, only you're Kentucky Fried Jenna," Joey said to me yesterday evening as I applied more aloe and moaned about my swollen legs.

I think he hit the nail on the head.  Sorry Laura, we totally should have used your sunblock.

My Friday Craving

I want one of these today.Joey bought me one once because every week at the market I'd look at them longingly. He'd read my mind and suggest that we buy one, but I'd turn him down because they're expensive. Finally, after months of suggesting it, he just put one in the cart when I wasn't looking.

Unfortunately, now I really, really like pomegranates. I mean, I liked them before, but now I love them. And I want to eat one today.

Mmmmm....they taste like summer.

The only bad part is you sort of look like a farmer when you are munching on the juice pods because they have seeds. So you'll munch, munch, munch and then have to spit them all out. Etc, etc, etc. I would be completely uncomfortable eating one of these little beauties in public. Joey thinks they're creepy, what with the seeds and all.

Sometimes I think he's creepy.

It's Wednesday and on Wednesdays I get to drink a Pepsi; it's my rule.

So I just finished it - it was tasty, I love Pepsi - and the can is still sitting on my desk because I haven't taken it to the recycle bin yet.  I did just happen to notice, though, that Pepsi contains "natural flavors".

Natural flavors?  What in the world could possibly be natural about a can of Pepsi?  The flavor has nothing natural about it at all, which is why I like it. (Don't be sad, Mom.)  In fact, not an hour ago I was sitting here analyzing the delicious flavor of my Pepsi and trying to figure out why exactly I like it. 

I couldn't figure it out. 

Sister and I have discussed this at length and think the reason all us kids like Pepsi is because Pops brainwashed us as children.  After working at the apartments or mowing lawns, he'd take us for Pepsi and, if we were very good indeed, buy us Snickers bars too.  So I think somehow we have correlated "Pepsi" with "REWARD FOR BEING AWESOME" and I'm not sure that's always true.

So I blame my Pepsi affinity on Pops.  I wonder if he knows it has "natural flavors" in it.

The Kid for President??

Some of you Google Reader people may not realize this, but I have a poll going for who should be the next President. So far the top two people are John McCain (he has 10 votes) and Alex Laird who has 8 votes. Barack Obama has like 7 and Hillary Clinton, not surprisingly, has none. (This is what happens when a bunch of Republicans read your blog.)

It unnerves me that my squiggly little brother has more votes than Barack Obama. I mean, The Kid isn't nearly so charismatic as that guy...plus he's not Senator of anything. I also think he wears mismatched socks, which I'm sure Barack Obama would never do.

Well, too bad The Kid isn't 35 yet. I'm also not convinced he is a natural born citizen. (I realize he is a born citizen - Mom will testify to that - it's the natural part I'm a little hesitant about.) So clearly he cannot run for President yet, but I figure that in, like, 20 years he'll be the man for the job.

The Kid, drop out of college and start forming your campaign. I will be your manager.

Oh for those of you a little bushed about how you can vote for Alex Laird in my poll but I'm talking about some kid named The Kid...Alex Laird is The Kid.

The Olympics: My Sacred Cow

I love the Olympics.  Every two years I become a total junkie and watch sporting events that I neither understand much about or would normally watch all because I love the competitive nationalism that is the Olympics.  I love it all from the parade of nations at the Opening Ceremonies to the final medal presentation at the very last event.  We don't own a TV, but Joey always ensures that we have one we can borrow for two weeks during the Olympics because he knows just how upset I'll be if I miss a moment of the games. 

So I didn't realize how emotionally attached I am to the Olympics until Monday morning.  There I was, hamstering away on an elliptical machine at 6:15 a.m. at the gym and unabashedly watching CNN on the big plasma TV (I'm first and foremost a news junkie) when they cut into the broadcast with breaking news from Paris.

The Olympic torch relay, of course.

I was quite transfixed as I watched protesters try to jump on the poor torch bearer and attempt to throw water over the police and Chinese security brigade that was surrounding the torch-bearer.  Indignant, I began to elliptical faster.  I began to feel very, very sorry for the gold-medalist athletes who were being honored by their country to carry the Olympic torch but were getting rotten vegetables thrown at them, among other things. 

I feel awful for the people in Tibet, really I do, and I would love to see them restored to autonomy.  But the Olympics aren't something that, in my opinion, should be hijacked for political motivations.  Diplomacy, people.  Diplomacy.  As I watched the rioting in Paris, the reporter said that the Olympic torch had been extinguished and they were completing the route by bus. It was then that I realized that I realized I had better think about something else or I would likely begin to cry.

Crying over Olympic torch relay protests?  I'm afraid it's true.  I may have moved beyond an Olympic junkie to an Olympic nerd.  So I am sitting here at 9 a.m. CST kind of nervous for the torch relay in San Francisco.  I hope no one gets hurt.

But can you even imagine how cool the opening ceremonies will be this year?  China has some awesome cultural things (those stretchy dragons with four people hidden inside that do the funky up-and-down dancing; I totally love those) and I can't wait to see how they display their country's traditions.

OK, that's enough schmaltz for one day.  You guys are going to all stop reading my blog if I'm not careful.

In Which Joey Gets Insulted By The Saleslady

Last night Joey and I went to the mall to return something.  I had planned to go by myself but he literally begged me to come along (does that sound like homework avoidance to anyone else?) and so off we went to NorthPark.  

As we neared our destination, the Clinique counter, Joey said "Um...I'll sort of go stand over there" and veered sharply off to the right, somewhere over past the shoe department.

I completed my transaction in very little time at all and was rather surprised to find Joey standing right outside Clinique-land looking sheepish.

"Hey babe, ready to go to the Apple store?" I asked. He was, of course.  That was his one request, that we visit the Apple store.

"So while you were taking back your thing, I went over to look at watches," he told me.

"Yeah?" I said, thinking that this story could be going someplace expensive.

"And the saleslady behind the counter came over to help me and asked me if I was 15!!"

"NO."  I gasped.

"Yes, she did.  Then I kind of tried to laugh it off for her so she wouldn't be so embarrassed, and mentioned that I was just waiting for my wife to finish something.  She was all shocked that not only was I not 15, but I was married, too."

"Yeah, I bet..."

Poor, poor Joey.  I mean, he was wearing a t-shirt, but I don't think that makes him look 15.  I think he looks very mature and responsible, thank you very much.

Jamba Juice

Yesterday Laura sent an email around informing everyone that today Jamba Juice is free from 6-10 a.m.  Joey and I figured that we wouldn't be able to go since we had this ridiculous cardio class at the gym this morning from 6-7, then Joey had class at 7:45 and I had to be at work by 8. 

To make a long and sort of boring story short, Joey and I both decided we could not miss out on the Jamba Juice opportunity.  So we loaded up into our cars at 7:35 and drove over to the nearest shop.  (Joey had decided to just show up late for class.  Model student.)

There were no "FREE" signs outside the store, but the doors were open and there were 2 people in line.

"How do we know if it's free?"  I whispered to Joey and Laura.

"There's a large banana outside," Laura whispered.

I looked at Laura, really not sure what she was talking about.

"Someone is wearing a banana suit," she said.  "That probably means it's free."

She pointed outside and I saw that yes, there was someone dressed up in a banana costume waving at cars zipping past.  Every time I see someone in a banana costume from now on I will assume that free and delicious things are close by.

We ordered our free drinks and as we waited for them, we noticed a stack of bread squares in little plastic containers.  They seemed like samples.

"Are those free?" Laura asked me.

"Well....I'll take one and eat it.  If I get in trouble, then it wasn't free.  If I don't get in trouble, then it must have been free."

We determined this to be a good course of action and, based on the fact that we didn't get in trouble, the bread squares were free.  It was cranberry-orange bread with sunflower seeds on top, so it had two major strikes against it in Joey's book.  He did not sample/pilfer any of the bread.

Free Jamba Juice drinks in hand, the three of us walked proudly out to our vehicles.  Joey took our car and went to class (very, very late indeed) and Laura and I headed down to work in her Jeep.  On the elevator up from the parking garage, I somehow managed to suction the straw from my juice so tightly to my upper lip that I had a very difficult time getting it off.  It still sort of hurts.

So far it has been a pretty good morning, and it's only 8:30!  Good thing I get free Chic-Fil-A for lunch today too...Do you think they'll have Cheetos?  That would totally make this day a trifecta.

Communion Wafers

Faith Bible Church, where I grew up in Iowa, has the coolest communion wafers. They're thin and crispy and when they're broken into bits they resemble the 50 nifty United States.  You can always find one of the states in your communion wafer at Faith Bible Church.  I'm not even kidding.

For as far back as I can remember, the minute I got my Communion wafer I'd decide which state it looked like, and then I'd pray.  Within a few years, I had all my sibs looking for states in their communion wafers.  (My favorite ones so far have been Maryland,  Kentucky and Mississippi.)  Mom was always extremely chagrined to find her four naughty children flipping their wafers around and backwards trying to decide which state they got this time.

(If any of the pastors or former pastors are reading this, the jig is up.  They'll be on to us next time.)

Many of you know that we've been church-hunting lately down here in Dallas.  The good news is that we found one, Grace Bible Church.  Yesterday was Communion Sunday.  Most of the churches we've visited on Communion day have had those little Chiclet type squares for their Communion wafers, and I think those are lame.  First of all, you have two options: Wyoming and Colorado, and second of all, they get stuck in your teeth.  (But cool Communion wafers really aren't the point of Communion.)

So as they were passing the plate of crackers yesterday, I was pleased to note that they were matzos.  Not quite as good as the onces FBC has, but they were a close second.  What was even more exciting was that I instantly saw that I had gotten Minnesota.

"Look, it's Minnesota!"  I whispered to Joey.

He flipped his around once or twice and then said, "Mine's Nevada.  Wait,I think yours actually looks more like Michigan," he hissed, breaking off a tiny piece of his wafer and putting it on the very top of mine, forming the UP.

"You can't do that.  You can't edit your wafer to make it be the state you want," I whispered back, making up rules on the fly.

Sometimes I am fairly certain that I'll be a real controversial pastor's wife.

Ya gotta be kidding me - restraining order?!

To put this as tactfully as possible, we have this former neighbor (she got evicted for reasons which will become apparent) who had this little obsession problem with us, namely Joey and Henry.  She pretty much just hates me now because back in September we asked her to leave us alone.  She figures this was all my doing and still worships the ground Joey walks on.  Henry too.

Anyway, she was evicted in December for harassing numerous other tenants and we were overjoyed.  We thought she would finally leave us alone since she had disregarded all of our previous polite requests.

Well, friends, turns out she hasn't been.

On Saturday I went to a bridal shower and took the car.  We only have one car, so if the casual observer (or middle-aged stalker lady) were to glance at the parking lot, they might think "Oh, the Woestmans aren't home".  This is exactly what former neighbor thought when she drove into our parking lot.  This analysis complete, she parked her car in the corner of the lot by our windows, rolled down hers and began yelling, "Henry, Henry, oh how are you?" up into our open windows.

But Joey was sitting at his desk, just out of sight, and as soon as he heard her he swooped down and grabbed Henry away from the window.  We already sort of assumed she was doing this, but now that we have caught her in the act, we decided to report it to our leasing office and the security firm for our housing complex.

The business manager at our leasing office was shocked, horrified, and suggested that we go to our nearest Police precinct and make an incident report in order to begin the processes for a restraining order.

A what?!

"She's really disturbed," our business manager told me, "And I recommend calling the police immediately the next time you see her.  Before something worse happens." 

Ominous.

I really think the police have better things to do than follow around a woman in her early 50s who has obsession issues.

So I made a report with our security firm and they felt dreadfully sorry for me.  They said they'd step up patrols and hopefully catch her in the act since everyone is so familiar with her and what her car looks like.

Another day, another drama.  (We just can't seem to keep it normal, can we?)  I'll definitely let you know if she gets caught and hauled off by the police for trespassing.

Henry Cuts His Own Fingernail

Last night when I came home from the baby shower I was attending, Joey and I sat in the office and talked for awhile.  Henry played happily on the floor like usual.  Joey glanced down to look at him and said, "Woah, what is that?  Is that blood on the carpet?"

Gross.  We examined the three spots and determined that yes, it was blood on our carpet.  Joey rushed to the bathroom to get the Sol-U-Mel (our version of carpet cleaner - it's all-natural, non toxic and creepy chemical free and yet it still works!) and a scrubber.  He sprayed down the spots throughly and began to scrub.  The bloody spot turned into a huge bloody smear, grossing us both out.

"Ew...I guess I should have blotted it first..." he said, then started pressed a paper towel heavily to it.

Joey is very noble to clean up most of the disgusting things in our house.  I'm quite happy to take care of dirt and food spills, but I just can't handle dog puke much, and probably not puppy blood.  (Although I don't know about that one because it's only happened once and Joey cleaned it up.)

"Where do you think it came from," he asked, glancing around.

"Maybe his rawhide?  He was chewing one when I left, sometimes he cuts his gums when he chews too hard," I suggested.  Henry truly isn't very bright...I'd stop chewing on something if it was making me bleed.

"No...the rawhide looks fine, it must be something else."  Joey noticed, examining the nasty puppy rawhide before setting it aside to get back to the spots, which were by now invisible.

"Look at his front paws, does one look bloody to you?"  I asked.

Joey looked and saw what I was pointing out.  He agreed that it looked bloody, so I picked up Henry and tried to move his paw in such a way that I would be able to ascertain just where this blood was coming from.  He jerked his paw away and curled it up close to his furry little chest and strained to get away from me.

"He's hurt!"  I wailed.  I hate it when my puppy is hurt, I always cuddle him very closely and tell him he'll be just fine while I scratch him in all his favorite places.  (This is the part where Mom and Laura, neither of which care much for dogs and Henry in particular, roll their eyes and say "It's a dog!"  But I choose to ignore them sometimes.)

I managed to pry Henry's little paw away from his body long enough to see that he had somehow ripped his dew claw in half.  (I didn't take any pictures.)

"Oh, poor buddy!  Joey, come see?  He ripped off his claw!"

Joey came to examine Henry's paw, but by that point Henry had had enough of me touching it and looking at it, he pulled his paw back to his chest and soundly refused to give it back to me.

"We'll have to take him to PetSmart tomorrow to get the rest of his nails trimmed," I said.  "Maybe they can put something on this so it doesn't get infected."  I had considered putting alcohol or peroxide on it, but I wasn't sure if that was wise and we don't have The Internets at home, so I had no way of looking it up online.

And so that was the excitement at the Woestman household last night.  Our dog chewed his own claw off and bled on our carpet.  (Well at least we figure he chewed it off...how else would it tear off like that?)

The Time The Guys Next Door Had Plywood Covering Their Door

On Saturday afternoon while Joey and Cuz were playing Rubik's cube in the study, I snuggled up in the chair with a book and read. After awhile I started noticing some hammering coming from outside, but I didn't really think much of it.

Joey came over about 10 minutes later.

"Are you pounding something?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, and pretended to pound the book against my knee.

He rolled his eyes at me and stepped out on the balcony to track down the hammering sound.

"Oh. My. Gosh. You have to come out here and look at this." Joey stage-whispered and waved feverishly to indicate that I must come now.

"What?" I asked, once out on the balcony. I didn't see anything unusual.

"Look over there, at the door just across the way." He pointed diagonally through the branches of the nice oak tree that shades our balcony in the summer but is currently leafless.

"Holy cows!" I crowed. "What is going on!"

The apartment door across the way had an enormous piece of plywood being nailed to it by two twenty-something guys wearing jeans and t-shirts.

"Do you think they got evicted? Is it a crime scene?" I asked, jumping up and down slightly. I have such an imagination.

"They probably didn't get evicted because those guys aren't wearing the uniform of the maintenance guys on the property. And it's not likely that it's a crime scene. I mean, they boarded the place up; they wouldn't do that if it was a crime scene." Joey is always more rational than I.

Cuz heard the commotion and he came over shortly. He too expressed interest in the goings-on across the way.

"I say one of you two go figure out what's going on," I demanded.

They both looked at me as though I had gone insane. They were clearly not going to go ask a couple of guys their own age what they were doing. I could see this meant I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.

"Well, if you won't then I will. I'm curious. I am going to go find out." I said. I picked up Henry and flounced out of the apartment and down the stairs.

Henry performed beautifully. I set him down in the grass, presumably to do his business, but he was more interested in what was going on across the way. He ran over and trotted right up the stairs where the guys were working at hammering in the last few nails on their massive plywood sheet.

"What, did your door break?" I asked, scooping up Henry and "chastising" him for interfering with strangers.

"Um....no..." they hedged. I could tell this was going to be good.

"This is our old roommates apartment," one guy offered. "And we're just playing a joke on him."

"Yeah," the other one jumped in, "He's at a bachelor party tonight and when he gets home in the morning he will be so hung over...it'll be hilarious."

Wow. Classy.

"Would you take a picture of us?" The first one asked, digging in his pocket for a camera.

You have got to be kidding me, I thought. But I gamely agreed to take several pictures. Unfortunately it was with their camera so I have none of them to post on my blog...but I took some of my own after they left, don't you worry.

They thanked me, packed up their stuff, slapped up a couple strips of "Caution" tape, and left.

I walked back in my own apartment very smugly and filled the boys in. We, of course, rushed out immediately to survey their handiwork. They were pretty good with a hammer, there were quite a lot of nails.The next afternoon we came upon two haggard looking guys prying off the plywood. They looked madder 'n a wet hen.

"Hey...you got it off!" Joey called to them, cheerfully.

"Some joke," the one mumbled.

We just laughed at them when we got inside. There are nail holes completely covering the space around their door. They are not getting their security deposit back; no way, no how.

Henry On The Fritz

Most evenings, Henry stares up at us from his doggy bed on the floor looking like this: Then, suddenly and without warning, he starts fritzing out. I cannot explain it. Watch the video and you will gain a clearer picture of the mental issues our dog has. But we still love him.

Time Flies...

Last evening after dinner, Joey and I went on a walk with Henry, who was bouncing off the walls and needed to blow off some steam. (But then, when is he not?) It was a beautiful evening...blue sky, green grass, new leaves on the trees, cool breeze - the whole kit 'n caboodle.

I was mentioning to Joey that yesterday was April 1 - the first day of the second quarter (if you are someone whose job revolves around quarters like mine does) and I was absolutely shocked that time had flown by so quickly.

"I have closed out five quarters now. Five," I said. "A year and a half ago I couldn't have even told you when the quarters were, much less know what closing one out entailed."

"It is pretty amazing," Joey said. "You know, though, by the end of this quarter we will be halfway through our three years in Dallas."

"WHAT?!" I wailed. "Are you kidding me?! Already?"

I really like Dallas. I love our friends. I think I'll really like the new church we are going to (but we're barely involved at all yet, so it's still all awkward and stuff). I like NorthPark. I like going on walks wearing short sleeves and flip-flops when there's still 6 inches of snow and ice on the ground in Iowa.

"I know...it's gone so fast..." and then Joey launched into a discussion of how best to pay for the semesters and summer sessions we have coming up in order to get done as quick as possible.

"You know, I'm kind of getting sad we're almost halfway done," Joey said.

"Me too," I replied.

Moving to Dallas is the best thing we've ever done. Back when we lived in Iowa and Joey was going to seminary up there, an older woman whose husband was a graduate told me that the years of their marriage on which they looked back with the fondest memories were those they spent in seminary. I thought she was crazy; I hated being a seminary wife up there....it made me want to poke my eye out repeatedly.

But really I think I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. We're still in Dallas for twoish more years (thank God!), and I fully intend to squeeze every single minute of enjoyment out of them.

OK, friends, I tried again.  This time I submitted an article to Boundless, a Focus on the Family webzine for teenagers and college students.

Seeing as they probably get a bajillion submissions every week, I intend to forget that I have even sent one in so that if they ever get back to me I will be pleasantly surprised.

Bran Muffins

Last night I got some potentially sad news. I decided that I really had two options:
1.) Be sad. Be very, very sad even though the extent of the sad news is not yet known.
2.) Wait until we figure out how sad (or not sad) the news winds up being so that, when the time is right, I can be appropriately sad.

After some deliberation, I chose Option 2. It made more sense to me to do more praying about the sad news than sit on the couch glumly when I wasn't even really sure how sad to be. And since Lairds (and I am genetically a Laird) tend to be Worst Case Scenario type people I knew I had better move on to other things or I would blow everything out of proportion and reduce myself to drivel. So I baked bran muffins. With raisins.

I was quite pleased with the recipe since it required bran, applesauce, and very little butter. I put in whole wheat flour instead of white. I soaked the raisins in water so they were nice and juicy. (Joey's now gagging as he reads this.) I generously scooped the batter into the well-greased muffin tin and soon they were baking in the oven.

The kitchen was, of course, a giant mess. But that's the point of baking bran muffins when one is saddish about something that hasn't happened yet - it requires one to do something productive instead of blithering around and making oneself sick with worrying about tomorrow. (For tomorrow will worry about itself...Matt 6:24)

So I cleaned it up and enjoyed the cinnamon-molassesy smell of my delicate bran muffins baking in the oven. I pulled them out just a minute before they were "done" so the insides were still moist and deliciously crumby. Because I planned to take these with me tomorrow morning, I sliced one open so I could taste test.

"Those," called Joey from the study, "Smells awesome."

"Thanks! Want one?" I asked.

"Um...I better not. I'd hate to spit out a raisin and offend you."

And so I enjoyed my bran muffin all by myself and ceased my "worrying about tomorrow". Joey and I prayed about it together instead.

So, really, three good things happened last night.
1.) Joey and I went on a walk
2.) I made bran muffins, which are delish
3.) I stopped worrying

Why April Will Stink

Just a glimpse into part of the weekend at the Woestman house.  Joey was working on a gargantuan paper and I was bored.  He was in the study and I was in the living room.  Pretty much the entire conversation took place on opposite sides of the house with the two of us hollering back and forth because I had a case of The Boreds so bad that I was incapable of moving from my chair.  (And if Gail Showman heard me say that she'd tell me to go sweep the floor, so it's a good thing she doesn't read this blog.)

Me:  Are you done yet?
Joey:  No.  I have...8 more points left.
Me: trying to read a book but putting it down  How long will 8 points take?
Joey:  Probably two hours.
Me:  Two hours?!  Gosh...that paper is wicked long.  I'm bored.

And, once the floor sweeping word (that would be "bored" for those of you who didn't grow up sweeping Gail's floor just about every Saturday) was uttered, I knew I had to do something.  So I tried to fold the towels.  It took about three times longer than normal because I kept getting distracted by things.  Then I started another load of laundry and considered folding the sheets I had taken out of the dryer.  That was clearly too much effort, so I left them on the floor (I KNOW!!) and went back to my chair to holler back and forth across the house with Joey.

Me:  Did you write some more?
Joey:  Yes.
Me:  Will you be done soon?
Joey:  Still about two hours.

Henry came over and tried to get me to play with him.  But I was too bored to exert the effort required to throw his chocolate covered strawberry toy across the house, so he finally just lay down at my feet.  I decided to order a pizza for dinner because it would require me to go get it.  So I did.  Henry and I left the house at 6:15 and didn't return until 7:15 because I got lost on the way to the pizza place and then found it, only to discover that I had ordered from a totally different location altogether.  Not to be deterred, I had them make me another pizza and I stayed there to wait for it.

After the pizza was consumed and the kitchen was cleaned up, I went into the office.

Me:  So...what about those Half Price Books coupons?
Joey:  I'm almost done.  Want me to go with?  Or maybe you could walk over now and then when you get back I'll be finished.
Me:  Good idea.

So I walked to Half Price books, bought two books which would have each been $13 dollars brand new for a total of $5.50, once the coupons were factored in, and came home.

Joey:  I finished my paper!
Me:  HOORAY!  Now I want you to sit on the couch and read a book for fun for awhile.  I will bake you cookies.
Joey:  OK!

And so he did, and I did.

I'm going to have to come up with something to do the next couple weekends besides hang out with my superfun husband because I think I'm probably a distracting annoyance.  Bring on the first week in May!

Henry's New Trick

Earth Hour part 2

It's one of those lovely spring mornings where the ground is wet, the air is tepid and the birds are jawing back and forth like the Jets and the Sharks. I'm sitting outside the Clubhouse freeloading off the Internets so I can run my Googlebox. I wanted to post some pictures of our successful Earth Hour last night! Let me tell you, it's hard to make lasagne in the dark, especially when using spelt noodles for the first time...those things do not act normally.

Joey whipped out his camera and took several pictures of Cuz trying to read the Bourne Identiy in the dark. Poor Cuz.


Woah, I'm outta battery. Gotta go back home now!

Earth Hour!

I checked my email today and had a jolly email from Laura asking me if I'd seen that Google was black today and if Joey and I were participating in Earth Hour. Seeing that Earth Hour is an environment cause, I was immediately on board and clicked my way over to the page to read about it.

People participating in Earth Hour turn the lights off in their homes from 8pm to 9pm in their respective time zones on March 29 to raise awareness about our massive global energy usage.

That is why, after I'm done posting this post, I am going to go home and make lasagne in the dark. I'm serious. I hope it turns out and I don't burn anything.

Good thing Laura emailed me about it.

Whistle While You Work

OK, so I can't whistle, it's true. (Joey has tried to teach me, but to no avail.) But the concept is still there.

I hate to iron. I hate it even worse than vacuuming and, as all my siblings know from growing up, I will do almost anything to avoid vacuuming. Conveniently Brother actually liked to vacuum, but I always made sure to beat everyone else to the chore chart on Saturdays so I could pick dusting and cleaning the bathrooms and not get stuck running the vacuum. But this has nothing to do with ironing.

On Tuesday night I walked into the closet after work and was almost knocked over by the pile of ironing that I had been "saving for a rainy day". I'd like to think that someday when I don't have a full time, semi-stressful job I will wear a linen apron and high heels around my house and joyfully iron every shirt as soon as it comes out of the dryer, all while making applesauce and strawberry jam. Unfortunately this is not my reality, though, so I pile the ironing and usually do it once a week. (I think it had been two or three weeks worth, though, because the ironing was starting to weigh down the ironing board.)

"I have to do ironing tonight," I said glumly to Joey. "I hate ironing. It's hot and boring."

"You'll probably be OK," he reassured me.

"Can you set up the ironing board for me? If it's already set up then I'll feel like a loaf if I sit here and look at it knowing that I still have to do ironing this evening."

Joey happily agreed to set up the ironing board (probably because 2 of his pairs of khakis are in that ironing pile) and we moved it out into the large empty space in between the living room and Joey's study. He flopped himself on the futon and started to read this 5 lb. textbook while I filled the water in the iron and made sure it was plugged in.

I could no longer stall. I had to bite the bullet.

"I'm going to put my iPod on while I do this, OK?" I always check first if I wear my iPod in the house.

"Sure," he said.

"That means that I might sing. Loudly. It will keep me from wanting to poke my eye out."

"No problem," he replied.

So I cranked up my iPod and started singing along, rather softly at first. It never takes long, though, before I start to wonder if the neighbors can hear me. But this time I didn't care because I was ironing. Ew. After awhile, though, the song that Sister and I sang at Christmas came up and I forgot that Joey was studying. I forgot that I was ironing. I was pretending that I was back home in Faith Bible Church singin' with Sister and Mom on the piano. Because of my little daydream, I had momentarily forgotten that I was doing ironing and I was probably singing so loud that I was blowing off the rafters. (But then I quickly stopped doing that because I was getting homesick and one should try to avoid homesickness while doing ones least favorite chore.)

Joey got up and went over to the iPod bowl (yes, we have a bowl of iPods) and got out his Shuffle.

"What, is it that bad?" I teased him.

"I can't concentrate," he replied. I guess I don't really blame him. I mean, I was harmonizing with Chris Rice and that's got to sound extremely silly to someone on the other side of the headphones.

And, shortly, after singing my way through the ironing...I was done. Forty minutes after I started. Gosh I hate ironing.

Joey was almost asleep last night when I asked, "If I wanted to walk to Iowa, how long would it take?  Gas prices are wicked high."

He didn't say anything for awhile, I thought he was asleep.  Then, "Three months."

"Oh, that's a long time.  What if...hypothetically speaking...I wanted to saddle up Henry and ride him to Iowa so I wouldn't have to walk.  How long would that take?"

This was a very hypothetical situation since:
a.)  Henry is a dog
b.)  He only weighs 14 pounds and that's a lot, lot less than me
c.)  Henry walks really slow

"I think....6 months."

"Oh," I said, "So I guess I'll never do that then."

"No..." he said, driftily.

A few minutes later I said, "I can't sleep.  I'm not tired at all."

Joey recommended that I go out in the living room and read a book.  (I think maybe he wanted me to leave him alone and not ask him any more hypothetical situation type questions.)

Since posting the previous, Joey found the pictures for me and we discovered that the waterproof case for the camera actually costs more than the camera itself. (I figure we might as well forgo that purchase.)

But here are the pictures. It pretty much looks like a camera.


(That spidery looking thing is called a Gorillapod and you can wind it around tree branches and stuff if you need to take self portraits or group pictures and you're in the wild with no one nearby to hold the camera.)

My New Camera

I'm in big trouble. Two days ago Joey sent me pictures of my cute new camera so I could post them on my blog, but I lost them somewhere on my computer. I have no idea where they got saved when I pulled them out of Mail Big File. And, thus, I have none to show you.

But I finally got my new little point and shoot. It's a teensy little Canon PowerShot, 7.1 megapixels and is about the size of a pack of Trident sticks. It takes wicked awesome pictures that are sure to make my Pops jealous (a major selling point when selecting aforementioned camera) and he has instructed me to "bring it on Boundary Waters".

Joey is now looking into a getting its waterproof case because, knowing us, if we take it up there we'll manage to drop it in the lake.

Because my camera is so tiny I can carry it with me wherever I go now (it's here with me as I speak), which makes me a lot cooler than I ever was before because I can now post all sorts of pictures of the trouble we find ourselves in.

And if I hadn't lost the files I could post some pictures of my camera right now. Joey even had some of it all hooked up on its Gorillapod tripod thingy, but...I can't.

180˚

Two nights ago Joey said, "I have this song I want to play for you. It's by Linkin Park; the Kid sent it to me."

"Linkin Park?"  I asked, surprised.  Two years ago he'd have never mentioned such a thing.

"Yeah, we analyzed the music video at work.  It's really well done artistically, plus the song is cool."

And so Joey cranked up the speakers and "What I've Done" pulsed through our apartment.

"Oh, I know this song," I said a few bars in.

"You do?"  Joey asked.

"Yep...I used to love Linkin Park," I replied.

"I did not know that about you," he told me.  And turned up the music a little bit more and sang along.  Only the song was so loud I could barely hear him.

"Do you think Downstairs Neighbor will get upset?"  I asked loudly.

But he didn't hear me.  He just kept singing along, so I went to start a load of laundry, smiling at this example of just one major changes our lives have gone through in the last couple years.

Linkin Park cranked to 11?  No problem at all.  I could really get used to this whole freedom in Christ thing.

While I was at the gym trying to stay balanced on a half-moon shaped ball and trying not to fall off, Joey was at home getting ready to ride his bike in to work. He came back in the bedroom to make the bed after he finished getting ready and found this...

The Easter Dress

Every year of my entire life I have gotten an Easter dress. Joey has continued the tradition since we've been married and, last week, he said "We need to go shopping for your Easter dress. I have it all picked out, we just need to go buy it."

"OK..." I said, really quite surprised. I figured that I wouldn't get an Easter dress this year, what with living in Dallas and all, but obviously I was wrong. "Are you sure?"

"I like buying you dresses," Joey told me. "Plus I set aside money for it."

Joey took me to the mall and deposited me in front of a short blue dress with a matching jacket.

"The jacket costs more than the dress by, like $20, so we won't get that part until it goes on clearance. But I want you to get this dress right here, go try it on."

I looked at the dress. It was shorter than I normally wore by, like....inches. "It looks short," I said.

"Not too short," he told me, and shooed me off to the fitting room.

I came out of the fitting room and Joey said, "I like it. We're buying it."

And that was that.

George vs. Henry

On Friday morning, we got up at 8:00 and rushed around the house finishing up the cleaning. Henry wandered around aimlessly, as usual, and fell asleep again here and there before we decided we probably should take the kid outside.

Joey drew the short straw, so he called Henry over to the door and opened it up. Henry stopped dead in his his tracks. Outside the door sat George, the cat monstrosity.


"Jenna, George is outside," he called to me.

I completely freaked out, as usual, and ran haphazardly to get the camera. I handed it carefully to Joey and said, "Take tons of pictures."

He took four. (Only four!) Then he called Henry back to the door and tried to get him to go outside. Henry would have none of it. Joey carried him outside and set him down at the top of the stairs. Henry just sat there looking at George and refusing to move. Joey finally had to pick him up, carry him downstairs to do his thing, then carry him back upstairs.

"Wimp," Joey muttered to Henry. He set him down at the top of the stairs again and, just as he did so, George whipped out his paw and popped Henry in the cheek with his claws. Henry yelped and ran inside.
George: 1
Henry: 0

A rare picture of a photographer in the wild

This past weekend we had an SF retreat in Scroggins, TX (couldn't resist) and more pictures will be coming later. (Probably later in the week, actually.)

But when Joey and I were looking through the few pictures we took, we came across the one I'm about to show you.

"Woah!" he said, "A picture of Laura! Without a camera!"

"That is indeed rare," I concurred.

I think it's a cute picture. And since this is my blog and I can do whatever I want, I'm posting it.

Poor Henry

Yesterday afternoon Joey and Henry were playing Henry's favorite game: rough house.  "Rough House" generally involves Henry, his gargantuan CareBear (the one from the Dumpster), and either Joey or I.  Henry was in rare form because we had company, so he was in high spirits and bouncing around like a rabbit - it was pretty cute.  Joey and Henry growling at each other and swiping at each other's paws in a way that would scare my mom for fear of "What if Henry bites him?"

Poor Mom.

Anyways, there they were on the floor, Henry with his front two paws on Joey's knee bouncing and swatting as though his little, furry, freshly-bathed life depended on it.  But suddenly, he let out the most torturous puppy scream I've ever heard and jumped back, limping with his back right leg.

"HENRY!!"  I screamed, "What did you do to him?"  I asked Joey.

"I have no idea what happened...I wasn't even touching his back legs,"  Joey said, going over to our poor puppy and scooping him up gently.  Henry had large eyes - larger than usual - and was very quiet and still.

"We killed him!"  I wailed, trying to decide what one does it one's dog-child has a medical emergency on a weekend.  (They don't treat dogs at the local hospital last I checked.)

The guests and Joey hovered around poor Henry and examined his back right leg.  The muscles were tense and shaking.  I felt decidedly sick.  I will be a basket case when this is my own child!  I thought. (But I am not pregnant.)

"Poor Buddy!" I said loudly.  Joey put down the fluffy puppy and he limped over to the chair and lay down in front of it.  I couldn't bear to have my puppy being in pain, so I went over and picked him up and massaged his right leg.  I could feel what seemed to be an icky muscle cramp so I kept rubbing.  After a few moments, his leg stopped twitching and I set him down on the ground.  He walked over to Joey without so much as a hitch in his gitalong and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Wow...what happened?"  I asked.

"I have absolutely no idea.  Maybe he twisted wrong on his leg while he was bouncing around?"  Joey suggested. "Could have been a cramp, too."

In any case, Henry is fine now.  We took him on a nice walk last evening and he pranced along like the trooper he always is.  (He even got his freshly washed paws into something nice and black so they are now a very dark shade of gray.)

We may be, just maybe, too attached to our puppy.

Bob The Bum

The Kid recently said to me, "Lady, read this. I wrote it when I was small."

And so I did.

He was a real strange kid, as you're about to find out. One should mention that, when The Kid wrote the story you're about to read he was unaware of what "snogging" is and didn't realize that "Lea" is actually a woman's name.

Bob The Bum

by Alex Laird

Bob was a very lazy gourd. Ever since Bob was born, 82 years ago at 1212 Gourds Road, Gourdyville Minnesota, he's been sitting around watching sports and TV shows, not paying any attention to the people around him. Bob's parents Amy and Lea Snogging, tried to stop him from watching all those soap operas, comedies and sports games. All the soap operas were bad, some of the comedies were fine, like "Fresh Prince of Bel Air," or "Life with Lou," but some weren't.

Bob would run the remote with his long red tail, and hold his coke with one of his blue hands. In the other hand he would hold a gooey chewy chocolate bar. Bob would listen with his two big white ears, and watch with his 4 regular eyes. He would eat and drink from his two tube eyes, which also served as telescopes. On the top of Bob's head he had red hair. Bob always wore a hat.

Now Bob is old, serious, and grumpy.

Bob's parents died 12 years ago and he was sad, but relieved that he could now watch all the comedies, soap operas, and sports games that he wanted to.

In Bob's spare time, he would call Best Buy and tell them that he was coming in to work. Bob's would eat Pizzas and Tacos every day.

If you can't beat 'em...

Our cozy little apartment has a stackable washer and dryer tucked away in a closet. (The closet has French doors and two weeks ago I walked past and was horrified to notice that the slats were covered in lint and dust. I dropped everything and cleaned them, much to the chagrin of my husband who said, "I bet nobody even noticed that before. I never did and I live here.")

But last Wednesday, the spin cycle on our washer gave up the ghost.

"Joey, something's wrong with this washer. The towels are dripping wet." He came over to analyze and, after a short time, it was decided that our washer was busted and there was nothing left to do but call Maintenance.

The next day when we came home there was a note on our table telling us that our washer and dryer unit was to be replaced.

"I'm so excited!" I squealed. "Maybe the new one will be more energy efficient! And quieter!"

Joey was kind of ambivalent about the whole affair, mostly because the discovery of a new washer-dryer unit came around dinner time and he was hungry.

Later in the evening, though, when I was pulling out whatever had been in the dryer, I thought of something. I glanced down in the space between the washer and the wall and I gasped.

Now, for those of you who may be deceived and think I'm really...neurotic about keeping my house clean, this'll bring you a good dose of reality. (Mom, don't read this next part. You will lose all confidence in my housekeeping abilities.) For the last year, instead of throwing the lint from my dryer away, I have been stuffing it in the space between the washer and the wall. I began doing this after we moved in and I noticed that someone before us had done the same. It was disgusting, true, but all the lint was already down there and lint is disgusting anyway...so I figured I'd just join in.

But, friends, after a year of lint removal...the lint is now entirely fills the empty space between the washer and the wall (it's a good 2 1/2 inches) and is halfway up the washer.

"JOEY! What do we do? The repairmen are going to get avalanched by lint when they come to change out our washer and...nobody was ever supposed to know that I do this!"

He glanced down at The Lint Problem. "Ooh. Yeah, that's bad. Maybe the vacuum? We could suck it out with one of the attachments?"

"That might work," I said. And then we forgot about it.

Until today. I called the office to find out when they were replacing my unit and was told by a cheerful lady, "Oh, today probably."

The lint!! I thought. I am so in for it when I get home....it will be all over my carpet...and my secret will be totally out. The repairman is going to think I'm the biggest, scurviest housekeeper he's ever encountered and he'll tell all his repairman friends about the lint cache he found in our apartment.

This is what I get for just assuming that stuffing lint down a crack would make it go away.

But you wanna know something really bad? I used to throw the lint behind the dryer when I was a kid. Even though I knew I wasn't supposed to. (I really hope Mom stopped reading way up there or she'll probably make a huge lint mess in my house when they come down in May to pay me back for my childhood disobedience.)

It Came Back To Bite Me

Three years ago I had a dreadfully embarrassing thing happen to me. You know, like the kind that women submit to those ladies magazines? Well, three years ago I worked for a Chiropractor in Iowa and, on one slow afternoon when no one was coming in, we found ourselves flipping through one of those aforementioned ladies magazines that was floating around in the lobby. We were bored.

I had recently shared my embarrassing moment with my coworkers and suddenly one suggested "Jenna! You have to submit it to this magazine, I'm really sure they'd put it in."

"I don't know..." I hedged.

"Do it," they said. I wrote down the email address for submissions and slipped it in my purse.

And so, the next time I was at Kirkendall Public Library I found myself typing an email to a certain magazine's submissions department.

After several weeks of not receiving a response, I got distracted by my upcoming wedding and forgot all about the whole thing.

Imagine my surprise, then, when last month I received an email from the magazine. I almost deleted it without reading it first, but on a whim I opened it up. Was I ever surprised when I read:

"Thank you for submitting your embarrassing moment. We are going to publish it in our April issue. What is the city and state where you live?"

I emailed back with my city and state before thinking about what I had just done.

Oh. My. Gosh. What if people read the magazine and recognize me? I can't even remember what exactly I wrote!! So I freaked myself out but good and started checking the magazine racks at the grocery store with a paranoid frequency.

And then. Yesterday. I received an email from someone I barely know asking me "was that you in the April issue of such-and-such magazine?"

Yes, yes it was me.

I was feeling more embarrassed about submitting The Story than I was about The Story itself. Ugh. At this point, my panic to find a copy of the April issue of such-and-such magazine increased about...tenfold. I had checked both Targets just the day before and had been unsuccessful in finding April, so I figured I had several more days to psych myself up for the impending "was that you?" that I was sure to receive. Come on, how many Jenna Woestmans from Dallas could there possibly be?

That's what I thought too.

Last night we were out on the town with some friends from Iowa who have been down sleeping on our air mattress and getting jumped on by Henry the Evil Fiend, and we passed a Borders.

"Can I stop in there on the way back? I...I need to check something," I asked. Everyone was nice and acquiesced. An hour and a half later, I found myself walking out of the Borders with The April Issue in my hand. It was duly passed around and read by all. (That's what I get, huh?)

And, so, I am finally published. In a ladies magazine which, unless you are a girl and ask extremely nicely, will henceforth remain unnamed.

"You can put this in your portfolio, hon! You got published!" Joey teased me.

Now there's an idea.