Time Out Chair

One of the lovely things about this time of the year is that the mail box is filled with magazines peddling junk that no body in their right mind would actually purchase, even if they were quadzillionaires.

See exhibit A:  the "Time Out Stool".*  In navy.

First, this is exactly how I picture Little Jack Horner, of children's poetry fame, looking after his mother discovered he had stuck his finger in the Christmas pie. 

Second, is that timer made of glass?  If the answer is "yes", then I can already tell you it has a design flaw...the very first thing to get kicked, while a child is sitting on this thing, pissed as a hornet, would be that glass.  And, BOOM!  Sand all over the house. 

Even the website mentions that this thing isn't a toy and requires adult supervision, just in case of "rowdiness, rough-housing, and buffoonery" which could "cause it to break".

However thought ordering this was a good idea DOESN'T HAVE KIDS.  They wouldn't be in time out to begin with if they weren't rowdy, rough-housing buffoons!

And five minutes?  Are you serious?  Five minutes worth of sand?  HELLO.  I start at 20 minutes and work my way UP.

But, if you have angels who wouldn't 1) kick 2) need more than five minutes of time out and 3) have $69 plus tax and shipping to spend this holiday season, I'd highly encourage you to buy one of these.

I'll come to your house, without my kids, and admire it.

*Mine is a fashionable, Rubbermaid, plastic gray stool.  And, under $15, including tax.

Fourteen Carrot

This morning Mike and I awoke to wish each other a happy fourteenth wedding anniversary.  And, even though the day is overcast and rainy, we have so many reasons to rejoice.

Take the fact that the weather isn't picture-perfect:  gives us a chance to cuddle up under an umbrella, Mike's arm around my shoulder, when we have our Tuesday date lunch.  It will feel just like it did when we were dating, before kids came along and our foot-loose-and-fancy-free days were changed to foot-chained-to-gas-pedal weeks on end.

Or, check out the picture above.  This little carrot will forever symbolize this anniversary.  It came from a two-pound bag of carrots I've been using for the past couple of weeks. 

Every weekday, I reach into the bag and choose a carrot to peel and cut for the boy's lunch sacks.

And, each day, up until today, I had not laid eyes on this veggie or felt it in the bag in my usual morning quest for the "perfect" carrot.*

I showed the boys, who each made his own plea to take it to school.  I denied them that right, knowing this carrot needed to be photographed.

Then, I told the boys that this was an anniversary carrot--sent just in time to celebrate Mom and Dad's anniversary.  It looked just like two people who had become one.

When Mike made his way to the kitchen, I showed him too.  He thought it was really cool.

After the rush of getting breakfast on the table, lunches packed, and carpool run, I came back home to a counter full of dishes.  And, as I was thinking about writing a post for our anniversary while I stacked the dishwasher, I started to think about the carrot again.

And I cried.

I realized that this was a little love note sent from God to me and Mike;  a wink that He thinks we make a really fine couple.  And that the He remembers us, extra especially on important days like this.

And, I'd love to think, that Mom had a hand in it, too.  She had a knack for picking out unusual, but very thoughtful, timely, and appropriate gifts.  I certainly think an entwined carrot would make that cut.

It's all about blessings today.  Or, more appropriately about recognizing the enormous blessings and acknowledging that they are straight from God.

Some would think that an anniversary wouldn't be complete without dinner and dancing and a night with just hubby.

But, me?  I'll gladly take a fourteen carrot wedding anniversary over all that stuff.

Happy Anniversary, Mike.  After all these years, you are still my Knight in Shining Armor!


*Some carrots just don't make the grade in my house.  They are plucked out of the bag and become treats for the dogs after they've been peeled and washed.  Yes, I know:  spoiled, weird, carrot-loving dogs. 

Fish Lessons

This morning, I had the distinct privilege of cleaning all three Betta tanks.

That makes Mom:  123 tank cleanings.  Kids:  0.

Truly, I would feel horrible about the slow, oxygen-deprived death these fish would die if I just left he water murky and gross, if I waited until the kid noticed and decided belly-up isn't fashionable for fish and sprung into action.

But, none of us is going to live long enough to see THAT happen.

Part of the process of tank changes is transferring the fish from their tank to a glass while I change the water.  Generally, I have a small, plastic cup as a holding tank.  But, this morning, my counters had been cleaned* of all dirty dishes, including the plastic, and the only cup available was glass.

Now, these are your standard Walmart brand glass with octagonal sides.  Until I poured red fish into the cup, I had never realized that the interior is reflective, almost like a mirror.

Point nine seconds after hitting the cup, red puffed up like a blowfish, all gills and attitude.  He looked like a chicken who was pecking the ground, searching for feed, the way he was going from place to place, hitting the glass, trying to peck a hole in the "other fish" he saw.

Peck, move, peck, move, peck, puff, peck, puff, peck, move.

Honestly, this whole pecking episode looked like it hurt.  And, meantime, I had put fish pellets into the water.  Instead of gulping down his meal, red was way too busy being mad to even notice the blessing above him.

It reminded me how stupid fish truly are.  Their supposed three second memory even became questionable in my mind as I watched his little dance of anger.  He just wouldn't quit, pursuing this other fish until I moved him back to his real tank.

Then, I had an "AHA" moment;  I realized "HOLY COWBELLS!  I'M NOT SO DIFFERENT THAN THAN THAT DUMB BETTA FISH."

How many times have I gotten all riled up over nothing?

How many times have I blown a situation out of proportion based on faulty reasoning?

How many times have I lost focus of the blessing because I was busy being focused on something inconsequential?

"Too often" is the quiet answer that settled in my soul.

When you choose to live peaceably with those around you, pardoning offenses, forgiving misplaced actions, ignoring hurtful comments, you choose to swim in healthy, clean waters.  You choose a path that few understand;  but, your soul knows it is right.

How many of us prefer the dirty, stale water, being at war with ourselves and others around us?

It's time I learned from red that overreacting and poor thinking and self-deprecation are no way to live.

I should be pleased that my life, the proverbial tank I've been charged with, is no place to dwell when I've made it cloudy and murky.  I need to embrace the forgiveness that cleans my environment and soul, even if others choose to live in the mire.  I need to focus on the blessings of my life instead of worrying about those around me.

And, mostly, I need to be thankful that God chose to use a tiny, red fish to teach me these lessons.