Unglued

I wasn’t going to watch American Idol this season.  After last year, I was done.  The talent pool was so shallow, it was scummy and green.  I was disappointed in the panel of judges.  No one seemed to want to tell the truth and give the singers the advice I thought they needed.

But I listened as the scuttlebutt started this season.  People were talking about it on Facebook, talk shows, blogs – everywhere.  My DVR was still set to record the episodes, so I started watching a few minutes out of each week’s programs.

This pool of talent is not shallow.  It’s deep, cool, and beautifully diverse.  I was liking what I was hearing and really enjoying this panel of judges.  The Dawg, J-Lo, and the Original Skinny Jeans Rocker were doing a nice job of telling the truth and providing real musical commentary for the singers.

I must say I’m especially impressed with Steven Tyler.  He really tells it like it is and has valuable advice for the kids.  I could do without his strange leering looks at the young ladies, but I’m thinking he may have vision issues.  After all, at his age, things start to happen.  But I must insist that he do something about those readers he puts on when he has to consult his notes.  Really, Steven.  Did you get those at Walgreen’s?  Dude, call me.  I know some good optometrists who could hook you up.  Maybe some bifocals contacts are in order?  Or at least a better frame.  Because, when you put on those readers, I think you’re a dead ringer for Benjamin Franklin and Whoopie Goldberg’s love child.

I digress.  Last night, I decided I was ready to commit to a full episode.  I love the Beatles and those kids did them proud.  I was blown away by the trio’s version of “Long and Winding Road.”  I honestly don’t know how the judges could make decisions about who had to go and who could stay.

I’ve had an up and down relationship with Jennifer Lopez.  I first met her and thought she was darling when she was a Fly Girl on “In Living Color.”  I can honestly say you won’t find any of her music on my Zune, but I cringed as she went through her Rapster Moll-Ben Gigli-Media Overload Stage.  I wondered if she had the chops to be a real judge on a singing contest.

I had a Jennifer epiphany last night.  Would that be a jenniphany?  There she sat in the cool white and chrome chair, in that emerald dress with her Veronica Lake hair (Google "Veronica Lake" if you want to see what I mean).  She had to tell Chris Medina that he was going home.  She told him how she felt.  She told him his character was not defined by winning a singing contest.  She told him his integrity was his greatest asset.  I’m paraphrasing, but that’s what she said.

Right before my eyes, she turned into Mrs. Jenny Anthony.  She was a gal I’d love to friend on Facebook.  I’d meet her for a latte any day.  She’d listen to my stories about raising twins and tell me a few of her own.  She’d share her hair care secrets and tell me how they get her makeup to look so natural.  She’d tell me what it’s like to sob while wearing false eyelashes.

Because, when you broke down and cried Mrs. Anthony, I, along with your eyelashes, became unglued.

Okay, Fox Network, I’m hooked.  I’ll see if I can find The Hubster’s Gorilla Glue and put the pieces back together.  I’ll see you Thursday night.

Too Blessed to Stress

I watched “Minute to Win It” the other night.  It’s not one of those shows I tune into each week, but the kids and I were looking for something to watch together and this was the compromise.  I refuse to watch one more episode of something on Nick or Disney that involves a band of tweens who think they can sing. 

This episode of the game show featured two gal-pals from Kansas City, Kansas.  I was a bit put off by them at first.  Someone at the show thinks that all girls from Kansas must look and dress like Mary Ann from “Gilligan’s Island.”  Really?  Have you been to KCK lately?  And, after living in Kansas for seven years, I’ve met several women who grew up on farms and 1) Not one is named Mary Ann; b) they don’t wear short denim “Daisy Dukes” with gingham blouses and put their hair in pigtails; and 4) we all agree that The Professor should have his tenure revoked.  Dude, you can make a car out of cocoanuts but can’t get seven people off an island? 

I digress.  After I got over how they looked and how they were being “marketed” by the show’s producers, I found out these darlin’ young ‘uns were trying to make money to build orphanages in Third World countries.  I thought, “Hmm, some entertainment for the kids with a positive message thrown in to boot.  Maybe the boys will learn something here…”

But, as always, God had a lesson for me instead of the boys.  As the pressure built and the suspense heightened and the potential windfall for the orphanages got bigger, the girls got a phone call.  It was one of their dads, calling in to give them advice and be a voice of calm.

I don’t know what all he said, because I stopped listening and paying much attention after he said this:  “It doesn’t matter what happens next.  Just relax.  You’re too blessed to stress.”

Does God speak to you with fanfares and flourishes?  At that moment, it seemed to me that United States Marine Band had stopped by and was beating out “Fanfare for the Common Man” at ffff.  (That’s “really loud” for your non-musicians.)

Too blessed to stress. 

Finally, I get it.  When I’m tied up in knots about something trivial or major, I need to be reminded that I am blessed.  When I’m facing a fight that needs to be solved in a minute to win it, I need to remember:  Don’t stress, you’re blessed.

Apostle Paul, I get it:  “Therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”  (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Who knew God could use a game show with a couple of Mary Ann-impersonators to change me.  Who knew?  He knew.

I Heart Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day and I have always had a love/hate relationship.  I’ve had some really stinky Valentine’s Days.  In High School, one of the student organizations sold carnations on Valentine’s Day.  It seemed to me that every girl in school walked around that day with at least one carnation.  EXCEPT me.  Always the flower-holder, never the receiver.

Maybe this was the reason?

Okay, that was 6^th grade, not high school, but still:  Yikes!

I dated a florist for a while.  I couldn’t wait for Valentine’s Day that year.  I just knew I was going to get a bouquet that would make up for all the past bouquet-less years.  But the day ticked by, minute by minute with no delivery.  I knew he was working crazy hours, so I didn’t expect to see or hear from him that day.  The next day, he called me.  In the middle of him telling me how tired he was from working 48 hours straight, I blurted out something like, “Where are my flowers?”  His answer:  “Oh, I forgot.”  Forgot?  Really?  I think we broke up the next week.   

When The Hubster and I got together, and Valentine’s Day rolled around, I made it very clear to him that it was an important day to me.  I don’t care if Hallmark invented it, it’s important to me.  And, bless his heart, he’s always comes through.  Flowers, multiple cards, candy, and a nice dinner are his way of making the day special.  He’s a great guy, without a doubt.

Since we got our kids, he always makes sure they get me something special for Valentine’s Day, too.  I think our boys will know how to treat their special girls on Valentine’s Day when the time comes.  They seem to love picking out the cards and candy and giving them to me early in the morning on the 14^th.

This year had a puppies and kitties theme.  The Hubster let them pick out their own cards.  I’m a little worried about I’s psyche, but the card is hilarious:

May your day be filled with kisses (chocolate, labs, and otherwise!)

Meet The Hubster

The Hubster can’t watch American Idol.  At least, he won’t watch the “Auditions” episodes.  After the oh-so-music-savvy American public whittles down the hopefuls to the top eight or so, he’ll watch with me.

Last week, he came into the room while I had it on.  He had to leave before he began cringing, sweating, and blushing.  “I’m sorry,” he said to me as he made his hasty departure.  “You can watch it if you want, but I just can’t watch them humiliate those people.”

You see, he’s that kind of a guy.  He never wants to see someone else feel uncomfortable in any way.  He hates surprise party scenes in sitcoms or movies where the surprisee says something regrettable before everyone jumps out and yells, “Surprise!”  Recently, our pastor used a movie clip to illustrate a sermon point.  It showed a young man saying grace at a family dinner in a bumbling, stumbling, Ben-Stiller-does-it-so-well sort of way.  The Hubster leaned over to me and said, “My face is turning red for him….”

The Hubster is in the minority.  The rest of us seem to revel in watching our fellowman being publically humiliated.  Why?  Why do we get such a thrill out of watching Randy crush some kid’s dream?  When did we decide it was necessary to set our DVRs so we wouldn’t miss seeing that “crazy guy”?  Isn’t it still politically incorrect to abuse the mentally handicapped?  Somehow, the producers of American Idol, and by extension, the American TV viewer, didn’t get that memo.

But The Hubster got it.  His mama taught him the Golden Rule.  You know - the one about “doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  He lives it, breathes it, and practices it each week by refusing to see people just a means to “entertainment.”  He seems them as God sees them:  worthy of respect.

That’s Reason Number 145 in a very long list of why I love The Hubster.  Stay tuned for more.

Here I am.  Yes, that’s me, starting a blog.  I don’t know why I’ve been so reluctant to start this process.  It just seems like such a big adventure, putting my words out there for others to see.  But that’s what I’m doing.

I’m not sure what I’ll be putting out here, but I’m looking forward to the process.  I have a lot of “writing backlog” that needs clearing.  The Hubster, who’s been after me to do this for years, will be glad to know I’m finally going to clear that log jam and get some of that stuff out of my head and onto the “page.”

If you’d like to read the random ramblings of a mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and most especially, follower of Him, then check in now and then.  I’m sure there’ll be something here for you.