Why I've been quiet

My last post about cancer was meant to be funny. Last week, I read an article in the October issue of Self magazine about BCP plastics, and its link to breast cancer. After looking at my Nalgene bottle, Andy decided he didn't want to risk me getting cancer and bought me a new one.

Literally the day after he bought me that bottle, we received an email from a great friend, Eldon. Eldon and his lovely wife Heather have been tremendous friends to Andy over the years. We have so much love for them and their kids.

Eldon's email let us know that Heather had been diagnosed with Stage 3A breast cancer. Today my last post isn't looking so funny.

Now. I know this is not about me. At all. But I have been busy thinking. About our friends. About trials. I keep wondering how something like this happens. Why something like this happens. And what we can do to help. Because cancer completely snuck up on them, and their lives will be forever different.

Heather just gave birth to the most beautiful, perfect boy in August. They have two other children - gorgeous girls. If you don't believe me, just look at this picture. (Hopefully they don't mind me sharing this on my blog, but how can you not want to share these pictures - they're gorgeous!)

I have been so grateful that they have allowed us into their lives to serve them during this time. Most astounding to me about this situation is the way they are handling it - with humility, grace, and lots and lots of love. I've taken a lesson from them about facing trials.

Thank you Eldon and Heather for helping me see that our trials do not have to make life unbearable. And that we can in fact, get through them with our happiness intact, if maybe just a tiny bit bruised.

Andy doesn't want me to get cancer

That's why I came home to find this happy bottle smiling at me next to a bouquet of flowers and a love note last night. Isn't it adorable?

And best of all, it is not made of polycarbonate #7 plastic like my cute (but deadly) flower-pink Nalgene bottle. No stinky cancer-causing chemicals for me anymore, and I will be around to pester Andy for many years to come.

Thanks Andy! I love, love, love my new Siggy (as it has now been christened).

What's yours like?

I have dropped my phone precisely one thousand, two hundred and ninety one times in the last year and a half.

And I have thrown it at the wall exactly twelve times in the last two months.

The front cover plate of my phone fell off in July, and refused to stay put. Andy glued it back on with Gorilla Glue. Now there is bubbly Gorilla Glue in all the seams of the front cover plate.

Call after call keeps getting dropped, which is highly inconvenient when I'm running conference calls for work.

I think it's time for a new phone, don't you? The only problem: I have no idea what phone to get.

I have always had flip phones, and I want to try something new and non-flippy. They've never been great; in fact, they've been a complete and thorough disappointment. But they're like that comfortable old pair of Converse sneakers I keep: even though they're not always comfortable and I don't always love them, they're familiar. We have good memories together.

In the past, I've always picked a phone based on looks, but this time, I need a good phone. I've always settled for the cheap phone just to get by, and I would up being frustrated with the phone more than satisfied.

Andy says I should get an iPhone, but I just don't know if I want to cough up that much money. Or if I'll even use everything it offers. (Although the GPS would be very nice. And the iPod. And some of the apps I can download to keep my mind tack-sharp.) Or if I'll just end up coughing up more than that much money down the line. I always tell people I work with, "You can pay now, or you can pay later." Which really means, "Come on, don't be an idiot. It makes so much more sense to take the time/money/energy up front and do something the right way, instead of rushing/cheaping out/procrastinating now and doing a half-assed job/getting a half-assed product later."

I can suggest it at work, but when it comes to my bank account, I just don't know. I usually try to be cheap and end up paying later. A lot.

We're shopping for cell phones with Andy's parents tomorrow (Hello! and welcome to the 21st century!), and we think we should just get a new phone for me. So...what do you think? Trust me, I don't care about status, I don't care if I'm keeping up with those Joneses; I just need something that works. And that looks cute. And that won't make me want to throw it at the wall. Or require any Gorilla Glue to make it happy again.

Do you recommend your phone?
Do you wish you had an iPhone?
Do you think I'll use an iPhone to its most ultimate capabilities?
Do you think I should pay now or pay later?

There is a mouse sitting on my kitchen floor watching me type this

Gross! Andy's only suggestion via text message is to feed him some cheese. Um, I don't think so - we all know I like me some cheese!

Why do these guys gross me out so much (mice, not Andy, that is). They're cute, furry, and look so cute when they're sitting there eating some crumbs.

Maybe it's the viruses they carry.
Or the way they scurry across my floor.
Or the way they can squeeze through a hold the size of a dime.

Gross!

I really am trying to love all God's creatures. But I'm just not feeling any love for this guy sitting on my kitchen floor.

Anyone know where we keep the D-Con?

How do you find a house that fits just right?

Shopping for a house is a little bit like shopping for a new pair of pants. Is it too small? Too big? How does it make my butt look?

Last week (if you are obtuse enough to figure out from my previous post), Andy and I decided to finally, finally, finally meet with our realtor instead of scheduling and then cancelling. We saw more houses than we knew were even for sale on the entire planet. And then we decided that we are too poor to afford a house that is big enough that it doesn't make our butts look big, but small enough that our butts don't feel claustrophobic and enclosed-upon, that is not out in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado.

What is it about looking for a house? You look on the World Wide Web at the pictures and you think, "This is it! This is most positvely, absolutely the house we were meant to own! I know it in my heart! And my butt, because my butt would look very small in that vast (but not too vast because we already have determined we don't want that ever again) house."

And then.

You actually go to look at the house, all up-front and in-person with your realtor, and you realize that the ghetto is not just around the corner, but that it actually resides next door behind the chain-link fence and the BEWARE OF DOG sign. And that the "bark, bark, bark" from Bosco the Rottweiler behind the chain-link fence is, in all actuality, NOT happy to see you. He is saying "Beware! Beware of the ghetto and houses that appear too cute to be true." And also, "I will bite you if you take one step closer to me."

You realize that when a house description says "quaint," it actally means "smaller than a mouse's attic and anyone over 5' 1 1/2" should not attempt to squeeze into here at peril of suffering from at the very least claustrophobia and at the very worst death." And if the description says "needs TLC" or "great for first-time buyers" it actually means "the dumpiest dump dumpier than any dump you've ever been to and by golly be sure to plan on spending every single second of all your waking hours in the next two years to get rid of mold, gross smells, and to repair the damage done by Rick the Unhappy Owner Who Was Foreclosed On."

And you start to feel very sad, and wonder if you will ever find the right house that makes your butt look just perfect. And then. You think, quite possibly there is no way you are ever going to be happy with a house and then...

...you find it.

The House. The House that you will look perfect in.

The House that doesn't have a huge garish garage covering the front of The House in such a way that it is difficult to see even the front door, but instead has a quaint (and actually for-real Old Fashioned quaint, not code-for-tiny-quaint) little front porch that makes you want to sit on it and sip the lemoniest lemonade of all time (which actually comes from Chik-Fil-A in case you were wondering).

The House that has the highest of ceilings and the most spacious of kitchens with ample, and I do mean as ample as Pamela Anderson's bosom, cabinet space.

The House that has just enough rooms for the activities which you desire to persue over the next five to seven years, namely, eating, sleeping, cooking, playing, loving, and living. And watching TV. In no particular order, of course.

The House that has a yard that is the delight of your soul - just big enough to manage decent-sized gardens (of the vegetable and flower variety, of course) and small enough to accommodate small-ish parties wherein you cook for your fabulous and hilarious friends who will now have to drive 40 minutes each way just to pop in and say hello. Which means approximately 99% of said small-ish parties will only accommodate two guests: me and Andy.

And then.

You realize that to find The House, you drove so far out into the boondocks that you do not even know if you are in Colorado or Kansas and you begin to fear for your life due to whirling tornadoes. To find This House, you will have to give up morning runs with Anna, quick and easy drives to Sonic for Cranberry Limeades with Sam, last minute movies with Dennis, Chris, and Barb. And many other such activities to which you have grown accustomed.

But, on the other hand, you do have a yard large enough to host a family of beautiful lady chickens to lay fresh eggs for you.

How is a girl ever to choose? How does one determine what is the very most important thing that they must have to help them decide where to reside for the next five to seven years?

You ask yourself questions like, "Would we be happier in a house we don't like as much near people we love, or in a house we love near people we don't know yet?" Or even, "Will our old friends ever visit?" and, "Will we make new friends?" And most importantly, "Why is Clay Aiken bothering to come out of the closet in People magazine when the entire population of the known galaxy already knew he was gay?" Really. This is an important question.

Perhaps it is time to petition The One Who Answers Prayers. I'm still waiting to hear back about the orange coat, and maybe He can just give me both answers at once, like a two-for-one. Now that's a deal!