Walkin' On The Wide Side

A Long Lost Ancestor of Mine

When I was in high school, the choir sang a song called "The Water Is Wide" that I dearly loved. With apologies to both my high school choir and the lyricist of that well-known song, I give you my rendition...

My foot is wide,
No one can cross o'er,
Neither have I
The wings to fly,
So build a boat,
That can carry two
And it will double
As my shoe....

I kid you not.

At the widest point of my foot the measurement reads:

FOUR INCHES.

Now, considering the fact that the length of said foundational appendage is TEN inches, that leaves me with a bottom paw that's almost half as wide as it is long.

Imagine my unmitigated joy at the prospect of shopping for shoes.

No, really.

The Shoe Department people at Wal-Mart just LOVE to see me coming to find cheap shoes. They all scatter like ants, anxious to foist me off on the guy that looks like Santa Claus from the Garden Center rather than go through another search for shoes in my size.

Sometimes I shop there just to be mean. I think it's hormonal.

When I was growing up the only wide sizes in shoes were either those for men or those found in the lovely "corrective" shoes, which came in a large variety of styles and colors, all of which were saddle oxfords and all of which were black and white. I use the term "corrective" in an extremely loose sense. Having spent most of my formative years in "corrective" shoes due to my flat feet (yet another joy), I now have the distinct pleasure of wide, flat, DEFORMED feet.

And the hits just keep on coming, folks!

A few years ago I noticed it was hard to walk at times. If I sat for any length of time, it was as if my feet froze up and refused to work correctly. Being a bit concerned, I went to a podiatrist.

Diagnosis?

Arthritis.

I now have wide, flat, deformed, ARTHRITIC feet.

Are you feeling sorry for me yet? I just wanted to know, because I sure am. And I think if you aren't I could probably even cover your part as well as mine with no problem, just FYI. I'm longsuffering that way. You don't have to thank me. Really.

And in case you're wondering, they're Size 8.

That's Size 8 W-I-D-E, son.

Oh yes it is.

So here's the point (OH THANK YOU LORD! THERE ACTUALLY IS ONE!!!)...

My thinking is this; I believe that maybe, just MAYBE, God gives us little things like my feet in order for us to really be able to appreciate the good we have. Not just now, but when we get to Heaven. Because honestly, I do SO appreciate the days when (a) I can actually walk without pain, and (b) I'm able to go to bed without begging for a foot massage, or (c) I actually GET a foot massage, or (d) I get a really great pedicure where they rub my feet until they fall off, or (e) I actually FIND a pair of shoes IN MY SIZE that FIT.

Where would the joy be if I had perfect Barbie feet? And how would I know the joy of perfect Barbie feet in Heaven if I didn't have these stompers here on earth?

It's amazing to me that God thought of these things before I even had feet.

And I can't wait for the other shoe to drop.

Isaiah 35:5

Blind eyes will be opened, deaf ears unstopped, Lame men and women will leap like deer, the voiceless break into song. Springs of water will burst out in the wilderness, streams flow in the desert. Hot sands will become a cool oasis, thirsty ground a splashing fountain. Even lowly jackals will have water to drink, and barren grasslands flourish richly. (Emphasis mine.)

In Which I Admit To Being Sadly Neglectful Of The Bloggy World And Shamelessly Try To Make Up By Forcing Pictures Of My Grandchildren On You

Yes, that's me.

It isn't so much that I haven't had time to write, as it's been that I really haven't had anything to write ABOUT.

Unless, of course, you count having the whole family over last weekend for a cookout. Or the housecleaning that preceded it. Or the unfortunate incident with my hair.....

Oh wait. That's a daily occurrence.

Nevermind.

At any rate, I thought I'd share some of the photos from the cookout. And let me just preface this with the well-known fact that it is absolutely impossible to get a two-year-old and a one-year-old to smile at the same time. It just cannot be done, so don't even try it.

There. I feel much better now.

So here are my feeble attempts at the above:

Oh, and the hair that appears to be plastered to the girl-child's head? That's due to the sunscreen my son slathered on her noggin to keep her from getting burned.

We had a bubble machine, and it seemed to be a big hit for young and old alike. Grandpa joined right in with the younger set, and a gazillion or so bubbles met their demise.

And then there was the baseball game. And oh, what a game it was!


To be absolutely fair, the girl-child had no chance. After all, Grandpa was helping the boy-child, and one can't be expected to pitch a no-hitter in these cases.

Afterwards, there were the mandatory eye-hiding and shoe-contemplation contests, and both of our team members scored high in those pursuits.

I was so very proud.

And to top it all off, the parents of these two little wonders were there to both feed and change the diapers of our contestants, leaving Nana and Grandpa to the pursuit of pure happiness.

What more could we want?

Except maybe to have taken a couple of pictures of the parental units. Which the photographer kind of forgot to do in All The Excitement Over The Grandchildren and all.

Ahem.

God does give good gifts to us in our old age, doesn't He?

Proverbs 17:6
Grandparents are proud of their grandchildren, and children should be proud of their parents.

The Great Adventure

It all started last August or so.

My boss informed me he had taken another position and would be leaving.

Nevermind that I had finally found the job of my dreams. And nevermind the fact that I adored working with him. Nevermind that I thought I had finally found my niche in the employment wall, so to speak.

Nevermind that it should be ALL ABOUT ME instead of what HE wanted to do. Or what GOD was TELLING HIM TO DO.

Oh no.

Ahem.

And so, in October of last year, he left. And the new guy came in. And I changed jobs.

And yea verily, I had once again found my cleft in the rock. I was happy. I had a boss I loved to work for, a job I adored, and a place to call employment home at long last....until last Thursday.

Last Thursday I found out my new boss will be leaving. He's being transferred to Chicago. His replacement is already set to come in, but won't be here until August.

Heavy sigh.

So, for those of you keeping score, here's the lineup so far:

• Got a job
• Loved the boss
• Lost the boss
• Got a new one
• Changed the job
• Got a new boss
• Loved him
• Loved the job
• Lost the boss
• Getting a new one in August

I'm beginning to wonder if it's me. I mean, I DO bathe occasionally, whether I need it or not. I'm not too terribly hard to suffer through on a daily basis. Granted, my office could be a little more organized, but still...should this have my superiors running for the hills? People at work are beginning to look at me as if I had three heads or like I have a dark cloud over me at all times. The bosses, they tell me, drop like flies around me. I have become the office pariah.

It's a bit disconcerting.

However, there is still good to come from this.

Throughout the whole process, there has been peace. That's a BIG thing for this worry wart of a woman. I dread change like I dread weighing in at the doctor's office. But for some reason this time I have no worries. I'm calm. I'm accepting.

I guess that comes from knowing God is in control and giving it all to Him. I truly believe that's one thing I might possibly be getting a bit more of a handle on these days. So I'll let Him worry about it. I'll let Him do what needs to be done through this, and I'll try to learn whatever it is He wants me to learn.

Who knows? It could be a Great Adventure......

It Purports To Be A Glorious Day

Here in the Singer household we are All About the Excitement Value for Your Blogging Dollar. That's why it makes such good sense to visit here. Where else can you get the daily scoop on what matters most?

OK, other than those gazillion other blogs out there, I mean?

So, in an ever increasing effort to keep you informed of the miniscule events of my day-to-day life, let me inform you of this:

Today will not be a stellar day.

Oh, it started out just fine. I got up early and determined to make my world-famous blueberry muffins out of the Betty Crocker box for breakfast. I pre-heated the oven, sprayed down the pan, mixed up the batter, filled the pan, turned around to open the oven door to put the pan in the oven, and...

...ran the pan into the chair at the kitchen table and dumped the whole thing.

On the floor.

Upside down.

Oh yes.

Yes MA'AM.

So I did what any sane woman with a Great Spritual Background would do.

I uttered an expletive. Loud, long, and with great gusto. With special emphasis on a certain consonant combination used to silence people in the library, and an extra- special punch on the second syllable of what should have been a one-syllable word used to describe what comes out of the south end of a northbound baby.

It was not a proud moment in the Singer household.

And then, leaving the mess on the floor, I made scrambled eggs for The Girl. Who promptly began to complain, because after all, she WANTED BLUEBERRY MUFFINS, and WHY DID I HAVE TO SPILL ALL THE BLUEBERRY GOODNESS ON THE LINOLEUM WHEN I *KNEW* SHE WANTED THEM MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF??? And then, as we were having this important dialog, she suddenly remembered she hadn't made her lunch for school.

Now, being the Kind, Understanding Sort y'all know I am, I had to fight my inner goodness - but only because it was most important that I let out the dog, feed her, clean up the mess, make breakfast for The Boy, and oh yes, GET READY FOR WORK MYSELF. I told her to make her own lunch.

And the world as we know it came to a screeching halt.

And by screeching, I mean that The Girl started in with it. And screeched for a solid five minutes about how she was going to be late and it was all my fault and she wasn't about to put all the sandwich stuff away because she didn't have time and what on earth was *I* going to do but stand around while she did ALL THE WORK and she just couldn't BELIEVE I would put her in such a position.

Oh yes, the day was getting better and better.

So I ignored her and went about my tasks. She actually did make her lunch, finish her breakfast, brush her teeth, put on her face and perform voodoo rituals on her hair that no known soul could fathom before putting the sandwich fixins away. Because after all, she would be suffering the fate worse than death if she didn't.

There would be NO driving lesson after school.

She slammed out the door with me calling "I love you...have a good day!" in a bright and cheery mom-voice after her.

She hates that.

And I grinned as I did it. I couldn't help it.

And then....and THEN...

I made the SECOND batch of blueberry muffins of the day (we are nothing in the Singer household if not prepared for disaster, since we suffer it so often and with such great aplomb). The Boy was aroused and he went downstairs to eat while I got ready for work.

His father came in from work. He nagged. He pushed. He pleaded. And still the Boy Child sat and ate and watched ants, and played with various and sundry items which should have been thrown out in the trash on Monday, but which he "saved" from that plight because they were "useful."

Ahem.

And then the gates of hell broke forth.

My husband, the sweet, kind, ever-patient man that he is, was through. He told The Boy that if he missed the bus he was WALKING to school, and he emphasized it with a couple of swats on the behind.

Of a thirteen-year-old.

Such is our frustration with this child at times. We do things that will garner laughter from our children at the most trying of times, knowing not what else to do. It was to my son's credit that he kept a straight face.

And so he missed the bus.

I had to go by the bank on the way to work, so I detoured just to make sure he wasn't being held captive by slave traders on the way to school. And I ended up giving him a ride part of the way.

And immediately felt guilty.

So I called my dear husband to confess, and we had a slight altercation over the discipline of said child.

Which made the already glorious day just that much better.

So then I did what any sane woman would do...I called in late to work. Because, after all, when you have fodder for the blog, you just have to write.

And so I did.

Laundry Quandry

My friend HeyJules....she knows me so well.

Oh, so VERY well...

Dreaming of Meme-ing

My friend kpjara has tagged me for the latest meme going around, and thus given me fodder for the blogger, so to speak.

God bless you, Kim! Thngs were a bit dry here in Singer City.

Here are the rules: Each player starts with 7 random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write on their own blog about their seven things, as well as these rules. You need to choose 7 people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they have been tagged and to read your blog!

And so, without further ado:

Seven Things You Really Didn't Want To Know About Me
And Because Of That You Never Thought To Ask

• I cleaned off my desk last night. It's been piled high with papers and cookies and nail clippers and remotes (but not to the television on the desk), and magazines and various and sundry bills since before Thanksgiving.

Yes, I said THANKSGIVING.

• I met Kathryn Helmond once. I was walking down the hall at the newspaper office where I used to work, and she was walking toward me. I recognized her from somewhere, but couldn't place where. I greeted her politely and asked how she was as we passed each other. She did the same in turn. We became fast friends and immediately went out to lunch and shopping, and we keep in touch by phone, as only close, personal friends do. After she got in her limo and left, I finally realized who she was.

Can you say "DUH!" with me?

• I fell on the playground when I was in kindergarten and suffered a concussion. There's still some discussion as to whether the lasting effects of said injury are what made me the way I am today or not.
• 
  
  
  
• I have an aversion to Spanish Rice. You know, the stuff that used to come canned in some kind of gross tomato sauce? Gag me raw.
• 
  
  
  
• I have one eyelid that droops a teensy little bit when I'm overly tired. It comes from the doctor having to use forceps to deliver me. The forceps gave me a black eye, and caused just a leeetle bit of permanent damage.
  

• I have memories of when I was three years old. Not many, but they are there. Like they say, an elephant never forgets....

• I had a dog when I was three. He got run over by a car, and I didn't get another dog until I was 45. I never knew what I was missing!

Tags go out to HeyJules, Linds, Pilot Mom, Singing Owl, Carol, Melanie, and Shannon. And if any of them have already done the meme, I tag YOU to take their place!

Overcoming Da Feet

Pedicures are a gift from God, just in case you were wondering.

A real and true gift.

Even if you have to pay the going rate in my area of $25 for an hour or so of pure heaven, it's well worth the cost.

Oh, so very worth it.

There is absolutely nothing like a pedicure to make a gal feel like a million bucks. Nothing in the known world.

That soak in warm, bubbly water is enough to make me melt into a pool of flabby, gelatinous goo right there in the ol' pedicure chair. But then...BUT THEN....

I GET MY FEET RUBBED!!!

And my legs. And the joy, it overcomes me. Because nothing on earth feels as good as a good foot massage.

And if you can find a place that has the chair that really and truly massages your back instead of just vibrating like one of those Magic Fingers beds in the cheap motels of yesteryear, you're in for even more of a treat.

And if the place you frequent JUST SO HAPPENS to serve wine to you as you are suffering through All The Pampering, you may even think a visit from this guy to be a mere distant second.

Unless, of course, he was the one doing All The Rubbing Of The Feet.

I'm just sayin', y'all...

So I have warned my friend HeyJules that we will be making a little trip to the Taj Mahal of Toes, the Palace of Pedicures, the Mansion of Massage, in the very near future. And yea verily, we will indulge in this earthly blessing God has bestowed...upon our toes.

I just doesn't get much better.

Sing a New Song

Listening to God.

It's a hard thing to do sometimes. And it can be even harder to actually act on what He's telling you to do once you open your ears to hear Him.

It doesn't help that what He wants may not be the easiest road to take. It doesn't help that you may not actually want to do what it is He has in mind. It doesn't help that it might be the scariest thing you've ever considered doing.

What matters is that it's from GOD. And with God, one thing to always count on is change.

No, not dimes and quarters and nickels, but the fact that things never seem to stay static forever.

Change gives us a chance for a do-over. It gives us a whole new way to begin something brand new. It keeps life fresh and keeps us on our toes, wondering what will come around the bend. Some changes can be viewed as wonderful, while others are not so wonderful. But in all change we can be sure of one thing; God works all things together for good for those who love Him.

ALL things.

Look back over your life for a minute. Can you see times when you wanted something to work out your way? Did it always happen? I'll take a stab in the dark here and guess it didn't.

My life is the same as yours. I've suffered and wondered and worried the same way you have over things I thought were important. I've wondered why things couldn't work out MY way. But only God sees the big picture of my life. And I have to admit that in EVERY SINGLE CIRCUMSTANCE, God knew what He was doing.

EVERY SINGLE TIME.

A couple of friends of mine are facing changes now. Big changes. Changes that could alter the course of their lives. But they both have one thing in common.

God is in control of the changes, and they KNOW it.

So even with all the uncertainty and turmoil the changes are bringing, even though they have no idea what will happen in the future or where He will lead, they have peace. Not just a peace about the next hour or the next day, but a peace that HE is in control of it all. He's handling it. He's got it covered.

And He's much bigger than anything that can come their way.

Romans 8:28
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. (KJV)

Romans 8:31
[ Nothing Can Separate Us from God’s Love ] What shall we say about such wonderful things as these? If God is for us, who can ever be against us? (KJV)