The Stories We Tell...and the Stories We Can't

As some of you have surmised from this week's scatterbrained blogging, it has been a week over here in Shafferland. It started with this g.r.e.a.t. story that happened to me on Tuesday, but unfortunately I can't blog it. You have no idea how much I wish I could. It was such a hoot and would have made THE perfect post, but alas, I fear it would be unintentionally hurtful to an involved party, and even though the chance of him reading my blog is somewhere in the neighborhood of zero percent, I can't risk it. I don't want to be hurtful. But let's just say it kicked off the week in quite a fashion.

That event (which did send my blood pressure into all sorts of realms) took place mere hours before my doctor's appointment. I think you probably know I am not a big fan of doctors. Ryan  has been asking me so kindly for months now to go get my checkup. And for months, I have respectfully declined, so finally he said, "You have to call for an appointment this week." Remembering that my vows included a promise to love, honor, and obey, I called the office. I was hoping they couldn't get me in until 2025 or so, but they had an opening this week (lucky me!) and I have been psyching myself up for this auspicious occasion.

(I wore my "fear not" and "be still" bracelets and made Ryan accompany me to the front door of the office just to get me inside. This white coat syndrome thing is no joke.)

When the doctor asked why I was there, I said, "My husband made me show up," and I don't think that's on his top ten list of frequently heard answers. He did seem genuinely puzzled by everything I said. Our conversation went (in part) like this:

Doctor: So you have no pain of any kind?
Bekah: Nope.
Doctor: No blood in your urine or stool?
Bekah: (Are we hoping for that or something?) Definitely no.
Doctor: No medications...at all?
Bekah: Nope.
Doctor: Tubal? C-sections?
Bekah: I've never been pregnant.
Doctor: Never?
Bekah: Nope.
Doctor: Do you work out?
Bekah: Yes! Often!
Doctor: Really?
Bekah: Was that not obvious????

I guess most people who come have an interesting smattering of problems, and I was boring. In the end, he decided I was healthy, and the only lecture I received was that I needed my ears cleaned out. And if I'd known he was going to poke around in them, I would have taken care of that before I went.

So that was the beginning of the week. Yesterday, the forecast called for storms throughout the day, and Ryan was sweating the fact that he'd not been able to mow our yard this week. (He's spent every evening helping out other folks at their houses.) So I decided to mow during the day while he was at work.

When we got married, we both owned push mowers, and obviously we didn't need two, so we sold mine. Ryan said he liked his better. That was fine with me, but the first time I tried to mow last year, I stopped about two minutes in to ask what in the WORLD was wrong with that thing! He looked it over and declared it fine. Between huffs and puffs, I said, "It's so hard to push! How do I turn up the propelling thing?" He just laughed and said, "Oh this isn't self-propelled."

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

You sold my wonderful mower that would drag me through the yard of its own accord, and now I have to push the daylights out of this thing?

Oh. And did I mention our yard has a hill? Looks tiny. Isn't tiny.

And so it was that I got that silly mower out, got it started on the first try (woot woot!), and spent an hour pushing that thing all over the place. It was easy at first, but after a few runs of the hill, my calves were screaming, and I remembered why I missed my beloved mower. My lines looked like the chutes on a Chutes and Ladders game, but let the record show that yard got mowed before the first of the downpours arrived.

So while Ryan ran around helping people last night, I baked him a Razzleberry pie. I figured our week warranted one. And that hour with the mower worked off my piece before I ever ate it!

In Which I Thought I Would End Up On Dateline

Podcast Tuesday! This week we're dreaming of lake homes and looking back over our wedding reception, which happened four years ago this week! Hope you enjoy! :)

 Listen here.

Meanwhile, it's been a while since you had a good Bekahland story. Sit back. I've got one for you today.

Last week, one of Ryan's co-workers took a long weekend kind of vacation, and he asked if someone from work could watch his dog. "Watch the dog" could take any form. He didn't care. We could actually take the dog home with us and keep him for the weekend, we could stop by the house and let him out/feed him a few times a day, and we could share responsibilities as a group if it was easier. As long as the dog got fed and didn't use the cage for a potty, he didn't care how the work got done.

As you know, Phoebe comes over to stay a lot, so I'm used to having a dog around randomly, and possibly any other time, I would have been fine with that arrangement. But between helping out with Mom's post-op stuff and trying to get some of my own writing/planning/book delivering work done, I just didn't think having the dog move in was the best fit. Plus, I wasn't sure Braeya would survive meeting a second pooch. She still hasn't made peace with Phoebe, and it's been almost a year since she became a part-time member of our family.

So in the end, one of Ryan's other co-workers said she would be happy to share with me if we could each take part of the rotation. Sure! No problem. So she and I worked out a schedule, we got all the info from the dog's person, and off we went.

Thursday was my first day to go, and I felt very strange pulling up to this house I'd never been to before, walking right up and letting myself in, as though this were a common occurrence. I wavered between looking around to be "situationally aware," as Ryan's brother calls it, and not looking around too much, because I didn't want to look suspicious. At that point I pretty much figured I was on somebody's surveillance camera, and I wanted to look as nonchalant as possible.

I went in, the dog looked at me with a mix of relief and annoyance, went outside, played for a bit, came back in, refused to eat or drink, and went back into his little home to await his next visitor.

But when I went back on Friday, he was starting to reach his saturation point with his temporary time-out. He jumped and hugged and kissed me a thousand times before he ever went outside. I was on the phone with my mom the whole time, because it still felt weird to be in the home of a complete stranger, in a neighborhood where no one knew me or that I had the right to be inside that house.

The little dog finished his business and came back inside, and I let him run around for a bit just to give him a break, while I continued talking to Mom on the phone.

As I stood near the back door, listening to her story, I saw it. A shadow across the front door. The door has that kind of muted glass that allows you to clearly see if a person is outside, but it's not see-through enough to see any detail.

My breath caught hard and I listened as the front door started rattling. So much for my immediate theory that it was just the postal service making a delivery. The dog started barking ferociously, which I appreciated, but to be fair, the little guy is about the size of a seven month old child, so I didn't anticipate much guardianship from him. Besides. Why would he stick up for me when he knew good and well I wasn't staying for the long haul?

I whispered to Mom, "SOMEONE IS HERE!!" and left out the next part where I was thinking, "AND I'M GOING TO END UP ON DATELINE. AND NOT AS THE HOST." The door rattled again and opened. I froze, backed up to the door behind me, and watched as a lady entered.

She said to the dog, "Do you have company?" I wanted to say, "I don't know...do you have a gun? Then we'll decide if I'm company!!" She looked up and clarified that she was Ryan's co-worker's mother, and with that, I had the longest exhale in my human history.

I had no idea she lived in town or that there was a remote possibility that she might show up while I was there. I have no idea how I managed to NOT leave a puddle of my own on the floor, but in that instant, I was just relieved to learn I wasn't about to be a Dateline story.

So I guess we learned my heart and bladder are both in great shape, and with her entrance, my dog-sitting concluded! She felt bad for the little guy and decided to take him home with her!

I think next time, I'll move the dog sitting at my own home. LOL!!

If You See a Blur...

...of white, it's just our flag. The white flag of surrender.

It's over, folks.

Potty Training 2017 came to a screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeching halt yesterday afternoon. 

Womp, womp, womp.

{And by the way, among the topics I never thought I'd be blogging about on our 50th monthiversary? Potty training...a cat...and its failure. Ryan, I love you, for better or worse, for litter or toilets. Until the cat causes the death of both of us.}

So TWO days ago, I happened by the Braeya bathroom mid-afternoon and saw her up on the toilet, turning circles in the ever-widening pan attached to the toilet. I wasn't sure if she was leaving or arriving, so I paused quietly to watch. That's when I saw it. THE most magnificent sight of the entire operation.

That cat was positioned perfectly over the hole and went right into it. I turned into one of "those moms" and grabbed the phone to take a picture, which I promptly texted to Ryan at work with a caption of "ALERT! ALERT! SHE POOPED IN THE POTTY!!!!"

Oh. My. Word.

Suddenly the sheer elation of moms of toddlers everywhere translated in feline form right into my being and I got it. This is why they get so excited! Apparently {per the story I heard later}, Ryan's boss gathered ALL the co-workers so they could see this phenomenon of Braeya successfully pooping in a toilet.

Back on the home front, I praised her and used all manner of high pitched squeals and head-rubs and offers of sink-drinks, which are her favorite. But she just curled up on the couch for a nap. All in a day's work for her, I guess.

Yesterday, right after lunch, I happened to catch her on the toilet again so I waited much like I had the day before, to see if I could see the amazing success all over again.

And that's when it happened.

As she circled around, her back left leg slipped off the rim and plopped down into the toilet, all the way up to her tail. She shot me a look of horror, hoisted herself out and jumped down.

And right then, I knew we were in big trouble.

MONTHS ago, she fell off the toilet lid in the master bathroom while jumping from the toilet up to the sink, after misjudging her distance, and she STILL will not get back up there. We coax her and urge her, but she refuses. I knew that falling in the toilet meant we'd never get her back on this one either.

Right about then, I got a text from Ryan asking if I could come see him at work, since he hadn't been able to come home at lunch. I went over for a bit and when I came back, just a half hour or so later, I saw it. She'd pooped in the hallway. On the carpet. I cleaned it up and checked to see if she'd also peed, and thankfully she had not. {Remember when we moved in and she did that and we had to replace all the carpet in the whole house? Yeah. Can't afford THAT again.} I cleaned the carpet thoroughly and let Ryan know that we had a big problem.

Braeya was on the couch in ten minutes, where she proceeded to sleep for the next six hours. Ryan got the litter pan back out and hid it in the bathtub just in case...and when she woke up, he took her in the bathroom to try to get her to try her newfound skill again. She immediately jumped down, sniffed around, and disappeared behind the bathroom curtain into her beloved litter box. She KNEW!

So we're done. No more really cool toilet trained cat. We're back to being the normal, run-of-the-mill cat family.

But she's a cute little run-of-the-mill cat, isn't she?

Because A Gallbladder Isn't Enough of a Project

I just realized I'm writing about this on Friday the 13th. It's a good thing I'm not superstitious, because otherwise I am pretty sure I'd be freaked out about jinxing this.

So for lo these last 12 days of 2017, you've been reading about our doctor visits and medical tests, and it probably would lead you to think that the mere juggling of such adventures would be project enough for us right now. But we're the Shaffers, so you'd be wrong about that.

Ryan actually had a project lined up for these mid-winter months, but it requires a bit of manual labor, so it's been delayed in light of the gallbladder debacle. But the delay of one project merely makes room for another project, and if you listened to this week's podcast, you already heard what the filler project is.

Because we talked about it on the podcast, Ryan didn't think it was really blog-worthy material, but I disagree for two reasons. One, I use this blog as a reference point when I go back to write the story of our life, and it would be a true travesty to not include this piece of Shafferland history in full detail. Two, pictures are worth a thousand words, right? And pictures don't blend well with podcasts. So this is indeed blog-worthy.

So if you missed the big announcement, here it is: Ryan has decided to potty-train Braeya.

Braeya? How do you feel about this new adventure?

 About like I figured.

To clarify, Braeya is potty-trained in the manner that cats are generally expected to be potty-trained. She turns eleven in May, and she came to live with me when she was just six weeks old. She learned about the litter box the first day she joined our family, and the only time I ever recall her not using it was that brief stint after we moved to Kokomo without consulting her for her opinion, and she paid us back by christening every square inch of the closet in the office.

Though I'd be hard-pressed to say she apologized (or felt remorse in any way) for that choice, she did change her ways, and we changed the flooring.

We moved her litter box into the guest bathroom, bought an aesthetically pleasing box that conceals it, and that pretty much catches you up to last week.

And that is when Ryan reached his saturation point (see what I did there??) with the litter box. In the division of household chores, he took on the maintenance of the litter box, which I'd like to point out was his choice, not my insistence, and he's tired of sweeping up superfluous litter from the bathroom floor, replacing the air freshener, and cleaning out the box itself.

So he began to research (because of course!!) his options on actually toilet training cats. He read reviews, watched YouTube videos, and came to me with his pitch.

I appreciate that he always brings a pitch to me before making a purchase, because it makes me feel like we really are a team, but I know when we've reached pitch-level that literally hours of research have already been invested, and let's face it: he's employed and I'm not. So if he wants to make a purchase, I'm not going to stand in the way.

He informed me that you can purchase an actual kit to use in toilet training cats. And to save time on explaining the level of research that had gone into this decision, he led with, "It was on Shark Tank." Done. Good enough for me.

So he ordered the kit and promptly sat down to have a talk with Braeya. Preparation, he called it. He talked with her at length about why we were doing this and his expectations on her application to learning new tricks. How YouTube showed it was possible for cats - even old cats - to learn new things.

(Her thoughts.)

He further informed her that we had already completed phase one of this adventure, because phase one involved moving the litter box to the bathroom and ours was already there.

PHASE TWO!!!

And so it was that I woke up the next morning and the litter box had migrated from inside its aesthetically pleasing box to the top of the toilet. And because he has compassion on the aging joints of a 10 year old cat, he'd brought in a folding chair to help her get inside.

It was at this point that I asked my role in this project, because while I appreciated his enthusiasm, the truth is that he goes to work, and I'm the stay at home mom monitoring the potty-training on a daily basis. He assured me I could handle it.

So we've been in phase two for a week. It's best described as "it gets worse before it gets better." Not because she's missing the box. On the contrary, she leaps gracefully from the floor to the chair to the box, and I have a picture to prove it, but it seems mean to post it to the world wide web. But when she leaps gracefully out, she does so spraying litter like confetti all around the bathroom.

I asked Ryan if we were pausing before advancing to phase three because of his upcoming surgery, but he looked at me like that was just crazy talk. Pause? When phases one and two have gone so well?

And when phase three has arrived in the mail?

That is how we have come to be the first couple in America (I'm sure) to potty-train a ten year old cat while convalescing on gallternity leave.

Stay tuned. You won't want to miss it. And let's hope she doesn't. 

Here's My White Flag, Wednesday

Squint hard: do you see it? The white flag?

It's me. Surrendering to yesterday. It wins. I lose. Bring me a blankey and let me take a nap.

But despite the fact that clearly Wednesday was out to get me, it has provided blog fodder for today, and for that...I thank it.

My main goal for yesterday was to work on a website design. I'll tell you more about it when there's actually something to tell, but I'm working on a website {aside from this one} to use in my writing and speaking.

Back when I was in college and was new to the internet {WOW. I am old.}, I enrolled in a class to learn about web stuff and design and all that. I dropped out after a week. Only class I ever quit in college. And now I remember why. I am creative, but my brain does not bend the way of code and plugins and widgets. It just doesn't. I'd prepared as best I could, watching a two hour YouTube tutorial and taking ten pages of handwritten notes to walk me through the setup.

And God bless that YouTube guy, because without his step-by-step instructions, I never would have made it. But halfway through the thing, I found a box that would not go away on the site, no matter what I did. And nowhere in ten pages of notes had this guy addressed that box. And in multiple Google searches, I found no workable answers for the problem.

Swallowing my pride, I contacted the IT guy at the station, confessed my utter embarrassment at crawling back a year and a half post-employment to ask a question, divulged my dilemma, and hit send.

And got his out-of-office auto-reply. Because of course.

It seemed like a good time to take a break and run a quick errand. Clear my head, perhaps. It just so happened that my errand took me right past Starbucks. And it just so happened that yesterday was my double star day. That seemed proof enough for me that I deserved a latte. Enjoy the following conversation.

Barista: May I help you?
Bekah: Yes! I'll take a caramel brulee latte.
Barista: We're out of those.
Bekah: No problem! I'll take a chestnut praline latte.
Barista. We're out of those.
Bekah: What DO you have?
Barista: From the holiday menu? Peppermint.
Bekah: I hate peppermint. Can you make a skinny caramel macchiato?
Barista: Yes.

So I took my third choice drink and went home.

I had just taken off my shoes and put my purse away when my phone buzzed with a text from Ryan.

Can you get gas? Just got the notification that it's going up.

Put my shoes back on and retrieved my purse.

I should interject to say that when I commuted, I filled up my gas tank three times a week. I could pump gas in my SLEEP. {And on some early mornings, I think I did.} But when we got married, Ryan told me one of the ways he wanted to show his love to me was by filling up the gas tanks. He hated for me to stand out in the elements when he could do it. No arguments here. I will let you fill up my love AND gas tanks by being the designated fueler of the family. So it's been a good long while since I had to put gas in the car.

Of course the lines had started to form at the station, but I managed to get in quickly {AND had pulled up on the correct side AND managed to wrestle the stubborn cap off the tank}. I got out my card and stared at the pump. There were two places for cards. Where did mine go? Figured it out, and right about then, I realized a guy had pulled up behind me and I could only imagine what he was thinking as he watched me stare at that pump as though it was my first day to know about fuel. As I moved toward the correct card receptacle, I realized I didn't know which way the strip was supposed to go, so I fumbled around and got it put in. Answered the 10 question quiz required, hit the octane of my choice, grabbed the nozzle and....

...it would not go in the car. I jammed it around for a while before realizing....I had the diesel nozzle.

Oh good grief. I did not even make eye contact with the guy in the truck behind me. And I could only hope he was not posting me to Facebook right about then. "Look at this idiot woman trying to pump gas!" {I sure would have been tempted to post me to Facebook. Just sayin'.}

Finally pumped the gas, got my car put back together and high-tailed it out of there before the lines got worse. {I've seen that place be a near death trap in gas-is-going-up situations.}

I went home, only to find that UPS was making a delivery and had my driveway blocked. I wasn't the least bit mad about that because HELLO!!! UPS IS THERE!! PRESENTS HAVE ARRIVED! But while I waited, I sort of held up traffic on the whole road, so I'm guessing I was not the most popular driver in town.

After reading for a bit, I surrendered to a nap, and when Ryan got home that evening, he offered to take me to Wendy's for a Frosty. {This is a surefire way to fix any day, just in case you ever need to know.}

My view from the drive-thru pretty much crowned the day. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all:

Linking up with Tamar!

Embracing Imperfection

First of all, it's Spill the Beans Day!! :)

We realized, with much horror, that we never properly welcomed fall on the podcast, so we're talking all things fall-important {my disdain for raking leaves, Ryan's childhood on the farm, etc.} and then we chat about my planning day last week - aka the day Ryan's co-workers began to mock me for what I fear will be the entire coming year.

Click here to listen.

And now...to today.

Is anyone else addicted to TimeHop/On This Day apps for social media? On This Day is one of my most favorite things to look at while we eat breakfast every morning. It makes my memory-maker's heart so happy to see what I was up to on this very day over the past few years.

So yesterday, I was scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, and I found my thoughts from three years ago: October 24th, 2013 at 9:08 p.m. I had written:

Thought in my mind at 11:00 this morning: "I need to leave work and be a stay at home wife today, because I know how to do THAT." Thought in my mind at 8:00 this evening after Ryan took over fixing the ENVELOPE PASTA SIDE DISH following my three failed attempts: "I just need to go to bed and let this day win." Here's to a better Friday.

I elected not to unearth the journal and find out what was causing me such consternation at work that day {I have a few thoughts, but if I'm right, I'd rather not relive them.} But I smiled and wanted to tell three-years-ago Bekah that if she could just hang on about another year and a half, she would get to leave work and be a stay at home wife, not just for one day, but for all the days. That dream she was too scared to dream was just about to come true. {You know...in a year and a half.}
 

I've told you, recently even, how much I enjoy this season of life, working from home, investing in our house and in our marriage in ways I could not as a working-outside-the-home wife. I'm not here to rehash that, because probably some of you hate hearing it when it's your secret dream too, but your time hasn't yet come.

I'm here to say that being a stay-at-home wife occasionally still carries the failures that October 24th, 2013 carried. There are days when I still wouldn't be able to make a pasta side dish without an adult helper. {We also no longer eat those...not so much on the clean-eating-approved list.}

There are days when Ryan comes home from work and I look around and wonder if I have anything to show for my hours of work within the walls of our house. Anything tangible that will prove to him {though he never asks for proof} that  my staying home every day is worth it to our family.

There are days when I mess up the laundry and pull something from the dryer that was clearly to be line dried only. There are days when I forget the one chore he asked me to do. There are days when he comes home for lunch and the mountain of dishes threatening to dissolve in a landslide when he left for work are still precariously perched on the counter. There are days when lunch is cold, because I overzealously got it ready too early. There are days when lunch refuses to cook faster, regardless of my coaxing, and he nearly gets full on Cheez-it appetizers while he waits.

There are days when I'm still in bedhead and jammies when he comes home for lunch, eyes wide and frenzied because I'm in the middle of the biggest writing roll and I haven't paused to do ANYTHING but pound words into a keyboard for the last however many hours. There are days the alarm goes off and I groan and say, "I forgot to get more strawberries for breakfast." {How can that be thought #1 at that hour and not on my brain ONCE the day before??}

Being a stay-at-home wife doesn't mean I'm great at it all the time. Sometimes I'm a failure and he has to help me clean up the mess I've made. Sometimes I still need to go back to bed and let the day win.

I say this not as a self-bashing session, but because I think there are too many picturesque blog and Instagram posts {my own included} that show tidy rooms and scrapbook-worthy moments, and out there somewhere is a reader who feels like a failure because she's living my October 24th, 2013, and she just wants to know that out there somewhere is an honest blogger who admits that sometimes the laundry is a fail and sometimes the strawberries are still at the store.

Ryan is gracious. He drives to the store in the wee hours to buy strawberries and doesn't complain about Cheez-it appetizers when lunch is behind. He even calls me cute when my lunchtime attire strongly resembles the jammies I had on when he left home. He doesn't question my productivity level when I can't produce anything to show for my day.

I appreciate that about him. And I appreciate the gift of staying home. But even in being a "professional" stay-at-home wife, I assure you I still have my days. Bring me an adult helper and another coffee, please. And let's start over again tomorrow.

Pinterest Fail

You guys know about the Pinterest Fail site? If you haven't visited it and need a good laugh for your day, check it out. {Disclaimer: not responsible for the content of all the pins, but there are plenty of good decent laughs!!}

I have to say that overall, Pinterest has been pretty good to me. I've found a bunch of great recipes there, quite a few fun decorating ideas, and even a hairstyle or two.

And then there was this week.

We planned to have company last night, so I was carefully plodding my way through a food prep schedule to make sure everything was ready on time! The day before the dinner, I made cookies, and I planned to frost them yesterday morning before I left for an appointment.

I got up early, opened the cabinet for the powdered sugar, and...we had about a cup.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?? I have a firm rule about not running out of baking staples, because you just never know when you  might, in the last moment, need to bake for something. I was just certain we'd purchased powdered sugar recently, but it was absolutely nowhere to be found.

But then I remembered!!! I had seen something on Pinterest, once upon a time, about making powdered sugar at home. I fired up the computer, looked up the directions, and felt certain that this happy little Pinterest DIY save would indeed save me a trip to the grocery store in a morning when I didn't have much time to spare.

The directions said to measure out granulated sugar and cornstarch and pulse in the blender until it became powdered. The directions noted that if you have a powerful blender, this can be accomplished in as little as 30 seconds. Well. My blender may have been a prototype of blenders, so I dumped everything in and set that thing in motion for the long haul.

I cautiously lifted the lid and dumped the sugar into a bowl. It felt powdery to me, and I thought, well whaddya know! Pinterest for the win!

I combined the frosting ingredients in the mixer and watched them blend together so beautifully. I could already taste the goodness.

Except when I did taste the goodness, it gritted between my teeth in 100% granulated sugar fashion.

WHAT?!?!?!!??!?!!?

I stared at the lump of frosting in the bowl and thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad when actually applied to the cookie. So I grabbed the smallest cookie and frosted it. Took one hesitant bite and just knew.

My Pinterest fail moment had arrived.

It was a flashback to my first ever solo cooking memory. I was in upper elementary school and my parents had gone to some dinner at the school where they both worked, leaving me in the care of my grandmother for the evening.

First, you should know that my parents hardly ever left me. I literally remember one hired babysitter coming on one night - ever - in my entire life. So it was something of an adventure to get to be under Grandma's care for the night. 

You should also know that while my one Grandma used to run a bakery, this Grandma didn't really know how to cook anything. At all. And yet somehow, that night, I thought it would be a good idea to surprise Mom and Dad with a treat. So I pulled out the kid-friendly cookbook someone had given me as a gift and found a fudge recipe. It called for confectioners sugar, and I had no idea what that was, so I asked Grandma. She had no idea. {Should have sprung for the long distance phone call to ask the other grandma.}

Using context clues, I determined confectioners sugar must be a brand name of sugar, and I made that whole stinkin' batch of fudge using regular old white sugar.

I proudly presented my gift to Mom and Dad when they came home, and Mom bit into that gritty mess and tried so hard to love it.

That was the moment I relived in full, living color in my kitchen yesterday morning with my DIY powdered sugar.

I glared at the blender and put it out of sight in the dishwasher. I scraped the awful, gritty frosting into the trash and did what I should have done from the start: drove to the grocery store and bought a bag of powdered sugar.

And I must say...the end results were wildly impressive. Proper sugar makes all the difference.

I may DIY a lot of my food, but from now on, powdered sugar won't be on that list.

 

44th Monthiversary

Some monthiversaries are more spectacular than others. Last month, we celebrated 43 months by attending my cousin's graduation open house, dining on homemade breaded tenderloins and watching a private fireworks show.

This month, Ryan mowed the lawn and I traveled to have the car serviced.

I'll go ahead and let you figure out which one was spectacular.

I'm generally adamant about a full-spectrum celebration ON THE ACTUAL DAY, but 44 months will just have to go down as low-key because the day demanded adulting.

We're preparing for my niece's wedding this weekend, so in order to be able to celebrate, real chores had to be done, and Tuesday was the day they had to be done.

We did squeeze in a photo shoot, and of course, Ryan had to be a ham in that. {Shocking to you, I'm sure.}

Then the day went downhill in a hurry...in a story we'll save for the podcast because it's just flat out funny when told out loud, but suffice it to say that my intention to hide in a corner of the car dealership and read my {intriguing} book was thwarted by car salesmen who mistook nose-in-book for an invitation to quiz me about our vehicular life and see if maybe we would be interested in any of the fine specimens on the lot.

And then I got gas and after punching in 29304820834092384 numbers on the quiz that apparently precedes pumping gas, I auto-pilot entered my old zip code and saw the words "TRANSACTION CANCELED! PLEASE SEE CASHIER." And the cashier said "I'll just cancel it and you can start over."

Sigh.

I came home to find Ryan putting away the push mower and dripping with sweat. I asked if he push mowed the whole yard, and he said, "Yeah, I forgot the keys to the other mower were with you in the car."

Happy monthiversary to us.

So we ate a grand dinner of nachos, and in case you're wondering, using broccoli as a chip-bed is no good. I normally use spinach in place of chips, but I discovered as I was plating dinner that ours had gone bad, so leftover steamed broccoli it was. That may go down as the worst monthiversary dinner ever.

But you know what wasn't a failure? Cuddling up on the couch with Ryan to watch DVR'd shows and being SO GRATEFUL for these last 44 months and all their adventure, spectacular and mundane.

This guy. He's my favorite.

It's Not Perfect in Shafferland

Okay so here's the thing.

You know how it can be on all things social media. The complaining, the eternal verbal vomit, the dumping ground of emotions - all the things that make your roll your eyes and click NEXT!!!!!! I try so hard to make sure my Facebook page, my Instagram, my Twitter feed, and my blog stay free of that kind of drama. I don't want any of them to be places where people fear they may be reading another bitter diatribe. I want my world wide web spaces to be a mix of encouraging and funny and challenging, but never mean.

But I fear that in my quest to do that, some of you may have the {entirely false} understanding that things are rosy all the time in Shafferland. That we never get irritated, that we're super-people who do it all, all the time, with a smile.

Uh, no.

We get grumpy and cranky, just like everyone else. We have days that are not our finest and moments we are not proud of, and we go through our own set of injustices, irritants, and frustrations just like everyone else.

Enter today's story. I'm sharing it not to be ugly, but just because it got so flat out ridiculous, it must be told. {For our own Shafferland chronicle preservation, if nothing else.} So grab some coffee and sit right back.

Back in early March, Ryan ordered a package from ebay, which is not unusual for him...he's purchased from there many times. It so happened {much to my current chagrin} that while it was in transit to us, I went to the Post Office and updated our address so we could start getting mail at our new house. I was so excited that day; I'd never changed my address before, and I even documented the trip!

It took longer than we thought it should to start getting mail at our new house - and one of the things we were waiting for most urgently was this ebay package. Finally, when I thought enough time had passed, I went to the Post Office in Kokomo to ask for help. They told me it can take up to two weeks to start seeing mail again {no one mentioned that} and I needed to wait. That was fine, so we waited, and actually a couple of days later, mail started showing up.

We got all kinds of mail, including packages, but not the ebay package.

So Ryan got on ebay to check the status of the order and found out the package had been delivered to Marion and then returned to the sender instead of being forwarded to us, and we could not even contact the seller because in the meantime, the seller canceled her ebay account.

So Ryan opened a claim with ebay to at least get our money back, since we couldn't communicate with the seller or even leave a review stating what had happened, and days went by before we finally got a response from ebay.

They ruled in favor of the seller, stating we had an insufficient address and the package was therefore undeliverable. Our fault. End of story.

{I'm actually not sure how having TWO addresses is insufficient. Shouldn't that be classified as SUPERsufficient?}

I called ebay to try to get to the bottom of it, but of course they couldn't talk to me because I'm not Ryan. So I interrupted his project for him to give them permission, and I explained to the nice man on the phone that we did not have an insufficient address...we had taken every step to leave a forwarding address, and other packages got to us just fine, so why didn't that one? He said it was an issue with the Post Office, so I should take it up with them.

And you can know I did.

I called and they needed a tracking number, which of course was no longer on the ebay website because all the information regarding the purchase had been deleted along with Mrs. Seller's account. Ryan managed to find an old email with the shipping tracking number {YAY for email hoarding!!} and I called the Post Office back.

I got a very nice lady who took a long time researching it and even included a supervisor in the discussion, and eventually she told me that the seller had mailed the package in such a way that it required a return to sender rather than a forward in the event of a move. We would have to contact her to get it back, the Post Office said.

Yeah. Got that. Except SHE CLOSED HER ACCOUNT, REMEMBER???

So I called ebay back and unfortunately that time, I did not get a kind gentleman who oozed understanding. I got Mr. Impatient who wanted to interrupt my every sentence, and even went so far as to say rather sarcastically, "So you're telling me this woman knew you were going to move and did something just to get her package back?"

How in the WORLD did you get THAT out of my story? Of course she didn't know.

Mr. Impatient continued his rudeness and insults until finally he said he couldn't talk to me anymore because I wasn't the account holder {little late for that??} so I shoved the phone in Ryan's hand, gave him the "talk to the hand" and went in another room to count to ten about a hundred times.

At the end of that call {Mr. Impatient continued his loveliness with Ryan}, we were told we would have to get a letter from the USPS stating the package was marked returned to sender if we had any hope of getting our money back.

So the next day {because it was about 9 p.m. by that time} I called the USPS as soon as they opened and told my whole story AGAIN, and the lady said, "Oh we don't write letters here."

WHAT?? You're the Post Office! You know. CARRIER OF LETTERS.

She did give me another number to call, which I did, and I found out the entire menu of options only goes to voicemail, so I started calling back every hour and punching the next number on the menu, leaving the same message in every voicemail down the line.  

MERCIFULLY, because I think the Lord knew I was at the end of my pitiful mental rope, my kind-as-I-could-make it quip on Facebook about the debacle caught the attention of one of Ryan's co-workers. She asked him what was going on, and another co-worker overheard, and she had a connection at the local post office.

We have lift-off, people!!!!!

Her connection at the Marion post office was able to find a scan of our package when it arrived, and while it's dark and grainy, you can see where the package is marked return service requested. He faxed the scan to the Kokomo post office and I went to pick it up from the NICEST gentlemen I had encountered in this entire debacle. He was so sweet and I found out later he actually listens to WBCL and remembered me! Small world, and fun story!

So...we don't have a resolution yet, and I am thoroughly exhausted. Part of this exhaustion could be because in addition to the aforementioned adventure, I also spend every other day on the phone with our cable company, because every other morning when we wake up, the service is out, and we have to call and go through the menus and all the tests and wait 24 hours for a technician to come out and fix it so we can have cable for one more day before we start over. In six days, I met three separate technicians.

Ryan may be the one in our family who wanted to be a fire-fighter, but I'm pretty sure I'm the one who ended up with the job...this week, anyway!

Because it's High Time You Had a Dental Drama to Read...

A couple of weeks ago, I had my one year checkup at the dentist. One year since my dental surgery, and they told me I am continuing to progress well. Not fully healed yet, but on the right track and getting better with every appointment. {That was my fourth checkup since surgery.}

But at that appointment, the dentist told me I had an old filling beginning to break down and it needed to be replaced pretty quickly. {As in...they knew I would try to delay it until my next 3 month appointment and that was going to be too long.}

They actually did a couple of fillings for me during my surgery lat year, but I was asleep for those, so it's been a long time since I participated in full consciousness for a filling.

And...um....it was a disaster. The time before the sedated fillings, I mean. I had a panic attack and they had to actually stop the appointment and have me come back another time. And I had issues with my jaw locking shut {and then open} when they gave me Novocaine. A disaster from top to bottom.

So you can see why I was a bit nervous.

I've heard people say that when you have a baby, you sort of stop caring about your dignity and embarrassment becomes nonexistent. Well, I don't know about having babies, but I have reached the place of my dental-patient-career where I no longer have any dignity, and embarrassment is just a way of life.

Yesterday was the appointed filling day. I kept myself busy all morning, I called a couple of people for prayer support, and I skipped lunch out of sheer nervousness. {WHOA. I mean WHOA.} I strapped on the trusty old "Fear Not" bracelet, doused myself in Stress Away essential oil and headed to the dentist. They took me to a back room {thank you, Jesus for privacy!!} and I said to the assistant, "Have they warned you about me? Is my picture on a cabinet in the back room somewhere?"

I told her all about my panic tendencies, my previous experiences with a locking jaw, my TMJ, and probably a whole lot more she wished I would have kept to myself.

They tilted the chair back, and Fixer Upper played on the TV above my head. I needed the support of close personal friends in my hour of need, and Chip and JoJo were the closest I could find. Apparently it wasn't quite enough, because you guys, I cried all the way through the Novocaine. WHO DOES THAT!?!!? Apparently needles are different now than they were the last time I was awake for this sort of adventure, and the one they used was so big, it messed with my gag reflex and scared me to death. I felt honest-to-goodness tears rolling INTO MY EARS, and that was the end of whatever shred of dignity I had left.

I'm sure that poor dentist was thinking "WHY did I respond to the alarm this morning. WHY??"

They left me alone for the numbing to take effect, and I texted Ryan, saying "I don't think I can do this. I mean really. I DO NOT think I can do this." He told me I could. I decided not to test the waters by seeing what might happen if I came home without the completed procedure. But I'd be lying if I said that didn't cross my mind.

The assistant asked if she could do anything to make me more comfortable. I said, "Let me go home??" She laughed. I kind of hadn't been kidding.

When the dentist came in to remove the old filling and prepare for the new, I gripped the chair with both hands and mentally chanted "Jesus" because I figured it would hamper the work at hand for me to actually say it out loud, but I know there's power in the name of Jesus,  and I needed a good dose of it right then. What I'd been told should only take 3-4 minutes took closer to ten, and I only had to ask them to stop twice so I could do some Lamaze breathing and work my way through the panic.

The sweet assistant kept telling me I was doing a really good job, and she spoke to me in the voice people use on toddlers in potty training, but I remained unoffended. At that moment, my entire body was shaking so violently from fear that I could see the tools on the tray attached to my chair bouncing like they were in an earthquake. Finally, I dared to ask, "Are things really okay or you just telling me they are to be nice to me?" Evidently the cavity was deep and treacherous, but we made it through the drilling. The dentist tapped my shoulder and said "You did a great job." Liar. But I'll take it.

With that, the only thing left to finish was the filling itself. I finally got control of the ridiculous shaking and the assistant worked quickly to finish her work. When she got to her last round of sealing, I felt my jaw begin to lock up and panic set in completely. She felt my jaw trembling and said urgently, "TWENTY SECONDS!! GIVE ME TWENTY SECONDS!!" Those were the longest twenty seconds of my life, but we got through them with no locking.

By that point I was sweating, I don't even WANT to know what my blood pressure was, and my jaw was so sore.

But. I. Did. It.

Next time I won't be so quick to be a hero. There is no shame in being 37 and knocked out for a filling, I've decided.

And just what, exactly, is an appropriate token of gratitude to send to a staff who had to deal with the likes of a 37 year old toddler?  Ideas? Suggestions?

Monthiversary 34

This past Friday was our 34th monthiversary...how in the world did we get to being within TWO MONTHS of three years? How how how?? Mom said to me last week that it seems like much longer than three years ago that we all headed to Florida for a wedding.

Tell me about it! Seems to me like it's high time we go back. But perhaps another year.

Anyway. Ryan started off the day in the MOST lovely way by surprising me with a card. {I used to get him a card every single month, but I started feeling bad about it because he felt pressure to get me a card, so I gave up that practice. And then this time he surprised me and got one for ME!}

There may or may not have also been a Twix bar attached, but do you honestly think I'd let that sit around long enough to be photographed????

Ryan had to work, and I was all geared up for a good day of writing. The gears were turning, and I was pumped...and then....

Yeah. Apparently somewhere in our fine state {if you can believe what you read on the internet} someone did some digging without checking for buried cables and cut the fiber optic cable for Brighthouse, cutting out the internet, cable, and phone lines for all the customers of said company.

I know, I know...you're probably thinking "Can't you write without being online?" For a while, yes. But all writing requires research, so after a while, I was just stuck.

As you can imagine, by the time Ryan came home from work and I'd been internet-less for something like six hours, I was nearly unable to breathe.

We went out for dinner, and then we marched our laptops right into Starbucks and set up camp, because I still had to finish the blog for Saturday.

But this adventure did afford us a funny story!

Because we had our laptops to guard, we ordered our coffee separately. Ryan went up first and came back with fresh brew and this ginormous, delectable looking slab of lemon pound cake. I was surprised, because I figured we were both getting lattes and calling it a night, so I asked if he got fresh brew instead, and he said yes.

So I went to get in line {which by this time had gotten pretty long} and ordered fresh brew myself. Came back to the table, all ready for my coffee and pound cake...

Apparently communication is still an area of work for us. LOL!!! I completely thought he got the pound cake to share with me, and ummmmmmmmm.....well......

He offered to go get me my own piece but I truly wasn't hungry enough for a piece of cake {WHAT?!?!?}, so I just laughed and laughed about it.

We stayed until they closed, crash-internetting....

And by the time we got home, the internet was fixed.

We breathe again.

And we still laugh about the cake.

If you see Ryan, you should ask him if he has any lemon cake. :)

I Promised You Stories...

So...we've officially survived our first ever garage sale as a married couple, and really, for me, my first EVER garage sale on my own. I've been part of others, but this was my first time to spearhead the thing, and I'm excited about all the things I learned:  what to do and what not to do next time. It was great to have an extra day with Ryan last week, and we really appreciated our moms, who took time from their own busy schedules to help us out.

I promised you stories...and I'm here to deliver.

I read up on Pinterest before I did this thing. I read allllllll these blog posts of advice and what to expect and they were really helpful. And ALL of them warned about the grumpy customers. The ones who want to haggle over pennies. The ones who try to get you so frazzled you end up cutting them more of a deal than you intended. The ones who show up early and get mad if they can't shop. So I was as prepared as I possibly could be.

And as you might imagine, that was a big fat fail.

Interestingly enough, on day one, there were no earlybird customers, and we were grateful because we were still scrambling to set up. A little after 8, Ryan and his mom took the truck to run just down the road for more tables, and I was left alone in a PANIC, because the one job I said I did not want was running the cash box. And of course, as soon as they left, four people showed up and one had a question about Ryan's shop vac and I called and called and called...only to find out both their phones were AT the sale with me. Sigh.

So when they came back and I got them ushered off to take care of things, two women came up to me wanting to purchase one item each, and both items belonged to Nita. I was in the first hour of my first sale and wasn't ready to make deals for other people yet, so I asked them to wait while I found her. The first lady said to the second, "Well I don't know about you but I think if someone offered me something, I would just take it."

Ruffled.

I stammered, "It's not mine. I need to find the person who put it in the sale."

So lady number one said to me, "Listen. If you're up here, you're in charge. You make the decision." The two of them closed in...like physically closed in...and I was so mad, I said, "Fine." Looks of actual glee came over their faces when they knew they'd won...they got their price and I was ruffled. I would have cried if I'd had the time, but I didn't. But can I just say? There's no reason to be nasty over a shirt. There's just not.

So we rushed around after that, helping people and sorting prices and this and that, and between it all, I was attempting to eat a peanut butter and honey sammich for my breakfast. It took me over an hour. FINALLY, I grabbed about the next to the last bite, and when I bit down, it tasted funny.

I said to Ryan, "This tastes weird."

He told me it may have gone bad sitting out in the sun {can peanut butter and honey even go bad?} - so I popped the rest back in the baggie and put it aside. And then a sensation settled over me in such a way that I cannot even explain, except I knew the crunch in my mouth wasn't the peanut butter. I reached in - and pulled out... the remains of a bee.

An actual, honest to goodness bee was on my sandwich and I didn't see it and I bit right into him. And he stung the side of my tongue.

I told Ryan later, I stood there, holding my face, thinking I am in a driveway with my mother, my mother-in-law {who is a nurse}, my PTA husband, and I'm holding a phone with Google capabilities, and I have a feeling NONE of those can help me right now.What do you do when parents, spouses and Google come up short???

Actually, kudos to Ryan, who managed to extract the stinger from my tongue. With his bare hands. No tweezers, I was really impressed.

It felt like I'd had a shot of Novocaine, but I'm not allergic, so I was completely fine. Grossed out and mad, but fine. Nothing a cookie couldn't fix.

The second day of the sale, a nice gentleman stopped by on his bike to look around for a bit. He was there for quite a while, and when he came up to make his purchase, Ryan breezed by and said brightly, "Did you find something halfway interesting?"

I looked down at the table to see what the man found.

A Bible.

I said, "Well, I hope so! It's the Word of God!!" Then I hurried to explain that I have many more Bibles at home and I'm not a heathen selling my Bible...always awkward. But we got a good laugh out of that little story.

What we didn't really laugh about was the rain we had for a bit on Saturday. But we soldiered on, covering up the books and pulling out the umbrella til it passed.

And it was a fun weekend! A successful sale. Oh. And yes. That is a burn on me. Whoopsie. We both got burned to a crisp on Friday.

 Linking up

The Shafferland Shuffle

I fear the Shaffers have been shuffled! What a week! Thankfully much less happened in the world of things breaking down, but much more happened in the land of busyness!

* Last Sunday  morning, our church handed out little study books to go along with the sermon series, and I was excited because I got to help write them! I was grateful to be included and it was exciting to see the finished product in print! That afternoon I had a massive cookie baking party: dozens of chocolate chip cookies to keep us fueled throughout the week. And that night? We took a walk through campus and got to see from a distance the candlelight service all 16 athletic teams had together to dedicate their seasons to the Lord.

* Monday, since our office was still all torn up, I worked from the floor of the living room: an unusual, but kind of fun vantage point! That night I spiced up our lives by dropping my keys down our garbage disposal, and then after Ryan saved the day by fishing them out, he continued his work on our ceiling - and I think he looks pretty handsome here. Don't you??

* Tuesday morning, I met my friend Kathy for coffee, and we caught up from many months of not being able to talk more than a "hey!" at church. Loved that! Ryan sent me this picture from work. He and his co-worker, Chanteal, won the work cornhole tournament last spring and now there's an official board for the tournament progression! Pretty cool! That night, as some of you may already know, our beautiful new coffee pot just up and died. It was fine on Monday...dead on Tuesday. So...Starbucks to the rescue!!

* Wednesday morning I found this one sitting on my purchases. I guess she likes to shop too! I took a field trip to Fort Wayne that day...stopped by the station to see all my friends {took me an hour and a half to get through to see everyone} and then I had a dentist appointment. Good and bad news there, but we can talk about that another time. Ryan painted our ceiling that night...so close to being done with that project!!

* Thursday, I left home when Ryan did so I could spend the day in Greentown prepping for our sale. I actually had to wait on his step-dad to arrive with a key, so I hung out in my car reading a novel and trying not to creep out the neighbors. :) All day long I sorted and stacked and organized and took pictures and made signs - WHEW! {It was actually almost 10 pm by the time we got home from getting everything ready!!} I also stopped by a friend's house to pick up a catalog...doesn't she have a gorgeous porch view?

* Friday was the first day of our sale, and it was crazy busy. The town sale was technically just Saturday, but we did a Friday and a Saturday, and I'm so glad we did. I have so many tales for you - just wait! Our moms came to help, and they were life-savers. We appreciated them! We had a GREAT first day - sold a BUNCH of stuff and got to see old friends we'd not seen in years. {Benefits of returning to your hometown.} But were we ever pooped and burned to a crisp by the end of the day!

 * We wrapped up our sale on Saturday, and though it was a LONG two days of very hard work, it was also a great result, and we were thankful. Our moms were back for more fun, and we had a few down times when we were able to laugh and tell stories and just enjoy the day. Though the entire weekend had been forecast as great weather, we did have a few sprinkles on Saturday - but nothing a little time under an umbrella couldn't fix!! When the day was done, we cleaned up the leftovers and came home to collapse from our very tired, angry feet!

Bekah Goes to the Eye Doctor

Confession.

I'd never been to the eye doctor until this week.

I have read the obligatory charts throughout elementary school and of course, every time I went to the BMV. {Is it BMV or DMV? I never remember. But whatever MV place gives eye tests and licenses...that one.}

I've never had pain, blurry vision, double vision, or anything else that would send me to the doctor. And I saw no reason to pay the money for such things if I didn't feel I needed to be seen.

After all, that money can be invested in Hobby Lobby, you know. But Ryan doesn't fully appreciate the investments of the Hobby Lobby clearance aisle, so he said I needed to make an appointment at the eye doctor. He said it would be good to get a base line. You know what else would be good? A base line of clearance decor.

So I made an appointment, and I have to start this story by saying that our eye doctor is AMAZING. He's a friend of ours from our old church, and he's filled with kindness and personality and a calming presence about him that sucked the anxiety out of even me. I was not nervous for one minute about seeing HIM. I knew he would be understanding, professional, and nothing short of ideal. My nervousness stemmed from Ryan's enthusiastic storytelling after his own previous appointments. The stories in which he told me all the "really cool stuff" they can read in your eyes. Stuff like diabetes, high cholesterol and even brain tumors.

Yes. Let's find some of THAT on a Monday afternoon, shall we? Because I've not had enough in the past year, what with the periodontal surgery and the gallbladder eviction.

So I went. I drove myself to the eye doctor and took the clipboard of forms and promptly began filling them out. One of the questions asked what prompted this visit, and I wrote {not kidding} "My husband said I had to." Apparently this is not a common answer on a medical form, but it did crack up the office staff.

I sat like a big girl in the waiting room and Instagrammed this picture, in which I declared my eyes looked fine to me...and would anyone notice if I sneaked out???

The nice lady called me back, and I had my first test...in which I donned this SUPER CUTE eye patch and punched a little button every time I saw a dot flash in the machine. It's possible I got distracted and started punching it every time I saw a dot flash OR heard the machine move. I scored OVER 100% on that one. LOL!!

I asked the nice lady if I could take a selfie with the eye patch, because I'm a blogger, and she kindly turned on the light so I could take this picture {which I'm sure will revolutionize your life and be totally worth the delay in her day}...and she said lots of people take pictures. Then she paused and said, "Well, come to think of it, it's actually usually parents taking pictures of kids." Yeah. Well. My mom didn't come with me, so I'm on my own here.

I survived the puff of air, the picture of my eyeball, and NEARLY survived the eye drops she put in to dilate my pupils. Seriously cannot handle stuff in my eyes, so I had to have that done a couple of times, because I may have dodged out of the first attempt. {That would have been a well-deserved second reference to childish behavior, but she refrained.}

And then I waited for the good doctor. Waited while taking more selfies, of course.

He arrived and we talked about how my eyes felt, especially given the hours I spend reading and in front of a computer each day. I recommended he increase his biggest hour option on the form from 10 hours to 24. Because that's what I needed for my form.

He showed me pictures of my eye and told me it was textbook healthy. I followed his hand with my eye and held still while he put the brightest kind of light in my eye. I could read the line below the 20/20 vision line, so he said we're in great shape for a while.

"In great shape" is not a sentence I hear often, so I almost wanted to ask for it in writing. He said the tests stretched out my eye muscles, and I asked if that could count as my workout for the day. And he said yes. So I let it.

At the end of the appointment, he asked if I had any questions and then launched into his obligatory medical speech, which encouraged me to eat healthy, with lots of greens. I asked if green cupcakes counted, and he said that was not the first time he had that question, but typically it came from a four-year-old.

At last I'm consistent.

And then it was over! I survived and took my mildly dilated pupils straight to the ice cream shop where I treated myself to a small chocolate milkshake that was worth every calorie. It was delicious. I can't even remember the last honest-to-goodness small-town-shop milkshake I had.

So that's it! My first visit to the eye doctor. Painless, truly, though not nearly as pretty as a cruise through the clearance aisle at the Hobby Lobby. 

Sewers and Such

I feel like it's been too long since you had a good Bekah story, so....today is your day!!!!!

We have a gorgeous tree in our backyard...a giant piece of history raising branches into the sky and tossing leaves and shade over us...and we love that tree. It's part of our family roots...planted within the time that my grandparents lived on this property, and my aunt can still remember when the tree was transplanted int our ground.


For those reasons, we love our big tree.

But did I mention the roots???

No one told me, when I moved in here, that tree roots...the little seaweed looking tendrils at the very end, can stubbornly push their way into sewer lines and clog them. No one told me. And why would I know that? I mean high school was filled with drills on when Indiana became a state, how to do all kinds of things with parallelograms, dissecting pigs and diagramming sentences. NONE of these things have circled back to benefit me in my adult life {spoiler alert for students!!} but the helpful things - like learning what tree roots do to sewer lines - were never mentioned once.

So when you don't know, you learn the hard way.

The hard way for me came back some 15 years ago when I'd just moved in and one day my roommate noticed toilet paper and tampons laying in the yard outside a mysterious hole in the ground. Oh yes. You read that right. OUR TOILET PAPER AND TAMPONS were laying in the yard for all to see. In the dead of winter, I might add. Merry Christmas. We keep our extra TP and tampons outside. Help yourself!

We called a sewer service and the gentleman drove his giant white van {with large letters proclaiming his business smacked on the side} into our driveway and hauled out all manner of coils and tools I'd never seen. While I stood in the bathroom and kept the flush on repeat, he dug through and arrived at the back door in his snow and ice covered galoshes with the news that our lines had been full of tree roots, but never to fear, he'd cleaned it out. He handed me a bill, thanked me for my business, and left.

And so began my occasional meeting with the sewer man, who really is very good and prompt. He'd been here this past winter, when I thought the lines fought the roots again, but it turned out we just had a frozen pipe. But he warned me we should have him back come spring, because those lines were about to need some treatment.

Ryan and I noticed the familiar gurgle not long ago, so on Tuesday, I called the good man and asked if he could stop by. He asked if it was time for my annual.

You could say that. But I'd rather not word it just that way to the sewer man.

An hour later, he brought the big white van with the sewer service billboard on the side and parked in our driveway. The guys tumbled out with the coils and tools and got busy rooting away in the cleanouts. They shouted stories of the sewers of Marion over the loud motors, and I texted Ryan at work to see if he could, by chance, hear the stories from where he was.

I busied myself with emptying the dishwasher and wondered if our neighbors could hear...hoped maybe they were still asleep. Or gone.

A moment later, as if on cue, the neighbors knocked on the door and waved...they'd stopped by to drop food off in the freezer we share. We stood on the back porch and talked while the sewer service guys weaved in and out of our conversation and I hastily explained why they were there.

Right about then, one of the guys yelled "FLUSH THE STOOL!!!"

Oh yes. Bekah Shaffer: Keeping Marion classy for 15 years now.

They completed their work, delivered the bill, and congratulated me on calling just in time. Not much longer and it would have been a real mess, they said.

Ahhhh yes. The toilet paper yard ornaments. The only thing that could make it classier. 

Bekah and the Hashtags

I have always been fashionably behind the times. I am sure I've told you before that I tend to embrace a style as it sails out the front door and a new one arrives. This is true for everything from clothing to decorating to social media. {I may have been the last person on the planet to sign up for Instagram - and I haven't even dared to LOOK at Periscope. OH! And I skipped Vine entirely.}

Having opened with this disclaimer...let's talk about the hashtag, shall we?

When hashtags arrived on the scene, I felt as warm and fuzzy toward them as I did toward text speak. I never did embrace that. While everyone {INCLUDING MY OWN MOTHER} sends messages asking "R U COMING?" or "THX" - I was still typing out entire words the way my elementary school teachers taught me to spell them. {Pausing to remind us all that my own mother was just such an educator.}

So while I still typed real words, I discovered that in the land of social media, they had made a bit of a comeback, but with the resurgence of letters came a disappearance of spaces. Suddenly everything was all hash-taggy and I had to stop and read carefully to make sure my brain could still insert spaces as needed. WAY too much work, I decided.

Since I've never been accused of being trendy in any way, I decided to skip the hashtag. It would pass, I decided.

Well, there's certainly a time for us all to be wrong, isn't there?

I will admit that over time, some hashtags have grown on me. The hashtags that mean something have ceased ruffling my nerves. Wasn't that the original point of the hashtag anyway? To create a search tool? So if I saw hashtags for holidays or TV shows or even family names, I could handle it.

Then there were the crazy ones. The ones that could not possibly be a popular search trend. You know. Things like #whyintheworlddomondaymorningshavetocomesoearly or #ijustateapizzaandnowmystomachreallyhurts - just made me #wonderwhyintheworldwehavetoforfeitspaces.

Along the way, Ryan and I had a conversation about hashtags, and he started using them in verbal speech, except he got a wee bit confused on the name and started calling it a hashbrown. "Hashbrown I love you."

You can't be mad when you hear hashbrown.

So ALL of that to say...I have the privilege of being part of a book launch team. My first time ever to be part of such a thing. Kristen Strong, who writes for {in}Courage has a new book coming out in a couple of months. It's called Girl Meets Change, and I'm really excited to read it and to be part of her team that helps spread the word about the book. I interviewed her back in my radio days and found her to have the sweetest, gentlest heart.

Kristen encouraged those of us on her launch team to share photos on Instagram of things in our life that represented change - and to add #girlmeetschange to the photo.

Hashbrown help me.

So there I sat, fully aware that I'd applied to be part of this team and to help Kristen spread the word and if a hashtag spread the word, a hashtag I would have to learn to use.

So I posted a picture of my attempt at capsule wardrobing...and typed out my explanation of this change in my life...and then I took a deep breath and hit # for the first time in life.

I was nearly in a cold sweat by the time I posted that photo. Ironic, isn't it, that a book about change brought about the change in my hashtag usage!?!?

In need of a hashtag intervention, I confessed to the entire launch team {in the privacy of a Facebook group} that I'd just used my first hashtag.

Hashbrown no filter.

Hashbrown they think I'm crazy.

Hashbrown Kristen probably wonders why she chose me.

But I'm happy to announce I've used a hashtag three times now and the sky has not yet fallen.

Hashbrown relieved.

I still don't love the hashtag. But I'm glad I've been pushed to use it...and I'm really glad Kristen Strong wrote a book on change. I'm excited to read it and tell YOU more about it!

Hashbrown - please still love me.