The Square Peg

The love I have for my kids is practically indescribable. It can’t be summed up in a paragraph, no matter how many flowery adjectives and cool metaphors are used. And while my kids are the same gender, they are totally different from one another. I love one for his sense of order; the other for his ‘live and let live’ attitude while always being true to himself. I love one’s level of self-discipline; the other’s ability to go with the flow and not get bent out of shape when things start getting chaotic (he didn't get that from me).

They each hold philosophies and exhibit behavior that I both agree and disagree with, but it never affects my love for them. I love them simply because I took part in their creation. They could never do anything to make me not love them; yet if they only did things I approve of wouldn’t make me love them more. I love them because they are mine. And it’s a love unlike any other.

I work in a flooring store and a couple of customers came in today. The wife asked me how much our carpet costs. She wasn't asking about a particular kind of carpet, but she was standing near a display so I walked over to check the price tag on the rack she was standing next to. I leaned over to look at the tag when I smelled it. It wasn't the smell of cigarettes, but I couldn't put my finger on it right at first. Then it hit me.

It was weed.

After I quoted the price on the tag, the husband made an attempt to speak. When I raised up and looked at him, I could tell he was flying at an altitude way higher than the rest of us. He had a little bit of brown iris and an itty bitty pupil mixed in with the bloodshot in his eyes and he was having a some trouble holding himself up. And then he tried to speak again. It wasn't working very well. He kept doing this thing where he puckered his lips out but then drew them back in farther than normal and real quickly so he looked like he was chewing food, only he had no food in his mouth.

This is how the next few minutes went down:

Him: "Baby, how big you thank our libin' room is?"

Her: "I don't know; what fo?"

Him: "So we know how much carpet to git."

Her: "I done tole you, baby, we ain't doing the livin' room firs; we doin' the betroom."
Him: "No, baby, we said we doin' the libin' room."

Her: *moving her neck and pointer finger in the shape of the letter "z" but not in the same direction as each other* "No, we DID-INT; we said we doin' the betroom, and ats what we gone do."

Him: "Well, OK, tell her how big you thank the betroom is."

Her: *turning to me* "It's big enough to fit a king size bed in it."

Me: "Hmm, I'm not sure that's enough detail. It would be best if you measured and brought the numbers in to the store because carpet has to be laid so that it runs in the same direction. And if there's a closet in the room that needs carpet, we'd need to factor that in as well."
Her: "Well, OK, den. We'll come back."

Him: *as they're turning toward the door, he points outside the window* This is where I noticed that his little problem holding himself up had grown to a much larger issue. He looked like a buoy in the ocean bobbing back and forth. "How much is the blahblah outside?"

Me: "The what?"

Him: "The plahplah". (I can tell the word starts with a "p" but I'm not sure if it's "pillow", "panel", or "pallet". We had two pallets of panels sitting outside next to the steps though, so I presumed he meant them.

Me: "Oh, the pallets? Well, the prices vary, but there should be a sign on there. Let's go out and check."

Me again: *pointing to the big sign with large black letters on it* "It's $3.19 a square foot."

Him: "Hmmm, that's pretty low." *Compared to him, everything was low.*

Her: (she's standing at the car by this time, getting ready to get in the driver's seat) "Come on, baby, we got to go."

Him: "I'm comin', baby." To me he says, "we be back later to look at the plahplah again."

Me: "Sounds great. Thanks for stopping by. Be sure to bring your bedroom measurements with you."

Him: "blahblah OK. blahyou"

Working with the public is so strangely entertaining sometimes.

When I heard that Lowe's was advertising their sale on "family trees", my first thought was that they were trees for homosexual couples. You know, because gays refer to other gays as 'family'? And my second thought was "What makes it a family tree? Are the needles rainbow colored?"

I am not even kidding.

Has anybody ever been stunned by your humility?

Well, THAT was interesting...

I walked back into my office with my papers in hand from the printer upstairs. I sat down in my chair and heard my jeans rip. Yeah, from the top of the butt straight down to my upper thigh. I sat for a second basking in the unbeliev-ability of this situation. I know that's not a real word but I call it that because this is the SECOND time I've had a pair of Levi's split—and both split in the same place! Of course, last time I didn't know they ripped until AFTER I got home from church (where I usually sit on the front row) and Drew asked me about 'em. Come to think of it, I'm not sure which situation is more embarrassing…anyway…

I decided today would NOT be the day my co-workers saw my boo-tay, so I quickly grabbed my purse with one hand and slung it over my shoulder, and used my other hand to pull the back of my sweater down as I oh-so-gracefully cascaded out of the office and into my truck.

And it wasn't even 9 o'clock yet.

I hope this is not an indication of how the rest of my day is going to go.
Signing off now to check my calendar to see if I have time to shopping for jeans tonight.
Wish me luck...

God's got a plan for your life and the level of sacrifice is different for the man (or woman) of God than for the Sunday Christian. If you want to be a man of God you have to allow people to speak into your life as an authority figure. Learn from someone in the next 5 years what you need to continue the race rather than learning alone in the next 20. Take what God has given you, dotting your I's and crossing your T's. Be faithful. God doesn't need another weekend warrior. As Momma Joyce says: "You've got to go through to get through because there are no drive-thru breakthroughs."

You can be powerful or pitiful but you can't be both at the same time. There's no room in your hands for a sword and shield if you're sucking your thumb & clutching your blankie.

I was having lunch the other day with a couple of business associates. We were talking about college football and the conversation turned to Peyton Manning. We were commenting on his TV commercials, his appearance as host of Saturday Night Live, and of course, his football career. And then 'C' said something that has resonated with me ever since. He said the main thing he likes about Peyton is that Peyton loves the sport of football, represents it well, and "he'll protect the sport".

I never thought about protecting football. I mean, come on, it's football. Is it important to protect the game? What does it look like when it isn't protected? And then a few folks who haven't represented certain sports, companies, or institutions very well came to mind.

And that got me wondering...what things are we a part of, and do we protect them? We join and participate in organizations throughout our lives: companies, fraternities, sororities, clubs, professional associations...marriages; and we usually do so without giving enough thought to protecting them.

Do you protect the integrity of the teams you're on?