Waiting for the Bomb

Does anyone else get freaked out when too many good things happen all at once? Because I do. Rather than appreciate life's little pleasures, I tend to look for the thunderclouds in the distance. This is not to say I'm a pessimist but I do believe I'm a realist to a fault. We've all learned about gravity--what comes up must come down. Nothing stays up forever, right?

Michael had a random meeting with a recruiter in Dallas and exactly one week later began a fantastic job. Pretty incredible. What I keep reminding myself is that he was without a job for 5.5 weeks. 38 days. That is a long time to wake up each day and wonder, "Is today going to be the day?" So while the new job is great, the previous weeks were pretty horrific.

Michael emailed his (ex) co-workers to let them know the news and received an immediate response from one of his friends. She wants our house. As of this weekend, we have an offer on our home. Granted, it is contingent on the sale of her own home, but she has a realtor and already a few interested buyers. Really?! We decided not to use a realtor as it would have cost us $12-15,000. If it works out with our friend, our advertising costs (including buying the for sale sign, etc.) are at a grand total of $80.

So now I'm waiting for that bomb. Waiting for that thundercloud. All that's left is me finding a job. In a sucky economy. I keep thinking, "Ok, this is it. This is where we realize we are not the luckiest people alive." I'm meeting with a recruiter tomorrow in Dallas, have already emailed most of my Dallas friends, and have applied to countless jobs on Monster, Career Builder, etc. I feel like I'm completing all of the necessary steps, but I also know that I've barely scratched the surface.

Speaking of scratching the surface. My poor Prius was involved in another wreck last Wednesday. That makes two. Fortunately for us, this time the lady had insurance so we should have no problem getting it fixed. The story is quite amusing but only at the expense of the person at fault (which was not, thank goodness, me) so I'm going to refrain. I have no problem making fun of myself on here but that's where I draw the line (Ok, I usually pull Michael and Thumbs on my side of the line, but they're family so that's ok).




Our great luck with that situation? Michael and I decided to fix the bumper after the Prius' first brush with fate. The man who hit Michael did not have insurance so we were going to pay the deductible. Then Michael lost his job. Bumper got pushed to the bottom of the list. Car gets hit again on the same bumper. This time, however, the person at fault has insurance. So our poor bumper that has been raped and pillaged twice will now be replaced and we don't have to pay one dime. That's pretty awesome.

I'm done. I hope this post doesn't come off wrong. I'm not gloating. Quite the opposite actually. It's me being transparent with you and letting you know that I am preparing myself for something not-so-great to happen in the near future. And I'm scared. Keep in mind, I'm the loser that bought, "Why Do Bad Things Happen To Good People?" before Michael and I started dating. I think I am pretty darn good at finding that silver lining, but I also know we live in the midwest where it's sunny and gorgeous one minute and thundering the next. Such is life.

I Want To Be An Old Woman Who Lives In A Shoe

Can someone be considered an intruder if they are a member of your family? I guess that doesn't make sense. But last night, a very sneaky, very hairy occupant made history.

I woke up quite happy this morning. It's Friday, which has always been a good day, but now it means I have my husband back. That makes it a great day. I walked to the closet to grab some jeans (yet another reason why I love Friday) and stopped in my tracks. Something wasn't quite right. Take a look.



My shoe shelf. My perfect shoe shelf was no longer perfect. I immediately turned to look at Thumbs, who was sitting inappropriately and staring right back at me. We had a staring war, and wouldn't you know it, I ended up looking away first (the eyes of a cat can be quite intimidating).

So rather than take the blame and admit that her larger than life ass disrupted my prized possession, she started looking for the culprit.



(Just so you know, the culprit was not under our bed.)

Can I just say I was so impressed my fat cat could even jump that high? As I mentioned before, she made history today! If she had a scrapbook I would write a new entry: "April 24 - The day you jumped and actually made it."

As soon as I got home from work, I took off my new shoes (WOOHOO! NEW SHOES!) and left the room. And what did I come back to?



(I'm just including this picture so you can witness the cuteness. $25--not too bad!)


It's true love, folks. I have tried to raise Thumbs to be a lady. To poop inside the box (usually works), to sleep without snoring (occasionally works), to eat without reckless abandon (never works)... I've never truly succeeded at anything.

But I learned something today. The girl loves shoes. And in my book? That makes me a complete success.

I'm A Good Driver

It happened. It finally happened. I knew it would happen and today, April 22, 2009, it happened.

(By the way, Happy Earth Day.)

I woke up, took a shower, talked to Michael, and chatted with my guest (my mom) before I left the house. As I was driving to work I realized I didn't straighten my ponytail (Does this make sense? If I wear my hair in a ponytail, I use the straightener on the entire ponytail and am good to go). I self-consciously reached back to grab my wavy hair and instead wrapped my hand around a very soft, very elastic scrunchie.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Lately I have been using a scrunchie after I've dried my hair. (For those of you who just started reading my blog, the only reason I even HAVE the biggest fashion faux pas of the 90s is because I was Nastia Liukin for Halloween last year. Moving on.)

So of course I panic. I immediately grab my purse and start reaching for a hairband. I come up empty. Check the console, under the seats (keep in mind, I'm doing this while driving 70 on a highway), and finally succumb to the fact that I, Meredith Haynes, will have to walk into work wearing a neon blue scrunchie. I call my mom to ask her to bring a hairband when she meets me for lunch and exclaim, "HOW could you let me leave the house wearing this?" She thought I did it on purpose. Oh man.

The way I saw it, I had four options.

1. Make an immediate u-turn and head back home for the correct hair accessory. Fantastic idea, but I was already running late.

2. Sit at my desk and refuse to move until my mom arrived four hours later. No good, I can't stay in my seat for long periods of time--my bladder doesn't take up my entire body and I didn't want to get the dreaded flat butt syndrome.

3. Move around the building, but walk backwards after talking to anyone so they can't see the blue party going on behind me. Not an option. Walking backwards has never been a strength of mine, although I do occasionally use this trick when exiting a boring conversation. It's a total optical illusion and works like a charm. One second you're there, next second you're in the kitchen where you belong, scarfing down cheese cubes and exclaiming, "Why yes, thank you so much" to another glass of the good stuff.

4. Use a real rubber band, the kind that could ruin Jennifer Aniston's hair with one fatal snap.

In the end I chose option 4. It beat peeing my pants, obtaining a flat butt, tripping over something behind me, or being late. So the next time you see my hair and notice more split ends than usual, you'll understand the battle scars. Were they worth it? Oh hell yes.

Phone Calls With The Husband

When Michael and I dated long-distance four years ago we had quite the routine. I would wake up every morning to an email from him (he'd written the previous night before he went to bed), send a few emails throughout the day, talk once after work, again around 7:30, and right before I went to bed. Neither of us said, "This is how it's going to happen," it just did. And the pattern stuck. Fast forward four years and we've already fallen into a similar routine. Replace the morning email with a phone call and you've got the Haynes' schedule. I love it. Neither of us are avid telephoners (you may know this by the lack of calls you receive from either of us) but we know we have to make it work.

A brief look into the life of a long-distance relationship...

Last Friday we were chatting on our drive home from work and I heard very loud, very scary noises on his end. He kept talking nonchalantly so I finally interrupted him and said, "What on earth is going on over there? I keep hearing these horribly loud explosions!" Turns out it was just the Explorer going over a few minor bumps on the highway. Perhaps a tune up is order? (Did I mention I drove it a few weeks ago and it completely turned off and shut down WHILE I WAS DRIVING? That is not OK!)

Last night Michael told me about a teacher who was kidnapped (and most likely murdered) in Coppell. I begrudgingly said, "And THIS is where you want me to move and raise a family with you? Are you kidding?!" He paused before he politely said, "Meredith, the last time someone was murdered in Coppell I was nine." Oh. Touché.

A few minutes ago Michael gave me a quick call while he was running an errand. The church was right in the middle of its daily 30-minute bell performance so we were both screaming to hear one another. Lovely. Anyway, as he stepped out of the car I heard the sound of birds chirping on his end. "Are those birds chirping?" I asked. "Yes, they are!" (Pause.) "So you're telling me that I am listening to the 29th minute of bells tolling while birds are sweetly chirping where you are? This is not fair." To which he replied, "Yeah, and the grass really is greener here."

Sidenote: The last time we were in Coppell we noticed the grass is so much greener than ours. After last year's fiasco (Click HERE and then HERE), we now notice everyone's yards... Made for a good laugh. Oh how I love the ol' hubs.

My mom was watching television this morning and learned that the term used to describe me (and others like me) is "Recession Widow." I believe that might sound worse than Spinster or Old Maid. Sigh.

Monday Does Not Equal Funday

Michael was in town this weekend for 46 hours. I enjoyed each and every hour immensely and was sad to say goodbye yesterday afternoon. Last week he was only away for a few days so I was able to ease into the whole "We're married but living apart" idea. But as I said goodbye to him yesterday, knowing that I would not see him for five days... that was tough. Really, really tough.

While he was here we spent time with two of our favorite couples, Lisa and her loving husband (Lisa--are you impressed?) and Kaitlin and Steve. When we were not with friends, we spent a good portion of the weekend cleaning and organizing the house. There's a show on HGTV that I despise (not sure of the name). A family wants to sell their home so they spend several thousand dollars making it more appealing to a buyer. Once they're done, the house always looks SO GREAT. I always roll my eyes and think, "You idiots, if you'd done all of that work years ago you could have enjoyed it as well!" I love how words come back to bite me. We didn't paint (or spend any money whatsoever) but we still organized the closets, pantry, etc. I was so pleased with the results--why did I wait so long? And I know you're thinking, "But wait, you've only lived there for 15 months, how could your closets already be disorganized?" And I say to you... Shut your mouth.

Anyway, I put an album on facebook full of pictures of our dream home, which I would love to sell to you! If you or anyone you know is interested, please contact me and I would be happy to show it to you in person!

CLICK HERE to take a look!!

And I realize my last post included a picture of Evan but I've noticed he is growing up SO FAST and I wouldn't want you, my fantastic reader, to miss a growth spurt due to my lack of picture posting. So here you go...



He cracks me up...


:)


I wish I had a picture of Justin when he was little because I think Evan (in this picture) looks a lot like him...


He looks like he's about to start kindergarten! So sad!


I think he could give Zoolander a run for his money... Blue Steel or Magnum?


Love this face...

Texas Sounds Like Taxes

Since today is Tax Day I thought I'd share a few things to cheer you up (in case your rebate wasn't enough).

Before I do that, thanks for all of your comments regarding our move to Texas!! It means a lot and we are so thankful! Last year I wrote about April being a pretty incredible month and now we have another reason to celebrate. I find this pretty neat: I started my job at the church the day after Easter (three years ago) and Michael accepted his job on the same day. I love when little things like that fall into place.

Ok, let's cheer you sad folks up. So you all know I adore my nephew and think he might be the cutest baby in the entire UNIVERSE (hyperboles <-- love them). However! I typically look at his weekly pictures, smile, coo at his cuteness, and then get back to the real world (MY real world). But this picture? This picture made me turn to Michael and boldly declare, "I think I want a baby." I can't explain it. I'm not sure if it's the footy pajamas or the big, beautiful grin, but this, THIS my friends, makes me want to go to Babies R Us and register for our future child.



Because of the strong feelings I have when I see it, I'm going to post the picture on here for all to enjoy and then hide it for a few years.

Below is a great video my mom sent this morning. If you have five minutes check it out. I was a little "eh" about it at first but pretty soon I was tapping my feet and giving it the famous Meredith snaps. (Try snapping to a song without smiling. Impossible, I tell you.)


And if neither of the above items were enough to make you feel better, I'm at a loss for words. Which might be a good thing because this post is long enough.

Howdy Pardner.... (Is That How You Say It?)

Do you know that I did not wish one person a "Hoppy Easter" this year? Quite tragic. I believe last year I had a blog post with that terrific play on words. So, for old times sake, I hope you had a (wait for it...) Hoppy Easter. Done and done.

The past week has been insane. Not for me, but for my husband. And since many of you have asked for an update, here goes: We decided last week that we were going to start searching outside of Tulsa. Michael hadn't received many calls from potential jobs and the market has been pretty dead in general. So last Monday (a week ago yesterday) he decided to search in Dallas. Met with a head hunter on Wednesday and they were able to get him a job interview that afternoon. He showed up and realized the CEO of the company was the dad of one of his childhood friends. Wow! So Michael had his interview and drove back to Tulsa. When he was 30 minutes away from our house, he received a call requesting a second interview on Friday. In Dallas. Oops! I was off work on Friday so the two of us drove back to Dallas together and he had his second interview. Came back to Tulsa, spent Easter with my parents (hooray!!!!) and then found out yesterday he received the job!! Which means...

I'm about to become a Texan.

I'm freaking out, man. This all happened so fast. Michael is ridiculously excited, I'm cautiously excited, and Thumbs is just beside herself. I guess I shouldn't say cautious, but this is just the beginning for us. Now we need to sell our house, find me a job, buy a new house, etc. Crazy. Oh and did I mention he starts TOMORROW!? Yes, tomorrow.

We are going to clean our house this weekend, take some pictures, and then try to sell it. Our dream home. It's definitely a bittersweet feeling, I thought this house would see one of our kiddos and possibly two. But! I'm not going to lie, I am uber, UBER excited about a fresh start in a new place. I think it's going to be great!

That's all for now. If you or someone you know wants a beautiful home (yes it's my opinion, leave me alone), which is only one year old let me know!!! We'd much rather sell it to a friend or a friend of a friend than some complete stranger.

Have I mentioned that I am going to really, really miss Tulsa? Because I am. So much.

(I went to the Death Cab for Cutie concert on Sunday. Loved it, per usual. So here's a fab DC song for you to enjoy...)

An Invitation...

I know many of you travel home to be with your families for Easter and I think that's fantastic! However, if you are in Tulsa this weekend, I want to invite you to our church! We have several services over the next few days and if you have any questions about any of them, please ask me!

Tonight! April 9
Maundy Thursday Tenebrae service at 7:30 pm in the Sanctuary

Friday, April 10
Good Friday service at noon in the Chapel

Easter Sunday, April 12
6:30 am - Sunrise service at Camp Loughridge (Have fun at this one--I will still be in my pajamas and snoozing!)
8 am - Sanctuary
9:30 am - Great Hall of the Bernsen Center (We will be at this one!)
11 am - Sanctuary
(The 8 and 11 am services are identical)

First Presbyterian Church is located at 709 South Boston Avenue in downtown Tulsa. I would love to see you tonight or on Sunday! :)

So THAT'S What It Means...

Had another great wedding weekend in Texas. And wouldn't you know it, the pictures are at home and I am at work. Before I turn 27 I will have a post dedicated to the two weddings.

Speaking of, my birthday is May 12. Oh how I love birthdays. Ok then, moving on...

Last night I decided I would give our jacuzzi tub another go. We have lived in our home for well over a year and it has been used once. That's ridiculous! I chose some great bubble bath, opened a Diet Dr. Pepper, grabbed a good book, and hopped in. There must have been some sort of time warp because the next thing I know I'm a 3-year-old, squealing and splashing in the tub. Michael walked in to ask if I'd like a glass of wine and I'm sitting in the middle of the tub with a goofy grin on my face, proudly pointing to this giant bubble creature I've created. We'll name him Sam.

Approximately 6 minutes later I'm having massive hot flashes and wanting nothing more than to be as far away from the tub and its scalding water as possible. And so ends my quiet, soothing evening in the tub.

Easter is this Sunday. Besides the obvious reason why I love Easter (I'll give you a hint: JESUS!), I am excited for several reasons. Allow me...

1. FAST FOOOOOOOOOD. It has been so, so long since I've had the privilege of stuffing my face with a cheesy gordita crunch. Just typing that made my stomach growl.

2. My parents are spending the weekend with us. It's been awhile since I've seen them both and I'm really excited. My mom was up about a month ago for an extremely short trip but I can't remember the last time I saw my dad. And I miss him.

3. Wearing white is officially ok in everyone's rule book. Between you and me, I have been wearing white pants for the past three months. They're selling them at the stores so I assume it's ok, but every time I wear my white pants I feel like I need to wear a sandwich board that proclaims (in a neat font), "I realize it is not quite Easter, but I am not a fashion faux pas." I think I would have faux pas in a swirly font since it is French and the French deserve better than Times New Roman. Ironically, I believe wearing a sandwich board would also be considered a fashion faux pas so I'll have to do without.

I will end with (what I consider) a funny story. As we were driving to New Braunfels Michael's mom asked, "Do either of you know what a 'jones" is?" Michael and I both displayed matching dull looks as we told her we had no idea. She gave a dramatic pause and then... paused even longer. After about 15 seconds she said, "Well a young girl was looking through birthday cards at the store and one of the cards said something about a 'jones.' She asked me what it was--I didn't know and then your dad told the girl she didn't need to be giving a card to someone if it said something like that." So Michael and I are now on the edge of our seats. What is a jones? More silence. Then his dad (in a booming voice I might add) yelled, "A jones is an erection!! (!!!)"

Oh. My gosh.

Cue time warp back to me being a 3-year-old girl. I couldn't stop laughing. Tears, people. There were tears. I was absolutely mortified that my father-in-law just yelled the "E word" yet it might have been the funniest thing I've ever heard him say. The next time you see Michael, ask him to do an impression. It is SPOT ON.

So there you have it. Guess it gives new meaning to "Keeping up with the Jones."

EB

Evan has been the feature of my Friday posts for the past several weeks. It would be silly to change the tradition now, especially since we received this beautiful picture in the mail yesterday (thanks Justin and Michelle)!



I'm pretty sure angels really do clap (and birds chirp and babies laugh) when they see this little guy. :)

A Dream Is A Wiiiiiiiiiiiish Your Heart Makes.....

When your mom and dad are teachers, expectations are pretty high for the kiddos. My parents raised us to take full responsibility for our actions, always complete our homework, and perhaps most importantly, display impeccable manners. I believe my first sentence was, "Yes, ma'am, I'd love another piece of cake--thank you so much." One of my favorite books as a child was a book of manners. Before you roll your eyes, understand that this book was hilarious. It'd describe a certain scenario and give three options of how to react to the situation. It was my job to choose which option was correct. (So as I type this I realize it doesn't sound that hilarious, but trust me, it was.)

As I've mentioned before, my family loved to travel. Always in a car. Always. When your entire family has three months vacation in the summer you go on a lot of road trips. On one of these trips my parents politely told us it was rude to sing in the car. As an adult I now understand that rule is silly and you will not find it in any manners book. But at the time, I put it right up there with "Say excuse me when you burp." Our road trips lasted many hours (and sometimes days) and we always had music playing. But you never heard a peep out of any of us.

Now that I think about it, how awkward is that?!

I also remember riding in the car with my best friend Julie and her family. The entire family would always sing and put the Von Trapps to shame. 4-part harmony at its finest. Yet each time I thought to myself, "Wow, they are all being SO RUDE."

But let me tell you about my family. First there is my dad. He doesn't sing--he whistles. I believe he has a 5-octave range. Then there is my mom. When the big man upstairs gifted her with talents, he went heavy in the math area and accidentally skipped over "musical ability" entirely. You can ask her to sing five different songs and they ALL SOUND THE SAME. I love it. Then there is my brother. He can actually carry a tune but instead spent most of his adolescence ignoring all of us and staring out the car window. That leaves me. When I sang, birds chirped and angels clapped. Babies laughed, the whole bit.

Or so I thought.

But as I was driving to work today, laughing about the ridiculousness of "Singing in the car is rude," I realized my mom made up the rule. By process of elimination, I figured out the rule was made... because of me. Dad and Justin never sang and mom fully recognized her shortcomings. Maybe birds were not chirping but choking? And let's face it, angels clapping sounds a lot like thunder.

Bummer.

Kiss The Cook

Last Sunday we had our small group over and I made a cake for Michael Homan's birthday. It was simple but (if I do say so myself) quite delicious. Our small group consists of five couples and usually half of us have dessert. With that in mind, I cut some pretty large slices. I would cut, Adam would pass, and pretty soon I noticed he kept reaching his hand out to grab another plate long after I thought the passing would cease. I started panicking. The cake was getting smaller and smaller and I felt like Milton from Office Space. What if I didn't get a piece? I don't believe there has ever been an event where cake was served and I did not have at least one piece. I often think in fractions so I judged the remainder of the cake by quietly saying to myself "3/4... 2/3... 1/2... 1/3... oh no.... 1/4..." As the cake got smaller, the beads of sweat on my forehead got larger, and I was in quite the state. Finally the last piece was served and there were still a few slices left. WHEW.

When I am responsible for dessert I almost always have leftovers, which I enjoy over the next few days. There were no leftovers. In my book, that is not acceptable. So after our trip to Dallas this weekend (details later), I told Michael I would like to make another cake. And this time we would share it with no one. One cake split between the two of us lasts an entire week. My dream come true.

We did not have any cake mix or icing so while we were out yesterday we stopped at Target and I grabbed both. Once I was home I turned on the oven and started pulling out the ingredients....and realized we had no eggs. I yelled to no one in particular, "We don't have any eggs!?" And no one replied, "No, I thought you knew that!" I did not. My lip stuck out. I looked down at my clothes and debated whether or not I could really pull off the look in public. Old yoga pants with a Cheetos stain on the leg, man's undershirt, and long socks with rubber nubbies on the bottom. Definitely not ok. Michael rolled his eyes and was out the door and in his car before I knew it. Did I feel bad? Terribly. Ok, maybe just a little. What a guy!

He came back 20 minutes later with the eggs and I got to work again. Baked the cake, waited for it to cool, and prepared myself for my least favorite part--icing the cake. As I removed the two layers from the pans they both crumbled. What was going on? I tried my best to put the pieces back together and my glorious cake turned into the cake from hell (aptly named as it was Devil's food cake). The white icing turned a lovely shade of grey as it mixed with chunks of chocolate cake. How depressing. I cut myself a huge piece (which immediately crumbled into a gigantic mess) and curled up next to my husband to watch a movie. He laughed at my creation and I (quite rudely) stated, "I have no idea what is wrong with this cake. I know I did everything correctly. It only has four ingredients, there is no way to mess it up!" He continued watching the movie. I continued staring at my cake. I thought back to what I'd been doing an hour ago. I added the water. I added the oil. I added the eggs. Wait. Wait a minute. I don't remember throwing the egg shells into the sink with athletic precision. Surely I...

I slowly stood up and walked to the fridge. Opened the door and there they were, the untouched eggs that Michael had made a special trip to the store to buy so I might have my cake. I walked back to the couch and sat down. Michael looked at me and asked what was going on. I shook my head. And then I felt my face turn red velvet (since we are talking about cakes--when in Rome). After my face contorted into a mixture of laughter and humiliation he said, "You forgot the eggs, didn't you?" I kept staring at him as he slowly shook his head. One wasted trip to the grocery store. One wasted cake. He reached out and gave me a hug as my dream of cake for an entire week vanished.

I think we're going to have biscuits and eggs for dinner tonight. You're welcome to join us, I am quite confident we will have enough.

The Best Medicine

What a happy little guy! I especially love what his parents have taught him to do (near the end). :) I don't think the video shows up on google reader but it works on the blog...


Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing

Hey Evan, it's Friday! What do you think about that?

I'm In A Glass Case Of Emooootion

Lately, the thing to do on Facebook is post pictures from high school days. I have tons of my own but I believe they are all collecting dust in Fort Smith. I haven't looked at them in years so when I do see a picture I am absolutely blown away.

I look so young.

And yes, I was young, but I look so young. This goes back to a post I wrote several months ago. When you haven't experienced things, your face is the definition of innocence. It's what makes growing older so incredible. Each wrinkle, each freckle, each bit of gravity that makes your eyes and your jawline droop, is proof that you have learned something and are still around to talk about it.

How lucky are we?

I hate, I repeat HATE the wrinkle between my eyes. It is past the point of being a "fine line" and is a blatant wrinkle. And unless I can convince the hubs that botox does not, in fact, send you straight to hell, it is permanent. But let me tell you why I have that wrinkle. On the 30th week of every year, the Besancon bunch climbed into some variation of a station wagon, drove to Sanibel Island, FL and spent a week in paradise. The annual vacation was only a week or two before the "S word" (school) started so it was the grand finale to every summer. While I was there I would go to the pool each day and lay out next to my mom. I remember when I was young I would stretch my legs on my lounge chair so my feet would reach the length of her knees. The last time we were there my feet went several inches past her own. I would squint for two, three, four hours straight because it was so bright outside. The sun, that gorgeous Sanibel sun, gave me this wrinkle. And for that I am eternally grateful.

When I look at old pictures I think about the year it was taken. What do I know now that I didn't know then? The other day I was looking at my mom's drivers license and mentioned, "Did you know when this picture was taken I was not married to Michael?" I think she might have murmured a polite, "Oh.. hmmm," but that is how I view my life. It is one long black line interrupted by hash marks every few inches depicting dates and memories. When I see a picture I temporarily place it on that line and look to the left and to the right.

The biggest change I see in myself is my eyes. Isn't that funny? The actual eye never changes, but oh the things you understand when you look into them. I was quite the sheltered child and this is the first year I've ever been told I look my age. I think it's the eyes (ok, perhaps it's the wrinkle too). :)

One day I'll look back on this and think, "Wow, when I wrote that post on March 25, 2009 I had no idea ---- would happen. Incredible." I'm only hoping the "----" is a pleasant experience, but I know there will be variations of both. What I pray is that my eyes will always give me away. There will be times when the only way you'll know what's going on in my life is by finding out for yourself. And I hope these green eyes are always willing to share.

I Think I'm Paranoid...

Last week was quite bizarre. Along with DVR (And cheese. Ok and red wine...), I have an unhealthy addiction to People.com. It is, after all, the #1 Celebrity Site on the Web. I like to check in once or twice a day to see how my good friends in California are doing. You know, the ones that like to share one name. Have I told you ours? It's Merechael, pronounced "Mer-ah-kul," which is strangely close to "miracle." I believe this name came to be after I'd had a few glasses of one of the aforementioned addictions. But I love it and so do my friends Bennifer and Brangelina.

While I was on the website I read about Natasha Richardson's tragic fall. Long story short: Liam Neeson's wife was in a minor skiing accident, walked away feeling fine, came down with a terrible headache, ended up in the hospital, suffered brain damage and died shortly after. What happened to her could have happened to anyone. One innocent fall that had severe consequences.

Later in the week I heard about a deadly spider (Brazilian Wandering Spider) found in a shipment of bananas at our Whole Foods in Tulsa. It is said to be one of the most lethal spiders in the world. Just hanging out around the bananas. Its venom can kill a human within a half hour. A HALF HOUR! Spiders don't typically scare me unless they have hair. And this one, my friends, had hair. Updates say it was not as deadly as previously mentioned but for this post's sake, we're going with the original story.

Friday I received a text message from one of my jLife kiddos, which said something about a gang initiation at Wal-Mart. Exact message: "Do not go to any Wal-Mart tonite. Gang initiation to shoot 3 women tonite. Not sure which Wal-Mart. Confirmed on tv." I rarely believe texts and/or emails such as these. Don't ever send me anything that needs to be "forwarded to 12 people or you will die," because, let's face it, I'm going to delete it and you might die. But after the week of ski injuries and hairy octo-freaks, I wasn't about to go near a Wal-Mart in case my little 12-year-old friend was right.

Turns out she wasn't, it was some huge hoax that was later reported on the news.

Well this turned out to be one of the most anticlimactic posts I've ever written. But still, crazy week eh?

Because Sometimes? An Ode Says It All.

An Ode To Fast Food

Oh Taco Bell with your gordita crunch,
Soft tacos, chalupas and the rest of the bunch.
I miss you all--more than you'll ever know,
My stomach does too, it wants to grow!
The gorgeous golden arches are calling my name,
Stop it, won't you? This isn't a game!
I long for your key ingredient (that's grease),
It tastes so much better than green beans or peas.
And who can forget Sonic? You're glorious as well!
Texas toast, bacon, tator tots... Oh hell.
It's been 3 weeks since I've graced any of your doors,
The time now known as the "fast food days of yore."
It's been good for my stomach and for my mind,
And I know re. food, you're the worst of your kind.
So as much as I love you, I know this is right,
To take a break, and try as I might.
I'm thankful for Lent and it's opened my eyes,
but man I can't wait to get my hands on some fries. :)

This post is dedicated to myself, the most pathetic human on God's green earth.

I Will Never Let the Sun Go Down On You, Elton...

Holy Uptown Girl. Last night was amazing. Right now I'd like to throw out the words "best concert ever" but I think I need a few days before I make such a bold statement. Elton and Billy (we're on a first name basis)...those guys are good.

The concert started around 7:30 and they didn't stop playing until after 11. They opened and closed the show together but each played several songs on their own as well. I always get this surge of pride for an artist when they momentarily stop singing and everyone sings their song for them. Can you imagine writing something and then years later hearing a ginormous crowd sing the song you wrote--your words--in unison? I think that must be such an incredible feeling.

Lisa and I had a fabulous time singing along, clapping, tapping the feet, and both left with severe hearing loss. I believe we might have been yelling, "Wow, that was an amazing show" as we walked to our car. Speaking of amazing, there were also some very interesting outfits in the crowd. Did you know some unfortunate shoe store out there sells silver knee high boots? They do. And they should be shot.

I found this on youtube--it's from their concert in NYC a few weeks ago and was one of my favorites last night. I love this song and they did an awesome job singing it together (the lighting was great too):



I was really impressed with Billy Joel except for his attempt to dance with the microphone stand. Watching an old(er) man swivel his hips and (dare I say) pelvic thrust the stand several times is just awkward. I flinched a few times and then finally got over it because the song was great. And he's right, it's still rock and roll to me.

It's been a busy few days. Mom was in town on Monday, concert last night, and we are going to meet little Miss Opal tonight. I have yet to catch up on the sleep I missed from this weekend so I'm pretty much a zombie. A zombie who randomly breaks out into songs from decades past. I remember I was on an Elton high for several months after his last concert, so send your condolences to Michael now. Elton and Billy might last through Christmas.

THANK YOU!

Once again, thank you (thank you, THANK YOU!) for all of the positive feedback we've received through the blog, facebook, emails, etc. I'm overwhelmed by the kindness shown to us not only by close friends but also by those of you who took this opportunity to introduce yourselves to me. I am so grateful for the optimistic and inspiring stories each of you candidly shared. As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm typically not much of a crier but I had many tearful moments this weekend. It's an amazing and humbling feeling to know there are so many of you who care for us and are praying for our future. I've always wondered who took the time to read our blog--our story--and it's nice to know I have other followers besides those who share my maiden name. :)

My good friend Emily asked if her bridesmaids could meet up this past weekend and brainstorm her upcoming wedding. Seeing that two of us are in Tulsa, one is in Kansas City and Em is in St Louis, we realized the central location was none other than Shoji Tabuchi's stomping grounds: Branson, Missouri. After the job situation, I'd thought about backing out of the trip but am so thankful I decided to go. It was so nice to see the girls and was yet another reminder that life is good (great, even!) and I am very fortunate. We stayed up late both nights and it felt like we were in suite B at the Delta Gamma lodge once again. Except this time we didn't have to hide the wine. :)

Do you know what tomorrow is? Let me give you a hint.



(I'm totally going to ask him where he got his jacket)

Oh yeah. It is going to be amazing. Lisa and I have been counting down the days. She is a Billy Joel fan and my heart belongs to Elton. We are going to be a fabulous combination.

A piece of advice to all of you out there with kids (or in my case, pets): They really do watch what you do and learn your habits--good and bad. But mostly bad. Ask my mom or Michael and they will both tell you that I love when someone plays with my hair. I will be the 45-year-old woman who still lays her head on her mom's lap if it means she'll play with my hair. Who cares that my mom's hands might be arthritic or that I might have my own child who is old enough to drive himself/herself to school, I LOVE it. I get very frustrated if either of them plays for a bit and stops, so I will tap their hand (or face, or arm) to remind them that I am still there and am expecting attention. Last night I found out what it feels like to be in their shoes, and I didn't like it one bit. I was comfortably sleeping when I heard a strange noise. It was Thumbs, who had taken "invasion of personal space" to an entirely new level. Add that to her plus-sized physique and I thought I was being attacked by a grizzly bear. I briefly scratched her back and the strange noise turned into ridiculously loud purring. Just as I started to fall back asleep I felt her paw tap my face not once, not twice, but three times. "Wake up, mom!" I groggily opened my eyes and saw her staring at me with a "You've got to be kidding me" look. I scratched her back for another minute and then it was back to dreaming about Elton and his red piano. Before I knew it, "tap, tap, tap" on my face AGAIN. This happened four times, people. FOUR TIMES. As I was thinking, "Seriously Thumbs, you could not be MORE annoying," I remembered doing the EXACT same tap dance to Michael before I fell asleep last night. Tap, tap, tap. Little did I know the furry beast memorized the entire encounter so she could give a repeat performance at 3 am. Unfortunately for her, I'm not as nice as Michael so she never saw the part where the annoying subject gets booted from the bed. Lesson learned.

J to the O to the B

Hello, my name is Meredith Leigh Haynes. Figured I'd reintroduce myself in case you forgot who I was. Sorry for the crickets, it's been an interesting few weeks. Thanks for your prayers, calls, and emails. I know I was cryptic last week but I just wasn't ready to say much.

Now I am.

Michael lost his job. The news came out of nowhere and we were both pretty shocked. Actually, "pretty shocked" is the understatement of the year. I was speechless. He has been great about everything, and I have been... less than great. I hate surprises, and even more than surprises, I hate the unknown. If I knew it would take 10 months to find a job, I would be ok. But not knowing if it will take 10 weeks or 10 months is extremely hard. I just want to know. He was given a very nice severance package and that along with our savings will allow us to be just fine for a fairly long time--but only if we cut back... a lot.

I like to call it Extreme Lent--we've giving up everything. Even (gulp) DVR, my second true love. There have been several times this week that I have started to hit the glorious "record" button only to realize it is sitting pretty and mocking my DVR addiction.

I have so much to say but I'm afraid if I start it could be the world's longest post. And none of us need that right now. I will say that Michael and I are handling this pretty well and we know there is a reason for everything. We really do. That doesn't mean it isn't hard. Or scary. But we know there is a plan and we're willing to wait patiently (ok, maybe just wait) to see what God has in store for us. My only request: Please don't tell us it could be so much worse. We know that. Instead, we prefer to hear the optimistic stories, the stories where someone lost their job and then found one they loved even more. The only way to get through situations like this is to be optimistic and open to what lies ahead.

We did not go to jLife last week and several of the kiddos signed a card for Michael. They're so special. I wanted to share a few things they wrote...

"We are praying for you."

"You will find a much better job. God is calling you to do something better!"

"Hi Michael. Sorry about the job, but remember Jesus loves you."

"I love you! You're so cute! Let's get married." (Um, EXCUSE me? Girl better back off...)

They gave it to us at jLife this Wednesday and it cheered us up immensely. One of the girls politely asked Michael, "What did you give up for Lent? I mean, besides your job?" Ha. I love a sixth graders attitude. :)

So enough from me about this. I'm sure I will talk about it from time to time but right now I prefer to talk about other things. Continue to pray for Michael, and I ask that you pray for me too. I want so desperately to be the wife Michael needs me to be right now and I'm afraid I'm falling short.

Woohoo for uplifting posts on Fridays! :) Scratch that, I'm going to end this thing properly...

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. Philippians 4:4-6

Happy Friday To Ya...

This guy wants you to have a great weekend (as does his proud aunt).



If you think about it, please say a quick prayer for Michael and myself. I'll share more later, but a simple prayer would mean the world to us. Thanks!

Days without fast food: 10 (My pathetic thought process: "Ohhhh yea, I hit the double digits. I am awesome. Double digits... Mhmmm... Double quarter pounder with cheese.... Mhhmmm..."