The Praying Wives (or wife to be) Club

Also known as PW(OWTB)C. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

Hello girls! This is the place to share some info, ask some questions, and lift a sister up. SOLIDARITY SISTER! Maybe we could don sashes and sing Sister Suffragette together, I don't know, but I am so happy for every woman that has made a commitment to pray for her man over this next thirty days. Want more info? Want to join us? Click here.

Here are a few of my favorite thoughts so far.

pg. 14
"Many difficult things that happen in a marriage relationship are actually part of the enemy's plan set up for its demise."
It's just the truth. We do not war against flesh and blood. We do not war against our men. And if we ARE declaring war against our men, we are working for the devil. :/ too harsh? it's just the truth. And I want to be on the right side.

pg. 17
"A wife's prayers for her husband have a far greater effect on him than anyone else's..."
Our prayers for our husbands have divine gravity.

pg. 23
"It's your responsibility to pray. It's God's job to answer. Leave it in His hands."
The end.

How about you? Favorite moments? Not so favorite moments?

What Was That?

I hear singing. My six year old son is singing Taylor the Latte Boy by Kristin Chenoweth. It's from her show on broadway. Oh. You aren't familiar? Ha. Well my son is. Give him a ring and he will sing it to you.


I hear giggling. My kids are headed to bed. We don't always hear happiness during this process. And frankly I can't decide what is better. If they are sad, the don somber scowls and hide their faces in a pillow. We don't hear from them until morning. But when they are giggling, it means they are more hyper than I hoped for. They squeal and bang, on what? I don't have these answers. I just hear more banging when they are happy. I suppose, now that I write this, I prefer the happy. Because at least they fall asleep with smiles on their faces. Those are the nights I walk in to find my 11 year old son snuggling his little brother even though they have two perfectly legitimate mattresses. And my youngest son snuggling a hanger. You know the ones? With the velvet so nothing slips off? It's as it should be: a boy and his brother and his brother's hanger.

I hear heavy sighs. Izzy is a high schooler. She has high school duties. That means bigger duties. Better duties. She takes it all seriously. She is going to sigh a little more when she realizes I am going to bed. But the thing is I am just so tired. I don't drink enough water, so my belly aches, and I am tired. My self control couldn't fill a bottle cap. Yesterday I drank four cups of coffee. No water. Just coffee and a lot of it. Don't look at me. I am ashamed.

Ok ok. My husband is gonna die

If I don't clearly state that we are waiting for Santa. We are expecting Santa and not a little peanut. Sad really. But for the record, I would be just as happy to know we were expecting a little clown who would take our last name, but for now we will just wait in anticipation for the man with the bag. We are expecting Santa. The end.
Well. Not the end. I am also expecting a new tattoo with my birthday money. I am expecting to have a mellow Christmas. I am expecting my weight to fluctuate.

I am expecting my friend to tell me she is hopping on a plane with her new baby from Uganda.

I am expecting my kids to learn some instruments. See? I am expecting all sorts of things.

Um. Guess what.

Many of you have mentioned it lately, and since I'm starting to show every where I go, we thought we'd just go ahead and say it.

The secret is out.

WE ARE EXPECTING!
Santa should be coming around the mountain so soon, and goodness am I excited! We have been super busy. But not because we have declared family time. Hope your days are jolly ;)

Sometimes

a friend is adopting a baby, so I am giddy in the morning.

 I drink too many cups of coffee because it's cold, so I disrupt the natural order of my belly.

 I wait impatiently on the Lord.

I remember that isn't actually the way that saying is supposed to go.

the fire place makes me think of Christmas.

my phone erupts with good conversation from friends I have never met with my face.

I wait too long to go to the bathroom, and for a minute or two, I know exactly where Bob Wiley is coming from.

 an entire day seems too long to wait for news. Any news.

I remember Miracle Max and his very wise words, "You rush a miracle, you get rotten miracles."

my belly thinks we are a hobbit and wants to eat two of each meal, plus tea. Only by tea I mean coffee.

 I wish Veteran's Day was every day.

I don't want to go back to work.

I want to hole up with my husband and kids and work on Christmas decorations and cook together and watch movies and snuggle.

 I can't always get what I want.

Thankful Thursday

For what am I thankful??? What kind of question is this? Let me count the ways on this precious fall day:

1. The Man: I haven't exactly been myself since I began my career. I have been a career woman for about ten weeks. That's all. Ten measly weeks. In that time, my husband has done more laundry, more dinner making, more baby hugs, more children taxiing than ever. I don't like that he has had to do so much, but I am so grateful that he is capable. I can't even imagine what my hair would look like (straight, frizzled, grizzly) if he was one of those guys that can't function. 
2. My new red blanket: Don't tell my husband. I bought a snuggly new quilt at The Walmarts. It's red and green and cream and plaid. So many of my most favorite things all wrapped into one soft, fluffy goodness.
3. The weather: It's agonna snow!!!!! After a lifetime in a city with no snow, and a year in a state that wouldn't know snow if it bit it in the pan handle, I am looking forward to our first snowfall. I am Lorelei Gilmore. I can smell the snow. I can feel it. I want to go take a walk.

I am linking up with these girls. Visit them. Let's be thankful together.

Irony and Comedy Routines

Sometimes I think I could have led the life of a stand up comedian. Well, not really because I hate auditions and rejection and living on rice and beans. But if I liked those things, then maybe. Sometimes I come up with comedy routines. Bits if you will. Last night, I watched a movie preview where Owen Wilson (funny) accused another gentleman of being a pseudo intellectual. Is that irony at it's finest? He used a mamby pamby ten dollar word to say that guy likes to be fake smart. This would be my opener. Then I would talk about being a housewife and the things that make me territorial. Namely, the dirt on the kitchen floor. Why does it happen that we hate dirt and crumbs on the kitchen floor: AARGH!! CRUMBS. ON THE FLOOR!! STUCK TO MY SOCKS! WHY WON'T SOMEONE SWEEP! Then we sweep, and suddenly we are the dirt's body guard. This dirt, now that it's gathered, is our most precious commodity: AARGH!! WATCH OUT FOR MY DIRT!! DON'T WALK THROUGH MY DIRT!! YOU ARE MESSING WITH MY DIRT. PRETTY SOON IT'S JUST GOING TO BE ALL SPREAD OUT DIRT. MEANINGLESS TO ME. NOTHING. JUST LET ME HAVE THIS!!! I have done it. I have listened to my husband do it. My mother, my brother, friends, and probably anyone with a broom. Thank you very much. I am here all week.

Song Lyrics, Not my own

When I don't understand I will choose You When I don't understand I get to choose to love you God For you are good, God. For you are good to me. For you are good, God. For you are good to me. And it's my honor, and it's my privilege to worship you. All of this is so true. It's so real and raw and still it gets pushed back so often. Too often. Well, lets' raise our glasses (mugs) to choosing more. Choosing what's right. Choosing what is truth. May we never a day muddle. May our steps be driven toward loving others more than ourselves. May we drop the facade we carry so they know we are real. And above all else, may God will out in the end. Thank goodness we know the end of this story. Good game God.