About Me #3-6.

The final installment...

3. I have a home-made tattoo on my heel. At the age of 15, using a razor blade and a bit of India ink, I carved a cross into my heel. It didn't turn out so well the first time (it looked like a 'T'), so I had to redo it a little. For future reference, I wouldn't recommend obtaining a tattoo this way.

4. I have had a fascination with cows/cattle since high school. This has gotten me into trouble. Driving in rush hour once, I saw a trailer that I thought might have cattle in it. Rubber-necking to see, I rear-ended the car in front of me.

5. Most of you know this, but I would like to consider myself an artist of sorts. However, the perfectionist side of me undermines my confidence, and the analytical side makes me overthink things, so I'm not as productive as I would like to be. I can draw a pretty good cow, though.

6. My middle name is Jo, which I thought was pretty cool until I moved to the South. I accidently had 'Wendy Jo' instead of Wendy J. printed on my checks, and every time I wrote a check, the cashier thought my first name was Wendy Jo. I was glad to run out of checks.

Personality

About me #2. Sort of.

A while ago, I took a personality test on MyPersonality.info (because Shyla had done one).

I am overwhelmingly introverted. (Surprise.)
I am also very analytical, which makes taking personality tests very painful, because I tend to think too hard about every answer, and I can see where the answer is leading the outcome of the test.

The hardest questions to answer these days are the ones that ask something like... What do you value more: justice or mercy? In the past, I was overwhelmingly judgemental. Things were fairly black and white. And then something changed my perspective... I remember working in a courthouse downtown several years ago, daydreaming about being something of a Judge Judy. If I was a judge, I would put it to people hard and straight. These people then would be enlightened by my words and straighten their lives out. Then God reminded me: Mercy triumphs over judgement.

I was in the shower the other day wondering what Jesus' personality was like. Of course, he's just like me... But really, if he took the test, I think he would split the personalities right down the middle. He is extroverted, warm and welcoming. He is introverted, cherishing his time alone with the Father. He is the balance between logic and intuition, the ultimate judge and the ultimate forgiver. And he is making me more like himself.

I am sure that in reality I will never be an outgoing socialite (nor do I want to be), but I can see that I'm changing. But maybe my personality isn't really changing. Maybe the junk is just getting knocked off of it so that I am more who God meant me to be.

Trees

After a week and a half of the flu, I think I might have a moment to post, so here goes...

Shlya was tagged again to write six things about herself, then tagged several of us other bloggers as well. It has been fun to read what people want others to know about themselves. I was in bed the other night with ringing in my ears and a headache, and not sleeping, so I began thinking about what I would blog about myself. I don't know how far I'll get. Usually there is a story that goes with something, and really, I just want to tell this story.

1. I like to climb trees. I always have. We had some wonderful climbing trees in our yard growing up. The easiest, we called the Charlie Tree. I don't know why. My brothers probably know. My favorite was a sycamore tree. It was fairly tall, but it wasn't old enough to have limbs out of reach, and thankfully, my parents weren't into 'limbing up' trees, so I could climb it at a young age. By the time I was 7 or 8, I would climb it to the very top until I felt like the spindly branches would no longer appreciate my weight. I would enjoy swaying with the treetop in the nearly constant Nebraska wind. This would, of course, make my mother nervouse, but (bless her) she never forced me to come down.

I never fell out of a tree until I was 26 years old. (I do remember trying to fall out and break my leg because I thought a cast and crutches would be cool. But like Kohana, I never had any broken bones or trips to the hospital for stitches.)

The year Chris and I were married, we hosted a Christmas party at our home. I thought it would be a good idea to try to find some mistle toe to hang in a doorway somewhere to see who would take advantage of it. I set off to Belmont campus where Chris knew of a few climbable trees that sported some toe.

It was evening and rather warm for December, a slight mist in the air. I crawled under a fence in one of the housing areas and found a tree that looked promising. The lowest limbs were out of my reach, so I pulled a picnic table underneath to give me a boost. There were a few sprouts of mistle toe here and there in the crooks by the trunk, but nothing that was big enough. Looking up, I saw saw there might be some further up and out. I climbed up a little, and then started making my way out onto a limb. It was the sort of limb you could walk down while holding onto a higher branch.

About seven or eight feet out there was a nice clump that looked like it might be within my reach. I started to stretch for it thinking, 'If Chris saw me, he would kill me.' The next thing that happened I can only imagine looked like something out of Looney Tunes.

The mist of the evening had made the branches a bit slippery, so I slipped. Somehow I managed to grab the branch my feet had been on as I fell. I hung there for half a second, then my hands slipped off. Beneath me was another branch that I managed to grab... but of course my hands slipped off again. This time, there was nothing between me and the ground. Thankfully, the ground sloped steeply away from the base of the tree on that side, and somehow, that slope helped to break my fall. I walked away with only a slight bruised tailbone, but a terribly bruised ego.

Vision

We have always thought about finishing out the rest of our attic space to create a master suite upstairs. We thought we'd try to put a full bath up there as well, since the house only has one bathroom. When we started talking about the possibility of moving, the excitement of the master suite idea faded a bit, and we were left a bit confused (and in minor disagreement) as to what the best plan would be for the house.

(We have done a lot of work on our house, of which I am rather proud, and am hoping to post some pics soon of some of the befores and afters... as soon as I can locate those pictures.)

We asked a realtor to come over to the house and give us some ideas about what we should (or should not) do to the house to give it an edge when it came time to sell. We had nearly nixed the full bath idea, as a half bath would be much more feasible in the limited space in the attic, and had convinced ourselves that if we finished out the basement (which is about half done), that would be the best plan. Thank God for good realtors.

Sparing you all the details, she suggested gutting the entire attic, tearing down the walls, and creating the master suite in the resulting larger space. A full bath would also be more desirable. The biggest complaint from those moving from apartment rentals into the house ownership is that most older home have no master suites. She also said our basement was a huge bonus, but we really didn't need to do much more to it.

We have moved our bedroom to the basement with a nice view of our washer and dryer, and have the advantage of hearing Finley and Joe whenever they step out of bed right over our heads. It is a longer walk to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but that is a small inconvenience for a pregnant woman, compared to the dishwashing I did in the bathtub when I was eight months pregnant with Finley and we were renovating the kitchen.

It almost seems a ridiculous to put this much work into a house, only to move out and start over. We figure we'll get at least six months of enjoyment out of the master suite once it is finished before we might put the house on the market. But do you know what makes it all worth while? We have this crazy notion that we might just make enough money off this place to buy a livable place on a few acres outright... and have NO MORTGAGE!

Perhaps I have listened to Dave Ramsey too much. But just watching the people around me, I can see the truth in the verse, "The borrower is slave to the lender." [For example, I know some one working a job he does not enjoy to pay the mortgage on the family home. All of the jobs he would really enjoy wouldn't pay quite as much, and he I think he feels a bit enslaved.] I could also dive into the realm of means vs. lifestyles and what our expectations are these days in America, but I won't. All I can think of is what it would mean for us to not owe anybody anything.

Sink Update

After spending all of yesterday in bed with the flu, Chris felt well enough this morning to clean neglected parts of the house and tackle the slow-draining bathroom sink.

After using first the plunger, then taking apart the p-trap to snake out the pipes as far as possible, Chris determined that the sink is well clogged at some point further down the line.

There is currently a container of Drano poured down the sink and an incense stick lit to the god of plumbing in hopes that this last-ditch effort will free the pipes.

I am under strick orders to not puke in any more sinks.

Babel-ing

I heard a report on NPR this morning that attendance to the national parks has declined sharply since the 90's. Today, I also saw a newspaper article that said Disneyland's profits were higher than expected.

I have been thinking about a potential move to the country, and with it, come questions like, "Would we be able to get high-speed internet access? Would there be good cell phone reception in that area?" I realize how much I have tied myself to technology and its conveniences. My number one mode of communication is e-mail. Number two is my cell phone. Way down on the list is face to face interactions with people other than my children and husband. Sad.

Driving downtown, I see lots of concrete and glass. There is hardly anything natural in the landscape.

I am one of those that believes that creation speaks volumes to us of our Creator if only we would take the time to listen. The Bible tells us that the heavens declare the glory of God, not just because they are amazing and beautiful (the above photo is a shot of the darkest part of the sky), but because they were created to help tell the story of our redemption. (For the past two years Andy Reese has spoken at Christmas about the reality of the 'Christmas Star' and how the constellations tell the story of our relationship with God. If at all interested, you can listen here. It is well worth your time. Unfortunately, you'll miss out on the visuals he had.)

Anyway, I am seeing an increasing move away from the natural. The majority of humanity is surrounding itself with all that is man-made, and losing touch with the God-made. It is as if we are trying to build what we see as the perfect world, like the tower of Babel... when man tried to reach heaven with his own creation. In the process, man loses touch with God and other men. (I do see the irony that in a sense, we are in communication with each other more than ever, but the depth and meaning of that communication??)

All the more, I want my children to experience nature as it is meant to be seen. I want them to hold real worms in their hands instead seeing a cartoon worm on TV. I want to provide my children more opportunity to get a glimpse of their Creator through creation. In the same way, I want to re-inforce with myself as I teach my kids that relationship is much more than gathering around the television to watch a movie together or shooting Grandma an e-mail every now and then...

*Disclaimer: I am not saying all man-made inventions are evil. It's just that whole balance thing again. I am not on track to ban electricity from my house, and I will always use something to help my pits not stink so badly. :)

Another Day

In the midst of cleaning up the Play-Doh, Finley decides she needs to go potty. Joe comes up from the basement where he had been throwing balls. I look at him with suspicion and ask, "Are you poopie?"

"Uh-uh." He replies in the negative. But I can tell from the I-don't-like-you-for-asking look he has on his face that he is probably lying. I check, and sure enough, he has a load.

I manage to wrestle Joe to the changing pad, and administer a little swat to get him to lie still. Just then, Finley announces that she has pooped and needs her bum wiped. "You'll have to wait," I say as I pull my shirt over my nose and undo Joe's diaper. This is a big one, and a bit more odorous than I had anticipated. I start singing the Doxology (Praise God from whom all blessings flow...) in the hopes that will distract me enough to prevent any upheavals.

You would think that at 15 weeks of this pregnancy, I would be over the gagging and vomitting. After all, they call the second trimester the 'honeymoon' of the pregnancy. But, no. Not this one.

The singing doesn't work. A gag forces its way up, and with it, some of my sandwich. Thankfully, by this time, Joe's rear end is clean. Trying not to spit any of this up in my shirt, I run past Finley, who has parked herself in front of the mirror to check to see if her bum is clean, to the bathroom.

Knowing there are some chunks in my mouth, I contemplate spitting in the toilet, but glancing, see that Finley did not flush. I turn and spew all over the sink. It keeps coming. During a lull, I manage to wipe some off the sink, rinse most of it down, and flush the toilet. Another wave comes, and I am able to let it go into the 'clean' water of the toilet.

Realizing that there are still two little ones in need of attention, I wipe Finley and put a clean diaper on Joe, then go to retrieve the Comet bathroom cleaner from the closet. I run some more water in the sink to check to see if it is clogged, then spray it down. The citric acid smell of the spray soothes me as I clean the sink. It's just another day...

8 Things About Reanna

By special request...

Shyla was tagged by a friend of hers to write eight things about one of her children. At the end of her post she tagged me to write about Reanna. It's true... I don't write too many posts about her. Part of it is that she just isn't around as much as the kids I gave birth to, and when she is, since it is the school year, she locks herself in her room for most of the day to do her work in relative peace. Also, as her step-mom, I don't know her like her mom does, which leads me to:

#1. Reanna is a lot like me in the sense that she doesn't open up easily to people she's not incredibly close to. Reanna and I aren't naturally gabby with each other, so it is fun when she gets into telling me about the things that go on in her life apart from us.

2. Reanna is a dancer. When she was younger, I used to to project the things that I thought she might be good at. For example, when at age five, she naturally plunked out an octave on the piano, I thought music might be her thing. But when a few years later, I bought a piano book and showed her the basics on her keyboard, I didn't see her take any initiative. She would rather hit the programmed song button and listen. These days, I can see what she is passionate about, what is naturally a part of her. She is always dancing and practicing her moves. (Isn't it fun to discover what your kids are passionate about?)

3. She is a vegetarian. A couple years ago, she went through a vegetarian phase with her mom. It faded out, as more and more exceptions kept being made. About a year ago, she decided to try it again. She told me they (she and her mom) were going to start after they ate some chicken wings in the freezer. I challenged her that if it was something she felt strongly about, not to wait for her mom. Almost a year later, she has stuck to it, even with her mom eating meat, and I am proud that she's learning to stand alone for things she believes in.

4. She is one of those infamous preteens with a cell phone.

5. She has known her dad longer than I have have known him... and I think she has a lot more tolerance for antics than I do. When she was 5 or 6, he used to act ridiculous in public (walking funny or something). Reanna would get so embarrased, and I would try to tell her, "He can only embarrass himself." These days, when he gets silly and loud after supper (the little ones eat it up), I get frustrated (dying for some quiet) and Reanna just rolls her eyes.

6. She enjoys playing with Finley and Joe. She especially enjoys having a little sister to put make up and fingernail polish on.

7. She is a budding poet and writer. Remember when you were entering those teen years? She's into writing that crazy, exploring-the-emotions type stuff. I really do enjoy her other writings, though. She has a way of writing that draws one's interest.

8. She is gracious and patient. It amazes me that no matter how many times Joe breaks into her room, or Finley demands her attention, she rarely seems exasperated with them. She will just collect the wayward Joe into her arms and deposit him into another room, or answer Finley with a 'not right now.'

9. (Chris' addition) She is growing up.