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Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 8

24 Thursday Feb 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

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covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour


Dear Diary – Last Thursday was a Snowmageddon-type snowstorm, the kind where the snowblower battery has to be charged twice to get the job done once. So Friday afternoon, I settled in with a pot of tea and my laptop to shop for fabric. Like I need more. It’s amazing what you can find if you go looking…I found a great website: www.fabricgeek.ca. If you’re looking for anything related to Star Wars, Harry Potter, Big Bang Theory, Marvel, Back to the Future, Minecraft, or Mario, this is the go-to place! I even found steampunk robot dinosaurs.

Of course I bought some

Dear Diary – We celebrated Family Day weekend with Eldest Son. He hasn’t been home since Christmas so we celebrated his birthday with Madagascar vanilla bean and bourbon cupcakes, with homemade raspberry buttercream. Yum!

A few years ago, he bought a hammock, which he tried very hard to set up at his grandparents’ one summer. He succeeded, but his butt was literally inches from the ground. So we gave him a hammock stand. He set it up in the living room and enjoyed a nap in it, Sunday afternoon.

I missed hanging out with him on Saturday morning because I was speaking at the Ladies’ Craft ‘N Chat we’re starting at church. It’s a montly event and we had a perfect baker’s dozen! It was a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with friends, new and old, and to squeeze out some creative juices. Balancing my purse, my Tim Horton’s tea, and a laundry basket full of fabric and paper patterns required creativity as well. But I made it in. The way out was trickier, as the wind had picked up and nearly blew my patterns away. I kept the patterns but the wind blew something else away. As I bent down to lift the basket into the backseat, I heard a terrible noise. The wind had mercilessly tossed my Timmies tea off the roof of the car, and nary a drop remained.

I consoled myself with the lukewarm travel mug of tea I had waiting for me in the car. The remains of my Tim’s still rests on the floor of my car.

Saturday night was the monthly “walk of shame” as I tried on various outfits from the remaining few items in my closet that still fit. It’s been a month since I started seriously hobbling on a sore, swollen ankle. “Going for a walk” means the long climb from the office to the kitchen for tea, or from the couch to the bathroom upstairs. 😦 My new zumba video remains in the plastic wrap gathering dust, and my clothes continue to shrink in the closet. But I digress.

I was up and dressed before the sun on Sunday morning. I’m not sure this is what was meant in the Bible verse that takes about the sacrifice of praise. I met the worship team at 8 and we settled in for a final run through and sound check before the service at 9:30. I had remembered my music, my iPad with the tracks, even a bottle of water. Our rehearsal Friday evening had gone swimmingly. We even finished in record time. But this morning, God had other plans.

It was a lesson in patience and trust. When I opened the app for the tracks, it had signed me out. I had to wait patiently while our electric guitarist rooted through his case to find the password. Then, it had deleted ALL of the tracks (and edits I had made to the arrangements). Our electric guitarist quickly put them back in (He’s a seasoned veteran). Poised to play, I pushed start and nothing happened.

Have I tried turning it off and on again?

Yes, I did. After nearly a half hour, we used the electric guitarist’s iPad. He set it up again. And was kind enough to share his password in case the iPad decided to nap at any point. The remainder of the morning went well, but patience and trust.

Speaking of patience and trust, I tried cooking a while chicken again. Hubby trusted the thermometer when it said it was cooked. It was not. We ended up emptying the fridge of all leftovers, and I have a clean fridge again.

We cooked the chicken longer that night, so were shocked to discover Tuesday evening, that the frickin’ chicken was still bleeding out. We cooked her longer but went ahead had canned ham grilled wraps for dinner. Tonight we’re having Eggs Purgatory, with frickin chicken. I think this carcass is going to haunt me the rest of the week.

Dear Diary – Youngest Son started his first job today. It’s a co-op credit in high school so he won’t be paid, but he’s already made quite a favourable impression on his new “boss” and survived the experience of 2 job interviews. Welcome to the real world, kid!

Dear Diary – Yesterday it rained, all day. This morning, I can hardly see the neighbour’s roof, it’s snowing and blowing so hard. And, of course, today is the day that I have to attend my annual eye appointment with my 12 year old doctor. The one who also plays video games and remembered last year that I do too.

This year, I chose my clothes carefully. I never want to make THAT mistake again, but I think I pulled it off. Toilet paper clothing is only acceptable at bridal showers and children’s birthday parties.

I was tired by the time he had finished squirting drops in my eyes and blinding me, not to mention the “space invader” test, and the sun was shining brightly and glinting off the snow. It was made brighter by the fact that my pupils were so dilated, I looked like a anime cartoon.

I lost my clip-on sunglasses two years ago. Fortunately, for the first time, I was offered disposable sunglasses for the drive home. I was warned that, though effective, they were not fashionable. They were right. The glasses were a flimsy black film rectangle with a slight notch for my nose, and adjustable film earpieces that looked like they were made for Dumbo.

With nowhere to sit and fiddle with them in the ultra modern and very open-plan store, I ventured from the store with them in my hand. It was excruciatingly bright as individual rays of sunshine ping-ponged off snow banks, chrome trim, and some guy’s watch 20 feet away. I slowly advanced to my car with my eyes squinting so hard, I was looking at the world through my eyelashes. My face was so screwed up, I probably looked like a wizened crone. I prayed that I wouldn’t get hit by a car.

Once safely inside my vehicle, I began the onerous task of making this piece of film do its job. I had no trouble hooking the first earpiece over one ear and jamming the end of it into my hair. It was stuck fast. But the other side would not cooperate. It wouldn’t hook over my ear. It wouldn’t stay over my left eye. It kept popping out like a beer belly under a crop top, the sun flashing me the same way, every time it did. So white!

My options were limited: keep fighting with it or lie down in the back seat and sleep for the next 4 hours.

Never a quitter, I struggled for what felt like an eternity, as passers-by stopped and stared. At least I think they stopped and stared. Everything was a blur, a bright blur. After folding and tucking, and growling under my breath, I finally got the film in place. It wasn’t firmly in place, but enough I was convinced I could drive, as long as I didn’t move too much or breathe.

I made it home, but it was not a pleasant journey. And for the remainder of the afternoon, I tried, often unsuccessfully, to avoid looking out the windows. I also had to avoid reading, because as the drops wore off, my pupils didn’t function in tandem, like pairs figure skating. Instead one eye was like the rest of me, moving a little slow. I also had to give up sewing because I couldn’t find the hole in the needle, and the lamp was just too bright.

Dear Diary – It’s a beautiful, sunny day today. Not a cloud in the sky. But the weather network has issued a snowstorm warning. Is this the calm before the storm, or is the weather network wrong again? Stay tuned. I’m just going to stay in and sew.

A clean house is a sign of a broken sewing machine.

CFFC: Bare Feet & Boots

23 Wednesday Feb 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness, Photography

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

boots, CFFC, family, humour, Photo Challenge, photography


Beach vs Poolside

It’s snowing outside. I’d take either one!!

The sassy green boots that inspired my blog

Boots that were so caked in mud (socks too) that we had to go barefoot to get inside.

“When you’re safe at home you wish you were having an adventure; when you’re having an adventure you wish you were safe at home.” -Thornton Wilder

This is my post for Cee Neuner’s Fun Foto Challenge: Bare Feet and Boots

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 7

17 Thursday Feb 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, memories, sewing, winter


Dear Diary – It’s week 7 in 2022, and the number 7 is considered, in many cultures , the number of perfection, security, safety and rest. It’s a number that appears a lot. For example, there are 7 days in a week, 7 colours in a rainbow, 7 notes in a diatonic scale, 7 dwarves in Snow White, 7 Wonders of the World, and 7 stars in the Big Dipper. The tangram is a puzzle consisting of seven flat shapes, called tans. Nitrogen (N) has the atomic number 7. And in the Book of Revelation alone, it appears 54 times. I’m studying the book of Revelation right now and I’ve had to read all 22 chapters multiple times. Believe me, it’s in there a lot.

So I’m hoping, Dear Diary, that though there’s a lot of unrest in Canada at the moment, this week will truly be one of safety and rest.

Dear Diary – I have at least 12 hours of the Olympics to watch some day. I don’t have time to sit around in my pjs eating bon-bons, watching my “stories” everyday. I PVR’d the the figure skating because I used to figure skate. I also like to irritate my family when I point out, “I could do that”. Of course, I never attempted anything triple or quadruple and I can count the number of times I landed a double jump, on one hand. It was mostly a lot of falling and sliding over and over again. There were no helmets or knee pads!

I really wanted to be a ballerina but there was no dance school in my small town. My options were figure skating and highland dancing. I disappointed my grandmother when I chose figure skating. She thought it would be great if I danced and my brother learned to play the bagpipes. My brother…did not agree!

Most of the skaters in the club had committed mothers (a few of those mothers should have been committed), so they skated year round and participated in competitions father afield. I only skated during the winter months, which meant every year I was competing against girls who were younger and younger. It started to get awkward.

My Mom did her best. She “patiently” sewed my sewing costumes as skirts were mandatory, even for practice. While I sometimes coveted the heavily sequined dresses of my peers, I also appreciated her hard work. I felt pretty and I was proud to say, “My Mom made it”!

I especially loved my pink Torville & Dean-inspired dress

I hated figure 8s and I tolerated dance. The pairs dance that you see on t.v. is not the same as dance as I learned. Instead, they were standard dances, like a waltz or tango, that increased in difficulty with every level. I was fortunate to make friends with another girl and we became shadow dance partners. We would dance the same movements, parallel to one another, like a shadow. We were allowed to wear matching costumes, which my Mom helped put together.

As for my solo work, I rarely got to do my whole routine with the music before a competition. Instead, I did my best to work on my elements and stay out of certain people’s way. There were star skaters and if you crossed their path, they would lynch you.

My Mom missed my first competition and my Dad had to take me. I still have the note she left for me. Unlike the Olympics, We had to wait for all the skaters in my level to skate, and then wait for the list scores to be posted. My Dad treated me to a hot dog from the concession stand. I won my first silver medal.

One of my last skating competitions

The other mandatory thing I hated was the Club fundraiser – we had to work in groups to put on a show. One year, I skated to Rock Around the Clock; another, Dolly Parton’s 9-5. Mom had to make my costume for that too.

Dear Diary – I was supposed to make a special delivery last week but we postponed it because the weather dude predicted freezing rain. It turned out to be the most beautiful day so far this year! It was sunny and warm, not a cloud in the sky. The next delivery date was postponed as well, this time for snow. At least that time, weather dude was closer. It snowed, then rained, and snowed, then rained… We finally met after church in a Tim’s parking lot, but it was -20C so we didn’t get to visit. I’m hoping next time, it’s 20+!

Dear Diary – Saturday afternoon, Youngest Son came and hovered behind me. When I finally asked him, “can I help you?”, he asked “what’s for dinner?”. I probably should have asked him what he was making me. I replied, dismally, “frickin’ chickin’. Again”. He piped up, “Or…” as he dropped a Pizza Pizza gift card on my sewing, “we could use this”. He said it was because I had complained commented earlier in the week that I was sick of chicken. Or, it could have been self-preservation since my passion for cooking has ebbed. Either way – Pizza! And I didn’t have to cook!

I read recipes the same way I read science fiction. I get to the end and think
“well, that’ not going to happen’!

Dear Diary – That inevitable holiday between Christmas and Easter has passed. Or should I say, the holiday between Christmas chocolate and Easter chocolate. The “day of love” lands in the middle of a month smothered in a thick, scratchy blanket of gray skies. It’s a month wherein the heavens can’t decide if it wants to rain or snow, so we get a mixture of snush. Sludgy trenches of slush and rippling pools soak through our heavy boots, unless it freezes. Then we skate and our knees and sizeable bottoms experience blunt force trauma in a most-inelegant way. Whoever thought that celebrating romance had to have been so blissfully enamoured that he or she didn’t notice the world around him or her. At least not here in Canada.

I have not been a fan for a long time, probably because I’ve been fraught with bad experiences. But it’s still a chance to bake without with less guilt. It’s one day and chocolate goes on sale the very next day. I wore my traditional black and delivered chocolate cupcakes to a friend. We ordered Chinese food for dinner and I made raspberry mille feuille for dessert. My guys gave me chocolate – Youngest said wrote this charming note: To Mom, from your . I’m going to need to shop for XL pants, but I definitely felt the indigestion love.

Dear Diary – A number of Covid restrictions lifted today. Maybe that’s why we’re currently under a snowfall warning: high winds, heavy snow and freezing rain. Hurray!

Yesterday, to celebrate, I went shopping at Fabricland. Still hobbling with a sore ankle (from old age apparently), I took my friend with me. She proved extremely helpful. I passed her bolts for fabric and she took care of the carrying and walking to cut what I wanted. Bonus, it let me shop in peace without being shown things that I don’t want. I walked out of there (dragging one feet like Igor) with a bag full of goodies! And to my absolute delight, since I’m naming my Etsy store (some day) “Sassy Green Lemons”, I actually found Sassy Green Lemons:

Dear Diary – I learned a new word: dysania. It’s the chronic condition of finding it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. I like it!!

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
The 5 Stages of Waking Up

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 6

10 Thursday Feb 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

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covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour


Dear Diary – I’m starting to acquire quite a collection of single grieving socks on my dresser. It seems more and more join the sock support group every weekend. Last Saturday, I put 4 pairs of my “baby socks” (as Hubby calls them) in the washing machine. Every one went in with its mate. I was very careful. I also checked that the washing machine was empty after I tossed the load in the dryer AND the dryer when I emptied it. No “man” left behind and all that. But when I folded said load, I had 1 mated pair and 3 heartbroken socks. What is going on? Are they escaping to sock paradise, lounging on a beach somewhere toe-jam free? Did they win some sort of “lottery” in a post-apocolyptic sock world?

Last week, an unrelated miracle occurred – Hubby asked me to help him purge his wardrobe again. (It was wonderful!) But this unrelated miracle gave me hope. As he pulled out an older polo shirt, a blue facecloth fell from the folds. I’m hoping that perhaps one day my grieving socks will be reunited with their mates, that they were all just static-clinged to another garment and they will be found.

In the meantime, if this continues, I’m going to have to start wearing mismatched pairs of socks. Which means if the other mate isn’t found soon, one sock will be significantly battered and faded while the other hasn’t aged a day. If they’re truly in love, it won’t matter.

Dear Diary – I’m concerned about my parents. I called one afternoon this week but they weren’t home. They didn’t call me back for over an hour. It turns out they were off gallivanting all over town. First they went drifting on the back country roads. Then they got gas. Next they cruised over to Home Hardware for a new toilet seat and toilet paper holder before heading home! Last night I got an email telling me they bought a new veggie peeler. They’re out of control and spending all of my inheritance!

Dear Diary – I started sewing a gnome this week. Now I remember why I’ve debated sewing them for my Etsy shop (if I ever stop procrastinating and set one up!) They have tiny feet, like me, and attaching them to the body is like trying to complete an inside-out 3D puzzle. Maybe the 4th time will be the charm…

Dear Diary – After hobbling around for more than a week with a sore ankle, I broke down and called my rheumatologist just to see if he had any openings this week. I figured he wouldn’t but it never hurts to ask. I talked to his joyless office administrator and she confirmed he did not, but she noted my complaint and said he might want to talk to me. He called 5 minutes later. I nearly passed out. We chatted and he asked me if I could come in at 5. I nearly passed out again.

So I flew around the house like a fat, wounded pigeon to get supper organized and my hair tamed. I was supposed to be recording a “music video” at the church at 7. The church is the opposite direction of the doctor’s office.

He poked; I winced. He prodded; I yelped. He commented with words like “odd”, “strange” and “unusual”. In fact he used “odd” a lot. He concluded that either it was an odd (see again!) inflammatory episode or I fractured something. He gave me a prescription for an additional anti-inflammatory, a requisition for an xray and the delightful news that I should have an MRI. I break into a sweat just typing MRI.

I hobbled to my car and sat in rush hour traffic, willing the bus in front of me to plough through traffic so I could get home…or over to the xray place that said it was still open. I got to the xray place but of course, no one was anwering the phone. So I hobbled in, taking the scenic route around a tall snowbank and a big puddle. The place was empty save for the intake worker, and long story short, I was in and out in record time! I grabbed a chicken thigh and potato, which Hubby had warmed up for me and rushed out the door with my music and a muffin 9which Hubby had packed for me). Hubby texted the organizer that I was going to be 10 minutes late.

I didn’t know what to expect when I got there.

I had spent several hours discussing my wardrobe with another singer and friend. I had showered and washed my hair, and put it in braids to try to give it some shape. I really wanted to wear heels but had to settle for less “grandma-ish” sneakers. I can’t even get my winter boots on. There was no time to style my hair (and the bathroom was just too far away), so the braids came out and I had to trust that if I was sporting an 80’s hairdo, someone would tell me.

There were 9 musicians set up in a U-shape, with 3 static cameras, 2 people with moving cameras, and 1 person taking photographs. The room was buzzing with conversation, everyone flashing raised eyebrows and nervous grins at each other. Our discomfort grew once the video recorders started invading our personal space as we tried to focus on the music and on worshipping the Lord. Akward, yes! But as the minutes passed and all the tension was stripped away, we melted into a unified chorus.

After it was finished, we all hung around, not wanting our time together to end. It was a fantastic way to get to know new people and I think it really helped us bond as a group who are passionate about music and worship through music. I’m looking forward to seeing the end product, knowing what an onerous task it must be to combine all of the footage from so many angles.

The pastor sent me a photo the next day. I told him it was my best side:

Dear Diary – I was happy to let a friend help me today. Usually I am her wheels; today she was my feet. She dropped off my prescription for me and I picked it up through the drive-thru. She shopped for her groceries while I went to chiropractor. And we celebrated with Tim’s tea and long visit in the car.

It’s so much easier to be the helper than the helpee. I’m independent and I worry about bothering others and taking up their precious time. But it’s okay to ask for help when we need it because when we let others help us, we give them the blessing of being the one to help.

Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.

J.R.R.Tolkien

Dear Diary – I think my body has absorbed so much soap and hand sanitizer that when I pee, I clean the toilet.

I wish cleaning other areas in my home were that easy.

Instead of cleaning house, I just watch an episode of Hoarders and think ‘WOW, my house looks great’!

Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 5

03 Thursday Feb 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour


Dear Diary – Hubby and I were getting out dishes for dinner and discussing how chilly the house was. I mentioned I felt cold because my hair was still damp (having showered a few hours earlier). Hubby suddenly gasped, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! I forgot to tell you! Eldest Son called while you were in the shower and he left a message saying he was lying dead in the ditch…”

I called him back. He’s fine. This time, he was just calling to say “hi”. The time he called to say he had just totalled his car was…because he had just totalled his car. That, my friends, was quite a day!

My kids are the reason I wake up each morning, the reason I breathe…and why my hair is turning gray, my house is a mess and I’m crazy!

Unknown

Dear Diary – Sunday night we watched the movie, Babe, with dinner. It’s a sweet story about a pig who trains to be a “sheep dog”. Both Hubby and I remember watching this movie with Eldest Son when he was about 6 years old. It was Easter and we were at with my folks.

Dinner that night was ham and mashed potatoes!

We didn’t point it out to Eldest Son. We were worried he’d be traumatized.

This time, we ate chicken!

But when Hubby asked, “Do you want me to carve the chicken?” Youngest Son exclaimed, “oh! It’s not a decoration!”. To which Hubby replied, slightly confused, “No, it’s not decorative chicken”.

Which begs the question…do people have decorative cooked chickens in their home? Did mine look like plastic? I know my cooking isn’t great but…decorative chicken?

Dear Diary – In Grade 13 English-Writing class, we were asked to fill out an aptitude test. At the end, we had to choose 3 careers from our results and share them with the class. I chose “singer”, “archivist”, and “librarian”. The class immediately declared “archivist” or “librarian”.

I admit, I was alittle hurt. Afterall, they had never heard me sing, but they were the most logical choices. Still, I’d love to go back in time and make the prediction that one day I would sing in a music video. I may have that opportunity soon. Oh, it won’t be a rock video. It won’t receive a million views, followed by a series of talk shows and a record deal, but I’m excited.

Dear Diary – My temporary tattoo is starting to fade. I lengthened it’s lifespan by showering with a rubber glove.

How funny would it be if the “un” faded first. Then it would just say “breakable”. Maybe I should get one that says “Handle with Care”.

After the terrible turn my body has taken this week, I’d settle for “able”. One ankle has been giving me grief for a few months now, but this week the arthritis hit a new level of misery and I can hardly walk. It got so bad one afternoon, I broke down and used a cane…and I bumped down the stairs on my butt. I haven’t done that since I hit double digits. With the kettle on one floor and the bathroom on another, it’s a conundrum.

Standing isn’t as much of a problem so yesterday I made carrot-parsnip soup, cabbage and beef soup, and bread. I’m hoping the veggies balance out the carbs because my pants are still shrinking and hobbling around home isn’t helping.

Eldest Son kindly captured a photo before he dug in!
I made Sally’s no-bake peanut butter bars earlier in the week but they didn’t survive long enough for a photo!

I’d call my doctor but it will be March before I can get in to see the rheumatologist, and I already have an appointment in March. I could call my GP, but her office doesn’t have an elevator. And the thought of scooching down those stairs terrifies me!

Dear Diary – I’ve been ignoring my new bra for a couple of weeks now. I bought it because I needed a supportive bra that I could do up in the front, and they don’t come in my size off the rack. With stores opening and closing faster than a goldfish’s mouth, I opted to order one online. Sight unseen!

The first time I tried it on, I struggled a bit. But now that I have the straps adjusted, it should be simple, right?

First, it’s a tight fit, which is what you want when you’re working out. You don’t want to get slapped in the face with a rogue grapefruit when you’re striking a pose in zumba class. And you certainly don’t want to sued for battery by the skinny girl in tights next to you. (Of course, I’m not in zumba class so I’m safe, but still…) But it’s not like trying to pull on a pair of tight jeans. You can’t just lie on the bed, suck it in and hope for the best. It requires a strong grip and upper body strength to pull the two sides together in order the get the 2 parts of the zipper zipped, so this body armour bra can be strapped on.

I lack both a strong grip and upper body strength.

After multiple attempts, with my shoulder and back muscles screaming, I achieved near success. I had to practically stand on my head, but I was nearly there.

Second, the design is flawed. At the bottom of the zipper is a tiny flap of fabric. It’s sole purpose is to push your level of frustration over the edge until you cry, like ugly, snot-dripping cry. Actually, it’s purpose is completely decorative. It covers the bottom zipper do-hickey so the body armour bra looks “pretty”. I say it’s a design flaw because as I’m straining to squeeze and hold my pillowy mounds of flesh together so I can zip, the useless flap keeps covering the zipper do-hickies and I can’t get the pieces together. My hands slip and I have to repeat the whole exercise again.

By now I’m starting to feel sweat pooling in the curve of my spine. I’m desperately trying to feel the two metal zipper pieces so I can end the agony, but all I feel is a stupid flap. And I can’t see what I’m doing because my knockers are in the way, and threatening to explode from the heavily reinforced white fabric.

There is no “give” or stretch in this fabric, by the way. It doesn’t breathe. I, on the other hand, am hyperventilating. I’m moaning. I’m groaning. The backs of my knees are sweating. My brain and mouth are in agreement; they are both about to explode in a torrential outpouring of expletives that would make a sailor blush.

Then I imagine Hubby standing at the bottom of the stairs, hearing the sounds I’m emitting, wondering if he should ask if I need help. Obviously I’m either struggling with something, like a wild animal, or I’m having way too much fun alone! I think about asking him for help but I’m of two minds. One, it’s embarrassing to have to ask your husband to help you put on your intimates. And two, in my state of undress, I don’t want to give him any ideas.

Eventually, after a 10 minute struggle of epic proportions, I succeed. But now I really needed a shower.

A few days later I received an email. Could I take a survey and tell them how much I loved my new product? So I took the time to explain my concerns about the tightness and the flap, and how difficult it was for this bosom-y old gal to get dressed. Some sweet young thing replied later that I could exchange or return it. I suppose I could (if it weren’t so sweaty), but honestly, I think burning it would be more satisfying.

I was the first woman to burn my bra – it took the fire department four days to put it out.

Dolly Parton

Dear Quarantine Diary – Year 3/Week 4

26 Wednesday Jan 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

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Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour


Dear Diary – So…okay. We’re not technically in Year 3 of the pandemic, but I really didn’t think anyone was going to bust my chops if I jumped ahead a little. After all, it feels more like we’re starting Year 23. The inside joke in my family is that old age starts at age 23, and this whole covid thing is certainly feeling old!

Dear Diary – I totally missed my blog’s anniversary this month. January 9 marked my 10th year writing ridiculous amusing, random insightful, and stupid thought-provoking posts. Today marks post 1803! That’s a lot of crap good stuff! 😜

Yesterday was also a special day worth celebrating. It was Eldest Son’s 32nd birthday. He is now the age I was when Youngest Son was born, and Youngest Son is now the same age I was when Eldest Son was born.

I feel old.

Chocolate cake might make me feel better.

Dear Diary – It snowed again. I realize it’s winter, but my motivation to dress up in bulky clothes that smell a bit like a wet dog, and boots that feel perpetually damp, is sadly lacking. I’ve even considered not getting dressed in the morning like Youngest Son, who can the number of days he wore pants last year, on 2 hands. He wore them because I made him.

Winter also meant it was very dark when I got up Sunday morning and headed to my car before 7:30. I was leading worship. I watched the sunrise, although it was just a gradual lightening of the sky from black to gray, to a lighter shade of gray. At least it wasn’t snowing.

Leading on Sunday was probably highly entertaining. Between my glasses, the straps on my face masks, the wires for my in-ear monitors, and the wireless mic pack with a headset, I was wired for disaster. I did actually have a wire wrapped around my ankle by the last song. At least it was only my ankle and not my throat. Perhaps if I’d had more time…I told my team that if there’s a fire, they should leave me because I wasn’t going to make it out.

Other than that…things went well!

Dear Diary – Eldest Son put a new text-based game on my cell phone. I needed Youngest Son to figure out how to play it. I’ve started a game. Let’s just say that the colonists I’m responsible for settling aren’t going to make it!

Dear Diary – The fabric I ordered online arrived. I washed and ironed it, and started cutting out my patterns, but something was wrong!

Like a carpenter, it’s “measure twice , cut once”, and like a good carpenter I meticulously measured even before I ordered my materials. I should have had enough to make 4 “sheep print” bags. Instead, I can make only 2. The printed fabric shrunk 3”! I may be able with construct a 3rd bag by doing a patchwork pattern, which takes more time. I experimented with a patches last week so it might not be too bad.

I’d still really like to set up an Etsy store and be able to contribute financially at home (or at least save up some money for a rainy day), as well as be at home. While I sometimes miss the sense of accomplishment and the affirmation of colleagues, I feel healthier and more at peace at home. I can pace myself on the days I’m feeling crummy, and I’m not as stressed out trying to fit all the little things that crop up and have to be done, in between everything else that has to be done.

I looked at a job posting this week. I know I would be really good at it! But then I went through waves of reluctance to excitement to anxiety. At one point I felt like sitting on the floor and crying like an overwhelmed 2 year old. I don’t think that’s normal.

I can remember feeling the same way when I had to decide what I wanted to do after high school, except there was a whole big empty future waiting for me. Now I have a much-smaller, less exciting future ahead of me, filled with motorized wheelchairs and absorbent underpants. That’s assuming I can afford a motorized wheelchair. I may have to settle for a dining room chair superglued to skateboards because I didn’t work during my “best years”! Maybe I should be designing washable underpants for seniors instead of japanese knot bags? At least I’d be prepared for the future.

Dear Diary – Youngest Son has now reached the age where he requires a photo on his health card. Which means I can’t do the renewal online. Which means standing in a long line in the cold, and guess what?!?! It’s snowing.

I had to yell at Youngest Son twice to get him out of bed. The second time I used all 4 of his names. I meant business!

Youngest Son hates having his photo taken so when I was asked to provide a family photo to the church, I sighed audibly, with a great deal of annoyance. I think the last family photo I have was taken like 4 years ago…

I wonder if they’d accept a sketch with stick figures?

As it turned out, when we got there, no line up! In fact, we were interrogated questioned at the door and taken straight to a wicket…where we were promptly and pleasantly served. She didn’t care that his passport was expired and accepted his report card as his second piece of identification. She never asked for the form that he “forgot to print” (even though I reminded him 4 times). We were in and out in less than 5 minutes. Truly a once in a lifetime experience!!

It took longer to get coffee at the Tim Horton’s drive-thru but mostly because it was busy…and there were a lot of drivers playing on their phones and not moving up when it was time.

I realized the sassy green boots that inspired my blog haven’t been out of the closet in years. Of course, in the last few, there was simply nowhere to go! I thought about wearing them today, but…snow. Maybe I’ll wear them to the passport office because, apparently, our passports expired last year. The last two trips were just such a positive experience.

I almost said that with a straight face.

Almost.

What’s in My Cup: ?

24 Monday Jan 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

humour, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea time


Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

John Lennon

Sometimes those plans are good and solid and then…wham! Rug under feet…gone!

Or it’s way more subtle, like a flick to the side of the head.

Like this morning.

I prepared a What’s In My Cup review. I steeped the tea, sampled the tea, arranged the photo and wrote my thoughts. And then…flick…did you check to see if it’s still available? A review is all good and lovely, but if it’s not available, I feel like I’m playing with a laser pointer and kittens. It’s all fun and games, for me, until the red dot disappears. How bereft are those kittens when the joy and anticipation are dashed as the light goes out.

OK, I’m probably exaggerating! But in a world where disappointments abound, from covid restrictions to frighteningly truthful bathroom scales, I don’t want to “pile on”. But…

Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.

Charles R. Swindoll

So instead of a review for Orange Chocolate Mousse Tea, which is no longer available (and was lacking in the chocolate department, in my opinion anyway), I’m reacting by sharing this honest story about my Monday morning brain fart before making another cup of tea to go! I have groceries to pick up before I really settle in to sew!

I’ll also post my photo because, in the spirit of honesty, snapping pretty “tea photos” is a lot harder than it looks! It may look simple, but it simply takes a lot of effort to make it look simple.

And it’s prettier to look at than gray skies and more snow… Have a Happy Monday! 🙂

***

Wanna have your favourite tea and tea cup featured on Jenns Midlife Crisis,? Just send me your thoughts and/pic, and I’ll post on the last Monday of the month! Is there a special memory associated with it? Or is it just plain “good”? Don’t worry about being wordy or making it look “pretty” …just tell me why you like it. We’re all friends here! 😉

Dear Quarantine Diary – Year 3/Week 3

20 Thursday Jan 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, humour


Dear Diary – My bathroom scales played a mean trick on me. I stepped on the scales today and it said I’d lost 6 lbs. I knew that wasn’t right; my jeans said so!! When I tried again, it said I weighed 98 lbs. I know that’s not right. The third attempt put me at my pre-Christmas number. Sold! I wasn’t trying a fourth time!

Cremation is my last hope for a smoking hot body.

Unknown

Dear Diary – We started the work week with a huge dump of the white stuff. And it wasn’t the dandruff kind. Hubby changed his plans to head to the office, and instead, headed outside to start blowing snow. He got most of the way before the battery ran out. Within half an hour, you couldn’t tell he’d been out.

I was just settling down with my Bible and my tea, when I noticed the lady across the street, hustling up her drive-way. She grabbed a shovel and headed down the street. Where was her car? So I tossed on some clothes and headed out to see if I could help. I expected to find her car stuck on the unplowed street at the corner. Instead, it was a couple blocks away. I debated about whether to keep going or not. I was already breaking a sweat as I stumbled along the road in the heavy snow in the ruts carved by brave drivers. The sidewalks were knee-deep and it was only 9 a.m. But I also felt alittle invigorated, like an intrepid frontierswoman, braving the elements. I was more than halfway to my stranded neighbours, when they got in their car and drove off. My mission of mercy was meh!

By the time I got back home, Hubby was getting ready to send out a search party. I topped up the bird feeder and warmed up with some hot chocolate.

And a really BIG marshmallow!

There was a air of community by evening as people emerged from their houses up and down the street, to start diggin their way out. The worst was over and the skies were clearing.

Even the birds had some work to do…

The next morning, the snowplow came by…and dumped a 4′ wide swath of knee-deep snow across the bottom of the driveway. It had rolled in places into balls, perfect for snowmen heads. That air of community was still there…with several men out clearing their homesteads. They all watched me, but none of them offered to help this little lady. After 45 minutes of slogging, I had 4 tracks cleared for our car and the neighbour’s car, and I called it a day! I’ll be feeling it until next May.

All in all, between 40-60 cm fell in one day, closing down highways and schools (except we now have virtual school so that sucked!!)!

Dear Diary – My days haven’t been all work and no play. I finally tried out my new textured rolling pin. I made shortbread cookies but I think regular sugar cookies would be better. The pattern melted off the shortbreads.

I failed at caramelizing onions in the oven but cooked perfect T-bone steaks!

I made a big pot of tasty carrot soup completely from scratch, but lost some of it when my food processor leaked. It was probably time to wash the kitchen floor again anyway…

And I consulted for Hubby when he attempted Mary Berg’s omelette-soufflĂŠ. Light as a cloud!

Dear Diary – It was way overdue. My hair was a disgusting washed out green colour, so I took the time to colour my hair. This time I didn’t get any on the sink, but I have 2 blue finger nails. Speaking of blue, last November, Eldest Son and I went together on an order for temporary tattoos. They’re just like the sticker kinds kids would get in a Happy Meal, only instead of a picture, it’s plant-based ink. It darkens over 48 hours from neon green, to navy blue, to black. I can feel like a rock star without the hangover or the regrets..for the next 1-3 weeks.

Dear Diary – Hubby shocked me by agreeing to watch one of my favourite movies, You’ve Got Mail. I love the quirky banter between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, and of course, the happy ending. They fit together like pancakes and maple syrup. I always laugh at the delicate jab at fancy coffee drinkers, and the quote about daring:

You are daring to imagine that you could have a different life. Oh, I know it doesn’t feel like that. You feel like a big fat failure now. But you’re not. You are marching into the unknown armed with…nothing.

Birdie Conrad

It kind of sums up my life. I keep daring to imagine a different life, yet never seem to get anywhere, and consequently, feel like a failure. I know I’m not. I know we are not all destined for “great” things, and really, who gets to decide what is “great”? . Couldn’t raising children to be respectful, fully-functioned adults who contribute to society, be “great”? Couldn’t taking the time to talk to someone who is grieving or discouraged, be “great”? Depending on the definition, we ALL do something “great” for someone. I believe God is in control of my “destiny”, and while that destiny means I may never walk a red carpet or win a Nobel prize, it doesn’t mean I can’t stop marching into the unknown. Uphill. All the way.

If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.

Jodi Picoult, Small Great Things 

Dear Quarantine Diary- Year 3 / Week 2

13 Thursday Jan 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour


Dear Diary – Who says New Years resolutions begin at midnight on Day 1? Like so many other idiots dreamers, I also planned to lose weight, get more exercise, eat better, etc. Instead, this lactose intolerant gal started the year with hot tea, cold wine, cheese, and chocolate. It was an auspicious beginning.

As for exercise, I forgot my only Fitbit charger at my folks so there’s even less incentive…

And the battery is dying.

I nearly didn’t make it to midnight, having stayed up way past my bedtime the night before watching Alien, with my boys. Nothing says “sweet dreams” like suspense and blood-thirsty monsters right before bed!

We had our traditional pizza and game, but at Auntie M’s, since she wasn’t anxious to wipeout on the ice again. We were home by 11 for the annual family photo, more snacks, and the chinking of glasses at midnight. Also the “thunk” of J’s (aka Big Guy) chocolate orange against the doorframe. With his girlfriend losing her Dad to covid, and her Mom only just home from hospital, they thought it best to postpone celebrating for a few weeks. J went home on January 2 – we managed to finish our Harry Potter marathon just in time!

Hubby, however, started the year in quarantine. He went home on Boxing Day, and delivered gifts to his brother’s house. I suggested he drop them outside but he didn’t listen. His brother called two days later to say he tested positive. We stayed the extra week, and Hubby’s precautions meant he tested negative.

Staying longer turned out to be a good thing for two reasons. One, I easily booked and got my covid booster shot (when my Mommy could take care of me). Second, Hubby was fighting with the phone company.

We lose our phone and internet every time it gets damp…so every spring, winter, and Fall. They were booked for Jan. 2 but no one showed. Hubby got a text on Jan 3 that the “tech is on his way” so he tore home from work. No one showed and Monday night he got a text that it was fixed. It was not! On Jan 4, he called and the system said the ticket was closed. He booked another appointment for Jan 6, but remembered, immediately after hanging up, that he was getting his covid booster that day. He re-booked for Jan 7. On Jan 6, a tech showed up and “fixed it”. The tech found an unmarked box around the corner that was hanging wide open, with all the wires exposed and corroding. We’re now holding our breath….

On Jan 8, M. and I packed our things and made the sad trek home to dirty laundry, dust, and distant memories of Christmas.

Dear Diary – My new bra arrived and it’s more like body armour. It’s white, with hooks in the back, a zipper in the front, and criss-cross straps. It kinda’ reminds me of Austin Power’s bikini top, but less feminine (and disturbing)…

Almost as disturbing as Hubby playing with the packaging.

My first mistake was adjusting the straps and then trying to put it on like a regular bra. I nearly smothered. The straps were too short; the massive cups glued to my face. Next, I put the straps back where they started and put it on like a vest. I nearly threw out my back wrestling the criss-cross straps. Finally, I tried zipping up the front, but I couldn’t see if the zipper was in the notch. All I could see was the white pillowy mounds of my sizeable “melons”. On the plus side, once it’s on, I could go jogging and not worry about putting an eye out.

I purchased this garment on the internet at half the cost of what I normally pay for a bra. But I think the money I saved will probably go toward the chocolate I will eat when my self-esteem sinks as low as my knockers.

Dear Diary – I went for a bone scan this week and I felt like I was in a 3D printer. It’s a device that would certainly make it easier for the body snatchers to duplicate people, though some of us would require more filament to do so!

When I called, I was asked if I could come in an hour. They had a cancellation. So I hit the showers and ran out the door. But when I got there, I wasn’t scheduled. I stood patiently while the receptionist clicked a lot on her keyboard (probably messaging her friend about this loser who showed up thinking she got a last-minute appointment), then made a phone call in hushed tones. I offered to book another time and come again, but she said not to worry. So I tried not to worry, as various people wandered in and out of the waiting room. At least one of them had not hit the showers first.

I was told to take a seat – it wouldn’t be long. And for once, it was true. I was in and out in less than half an hour from my original appointment time. As a bonus, I came home to a hot lunch made by M. Mmm…kraft dinner!

Dear Diary – Should I write a song about my sewing machine? Then I could say I’m a singer songwriter, or sew it seams…

I recently wrote a song based on the list of Top 10 Phrases to Banish in 2022:

At the end of the day“ is a phrase that’s getting old
“That being said“ is simply no longer gold (wait, what?)
Social distance, remote learning, ‘Hey buddy, are you vaxxed?’
“I made stuff” just needs to be axed.

”Circle back” and “dive deep” both need to end
I don’t know what they mean, just ”asking for a friend”
(”Don’t be such a Karen!)
“Contact tracing” and “zooming”, ‘Hey Dude, you’re on mute”
“T.P. Crisis”, “supply chain”, “ no worries” is a beaut!

When does the “ new normal” cease to be “new”
It’s been almost 2 years since covid first sailed thru
(“We’re in this together”)
“Now more than ever”, I think we all agree
There’ll be a much longer list by 2023!

Dear Quarantine Diary: Year in Review (2021)

06 Thursday Jan 2022

Posted by jennsmidlifecrisis in Foolishness

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, New Year's


Dear Diary – Midnight arrived and some of us cheered. Others chose to go to bed early. Because after all, it didn’t feel like there was a lot worth celebrating in 2021. It was a tough year, filled with moments of intense loneliness, frustration, anger and grief. I felt it too. But often, when I felt overwhelmed, God’s graciously reminded me that He is in control and He is still at work. In those times, He filled me with enough joy and hope to smile and soldier on. Sometimes, I even laughed. Out loud. From my toes. Not usually when I was standing on the bathroom scales or offering my family burnt offerings, but still…He supplied more than I needed and I am thankful.

My holiday got extended because Hubby came in contact with someone who called two days later to say “hey! guess what? I’m positive with covid”. So I got my booster shot yesterday. I feel crummy today. Good thing I spent the whole dreary afternoon on Sunday re-reading diary posts because I’m not up to catching up this week. Not that much has happened. I meant to just review the Monday What’s In My Cup segments, but I kept reading. I was amazed at just how much laughter and silliness there can be in a year, even if it didn’t always feel like it at the time…

In January, having spent Christmas apart from my folks, I rang in the New Year with pizza and white wine. By mid-January, the province had declared a state of emergency. I was having my own emergencies at home. I started shopping online for fabric and food. My “sewing business” slowed down, and so did the 50 year old sewing machine! On the phone with my Dad, he talked me through how to take it apart. I felt like I was defusing a bomb. Then my last needle broke. So did my patience. I baked macarons which were an epic failure. Crispy portughese custard tarts and unicorn poop soon followed. On the plus side, my sanctuary was coming together. I was going to need it!

In February, I talked some Facebook Friends into joining my revolution and we declared February 12 “PJ
Day”. We shared our photos.

Cheers!

I attempted to make pillow covers, which was an assortment of trials, error, and tears. For Valentine’s Day, Big Guy suprised us with drinks and cookies from Tim Horton’s. I made pastitio for dinner, with a bechamel sauce that refused to thicken. It tasted good anyway. I also tied myself in knots making pretzels. I cleaned the bathroom cupboard under the sink and discovered 5 bottles of men’s body wash. I’ve been smelling like spruce and pine trees ever since. My friend died of cancer, and made a bleak month stretch longer.

It was time to smarten up in March and I began preparing healthier food: eggplant parmigiana (which I hated), chicken pie (the pastry was sooo good) and a pumpkin spice roll (is pumpkin a fruit or a vegetable?).


My hobbies include eating and complaining that I’m fat!


I stopped putting off that tooth that had been complaining and went to the dentist. I had the best laugh when he asked me if I was stressed. He fit me with a mouth guard. I’m still “…afraid of choking and drowning on my spit in my sleep. When I said I wanted to die peacefully in my sleep, this isn’t quite what I had in mind”. Hubby was the first to brave a covid test. He was negative and for the first time in a very, very long time, he could smell his coffee. I participated in Evil Squirrel’s 8th contest of whatever but I didn’t win. And I got shot, a cortisone shot, that is. I spoke too soon when I said, “that wasn’t so bad”!

I started physio torture therapy in April just as the province issued a stay-at-home order, essentially “cancelling” Easter. Bur miracles still happened: Hubby let me help him purge his closet. I baked hot cross buns, a tear-away cake shaped like an ice-cream sundae, mini chocolate swiss rolls, and a pretty, but tasteless purple birthday cake. Big Guy helped me celebrate with an ubered “breakfast in bed” from Cora’s. With stress already running high as people panicked to book vaccinations, everything going wrong in a 27 hour stretch almost pushed me over the edge. Good thing I started an 8 week comedy course online to help me cope. I wrote my first song, Queen of the Latrine, which seemed to be a big hit.

I finally got shot on Mother’s Day! Gatherings were still limited to 10 people but I was fine. I worked on 3 original songs: Teen from the Batcave, The Gamer Song, and In Too Deep. Spring had sprung and I took lots of time to wander my backyard enjoying lilacs, tulips, and apple blossoms. I managed to plant seeds despite our back door being patrolled by a stubborn carpenter bee.

June started with snow. Patios opened and restrictions lifted, and people were people: “restless, housebound natives behaved like teenagers when Mom and Dad are away, and partied hard with their friends”. I googled how to deal with bad hair. One suggestion was to wear a low cut blouse. Big Guy ubered McDonald’s for Father’s Day, and we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary at the end of the month with Italian food, and a unique photo session with Little Guy. We dressed up and posed with Halo reproduction guns, zombie axes, and face masks. Why? Because 25 years without killing each other was worth celebrating. And we couldn’t go to Italy.


I got shot again on July 1st – Canada Day. I had a greater reaction and lost a day. My basil was finally growing and it was really happy. Little Guy and I spent some time at my parents. On morning, we woke up to jet engine in the back yard and a giant blue fireball. They were venting gas line for repairs. The busiest week was Vacation Bible Camp, where I spent 5 mornings out of bed before 7 and taught kids in character. That character was Ima Victor, a spunky, nerdy, spastic eight-year old with a serious lisp. It was exhilerating and exhausting!

August brought my baby home after months apart. Big Guy helped me purchase a new xbox controller to improve Halo Night. While he was visiting, I accidentally thawed (and consequently had to cook) 24 burgers. I didn’t enjoy it. I got my first hair cut in almost 2 years. I celebrated Mom’s birthday with lunch at O’Connor House, and I baked a lemon cake. Little Guy and I fought with bugs in the evenings, and I fought with a “simple” japanese knot bag pattern during the day. I shared a magical evening watching the
meteor shower with Little Guy.

September started a week holiday at my parents with the boys. We played games, had a water fight (that ended badly) and a haunted walk. Big Guy taught Little Guy how to climb trees, and I accidentally flashed a trucker grocery shopping. One evening we drove around town looking at houses for sale. It’s fun to dream. I savoured homegrown watermelon and made homemade salsa. My alarm clock went psycho, and we finally got some sewer issues repaired. They aren’t all fixed…I’m still queen of the latrine.

I should know by now that nothing is simple but crap doodle, I keep hoping!

Jenn, jennsmidlifecrisis

Thanksgiving was celebrated with my folks but only 1 boy. We got stuck in traffic coming home, but I managed to “hold it” until we got to the service centre…where I had to go looking for service in Tim Horton’s. I baked a lentil pie and visited 2 friends in the garden. It was good for the soul…the visits, not the pie! As an old dog, I’m still required to learn new tricks and this month included setting up and using a new worship tracks app. It was terrifying. I also went shopping for glasses for Hubby and was totally ignored by the female staff. Some thing never change!

I spent a week with Mom while Dad was hunting and it was some firsts for me: first time in a Mall since the world shut down and the first meal in a restaurant. Fortunately my “covid passport” worked! I baked
pumpkin pecan muffins that were so greasy, they almost slipped out of our hands. I also baked louisiana hand pies and white bean and leek stew. I spoke to a group of ladies, something I have missed. Purolator also missed, delivering my package to the wrong house and starting a whole mess for me to sort out. I enjoyed an impromptu visit with my parents in my sanctuary. They were delivering Little Guy’s birthday. He insists that I give him a new name here.

Finally December arrived and I dove into Christmas preparations: shopping, wrapping, and baking. In addition to the usual squares and cookies, I tried hazelnut toffee, chocolate babka, German stollen, and a yule log. I also fought with squirrels at the feeder and gnomes. Best of all, I made it home for Christmas, where I will spend the first week of January because Hubby was in contact with someone who, two days later, called to say he was positive with covid. Happy New Year!

My “word” for 2020 was “finish line“. In 2021 I embraced “Be Faithful” because no matter what was happening in my world, I was still responsible for what was happening in my heart. I’m not sure what my “word” will be for 2022, but I’m sensing that I need to lean into “joy”. Joy is more than laughter or warm fuzzy feelings. It goes beyond feeling happy, excited or content. It isn’t based on my circumstances or my actions, but is a gracious gift and a lasting state of the heart and mind that overflows from my Heavenly Father. I believe my joy in Him will be my strength.

Let Year 3 begin…after my nap!

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