From the ground up...

My church has finally found a new home after years and years of being a mobile body of believers. We've been in the new building for about a month now, and I when I walk in on Sundays, I still can't believe this is ours.

It's a pretty amazing feeling.

Construction is ongoing, of course. Sandals hosted a night when members of the church could come and write down their favorite scriptures, prayers, etc. on the concrete floor before they laid fresh carpet in the sanctuary.

What? Did you say Sharpie markers?

We are so there.

Total bummer, I didn't go because I wasn't feeling well that night (stoopid sinus infection), but I wanted to share some of the photos of Michael's drawings. He took a few of our boys and together they went to experience the evening with the rest of Sandals Church.

Can I just say that I love my husband's style, and that he is super fly? Well, he is.

Image source: Renberg Photography


Falling like a ton of fat bricks.

Last Friday night, I was snuggling with my boys, watching youtube videos. Noah is really into grunge right now, so we were enjoying some Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. My foot fell asleep. I thought the worst of the tingling part was over, so I got up to get Xixi out of the bathtub. I took one step and my ankle just gave out.

It was the nastiest feeling ever.

Almost as if I did something gory to my foot and it was flopping around like a fish. I let out a scream, tripped over an ottoman and fell like a ton of fat bricks.



"Mom, should I call 911?"
"What happened?? Did you see a rat?"
"Are you okay, mom? I feel like I'm gonna cry!!"
"MOM!! Are you okay?!!"

I stopped crying for a moment to ask them what my foot looked like. I was afraid to look. I think the fact that it was asleep just messed with my perception of what really happened. I was expecting a bone to be popped out, something macabre like that.

"Mom. It looks like your normal foot."

I peeked at it, like a little kid watching a horror movie.

Okay. My toes are intact. My ankle bone is in the right place. Everything looks in order. Whew.

When I tried to stand up, forget it. I couldn't put any weight on it. Granted, the poor ankle probably could have withstood a small amount of weight, but when 250+ came crashing down, it was like, you must be trippin', boo!

Instant pain. My life flashed before my eyes. The boys baseball game the next morning. The end of the season pizza party. Church. School. My art class.


In a rush, I thought of how I wouldn't be able to do any of the things I have to. I crawled over the to sofa and Noah put a bag of frozen corn (roasted, from Trader Joe's) on my ankle (on swoll, like an exploding can of biscuits). The bruise started to set in, too.


But the chil'rens, bless their little hearts, they prayed for me. Can I just say this was so not my first thought. No, I was wallowing in my own self-pity. Xixi, who finally got herself out of the tub, was standing over me with her hair dripping on the wood floors.

What happened to you, mama?


We finally got a hold of Michael, who was not home at the time.

Him: Oh honey, what did you do now?
Me: My foot was asleep and I fell and now I can't walk and waaaaaaaaaaah!

Trying to maneuver to our bedroom was no easy feat. Using a cane didn't help. Leaning on Michael didn't help. I could not walk on my left foot, plain and simple. If I was in need of a time to lament over my weight issues, now was that time.

I'm going to be one of those fat, 5oo pound invalids stuck in bed all day. The kind that just lays there naked, covered by a sheet, because they are too big to fit in regular clothes. Someone is going to have to sponge bathe between all of my fat folds. I'll have to use a bed pan. I'll be on TLC, doing a Richard Simmons video to work out my upper body. When I die, they'll have to set fire to the house just like in What's Eating Gilbert Grape.

I swear, these were my thoughts.

Michael decided to sit me down on the kids computer chair. Then he just wheeled me down the hall to our bedroom. I could hear the snickering from the chil'rens. Apparently, the forgot all about their sympathy.

Once I was laying in our bed with my foot elevated, Cyan came into the bedroom.

"Mom, I don't want to be mean, but you kinda look like those people on Wall E. You know, the fat people with the slurpees. All you need is your pizza in a cup."

Out of the mouth of babes, right? I couldn't help but laugh, though. I mean, being wheeled down the hallway in a computer chair is pretty ridiculous. But what is really chapping my butt is the fact that they can't tell the difference between my hurt, swollen foot and my perfectly normal, non-swollen foot.

Them: Well, they look the same!
Me: No, they don't look the same! One is clearly fatter than the other!


Such is my life.
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