Enjoy the word vomit!

I have trouble being concise with my thoughts on paper. ("yes, we know" thought the blog audience in unison)

I remember learning to write persuasive essays in high school. Begin with the opening paragraph, state your idea, point, side, this has a name right? What was that called? Thesis! Right? Anyway, as I recall, after stating your thesis (this just feels right, am I right?) one should then construct three paragraphs that would support your thesis. The persuasive essay should end with a re-statement of the thesis in a conclusive manner.

It was usually pretty hard to sum up what I had to say into that essay form.

I enjoy writing, I can go on for days when I write. Talking, or should I say chatting, usually doesn't come as easy to me unless I know the person really well. Nick get's to hear A LOT of my chatting, so does my family and a few other people. If you read this blog you have probably been victim to some of my chats.

On the flip side, spur-of-the-moment-when-it-counts-talking such as bearing my testimony or commenting in church or a public function, usually leaves me in a fuddled mess. I trip over words, I forget things I want to say, I say something that really annoys myself, I leave awkward pauses, and so on...

So, here is my point. I like leaving comments on your blogs. In fact I like it so much that I usually write a lot. I mean, do you really care that I once bought a Rainbow vacuum cleaner for $2000, then cried a lot, then returned it the next day?

In all this self-discovery I have learned that I like to censor what I say, which is why I enjoy writing. It can all be proof-read, changed if need be, and CENSORED! I don't know what kind of person that makes me. Guarded? Fake? I would also to think that it's just because I am considerate. Nobody really enjoys word vomit do they?

Questions: Do you enjoy censoring yourself? Which do you enjoy more, writing or talking?

Mt. Vesuvius

When Gabe was about 5 months old, we were visiting some of our family.
During this visit I entered the master bedroom with the lady of the house. (let's just call her "Jembee")

There resting on her lovely queen-sized bed was something that resembled this:



It was all clean laundry, not folded, just mounted in a heap on the bed.
Forgive me Jembee, but to myself I thought, "How does one knowingly let the clean laundry pile up like that?"

Fast forward 4 years. I now find myself with three young boys, who are particularly messy if I do say so. My husband is particularly clean, which means he frequently changes his clothes that become dirty because of our messy boys. I usually hang out in what some may call "grubbies" because I know that if I change the next thing will just get dirty and then I will be the one washing all those dirty shirts. Gross I know, but it's survival.

The phrase, "compelled to be humble" comes to mind.

Just in case you didn't get the full scope of my clean laundry pile, here are two more pictures from different angles.





Eventually the laundry was all folded, some of it put away, the rest still waiting on the bed there to annoy me and Nick so we have to put it away before we can sleep. Jembee, I am a changed woman! I will now bow at your feet and worship.

Oh, and Gabe helped me fold! He's a good egg that one...

The events of the day

Well, today can be summed up in five words:
Head Cold...Chicken Pox...Mice
I'm going to bed.

I have a confession

I really love to dance. I am not what some may call a great dancer, being 5'11" and only slightly coordinated saw to that. Still, I have always LOVED to dance. Some of you who read this blog have been privy to some of my best work. I can really let loose in my living room with my boys. It ain't pretty, but it sure is fun! I have always felt a affinity to Carlton for this reason. P.S. I also love Tom Jones.