A First

So today while I was sitting in my graduate class, anxiously ready to go so I could make a trip to Hobby Lobby, I got a text from my husband. He usually doesn't text me during class unless it's something important like he just won the lottery or he doesn't want me to forget his pizza on the way home. This message was highly unusual and said, "I just killed our first snake of the season." Excuse me, what?

Now, I grew up in the country, and I was even a counselor at a kids' camp where it was considered typical to kill a snake a day. But...we are talking about my house that sits in a cute little neighborhood about 2.5 minutes from a WalMart. When we signed the papers to purchase it, I didn't think we were buying snakes, too. Apparently, I was wrong.

I called to get the details (after my class was over, of course), and I was told by a very excited 28-year-old that the snake was on the front porch and that when he came back with the shovel, it was slithering (hate that word) into the bushes in front of our house. When my husband attempted to kill it, it apparently started biting the shovel. Why? I don't really know.

He's attempted to lure me into the yard to look at it because he "saved it" for me, but I can't get down with snakes.

Tallulah Jane

Growing up, I never had a pet. Well, one time I bought a sea monkey kit from Spencer's, but I accidentally spilled them down the drain, so I don't think that really counts at all. I couldn't love and cuddle them or walk them down the street unless I carried their container in my arms. I wasn't really that into them anyway.

I had always wanted a puppy, but my mom wasn't having it. When I got to college, my desire for a puppy increased exponentially, but as an RA, sneaking a dog into my dorm room wouldn't have been a good thing for my job, and my job paid for my housing. You see the dilemma...obviously.

From college, I moved into an apartment that was not conducive to animals because they "made too much noise," even though the lady who lived beneath us had children who made more noise than an entire pound full of animals. Anyway...for years I had been following Mustard Sandwich, which I maintain is the best place from which to adopt a dog. Anyway, I was looking one day and saw this cute little Chug (Chihuahua/Pug mix). She was a girl, and she was absolutely precious. I immediately e-mailed her picture and description to my husband, and he convinced me that we could get her and keep her quiet in our apartment. We got her, and though she wasn't always quiet, we never were asked to get rid of her. Now, we're obviously in our own house, and she has free reign of the place.

Before we got her, I never realized why people were so crazy about their animals. I actually thought it was kind of loopy. Now, though, I know. She is a bright spot of every day, and I am still completely smitten over her.

Yes, I realize I should fold those clothes, and there probably shouldn't be blinds in the middle of my floor. It's Spring Break; get over it.

Monday Musings

On this Monday, I have so much to be thankful for...
-Good friends who keep me laughing.
-My sweet Tallulah who is currently perched on my leg because she's missed me all day.
-My patient husband who is tireless painting our kitchen just the colors I wanted.
-The fact that I have a personal Savior who cared enough to die for me.
-A job that gives me Spring Break. Hallelujah!
-A great rug that was cheap at Ross.

Stretched too thin...

I often end up stretching myself way too thin. It's something I've always had a habit of doing, and since high school, it has never changed. This semester I have truly taken on far too many responsibilities...National Board, teaching full-time, teaching part-time, three Master's classes, yearbook, and working on the house. I am definitely geared up and ready for Spring Break.

Several times this semester, I've found myself asking why I've done this. Why in the world did I think I was capable of doing it all? Honestly, many days I run through the door, change my clothes, brush my teeth, and crash into bed. While I'm thankful for all these opportunities, I realize that for my health and sanity, it's definitely not worth it.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were headed to our favorite little Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant for dinner. As he wheeled into the parking lot, I asked him to please pray with me before we went in. He looked concerned, so I explained that I was just overwhelmed with everything I had going on and that I desperately needed peace. He grabbed my hand, and with a very serious look in his eyes, he said, "I'll pray for you, but I'm also going to pray that you never ever forget what this feels like so you won't do this to yourself again."

I think his point was extremely valid. How often to get into a bad situation and attempt to pray our way out of it just to blindly walk straight into it again? I know I've done that more times than I would want to honestly admit. What is it about us that hinders us from remembering the bad moments? After we get out of a situation, for many of us we wait a few months and dive headfirst back into it. This is one of those lessons I hope I've learned...and not just endured.