I think it is impossible--as a Christian--to view Christmas the same way when holding your own newborn son in your arms. Every hymn was different to me this year; each menaion more profound, each Gospel reading that much clearer.
I think we get a little desensitized to the facts of Christmas. When I look at my Nativity scene, I see Baby Jesus, happy and clean in a tiny manger. I hear in the Christmas carols that there was no room in the inn. I see a picture of Mary riding a donkey. But the true facts of the matter? This was no romantic scene, which is so often depicted in this day and age.
The Theotokos made a long, arduous journey, nine months pregnant, on the back of a donkey. Speaking as someone who was very recently nine months pregnant herself, I cannot even fathom this. I could barely walk across the room, let alone climb up on a horse, and sit in the same position for hours, being bumped and jostled the whole way. And to go into labor and not be able to find a place to give birth? Terrifying. When my son was on his way, we were greeted by ample medical staff, in a clean and well lit hospital. Mary? A barn.
I've been in barns. They are repulsive. They stink, and have poop everywhere. Even barns that are well looked after, cleaned regularly, and cared for are gross. I won't even darken the doorstep of one if I can avoid it. I have a friend who has goats and chickens, who makes fun of me to no end for this. Once, she was milking her goats, and I stood in the doorway and looked on in horror, trying (in vain) to hide my disgust. Never in one million years would I even consider sitting down in a barn, let alone giving birth in one.
And yet the Panaghia, in her humility, walked into a barn, and gave birth. To GOD. Jesus Christ Himself was born amidst the animals, and the poop, and the dirty straw, and the mice and whatever other diseases and filth were present. It's not often that a Gospel reading inspires horror in me, but as I listened to the priest read on Christmas Eve, I looked down at my own infant son and tried to imagine wrapping him in rags and laying him down in an animal's feed bin, not because I wanted to, but simply because nothing else was available to me. That mental image was so repugnant that I actually shuddered.
But there He was. In a manger. Jesus Christ, the Author of creation, the Son of God on High, surrounded by the animals. I have tried for days to fathom this, but it makes my brain spin to even attempt to wrap my head around it.
We hear in the hymns that the "cave became heaven" and "in the confines of the manger is laid the Infinite Christ our God." THIS is Christmas. It is incomprehensible, and awesome, and a whole host of other words that don't even exist in the English language.
And it is TRUTH. Christ is Born! Glorify Him!
Pages
▼
Friday, December 27, 2013
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Parenting Choices
I hear a lot about parenting choices these days. Usually, this calls to mind the big kahunas, like immunizations, co-sleeping, homeschooling, etc. None of the parenting books I've read speak much about the choices that have to be made in split second decisions. With those big choices, you get time to research, to think, to pray, to decide. In the day to day grind, the luxury of time is not there. Like when you have to choose between rescuing the dinner burning in the oven, or dealing with the child who just announced they pooped in the bathtub. It's a split second thing. (FYI, I chose the bathtub).
When it comes down to the big ones, like the afore mentioned immunizations, etc., I wish people would just leave each other alone. You do what's best for your family. Period. I don't talk about these things, or post articles on facebook, or follow the discussions of people who do. Ever. There are too many differing opinions out there, and too many people who feel strongly about their choices. They feel so strongly, in fact, that they tend to bulldoze those around them with their opinions. It's exhausting, and unfair. There is no way to know the decision making process that another person has gone through, and no one should be belittled or harassed because somebody else doesn't agree with their parenting choices.
When it boils down to it, parenting is about love. If you love your children, then you will make the best possible decisions for them that you are able. End of story. If I give my kids a non-organic apple, I don't love them any more or any less than the person who shelled out the extra cash for the organic version. If I don't give my kids a pacifier, I don't love them any more or any less than the person who does. If we parent with love, then we are doing a good job.
Besides, the most important thing of all is our accountability to God. When I am standing before Christ at His Judgement Seat, I am willing to bet everything I am that the questions He will be asking won't have anything to do with whether or not I co-slept, or home schooled, or immunized, or breast fed. His question will be: Did you love the children I gave you? Did you care for them with every ounce of your being, did you nurture them, did you raise them to love Me, did you lay down your life for them?
Friends, nothing else really matters. So instead of entering into debates, or arguing, or trying to convince each other of the rights or wrongs of any parenting issues, let us simply support each other. Let us help each other love our children. Let us hold each others hands through this crazy journey we are taking. Let us love our kids, and simply love each other.
When it comes down to the big ones, like the afore mentioned immunizations, etc., I wish people would just leave each other alone. You do what's best for your family. Period. I don't talk about these things, or post articles on facebook, or follow the discussions of people who do. Ever. There are too many differing opinions out there, and too many people who feel strongly about their choices. They feel so strongly, in fact, that they tend to bulldoze those around them with their opinions. It's exhausting, and unfair. There is no way to know the decision making process that another person has gone through, and no one should be belittled or harassed because somebody else doesn't agree with their parenting choices.
When it boils down to it, parenting is about love. If you love your children, then you will make the best possible decisions for them that you are able. End of story. If I give my kids a non-organic apple, I don't love them any more or any less than the person who shelled out the extra cash for the organic version. If I don't give my kids a pacifier, I don't love them any more or any less than the person who does. If we parent with love, then we are doing a good job.
Besides, the most important thing of all is our accountability to God. When I am standing before Christ at His Judgement Seat, I am willing to bet everything I am that the questions He will be asking won't have anything to do with whether or not I co-slept, or home schooled, or immunized, or breast fed. His question will be: Did you love the children I gave you? Did you care for them with every ounce of your being, did you nurture them, did you raise them to love Me, did you lay down your life for them?
Friends, nothing else really matters. So instead of entering into debates, or arguing, or trying to convince each other of the rights or wrongs of any parenting issues, let us simply support each other. Let us help each other love our children. Let us hold each others hands through this crazy journey we are taking. Let us love our kids, and simply love each other.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Why I Live My Life in a Perpetual State of Bewilderment
Seriously. Always bewildered. Here are 10 reasons why:
1) The other day, my two year old somehow found a bag of M&Ms, ate the whole thing, then washed it down with the entire bottle of Holy Water.
2) Yesterday, I was walking all over the house trying to find the source of this odd smell, until finally I realized (with no small amount of horror) that it was ME. I had been spit up on so many times that I stank.
3) In the same vein, this morning it took me until 11 am just to take a shower and get dressed.
4) Have you met my five year old? She's the one with her hands over her ears in Liturgy, complaining (in a voice like a trumpet) that the singing is too loud. She's also the one who ate Nilla Wafers for breakfast.
5) In a valiant attempt to make cookies yesterday, it took 45 minutes just to get the butter and sugar creamed together.
6) While sweeping the bathroom Saturday night, I found more clumps of hair from the great Haircut Incident of 2013.
7) Try as I might, I cannot convince my two year old that the angel in the Nativity scene is, in fact, an angel, and not a fairy.
8) I made cookie dough last week for Christmas, and decided to take advantage of the 2 degree weather by freezing it outside. Then I promptly forgot about it, until the next morning when I noticed an unusually large flock of birds on the porch. What the....? "Look Mom! The birds like your cookies!" Crap.
9) I just unwrapped a tootsie roll, but dropped it on the sleeping baby in my lap. He is sleeping no longer.
10) Laundry for a family of six. Enough said.
1) The other day, my two year old somehow found a bag of M&Ms, ate the whole thing, then washed it down with the entire bottle of Holy Water.
2) Yesterday, I was walking all over the house trying to find the source of this odd smell, until finally I realized (with no small amount of horror) that it was ME. I had been spit up on so many times that I stank.
3) In the same vein, this morning it took me until 11 am just to take a shower and get dressed.
4) Have you met my five year old? She's the one with her hands over her ears in Liturgy, complaining (in a voice like a trumpet) that the singing is too loud. She's also the one who ate Nilla Wafers for breakfast.
5) In a valiant attempt to make cookies yesterday, it took 45 minutes just to get the butter and sugar creamed together.
6) While sweeping the bathroom Saturday night, I found more clumps of hair from the great Haircut Incident of 2013.
7) Try as I might, I cannot convince my two year old that the angel in the Nativity scene is, in fact, an angel, and not a fairy.
8) I made cookie dough last week for Christmas, and decided to take advantage of the 2 degree weather by freezing it outside. Then I promptly forgot about it, until the next morning when I noticed an unusually large flock of birds on the porch. What the....? "Look Mom! The birds like your cookies!" Crap.
9) I just unwrapped a tootsie roll, but dropped it on the sleeping baby in my lap. He is sleeping no longer.
10) Laundry for a family of six. Enough said.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
How To Make A Priest's Wife
I never wanted to be a priest's wife.
When I was a teenager, I had friends who thought they would want to marry priests. Frankly, I thought they were a little crazy. Who would voluntarily set out to choose a harder life? Hindsight being what it is, I now realize that they were simply braver than me, but at the time, it sure didn't make much sense.
When I was 18, I met an amazing man--smart, funny, handsome, the works--and for reasons I have yet to fathom, the attraction was mutual. Come 19, I had a diamond on my finger. We talked and dreamed together about our future. He was dedicated to the church, but when I asked him if he ever thought he'd be clergy, his answer was a resounding, "No." His Dad was a priest, his younger brother was almost for sure going to be a priest. He was (and is) proud of them, but it was their "thing," not his. Fine by me!
Fast forward a few months to two weeks past my 20th birthday (somebody was adamantly opposed to marrying a teenager), and our wedded life began. We were going to be a regular married couple, and it was going to be great.
My husband has a wonderful singing voice and is very musically inclined, so when, a few months after the wedding, our priest asked if he would consider being tonsured a Reader, we thought and prayed, and decided yes, this would be a wonderful use of his talents. He was tonsured that Christmas. A year or two went by, and he started to see a growing need for deacons. He completed the necessary studies, and was asked to become a deacon. I held our first child, who was six weeks old at the time, as I watched him be ordained to the Deaconate. At this point in time, we figured he would be a deacon for the rest of his life. People would ask off and on if he ever planned to be a priest, and he would laugh, think to himself, "That's ludicrous," and tell them the same thing he had told me before we got married--my Dad's a priest, my brother (who by this time had been ordained) is a priest. Not me.
A few years went by. We had another baby, then another. And then, our Bishop dropped the bombshell sentence: "I want to ordain you to the Priesthood." I recall my initial response being something along the lines of, "Uhhh....." I figured he would be great, and I would be a nightmare. He thought the same, only in reverse. So we prayed. We talked. I cried. He comforted me. I cried some more. We agonized. We prayed again, and again, and again. What was God's will? What was it? How can we find it? How can we be sure of it? How can we do it? Are we really old enough to make this decision? Surely somebody should be asking our parents.
Above all, we wanted to say "Yes" to God. Whatever His will for our lives was (and is) all we wanted to do was say "Yes." So after years (I kid you not) of praying, we finally found peace with the realization that God was, in fact, calling him--and by extension, myself and our children--to be a priest. So we said yes when the Bishop asked, for the third time, to ordain him.. We applied to the Ordination Review Board. And we waited. And waited. And waited. Eight months went by. Then a letter came. The ordination was approved. The Bishop would be here in three weeks.
Beg pardon? Three weeks? Surely we read that wrong. But nope, there it was, plain as day. Three weeks. We frantically called family and friends, and experienced our own little Pentecost when cheap (really cheap) plane tickets were found. Seriously, it was like the Holy Spirit had descended upon Travelocity.com (which is--I'm sure--exactly what happened. Glory to God for all things!).
Twenty one days galloped by with unnerving speed, and suddenly there I stood, seven months pregnant with our fourth child, tears streaming down my face, as 300 people around me shouted, "Axios!" at my husband's ordination to the Holy Priesthood. Boom--he was a priest and our lives changed forever. Quite honestly, I'm still not entirely sure how it happened, except that God willed it. And because He willed it, we are now embarking on a journey that was neither expected nor anticipated, but it most assuredly blessed.
And now here I am. A khouria. A matushka. A presbytera. A priest's wife. It still catches me off guard, and possibly always will. May God continually bless my steps, so I don't royally screw it up. And when I do, may He give me the strength to scrape myself off the floor and keep walking.
When I was a teenager, I had friends who thought they would want to marry priests. Frankly, I thought they were a little crazy. Who would voluntarily set out to choose a harder life? Hindsight being what it is, I now realize that they were simply braver than me, but at the time, it sure didn't make much sense.
When I was 18, I met an amazing man--smart, funny, handsome, the works--and for reasons I have yet to fathom, the attraction was mutual. Come 19, I had a diamond on my finger. We talked and dreamed together about our future. He was dedicated to the church, but when I asked him if he ever thought he'd be clergy, his answer was a resounding, "No." His Dad was a priest, his younger brother was almost for sure going to be a priest. He was (and is) proud of them, but it was their "thing," not his. Fine by me!
Fast forward a few months to two weeks past my 20th birthday (somebody was adamantly opposed to marrying a teenager), and our wedded life began. We were going to be a regular married couple, and it was going to be great.
My husband has a wonderful singing voice and is very musically inclined, so when, a few months after the wedding, our priest asked if he would consider being tonsured a Reader, we thought and prayed, and decided yes, this would be a wonderful use of his talents. He was tonsured that Christmas. A year or two went by, and he started to see a growing need for deacons. He completed the necessary studies, and was asked to become a deacon. I held our first child, who was six weeks old at the time, as I watched him be ordained to the Deaconate. At this point in time, we figured he would be a deacon for the rest of his life. People would ask off and on if he ever planned to be a priest, and he would laugh, think to himself, "That's ludicrous," and tell them the same thing he had told me before we got married--my Dad's a priest, my brother (who by this time had been ordained) is a priest. Not me.
A few years went by. We had another baby, then another. And then, our Bishop dropped the bombshell sentence: "I want to ordain you to the Priesthood." I recall my initial response being something along the lines of, "Uhhh....." I figured he would be great, and I would be a nightmare. He thought the same, only in reverse. So we prayed. We talked. I cried. He comforted me. I cried some more. We agonized. We prayed again, and again, and again. What was God's will? What was it? How can we find it? How can we be sure of it? How can we do it? Are we really old enough to make this decision? Surely somebody should be asking our parents.
Above all, we wanted to say "Yes" to God. Whatever His will for our lives was (and is) all we wanted to do was say "Yes." So after years (I kid you not) of praying, we finally found peace with the realization that God was, in fact, calling him--and by extension, myself and our children--to be a priest. So we said yes when the Bishop asked, for the third time, to ordain him.. We applied to the Ordination Review Board. And we waited. And waited. And waited. Eight months went by. Then a letter came. The ordination was approved. The Bishop would be here in three weeks.
Beg pardon? Three weeks? Surely we read that wrong. But nope, there it was, plain as day. Three weeks. We frantically called family and friends, and experienced our own little Pentecost when cheap (really cheap) plane tickets were found. Seriously, it was like the Holy Spirit had descended upon Travelocity.com (which is--I'm sure--exactly what happened. Glory to God for all things!).
Twenty one days galloped by with unnerving speed, and suddenly there I stood, seven months pregnant with our fourth child, tears streaming down my face, as 300 people around me shouted, "Axios!" at my husband's ordination to the Holy Priesthood. Boom--he was a priest and our lives changed forever. Quite honestly, I'm still not entirely sure how it happened, except that God willed it. And because He willed it, we are now embarking on a journey that was neither expected nor anticipated, but it most assuredly blessed.
And now here I am. A khouria. A matushka. A presbytera. A priest's wife. It still catches me off guard, and possibly always will. May God continually bless my steps, so I don't royally screw it up. And when I do, may He give me the strength to scrape myself off the floor and keep walking.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Pride Goeth Before the Haircut
I am the first one to admit that I don't have it all together. This goes for all of life in general, but most assuredly with parenting. I probably mess up more than I succeed, frankly, but I'm doing my best. I am determined to be the Mom God has called me to be, to the best of my ability. This determination is fueled sometimes by nothing other than sheer grit and caffeine, but always always always by love of my kids. They deserve the best. Rarely do I live up to it, but I try. Heaven help me, I try.
This being said, I am no saint. (Shocking revelation, I know). I try not to be prideful, but two things have always been my downfall: the fact that 95% of the time, my kids at least looked nice (matching clothes and brushed hair), and that they had never, EVER attempted to cut their own hair. When my friends' kids would butcher their hair, in the back of my mind, I would think to myself, "Thank goodness MY kids know better. I have put the fear of God into them regarding that particular activity, and they wouldn't dare."
Along with pride, I suffer from a distinct lack of humility. I have been praying for that lately, asking God and the Panaghia to teach me humility. But always, I ask them to please, PLEASE, teach it gently. Please.
Did you know pride and humility go hand in hand? Somehow, this particular revelation escaped me, until recently. Enter Friday night, when I walked upstairs to discover two of my beloved, well dressed children butchering their hair with a pair of scissors I had foolishly left in the bathroom, thinking they couldn't reach them.
Boom. Pride demolished. Lesson learned.
On a side note, I would just like to mention that my sisters and I purchased a family portrait session for my Mom's Christmas gift this year. We are due to sit for the pictures in two weeks. My older sister informed me (between spurts of laughter) that we would just look back on them and laugh in the coming years. I hope so. Thanks to the valiant effort of our very talented hairdresser, they don't look *quite* as ridiculous as they did. But still. It hurts.
I suppose there are far more painful ways to learn humility. I am deeply thankful to God for honoring my request for gentle lessons. And as I struggle to raise my kids, I know that they will continue to sand down my bumps, and teach me patience and humility. I hope and pray I am always receptive to their efforts.
This being said, I am no saint. (Shocking revelation, I know). I try not to be prideful, but two things have always been my downfall: the fact that 95% of the time, my kids at least looked nice (matching clothes and brushed hair), and that they had never, EVER attempted to cut their own hair. When my friends' kids would butcher their hair, in the back of my mind, I would think to myself, "Thank goodness MY kids know better. I have put the fear of God into them regarding that particular activity, and they wouldn't dare."
Along with pride, I suffer from a distinct lack of humility. I have been praying for that lately, asking God and the Panaghia to teach me humility. But always, I ask them to please, PLEASE, teach it gently. Please.
Did you know pride and humility go hand in hand? Somehow, this particular revelation escaped me, until recently. Enter Friday night, when I walked upstairs to discover two of my beloved, well dressed children butchering their hair with a pair of scissors I had foolishly left in the bathroom, thinking they couldn't reach them.
Boom. Pride demolished. Lesson learned.
On a side note, I would just like to mention that my sisters and I purchased a family portrait session for my Mom's Christmas gift this year. We are due to sit for the pictures in two weeks. My older sister informed me (between spurts of laughter) that we would just look back on them and laugh in the coming years. I hope so. Thanks to the valiant effort of our very talented hairdresser, they don't look *quite* as ridiculous as they did. But still. It hurts.
I suppose there are far more painful ways to learn humility. I am deeply thankful to God for honoring my request for gentle lessons. And as I struggle to raise my kids, I know that they will continue to sand down my bumps, and teach me patience and humility. I hope and pray I am always receptive to their efforts.
Thank you for visitng Khouria's Neighborhood. Here are links to "like" me on Facebook or follow me on Pinterest.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Third Time's A Charm
Well, let's give this blogging thing another shot, shall we? I've got four kids and nothing else to do, really. (HA).
Egads. Reread that last sentence, will you? I have four kids. FOUR. As Number 4 is not even five weeks old yet, I think that it hasn't quite sunk in that there are that many. Sometimes, it hits me in little flashes, like the other day at my Aunt and Uncle's house. I looked around the room, and every panel of my vision had one of my kids in it. I told my Uncle, in a slightly bewildered tone, "There's just so many of them now!" It also seems real when trying to usher all of them out the door at the same time. It's not so bad when Fr. John is around to help me herd them. But on my own? Heaven help me. It's like trying to round up gerbils. Every time you get one it the right place, two more escape and head in separate directions. (Enter the reason that I don't leave the house much anymore).
Going to church is nice though. People pity me there, and come out of the woodwork to help with the kids. Last night at Vespers, I turned around and three of them were gone. Poof! Just the oldest child and I, and she's the easiest (at least at church). She sat on my lap quietly, and I got to actually sing along and pay attention to what I was saying. I was at church, and actually praying. What a novelty.
But we digress. Back to the blog. Welcome! This is my third attempt at blogging, and I make no promises that this one will stick either. As previously discussed, I have my hands full. However, this is a good outlet for me, and I miss writing. So here goes.
My little "About me" on the side says: Khouria (Priest's wife), Orthodox Christian, Mother of Four. I'm pretty sure that about sums it up. I mean, I have hobbies and such, things that I'm good at and things that I'm bad at like any other person. But when you get down to the nitty gritty of what makes a person, these things seem to sum me up pretty well. What makes me who I am is my relationships, and the three most important are listed right there--my God, my husband, my kids. The facts that I like making (and eating) pie and can't keep plants alive to save my life seem pretty superfluous. But, in the interests of giving you a peek into my life, here are ten (possibly) little known facts about me.
1) I like food. I like to cook food, eat food, read about food, look at pictures of food. My Pinterest boards are out of control when it comes to food...and everything else, quite frankly.
2) I loathe cleaning the bathtub. I usually make my husband do it, which is why they usually only get cleaned when we're about to have house guests who will be sharing said bathtub.
3) As stated before, I can't keep plants alive. I usually do okay for awhile, then I grow tired of the whole "watering" thing and they die. Now that my older girls are of an age to be helpful, I can make them water things, but this usually ends up just making my life harder in the long run. I have visions of being a spectacular gardener, but reality always trumps.
4) I never thought having kids would be this hard. When I was a kid, it didn't seem that bad. Who knew?
5) I don't really like to travel. I love to do it to go see people, but as far as traveling for the sake of traveling--never gonna happen.
6) I also don't like driving.
7) I do like Dr. Pepper. And chocolate. And the afore mentioned pie.
8) One of my biggest pet peeves is misspelling in advertising. It makes me crazy. It's not EZ peel. It's EASY peel. Spell it correctly, for the love people!
9) I love to read. However, I do it as an escape, so it's mostly novels and the like. And sometimes not even good ones (*cough cough Twilight cough cough). However, I do love me some Harry Potter. And the Hunger Games.
10) I'm a fairly non-confrontational person, but I've discovered that if you mess with my kids, my mother bear instinct comes out and I become a beast. It's not pretty.
Well, it's a good thing I hit number ten, as I hear my son upstairs paging me. Back to the grind!
Egads. Reread that last sentence, will you? I have four kids. FOUR. As Number 4 is not even five weeks old yet, I think that it hasn't quite sunk in that there are that many. Sometimes, it hits me in little flashes, like the other day at my Aunt and Uncle's house. I looked around the room, and every panel of my vision had one of my kids in it. I told my Uncle, in a slightly bewildered tone, "There's just so many of them now!" It also seems real when trying to usher all of them out the door at the same time. It's not so bad when Fr. John is around to help me herd them. But on my own? Heaven help me. It's like trying to round up gerbils. Every time you get one it the right place, two more escape and head in separate directions. (Enter the reason that I don't leave the house much anymore).
Going to church is nice though. People pity me there, and come out of the woodwork to help with the kids. Last night at Vespers, I turned around and three of them were gone. Poof! Just the oldest child and I, and she's the easiest (at least at church). She sat on my lap quietly, and I got to actually sing along and pay attention to what I was saying. I was at church, and actually praying. What a novelty.
But we digress. Back to the blog. Welcome! This is my third attempt at blogging, and I make no promises that this one will stick either. As previously discussed, I have my hands full. However, this is a good outlet for me, and I miss writing. So here goes.
My little "About me" on the side says: Khouria (Priest's wife), Orthodox Christian, Mother of Four. I'm pretty sure that about sums it up. I mean, I have hobbies and such, things that I'm good at and things that I'm bad at like any other person. But when you get down to the nitty gritty of what makes a person, these things seem to sum me up pretty well. What makes me who I am is my relationships, and the three most important are listed right there--my God, my husband, my kids. The facts that I like making (and eating) pie and can't keep plants alive to save my life seem pretty superfluous. But, in the interests of giving you a peek into my life, here are ten (possibly) little known facts about me.
1) I like food. I like to cook food, eat food, read about food, look at pictures of food. My Pinterest boards are out of control when it comes to food...and everything else, quite frankly.
2) I loathe cleaning the bathtub. I usually make my husband do it, which is why they usually only get cleaned when we're about to have house guests who will be sharing said bathtub.
3) As stated before, I can't keep plants alive. I usually do okay for awhile, then I grow tired of the whole "watering" thing and they die. Now that my older girls are of an age to be helpful, I can make them water things, but this usually ends up just making my life harder in the long run. I have visions of being a spectacular gardener, but reality always trumps.
4) I never thought having kids would be this hard. When I was a kid, it didn't seem that bad. Who knew?
5) I don't really like to travel. I love to do it to go see people, but as far as traveling for the sake of traveling--never gonna happen.
6) I also don't like driving.
7) I do like Dr. Pepper. And chocolate. And the afore mentioned pie.
8) One of my biggest pet peeves is misspelling in advertising. It makes me crazy. It's not EZ peel. It's EASY peel. Spell it correctly, for the love people!
9) I love to read. However, I do it as an escape, so it's mostly novels and the like. And sometimes not even good ones (*cough cough Twilight cough cough). However, I do love me some Harry Potter. And the Hunger Games.
10) I'm a fairly non-confrontational person, but I've discovered that if you mess with my kids, my mother bear instinct comes out and I become a beast. It's not pretty.
Well, it's a good thing I hit number ten, as I hear my son upstairs paging me. Back to the grind!