I have a pet peeve. It's name is bad grammar.
Did you catch that I had not only one, but TWO mistakes in that last sentence? I should have said, "Its name is Bad Grammar."
My little pet isn't so little. Seems I'm not the only one who has this problem. That's okay...there is enough of it to go around. Alot.
HAHAHA! I did it again! A...lot. TWO WORDS PUH-LEEEZE! And that's not bad grammar, it's just my way of saying, "PUH-LEEEZE!"
I have wanted to do a post about it for a while, but one of my favorite bloggers, Richella, beat me to the punch. She is actually doing a whole series of posts about it. Be still my heart.
Not only is she teaching the world how to use grammar correctly, she is also teaching us why it should matter to us. In our "Idk my bff Jill" society, her lessons are sorely needed.
As much of a grammar snob as I sound, I actually posted a question for her. I had a good reason. See, she's having a cool giveaway to anyone who leaves a grammar question or pet peeve in the comment section. You'll have to find my comment to see what I asked. I'm mean like that.
Well, not actually, since I'm telling you to go over there and enter yourself. I could just keep it all to myself. It's a good thing Sound Man didn't hear about it or he would keep it to hisself.
That is the one that gets under my skin the most. Hisself. I made the mistake of telling Kiddo that, so he proceeded to say it every chance he got. Ick.
Sorry...something shiny grabbed my attention. Visit Richella at Imparting Grace and enter for your chance to win. But hurry...the giveaway is only open until Wednesday night!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
I have a pet peeve. It's name is bad grammar.
Friday, March 26, 2010
For those of you who gave such encouraging words on my last post, I am so grateful. When I wrote that, I was in the beginning stages of some relationship drama that is not going away any time soon. I was so angry that I only had two options: to throw a heck of a temper tantrum (which I sort of did on the phone to my precious, patient husband), or to turn to God's Word and beg His help.
I don't have to beg for His help, though. He readily gives it. Not only does He give it to me through His perfect Word, but He also gives it to me through my precious family and friends.
My sister (who is also involved in the situation) has already begun the forgiving process and in doing so, teaches me that I must begin. My Sweet Sound Man has shown infinite patience with me and my tantrum throwing. He also reminds me (as many of you did) that not forgiving someone only hurts ME, not the person I am angry with. He has responded with wisdom and patience, and for that I am so very grateful.
My friends who know about the situation, while completely understanding my anger and agree with my position, also admonished me to let go. They know it will be a process, but I will benefit so much more if I do. I thank the Lord for them almost daily, and that's when there is no drama going on!
Choosing to forgive is my only life-giving option. So, do I choose to stay bound in my situation, never to grow in Christ and let the root of bitterness take hold?
No...I choose life. I will forgive.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.
A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control.
Ephesians 4:25-27 "In your anger do not sin": Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.
But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips.
My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires.
Lord Jesus...You gave these commands...You will also give me the strength I need to let my anger go. I know that unforgiveness hurts no one but myself. Help me be part of the solution, not an addition to the problem.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I just looked at who has my Etsy shop listed as a favorite and realized I just hit 100! WOO HOO!
I just loaded more cross tassels this morning and will be adding one more Easter egg tassel (with the ca-yute bunnies on it...it's my last one!) later. Nest tassels are next on my list to load, as well.
In celebration of my 100 hearts, I'm giving each Butterfly Genes Reader free shipping if you mention my blog in your checkout note. You MUST tell me you read it here or I won't know you get the free shipping! I will refund your shipping charge ASAP.
For those of you who heart my shop, or subscribe to (or follow) my blog, THANK YOU! Your support means the world to me!
Monday, March 15, 2010
As a general rule, I do not particularly care for bugs. Especially the stinging kind. PARTICULARLY the stinging kind. As a child I had many episodes (okay, three or four) of being stung, and I really don't want to repeat them. Then there was the time I was pregnant with Kiddo and we were leaving Piney (our former vacation spot) when a huge, fanged, rabid wasp stung me for no reason, causing so much anxiety that I had to call Kat and ask her to call her doctor friend to make sure wasp stings can't affect pregnancy. No, I'm not physically allergic to stings, but psychologically...they don't make an EpiPen big enough.
So, Sunday morning I'm on Praise Team. Our Worship Pastor, Brent, is singing his heart out on Jeff Johnson's updated version of the old hymn, "O Glorious Day." Suddenly, from the middle of the darkened sanctuary, a wasp decides his shirtsleeve looks like a good place to land. We all watched as the wasp slowly descended and alighted on his goldenrod colored shirt. Our Pastor Rick had been stung while he was preaching a few months ago, so we were aware that these puppies don't play around.
Well, he got through the song, seemingly oblivious to the despicable insect on his person. The wasp flew off for a few seconds, then came back just as he was strumming the last chord, landing on his ring as his hand came up in the air from the guitar. He left his hand suspended until the last strains of music died down, then said, "Am I scaring you? 'Cause he's scaring me!" And flicked the wasp onto the floor, where I hoped he squashed it.
See, I was the next person to go down on the front stage right where he had been. So, as I'm walking past him I squeakily whispered, "Did you kill it?" Well, no, he hadn't. It had flown away before he had the chance to.
I started the song with no problems. Until the second verse. Here comes mean Mr. Wasp. I see him coming at me from the corner of my eye as I'm TRYING to worship. The demon wasp would have none of it. He lands right on the front of my jacket...while I am singing. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't be as calm about it as Brent was. He told us later that he knew the whole time that that stupid bug was there on his sleeve. Well, I just couldn't be that collected.
I looked down at the wasp and, still clinging to the microphone in one hand, took my other hand and swatted it on the floor. Then, still trying to sing, did a little dance trying to step on the thing to rid us of his menace. Nope. The wasp won and flew off. I prayed HARD that he wouldn't come back.
Evidently the Lord felt like I needed to learn a lesson in humility this morning, because the wasp came back. Landing on my jacket in the very same spot as before. This time I couldn't hold it together and swatted and danced and apologized all in the course of three seconds. Again, the wasp was faster than I was and flew off.
But I kept singing. I was determined I was not going to let that cursed bug mess up my love song to the Lord. I sang stronger than ever and finally finished the song, albeit with a knot in my stomach.
As I walked into the sanctuary for second service I noticed it was markedly chillier in there, and I wondered why they turned the temperature down. Then it hit me. Warmer air stirs wasps up. I didn't care if I had to wear a parka if it meant I didn't have to deal with that wasp again.
And, thankfully, second service went off without a hitch. Hopefully they'll do some searching and find the nest. We have such a big sanctuary that it will not be easy.
Maybe I'll just carry a bottle of Raid with me to church from now on.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Kiddo and I go to classes at our church on Tuesdays. I usually go to a Bible study class, and he goes to classes designed for homeschoolers. We really enjoy it and it gives both of us a break from each other. However, this term I am helping with one of the homeschool classes taught by my friend Lisa. Kiddo is, of course, in one of the classes (we split them into 4-5 grades and 6-8 grades). The book we're using, The Science Chef, is really a neat book if you want your kids to get interested in cooking.
Each week Lisa gives the kids experiments and recipes that correspond with that week's lesson. Last week we talked about why bread rises and what role yeast plays in bread, etc, etc. One of the recipes was for pizza dough, and since we already had planned on having homemade pizza Saturday night it was perfect timing for us.
We were each in charge of one element of the meal. Sound Man was in charge of toppings, sauteing onions, bell peppers, and mushrooms as well as cooking sausage; I was in charge of the pizza sauce (recipe coming in a minute); Kiddo was in charge of the crust. Homemade crust at that.He did great, even kneading it the way Lisa had shown the kids, even if it wasn't exactly the way I do it. I kept telling myself "Don't get in the way, don't get in the way...let him do it his way!" He measured, stirred, kneaded, and then pressed the finished product into our stoneware baker. LOVE that thing!Can you tell I love Pampered Chef products? The bowl, the spoon, the baker, the roller, they all came from P.C! (And NO, I wasn't compensated by P.C. I just honestly love their products! Plus, I was a consultant for three years when Kiddo was tee-niney.)
Sorry, random thought. Anyway, after the crust was rolled out, I spooned the sauce on, then Sound Man did his magic with the toppings, finishing it off with pepperoni and Italian blend cheese. Can I tell you this pizza was sooooooooooo good?I'm so glad it turned out well. I think if it hadn't Kiddo's interest in the kitchen would have gone downhill. Hopefully it will just grow as the class goes on.Alrighty, here are the recipes for both the pizza dough and sauce. Super, super easy for both.
Basic Pizza Dough
(Makes enough for one 12 inch pizza or eight slices)
1 cup warm water (between 100 and 110 degrees F)
1 pkg active dry yeast
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp salt
3 Tbsp oil
2 to 3 cups all-purpose or whole wheat flour
In a large bowl add yeast to water and stir. Add sugar, salt and oil to water and stir well. Add flour to bowl in small amounts and stir after each addition. Add just enough flour so the dough is not sticking in clumps to your hands or the bowl.
Knead dough 2-3 minutes on a lightly floured surface. Let dough rest 5-10 minutes before rolling out on pizza stone or pan, or press into baker for deep dish pizza.
1 (8 oz) can tomato sauce
1 tomato, seeded and coarsely pureed (actually what I did was just chop it to smithereens with my Pampered Chef food chopper. It was as good as pureed!)
1 tsp oregano
1 clove garlic, minced (again, I just used my Pampered Chef garlic press...LOVE that thing!)
1/4 tsp paprika
scant 1/4 tsp salt
Blend together and spread over pizza crust. YUMMY!
Hope you like it as much as we did!
Linked up at Jen's Tasty Tuesday post this week!
Monday, March 8, 2010
Yesterday the three of us (me, Sound Man, Kiddo) were lounging around the living room after a busy day at church. Kiddo had just put some food down for Jonathan (who is Jonathan, you ask? Well, here's a hint:)
...and we were eating lunch. I had gotten a little chilly and had my Mimmie's afghan (do y'all call crocheted blankets "afghans" or is that just a Southern thing?) on my lap. When I finished my lunch (yummy leftover homemade pizza that the three of us had a blast making Saturday night...post coming later this week) I got up to take my plate or whatever it was in the kitchen.
What happened next is kind of a blur. I'm sure you know where this is going if you've read my blog for any length of time. I stepped around the recliner where I had been sitting, and the next thing I knew I was flat face down on the floor. I lay there for a minute, not sure exactly what happened, and wondering if I was bleeding because there was liquid smeared on the floor and my arms.
Sound Man said one second I was there, the next I wasn't. I had landed on our concrete floor and from the crashing sound that came afterwards, had broken every dish in a five house radius. He jumped up to check on me and said when I wasn't moving it scared him. The first thing he said was, "What hurts?"
Well, for one thing, it wasn't blood on me and the floor, it was Diet Coke. I had one in my hand and evidently it splattered all over the place when I fell. Second, I was lying so still because I was trying to figure out what in blue blazes had just happened. So, my response to Sound Man's question was a very dignified, "I have no idea what happened!" He probably thought it was my brain that hurt.
He said my feet got tangled up in the afghan and then to add to that, I stepped on Jonathan's bowl, which made me lose my balance. How BOTH of my feet ended out from under me is still a mystery to both of us.
I'm okay, save for a few bruises on my left side. Evidently I didn't fall completely flat. And I'm really, really sore. Even more sore than when I had my infamous Atlanta fall. The only real casualty (besides the Diet Coke...sniff sniff) was one of my cheap but pretty Walmart special "Holiday Time" white bowls that came 4 for $5. Not a whole kitchen of dishes like I originally thought, just the one bowl I had been carrying. Dang it. They probably won't sell those this year. Oh, well. Better a pretty bowl than my pretty face. Whatever that means.
My status on Facebook today says, "Heathahlee has done it again. I need to be a professional faller downer."