Mismatched Shorts

I’m going to shoot for a list of ten here.  Wouldn’t that be nice and even?


I have about a 50% success rate with recipes I’ve found through Pinterest.  This morning, I’m fueled by one of my successes: Banana Oatmeal Breakfast Muffins from the blog “Fit and Healthy with Debbie.”  This recipe whips up in no time in the food processor, and because the muffins contain no flour or sugar, they feel healthy enough that I don’t feel bad letting Abby call them breakfast, or grabbing one or two or six for myself as I run out the door on a frantic morning.


My kitchen cabinets are real wood (not laminate) and almost 30 years old, so shelf paper is a must.  When we moved in, my friend Diane kindly tackled the miserable job of installing shelf liners in all my cabinets, using this grippy rubber mesh stuff that I had bought at Wal-Mart.  Can I just say– it is terrible!  The rubber grips to the bottom of heavy dishes instead of to the cabinet, so when I pull the crock pot off of the top shelf, for instance, the whole piece of liner comes out with it, pulling other items from the shelf down on my head.  Or when I try to slide a heavy baking dish into place, the whole liner wads up in the back of the shelf.  It’s so annoying I’m almost to the point of re-papering all of my cabinet bottoms with something smooth, which is a very big deal if you realize how much I detest precise measuring and cutting.

On a positive note, however, I keep a generous square of that grippy mesh taped to the inside of a cabinet door and it is a great tool for opening jars.  So it is useful for SOMETHING, even if it’s not its intended purpose.


I ignored the book Unbroken when I first saw it on the bookshelf because I saw that it was by the author of Seabiscuit, and I assumed from the title that it was another book about horses.  And I’d rather install shelf paper in the kitchen than read a book about animals.  But it turns out it’s an inspiring true story about a PERSON during World War II, and so I read it.  Any book where one-third of the action takes place in a Japanese POW camp is not for the faint of heart, so don’t pick it up when you’re in the mood for a carefree beach read.  Also the main character dies in the end, as is true in most biographies, and that’s always a rough way to end a book.  But with those two caveats, I’d highly recommend it as a fascinating and informative account of an extraordinary life.


On my next birthday I will be thirty-one.  I’m pretty sure that makes me a real adult.  More and more I fit the bill, at least on the outside: I show up to morning events with minty/coffee breath.  My tummy is round but my bottom is flat.  I write out my bills on baby blue checks.  I haven’t seen a video of the Harlem Shake (except a Downton Abbey-themed parody), and I do not understand why all of a sudden everyone on Facebook wants to be Jennifer Lawrence’s best friend.

But before you all go out and buy me vests from Coldwater Creek for my birthday I should also confess that I put a Hot Pocket and a bowl of frozen peas on the table tonight in front of my child and called it “dinner.”  And I still allowed myself to eat ice cream for dessert after Abby went to bed, because I had cleaned my plate, and that’s the reward for members of the Clean Plate Club.  So inside my current matronly self still lives the spirit of College Days Lindsey, who ate half of five batches of Magical Mint Kiss cookies one Christmas, or who thought a good breakfast was a Snickers and a DP from a vending machine in the Blocker building.

It’s really too bad the metabolism of College Days Lindsey does not live on in my present self.


As this very post languished in my drafts folder, I somehow got assigned to write an e-mail to a person that I don’t know, asking her to participate in an event for our church.  The first time I sat down to start a draft, I felt myself morphing back into my awkward fifteen year old self.  “Hi, you wouldn’t want to come to our party, would you?”  And I’m sure that even through e-mail it’s obvious to the recipient, who is a real adult, that I’m looking at the ceiling while I talk and that I’m wearing Sambas and a braided leather belt.  And she’ll be thinking, “Sorry, I don’t remember giving you permission to call me by my first name.”  

So everything I said about how I’m starting to think I’m grown up now?  I take it all back.


That reminds me, we watched some home videos from my childhood the other day that demonstrate how far back my social insecurities go.  I was calling my friends on my little Fisher Price phone, and all of the conversations went like this: “Hello, Zack Carter? Are you busy?  Yes?  Okay, well I’ll call back later.”

So the other day I stood outside Abby’s door and listened in while she called her friends on her little Fisher Price phone, and cried with relief when I heard her say, “Hi, Eli, would you like to come to my party?  Yes?  Okay, I’ll see you there!”

Now to keep that confidence intact through adolescence.


The other night Stephen made several comments about the fact that the black words on my comfy t-shirt matched my black pajama pants.  “It’s like you made an outfit,” he marveled.  This would normally not offend me, except that I have made a conscious effort to sleep in complementary tops and bottoms for every night of our seven years of marriage.  I’m not sure if I should be more concerned for Stephen’s habit of attentiveness, or for my ability to put together an outfit.

I just know that the first night that I go to bed in something hideously mismatched or unflattering will be the night that our house catches fire, and that’s what I’ll have on when I’m interviewed by the local news, and under my name I’ll be identified as “Victim of fire and fashion.”  And I’ll never live it down, because the footage will go viral on YouTube and people will turn me into a mocking meme to live on people’s “Ha, Ha” Pinterest boards forever.  And if you think, “Ain’t nobody got time for that,” well, you haven’t been on the Internet lately.


I’m going to get to 10, but I’m aware that these shorts are running a bit long.  So here are three little tiny nuggets to finish off this post.


You only have one week left to download all of Page CXVI’s music for free.  If you haven’t done it yet, what are you waiting for?  I love them so much I have actually sent them an e-mail to see if they’ll come to my town when they’re touring through Texas.  (That is NOT the e-mail I talked about earlier in the post.)


Here’s exhibit one million for why kids don’t need expensive toys.  Abby has at least five lovely dolls, including my American Girl baby Emily Kaitlyn, which Abby has inherited and renamed Angebell.  And yet here she is playing doctor with her favorite “baby,” which is one of Stephen’s socks filled with rice.

photo (4)


Have I told this story here before?  Recently Stephen and I were asked the question, “If you could live anywhere in the world (other than where you live now), where would it be?”  Without consulting each other, we both answered, “Waco.”

There’s conclusive proof that we are Made For Each Other, and also the least adventurous couple on planet Earth.



6 responses to “Mismatched Shorts

  1. I hope you heated the peas first. 😀

    • No, I literally poured frozen peas into a bowl and we ate them. I actually like them that way, but I realize it’s not something to be proud of. 🙂

  2. again, your blog makes me lol! i look forward to it & get excited when i see it in my inbox. thank you for being real, so creative with words, & hilarious! i also just turned 31-it’s definitely a mixed bag!

  3. leslie.caroline

    “Hello, Zack Carter…”
    Loved those videos! You were (and still are) precious!

  4. “MFEO” and I totally want to live in Waco too. 🙂 I mean it has Dr Pepper and Bush’s, what’s not to love?

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