tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58043558361100371262024-03-13T17:51:21.982-05:00The Life of a Wife<center>And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.</center>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-45192977554846445722014-06-05T15:45:00.000-05:002014-06-05T15:45:57.768-05:00Lesson #60: Who's More Important?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is our four-year anniversary, and nothing is the
same. We’ve gone through seven different
jobs, found a church home, graduated from one college, started another college,
totaled one car, purchased another car, moved to another apartment, and have
been blessed with a tiny human who has yet to make her grand entrance. All of this has happened since February 21,
2013, but none of these changes are as big as the changes that have taken place
in our relationship. I’ll leave it up to
Lyndon to share his journey in our marriage.
I’ve learned oodles of things, but one stands above the rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>My beauty and my
worth are found in my Creator, not my husband.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was raised in a Christian environment, so from an early
age I was taught to find my beauty in God and not in man. This was preached to me countless times, but
it went through one ear and out the other.
I am fully aware that I could have taken matters into my own hands and
figured it out on my own. Looking back
though, I desperately wish someone would have taken “impressionable me” and
shown me how to find my beauty in Him.
Because I didn't have this foundation, I relied on others to reinforce
my twisted idea of beauty. I needed someone
to tell me I was pretty even when I had zits all over my face (even though I
wouldn't believe what he/she said anyway).
I would be genuinely upset if no one commented on my appearance after I
had meticulously picked everything out and gotten ready. I felt incredibly judged by everyone who laid
eyes on me if my hair wasn't “just right.”
I had been sucked into this endless need for others to validate my
beauty and my worth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lyndon didn't know me during my awkward years but still got
my less awkward years. He found me,
flaws and all, to be beautiful, which I thought was completely
unfathomable. Instead of this
reassurance building me up, it only served to pull me down deeper. There he was, the answer to all of my
problems. If I ever felt down about my
appearance or worth, I turned to him for a compliment to keep my head up until
I needed him again. I relied on him for
everything, one hundred percent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About a year before all hell broke loose in our marriage, I
began to realize what I had done to our relationship. My pregnant brain can’t think of the right
term other than the “jaws of life,” so it took the “jaws of life” to get me to
write it down. I was terrified of losing
him because I knew I relied on him for everything in my life. If I lost him, would I still know I was taken
care of because my God has told me He would do just that? It took even more out of me to realize that
the answer to that question was a resounding “no.” Lyndon came before God, and I had not only
let this happen but encouraged it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then that fateful day happened. The man I relied on to validate my worth
confessed to a number of unimaginable, horrific things. This news would have knocked anyone down, but
because I needed him to feel good about myself, my reaction was even more
tumultuous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>I was worthless.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I gave my heart to him, and he stomped on it before throwing
it in the trash. Everything good that I
felt about myself was founded in him, so what was left to value? I stopped looking in mirrors because how I
looked didn't matter: he had cheated on me. I wasn't important to him, so why would I be
important to anyone else? He had ruined me,
and I had let him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The days that have followed have not been easy. This was clearly the straw that broke the
camel’s back, and I knew I couldn't return to my previous behavior. I was forced to finally figure out how to
find my worth in my Creator and not in the man I married. Not only was I forced to change but I refused
to let this happen again. He might have
been the one who cheated, but I was the one who gave him the burden of my
beauty and worth. Things would have been
much different had I not allowed that to happen in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so I started a process that I have yet to finish:
finding my beauty in my Creator and not my husband. It took a long time to stop being angry at God. Why had He sat by and let Lyndon do this to me? If He loved me, why did He let someone hurt me so deeply? Where was He in all of this? I didn't want to work on my relationship with Him because both He and Lyndon had deserted me. A lot of angry prayers and tears later, and I finally understood: all of this had to happen. I had become so reliant on Lyndon that He had to show me what happens when I put him before Him. He knew it was going to hurt me, but I had repeatedly refused to choose Him over Lyndon. The first big step towards healing that He showed me was finding a book many
people have heard of and read, a book called <i>Captivating</i> by John and Stasi Eldredge. I have to be honest and say that I still
haven’t finished it yet, but that’s simply because the words have been so
profound and life-changing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>“He made you you—on purpose.
You are the only you—ever. Becoming ourselves means we are actively cooperating
with God's intention for our lives, not fighting him or ourselves. He looks at
us with pleasure and with mercy, and he wants us to look at ourselves with
pleasure and mercy too!”</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>“God not only accepts us, he
embraces us.”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>“Jesus weeps for you and with
you, longs for you, hopes for you, dreams of you, and rejoices over you with
singing. He is the One who has battled all the forces of hell to free you and
who battles still.”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>“And in this beautiful,
heartbreaking world, God—the eternal, omniscient, amazing One—loves human
beings. Including you. Especially you. You are amazing.”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could quote the entire book; that’s how impactful it has been on my life. That sounds a bit illegal though, so I’ll
refrain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">God is bigger, more powerful, and more beautiful than I could ever
imagine, and He delights in me. He
delighted in the women of the Bible and used them for incredible things. He wants to do the same thing with me. Why would I need to seek worth from man when
He found me beautiful before I was even born?
Admittedly, this is still a process.
My self-esteem remains shaky, but I’m learning to plant its roots in Him
and not in Lyndon. It’s a burden my dear
husband was never meant to carry. I want
him to find me beautiful but only because he sees my beauty through God’s
eyes. I want him to find me worthy not
because he has deemed it so but because I’m so precious to God.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Despite the deep pain that is still healing, I'm actually thankful that all of this happened. Our marriage is no longer a lie. We're more honest and open with each other than ever before. We're still working on it, but we don't rely on each other when we should be leaning on Him. Our marriage is slowly changing focus from inward to upward. I shudder to think of what we would be bringing our daughter into had none of this happened.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Matters have been complicated by this whole pregnancy thing. It’s changed my hair into an even hotter mess. Stretch marks are a very real thing. My calves barely taper off to form ankles. I wear the same things every week because
those are all that fit me. I look a
little different. It’s been hard work,
keeping myself in the right frame of mind.
Lyndon can attest to the fact that I've not always been able to do
that. He’s had to gently remind me that
while I don’t look the same, what is happening to me is still a beautiful thing
and completely worth it. A few tears and
a few deep breaths later, I’m fine because I don’t hold my earthly beauty as
highly as I used to hold it. This little
girl has already changed everything, and I know there are more changes to
come. We’re going to have to learn a lot
about being parents, and we’re going to have to teach her many things. One lesson I refuse to let slip by is how
deeply she is valued by the One who made her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s
womb. I praise you because I am
fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full
well.” – Psalm 139:14</b></span></span></span><span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-11975682781991054682013-07-29T16:55:00.000-05:002013-07-29T16:55:26.249-05:00Lesson #59: Moving Forward Hurts<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's not all that surprising that I haven't written anything in these past few months. Honestly, I never was quite good at keeping up with this blog anyway. In light of this year's events, however, I had wanted to change that. I suppose I was hoping to track our days, remind myself of good things, maybe help someone else who finds herself in this position. I sat in front of this screen on many occasions, ready to write something. Anything. When it came down to it, the words never came. The hurt runs deep, and I couldn't figure out how to express that to you properly. You see, the pain is the same. Who wants to read that over and over again? I even had to stop writing for myself because I had run out of ways to say that I'm not okay.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Days have gotten better, don't get me wrong. Lyndon continues to love me, and we continue to mend our relationship. I can confidently say that there are now days when I don't think about it at all. It used to consume my every thought, my every second. At least I've moved on from that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are other days though. Days when my self esteem is low and one reminder keeps me from looking in any mirrors. Days when my inability to trust him gets the better of me. Days when merely seeing something sparks a memory that sends me stumbling down the same dark path I've walked many times.</span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I intended for this blog to be a fun way to let you all in on our first few years of marriage. I had wanted to start sharing silly things like recipes and my DIY disasters. I'd even considered the possibility of sharing our lives when children came onto the scene. Having a blog like that, even though there are millions that are exactly the same, was something that excited me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But everything has changed. I've experienced hurt like I never have before. I was so looking forward to healing and moving on from all of this. I never knew healing would hurt this much.</span></div>
Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-47064965289240839682013-03-07T15:38:00.002-06:002014-01-29T12:56:06.181-06:00Lesson #58: A Commitment is a Commitment is a Commitment
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<!--StartFragment-->
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'm not even sure where to begin. If The
Sound of Music has taught me anything, it's that the beginning is a very good
place to start, so I'll start there. Be warned, this is a long post.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> On Thursday, February 21st, I was fully enjoying
Snowpocalypse, 2013. I was able to come home early from work, was
guaranteed a snow day the next day, and was ready to waste some time doing
nothing. I was hanging out with the dog when Lyndon walked over and sat
by me. The first words out of his mouth were, "I'm being
blackmailed." Honestly, I thought he was joking about something
light-hearted when he said that. He went on and told me that he had
exposed himself to someone during a video chat. That woman recorded it
and was now asking for $300. If Lyndon didn't comply, she'd send the
video to all of his Facebook friends. He couldn't handle dealing with it
on his own anymore, so he decided to confess and ask for help.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> I could barely breathe. My body and my
mind felt like they were shutting down because turning off was better than
dealing with what I'd just been told. Tears started and didn't stop for
hours as darkness invaded all of me. I vehemently refused to help him out
of the situation because he was the one who'd made the mistake in the first place.
That's not exactly what I said. It was more of a garbled mumbling
because I couldn't talk over the crying.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Lyndon left for work, and what little resolve I
had to keep myself together, vanished. I desperately wanted to leave my
apartment behind, but Snowpocalypse was falling all around me. It took me
all of five minutes to realize that it was too dangerous for me to be by
myself, so I called the first person I wanted to talk to: my mom. She was
patient as I tried to form words and recount what had just happened. She
calmly told me to pack up what I needed while I waited for her and my dad to
come get me.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> I spent the next five days at my parents' house,
avoiding contact with as many people as possible. Both my sisters and my
parents did an incredible job at not asking questions. They listened when
I talked, but apart from that, they spent their time keeping my head above
water. I will never be able to thank them enough for the crucial roles
they played in those few days.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Lyndon and I continued to talk over these five
days, and he confessed to much more. Porn had entered his life at the
tender age of 12, and by the time he met me, he was too far gone to stop.
He continued on that path after we were married. He also told me
about another woman. Every confession, every single thing he told me
threw me deeper into despair and a darkness that was present in every minute of
every day.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> That following Tuesday, I had planned to stop at
our apartment while he was gone to pick up a few things. I sat down on
the couch for a minute and felt overcome by the Holy Spirit. I was being told
that I could not get off the couch until I agreed to stay and wait for Lyndon.
I cried and cried, asking to just be released because I couldn't handle
seeing him. God waited. When I finally said I would wait for him, I
was able to get off the couch.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Tuesday the 26th also happened to be Lyndon's
birthday, and he had gotten to the point of suicidal thoughts over what he'd
done. He knew I was waiting for him at home, so he sat in his car for at
least a half hour after arriving. Not knowing whether I would actually
talk to him or if I would leave again, he couldn't bring himself to come
inside. Without realizing what was happening, however, God carried him in
to me. After a lot of tears and hours of talking, I decided to move back
home that night. It was absolutely divine intervention that brought us
together that day, and it terrifies me to think of what state we'd be in had
neither of us let God take control.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Since that fateful Thursday, there have been
immediate changes. Lyndon has been transferred to a store that's much
closer and now works hours that coincide with mine. He purchased
encouraging music to listen to and books that he's started reading. He
has found someone to meet with and talk to. We have a program set up on
his computer that informs me and three others when inappropriate sites are
visited. We've started a Bible study together. His attitude
towards me has done a 180, and the way we interact with each other is
completely different.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> There are good days. There are bad days.
There are good parts of days, and there are bad parts of days.
We're facing each of those days together.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> I am still hurt.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am still broken.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am still unable to forgive him.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am still in love with him.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"> The day after he first told me, I took off my
wedding ring to shower. When it came time to put it back on, I couldn't
do it. It felt like he didn't mean anything he said the day he gave me
that ring. I've since put it back on. I still don't know what to
think about our wedding day and what he said, but I know I meant every word.
After all, a commitment is a commitment is a commitment.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-77431746942608731252012-09-09T13:23:00.001-05:002012-09-09T13:23:53.154-05:00Lesson #57: A Strong Husband is Pretty HandyHere's my Sunday morning schedule:<br />
<br />
-Wake up before the butt crack of dawn<br />
-Try and get dressed and ready with little light while praying I don't wake Lyndon up<br />
-Inevitably wake Lyndon up<br />
-Scarf down some cereal<br />
-Head down to Bellevue University at 6:30 for church set up, rehearsal, and service<br />
-Tear down everything that was set up a few hours before<br />
-Go home<br />
-Try and recover<br />
<br />
For some reason, I thought adding more to my morning and waking up even earlier would be a great idea. I decided to wake up with enough time to make coffee cake for me, my fellow Christ Community friends who had to be there just as early, and the husband. I was up at 4:30, mixing ingredients in my beautiful <a href="http://mrslessons.blogspot.com/2011/04/lesson-33-remember-what-your-wife-says.html">KitchenAid</a>, trying to fully open my eyes. We all know how far I've come with this coffee cake recipe, so I wasn't expecting any difficulties despite the early time.<br />
<br />
The coffee cake was successfully in the oven. I could almost feel myself wrapped back up in my covers, ready to drift off for a cat nap before officially having to wake up. I was so close, and then I discovered I couldn't get the flat beater off the mixer. No matter how hard I tried, that beater was convinced it needed to stay on. Thinking it was because I'm really bad at thoroughly cleaning, my attempts became more feeble as I assumed the mixture had dried around it. I fought for as long as my tired self would let me, but I eventually gave up and crawled back into bed.<br />
<br />
Right before I left, I decided to try another plan of attack:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUfDSCeCraH0uOkvxposIV6GfIET_wG3c5dRBxCEOuieBLDAy1v7OITpP9pHWqRoExP2-Bxl7iNBrI2w70kqWOOAgvvk9-S2aY9sSfaC8JUR7XKZKUldii82NIquNkvSiAPzNiiTSng0/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUfDSCeCraH0uOkvxposIV6GfIET_wG3c5dRBxCEOuieBLDAy1v7OITpP9pHWqRoExP2-Bxl7iNBrI2w70kqWOOAgvvk9-S2aY9sSfaC8JUR7XKZKUldii82NIquNkvSiAPzNiiTSng0/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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It reads: HELP! I'm stuck and need a big, strong man to save me!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He's opened plenty of jars for me in the past, so I figured he'd help me without a problem. I was right. I was really right. He sent me a text during rehearsal telling me that it wasn't stuck in the first place. My 4:30 brain was convinced otherwise. It's just proof that I should never wake up that early in order to be nice to others ever again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I need to take a nap. But before I do that, I'm going to finish eating this potato salad and watching Hot Rod. Good grief.</div>
<br />Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-38701431609681027702012-09-05T18:26:00.002-05:002012-09-05T18:26:23.794-05:00Lesson #56: I'm Still AdjustingI've hinted at it before, so allow me to definitively state the following: housework and I are not friends.<br />
<br />
Unless the dog hair becomes so much that I'm grossed out enough to clean or we have company coming over, I'd rather wallow in "filth." I don't mean rats running around our rotting food on the floor, but I do mean clean and unfolded laundry sitting in its basket for a week. I mean dirty dishes piling up because I don't want to unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher. You know, that kind of "filth." I will say that I ironed a pair of pants and a shirt for Lyndon this morning, but that was only because he had an evaluation at work today.<br />
<br />
I desire to fill my free time with things like Skyrim and Doctor Who. If I'm cleaning, I can't fully enjoy those things. Therefore, cleaning makes little sense to me.<br />
<br />
The realization is finally hitting me: cleaning is never going to stop. There's always going to be something that I have to do. No matter how modern society attempts to be, we have an unspoken understanding that I'm mainly in charge of cleaning and he's mainly in charge of bringing home the bacon. He's always taken full responsibility for that duty, yet I'm a total slacker. My duties are so much easier compared to him, but I'm the one who lays about procrastinating.<br />
<br />
I still need to vacuum, but I did pause Doctor Who to put some week-old basket laundry away.<br />
Progress.<br />
<br />
On an unrelated note, this company thought we were dumb enough to buy things from their catalogue for Nala, so they sent us a copy.<br />
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuf-9HPdL0O-8S3K4X_p-6VK42r8qA3a2bc_cdiu_F6E7I-NwqsEVPCwfRVayqjiGYEvvAZuwYGtT33oGuBV9Hjwbm2I1_0SW4o7EYwU0s0MeRr1CAb7a2x8C7NuNyMzblXf23wqgzus/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuf-9HPdL0O-8S3K4X_p-6VK42r8qA3a2bc_cdiu_F6E7I-NwqsEVPCwfRVayqjiGYEvvAZuwYGtT33oGuBV9Hjwbm2I1_0SW4o7EYwU0s0MeRr1CAb7a2x8C7NuNyMzblXf23wqgzus/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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If I don't get to order whatever I want from the Anthropologie catalogue, she doesn't get whatever she wants from here (which I'm sure is the dog equivalent of Anthropologie...or something). Petco is just fine for her fancy butt.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-64428003534630836332012-08-30T22:23:00.000-05:002012-08-30T22:23:54.471-05:00Lesson #55: Sometimes You Need to go Because He Needs You to goLet me start out by saying this: we have zero luck with cars. We've only been married for a little over two years, yet we're already out looking for our fourth car. We're really good at being really bad with cars. I don't know what it is about the two of us combined, but it's not fun. The plan for today was to look at a car here in Omaha and then head to Lincoln to look at another car. Up until last night, that plan didn't include me. When Lyndon realized I was working in the late afternoon/evening, he asked me to tag along.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hate looking at cars. The only thing I have an eye for is whether or not the A/C and heat work, if there's a way for me to play my music, and how bad the interior of the car smells. Those seem to be my specialties, so Lyndon graciously takes care of the rest. While he's getting into the nitty-gritty of the car with the owner, I'm twiddling my thumbs. The worst part is that the car we're currently on the hunt for is supposed to be for me. I'm supposed to care about what car I drive, but I don't know anything about them; therefore, I rarely care or have an opinion. I am useless. Lyndon is not a fan of this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The 2001 Elantra in town was decent, but we still wanted to look at the 2003 in Lincoln. After driving for 45 minutes, we finally got there and started going about our car inspection. It took us a while to notice, but we eventually realized that we hadn't been bombarded by a salesman. That is absolutely not normal for a dealership. We then found out that we hadn't been attacked because no one was there. They were supposed to have been open an hour (agoio90-=plp[;,,,,,,,,,, c-that was Nala thinking she was helping with this post) ago, yet no one was in the offices. Lyndon had even been in contact with them, giving them the time that we would be there. We called and were told that it would be another 20-30 minutes until someone showed up. We had already been there for an hour.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We decided to try another place we had passed in the hopes that this trip would not be a total disaster. After walking around for five minutes, looking at cars, Lyndon decided to leave. The problem with this place wasn't that no one was around. The problem was that the people there neither noticed him nor said a word to him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To sum up: we did not buy a car in Lincoln today.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our moods were much improved when we made an impromptu stop at a roadside antiques shop. For real. That's our thing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the way home, Lyndon told me he was glad I was there with him. He had never wanted to make the trip alone. Looking at/buying cars is a stressful time. He said he would have been furious otherwise. So maybe I'm not as useless when it comes to buying cars as I thought. It must have been my comic relief.</div>
Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-86980083699868976932012-08-28T22:16:00.001-05:002012-08-28T22:17:01.751-05:00Lesson #54: Marriage to a Restaurant Employee is AdvantageousLyndon works hard to provide and protect. He serves his country, and he serves you your food. Being a shift supervisor at a restaurant is a demanding job, and Lyndon is no slacker. His hours are awful, so we rarely see each other and usually eat dinner after nine. As a couple, we're never able to go out with others because of his work schedule. Working 12-hour shifts takes a lot out of him so our evenings stay very low-key. Suffice it to say that he's exploring other options outside of this field of work.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, however, we're stuck with the previously mentioned schedule. It's either been that or some sort of variation, so it's nothing we aren't used to experiencing. Supervising simply seems to be more exhausting than serving/bar tending. I have a tired husband.<br />
<br />
All of that majorly stinks, but we got to experience one of the upsides to his job tonight. His restaurant has a "to go" option for people to use to order food so they can drop by, pay, and leave with their meals. I learned tonight that when people fail to show up the food is usually thrown away. If there happens to be a smart shift supervisor on duty, part of the booty is given to a server while he takes home the rest of the spoils. And that resulted in...<br />
<br />
FREE DINNER!<br />
<br />
"'It's fo' free!' so I was like, 'Sure.'"<br />
<br />
Food that would have otherwise been thrown away was instead chosen to grace our table. And by table, I mean our coffee table because we sit and watch shows like Cake Boss while we eat. I don't know whether to take this as a blessing from God or a sign from God that even He was ashamed of my subpar grocery list yesterday.<br />
<br />
"So what's the lesson?" you might ask. Truth is, I'm not really sure. Marry someone in the business of food? Don't throw away food that's still good? Realize God's blessings in little things? Make a good grocery list? You decide.Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-31810579821935228782012-08-27T16:50:00.000-05:002012-08-27T16:50:09.858-05:00Lesson #53: You Never Stop Buying GroceriesDays like today are when I wish I was super rich and could have my private, gourmet chef take care of anything. Okay, most days are like that. Today is particularly leaning towards that view, however. I just got home from work and had to make a grocery list. I then get to go buy groceries, come home, put them away, eat something, and go to rehearsal.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is seriously the billionth time I've gone grocery shopping since getting married. That might be a stretch, but I doubt it. I either run out of money or I run out of ideas for meals. And while I sit here listening to songs for rehearsal tonight, I'm drawing a blank. I can't go out and buy ingredients and throw things together. My brain doesn't work like that. Never has, never will. I have to have a solid list in which items are put under the meal they'll be used for. My brain is a nightmare.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since I seem to be more focused on listening to this music, my list has taken a turn for the worse:</div>
<div>
alfredo</div>
<div>
pasta</div>
<div>
chicken</div>
<div>
milk</div>
<div>
string cheese</div>
<div>
fruit</div>
<div>
red pepper flakes</div>
<div>
vanilla</div>
<div>
Italian seasoning</div>
<div>
tomato soup</div>
<div>
Hamburger Helper</div>
<div>
ground beef</div>
<div>
cheddarwurst</div>
<div>
shredded cheese</div>
<div>
chips</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What.on.earth. Whatever. I'm going grocery shopping.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hello, end of the month. You're a jerk.</div>
Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-60892158269639123622012-08-26T14:09:00.000-05:002012-08-26T14:09:21.316-05:00Lesson #52: Man's Best Friend is High MaintenanceIt has long been a dream of ours to own a dog. Considering both of us are vehemently opposed to cats (no offense, cat folk), it only made sense that we would get a dog as soon as we could. That "soon as we could" finally came around after almost two years of marriage. Living in an apartment that doesn't allow dogs kind of puts a damper on dog plans. Plus, I figured I would start out with plants. We kept (most of) those alive, so it was time to upgrade to a pet. After a while, if she's still alive and well, we'll be able to upgrade again to kids. It's a process.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
So in March we met her...</div>
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in April we got her...</div>
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and in August we still love her.</div>
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Nala is almost six months old and has been hilarious to watch. Shiba inus are notoriously distant and anti-social, yet she is the exact opposite of that. Nala thinks every person she sees is a new best friend. Every knock on a door in our hallway must be meant for her. She loves people so much that she whines out of excitement when she meets someone. Good thing we weren't banking on a guard dog.<br />
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Through the cost of shots, food, vet visits, treats, toys (that keep mysteriously showing up when I come home from work and Lyndon has a day off), and surprise health issues, we've realized how expensive dogs can be. We did our research beforehand and calculated the costs, but it was still a nice surprise as to how big that cost would be. So far, it's been worth it. The only time I get worried is when Lyndon is convinced she needs a friend to play with.<br />
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Prepare for more posts about Nala because she's who I spend most of my time with. Until that happens, here's a picture of her eating a clementine for the first time.<br />
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<br />Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-11410702716082504162012-08-25T19:35:00.000-05:002012-08-25T19:35:11.054-05:00Lesson #51: Beautiful Quilts Belong on a WallBeautiful objects passed from family member to family member warm my heart. I love seeing things that people were given or inherited from older family members. That's what I want to use to fill my house-things that remind us of those we love. I'm already excited to pass on some of the things we own to future kids!<br />
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When Lyndon was younger, he was given a gorgeous quilt made by his great-grandmother (in-loves, correct me if I'm wrong).<br />
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<i>By the way, my lovely in-loves, I don't know the story behind this quilt. I would love to hear it the next time we get to see you!</i><br />
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I'd always wanted to put it up but never got around to it. As a newlywed who finally got to decorate an apartment, I just kind of put things up without thinking. When we moved, however, I was determined to not make that mistake again. This time, that quilt was going up. With very little money to make this happen, we settled with a giant dowel and some screws.<br />
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Isn't it wonderful? Wait, scratch that. I only care about your opinion if you like it. I demand to be coddled when it comes to my decorating taste/choices/skills.</div>
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The quilt is very old, needs some mending, needs to be cleaned somehow, and should be better displayed. I feel like I'm not doing it justice the way it is. If you happen to have any tried-and-true advice on any of these matters, I would love to hear it.<br />
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Good thing it's still pretty despite its owners' lack of quilt knowledge.Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-60528214005574205962012-08-24T23:14:00.001-05:002012-08-26T13:01:53.072-05:00Lesson #50: In the End, We Were MarriedEvery once in a while, I think to myself, <i>I want to get married again...my wedding was boring compared to this...if I could do it all again it would be completely different</i>, etc. The high ranking of Pinterest in my "Top Sites" has been followed by the nagging thoughts that my wedding could have been more beautiful, more detailed, more extravagant. I see stunning dresses, creative elements, and beautiful brides and wonder why I couldn't have done/had all of those things. While most Pinterest users are dreaming about what "might be" when it comes to their weddings, I dream about what "could have been." I know all that I would change about our wedding if you asked me.<br />
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These thoughts bug me for a while, but then I remember how wonderful our wedding was. I remember how he looked when the doors to the sanctuary first opened. I remember how much I loved being surrounded by those I loved. I remember his surprise dip for our first kiss as husband and wife. I remember that we talked about his truck breaking down that day and his subsequent sunburn during the unity candle instead of talking about romantic things. I remember the beautiful music, having a great time with my mom while we planned, the delicious cupcakes, the bachelorette party gone-almost-wrong, the fun I had during the week of, and so much more. My wedding was a dream, minus a few details.<br />
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I was blessed to have the wedding I did. It was beautifully God-filled. As if that wasn't enough, my parents didn't go into debt for it. Considering the average wedding costs around $27,800 (http://wedding.theknot.com/wedding-planning/wedding-budget/qa/what-does-the-average-wedding-cost.aspx) and ours was right around $5,000, I'd say we made the right choice.<br />
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I'll continue to be plagued by thoughts of my "could have been" wedding. It's not that hard to remind myself that in the end, I got to marry Lyndon.<br />
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That sounds like a successful wedding to me.</div>
<br />Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-19190047500230093462012-07-20T11:03:00.000-05:002012-07-20T11:03:45.826-05:00Lesson #49: God can Change Your Heart for Anything<br />
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We're still alive! It's been forever since I've posted, I know. Cut me some slack. I went to Italy then immediately picked up our dog then immediately moved then unpacked all by myself then started an internship then went on a two week tour then came home to an internship. Things have been a little crazy, to say the least. I'll catch myself up by posting about each of those things. For now, here's Italy:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBjOxayVuaDFU7A2a_7zJJM1kLV5dlSLp1AhCU8roeGX8oXwlGVd-d6Q3kpOLF726BGtHTQlndmULCUnIBzKBRPqcfUG-shkZ-dxRdM3Qo3uvVsYpTAMtObsn6-cYULJDLCJ0-q7sqKw/s1600/DSCN0157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBjOxayVuaDFU7A2a_7zJJM1kLV5dlSLp1AhCU8roeGX8oXwlGVd-d6Q3kpOLF726BGtHTQlndmULCUnIBzKBRPqcfUG-shkZ-dxRdM3Qo3uvVsYpTAMtObsn6-cYULJDLCJ0-q7sqKw/s320/DSCN0157.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Rome from the "Wedding Cake" (Altare della Patria)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venice (from the Rialto Bridge)-I totally got lost here.</td></tr>
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Every year, Nebraska Christian College shuts down for a week in the spring, and every single person goes on a missions trip of some kind. People spread out all over: California, Montana, Utah, Omaha, Texas, Honduras, Haiti, Trinidad, China, Italy, and plenty more over the years. Our Italy trip was about so much more than sight seeing and singing every once in a while. We were there for God. Italy is a country filled with corruption, hopelessness, and emptiness. Having faith and going to church is a tradition that you "just do." We went to show them that there's something more, that God is so much more. It was incredible to see that play out. We got to do things like sing for mass in ancient, beautiful cathedrals (including the Vatican). We met with a convent of women who never speak, and we got to sing with them. We sang at a rest home in Cividale. We got to sing to our elderly waitress in Marano Lagunare. We ate with the Alpini and the community choir in Codroipo. I got to see beautiful pieces of art and sculpting and architecture that I've only ever seen pictures of my whole life. I can't begin to explain to you how incredibly beautiful that trip was. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Vicenza from Monte Berico</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cividale from the New Devil's Bridge</td></tr>
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One of our days was spent in the town of Trieste, and that day forever changed me. We went to a tiny evangelical church called Il Faro (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Chiesa-Cristiana-Evangelica-Il-Faro-di-Trieste/218853878176637</span>) that had been started by some missionaries. Before we sang for them, one of the missionaries talked to us about the town. He told us that only .02% of Trieste's population believes. At that moment, God changed my heart. I believe that He'd been working up to that moment my entire life (my love for history, Italian artists, the language, and so much more), and that moment has changed me forever. I originally wanted to go on the trip because I'd always wanted to go to Italy. Why not serve God at the same time? God used that love for Italy in an incredible way. As we sang that night, it became evidently clear that this was not my last time serving God in Italy. I'm not saying the heavens opened up, the clouds separated, and the angels sang to signal me. I'm saying that I've never been more confident about something in my entire life.</div>
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I have no idea what that confidence will turn into. I might get to go on another trip similar to that one, I might spend the rest of my life there. Who knows? When I got home, I wasn't sure what I was going to say to Lyndon. How do you say, "By the way, you might be living in Italy at some point in your life. Hope that's okay!" without causing an uproar? The day after I got back, as we sat in a Denny's in St. Louis with his parents, I quietly brought up the experience I'd had that night in Trieste. It was met with silence.</div>
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He has yet to say much about it. He doesn't say anything as I decorate our apartment with things I got from Italy. He never said too much when I told other people about that night. I don't know if he's not sure what to think of it or doesn't want to hurt my feelings by what he thinks of it. Either way, I'm glad he hasn't said much. Even though he hasn't completely supported it, he hasn't completely shut it down, and for that, I am grateful. I don't plan on bringing it up in the future. I'm the one with the heart for Italy. If serving God in Italy is in our future, I need to let God work in Lyndon's heart first. So if you don't hear me talking about this subject, don't think I've stopped caring. I'm practically bursting at the seams with excitement every time I even think about it. I'm just waiting for my husband.<br />
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</div>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-85792981670346071102012-04-12T22:22:00.000-05:002012-04-12T22:22:59.629-05:00Lesson #48: Who Needs Space?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We've done it.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We finally, officially found our future residence.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Spoiled by our current apartment, we thought we could afford the same luxury of space that we've been enjoying for the past two years. We found a place that was only slightly smaller than our apartment now, and we applied. After being approved and then budgeting, we realized how silly of a choice that was.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As was previously posted, we decided to start the apartment hunting process all over again. This time, looking for a more appropriate one bedroom apartment, we ended up at a complex today. We were worried because although we could certainly afford it, it is almost exactly half the size of our current apartment. Yikes. I kept encouraging myself with the thought, <i>"Who needs space to move in an apartment anyway?"</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But how pleasantly surprised we were! Incredibly affordable, plenty of storage, and cheap pet rent. The rent total is so inexpensive that we'll be able to swing a garage for all of our extra stuff. They even have garages available now, which is the first time that has happened in our search.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We even lucked out with the same great deal that we had at the original apartment we applied for. We'll be getting fifty dollars off our rent every month for our year lease. I'm sure that doesn't sound like much to a lot of people, but that means the world to us.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm beginning to get involved in pre-internship things. I sent out a resume for another job. Lyndon is looking for a second job. We found an apartment that we can actually afford. We get our puppy (officially named Nala) in two weeks. Lyndon takes his soldier to regionals (go Block!) next week. I leave for Italy in less than a week. The spring game/Jacoby family time is this weekend.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Things are looking up. We just might survive these next seven months of my internship.</span></div>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-41824970986985729802012-04-10T16:22:00.000-05:002012-04-10T16:22:49.145-05:00Lesson #47: Penny pinching power<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We've crunched the numbers, and it's time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Frivolous spenders, we will be no more!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not that we were frivolous spenders, but the little frivolity we had has now vanished. I have an internship, he has a job, we bought a dog, and we have our next apartment, but we're not sure how all of this is going to work out financially. As I've said in previous posts, we're getting ready to dive into the world of grown-ups.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We're cutting as much out of other funds as possible to make sure there's food on the table, even if it ends up being ramen noodles every night. Lyndon won't be able to be as involved on the paintball team as much as we had hoped. The envelope for "homey" things will remain empty and dry for the next several months.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Money problems have always scared me. Finances when I was younger were never secure, so I was always scared, always worried that there would be enough every month. Getting married offered me a breath of fresh air. I thought I would never be scared when it came to money situations again. We thought we had our lives for the next few years figured out. We weren't holding too high of expectations to realistically stick to; instead, we had a logical and realistic view on what our financial situation would be like.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It turned out that even that view was a little high-reaching. Our plans have been postponed for various reasons, and that has hurt us. We have some interesting months to look forward to in the all-too-near future.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Time to re-focus that trusting in God thing.</span>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-61234454193227998412012-03-28T20:17:00.000-05:002012-03-28T20:17:59.248-05:00Lesson #46: No husband=No sleep<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Distance might make the heart grow fonder, but it's keeping me from getting some shut-eye.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The husband and I are used to being apart. A great deal of our dating relationship and engagement was spent long distance, and there have been multiple weeks of our marriage when we're off doing different things. Not being together is old hat for us, but things have not been so smooth as of late.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wednesday the 21st through Sunday the 25th was my gospel choir's tour. We were out traveling the Midwest, singing about Jesus while Lyndon stayed at home. It was a rough week for both of us and for different reasons. I was struggling with emotional family stuff, and Lyndon was having a horrible time trying to sleep without me. Luckily, I stayed in host homes and shared a bed with fellow choir gals every night. Poor Lyndon had to sleep all alone. Restless night after restless night made for one exhausted husband when I got back on Sunday.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I then ignored my homework in order to spend time with him. I find reasons to push homework aside many times (like right now, for instance), but this reason was legitimate. I had just gotten back, and he was leaving the next day for military things.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He's now off doing some military thing or other, and I'm the one stuck at home. Last night, I think I got four hours of sleep. That could be an exaggeration, but I really don't think it is. The problem is that I can find plenty of things to keep myself busy during the day, but when I'm trying to go to bed all I can think about is the lack of husband sleeping next to me. His physical presence is something that I've so gotten used to that not having him next to me is keeping me awake past all hours of reason.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Realizing this has brought me to two more realizations:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. I'm grateful every single day that I have a husband who I get to sleep next to at night (usually). Those who have lost spouses or have spouses overseas have incredible courage and strength.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. I might need to invest in melatonin or something.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Apartment update!</u></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We found a place! It meets all of our specifications and should be affordable, too. We're currently waiting to be approved, so we'll have to wait and see.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've started collecting boxes, and Lyndon is looking for dogs. Let's hope this works out.</span>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-9731051389599388172012-03-07T16:51:00.000-06:002012-03-07T16:51:46.285-06:00Lesson #45: Apartment Treasure Hunt<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Apartment hunting.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Blech.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lyndon and I have been living in the married housing apartments on campus for almost two years, but that won't be the case soon. As long as someone is taking four credit hours, you can stay there. The thing is, this is my last semester of classes. All I will have left after this semester is an internship in the summer and my school's version of a music major's senior recital in the fall. I won't be taking enough hours, so we're being kicked out (in the nicest way possible).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We've been looking for possible apartments/homes since January, but it wasn't until the past week and a half that we started actively looking. This week has been filled with apartment/house hopping, and it's only Wednesday. We've been overwhelmed, we're burnt out, and we haven't found a place yet.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As different as we are, we have been in total agreement about most of the places so far. We have been having the same gut feeling/reaction toward each place we visit, so at least we're together on this.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lyndon's mini rant: Why do we have to go all over the internet to find different places? Why can't there just be one complete site that covers all available apartments and houses?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We check property management sites. We check apartmentguide.com. We check Craig's List. We check real estate sites. We check everywhere, yet one of the most promising places was a random complex I spotted while we were out looking.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here's where I ask for your help! Know of any great apartment/house hunting tips? Know of someone who can help us (for free)? Know of a place that needs awesome tenants? Let us know!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is what we're looking for:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1,000 square feet</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No more than $700 a month</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dog friendly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2 bedrooms</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Save us from the misery that comes with apartment/house hunting!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-91894741167224203282012-02-15T11:59:00.000-06:002012-02-15T11:59:33.815-06:00Lesson #44: You can't predict the futureEven though Lyndon and I are married, pay bills, and actually have health insurance, we haven't quite hit the real world. Student loans help cover our rent and utilities, we get tax breaks because I'm a student, and neither of us have found our careers yet. We're kind of in this weird state between being college students and being forced to be grown-ups. All of that, however, is going to change very shortly.<div><br />
</div><div>We thought the real world would have hit us much sooner, but through some unfortunate events, I'm not graduating this semester. Instead of doing my internship last summer, like we were hoping, it won't be happening until this summer. That internship will be another stepping stone towards more responsibilities and more "adult life." We have to go apartment hunting, move off campus, pay rent and utilities every month . . . fun stuff.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The following is a list of problems that are keeping us from discerning where God wants us next.</div><div><br />
</div><div>1. I don't have an internship yet. There are only three months left until the summer, and I still don't know where I'll be. There's one possibility right now (we're meeting tomorrow), but that's just a possibility and that's just one possibility. Everything about our future is dependent on this internship. Finding another apartment is the next step we need to take, and we can't even begin apartment hunting until I know where I'll be.</div><div><br />
</div><div>2. Lyndon was recently promoted, but we're not sure if that promotion includes a raise. He was so good at his previous job that he might've ended up making more per hour than he does with this new job. A promotion should include a pay increase, but that might not be the case.</div><div><br />
</div><div>3. The job that Lyndon has might not be his career. He's not sure yet. When we were dating, he was pursuing a different path that provided financial security for our lives. He's not pursuing that anymore, and that kind of pulled the rug out from underneath me. He doesn't know what his future holds career wise.</div><div><br />
</div><div>4. I have to make money this summer. Our bills are going to get bigger and more numerous. The never ending awfulness that comes with bills is going to increase. I need to help my husband bring home the bacon, but we have no idea how that's going to work. If my internship isn't willing to pay me (some internships offer that, some don't), they have to understand that I need to get a part time job in addition to my responsibilities with them. I worked at a great daycare this past summer who would be more than willing to offer me hours if available, but I can't tell them anything yet.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Let me make one thing clear: my husband takes care of me. We might not be living in the lap of luxury, but we have never been in dire financial straits. He's been able to give me things beyond the bare essentials, and I am forever grateful for that. My man works hard to provide, and he's done a great job thus far.</div><div><br />
</div><div>After a few breakdowns the past couple weeks, Lyndon has confidently reassured me that I don't have to worry. He has bravely stepped up as my husband and has told me that he will always take care of me, no matter what. I know that I can breathe easy because he will make sure that I am safe, happy, and protected.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Now we just have to bolster our faith in God, knowing that He will lead us to where we should go.</div><div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lame video. Awesome message.</div><div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/hjVrva4NPX8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">Lord I surrender all</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">To Your strong and faithful hand</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">In everything I will give thanks to You</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I’ll just trust Your perfect plan</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I don’t know what to do</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I’ll lift my hands</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I don’t know what to say</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I’ll speak Your praise</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I don’t know where to go</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I’ll run to Your throne</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I don’t know what to think</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I’ll stand on Your truth</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When I don’t know what to do</span></span></div>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-29021168428043504802012-02-05T00:16:00.000-06:002012-02-05T00:16:04.551-06:00Lesson #43: Hostess with the "Mostest"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I enjoy hosting. Having people over and taking care of them is what I truly love doing. There's something about inviting people into my home, taking care of them, and showing them love that gets to me. It's so great. I'll take their coats, have food, get them drinks . . . I go all out. Tonight, we had around 15 people in our teeny apartment to celebrate a friend's parents driving all the way from Montana to surprise her with a visit. Another friend brought most of the food, we pooled our utensil resources, and there were plenty of mugs for hot chocolate and coffee (because winter is finally here!). I had a blast. And they did the dishes for me. You can't top that.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The idea of hosting is a sort of "opposites attract" situation for Lyndon and me. He would rather come to a quiet home where he doesn't have to worry about others. If he can be fed, see his wife, and play video games all night, it's been a good day. He's a man who enjoys his quiet time and gets it as often as he can. It's not that he doesn't like people; he's more of an introvert who values his peace. Because of this introvert tendency he has, we don't have people over as often as I would like.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our group had to rearrange our original plans because of weather, and part of that change was meeting at our apartment instead of a restaurant. I said it was fine without checking with him, so I was a little nervous. He called me from the armory when they were on a break, and I cautiously told him the new plans. He was incredibly gracious and had no problem with it. I had dodged a bullet and just had to get my lazy butt up to clean before I was home free.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Growing up, my mom taught us to clean for guests. It didn't matter how clean or how dirty our house was. If people were coming over, we were cleaning. Vacuuming, dusting, sweeping . . . any form of cleaning you could think of was done. That is something that has stuck with me, so most of my day was spent cleaning around the apartment (Lyndon was certainly grateful). I didn't even care that my day went to cleaning. The cleaning meant that people were coming over, and yes, the apartment did need to be cleaned - win-win situation.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We were cramped, it got so warm inside that Taylor opened the back door, it was noisy, the kitchen was a mess (until the wonderful guests cleaned), and I loved every moment of it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don't ask to invite people over as often as I would like.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I try and stay very conscious of Lyndon's need for alone time. I'm thankful that he's conscious of my hostess genes, too.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now I just have to wait as long as I can before asking him if we can have people over again.</span>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-10547000620376483472012-01-27T12:58:00.000-06:002012-01-27T12:58:00.501-06:00Lesson #42: Baby crazy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Babies, babies, babies.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Good grief. All the babies.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I thought I was still in the stage of my life when everyone was getting married. Apparently, I didn't get the memo that we were moving on. Married folk around me are either changing diapers or picking out paint samples for the future nursery, and I still thought we were in the day and age of wedding colors and finding the perfect "something blue."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don't really want kids right now. At some point in my life, yes. I hope to surround myself with crayon covered walls and Kool-Aid spills, but I'm not there yet. Lyndon and I have both said that we're way too selfish right now. We want to be better at our husband and wife titles before we add mom and dad titles onto them. Baby fever rarely hits, and when it does, it's more about being the mother of Lyndon's children. That part overwhelms me, but child-rearing isn't at the top of my "to do" list as of yet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What form of crazy do we currently have? I'm glad you asked. The answer to that: dog crazy. We love dogs, and we're suffering right now. We aren't allowed to have dogs in the apartment we're currently in. It gets Lyndon down sometimes, and when that happens he comes up to me and whines, "I want a dog." He sounds like an 8-year-old begging for a pet. It's pretty pitiful, actually. We aren't so dog crazy that we'll call them our children and carry pictures of them in our wallets, but you get the idea.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We even know what kinds of dogs we want: a bulldog named Sergeant (who we will call Sarge) and a shiba inu (name tbd).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A shiba inu because they're fun, playful, and energetic.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtEPueETBVnrFXw6HETRMUJr-kWRZS_LuMfZqM_mUWXf4M66HAwwpkQ7GKEtbe3EqtwNKzAjmLRs45hBv2QvVlpzg8ZRfjg9uoT3LhWaPqnULr-hLf_VzklSwB3A2T4HiYw6HXq0KMlA/s1600/shiba-inu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtEPueETBVnrFXw6HETRMUJr-kWRZS_LuMfZqM_mUWXf4M66HAwwpkQ7GKEtbe3EqtwNKzAjmLRs45hBv2QvVlpzg8ZRfjg9uoT3LhWaPqnULr-hLf_VzklSwB3A2T4HiYw6HXq0KMlA/s320/shiba-inu.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Look at that puppy. Melt.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>A bulldog because they're hilarious (partly because they're ugly) and lazy.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jrcW3kmiKWkL2aGXQtYRXFRGiA0B_eP5FHNY7FN8Rzv9MQnqJT94Q4_mx4Is3DWBF6c93M8eB41mxzVTFi-tsVrPCBaC09Rq-7jqvurKvbD0P_goaUl0zaxWd5biHdP47KFrZfe5eVo/s1600/Bulldog_portrait_Frank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jrcW3kmiKWkL2aGXQtYRXFRGiA0B_eP5FHNY7FN8Rzv9MQnqJT94Q4_mx4Is3DWBF6c93M8eB41mxzVTFi-tsVrPCBaC09Rq-7jqvurKvbD0P_goaUl0zaxWd5biHdP47KFrZfe5eVo/s320/Bulldog_portrait_Frank.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Baha.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Both kinds would be manageable for the two of us, and both of them are small enough to be allowed in apartments.<div><br />
</div><div>I hope we're able to have children someday. I know my life will change for the better in a forever kind of way. At this point in my life, I'd rather have a companion who slobbers, poops anywhere and everywhere, depends on me for everything, is excited to see me when I come home . . . wait . . . that still sounds like a baby.</div>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-66633536830839868792012-01-11T11:33:00.000-06:002012-08-26T14:19:52.280-05:00Lesson #41: Conquer the family recipesLast night, I had the ingredients for a few different baked goods options. When I asked Lyndon which one I should make, he replied with, "Uh, coffee cake. Duh." As the mixer was working hard and I was adding the necessary ingredients, I thought back to my first, terrifying experience with making coffee cake.<br />
<br />
Lyndon comes from a family of wonderful women who are wonderful cooks. He has fond memories of eating all the delicious meals and treats they always made for him. My mom has a few cooking tricks up her sleeve, too, but she's worked full time as an elementary music teacher since before I was born. On top of that, she's always had a job at church. She's a busy lady, so 100% homemade meals weren't always an option. My family was always doing something. There was always a rehearsal or a school event or a contest that we had to go to. If it was fine arts related and wasn't sports related, we were a part of it. We were like chickens running around with our heads cut off because we were so busy and involved. We always ate together, but my Mom didn't have the time to spend a few hours making dinner. I have no complaints; that's just the way it was.<br />
<br />
When we got married, I realized that I would actually have the time (when not about to drown in school work) to make meals. It was a strange yet exciting concept to me. One thing that Lyndon wanted right away was coffee cake. He didn't want any old coffee cake recipe either. He wanted the coffee cake that his mom makes. And what coffee cake it is! The recipe was in a little recipe book that I was hoping to avoid for as long as possible: the family recipe book. A few years ago, one of his grandmas compiled a list of her recipes based on family recommendations. I didn't have very many cooking skills at that point in our marriage (truth be told, I still don't). That book made me nervous.<br />
<br />
It took a while for me to finally try this coffee cake recipe Lyndon had been asking for. I avoided that book like the plague. Around a month had passed before I decided it was time to face my fears. I opened up to the right page, read the recipe, and was completely lost. There weren't precise directions for me to follow, including a total lack of an ingredients list at the beginning of the recipe. I was not off to a good start. I ended up having to call Lyndon's mom for help, and she was nice enough to answer all of my questions. After a time of exploding flour and my first experience with shortening (mega gross, by the way), the batter made it into the oven, safe and sound. That first coffee cake won Lyndon's approval, and my cooking confidence soared that day.<br />
<br />
I've had plenty of cooking success and cooking failure since we got married. That fateful, coffee cake day taught me that the family recipe book is intimidating but conquerable. I've since tried a few more recipes from the book with mixed reviews. I guess I'll have to keep trying, especially since that coffee cake I made last night burned a little bit. Oops.Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-87016701096256833592012-01-09T02:49:00.002-06:002012-01-09T02:58:47.454-06:00Lesson #40: Remember why you fell for him<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The topic of this blog has been on my mind for a few days now, and I really wanted to do something about it. And then I remembered I had a blog. Duh.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let's start at the beginning: I had an awkward phase. When I use the phrase "awkward phase," no exaggeration is needed or implied. I just spent forever looking on Facebook for a picture to display, but I realized that I didn't join Facebook until most of my awkward phase was over. That was probably a wise choice. This phase started around third grade (no lie) and went through a good portion of high school (no lie).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As far as boys go, I had one serious relationship before Lyndon, the mighty husband. Suffice it to say that 16-year-old me was in love, but our almost year-long relationship did not work out. I think I was starting to leave my awkward stage when we started dating, and I left not only the boyfriend behind but also the awkward stage. All of a sudden, I had no boyfriend and no awkward stage.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Side note: I'm not trying to say I had an ugly duckling, beautiful swan situation. I simply became less terrible looking. Getting back on track. . .</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I found out that boys liked me. I found out that more than one boy liked me. I didn't know how to handle myself, and I made some terrible choices. That serious boyfriend had really messed up my ability to trust, so I didn't want to let anyone else in. He had broken me, and for whatever reason, I didn't want to give someone the chance to fix me. I couldn't take the risk. Anytime a guy got close, I ran in the opposite direction.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That combined with my faith that was fizzling out, I wasn't in a good place when I met Lyndon. Everything that had happened was becoming overbearing, and it was dragging me down. I was never depressed. I just stopped being myself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He saved me. Lyndon saved me. Meeting him changed everything. He pulled me out of the water that I was clearly dragging myself under. He saved me from all those boys; he showed me what a real relationship with God was like. I don't know what road I would have gone down without him. He really was and is my knight in shining armor. It was as if he solved all my problems; he was the perfect answer. Granted, we both create new problems every single day. He likes fried eggs in the morning, and they make the apartment smell horrid. Right now, our dirty dishes go from the sink to the end of the counter. We both have problems.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But tonight, as I laid in his arms, all I could think about was how he had saved me, how he takes care of me, how he protects me, how he provides for me, how he loves me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sappy-yes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cheesy-yes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nauseating-yes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">True-absolutely</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcggK4cXNWCYlt4BWVRc0yYRMJ9bPq2sgd8lji0Ws2u1qWNKczesKDyeu8fsCCoheV-3vwwK5pT8p60seNZajs3U7i-uQxC6QxAew7TCOf9UX3F-7Zgfdw95lv5TXXZQL1mObvTiXMHA/s1600/196287_502391202938_109700142_30027601_4471_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcggK4cXNWCYlt4BWVRc0yYRMJ9bPq2sgd8lji0Ws2u1qWNKczesKDyeu8fsCCoheV-3vwwK5pT8p60seNZajs3U7i-uQxC6QxAew7TCOf9UX3F-7Zgfdw95lv5TXXZQL1mObvTiXMHA/s320/196287_502391202938_109700142_30027601_4471_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first date. Why did Lyndon want to take a picture of us on our first date? I have no idea. I must have liked him enough at that point to be okay with it, and I love that we have this picture now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love my husband. I need to remember why much more often.</span></div>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-3702560587307940112012-01-04T22:13:00.004-06:002012-01-04T22:30:20.385-06:00Lesson #39: Love him while he's here<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Inspired by the courage and strength of Molly. . .</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For those of you who don't know, Lyndon is in the Army National Guard. He is proud to serve his country, and I'm proud to be his military wife. For the most part, the military has been incredibly good to us. I can point to essential objects in our home and say that his service in the military has helped pay for them. We are thousands and thousands of dollars out of debt because the military is paying for his schooling. Even beyond the financial support the military has given us, my husband has found his niche. I couldn't tell you whether or not he'll make a career out of the military. That depends on the day, so you'll have to ask him. What I can tell you is that there's something about him being in the military that completes him. He was just made for it.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Life with the military wasn't always this fine and dandy. Lyndon proposed to me three months before he left for training. While Basic was only 10 weeks long (if our memories are right), he then immediately went to AIT training, which kept him for 16 weeks. Our relationship had always been long distance, but this was entirely different. He was gone from March to October. Total bummer.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even though he was never sent overseas or put in serious harm's way, the physical ache of missing the one I loved was always present. A lot of people don't truly know what that feeling is like. When I asked my parents what their longest stretch of time apart was, they told me around two weeks. Two weeks! I would have given anything to bring Lyndon home after two weeks. My heart aches even now, remembering our time apart.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sMJbmX2Ql1I/TwUmvhY1j6I/AAAAAAAAAIY/lNB4dHK7F0M/s1600/n508389694_1738440_5916715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sMJbmX2Ql1I/TwUmvhY1j6I/AAAAAAAAAIY/lNB4dHK7F0M/s320/n508389694_1738440_5916715.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Lyndon's Basic graduation. He's so handsome.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are thousands of men and women all across the country who are experiencing that physical ache in their hearts right now. They have sacrificed something incredible, letting their spouses go overseas to protect you. You sitting right there, reading this. People have died to protect you. A wife won't be able to fall asleep next to her husband tonight because he's serving his country and keeping you safe. We don't have any idea as to what that's like. My husband is sitting right next to me (playing Skyrim), and I honestly don't know if I've told him that I love him today.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I know there are a lot of different opinions about war and the decisions that are made concerning it. Despite all of that, realize the sacrifices many are making each and every day. Their sacrifices are keeping you safe.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Go kiss the one you love.</span>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-69328929931914007322011-10-28T16:42:00.000-05:002011-10-28T16:42:40.102-05:00Lesson #38: This generation's husbands love video games<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Video games can, at times, be the bane of my existence. They're always snatching my husband away from me, sometimes holding his attention for hours at a time. Lyndon can be a pretty stoic guy, keeping his emotions trapped inside. When a new video game is about to come out, he can't help but express his enthusiasm. He has a countdown, he pre-orders the game, he goes to midnight releases, he buys enough Red Bull to keep him up all night and still function when he has to go to work, etc. He loves it; whatever.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Battlefield 3: the current bane of my existence. It came out earlier this week, and he's been trapped in its web ever since. His cup of Red Bull and his box of Wheat Thins at his side, he only stops for work, sleep, and bathroom breaks (when he remembers. . . apparently they have this weird thing that when they start playing, they forget about things like hunger and their bladders). He requests food that he can eat between games that will also keep his hands clean. He's leaving a permanent dent in our couch where he sits while playing. I could go on, but let me sum up by saying this: he's a fan.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even though this hyped up, highly anticipated game was recently released, I am still his wife and I am still needy. I'm very understanding about 75% of the time. This is how he spends time with his friends, and I'll take that over him being obsessed with sports or going out drinking. I know where he is and who he's spending time with. I can still talk to him while he's playing or between games when he's refueling. I really do understand, but I was still worried I wouldn't have my husband at all this week.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On Wednesday he absolutely blew me away. He canceled his plans for the evening, took me to the delicious Wheatfield's for dinner, and took me to a movie. He even bought me Sour Patch Kids-God's movie candy gift to all mankind. We had a great time, and I wasn't expecting even the slightest bit of attention from him. Total husband points.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've accepted the fact that Lyndon loves video games. There's an excellent chance he won't grow out of it, too. Even though I'm not looking forward to having video games around for the rest of my life, I am grateful that Lyndon still takes the time to be with his wife. Besides, after the new video game obsession wears off we'll be back to our normal routine. I can handle that.</span></div>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-56000137086969812522011-08-21T20:16:00.000-05:002011-08-21T20:16:24.030-05:00Lesson #37: A husband is a blessing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mr. Griner is gone for two weeks, is back for a week, and then is gone for three weeks.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Awesome (ladle on some heavy sarcasm).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are times when he drives me up a wall. For example, leaving dishes in the sink. I'll not say anything else for fear of punching my computer. Anyway...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm always astounded that such a good man asked me to marry him. I feel so incredibly lucky for having him in my life, and when he's gone, I truly understand how lucky I am. I was gone over the weekend when he left for his two weeks, so we didn't really have a goodbye. That may have broken my heart a little bit, considering how little we'll be seeing of each other this next month and a half. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even though he's gone, he's still taking care of me. It's just different, with a loving note and a key I needed left on the entryway table, with clean dishes put away, with the trash taken out, and with calling me at night just because he wants to hear my voice and ask me about my day. He reminds me that he can still care for me and love me even when he's not with me. And that makes all the difference in the world.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlEmrMebkw6otNKd2ax3MNelXEOe0P30vsTmerw1CIi7kOs3IjaiWv54WVzRjsZbcN2FTod-7oj-4oJ5A-CYeWmWkjHt1dXiMqsafemLhFf_c376L92w7Hp0qUcNkOH2HtWXEr_09mxw/s1600/184028_1913701677282_1084116984_31448061_5802958_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlEmrMebkw6otNKd2ax3MNelXEOe0P30vsTmerw1CIi7kOs3IjaiWv54WVzRjsZbcN2FTod-7oj-4oJ5A-CYeWmWkjHt1dXiMqsafemLhFf_c376L92w7Hp0qUcNkOH2HtWXEr_09mxw/s320/184028_1913701677282_1084116984_31448061_5802958_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bliss.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have the best husband. Sorry all you other ladies missed out.</span>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5804355836110037126.post-81336911865067690542011-06-26T10:36:00.000-05:002011-06-26T10:36:10.865-05:00Lesson #36: A sick spouse is a needy spouse<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have no idea what attacked me this weekend, but it was wicked. On Friday night, I had a fever of 100.6, had the chills, and my entire body was screaming because I was so achy. On top of all of that, I couldn't stop crying. This had never happened to me before, and I was incredibly out of it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lyndon had no idea as to what to do.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Luckily, he has a Mom and a sister in the medical field, so he gave both of them a call.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">frtntfi5rbhtrynu</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">yhrbhyjnrti</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">njhnu mu mh,t'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">n hdtm k</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That is from Lyndon. He won't stop bugging me.fy7rtgu</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After getting some advice, he got some medicine and started taking care of me. This involved him not leaving my side unless he had to. All I wanted was for him to not leave me alone, and that's exactly what he did. Always there with a thermometer, a cold towel for my forehead, and simply laying in bed with me, he stuck with me.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Saturday brought with it some vomitacious action. Eight times in three hours. I barely had time to recover from my last trip to the toilet before my stomach started up again. He was there every single time, rubbing my back while I sat there, ejecting whatever was in my stomach. As he puts it, "Yeah. I gave my morning off up to aide my sick wife. And my night off before that!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Things are much better today. No fever, no sickness, just a really sore throat. I don't think that would be the case without him. He was there whenever I called out for him, and I don't know what state I would be in without him. This weekend, he truly showed the sacrifice a person will make for someone they love, the sacrifice a husband will make for his wife.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGTFTX_nF04yzwdppmmUMvxMV0f1IAU4gFDej51QXkVWFTHObah0yzgDjXbuWMuPMaL6kYZjZBHaP4kf-YN4AXfEqO5NRn9-idMtqUWJtK7PZDOpV34WvJeWFWgmX6G-8ZMIPoLnFD_mc/s1600/mms_picture+%25287%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGTFTX_nF04yzwdppmmUMvxMV0f1IAU4gFDej51QXkVWFTHObah0yzgDjXbuWMuPMaL6kYZjZBHaP4kf-YN4AXfEqO5NRn9-idMtqUWJtK7PZDOpV34WvJeWFWgmX6G-8ZMIPoLnFD_mc/s320/mms_picture+%25287%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My feel better flowers. He always gets me flowers when I'm sick. This time he wanted some that would stay alive. He's the best.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mrs. Grinerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14607076746901835021noreply@blogger.com1