black friday

The Parson's Daughter is crazy.

She makes about $2 per day and decides to go Save Money by staying up all night and doing the Black Friday shopping thing in order to Wisely Spend her Christmas shopping money.

She ends up Saving Money on stuff that nobody needs or wants, the only thing that lasts out of her shopping experience is the Nasty Cold that she gets while shopping in the pre-dawn rain, and she winds up Cranky and Disgruntled.

But far be it from her to ever consider NOT shopping before dawn on Black Friday.

No, indeed!

There is a twisted sort of Heroism and Inflated Self Worth that envelopes my Black Friday Shopping Daughter.  She has braved the weather and the crazies and has Survived.  She has Saved Money.  (It is totally irrelevant that she will only use her purchases one time before shoving them under the bed, in the closet, or on another poor soul who thinks they need It.  It is also totally irrelevant that if her purchase is given as a gift, it is likely not really even wanted by the recipient.)

I love my Daughter and cherish every opportunity I have to be with her and make memories.  But let it be known that there is a Line I will not Cross.

There is No Way I'm ever gonna do that Black Friday shopping thing.

You can write that down in your Little Black Book.

and melani begat kendra

of all the haunting moments

of motherhood, 

few rank

with hearing your own words

come out of

your daughter's mouth.

~victoria secunda

peace

peace.

it does not mean to be in a place

where there is no noise, trouble

or hard work.  it means to be in

the midst of those things and still

be calm in your heart.

(unknown. taken from a catalog cover)

Where have I been?

I do not know.

But it obviously hasn't been on theparsonshouse blog.  Couldn't believe it when I realized I had not posted on here in 2 months.  Time is Flying.  Literally.  It has to be.

So. . .since I haven't had time to get really Crafty with my Words, I will just reassure that I still have an abundance of them rolling around in my head and occasionally flooding out of my mouth and hopefully will get them to this site in the next few days.

I mean, don't hold your breath or anything.  They probably won't rock your world.  The Parsons House has been a bit quiet lately due to the fact that when the Inhabitants enter through the back door, they immediately fall in a heap until it is time to rush back out the door to attend to another Duty and Function.

She's Twenty!

The Parson's Daughter is now Twenty. Today. That's freaky.

Pardon me for reminiscing, but I happen to remember July 10, 1990 pretty vividly.  It was a very long night the night before and a very long day.  Eighteen hours of pretty intense labor if you want me to be specific. The doctor sort of played it out her way because she wanted to get in a full day's work.  Tweren't pleasant, no indeed.  I never went back to that doctor and still don't care for her very much.

She arrived weighing 6 pounds, 4 ounces, and was 19 inches long.  She had my nose and my mouth.  She has since got her own.

She's twenty.

She's beautiful and smart, gifted and passionate. She loves God, kids, and the Philippines. She doesn't keep her room clean all the time, but that's okay. She will one day. I didn't keep it clean all the time when it was my room, either...

She is so funny. She can do Madea like nobody's business.  She makes us all laugh so hard.

She can get in a bad mood now and then, but just show me somebody who doesn't! Now come on!

She is still searching about for her future, but if it plays off of her past, she's in good shape.  She has learned how to smile when she's freaking out inside.  She has learned how to love those who do her wrong and hold her head up and know that God will take care of it and she doesn't have to.  Even at twenty, she has learned that time usually brings everything out and she doesn't have to fight to be heard or to tell her side.

She has learned the meaning of PK all by herself and she's making it a beautiful picture.

Scuse me for bragging, but it's my blog and my daughter, so I guess I can.

She's Twenty.

I couldn't have asked for a better one if I would have hand-picked her myself.

Happy Birthday to my roofus!

So, the Joke's on ME!

If you haven't read the blog post below about Fundraiser Roses, scroll down and do so now.  You must read that one before you read this one.

(pause while reader scrolls down and reads previous post)

Okay.  So.  You read it?  Good.

Well, here is Part Two of this Fine Little Saga.

The Parson arrives home yesterday afternoon from a Long Day of Trials, Tribulations, Weddings, Stalled Building Projects, Disgruntled Dear Ones, and Glorious Ministry.

I immediately tell him how the Fundraiser Roses lifted my spirits and thank him for being the Kind, Wonderful, Thoughtful man that he is and how Glad I am that God let me marry him and Roses are Roses regardless of their Source.

He looked at me a bit funny and wanted to know what I was talking about.

I showed him the flowers and the little fund raiser card with the words "Love you. Terry"

He didn't do it.  Said that the Church supported that particular project and the office must have bought the flowers and signed his name to it.

No wonder the fine elderly gentleman had the Cheshire Cat grin.

I'm not quite sure what to say now.

In Praise of Fundraiser Roses. . .

About 4-5 years ago, the Parson entered the house one afternoon with an armful of beautiful Red Roses.  I (being the sweet, loving, soft-spoken person that I am) looked over my shoulder from the Boiling Pot on the Stove and said, "Oh hey.  What Fundraiser did those come from?"

Now before you go off on a Tangent in your mind about how Ungrateful the Good Wife is, let me explain.  We had been married about 20 years at the time and NEVER--not ONE TIME--had the Parson given the Good Wife any flowers.  (Which was fine, because the Good Wife said she would rather him spend that Hard Earned Money on something that wouldn't die in 4 days, anyway.)

But anyway, this was the One Time that he not only was thinking of how much he Loved me, but he didn't even get them from the Grocery Store.  He had actually gone to the Florist and had them arranged in a beautiful vase.

He was quite Offended, and I felt really Bad.

This morning, quite early, there was a knock on my Front Door.  It was an elderly gentleman from our church with a Big Smile looking like the Cat that just ate the Canary, holding out a bouquet of one dozen Pink Roses.  He handed me the card, (which described the Fund Raiser), but the bottom said, "Love you.  Terry."

I decided right then and there that Fundraiser Roses are quite lovely and carry just as Powerful a Punch as Roses from any other Source.  The elderly gentleman's Cheshire Cat Smile didn't hurt.  And the "Love You" message from Terry didn't hurt, either.  And I'm sure the Money probably went to a Very Good Cause.

Yep, it's a really Pretty Day here at The Parson's House. (Soggy foundation and all!)