What a pill!

I have a fungus toe. It is the big toe on my left foot. Doesn't sound like a big deal, except for the fact that my husband is a foot guy. Yes, whenever we play the newlywed game, I know to say that the first thing he noticed about me was my feet.

See the problem? (No, not the problem that the best thing about me is my feet...the other one.)

So being the good wife (I like to surprise him occasionally) I went to the podiatrist. He confirmed it. It was a fungus. He recommended pills for 6 months. Six months of pills for a big toe fungus?

Not only that, I had my blood drawn, because in very rare situations this particular pill could cause liver damage...for a big toe fungus?

Yet, I reassured myself. My husband is a foot-man (among other things). This matters.

I drove to Walmart to pick up my prescription. $4 - now that seems to fit for a big toe fungus, I thought smiling.

I must take it daily. Naturally, I put it by the only other medicine I take daily, my birth control pills. That night I popped out my birth control pill, laid it on the counter, opened my toe fungus medicine bottle and slid out a large white pill.

It was David and Goliath.

I popped David in my mouth and he slid down with a tiny swallow. I reached for Goliath, with my water glass in hand and swallowed. He got stuck! I grabbed another swig and forcefully swallowed. He stayed put! Inwardly, I panicked. I reached for the refrigerator door...No soda? What do I do? I cleared my throat, grabbed another gulp of water and he moved.

I thought...all this for a big toe fungus.

How do the the smallest of things become a big toe fungus?

God Gave Me a Compliment

Having a college age son is an interesting thing. I so anticipated summer with all of the great conversations we'd have about all the little details of his first year of college, you know, those things he didn't shoot me in his 8 word texts. I thought we'd talk about his workdays, his future plans, life in general.

Reality smacked like the bug guts on our windshield after our overnight trip to Lake Rathbun. Yes, I still get the texts...every day at about 5:45. Those ones that every mother dreams of, 'What's for supper? I'm starving. Can it be ready in 5 minutes? I have a softball game at 6:00.'

The other day was different. It was Sunday night and he had just taught the youth group a lesson. After asking what we had to eat and complaining that our only junk food is Casa Mamita brand, he said, "God gave me a compliment."

Chills ran down my spine. Goosebumps spread up my arms. Inwardly, I cautioned myself, "Don't ask a bunch of questions, Lis. Listen. Listen." I smiled that cheesy smile that says, "continue on."

Matt continued, "I asked the kids who remembered what the big idea was from last week. The first person I called on remembered it." He smiled his adorable, Matt Cowman smile and walked out of the room.

I wanted to call out, "Come back here. Let's talk more. Who was it that knew the answer? How did you decide to call on that person? Did your sisters remember the big idea? Has God ever given you a compliment before? What was the big idea? What Bible verses did you use to teach it?"

He was gone.

Left behind was the mother, sitting on the couch, hoping he'd follow my lead and actually sit while he shared his story...small though it was...a 22 word story, to be exact.

O.k., maybe 22 words is too short to even be called a story, more like a comment. Yet, it was, let's see, 3 times longer than his usual college texts.

God gave me a compliment. I scribbled it down in my daytimer so I wouldn't forget it. I loved it immediately, because:
a) Matt said it.
b) It was Matt connecting with God.
c) It was God connecting with Matt.
and perhaps d) It was Matt connecting with Mom.

O.k., so maybe Matt will only rarely talk about something other than food. God is a good other choice. It may be a small overall percentage, somewhat like the whole corn vs. the citric acid on the back of a package of Doritoes, or er the package of Casa Mamita Tortillas, cheese flavored.

Yet it's there.

It's there.

Long Lists

Facebook, as you all know, is very new to me. I'm learning...at the pace of my children getting ready for school. I was hooked when I saw my second posting ever. Hey, is that middle column, where friends chime in, called a posting? Well whatever it's called, this one made me smile.



"Parker went to the nursery for the first time today at church. I forgot to mention to them (the nursery workers) that when he is tired you have to smash his face into your armpit, keep putting his pacifier in, between his screams and fighting of sleep, put the blanket against his cheek, (then) rock him and practically beat him on the butt before he will give in and (eventually) go to sleep."



Stephanie, I hope you don't mind my parenthesis. :) (I didn't think you would.) Thanks for letting me share this.



I smiled for many reasons. The first one being, I remember that first baby, and all the instructions that had to accompany him before I would leave. I remember worrying about him after we finally did leave...with my husband dragging me out of the friend's house like our dog, Hercules, dragging me out for a potty break.



The second one being, I know what it's like for the nursery worker. You smile politely, all the while thinking 'I do have four children, who at last check are all living. You may go." Trust me, I'm thinking that in a nice way, of course...yet, still thinking it.



The third one being, I smile because what this mother is thinking and what is in the realm of reality are two different things. I'll explain. The mother envisions me holding her firstborn the entire time, even if he does indeed fall asleep. She pictures me rocking him gently, while repositioning the pacificier if it happens to slip out.



I'm thinking the second I get him to sleep, he's going into the crib so I can get the fussy little baby who's in the swing.



Now we have a wonderful nursery staff at church, but the last time I checked we weren't quite at the 1 to 1 child to adult ratio that a firstborn baby has. Stephanie...I do promise to do my best, though. Parker will be well taken care of. (He is the cutest newborn, ever. :))



Yes, Parker has long directions, in which his mother ensures that we meet his needs and meet them promptly. Those long directions, which are simply the 'putting him to sleep directions' not the 'how he likes to drink his bottle directions' or the 'how he likes to be held directions' are as lengthy as the choice of names in my baby name book. Yet they reveal something very important, not about Parker, but about his mother.



She loves him.



I'm feeling a major "OUCH" coming on..are you? My mind is replaying 'a discussion' I've had with my husband. O.k., who am I kiddin...it was the prequel-arguement. The one we've played so many times, it wore out.



"What?" I ask in my self-controlled, superior, yet slightly snotty, voice. "You're upset because I forgot that one little load of laundry? It's only one load! Did you notice the clean kitchen, the vacuumed livingroom or the nice supper? What's the big deal?"


My actions, my 'doing the lists,' my 'taking care of each detail' reveal what? About who?


Me...


How much do I love?


Double Ouch!


How come being attentive to our husbands is so much harder than being attentive to our newborns?


"Because newborns are helpless," you're shouting. Yes, they are. But someday that precious little newborn, your precious little newborn, is going to be somebodies mate. How did you treat him, nurture him, respond to him and love him down to the tiniest of details?



How will you want his mate to respond to him?



How have I responded to my mother-in-law's newborn?

Black River Friends

I am perplexed! Why is it that I have to scrub my eyes with eye makeup remover like I were getting a stain out of my carpet, only to get out of the shower afterwards and have raccoon eyes?


If that weren't disturbing enough...how come after using the eye makeup remover again (after I showered, mind you) and reapplying my waterproof mascara and eyeliner for another day, I go to church, get emotional, with one tear forming in my right eye...and I look like a black river is running down my face?


I want some answers here! You may think I'm exaggerating. Those of you who are my friends and family are shaking your heads no. You know exactly what I mean! If that weren't bad enough, on the last week of school my precious 3rd graders made "Memories of 3rd Grade" books. One of the pages said, "This is my teacher." Then there was a blank page for them to draw what I looked like...you guessed it!


One student, who shall remain nameless, came up to me and said, "Mrs. Cowman, what do you think of your picture?" I smiled sweetly, thinking of the other pictures my students had shown me...some drew large sunny smiles on my face, some drew rainbows over me, others drew me in gardens with flowers-not Jared. Oops!


The smirk on his face should have warned me. I looked down and yes, there I was with not one but two rivers of black running down each side of my face.


See? I wasn't exaggerating!


Many of you are asking an obvious question. Why don't you try different eye makeup? Yes...that is a point I've considered. The problem is this, I'm thinking the black river is largely due to my eyeliner. I discovered it three years ago when I was sick and tired of looking like I had just climbed out of bed when it was noon. So I discovered Loreal liquid eyeliner. For a person with eyes as small as peas and lashes the length of an atom, I needed it! People really did comment on me looking great after I started using it.


The problem again...my black rivers. Unfortunately, I am a fairly emotional person, I will tear up daily. The question is then, 'Is the cost of being a black river faced woman occasionally worth it to look better most of the day?'


The answer, 'It depends if my friends will regularly tell me and rub it off.'


Now, I did have a great little friend in that 3rd grade class. Yes, my adorable little Kendall would tell me. I loved that about her. I told her she had the makings of a good friend. :) I gave her that job. Yes, while others organized our classroom library or wiped off transparencies, Kendall told me when my make up smeared. You don't find that on many teachers job charts. Just mine.


So I guess my problem does have a solution...and it may be that I don't have to find a new eyeliner, afterall.


It just comes down to friends.


My make up can work if I have good ones. How about you? After you think carefully about how few friends will tell you about your black rivers, think about this...how are you at being a friend? Are you a Kendall? To who? Who will you love enough to tell the tough stuff? The stuff that will actually help them? The black rivers in their lives?