Ok, class~ Lesson time

(*Disclaimer: This is a loooong one, so you might want to make sure that baby has the whole box of cheerios to keep busy, and give your coffee a reheat...I'll wait....)

Just like you are totally obsessed with my blog (chuckle, snort), I too, am an avid blog stalker of a few witty blog mommas.

Tonight, as I was having my quiet time (yes, 3 year olds aren't the only ones allowed quiet time...the only difference is she throws a fit to let her out, and I throw a fit to let me in.)...I clicked on of my regular stalkees (that is a word...don't look it up), and the words screaming at me in bold font at the top of her page were, "Show Me Your Kitchen!"

Uhhh, come again?

Why in God's green earth would you want to see my kitchen? Oh, you're not really talking to me. You're talking to the other 2.5 million readers who have Martha Stewart and Ty Pennington personally come an accessorize their cooking spaces...ok, in that case, yeah...I wanna see those too. Oh, and you'll go first? You are too kind.

I had to laugh at the "I'm really interested in your kitchen" cover to show off my own beautiful things to you post.

Ok, now before you jump down my throat for being all judgmental, or maybe just mental, I have a point. And you might still like me after I make it, so just hang in there.

*************

Just over 7 years ago, an amazingly smart, bright, handsome and compassionate man asked me to be his wife. After I reminded Will Smith he was already married...baa hahaha...just kidding, King Daddy G was, and still is this fabulous man...and in agreeing to the good, bad and ugly with him, I was fully aware...I really WAS getting the ugly...not him you goobers, but his 1980 silver Buick. Hmm, silver sounds too distinguished...grey, it was grey. This car was as big as a motor home. Don't believe me? I still have 3 outstanding tickets from parallel parking too far out from the curb. No joke. I'd like to see that cop try to do a better job with what I'd been given! This car has plush bench seats...back AND front. Oh yeah, it'd be a swell make out car. But we were married...and we all know married people don't do those things. (**angel halo**) I was apparently a grown up now, since I was sporting double rings on that all-telling finger. And I felt like I needed a grown up car to match my new title and position. The Buick...was not it. So the moaning began.

Day and night, woah is me, who's lot in life is to crouch down as low as I can when I drive to avoid being seen by any cop who I owe parking ticket money to. I'm so embarrassed. This is so not me. When will our day come? Woah...woah is MEEEEEE.

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....you get it.

And guess what? Nothing changed. A shiny new Beamer didn't just show up in my driveway one morning because I had reached the magic number of complaints to get the "New Car" angels to step up some action on my behalf. Apparently, whiners get nothing. (A motto, now very commonly heard, from my lips to my children's ears on a daily basis.)

My old...ahem...wise in years and very knowledgeable husband made an off the cuff comment one day as he was heading out the door that has stuck with me to this day. He simply said, "You know...you are going to be driving that Buick until the day you decide to be thankful for it."
Rewind. Huh? Thankful...Buick...parlez vous anglais? Don't quite comprehend.

I thought to myself...would God...you know...my loving Father who wants to give me all good things... REALLY withhold that sleek sports car just to teach me a lesson? Nah. That can't be right. Right? Guys? Awww, crap. I feel a lesson coming on. I hate lessons. Unless I'm the one giving them. Which is why I opted to become a teacher. Just to make sure I was on the giving end of lessons as much as possible...I know...control freak. And I know. In a class of 30 five year olds, I am the one who usually goes home having been taught something new. Vicious.

Back to the Buick. Ok...if being thankful is the key to my new Lexus, then I better stick on my best "company's here" courtesy smile and be...choke, gag, thankful, for this great car...mumble mumble. Ok, I'm thankful...going to sleep now...car fairies, I am asleeeep...go ahead now and put those fun new keys under my pillow....

...nothing.

So it appears that God knows when you're faking. Not a great quality, when you know...you're faking. How in the world am I going to pull this off. To actually BE thankful for this horrifying eyesore that gets us from A to B.

**3:30 am~ phone rings**

Friend of a friend is in trouble. No one can pick her up. No one has a car. YOU have a car. Can YOU pick her up? Yes I can, here I come. I am thankful, I have car. WHA?? I am thankful! For this car! Call the presses!

**one week later**

~Sunfire for sale,special deal for cheap, you interested? Um, yes? YES! I am thankful! King Daddy G and I picked up that Sunfire with hot mags and tinted windows from a town of less than 5000 people. And you better BELIEVE we cruised that one main street up and down pumping out the Shania Twain from the only radio station that gets picked up there, and showed off our new ride to every Gramdma Popoofniack taking her evening stroll.

"You are going to be driving that Buick until the day you are thankful for it." Hmm, close. Very close. Is there a principle in effect here possibly? Hmmm, quite possibly.

**fast forward 5 years**

We have 2 children. We are renting a townhouse. It is small. We are pregnant. The house just got smaller. And...go.

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....and repeat.

How can I be thankful for something that is so obviously not meeting our needs? Yeah yeah...roof over our heads Charlie Brown teacher...wah wah wah wah...what was that, can't hear you?

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....and repeat.

**1 year later**

Still in townhouse. Baby is here. 3 babes under 5 in small living quarters. Not thankful. Nothing changes. I wonder why. Walls are not painted, not decorated. Don't want to stay here, not moving in is my position. Not thankful.

Suddenly. I get a hit in the head with the memory stick. Not literally. Don't go filing charges against an abusive husband. This memory stick only contained one picture. A grey...ahem...silver Buick. Awww man. Didn't I learn this lesson? Apparently not. For, I am still here.

And now insert reading aforementioned blog post about "Show me YOUR kitchen."

My kitchen is the size of a closet. There are no stainless steel appliances. No large bay windows with a sitting area beneath. No breakfast nook with leathered bar stools. There are certainly no marble counter tops and not even a dishwasher inside the actual kitchen...did I mention small as a closet? But. I CAN do something with what I have. And I CAN be thankful for the sunlight that does come through my teeny square window that doesn't even open. And so. Today, I begin my thankful for my home journey, to open the path that will one day lead us to our new hardwood floored destination. I am thankful for my home, one window at a time. (And just for the record...kids could care less about marble counter tops and hardwood floors. Tonight, when Queen S and I were talking about Heaven, she started to tear up and said she didn't really want to go there, because she likes living in HER house. *Tear*. Precious babe. Thank you. Mommy needed that.)

I am thankful for my kitchen window.