Friday night doesn't often find me in the land of blogosphere. Not that Friday night is often filled with a lot of hooplah. Sidenote: I totally dated myself by using the term "hooplah."

It's been a long week, y'all. Right now, my hands smell like bleach, a heater is set on high with hopes of drying a freshly shampooed carpet and my carcass is kicking back in a cushy chair in the middle of my kitchen. Ladybug the cat is perched behind my hair, intent on chewing on it. Must be some bleach residue on the edges. Chlorine and bleach. She loves them both. Explains the hairball phenom, doesn't it?

Speaking of hairballs - our family has been cat puke free for exactly one week. Oh Petsmart, your name does describe you. Smart. About pets. :)

I seem to be losing my mojo for the effort of blogging. Or maybe it's the bleachy hands, getting to the brain cells. Time to continue my list of gratitude to help "shake the stink off" on this fantabulous Friday night.

132. my new "green tea" candle.
133. cleaning
134. furniture, freshly rearranged
135. continued employment during an economic sag
136. a husband who cooks dinner on a friday night (mine)
137. grieving the death of a friendship.
138. celebrating the presence of healthy friends
139. kickboxing
140. flicker low light
141. the thoughts of donald miller
142. realizing that not everyone is going to "get me" and having that be okay
143. falling asleep to the television
144. the feel of a good book
145. the gift of words on paper
145. the ability to express thoughts through writing
146. gusty winds
147. trickling rain
148. making benvolio videos
149. having laughing fits over my own videos
150. the ability to change the direction of my story

Happy Friday, y'all. Here's hoping the carpet is dry (or dry enough) in the next 45 minuots.

:)

Nope. We haven't seen Billy Blanks. Anywhere.

Does anyone remember Billy Blanks and his tae-bo kickboxing videos? I've done a few of them in my day. Worked up a sweat. Called it good.

See these red boxing gloves? We became aquainted tonight. And Billy Blanks? He was nowhere to be found.

Let me back up to share that I'm continually on a quest to find a Wednesday night workout. Hope is at Awana for two hours and I'm sick of hearing my fingers click on a keyboard at the library during that time. I've given water aerobics a try. It would be okay - if it weren't for all the water.

I located a drop-in kickboxing class just a few blocks from Awana. I coerced my friend Wendy into joining me. "It's kickboxing. You know, like Billy Blanks. Some aerobic moves, some punching and kicking the air. I think it will be good." I think I talked her into a half marathon with me in just about the same fashion.

We knew we were in trouble when the class started hauling in punching bags and hanging them from the ceiling. Followed by a classmate's question: "Did you guys bring boxing gloves?"

All we could do was laugh. Slide our hands into some pretty beat up (and unbelievable sweaty) class gloves. I had to turn off part of my brain to move forward - every germaphobic cell in my brain was firing off.

Ten minutes in, the acrobatic instructor sent us jogging around the mirrored room a few times. I knew I was toast.

Wendy and I made it about 40 minutes. Maybe 45. I can honestly say that I'm not sure I have EVER sweated so profusely. My sweat was sweating. No lie. And almost every part of my body felt like a squiggly mess.

Wendy and I howled when we got back in her car. Oh, to have video of the mess that we were. But you know what? We freaking did it. And you know what else? I'm going shock the shoes off of that instructor and go back next week. Hit the bag a little lighter. Kick a little slower. And jog when I can.

I'm also buying my own gloves. Having said that, I need to wash my hands again.

Freaking Billy Blanks. Yeesh. :)

Monday Gratitude

I awoke this morning with a start. It wasn't the sunshine peeking its head in that woke me, but instead, one puking cat. Oh yes. It was.

Poor Ladybug is getting old and very - "hairbally." She's a short-haired tabby, but you'd never know it after a hairball escapade. There's a telltale urping noise that this feline omits. A half-asleep stupor found me pushing said cat off of the bed before the damage was done. On the comfortor, anyhow.

Too much information for the weak of stomach, I'm sure. Since that's the perfect description of me, 2:36 am finds me at the computer. Man. Alive.

My "gratitude list" has fallen to the wayside. I am deeply ashamed. No big excuses. Life. Busy routine. Lack of blogginess in general. Lame excuses. I know this.

My Dad and sister stopped over on their way to California this weekend. They took a 22-hour train ride to Oakland, CA to visit my Aunt and a portion of "the cousins." My decision not to go came late in the planning game. It was difficult to say "no" for a gaggle of good and true reasons - scheduling, finances, work, babysitters. All true. And good. As the decline made its way into the universe, I believe I heard a large sigh of relief. Birds sang. Trees bloomed. Mice with ribbon began creating the dress for the ball. Seriously.

My sister, Katie is Dad's traveling companion on this adventure. We texted along the first 12 hours of the route. I loved seeing them, laughing and visiting with Katie and being silly at the train station made me question my decision. As the texts came, I felt slighty grieved that I wasn't able to find a way to go. Come day break, I shot her a four-word text: "How was the night?" She replied with one word: LONG.

Instead of the universe, it was me omitting the long sigh of relief. "LONG" in Katie's world translates into "a small piece of personal hell" in mine. There's not a doubt in my mind that 22 hours would have ended with neither my Dad or Katie speaking to me. It would be top any other family tale that speaks to my nerosis. "Four Days on the Rogue River with Kris" would be but a distant memory.

'Nuff said. Onto the list of gratitude, beginning with number 111.

111. My sister, Katie
112. Side-splitting, gag-inducing laughter.
113. Shared history - no matter how painful or ridiculous.
114. My Dad.
115. Listening to the still small voice that directs in difficult circumstances.
116. The continued adventure of growing up.
117. Trusting, even when it seems impossible.
118. Knowing that "it's not you" is really true.
119. Sharing Anne Lammott's writings with someone for the first time.
120. Hearing that someone loves the writings of Anne Lammott.
121. Understanding that not everyone is going to be my friend.
122. Being okay when someone "doesn't get me."
123. Changed perspective.
124. Friends that have history together.
125. Wanting to grow.
126. Not deleting someone from my facebook. Even though they deserve it.
127. Stopping myself from going to said person's facebook every day. Or ever again.
128. Praying for people who have hurt me.
129. Living outside wants and desires.
130. Cleaning up cat puke at 2:30 am from our aging cat.
131. Knowing that the weekend wasn't complete because one person was missing.
131. Both of my sisters.

Here's to a monday of gratitude. And aiming to lay my head back down at 3 am for a few more hours of rest. Be blessed. :) k

It's like this, Oprah...

Back in the day, I was a HUGE Whitney Houston fan. I'd forgotten about it, really. Actually, after "Being Bobby Brown" - I think I blocked it out. When I heard Oprah was kicking off her new season with a two-part Whitney interview, I knew I had to be there. Or my DVR did.

With the first night of the interview under my television-belt (and the 2nd still on the DVR), a portion of the interview has been tossing around in my brain. As Jillian was verbally pummeling a 476 contestant (biggest loser) last night, I was reminded of it again. Here's a rehash of what's going through my brain.

Oprah: You and Bobby, you smoked weed and did cocaine?

Whitney (salivating, crouching close to Oprah with anticipation): Okay, Oprah, go with me. (wipes drool from sides of mouth). We carefully rolled our joints. (demonstrating with her hands) Then we laced them with cocaine (pauses. reflecting). It was our high of choice.

Now, my once-beloved Whitney is an addict. And I haven't watched part 2 to see whether or not she still does drugs. She spoke of this cocaine-laced joint with such affection. Like she was sharing the best secret with Oprah. Who I'm pretty certain, isn't a doobie-roller.

Why is this all with me? It reminded me of something. Me. Food. The way Whitney described her high is the way I would describe something delectible to someone. A food that I adore. It's been playing in my mind. Why do I feel like this about food? Why is it such a struggle to break free?

Yesterday, we took my friend (and manager) Shelly, to Red Robin for lunch. I've been drinking protein drinks for a few of my meals and eating out in our lives right now is rare. I ordered my standard BBQ chicken salad. When it came, I had flashes of Whitney, rolling through my head.

Oprah: What's your favorite thing to order at Red Robin, Kris?

Kris: (pauses, salivating): Oh Oprah, go with me. It's the most delictable salad ever. Piled high with greens, a perfectly grilled chicken breast with just the right amount of sauce. A lightly seasoned spoonful of blackbeans with warm, slightly breaded onions on top. (sighs. eyes roll back in the head). The best ranch dip is served on the side, perfect for dipping the garlic-seasoned focaccia bread. Warm focaccia bread. Oh Oprah, it's my favorite high.

Last night, as I watched the 476 pound woman try to climb a stair machine over and over. Fall. Receive screaming/berating from Jillian and then ultimately walk out of the gym, these words reverberated (from Jillian): What you have going on in your head is a story. We're not going to play into it any longer. If you don't let me help you, if you don't listen to me, if you don't make a different choice than what you've been doing, you will die. So quit if you want to."

She came back. Now, I'm nowhere near 476 pounds. But I totally understand how someone could get there. Whitney, my bbq'd chicken salad and acidic Jillian were all ringing in my head last night. In the most disturbing way.

The way I abuse food and use food is my addiction. I think addictions come in different forms. Food abuse shows up on the body. Fat. Compulsive shopping shows up in nice things and unmanageable bills. Alcoholism. Obvious. Relationships/sex. Rotating relationships, looking for the high of the romance and bailing when it fails. Porn. On and on it goes. All of them will destroy a part of us. Or so mess with our heads that we don't know which way is up. We're just looking for the next hit of food, alcohol, love, sex. I'm done talking about this addiciton to food. Done. And now, I want to be over it. Healed from it.

For today, my thankful list is going to be small.

101. reality checks.
102. the power of a new choice
103. hope. the verb.
104. biggest loser
105. whitney houston's honesty
106. bbq chicken salad
107. jillian and bob
108. the word of God that changes lifes when we allow it to
109. helping a friend
110. honesty

I. am. done.

what day is it?

This could possibly be the longest week I've had in a while. I'm going to go easy on myself, considering it's the first week of school. There's a little bit of grief rolling around our home as well. Mine is over the lack of sun. If I'd only known it was disappearing permanent-style, I might have loved it more while still here.

My 9-year-old is also grieving. Her school closed due to Washington state budget cuts. Hope attended a parent-opt-in school that we loved. Apparently she REALLY loved it. Last night's grief-stricken breakdown was evidence of that. I feel so badly for her - and am letting her have her tears and heartache. Hopefully, they make their way out the door and one of these upcoming school days will be filled with glee. Her teacher is a little more hardcore than she's used to and finding her footing will likely take a while.

On that note, what better day to continue my thankful list? I missed Monday b/c of an overnight to eastern Washington. So here. we. go!

101. Beth Moore. Still one of my favorite bible teacher of all time.

102. Beth Moore "live."

103. Drive-through coffee stands.

104. Eastern Washington.

105. The drive to my sister-in-law's cabin, just 4 houses up from the cabin Lee and I spent so many weekends in with his mama.

106. Learning to make new memories in old, well-loved places.

107. Change that etches away and familiar routine.

108. 9-year-old tears.

109. Fish sandwiches made at home.

110. Glee. My new favorite show of the fall season.

111. Hiking to the bat caves with my sisters in law and daughter.

112. Watching Hope navigate the relationships with her two aunties (whom she loves much).

113. My amazingly, wonderfully flexible job.

114. My uberly-clean husband.

115. A fresh Word from God.

116. Thunder.

117. The prospect of a fresh cup of coffee with cream.

118. My threadbare Old Navy sweats.

119. Fridays off.

120. Drinking coffee by the river.

121. Humility. And oportunities to be humble.

125. Having my mind made up and having it changed by the hope in a voice.

126. Embracing Hope's new school.

Here's to a new day. Thursday is still shiny and unwrapped. Praying for Jesus' favor and that He goes before us today. To quote beth - don't let anything take a "bite out of your delight!"

some groggy monday gratitude

This weekend passed by in a blur - but in the best possible way. My sister-in-law is in town and we ended up spending a good portion of the weekend with her. Hope and I on Friday and Lee, Hope and I on Saturday. We capped Saturday off with them along with some friends of theirs who are becoming friends of ours. It was a wonderfully delightful time. On that note, a few more for One Thousand Gifts.

81. Being misunderstood.

82. Whole grain apple-cinnamon english muffins.

83. Comments on my blog. yay!

84. Burt's Bees

85. http://www.zappos.com/ and fabulous customer service.

86. Lemongrass chicken (indochine). Amazing and delectable.

87. Weekends with family and friends.

88. The beauty, delicacy and difficulty of family.

89. Baking good gifts for others.

90. Blue Moon.

91. The pace of Monday morning.

92. Listening to my daughter laugh and converse with her friends.

93. Drinking coffee and checking email from the oversized chair in the living room.

94. Creating good things from recipes.

95. Watching Ladybug try to navigate her way into the oversized chair with sunbeams.

96. My handy husband and the new window he installed.

97. Flexible work schedules that allow me to have a life. Or feel like more of a Mom.

98. Contemplating Labor Day plans.

99. Clean baseboards.

100. Moms who are able to stay home with their kiddos and actually forget what day of the week it is (um, this isn't me).

One-hundred! Funny, seems like I am much further along. Yet here are 100. Grateful for every. single. one. Carrying my journal with me this week. Happy Monday!

k

still clicking along with 1000 gifts...

I just had two beautiful opening paragraphs typed - and they disappeared. Totally adding this to my thankful list. :)

I am really jazzed about this list. My friend, Denise, is making a list as well. She shared her "thankful" journal with me at work yesterday. I think carrying the journal with her is such a smart idea, that I'm copying her. There was more than one point yesterday where I thought, "there's something for the list." When pen finally met paper last night, all of those "thankful thoughts" were gone. Old age. Or just me. :) ha!

Picking up at numbre 58...

58. Pink and yellow sunrise as I work from my desk.
59. Dee-dee and ice runs.
60. Feeling truly focused.
61. Shelly. For so many, many reasons.
62. Ice cold water that pours magically from my refrigerator.
63. Dinner, waiting for me when I get home late from work.
64. Caller ID. Yeah, I said it.
65. Humid weather.
66. Thinking of things to be thankful for.
67. Birthdays that go on for days and days.
68. Monk.
69. DVR. yes. :)
70. World News at 4 am. Seriously.
71. www.google.com/reader
72. All the blogs I subscribe to in #71.
73. Good (and Godly) managers.
74. Friendships that drift or end. The process of letting them go.
75. Healing. Emotionally. Physically.
76. My Daddy.
77. The way God made me. Bumps, warts and all.
78. Seeing my husband before he leaves for work...at 4 am.
79. Facebook.
80. Yoga stretches for my lower back.
81. Fridays. The preamble to weekends.
82. This
83. Another day with breath in my lungs.
84. Being misunderstood.
85. Learning to be cautious in friendship.

I have to admit...I'm a little surprised I'm not at 100 yet. Howevah, a day with my journal in hand might change this.

Happy Thursday. The preamble to Friday. And Fridays are ALWAYS a beautiful thing!