Sunday, June 13, 2010

{ Whoopid, Shup, And Other Things That Need Fixed Around Here }

I've always been impressed with those fix-it kind of people.

You know the kind. They can fix just about anything.
Clever. Ingenious. Innovative.
My Dad is one, I married another and gave birth to a few...

Oh, they may have to tinker awhile.
A little trial and error,
pulling spare parts from back pockets or from under their beds, { ahem }
but they figure it out.
It happens so naturally that they usually don't even recognize their ability as a gift.

There is a reason that I admire fix-it people and their gift.

I am not one of them. 
Or am I?

Check it out!
The snowplow removed our mailbox from its post,
as it does e.v.e.r.y. winter.

And...The Farmer's Wife fixed that thang!
Bungee cords and I have formed a snappy relationship.


Crib Mattresses wear out after 3.5 children.
I know that because ours busted before Jacob, precious child # 4, was finished with it.
(no. he is not in the crib. just using the mattress on the floor till we get him a for-real-bed.)
(please don't tell anyone. I know it sounds bad.)
( except Miss-Always-Finding-Good-Furniture-Deals- Rachel. ya'll can tell her.)
(maybe she'll find something with my name on it  )

But hey! Duct Tape and I are now stickin together! We have a good thing going on!
Yes indeedy. Put that cranky mattress back together, I did!


Not seeing Gift, huh?   

And you are seeeeeeew tired of my puns keeping you in stitches?

Very well then.

But first, you need to know how cool I am about knowing what to do
when the handles tear off of your purse.
Favorite Green Purse.btw.or I'd be running to have to get a new one!
You hand sew them back on, ya silly!


I'm guessing that you can't accuse me of fixing things for aesthetic appeal!

Or can you?


This little boy is living proof that we have ourselves yet another "letter-of-the-law-er" on our hands.

He says Whoopid.
Because Whoopid is what you say when you are not allowed to call someone stupid.

He says Shup.
Because Shup is what you say when you are not allowed to say Shut-Up.

And then when your mommy talks all about your heart and Jesus and yadayadayada...
You say Bishop instead of Shup.
Because at the end of Bishop, you can still hear the Shup, but technically aren't saying any of the
Naughty-Word-Sauce-Words, like Shut-Up or Shup.

(naughty-word-sauce was vinegar. until. doggoneit. one day he says, "Oh good! I like vinegar! I'll pull up a chair and get it myself!" and he did. so now it's hot pepper sauce. just as yummy.)

He likes to say bellybutton. Something about the word in between "belly" and "on."


Our very best naturally around still just the Letter of The Law.


One morning at breakfast, The Farmer and His Wife overheard that little someone practicing variations of
Shut-Up under his breath.

Not good.

As  he verbally arranged the letters "S" and "H" and "T" with an ALARMING vowel in between,
I kid you not,
I saw The Farmer's eyebrows collide with his hairline.

"Maybe," he gasped. Trying hard to get the words out while still keeping all of his laughter inside.
"Maybe we should just let him say Shut-Up. It would be better than that!"

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We are trying.
We are still trying.
We are still working on some of the same

Sometimes. Somedays. I'd just sign up for the aesthetic surface appeal.
Something that sounds better.
looks better.
makes me feel better for the momentlike at church.
or in front of Grandma
or my blogging friends that I am meeting IRL, only now they don't want their kids to be around mine.

When it comes to fixing things like hearts,
oh how I desperately want to for my children.

But without bungee cords and duct tape, I am not a fix-it person.
I can teach and train. Teach and train. Teach and train.
( the LOUDEST part of that being how I live it all myself.)But not change them. I don't change them. Not on the inside.

The very best thing I can do is to talk to The Real Fixer.

Their Creator and mine.


IMG_5743 IMG_5168

We ARE working on things.
But more than anything, asking for His all of us.


There is only one Holy Spirit,
and it is not me.