I am NOT...

pregnant, expecting, with child, in the family way, neither do I have a bun in the oven.

I address this matter simply because I have had several, and when I say "several" I mean, for the past 12 months, encounters with the at first bearable but now dreaded "Are you expecting?" or "When are you due?" questions. If every one's inquiry was based on fact, I would be the mother of a 3 month old child. It's amazing what I've been through and everyone else seems to know of it but me.

I am not bitter about this much expected (no pun intended) turn of events in my life. I'm well aware that after getting married, it's the very next thing people think about..."First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage." We've been taught from childhood the very order of things, but between the word "marriage" and the word, "then" I believe there can be a time lapse. In my case, I was allowed 6 months before any questions came to my attention.

I believe you might find some of my stories (and there are more of them than I can write about today)to be as entertaining as I find them to be. I laugh at them because, in reality, they are hilarious; the frequency of them especially. And I laugh, because I have to. After 12 months of questions and comments, it is imperative that I keep my attitude in check. After all, no one means any of it to be offensive. I will keep the identities of those in the following dialogues anonymous. If you notice it to be yourself, don't feel bad, you've only contributed to this blog post. I would have nothing to write about if you didn't say what you were thinking. I'm not at all offended...just in awe at the number of people who have asked and at the way in which they think to ask it. You may have thought you were the only one, but be surprised: you are not. Laugh with me, gasp with me, and relate to me, for I'm sure you've various stories of your own to tell of a similar nature.

Eating for 2 and 3/4

At the beginning of last summer, Jim and I were buying sweet corn out of the back of a pick-up truck from a couple of friendly older fellas.

Corn Guy: How much d'ya need?
Me: Oh, just enough for the two of us.
Corn Guy: (with a wry smile) You mean, 2 and 3/4?
Me: (confused chuckle) Um, nope. Just two.

Jim and I got in the car and I calculated what exactly "3/4" along would be. It was 6 months and 2 weeks. "6 months and 2 weeks!!!" I squealed at Jim. "Do I look 6 months and 2 weeks pregnant! I'm joining a fitness club, that's it!"

My dear husband assured me that this kind fellow selling sweet corn meant nothing of the sort. I still think he should have done his math before guessing aloud.

Because They Must Have Seen Some Test Results that I Didn't Know About

Scenario 1:

Girl: When are you due?
Me: I'm not.
Girl: But, you wear those shirts...you must be.
Me: I'm not.
Girl: But...
Me: I'm not.

Scenario 2:

Lady: (After hugging me, being sure to pat my tummy) When are you going to have that baby??
Me: I'm not having a baby...
Lady: But, you told me that you were.
Me: I did? Well, you must be thinking of someone else.
Lady: No, I'm sure it was you that told me at such-and-such place.
Me: I remember seeing you and talking to you at such-and-such place, but I'm pretty sure I didn't tell you that. I'm not having a baby any time soon that I can tell!

Scenario 3:

Friend: When are you due?
Me: I'm not.
Friend: Oh, I'm sorry!
Me: (smiling sweetly) That's fine, I get it all the time.
Friend: I only mentioned it because I was sure I heard it was true.

Reasons to Believe

"You were standing with your hand on your lower back."
"You crossed your arms over your stomach."
"You gazed at your husband with that look." (I'm not entirely sure what that look is either.)
"Everyone else is."
"So-and-so said you were."

Walk-By Comments

"Are you feeling okay?"
"I think someone's been eating too much."
"We don't want you to be lifting anything heavy."

Right Now: an abbreviated conversation

Friend 1: (walks up from behind)Look, my three favorite people sitting all in a row!
Friend 2: (says nothing, but smiles.)
Friend 3: What, are you pregnant Sarah?
Me: I'm not, but that's hilarious! You wouldn't believe what I'm blogging about!
Friend 3: You don't look like it...
Me: I know, you were just being humble, saying that you weren't one of Friend 1's three favorite people.
Friend 3: Look what happens when you try to be humble. You get into trouble!
Me: I'm not offended at all. It was a very timely question!
Friend 3: (walking out, shakes the back of my chair)
Me: (Sarcastically)Don't jostle me! Be careful!
Friend 3: Oh, yes. The baby!

The Pina Colada Upside Down Cake that Didn't

I thought I was strong.

I gave in and finally, after years of hearing "Pampered Chef is GREAT, you should come to the show I'm having!" And after years of successfully being too busy to attend, I finally broke down and went to my FIRST EVER Pampered Chef Show.

My reasoning for avoiding such events was soley based on the fact that I never considered myself much of a chef and I never really wanted to be pampered...even if I had a trait here or there that resembled chef-liness. But, to my surprise and delight, I quite enjoyed the "cooking show". I readily admitted my short-coming of being interested in cooking only because I must survive. The company of girls laughed at my confession (kindly, of course) and assured me that I would love the Pampered Chef product selection and if I tried it out, I would enjoy cooking for more than just survival.

There was a short season of my life where I found creativity in cooking. I rarely do something without either finding or forcing creativity in it. This season of my life was so short-lived, I find it silly to waste words on at this point. I must get on with my Pina Colada Upside Down Cake.

I found that many of the Pampered Chef products were ingenius, convenient and desired by all. Not to mention, a little pricey. I really wanted the knife that cut through practically anything and the can-opener that did all the work for you, including grasping the lid. I really, really wanted the garlic crusher that peeled the skin of the clove as it crushed. But, what I wanted most of all was the recipe the Pampered Chef lady was using to demonstrate her products, which she did email to us a few days later.

Mmm. Was it ever delish! It's called (if you didn't already figure it out) a Pina Colada Upside Down Cake. Bring it. I love Pineapples.

So, thinking I could avoid owning anything Pampered Chef and still pull of this great recipe, I gathered all the ingredients and was on my way.

Before I go on, though. I need to tell you something about myself. When I get an idea in my head, it's likely that I'm going to try and carry it out...no matter what time of day or night it is.

11:00 pm

• Pre-heated the oven to 350 degrees.
• Combined all necessary ingredients, added to cake pan, etc.
• Put cake into oven.
• Set timer for 31 minutes.

12:01 am

• Checked cake and found that it was VERY slurpy.
• Diagnosed that my cake pan was too small and too deep for the amount of batter.
• Wished I had the Pampered Chef Skillet that was used at the cooking show.
• Set the timer for 5 more minutes.

12:06 am

• Checked the cake again and found that the middle was still slurpy and the edges were getting dangerously brown.
• Took it out to cool on the off chance it would thicken.

12:15 am

• Got impatient and readied myself to turn the cake upside down.
• Found that it was still too slurpy. There was a bubble of batter rolling around in the middle of the cake.
• Turned the oven down to 315 degrees.
• Placed the cake in the oven with high hopes.

1:45 am

• Hear Jim's voice in the middle of my dream. "Sarah!"
• Woke up a little miffed. The alarm hadn't gone off yet.
• Questioned why all the lights were still on at 1:45 am.
• Freaked out becaused I realized the cake was still in the oven.

The cake survived. Quite surprisingly, it survived. It came out a little rubbery, but not at all blackened as I expected. We haven't tried any yet, but I'm bound to enjoy it somehow. My Pina Colada Upside Down Cake was spared, but I think it's a clear sign that I should invest in some Pampered Chefware.

On Being a Christian

"The question should not be 'How much can I be like the world and still call myself a Christian?' but rather, 'How much can I be like Christ and effectively reach the world.'"

Today in Chapel (I join the students occasionally for their daily chapel time), Dr. Dougherty talked about Christian living as it relates to worship of a holy, righteous God; an all-consuming fire. He made the above statement, which I thought was well-said, simple and yet very profound.

Thanks for your ministry, Doc.

Who is the Bravest Person You Know?

When I give my testimony, I usually have it outlined. I know what I'm going to say and I know how long it takes, generally, give or take a few seconds for congergational response. Well, last night at a church where we were presenting our ministry, I had the surprise of my testimony-telling life. I bawled. It wasn't just a trickling of tears. It was a pouring...a fountain...a gushing geyser.

This church was different from every other church we visit. The guy that led me to the Lord is actually the Youth Pastor at this church. While I was giving my testimony, I decided to add a few little tid-bits to personalize it more. Like, that I recently took a picture of the place that I got saved. That made me choke up...then, the aforementioned question, "Who is the Bravest Person You Know?" came to mind. Someone asked me this question several months ago. I answered that it was Adam Standley, the guy that led me to the Lord, because he was brave enough to share Christ with me so I could know life abundant and eternal! This thought hasn't occured to me since I've been asked it. So, I had no way to prepare for such an emotional outpouring of thanksgiving! It just randomly came to me while I was standing behind the pulpit. I spewed out the words, and the waterworks began. I had totally lost control and I think I even squeaked.

All that to say this: Think of who led you to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. Who was the influence in your life to trust Jesus as your Savior? Who helped you to see that there was hope beyond your seemingly hopeless life? Who stirred your heart toward the grace and mercy that can pull you out of a life of sin and hurtful choices? Who gave you the insight to see that there really is a choice and a second chance? Who was bold enough to tell you the truth that you were a sinner in need of forgiveness even when you didn't want to hear it? Who opened the Bible with you one dark day to show you the Light of Life? Who is the bravest person you know?

The Sweetest Thing

Last night, Jim surprised me with a Cheesecake Factory date!

This was very special for several reasons:

• This was where we went on our first "date."
• Jim loves cheesecake.
• I love cheesecake.
• We had $3 left on our Cheesecake Factory Giftcard.
• He let me get an appetizer (Crispy Crab Wantons...yum).
• Our server let me be picky about sitting in a booth for privacy rather than an open table.
• We had the most delicious cheesecake...Dutch Apple Caramel Streusel.
• He took me out to tell me he was thankful that I am his perfect helpmeet.

Now that was the sweetest thing!

Opportunities Abound

I'm LOVING being on campus lately. God has opened up door after door...WIDE...for me to encourage the girls on campus with my experiences and what He's been teaching me. Just today, I had the blessing of just chatting with a long time friend (I knew her when she was 13 from camp!) and praying with her about some burdens.

Next week, I'm joining a girls dorm for thier dorm devotionals. I'm elated for yet another fellowship opportunity and another chance to share my heart with the girls. I'm excited for what God has laid on my heart to talk about that night. God's will. I know...sound daunting? Well, it can be, but I've been seeing in scripture lately how very clear it is!

Pray for me and my on-campus ministry! It's not an official position. I kind of just made it up...and I'm not getting paid, my reward is knowing that God is glorified!

Who ARE the Backstreet Boys?

My 7 year old friend: "Who are the Backstreet Boys?"

Me: "A group of boys that sing."

"What do they sing?"

"Songs about their girlfriends and silly love songs...and sometimes things that don't honor God very much."

"Oh, that must be why my mom doesn't want me to ride my bike on the back street."

Maybe Not Always

There is no Wal-Mart in Germany. Well, not for long anyway. I'm not disappointed, though. If I'm going to a different country, I expect things will be quite different. And what's the point in moving to a completely different culture...where's the wonder, adventure and unusual experience in going to another Wal-Mart in Germany??

I have a feeling that walking into a Wal-Mart in Germany would feel something like a time machine that jars me back to the U.S. to my "before Germany" days. If I'm going to move, it's all or nothin'. Take my Wal-Marts, Hy-Vees and Applebee's and I'll find that, yes, the Lord is the same everywhere!

(Thanks for the info, Bergens'!)

One Thing that Stays the Same

Wal-Mart.

While each new city or town we enter and each new church in which we minister all have their unique qualities, we have enjoyed the sameness of every Wal-Mart therein.

It's a blessing I never thought I would recognize. Wal-Mart? Yes, Wal-Mart. I'm thankful to know that whatever changes and unfamiliar horizons we encounter, with new street names, city layouts, and people, we have a friend in Wal-Mart. It's always the same...Always.

The Test that was Fun to Take

We opened the mailbox yesterday when we arrived home and to our surprise, there was actually something in it other than credit card offers, catalogs addressed to "Current Resident", or Hy-Vee Advertisements.

My "writing assesement test" finally came! You may remember my mentioning this in a previous post "Me? A Writer...Perhaps." taking a random step towards a long-held dream of mine to write a children's book. I was beginning to wonder if my request got lost on piles of other "not really important things" on a desk somewhere in Connecticut at the Institute for Children's Literature.

I immediately opened the envelope fully expecting to see a "fill in the bubble" test that I have to use a #2 pencil to take. Nope. I found, to my delight, a wonderfully formatted, 5 page test that acutally looked fun! I could use pen, pencil, or what have you, to complete the test. To boot, it was completely based on my creative instincts. There is no wrong answer! I don't know why I expected a boring college-type test format. It was a test for the Institute of Children's Literature. I was also pleased to discover that the course (assuming I'm accepted) is, in fact, a correspondence course. So, I won't have to move to Connecticut, although I hear it's a beautiful state.

I'm almost done with the test (I can take it at my pace, too) except for the very last question. They ask me to tell a story from my childhood. That should be easy, but I'm already having writer's block...oh, boy. The rest of the test was a breeze. I got to pretend (I like pretending) that I was any age I wanted to be to answer the questions....answering them, of course, the way that particular age of my choice might answer. For example, one of the questions was "If you could be any one animal, which would you be?" I chose to be 12 1/2 years old and I wanted to be a unicorn, whose name was Starswept. Because unicorns are unique and beautiful and mysterious, even though some people say they aren't real, my 12 1/2 year old imagination claimed that as the very reason for their mystery and beauty, for the mystery of them is their beauty. See, I told you this was a fun test!

Then, I had to fill in the blanks of a small paragraph they gave with whatever words I wanted! Can it get more fun than this?! It was similar to a Mad Lib but, different enough...I wasn't required to think of an adjective, noun, verb, etc. Phew. I was glad, for once, to be asked to think outside of the box and allow my mind to roam freely with creativity! I filled out the blanks and was VERY pleased with the results. One small paragraph with blanks here and there...and I had a whole scenario in my head! I had conjured up a story to go with my new paragraph!

While I was taking the test, I was waiting for a sauce to boil for dinner (it over-boiled...imagine that) and Jim was working on the car. When he came in, I begged him to fill out the blanks of the same paragraph. I wanted to see how different or alike our minds worked. I had to convince him that anyone can write or create before he took my little challenge.

Here are our paragraphs, Jim's first, blanks noted with bold italics:

Johnny gazed across the purple waters of the little pond now in the late evening sunshine. He searched the surrounding shoreline for signs of his birchbark canoe, hoping to see it drift into view before the sun set behind the darkening forest. He could hear dinner being prepared from the house just behind him.

Johnny gazed across the shadow-filled waters of the deep canyon pond now in the orange blanket of the evening sunshine. He searched the trampled and muddied shoreline for signs of the deserted canoe, hoping to see it drift into view before the sun set behind the whispering forest. He could hear the lonely clinking of his mother preparing her evening tea from the house that once was filled with jovial clamor.

Two different paragraphs. Two different stories.

I told Jim I interpretted his as being a story about a boy, Johnny, who built a birchbark canoe with his dad. His dad went out to test it on the water and when he returned Johnny could go for a ride with him, but Johnny was worried that it would get dark soon, and dinner would be ready and he would have to wait til the next day to enjoy his new canoe.

Mine...well, oddly enough, while expanding my story's plot, I got teary-eyed. My Johnny was gazing across the water mourning the loss of his father, who took a canoe ride to a neighboring village and never returned. Johnny's father has been gone for quite some time now as you see his mother prepares her nightly tea alone, as she has done since her husband has been missing. As a reader, the void becomes more obvious during the portion, "...from the house that once was filled with jovial clamor." Sad, I know. But, I was elated that, from filling in the blanks of one measly little paragraph, my mind could be stimulated to such ideas! It gave me a boost of confidence in my writing/creative ability!

Me? A writer...perhaps.

An Interesting Conversation with Jim

"What'd you do today at work?"

"18 holes."

"What? You played golf? I thought you were working?"

"I drilled 18 holes."

"Ohhh. For what?"

"Uninals."

"Gross!"

"New ones..."

"Still gross!"

"It turned out to be 36."

"Urinals!?"

"No, holes."

"Ohh, 2 games huh? Why?"

"I measured a little off for the mounting."

"So, you missed the green?"

"You could say that."

"Then what'd you do?"

"Went to Menards."

"For what?"

"New drill bits..."

"You mean, new tees? They sell tees at Menards?"

"Sure" chuckle

"Why did you need new tees?"

"You mean, drill bits..."

"No, I mean tees."

"Well, I needed new tees because the old drill bi...I mean tees... were dull."

"Dull?"

"Yeah, it took me 3 hours to do 3 holes."

"Sounds about average for golf...boring."

"When I got the new bits...I mean, tees...it only took 15 minutes to do the rest."

"I'd watch a game like that."

"What are we talking about? I lost track. Golf or Work?"

I'm not into drilling holes or playing golf. I had to make the conversation semi-interesting.

We Ate Jeff...

Those of you who have read of my Pheasant Happenings, and even those of you who haven't, were interested in exactly how we prepared Jeff, so that we could eat him. First, I should say that I didn't "skin" him, Jim did. I couldn't stomach it having seen Jeff's expression before I inadvertantly sent him to the Pheasant netherworld. Not to mention, it was a stinky job and Jim was a willing soul. O.K. more than willing, he was eager. Perhaps it made him feel as though he went hunting that day and maybe he even imagined he shot the Pheasant himself in a brutal faceoff between man and beast. Doubtful, as I'm the imaginative one, but possible that it made him feel cool nonetheless to skin the Pheasant.

"Pheasant in a Crock," is originally a British recipe called "Pheasant in a Brick." It's been adapted, which I'm glad for, because I don't use bricks to cook.

Actually, the old British way of cooking the bird was to put him in "an unglazed earthenware clay pot that looks like a miniature metal drum turned sideways with a spout on the end." Apparently, the pot is called a "brick." Only guessing.

Here's the recipe as given by Beth Hensperger in "Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook."

Cooker: Medium Roud or Oval
Setting & Cook Time: High for 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 hours

Ingredients:

3 to 4 sprigs of fresh thyme (I used the dried stuff, we already had it on hand)
3 sprigs of fresh parsley (again...dried)
2 cloves of garlic, one crushed the other sliced (We actually marinated our bird in garlic butter over night to give it a nice flavor)
One 2 to 3 pound Pheasant, rinsed and patted dry
Salt & Pepper to taste
1 Large Orange
4 Strips of smoky bacon or pepper bacon (we weren't picky, we used the cheaper brand, which I think was Honey)
1 Tablespoon of Olive Oil (veggie oil worked for us)
1/4 cup of chicken broth (we made ours with chicken bullion cube & boiled water)

Instructions:

1. Put the thyme, parsley, and crushed garlic inside of the pheasant. Tuck the garlic slices between the legs and body. Season the pheasant with salt & pepper. Remove the zest from the orange in long, thick, curly strips and lay them over the breast. Wrap the breast with the bacon and put the pheasant in the slow cooker. Halve the orange and squeeze the juice all over the bird. Put one of the squeezed orange halves in the cavity. Drizzle the pheasant with the olive oil and broth. Cover and cook on HIGH until the meat is tender and an instant-read meat thermometer inserted in the thigh registers 180 degrees F, 3 1/2 to 5 hours.

2. Serve the pheasant on a platter, with the juices poured over.

You Know it's Monday When...

1. You make your husband late for work because you had to hit the snooze ONE more time.

2. You are pulling out of the driveway to get to work (late-ish) and you realize the right rear tire is FLAT, so you transfer everything from Car A to Car B (thankfully we have a Car B) and proceed.

3. You drop your husband off at work (even later now and in the "other" car) and you realize you forgot your phone (and you need to make an important phone call TODAY), your husband forgot his phone (and he has to make an important phone call TODAY, too), and you forgot various other things for which you may as well return home.

4. You get home to retrieve the forgotten phones (who can live in a world of land-lines, you know) and on your way out (about 7 miles away from the driveway), you decide to take the "short-cut" to the main highway, which is a dirt road. As you accelerate you find that the car is acquiring a mind of its own and is not steering properly and what sounds like a giant rock...clunk...hits the underside of your car. Stupid Dirt Roads, Ruts 'n All! It occurs to you that perhaps you have yet another flat tire. Chances are? At the intersection of the busy Highway and the pot holey dirt road you stop to investigate. You observe four completely full and fat tires. You situate yourself in the drivers seat to be on your merry way, your foot hits the gas....nothing but a skid sound and about 1 foot of progress. You press the gas a bit more cautiously the second time, to no avail. Diagnosing that the car is either ailed with "Stubborn Car Syndrome" or the rock from the previous clunk was lodged somewhere in the wheel well, you relectantly investigate once more only to find a metal bar unusually out of place, not connected to what it's supposed to be connected to...apparently.

5. A guy in an electricians truck comes to "check out the problem." He said, "It's not gonna drive like that." Really? In car terms, you are told that the "tie rod end" is broken.

On the contrary to Monday, you know that God is keeping you safe when...

1. You randomly decided to take the dirt road on which you only accelerate up to 35-40 mph. If you had decided to take the usual route, the "tie rod end" would have given out while you were traveling at speeds up to 65-70 mph. This would have been a disaster, you realize and you thank God for His protection.

2. Your husband works at a place flexible enough where can get off work anytime to help his "damsel in distress."

3. You have a friend (named Ariel) who willingly loans your husband his sporty little Saturn to rescue you and the lame car.

4. You can call friends (like Hanna) and chat the time away, going on about your Monday happenings while you're waiting for your Knight in Shining Armor to arrive.

5. Tie Rod End's cost only $15.

6. Your husband is mechanically inclined and can fix the problem Johnny on the Spot and he's not the least bit mad at you for making him late for work in the first place.

Thanks to Our Grand Prix, Unswerving and Accurate, and to Officer Jeff for Making it Legal

"Have fun with Rose tonight. I love you." were Jim's final words before we closed our cell phones to hang up.

I set my Chocolate Cherry phone in it's usual cubbie on the dash and upon looking up I caught a glimpse of a pheasant, gracefully trying to dodge the front license plate of my car. Well, he dodged it...and plunged into the right headlight instead, leaving it fully intact with feathers sticking out of it's seams like a pin cushion. I think I saw a look of terror on his face in slow motion as I contemplated slamming on the breaks or swerving. I knew, in those few moments, that neither option would be the safe one, being that the ditches were steep and I hate breaking hard if I don't have to.

I felt bad for the poor guy. His fellow pheasants were probably in the bushes calling "C'mon, faster! She's going to hit...(clunk)...you." I could just hear his buddies clucking on in Pheasant-ese, "Did you see what happened to George? Boom, and he was a goner!" And so on and so forth.

I picked up my phone again to inform Jim of my head on collision with an unlucky pheasant.

"Was it a male?" He asked. "Or a hen?"

"I think it was a boy pheasant. He was all kinds of pretty colors and darker than a hen is."

I looked in the rear view mirror and saw no trail of his demise. "Jim, I think he's stuck under the car! Gross!"

"No, he's not. He's probably in the ditch somewhere."

His assurance that there was no bloody bird trailing under my car soothed me. "I want to find him! And if he's any good, I want to keep him and eat him for supper!" I surprised myself with my own words. One minute before, I was creeped out by the thought of a dead bird. The next, I wanted to see my first pheasant kill and take him home and call him George and have him for a meal.

I pulled into a driveway to backtrack and found nothing. Another driveway, another 3 point turnaround and finally, I spotted a trail of feathers. "I think I found where I hit him!" I said strangely excited. Jim remained silent, probably more surprised than I was. "I have to go," I said to Jim, "I'm pulling over." I hung up the phone and threw it carelessly on the passenger seat and turned on my hazards.

"Ooh, tail feathers!" I picked up two long and stripey looking tail feathers that looked just like the ones we display in a little vase at home from Jim's first Iowa pheasant (that he shot with a gun). Then, I spotted him. About 10 feet to my left, deep in the ditch. "Good thing I wore the right shoes for this." I said to myself. I noticed we had some paper towels in the car for when Jim checks the oil or something and stuffed a few in my pocket in case I got any crazy ideas, which I did.

I neared the bottom of the ditch and found my pheasant, looking quite peaceful and asleep. "That's not as gross as I thought it would be." I thought and, fearing it might really be just knocked out and not dead, I nudged it with my paper toweled hand and found that it was dead. Very dead. I called Jim again. "Should I bring him home? You'd be proud of me! It's a big, fat one!"

"I don't know if you can transport it without a license..." He trailed off and I interrupted. "Good! I don't know either, so we can plead ignorance. Thanks, Honey! Love you!" And I hung up.

I laid the pheasant in the trunk on some old, raggety towel, and I was relieved. He was still dead.

~~~~~

"Rose! You won't believe this. I got a pheasant!"

"You shot it? When did YOU go hunting?" Rose replied.

"Well, I killed it...going about 60." was my response. "Come and see!"

Rose followed me out to the car and bravely met my friend the pheasant. "Wow," she said, "You're brave. I would never touch anything dead."

I proceeded to tell her about Jim's being unsure about transporting it without a license. She assured me that people hit things and take them home a lot, but it's a good idea to check with the County Sheriff and it's really easy to get a tag...well, at least for a deer in her experience.

She said her brother hit a deer with the church van once and wanted to go back for it. He called the County Sheriff to come tag it, but by the time they got there, it was gone. Probably already eaten. He said, and I quote, "Only in Iowa would someone else beat you to your own roadkill."

I felt like such a typical Iowan then...taking my own roadkill home for supper. Weird. But, at the same time, I felt brave and excited for trying something new and quite unusual.

We googled the number for the County Sheriff and called. I must admit, I was kind of afraid they'd take my pheasant away from me. But, what could I lose by trying to do the right thing?

So, I talked to Officer Jeff (whose last name will remain unknown to protect his job).

"Hi, I'm Sarah, and I'm in (name of town will remain unknown because I don't want stalkers). I just hit a pheasant...and it's really pretty and fat. I want to take it home, but I'm an ignorant girl and don't know the procedure. Do I need some sort of tag for it?" Officer Jeff laughed a kind and accepting laugh (thankfully).

"We've never had that question before. It's a first." he said. "Let me ask the Sargeant."

Rose and I waited in anticipation glorying in the fact that I was the FIRST to call in for a Pheasant Tag.

"Oddly enough," he began, "we do tag pheasants." He continued by asking me several questions and said he would be right over to tag my pheasant.

I hung up the phone and "Woooowee! I have a real, official, legal pheasant now!" I jumped up and down and danced around the kitchen, overjoyed. No really, OVERjoyed. "We can have pheasant stew, or pheasant pie (which is kind of like Shepherd's Pie), or pheasant on a stick, or pheasant salad!" Rose laughed along with my silly antics and soon thereafter, Officer Jeff arrived.

"Ooh, I bet the neighbors are wondering! I love when the neighbors wonder and you're not really in trouble!"

We greeted our officer friend and chatted casually with him as he filled out the paperwork. Rose made an interesting observation about him. He was wearing these huge, huge, hard-to-miss sunglasses. It was cloudy and rainy and overcast ALL day. I think it's an officer thing. Maybe it made him look/feel tough and all officer-esque.

Anyway, she also noticed he didn't have a ring on his left ring finger which made my comment about having him over for a pheasant meal to prove I was going to consume the pheasant and not have him taken to a taxidermist, very, very, awkward. So, I said, "My HUSBAND can grill it up for us..." and in my head I said over and over "I'm a dork, I'm a dork, I'm a dork." Why is it police officers make you say stupid things?

In my nervousness I began to tell the story of how I hit the pheasant, etc. "And I was going about si..." Rose was looking at me with big eyes and I realized I was just about to tell a County Sheriff officer I was going 60 mph in a 55mph zone. Usually, I'm very secure with going 5 miles over, since I'm convinced our speedometer is off by 5 mph and I know that most officers give or take 5 mph when determining whether to pull you over or not. But, this time, I felt weird and didn't want to risk losing my pheasant. So, I trailed off in utter humility saying again in my head, "I'm a dork, I'm a dork, I'm a dork."

Little did I realize that Mr. Officer was acting all awkward and nervous, too. Once he said, "Uh, I don't know what I'm doing..." Then, he accidently walked away with my license. Yes, nearly got into his car before saying "Oh, you might need this!" Uh, yeah.

Well, event after exciting event seemed to get more...well, exciting. I never knew hitting a pheasant could provide such entertainment and maybe even a couple of tasty meals, and I'm not even sure I like pheasant. By the way, I named him Jeff.

Zzzz

REALLY!

I'm so tired. I've spent nearly half the week...ok, all of half the week at the college, hanging out with the students, talking, talking, talking, and listening to powerful messages about missions. I think I'm spent, but I have two more days to go, then...SLEEP IN SATURDAY arrives. Finally.

This year's Missions Conference has been a great opportunity for me to realize that I've grown up...or old. Whatever. I'm not the college student I used to be. I have to get home by 10 (although I still stay up til at least midnight), so I can get up at 6:30 a.m. (insane).

I'm really enjoying the re-introduction to happy faces, lively conversations, laughter and energetic and busy schedules. But, more than that I've enjoyed hearing about what God has done in others' lives. It's so inspiring to see God's faithfulness stretch all around the world (and it's really not even a stretch!) and touch the lives of people in Cambodia, South Africa, Ethiopia and of course, Germany!

So, all that to say, the tired I'm experiencing is a good kind of tired...

*yawn*

Carbolicious

"Carbolicious" - a word used to desribe the feeling you get when you indulge in your favorite Carb-filled pleasure (mine being pasta) when you shouldn't be indulging at all. The word cannot be used in the context where consuming Carbs is completely o.k. In that case, it's just filling or you're probably running a marathon the next day. In the other case (the case in which you break the rules), it's "Carbolicious."

I'm trying to be more aware of the calories and nutrioun I take in during the course of one day, and thanks to a handy dandy website that tracks your nutrition (Thanks, Jenna!), I noticed that most of the meals I'd eaten were more carb-like, which just turn into sugars...and well, too much of a good thing can be bad.

While we were deciding where to eat last night, Fazoli's was out of the question.

Jim said, "You need protein, how 'bout KFC?" We couldn't get home for dinner before we had to be back into town for a meeting, so our options were limited, pre-cooked, more expensive and well, out.

I agreed reluctantly that Fazoli's was not the best idea, even though I LOVE pasta of every shape and kind and with various sauces to accompany it.

We ordered our chicken (mine were strips, his were legs) and when it was time to order the sides, I was bombarded by several choices, none of which were easy ones to make. In my weakness, I opted for the creamy macaroni and cheese and, to feel less guilty, the green beans.

As I delved into my macaroni (first things first, you know), I uttered "Carbolicious!"

Hence, the invention of my new word.