What? You DON’T Have A Dead Cat In Your Basement?!

What? You DON’T Have A Dead Cat In Your Basement?!

My husband is a kind and sensitive man.

He’s also a true animal lover.

So a few weeks back, when our long-time family member, Smudge The Cat, went to that Great-Scratching-Post-In-The-Sky, he knew what had to be done.

If you asked me, a simple backyard service would have sufficed, but to my husband?

No way.

Only a proper burial would do, and so—because in addition to being kind and sensitive, he’s also quite handy with a hammer and nails—he began construction…

…on this:

The Kitty Casket

He built Smudge’s final resting place with such care.

It’s finished, and Beloved Smudge is now entombed inside. And thankfully, I mean completely. The lid is Gorilla-glued on, and oh, about 6 coats of marine-grade polyurethane coat the outside, which is good, because since the project’s completion, the Man’s been busy, and the Kitty Casket hasn’t moved from its perch in The Man’s workshop downstairs {next to my laundry room}.

So we wait. Smudge waits to rest in peace. And I wait to get the dead cat out of my basement.

Completely normal, right?

 

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I’ll Worry About That Tomorrow

I used to plague myself with worry over things I couldn’t control. It was a bad habit I’d developed since as far back as I could remember, and it followed me through my youth, my early twenties, and the first years of my marriage.

It lasted until the worst thing that I’d ever had happen to me happened, and after that, I seemed to gain a better perspective on what to sweat and what not to, and I was able to cope with anxiety a little better.

A few weeks back a friend was shaken up by some scary news, and was trying to figure out how to navigate her way through the anxiety, and in my effort to help her regain some calm, I shared with her one of my favorite “how to deal” tricks.

First, you need to channel your inner Scarlett O’Hara. She’s the one I took this from, after all.

It helps me when I’ve got something heavy on mind which I KNOW I can’t do anything about, other than to just let The Good Lord handle it in His own time and in His own way {which, of course, should always be Step 1 of any “How To Deal” plan}:

I schedule my worry.

Yup, I schedule it.

You know how Scarlett O’Hara makes that big statement toward the end of Gone with the Wind when she says “Oh, I won’t worry about that today; I’ll worry about that tomorrow.” That’s exactly what I do, inspired by that scene. I put it on the calendar as if marking it down as a “to do” serves the purpose of my anxiety, and then I tell myself I’ll tackle that tomorrow. When tomorrow comes around, I push the task off until the next day, as soon as it comes to my mind. So it’s not like I’m NOT worrying {which in my weird mind serves a purpose}, it’s just that I’m not worrying RIGHT NOW, and I’m freeing myself up to focus on the precious moments at hand.

 

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Get what I’m saying? When you have the conscious thought of “Holy smokes! This is scaring me … let me start to obsess!,” acknowledge it, give it a moment of respect, then hand it right on over to God, and mark it on your calendar physically for another time if you need to: “Wednesday, October 2, 3 pm … PANIC!” When that time rolls around, do the same thing. When that’s done, complete the ritual with a prayer:

God, this is royally FREAKING me out! I can’t handle the fear and anxiety and unknown of it all, so please take this burden from me, and work it out according to Your Will. As always, things are best left in Your hands. Amen.

Try it. It may work for you as well as it always has for me.

When life’s got you a little crazy, how do you deal?

Things That Would Make Jenny Laugh

Things That Would Make Jenny Laugh

I’m going to start a series, and this will be its name.

Of course, the minute I say that, those things will stop happening.

And by “those things,” I mean the ridiculous events that happen to me often that make me think my life is a version of “The Truman Show,” only it’s more of a comedy and I’m the star. These are things that I share with my friend, Jenny On The Block, and she laughs, but reprimands me for not calling her at that precise moment so she can witness this stuff first-hand.

Like the time I carelessly put non-high-efficiency laundry detergent in my high efficiency washer machine and flooded my laundry room with suds, sort of like Bobby Brady all those years ago.

Way to embrace the tighty-whitey, Bobby.

My knee-jerk reaction was to clean it up, not call the neighborhood, but I agree, it would’ve been far less annoying to deal with if she’d been guffawing in the next room.

Or the time, right before my Royal Wedding Tea Party, that a bird flew into my kitchen through my screen door {modified by the equally goofy Ruby who hadn’t noticed the screen one day and tore through it to hunt down a wayward leaf} and started dive-bombing me. Thankfully, she really didn’t “bomb” anything {how un-royal would that be?!} and while I yelped and ran around waving the Swiffer at her hoping it’d guide her back toward the door, The Boy enjoyed a good belly-laughing session and a great story to share at preschool.

Or just a moment ago. I’m not calling her because she’s topping off the perfect day, but she’d love this. I was just about to turn the hose on a waste basket—one we use for recycling so it’d gotten a little sticky—and without knowing that the aforementioned goofy Ruby had used it as a teething ring, I put it on full force.

Yes.

Soaked.

Full frontal through my thin Gap tee {seriously, does material cost so much more these days?! Why does this stuff dissolve in water?!}

Sorry, Jenny, there’s no way I was calling you. I had roasting peppers in the oven and a recovering belly-acher in the tub.

One of these days, you’ll just have to be here!

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