Beat 'Em At Their Own Game!

Secret: Sometimes I dread picking up Eldest Son from summer camp. I know that when he gets in the car he's going to talk my ear off when all I want to do is be a total mom-nerd and listen to boring NPR stories on the car radio.

The Boys and Me. Eldest Son is on the Left. 

Eldest Son is a TALKER. He can go for hours on end. He's curious and searching for truth and understanding in his little world. And while some way too cool and emotionally connected hipster mom can publicly feign like she's fully engaged and truly desiring to hear what her child has to say all the time, I cannot.

Sometimes I just want to be left alone or be silent or be anywhere else other than waiting in a car line hoping to God Almighty the army of college level graduates that dwells inside can figure out how to time-efficiently herd my son out of the school doors to my waiting van. I've had enough! So yesterday I decided to turn the tables on my wonderful little son and let him experience what Mommy's life is really like.

He hopped in the van and immediately I said:

"Why hello Mommy!"
Eldest- "What? I'm Eldest. Not Mommy!"
Fiery Wife-"Mommy, where are we going?" (this is one of eldest favorite questions to ask)
Eldest-"Mommy!"
Fiery Wife-"No you're mommy and I'm Eldest!"
Eldest- "MOM! NOOOOOOOOOO!"

Oh, it was on. Now I truly began my vengeful game of role reversals. Here is a list of things I did:

-Continually called the name "Mommy"
-Randomly screamed at the top of my lungs
-Asked random questions in random order continuously. For instance, "Why are we driving in a van? Why do tigers have stripes? Why are Stop signs red?"
-Sang the choruses of "let It Go", "Do You Want to Build a Snowman", and "Everything is Awesome" in a loop, in three different keys, sang it soft, then sang it really really loud.
-Pretend cried
-Tattled on Youngest Son even though he wasn't in the van

By this time, through giggles and grunts, Eldest was getting the whole purpose of this exercise. He tried to up the ante by actively playing the role of "Mommy", somehow thinking this would make me stop playing the game. But it didn't. It only fueled my desire to give a little back of what I get every single day of the year. The giggles turned more into grunts and then Eldest yelled to me at the top of his lungs:

"YOU ARE A GIRL! YOU ARE NOT A BOY SO STOP IT!"

To that statement I replied:

"My name is Eldest and I'm a girl. I don't have a pito (Spanish colloquialism for male private parts)!"

Eldest paused; dumbfounded that I said I didn't have a pito and tried to figure out who I was talking about. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw his face. He had a little half smirk right before we bother busted out in a solid minute of hysterical laughter- like crash the car and become a sad story on the news hysterical.

The last time I had this much fun was over the weekend when Husband and I decided to become "MMA" fighters in our living room. We rolled around like two little kids legitimately trying to put each other in submissive holds. I got to "ground and pound" Husband. Well, kinda. It was more like he forgot how strong I was and I took advantage of that fact, jumped on him with all my weight, and half slapped his face over and over while I yelled out "Ground and pound!" over and over again. But I digress.

After Eldest Son and I laughed, I continued on my tirade, and for the first time, I saw how I look to my children. These are the things I saw Eldest doing in the rearview mirror:

-Sighing
-Putting his hand on his forehead
-Rolling his eyes
-Answering me shortly
-Yelling at me
-Screaming at me
-Threatening time outs and spankings to stop me from doing whatever it was I was doing
-Ignoring me
-Over talking me
-Talking under his breath

Hmmm. I wonder where he learned those skills?

Finally, I said "Mommy" one last time about 2 miles from our destination. I was met with a saged silence only a person who's experienced the relentless chatter of a child would offer up. And from my little social experiment, I was granted 2 miles of silence I gladly accepted.

Dinner that evening was exceptionally void of musings from Eldest Son. I told him "eat your food" much less than I usually do. But this afternoon, when I went to pick him up from day camp, he started it again.

"Mommy. Where are we going? I hope it's home because I don't want to go anywhere else. Mommy. What are we having for dinner? Mommy. Mommy. Mom?"

I felt a helplessness creeping back up in me but I remembered I had a new weapon in my parenting arsenal. All I said was "Mommy" in my most precocious child-like voice. In the rear view mirror, he flashed a grin and didn't say another word for the rest of the ride. Mission. Complete.

Sunday Brunch- Oprah and the Spirit of the Antichrist Finally Resolved (Not Really)

Oprah and I have a love hate relationship. Growing up in Chicago, I have very fond memories of watching her show on many a summer morning with my little sister; not knowing half of what was going on, but being fixed on the prescribed topics. Beauty makeovers to Oprah's favorite things in later years, and serious topics like killer mothers and widowed fathers. Even then, in my girlhood, I knew there was a regal-ness about Oprah. She commanded a respect  that penetrated the T.V. screen and captivated us. I was drawn to her show. I was drawn to the fact that an average looking woman could garner so much attention.

As a side note and point of reference, I also want to point out my sister and I were in now way shape or form loyal Oprah fans. We definitely were Maury Povich fans before and after he became a walking DNA swab. I remember one episode (Maury was really trying to be serious) where he had a gentleman who suffered from a disease called BJD. BJD stood for "Big Jaw Disease". Sister and I balled, folded over on our tiny living room floor. Even though neither one of us were more than a dozen years old, we knew there had to be a better name for what this poor young man was suffering from rather than Big Jaw Disease. Not one medical researcher could've extracted a more validating name than Big Jaw Disease from all the dead Latin words that infiltrate our very living English language? C'mon!

Later on, Maury's signature words, "You are not the father!" evoked a certain sick intrigue in my sister and I. Tears and cheers, boos and flailing arms, hair flopping and flying and whipped and ripped off. Oh, it was a sensory attack! All the power Maury possessed, holding those paternity tests in his hands. The potential father nervously waiting to be relieved of his fatherly duties. Too much!

But as my faith grew and I became more of a woman and less of a girl, I grew tired of Maury's antics and Oprah's luster lacked in my world. Her generalized statements and delves into topics of faith, wore on me even in the infancy of my Walk with Christ. I had questions that her "spirituality teachings" and gurus didn't sufficiently answer. The Secret, The Shack, Deepak Chopra, T.D. Jakes, Joel Osteen, A New Earth, Iyanla Vanzant (a yoruba priestess by the way), Dr. Phil, Rick Warren, Dr. Oz, Oprah herself, and an array of books and characters all branded with Oprah's stamp of approval just wasn't doing it spiritually for me anymore.

I heard someone say Oprah possessed the spirit of the antichrist and I must admit, from a Biblical vantage point, I do agree (1John 2:22-24). Now, right when someone says that [Oprah has the Spirit of the antichrist], very often, that person placed in the "weirdo" category or people get freaked out because the word antichrist, at least for believers, directs our attention to evil and danger and ominous circumstances and talk of end times, which can be a very scary topic for some. Or worse, we're reminded of that one Christian Bible website with all the weird galactic backgrounds and that oddly placed Rugged Cross animated gif with Easter lilies blowing in the wind that looks like it hasn't been updated since 1999 only to have all your graphic designing judgements shattered because their last post was dated last week of this year. Please, please, please sound- doctrined websites with outdated graphic designs, sign up for a free Wix account and legitimize your content to a much larger audience in a user-friendly manner. The content may be Bible-based but it's a headache trying to navigate those sites. I'm trying not to be THAT type of article in this post, so please, bear with me.

On the Spirit of the Antichrist.....

The most rudimentary definition of the antichrist is a person who is against Christ and has rejected His truth. Kinda like the Pharisees in the Bible. Check this link out if you'd like to know more about the Pharisees operated.  God doesn't play in shades of grey (not 50, not 100). Like last week's topic, you're either for God, or against God (Matt. 6:24, James 1:8). Plain and simple.

It is not only Oprah walking around with the spirit of the antichrist about her. It is more prevalent than we desire to believe.  It's our next door neighbor or that some-timey, fence straddling church attender. It's our backslidden mother and our wounded sister. It might even be our pastor or deacon, or worship leader or elder. The spirit of the antichrist is all around. The only difference between them and Oprah, is Oprah's reach is much wider and exponentially deeper than theirs, thus magnifying her misguided attempts at seeking and attaining pseudo truths about my God and the essence of His character. In short, Oprah ain't no different that a multitude of antichrists that exist in the world in direct opposition to Christ and His Truth.

Let me share some facts, and spiritual truths to help you discern your way through this gauntlet of antichrists.

On the topic of Oprah and Her Enterprise...... 

Fact- She runs a business. Her main goal, although she has a very philanthropic heart and track record to back it up, is to create revenue. She has a research and development team that exists solely to find out what makes YOU tick so you'll watch her shows, click on her website, read her books (or the books she recommends), buy from her sponsors, etc....

Fact- She has a multi-ethnic, socioeconomically diverse fan base with varied religious backgrounds ranging from atheist to fundamental Mormon, most of whom are women. Remember, her main goal is to create revenue so she is going to try to please as many people as possible hence you get Deepak Chopra and T.D. Jakes sharing the same platform (on the OWN Network) although their religious/spiritual backgrounds wildly vary.

Fact- Oprah does not teach sound, Biblical doctrine. That's not her mission. Again, her mission is to create revenue. She is not trying to be about Acts 1:8. If bringing Joel Osteen means her ratings go up, then she'll bring Joel on. If Joel didn't give her a viable ROI, we wouldn't see much of Joel anymore and she's onto Deepak Chopra. Her mission has nothing to do with ANYONE'S religion.

On the Media You Consume (print, video, web-based, radio)-

Beware! Just because someone says "god" doesn't mean they're talking about the Triune God we know in the Bible. Listen to the context in which they're talking about "god". Iyanla Vanzant is a wonderful example of what I call a "god talker".  I googled her and found out that she is a yoruba priestess. Yoruba is a pagan African elemental religion. Loved her show, but after finding that truth out about her, the Holy Spirit convicted me to stop watching "Iyanla, Fix My Life". It took too much brain power trying to meander through her ungodly "spiritual" talk. God showed me a place (a T.V. show in this case) that needed to be pruned from my life because it wasn't glorifying Him and neither was I by watching it.

If someone is trying to glorify the Triune God, then their language should point back to Him and His Works. If the talk is more self-centered ("finding the god within us" type of lingo) they're probably not someone you want to follow as a spiritual leader if you're alining with Jesus Christ and His teachings. If they appear to be talking about the Triune God but you're still uneasy or the message seems vague or veiled, go to the Bible and see if it matches with God's Word.

I have seen some amazing shows on the OWN network (this is where that love-hate thing comes in). She's good at attracting an audience. The story teller and story listener in me really appreciates "Our America with Lisa Ling" and "Oprah's Master Class". But I'm not looking to either of those shows for my spiritual sustenance.

I can't in good conscience tell you if you should or shouldn't be watching the OWN Network in your free time. The programs you choose to watch fall in to that category of not necessarily sinful acts but not necessarily good for you happenings (Romans 14). In these areas, the Word talks more so about everything we do giving glory to God and refraining from doing things that might cause a fellow brother or sister in Christ to stumble. So the question you should ask yourself is: "Am I glorifying God by watching this show?" and "Will my watching this show cause me, my brother, or sister in Christ to spiritually stumble?" If the answer is no to the former, and yes to the latter, then, you probably should refrain from watching that particular show (Philippians 4:8).

The programming that truly alarms me on Oprah's network is  Super Soul Sunday. It is offering a church/spiritual experience alternative on Sunday (which is traditionally Sabbath for Christians) and is one step away from being a more sophisticated and culturally relevant Jimmy Swaggart type of programming (come to my seminar, buy my magazine, stay on this channel and watch this other series, donate money for x,y, and z).

Super Soul Sunday blurs the lines of Christianity and the New Age Spirituality Movement. The Bible warns against such things like a generalized spirituality (Deuteronomy 18:10-12). It can be hard for believers to discern what is Christian doctrine when Oprah entertains Christian heavy hitters like T.D. Jakes and Rick Warren (still doing my research on some of the mega church pastors and the soundness of their doctrine) and then sneak in an Eckhart Tolle webinar the next week. It can offer the facade that these men and their teachings and writings are somehow aligned. Not the case.

Here are some simple thoughts for your faith journey this week: 

If you want the real story regarding God's character, read the Bible, not "The Seat of the Soul".

If you desire a better understanding of His truth, find a good Bible-based church and attend every week instead of paying to go to "The Life You Want Weekend" hosted by Oprah.

If you are hoping to deepen your faith, pray to our Savior, Jesus Christ, don't use Deepak Chopras' meditation techniques to essentially pray to yourself.

If you're looking for guidance, seek out the Holy Spirit, not a clever and heart-warming quote from Joel Osteen.

I hope this has been an encouragement to up your spiritual awareness. I'll be praying for clarity in seeing what's false versus the Truth. God Bless!

Sunday Brunch happens every Sunday as a spiritual encouragement for readers of the Fiery Wife blog. Come back next week and see what God is serving up for you to eat. "Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! (Ps. 34:8)"

Sadly, I'm Going to do Absolutely Nothing!

"Mommy."

"Yes Papa." I call him papa even though he's my son. It's a hispanic thing.

"You know the neighborhood our church is in?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"There's a lot of ugly houses there."

"Why do you say that?"

 "They don't mow their lawns." There was a long pause.

"Well, why do you think they don't mow their lawns?"

"I don't know....They must be lazy."

"Did you ever think they might not be lazy but have trouble keeping up their properties? You know Eldest, it takes a lot of time and money to keep up the outside and inside of a house. A lot of these people don't have the money to buy fancy lawn mowers or pretty flowers to plant in the ground." I know this because I'm ready to pull my hair out over all the upkeep (money and labor-wise) that it has taken to make our rental house a home. Another long pause.

"Mommy."

"Yes Papa." It's not odd for me to call him papa. But I do realize to some of my whiter friends, it's foreign enough that their children have adopted saying it when I'm not around to each other; like a novelty word. It's cute.

"Well, can we help them? Can we get the church together and help them mow their lawns?" Another long pause.

"Yes we can. That would be a good idea."

"Yes! We can take the lawn mower and the one we borrowed and everyone else who has a lawnmower can get theirs and mow their lawns."

"We could."

Tending to a lawn/garden is no joke. Even if you're dong
it on a dime, it's still expensive and a lot of sweat equity! 

I said those last words knowing I wasn't going to try to put this into action or mention it to anyone at church who could help make it happen. I gave that open answer to protect him from church politics and paperwork and endless email threads "ironing out" the logistics of it all.I lied to preserve the un-jadedness of my seven year old. I lied to allow him to keep thinking that he can do anything; that anything is possible. I love his innocent ambition; the way he can want to save a neighborhood through mowing lawns and then sneakily hit his brother out of anger over of all things, a paper airplane.

In this way, I'm very American. I find myself listening to news radio or watching T.V. and being outraged or heartbroken about the things I hear and see. If I'm close to, or on my period, my hormones may just muster up some fat, juicy tears. There is a little activist that lives in me but it's been smited by comfort, familial responsibility, logic, fear, and reason. I could blog about it or comment on on a thousand articles, but if I have no action to back it up, I am nothing more than a clanging gong. I've yet to find a cause that has propelled me to jump from my couch and shake my fist at or sing protest songs about. But when I do, watch out!

I'd love to make a difference but that means putting my neck on the line, being uncomfortable, and possibly putting myself in danger. Who wants to be endangered? We have a whole bunch of cuddly animals in zoos because we're trying to make them not "endangered" so I would think my human life is more valuable than that of a koala or lioness.

Today a Malaysian commercial plane carrying nearly 300 people was shot down while flying across Ukrainian airspace. I was fixed on this story. I was tempted to write something on Facebook- "Please keep all involved in this horrible tragedy in your prayers." or "Heartbroken for all those involved in the Malaysia Air plane crash." But for what? Why bother to post some heartfelt sentiment? I'm going to do absolutely nothing about my feeling.

I camped out at CNN for a while to see if there were going to be any more "breaking developments". But then my attention waned and I glanced at my Mac to check Facebook, and watched a video about how to turn an orange into an 8-hour candle. I can say with a tremendous amount of confidence, that if I'm ever in a position where I would need emergency light, I probably would not be able to MacGyver an orange into a candle! Don't they tell you not to open your refrigerator when the power goes out as not to allow your food to spoil?!? There are almost 300 people dead on the ground, in pieces, burning up in real time in Ukraine and I'm watching rudimentary candle-making tutorials! God in Heaven what is wrong with me?!?????

I feel ashamed as I write this. I know there are other good-hearted couch potato activists out there with lots of ideas and opinions and ideals about what's going on in our world but will never do a damned thing about anything. I eat, drink, and am merry while others right now as we speak live in constant fear of losing EVERYTHING- their dignity, lives; or worse, the lives of their children. I unassumingly write when some girls can't. And if they dare to speak up, they might be shot in the face. But yet I sit and wait for absolutely nothing to happen. The last time I felt an iota of fear was Sept. 12, 2001. That lasted about a week. Then I went back to business as usual.

Today, my son's simple request has shamed me. Shame on me. I need to talk to myself and let me know that I can still do anything. I can help. My voice is good for something. My hands can be vessels of change. I have to remind myself my God is bigger than me and my pessimism and jadedness and utter indifference to what's going on. I want to be used by God for something awesome. I don't want the rest of my life to be a pretty little comfortable picturesque waste.  Gandhi started out as a vegetarian before he took on imperialism in India. There still is hope for me! Baby steps I guess is the way to go. Maybe mowing lawns near our church is what I need to do.....I don't know. We'll see.

Sunday Brunch- Is Your Worship Barren?

On our way to church this morning I was reminded of the words of one of our elders. "Is your worship barren?" She asked this in a women's Bible study. "Is your; is our worship barren?" Her question was swirling in my head on the drive. I wondered to myself "Why? Was this God talking to me?" Last week's Sunday Brunch was catching up with me.

I was then reminded of David dancing before the Lord (2 Sam 6:14-23). There was an abandon with which he danced. He was in his underwear and danced out of sheer joy for the return of the Ark of God. It was spontaneous and exuberant and with utter disregard for anyone but God. As David returned to bless his own home, his wife Michal met him with hate in her heart and a scolding for his unbecoming display of affection toward the Lord. Because of her adverse reaction to her husband, she never bore children. Her womb was barren.

 I'm not here to debate worship styles. There is a variety of equally God-pleasing ways that He's equipped us to worship. God's given us song, dance, poetry, art, preaching, shouting, whispering, and yes, even silent reverence as just a few of the numerous ways to worship Him. Our worship styles are as varied as our DNA and that's how God has fashioned us.

Let's take a look at Michal (pronounced mee-hahl). (2 Sam 6:16) The Bible says when she saw David dancing, she "despised him in her heart". In short, that girl was hatin'! In God's kingdom there is very little, if any, gray area. Either you're for God or you're against God. Either you're focused on God or you're not.  At that moment, Michal was against God. She had hate in her heart and there is no room for love to dwell if hate is filling the spaces where God should rightly be. Before Michal said a word, she had already sinned against God.

It is very easy to read the last verse of 2 Samuel 6 and think God laid down the law and punished Michal by making her womb barren. It wasn't God who punished Michal but the hatred in Michal's heart that caused her to not bear children. Surprise! We can be self destructive! Oh my goodness! Really?!? Yes.

Worship* is what we were made to do. Music, and it's expression, were created for the sole purpose of glorifying God. The enemy would love nothing more than to silence your praises to God. He goes about it by planting seeds of fear and hate in our hearts; very similar to the seeds of hate that were planted in Michal's heart. Michal was so focused on David and his nakedness that she missed the party. She missed the fact that 30,000 people had gathered to rejoice over the Ark of God returning to Jerusalem! Instead, because her focus was pointed elsewhere than God, she missed out on what could've been an amazing worship experience.

How many of us have missed out on a phenomenal worship experience  because we've been too focused on others? Have we been too concerned with what So and So is wearing or how This and That is praising or, in our estimation, not praising God? I can answer honestly by saying yes. Yes I have missed out. There have been times I've been so easily distracted by others that I've taken myself out of God's presence. I have too often, than I truly care to admit, removed my eyes from God.

See, God doesn't change. So when I don't sense God's presence, it's not because He's left the building, it's because I have turned my back or walked out on Him by snickering at someone's unorthodox worship practice or been focused on that gnarly mole on the back of the neck of the lady in front of me. But it wasn't worth it! It wasn't worth missing out on GOD and an encounter with Him so I  could focus on utterly worldly things!

 There was an elderly man I once taught with. During weekly chapel services, I noticed he sang his heart out but was often off rhythm and off pitch. He wasn't tone deaf (only a very small percentage of people are, the others can be taught) but I knew there must be a story behind his uninhibited singing. We had a conversation once where I thanked him for singing. At this particular school (a private Christian institution), it was very difficult to encourage students to worship God through song. He shared that when he was a young boy, a nun at the school he attended, told him not to sing during mass, because in her estimation, he could not sing. He said he was so discouraged that for DECADES he didn't open his mouth to praise God. After marrying his bride, who encouraged him to make a joyful noise, he ceased being self-conscious of his ability and decided to give his best [singing voice] to God.

When you focus on yourself and your perceived lack of ability (or your preoccupation with the beauty of your ability) again, you remove your eyes from God and the result is the same. Your attention is diverted and God is not being given the praise and glory He deserves. If we don't worship, the rocks will cry out (Luke 19:37-40). See, worship isn't about you or me! God gets His glory whether it's from us or a group of snazzy looking boulders. We are the ones who suffer the void and feel the barrenness when our attention is elsewhere.

Psalm 100:1 says "make a joyful noise...",  not necessarily a beautiful and attractive melody. We're all different and have different gifts from God. And God knows some of us aren't the best singers, but still, He wants us to act a hot undignified holy fool for His glory anyway (2 Sam 6:22)! God is less concerned with conceited melodies and more concerned with you giving Him your best. What sounds "noisy" to some could be the most melodious sounding offering to God's ears.

Cain and Abel (Genesis 4) shows us a great example of perceived attractive and unattractive offerings. At surface, both gave reasonably good offerings/sacrifices but Cain's offering was rejected by God. Abel's messy, bloody, fatty, animal sacrifice was favored by God over Cain's clean and sweet tasting "fruit of the ground". This story has little to do with the type of sacrifice and more with the condition of Abel's and Cain's hearts. Abel's sacrifice was accepted because the eyes of his heart were in the right place. Abel was fixed on God and gave God his best. Again, we see the perils of being preoccupied with worldly things. Cain was focused on how awesome he thought his sacrifice was and this deviation from keeping his attention on God, eventually caused Cain to murder his innocent brother.

Worship of any type has to do with the condition of one's heart. Are you remaining quiet during a music set Sunday morning out of rebellion, or self-consciousness, or because someone has discouraged you from singing? If so, I'd love to pray for you because that is not God's will or expectation for you. God want's to hear your praises. He wants you to give Him your best. If that's a beautiful melody, then so be it. If that's a joyful noise, then AMEN!

If you have found yourself distracted, take some time this week and and ask God to forgive you for taking your eyes off Him. I encourage you, through reading the Word and talking with God to refocus your attention. Take full advantage of your next Church gathering and worship God like David- with utter abandon. Only you and God know what that looks like. I encourage you not to judge others or yourself lest your worship be as rejected as Cain's offering or as barren as Michal's womb.


*for the sake of this blog, I am defining "worship" as worship through music. Worship can happen in a multitude of manners including music.

Sunday Brunch happens every Sunday as a spiritual encouragement for readers of the Fiery Wife blog. Come back next week and see what God is serving up for you to eat. "Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! (Ps. 34:8)". 

A Tooth Lost and Vacuum Cleaner Salesmen

Teeth kinda gross me out. I definitely understand the need for them. But, outside of their environment (the mouth), those marbly, larger-than-they-appear, oddly-shapen things make my skin crawl. But there I was just yesterday, sitting in the dentist's chair, having a total baby fit (for me that means crying about irrational things) because I needed a wisdom tooth pulled.

 My wise old tooth had a hole, according to my dentist, I could "golf in". I don't like dentists, never have. The mouth is such a sensitive area that the thought of anyone inserting large needles into that orifice, truly makes me want to projectile vomit. I almost did, the past couple of nights. I don't know if it was hormones or the stress of stressing about this extraction or the headache that accompanied this tooth ache that did it, but I felt sea sick. The nauseous feeling went away by my appointment time but was replaced by this unrelenting fear of dry socket.

The previous extraction I had two years ago, resulted in a dry socket- the most intensely concentrated pain I've ever felt in my life. This pain was worse than labor pains, and worse than my broken foot. Dry socket is at the top of my pain totem pole. So, I sat crying in the dentist's chair, feeling like a total idiot trying to "man-up" so I wouldn't be that wuss who was sobbing over something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. C'mon! I pushed a baby out of my lady parts like a boss but can't sit through a simple tooth extraction?!? I'm mad at myself.

Ugly, nasty, gnarly tooth
in pretty pink container.

I grabbed my dentists hand while he had a needle in me. I had to swallow. I'm sure he thought I was more of a crazy woman than I am. But thank GOD, the extraction came and went. Afterward, the sweet hygienist with the Western African accent hugged me. I felt like a little kid. All I needed was an oversized sticker on the front of my tee shirt. Instead I asked to take home my tooth. The hygienist put it in a cute little pink tooth container (I'm sure for kids) and off I went with Husband.

We got home and I got comfortable. After a couple of hours, Friend came over and she, Husband and I hung out and laughed and talked about nothing. Sometimes those types of conversations are the best. Then, there was a knock at the door. Oh dear. a door to door vacuum salesman! Not on the day of my extraction! I thought surely, Husband would shoo him away but here was this slender, Middle Eastern man standing in the middle of my living room, sweating all over himself for no good reason. Oh Lawd!

The free cleaner that

got my husband to invite 

Ben into our home.

Ben was his name. I don't think that was really his name. I think that was his "American" name given to him by some mysterious, but I'm sure equally sweaty person waiting in the slogan-less white van that dropped Ben off at our home. What a shame. I really would've liked to know his name. Ben was hard working. I did some research after he left and found out these salesmen often work 100 hours a week! Man! Ben offered to clean our living room for free and we got a free bottle of totally awesome multi purpose cleaner.

Ben was pleasant enough. He told corny jokes as he vacuumed our carpet; showing me how disgusting my house truly was. Uh-Oh's fir was everywhere! But Ben vacuumed and vacuumed and tried as hard as he could to sell us a $3000 machine. Not happening. But I played a game with Ben called "how low can you go?". I didn't tell Ben we were playing this game but I think he knew.  He did us a "favor" and knocked the price down to $2000. We told him that was still too much. He said he needed to call his boss. I secretly love the "boss". It's all so mysterious! He gets on the phone and his "boss" tells him he's going to have to call corporate to get this "special" deal approved. Ok. I'll wait. Meanwhile Friend texted us Amazon listings for the vacuum sitting in our living room starting at $375 used. The stakes just got higher.

The "boss" called back. He knocked the price down to $1800 because Husband is a fireman.  And if we finance, we'll only have 36 easy payments of $50/month. Schnikes! The sweat off Ben's body had now accumulated into areas of his torso I'm not used to seeing sweat. He hungrily took a swig of the Sprite we offered him. I saw his salesman wheels turning. How was he going to get us to buy this vacuum. He was so close. Or so he thought!  I tell Ben 36 months was waaaay too long to finance a vacuum cleaner. In actuality, we try to finance nothing. We like paying in full.

In the flurry of the presentation, 

Hoover, our trusty vacuum

was fired by Ben.

Now, we're playing hardball and the "boss" with the crossed eyes came out of the mystery van and shook all of our hands. On a piece of scrap paper, the "boss" handed me a written figure. $799. I told him we'd still have to finance that figure. He asked if we had credit cards. Husband and I said "no" in chorus. "Boss" seemed frustrated. I gave him back the paper; pretty proud I bargained him down from $3000 to $800. He furiously scribbled on the paper. $499. I wasn't buying this vacuum but I was doing cartwheels inside my body. $499! Yeah! I got him down to the price of a Dyson!

I didn't feel bad for playing my game because I asked Ben earlier if he worked on commission. He said "no". He was paid for cleaning our carpet and giving a presentation. Ok. Fair enough. God is good! He offered me a distraction from this soreness in my mouth, allowed Ben, a hardworking man to earn his pay, and allowed me a free carpet cleaning all while NOT getting taken for a $3000 vacuum. Did I mention before the presentation was over, Ben fired our Hoover? Yeah, he even gave it it's "pink slip" (in this case, one of the vacuum filters Ben was using to show me how much I didn't clean my house). I couldn't help but laugh at that. A big belly laugh. I rehired Hoover after Ben left our house to smoke a cigarette on our driveway and wait for the mysterious white van to reappear and take him to someone else's house.