Tag Making mistakes

She Was Smarter in the Book

Intentergy 2 Comments

Thanks to a recent winter storm, our family hunkered down each evening after everything on the farm was too frozen to anything else and had a movie marathon. Our 16-year-old volunteered her collection of The Hunger Games movies.

For three consecutive nights, we fired up the DVD player and watched as Katniss Everdeen took on The Capitol and tried to figure out where her loyalties should lie. In her search for happiness, Katniss took turns kissing Peeta and Gale. This infuriated Hubby and our boys. “That wasn’t just a friendly kiss!” was repeated over and over, while Maggie tried to explain that Katniss and Gale were “just friends.”

As all movies based on books do, these films diverged from the plot and our sweet girl took it upon herself each time to say, “In the book…..,” and then proceeded to retell the novel version. This added to the hysteria of comments from my husband and sons.

As the peanut gallery continued with their heckling of Katniss’ escapades in Mockingjay Part 2, my daughter exclaimed, “She was smarter in the books!”

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It’s Okay if Things Go “Sploosh”

Intentergy 3 Comments

Sometimes I find myself consumed with what-ifs. So consumed in fact, that my thoughts have no where to go but straight to panic mode. As I planned for a recent girls weekend, (one that my worry-logged nerves desperately needed) I asked Hubby to help me with getting a load of firewood. My gal pals and I were staying at a secluded cabin, complete with wood-burning fireplace, and the weatherforecast was calling for snow.

After some impressive chainsaw brandishing, Hubby and I had filled a tractor bucket full of logs. When I told my loving lumberjack that I would stack the logs on the flatbed to drive to the cabin, he told me not to worry. He would simply dump the wood right on the truck, and it would be ready to go. Immediately, my internal anxiety alarms started sounding in my head. He asked if I was okay with that plan. I told him all I could picture in my mind were the logs going “sploosh” as he put them on the truck or flying off as we drove down the highway. He firmly but lovingly put his hands on my shoulders and said, “It’s okay if things go ‘sploosh’ sometimes.”

With that statement my tears wanted to splash but, instead, I found a giggle for his use of “sploosh.”

I knew he was right and maybe, just maybe, if I could get over my fear of the potential “splooshes” in life, I could get past the nervousness that has been nagging at me so heavily lately.

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